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black-dragon1998 · 3 years

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Stoic keeper and sick girl chapter 4

Summary: (Y/n) and Lexa tell the team everything and emotions surface.

Also, COVID19 doesn’t exist in this fic!

warnings: Talking about cancer. if this is a trigger don’t read. Everything mentioned is from my own experience as may not apply to everybody.

Talk about past trauma’s and shitty childhood.

part 1 -part 2- part 3

Waking into the dining room you noticed it was still rather empty. The only ones who were already there were Alex, Kelley at one table and Alyssa at another. Alyssa was probably the safer one to sit at. The younger ones would probably want to joke with Kelley and move around a lot, Alyssa most nights stayed at her table and was one of the most rational people on the team.

The blond keeper looked up when you neared with a nervous Lexa. You tried to reassure her with a hand on her shoulder as you let her closer to the table.

“Alyssa I like you to meet Lexa. Lexa this is one of my many good friends, Alyssa Naether. I know she looks scary but she is a big softy inside.” You introduce. Alyssa rolls her eyes at you but introduces herself to the girl. She could see that the girl was relaxed around you.

“it’s nice to meet you, Lexa.” Lexa doesn’t say anything but does give Alyssa a little nod so the keeper took that as a win.

“is it okay if the two of us sit with you? That way she can take off her facemask and eat in peace.” You ask Alyssa, who looks a bit confused at your panicked state. Normally you were far more relaxed with her.

“sure.” She said trying to reassure you with her eyes. If you were freaking out then it has to be pretty serious about what you had to tell or what was going on. The only thing she could do was support you.

“sure.” Alyssa tried to reassure you with her eyes and a kind smile.

“Thanks, Lyss, you’re the best.” You beamed the keeper with your best smile as you put Lexa’s bottle down on the table and lead Lexa toward the food.

“come on Lexa let’s go see if they're in anything you like.” you tried to stay optimistic, you knew how hard it could be to eat when everything you smelled or saw tasted disgusting. Even too today you had days you couldn’t swallow anything and had to fall back on meal replacement shakes.

Throughout the whole buffet, there was nothing Lexa seemed to fancy at the end you sighted, Lexa looked up with a small face.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered under her breath, your heart broke. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t feeling like eating.

“hey, you don’t have to be sorry about this okay. I will talk with the trainers, normally they have some shakes for me when I don’t feel like eating. I will get you to try one-off those okay. Maybe a cola.” She shakily nods looking down at the floor. Taking her chin between two fingers you make her look up at you.

“say it to me.” Your voice is stern but comforting. You don’t want her to live in the constant fear of disappointing you. You give her an encouraging smile.

“I have nothing to be sorry about.” She told you. Not as confidently as you liked but it was a start. You lead her back to the table and tell her you will be back. Taking her sports bottle with you to fill with some cola.

Alyssa watched as you placed the little girl on the chair in front of her and reassured her that you wouldn’t be gone long. Alyssa had never seen you this tender.

Like the rest of the team, Alyssa had questions, after the end of the game. You had disappeared just after the final whistle had been blown and they had found you thirty minutes in the trainer's locker room with a little kid. When Ali and Christen had tried talking to you, you had given them some very specific orders that the girls couldn’t place. Now seeing the girl in front of her with the face mask and bandana with baseball cap those question only rang louder but they were for later.

“Hey, Lexa.” Alyssa tried to get the girls attention by calling her. Het girl looked up at the keeper with big uncertain eyes.

“Don’t you want anything to eat?” Alyssa asked pointing to her empty plate. All Lexa did was shake her head and look down at the table. Alyssa decided to drop it not wanting until you got back, it was clear you had a connection with the little girl.

The silence in the room was broken when more of the team dripped into the dining room and when more of the younger players it even became rowdy and Lexa flinched at every harsh sound and hoped you would come back fast.

You returned to the dining room with Lexa’s sports bottle filled with cola and one of your shakes. After doing the whole story to Vlatko he had promised to help you with the legal papers and that set up an appointment with your doctor for tomorrow and one for yourself also.

After the whole ordeal, you felled exhausted, all the emotions of the day catching up to you and all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.

Emily spotted you halfway through the room and strode toward you. Like the rest of the team, she had heard about the kid and had seen her with Alyssa. No one of the younger players dared to approach in fear of the older keeper.

“hey (Y/N) how’s the little squirt doing,” Emily asked hoping you would spill something but you weren’t int the mood to talk to anybody.

“buzz off Sonnett.” You growl not being able to contain your frustration and exhaustion. The conversation with Vlatko was a heavy one. Now the stress of getting your blood draw tomorrow was causing extra stress. You had awful veins and you dreaded it.

Emily was taken back by your tone, normally it took you a lot more to rile you up.

“wow, what got your panties in a twist?” Emily tried to lighten your mood.

The conversation between you and Sonnett had drawn the attention of the rest of the team. You could already see Ali and Ash make their way toward you.

Lexa had gotten of her chair and was running toward you, she could see how stressed you were and she wanted to help because you always helped her.

“(Y/N)!” Lexa grabbed your hand tried to give it a reassuring squeeze but because of her weakened state, it wasn’t hard and also tried to give you a reassuring smile. You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry, how could a child that had gone through all she had to be still so compassionate. Sinking through your knees make you almost eye level with her.

This caused all the veterans to immediately come running toward you while the younger players just watched. There was a small panic going around the team, you never showed emotions so openly.so I kind of freaked them out. Even though you hadn’t shed a single tear you looked exhausted.

“I’m okay Lexa. Thank you.” You whisper to the girl, looking at her gave you enough courage to scrape yourself together and lead her back to the table. When she sat down you handed her the coke and shake, which looked at sceptically but opened it when you told her it tasted like strawberries. After the sip, she takes another and another.

When the team decided you have ignored them enough they send Ali and Ash to talk to you. Seeing as they had the best track record with you.

You could feel their eyes burning into your back and it was just a matter of time before they tried to talk to you. For the moment you just watched Lexa enjoy her shake.

“your friends are staring at us,” Lexa commented looking at you from under her cap. She looks cute with one of your caps and hoodie.

“I know. They will come over here any moment to talk. They like to do that. You want to tell them?” you would leave the choice to her, it’s her life and you would support her either way.

“I want to stay with you.” She confesses looking up at you with big eyes. It makes you happy she felled secure with you.

“I know that sweety but that doesn’t mean I am forcing you to tell them. I’m not going to force you to tell them anything you don’t want to.” You assure her.

“But I want to be honest with them.”

“well if you are brave enough maybe I could half as brave and do the same.” You stroke her cheek and smile at her. Krashlyn took that moment to interrupt you.

“What should you tell us?” Ashlyn asked while she and Ali sit down in front of you before you look up you catch Lexa’s eye.

“ready little warrior.” She gives you a simple nod. Turning to the couple and try to give them a reassuring smile.

“Lexa and I have to tell you all something.” Suddenly a lot of voices started talking. Asking what it was and how you met Lexa. You cut through it with a sharp whistle and instruct them all to take a seat and listen. You had never seen them sit down so fast and be shut up, maybe you should try that whistle more.

“you want to tell them first?” Lexa swallowed hard before she looked up at the soccer players.

“okay guy’s this is Lexa I met her today after the game, after talking to her I have decided to become her legal guardian. Vlatko is helping me with the papers.” You pause for the information to sink in but not long enough for chaos to break out.

“wait with the questions and judgment until after Lexa and I have done our story.” You gave Lexa a reassuring smile while glaring at your teammates. Lexa grabs your hand for support.

“I have leukaemia and (Y/N) had promised to stay with me so I don’t have to do the therapy alone. I hate being alone in the hospital and she makes me feel safe.” The weight of the word behind the childlike didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Many of the soccer players in front of you had unshed tears in their eyes. After her story, Lexa buries her face into your shoulder. Hugging her back in return almost seemed like second nature.

“you were so brave, little warrior. I’m so proud of you.” You Lexa while hugging her close. When I was obvious she wouldn’t be say anything more.

“I saw Lexa in the stands alone and could immediately tell what the problem was. A couple of kids were picking on her for it, that is when I decided to step in and take her inside with me, I didn’t know how bad her immune system was so I didn’t want to take any chances. Tomorrow both of us have to go to the hospital for a blood test. Then I can tell how much resistance she is against bacteria.” You explain stroking Lexa’s back soothing her and trying to minimize her stress.

“why would they be picking on her?” Christen asks, not understanding why Lexa would be bullied. You have to chuckle at their childlike innocence, most never had to deal with people looking at them weird or shinning them for being different.

“Because people are A-holes, who mistreat everything that is different and not to normal standards.” You grith out between clenched teeth, memories from your past resurfacing. You still remember the stares and the whispers from when you were in a wheelchair because you were to weak to walk. People were far less subtle than they thought they were.

“yes, they are.” Lexa agrees with you while climbing in your lap to hug you. You figured all the emotions and exhaustion were getting to her, so you drab your arms around her so she can rest a bit.

The whole team looks at you shocked at how soft you are with the little girl. They had never seen you so soft. Some of the veterans were concerned when you told them you were becoming this little girls guardian, to team standards you were still a baby. Only being a couple of months older than Tierna but seeing you like this changed their minds. Also, an unspoken promise was going through the group, they would help you in any way they could.

Taking a deep breath you looked at your team, who were watching you and Lexa with big eyes. Now was as good a time as any to drop your own bomb, hoping that having Lexa with you will lessen the yelling they were going to do.

“There is something I want to tell you guys,” you speak before losing your nerves, freaking out internally. What if they start treating you differently? What if they start looking at you with pity?

Well, you couldn’t go back now.

“There is another reason I stepped out into the crowd today. I saw a lot of myself in Lexa. Because I also had leukaemia as a kid. Twice actually.” Gasp go through the group moments before questions are fired at you.

“(Y/N) sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us?” Ali asks coming closer so she can give you a reassuring smile and doesn’t scare you away.

“This is the only place I feel normal.” You confess not looking up at your team.

“it’s tough being a kid with leukaemia, people treat you different when they know. I was diagnosed for the first time when I was six. You are forced to grow up mentally and emotionally so fast sometimes you forget you are only a kid. I learned to put things into perspective fast, fearing you are not going to going to make it to the next day makes other kids tantrums banal in comparison. This caused me to stick out around my peers and made it hard to make friends. Not that it bothered me that much at that age, I was in the hospital a lot. You take a moment to take a couple of breath before you continue.

“Football is something I love and I didn’t want to be treated differently because of it. That is the big reason I didn’t tell anybody.” A lot of the woman around you are crying or holding each other for comfort. Lexa tightened her hold on you.

The silence in the room is heavy buy familiar. Most people didn’t know what to say after you told them so you decided to let them process everything first before they had to speak to you.

“Alright, that is enough emotions for one day. I’m taking Lexa back to my room so she can rest.” Getting up you grab her sports bottle with you while making your way to the elevator with Lexa in your arms.

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

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tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend.

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up.

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it.

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes.

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy.

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly.

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates.

“Y/N.”

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays.

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles.

“Harry?”

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye.

“C-could I get a picture?”

He honestly doesn’t want to.

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo.

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation.

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward.

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it.

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention.

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.”

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs.

“That’s surprising.”

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her.

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation.

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly.

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back.

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying.

“I beg your pardon?”

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly.

“Dee—”

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?”

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face.

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him.

How ironic.

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly.

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him.

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word.

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave.

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her.

They make him feel nauseous.

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong.

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance.

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands.

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her.

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her.

“Baby—”

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer. “This one mine?”

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly.

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him.

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her.

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her.

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments.

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people.

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most.

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her.

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same?

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—”

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it.

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.”

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully.

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing.

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees.

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear.

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away.

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public.

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.”

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.”

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine.

“What are you saying?”

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything.

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking.

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly.

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.”

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath.

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.”

She nods.

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could.

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all.

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching.

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.”

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all.

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago.

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did.

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features.

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.”

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes angst #gif not mine #credit to owner

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jenovahh · 3 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 26 - Irrational

“Oh thank the Twelve, you’re coming to.”

Blinking your eyes, you feel like you’ve been floating in space and have finally come down to earth, your limbs feeling heavy after being suspended in zero-gravity. You’ve been passing out too much lately you think, circumstances be damned.

Milky eyes that belong to a powdery face come into focus, Merlwyb the picture of worry as she calls for a doctor to check on your condition.

“Chief Merlwyb?” you cough, a glass of water held in front of you before you can even ask, Merlwyb slipping a straw inside and gently holding it towards your face. Mumbling a word of thanks, you take a sip, the water refreshing and quenching as you nearly down the whole cup until Merlwyb draws it away.

“I think you should slow it down. From what I understand, they were having to reintroduce you to food.” Merlwyb murmurs, setting the cup down on a nearby nightstand. Taking a look around you’re back in the same makeshift sick room within Cid’s mansion, IV hooked up to your arm as it pumps you full of whatever is in the bag attached to it. The doctor shows up soon enough, giving you a quick once over as she makes sure you’re on the mend.

As the doctor asks you a few questions, you notice Merlwyb looking incredibly guilty, wondering if she really feels so bad you had gotten captured. Surely she can’t be beating herself up over that?

“And if I may ask,” the doctor begins but Merlwyb holds up a hand gently.

“If it is alright with you doctor, I would like to speak to my officer about this alone.” Merlwyb interrupts, the doctor giving a nod of understanding, saying nothing more as she exits the room. Turning to you, Merlwyb’s fists are clenched tightly in her lap, and you get too worried to keep your peace.

“Is everything okay?” you ask with a broken laugh. “I mean, I know it was scary, Varis locking me up, but I’m okay. I’m okay.” You grin, reaching out to try to console her but she jerks away. “Chief,”

“Do not call me that.” She bites out, the harshness of her voice shocking you. A little hurt, you begin to question what you could’ve done to warrant such a flip in her attitude, until you see she is shaking with unshed tears, liquid pooling in the corners of her eyes as she finally gains the will to meet you eye to eye. “Do not refer to me with such respect after I’ve failed you so catastrophically.”

Confused, you shift to try and sit up a little better. “Chief Merlwyb, what do you mean? I thought we went over all the risks at the start! We knew that this would be a dangerous job,”

“The job would be dangerous, yes! But never would I have made you become pregnant with that bastard’s child!” She cries, tears finally running down her face. You sit in perfect stillness, unsure what to say. Faced with the reality of having to explain that you were not only pregnant with Zenos’ child, but that you didn’t even feel bad about it. When Varis had revealed that same fact to you, you didn’t even care.

“We sent you to simply try and catch his son in the act. To give us any kind of proof of illegal activity. Only to realize too late we had put you in that monster’s hands!” Merlwyb sobs, clutching your hands within her own. “When I had said that you must protect the mission at any cost, I never meant that you had to bear Varis’ child. That you would have to accept him forcing himself upon you.”

Eyes widening as you see the cause of her grief, you fumble to try and find your right words. “Chief, I...did the doctor,”

“The only one that knows is myself and Cid. Cid is busy preparing other avenues to try and handle Varis.” Merlwyb grumbles, over the worst of her crying. “He was appalled to learn of this, he had--”

“Please, please, stop right there.” You groan, sick at the thought of if things really had gotten to where they assumed they had. Taking a deep breath, you fix Merlwyb with a guilty look of your own. “Never would I have guessed the famed Annihilator to be a crier.” You joke weakly, watching as she seems to lighten the tiniest bit.

“Strong I may be, but I am not immune to the suffering of my officers.” She sniffs, rubbing your hands with her larger ones.

Looking at your hands joined together in your lap, you struggle on what to say next. “While I’m...glad you feel such concern with me...things didn’t get that far. Not with Varis.”

Brows furrowing, Merlwyb shifts closer to you in her seat. “What do you mean?”

Breathing deeply, you try to get everything out in one breath. “I will not deny it. What led to me being locked away was actually due to Varis trying to force himself on me.” Saying it nearly makes you throw up, tilting your head back as you take calming breaths. “He had drugged me with a substance mixed with aether rendering me unable to move. If his right hand man hadn’t shown up when he did...then he would have--” You nearly throw up again, having to keep the bile down as your body breaks out in a cold sweat.

“You don’t have to talk about this.” Merlwyb consoles, rubbing your back gently.

“No. Because I need to...I need to explain.” You sigh, feeling weary already. “What I’m trying to say is, Varis only tried to force himself on me before he locked me away. And...if my math is right, I should be a month or two along.” Placing a hand on your stomach, you rub it gently. “It’s not his.”

A mix of relief and worry passes through Merlwyb’s face, standing to her feet. “Thank the Twelve it isn’t so. I must tell Cid,”

“It’s Zenos’.” you cut off before she can even leave your side.

She stops in place immediately, shocked by your words as much as you are having said them. To put out in the universe you are carrying the child of someone you once thought a monster.

“Honey…” she whispers, sitting by your side once more. “Honey, did he,”

Shaking your head furiously, you refuse to meet her surely judgemental gaze. “No. I...it was consensual. Multiple times. I…” swallowing your fear, you press on. “I was so stressed from working for Varis, my health suffered. I stopped taking supplements, vitamins, and my birth control. I had met with Zenos that day when Raubahn died and one thing led to another.”

As tears leak from your eyes as you finally give voice to your shame, you still cannot bear to face her scorn. “I tried to hate him. I tried to hate him for so long, but he…” you sob, wiping furiously at your tears, “he’s the only one that understands me. The only one who’s strong enough, the only one who makes me happy. I didn’t even blink when Varis told me I was pregnant with his kid, I didn’t even feel sad. How fucked up am I for falling for him?!” You laugh, the sound broken and mangled. “I’m a failure to the mission, Raubahn would be ashamed--”

Merlwyb crushes you in her arms, ceasing your downward spiral. She says nothing, merely holding you tightly as your tears catch in her shirt, clutching you tight as she buries her face in your hair. “Honey...no matter what I better not hear such self deprecating language from you ever again.” She whispers, stroking your head softly. “Raubahn would be proud. You’ve survived. You are alive. And that’s all we ever wanted. For you to come home.”

“But I--”

“No ‘buts’.” She interjects, pulling away to give you the stern look you had known her for. “Not to throw him under the bus, but Cid had already filled me in on your entanglement with his bodyguard and Zenos respectively. I can’t lie that at first I was alarmed, but when he recounted all the trauma he had known you had gone through, how he could see you warp and change...I could not think to hold it against you. And neither would Raubahn.”

You weep thankful tears at her words, a weight lifted from your shoulders at her comfort. You embrace each other once more, wrapping yourself in the comfort of simply being held, knowing you both have been through the wringer these past few days.

Merlwyb notices your eyes begin to droop, promising to see you again when you wake up next. She would go off to find Cid and relay what you had told her in a calmer, less emotional fashion, sparing you the risk of potentially triggering yourself. You allow yourself a few more hours rest, drifting thoughtlessly as you have the most restful sleep you had in what had apparently been weeks.

Two weeks had Varis managed to stow you away, Cid and Merlwyb knowing something was wrong when they hadn’t heard hide or hair of you in two days. The phone Cid had given you had been confiscated and destroyed, giving them no idea on how to find you. They had been sick with worry with no way to find out what happened until Zenos had showed up on Cid’s doorstep in the dead of night, demanding that you be saved. Cid had immediately called for his personal doctor to begin treating you, bringing you to the present.

Even while you rest, your thoughts are too tumultuous to let you sleep long, the steady drip of your IV and the light buzz of the alarm clock on your nightstand your only companions when you wake. It is a few hours past midnight, the mansion quiet, but in a good way unlike the Galvus estate. There’s just enough white noise in the halls that gives a comfortable ambience, a home that is lived in, prompting you to drag yourself out of bed and into some slippers to walk a bit to maybe tire your mind a bit to go back to sleep.

Forced to drag your IV pump around with you, you shuffle down the hall, enjoying the peace as you let your feet aimlessly wander. Though you know Cid was prone to all nighters if he was knee deep in a project, something tells you he’s fast asleep. Making your way downstairs you enjoy the calm of his mansion at night, slipping past the many doors as you struggle to not bump your shin into any unsuspecting furniture.

As you pass through the living room, you hear grunting, looking through one of the many floor to ceiling windows to spot Zenos outside, running through his practice routines. His golden hair now looks to be made of spun ivory under the moonlight, muscles flexing with every movement as he swings his sword through the air. Each strike is precise, measured as he hones his skill, a fierce determination on his face as he snarls his frustration.

Heading to the sliding door, you gently push it open, the warm night air soothing you instantly as you stand in the doorway, watching him quietly. You’re surprised he’s yet to notice your presence, too focused on whatever he’s thinking about to catch you watching him. Leaning against the doorframe, you’re content to watch how his body flows effortlessly through each stance, dressed in his usual workout attire, clinging to him like a second skin.

It is only when he spins does he take note of you at the door, uncharacteristically startled before a shadow of guilt darkens his features. Frowning, you move to join him in the yard only for him to give you a look that promises retribution if you move from your spot at the door. “What are you doing here?”

Tutting, you stand up straight. “From what I heard, you brought me here.”

“That’s not what I,” he pauses, turning away from you for a moment. “I meant what are you doing outside? You should be inside, resting.”

“I was trying,” you grumble, stepping out onto the manicured grass, dragging the IV pump along uneven ground. He turns to you once more, unable to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t sleep, probably because I had spent the past two weeks being made to sleep. My body’s quite sick of it, I think.” You joke lightly, coming to stand before him.

He still won’t meet your gaze, which is strange in and of itself. Creeping closer, he shifts away and you frown, trying to peek under his fringe of hair. “Zenos? What’s the matter?” you ask, reaching out for his hand but he jerks it away.

“What do you want?” he snarls, eyes furious. Though you begin to get angry, you take a step back and look at the situation. Though your memories are hazy, you can remember his desperation to get you out of that facility. His worry at seeing you look so frail and weak. The guilt you had seen once he had realized you were there--

He was scared.

Lowering yourself to the ground, you can’t help but laugh a little at how he casts his sword to the ground while reaching to catch you in the same motion, uncaring of where his blade ends up. “I’m not dying, Zenos. I’m not falling apart.” you sigh wistfully, motioning to the ground for him to sit next to you.

Pursing his lips, he seems to debate between picking you up and carrying you back inside, versus giving into your whims. “You’ve not seen the horrors of my father’s experiments.” He answers instead, lowering himself to the cool grass to your side, one knee bent with the other leg extended before him. You relish in his slight intake of breath as you shuffle to be closer to him, leaning upon his warmth. It’s not too cool out, but the furnace that is his body isn’t unpleasant. “But I suppose for that, I am thankful.”

“I’ve not. And I’m glad I didn’t.” you murmur, relaxing immediately from his presence alone.

The two of you are quiet, Zenos stiff as if he does not know what to do with this nearness from you. “I...I’m glad I had found you in the condition I had. I had feared the worst.” he admits, which coming from him, is no small feat.

Gazing up at the moon, you rest your weight fully upon him, his arm naturally coming to support you and hold you close, almost as if on instinct. His hand seems unsure where to place itself, so you help by gently coaxing it to sling around your waist, linking your fingers with his. “He had told me so many horrible things. He told me how awfully he would treat you.” you murmur, satisfied to stay just like this.

“What did he tell you?”

His voice is guarded, cornered. Scared.

“He told me...that he forced himself on your mother.” You answer, unable to look him in the face.

He tenses then, skin heating before you tighten your grip on his hand, hearing his deep breaths behind you as he calms himself down. “The story the public knows is that my mother passed away due to sickness. Only a select few know the truth.” His voice is far away, distant, as if lost within a nightmare. “After all, it’s not really palatable to have it leak out that your father had threatened to have your mother killed if she tried to run. That when she felt she had no option left, she had killed herself.”

Gasping, you turn in his arms to look at him, finding nothing but an emotionless gaze staring back. You can see the truth in his eyes, a pain so guarded and so deep that you wonder if this is the first time he’s told anyone else. “Zenos,”

“After all, wouldn’t you do the same? Would you not burst into hysterics upon looking at the child you not only had forced upon you, but were also forced to bear?” he laughs humorlessly, as if the joke is tired and worn out, the punchline having lost its kick.

You wonder if he can hear your heart breaking.

“Zenos,” you whisper carefully, reaching with both hands to cup his face, feeling its warmth but a cold expression is all you get in return.

“I do not need your pity.” he snips, though he makes no move to push you away. “I’ve had my share of it. And for what? It would not bring my mother back. Not that she would want to stay anyway. Not when she gave birth to a monster.”

Tears pool in your eyes at his words, wondering how much he had of this locked up inside, and for how long?

How long had he not known love?

One of his hands reaches up to dab at a tear trailing down your cheek, frowning as he does so. “Why do you cry? I told you I didn’t want your pity.”

“I’m crying for you.” You murmur, turning in his hold to be on your knees, crowding closer to where he parts his legs more to give you room to sit between them. “Because you’ve not had the chance to do it for yourself.”

His lips part at that, emotions of all kinds warring on his face before he settles on anger. “You are a fool if you think that would change things.”

“I’m not trying to change things you idiot!” you whisper harshly, not wanting to yell and potentially wake anyone up. “You come and save me from being experimented upon by your father until I die and you don’t want me to show you I’m at least a little grateful? When I had started to believe that no one would come for me and you carried me out in your arms?”

“Sweet words won’t excuse your cowardice.” he growls, trying to pull away. “That even after you apologized, you had gone running back into my father’s arms.”

“For you!” You snap, clutching his face desperately.

Confused, he shakes his head. “What do you--”

“You think I would go back to the asshole willingly?” you seethe, begging him to understand. “That me, a cop, would want anything to do with his desire to be a dictator? To remember the good ole days of imperial rule?” Despite your earlier reservations, you raise your voice with every question. “Do you know how much it hurt to be apart from you? To see the betrayal in your eyes as I left your side for no other reason than to try and take your father down so you would be free from his influence? To fall for you--”

Your words catch in your throat, unable to take them back. The two of you only stare at one another, wide eyed and frozen as your unsaid words hang between you, wishing you could simply disappear. Zenos is solid as a board and your heart sinks, releasing his face as you begin to stand. “I should get back inside,”

He pulls you back to him forcefully, not letting you flee back to the safety of your room. You try to tug away but you’re still too weak to fight against his might, huffing and puffing for him to release you as you try to run from the shame of your actions. “Let go of me,” you whine, resisting his touch as he wraps his arm around you like a vice, refusing to let you go anywhere.

The rough pads of his fingers urge you to face him as you squirm in his arms, not wanting to face him, to face your feelings. “Honey.” He breathes, finally getting you at a suitable angle to press his lips to yours, ashamed at how easily you melt in his arms. He deepens the kiss, full of all the passion, the emotion you now know he’s capable of, threading his fingers into your hair as you rest your hands upon his chest before looping around his shoulders.

The kiss is all passion, all affection, all possession as your tongues dance together, as teeth nibble each other's lips, as you breathe each other's air. You fall into him just as easily as you did the first time, wondering how on earth did you get here? It is only when he feels you crying again does he pull apart, dabbing gently at your tears with an indescribable emotion upon his angelic features.

“You would run because you’re afraid of what you feel for me?” he asks, holding you as if you were made of the most delicate glass. The same man who had no problem flipping you over his back, grappling you like a wrestler, was now cradling you as if you were the most important thing in the world to him. “I have never run from how I feel for you, even if I cannot understand it. I have only wanted you. It can only be you.”

“You don’t get it!” You sob, pounding your fists on his chest. “I love you, you idiot! I was sent to try and take you and your father down and look where I am! I fell for you instead, I’m having your ch--” you stop yourself once again, afraid of what he would possibly think.

“I do not know love but I do know I would have no other. Is that not good enough?” he asks, desperate to understand, and Twelve above you wish he did. Perhaps he loves you in his own way, but there’s so much of him that needs healing, so many bad habits he needs to break before you could truly be by his side. It occurs to you only now that you looked at him through rose-tinted glasses, seeing nothing but the happiness he brought you, and you alone.

A child brings new questions into the mix.

Would he treat the child the same way he treated you? Would he fall into the bad habits of his father, having no good example of how to be a parent? Continuing a cycle of abuse because he had never known love? Would he train that child for the sole purpose of becoming stronger, unsatisfied until either of them fell in battle?

Deep down you knew you were being foolish, but fear overcame reason as you kept your eyes shut tight, crying against his chest as he held you. It was such an irrational fear, one you were completely self aware of, but that did not stop you from crying, nor did it stop you from falling into his embrace as he kissed you once more.

You are no stranger to Zenos’ touch, though you are a stranger to how gently he treats you as you recover from being detained by Varis. Only with your permission do you allow him to visit, except visitation is not satisfactory. He all but moves into your room, seeing to your needs during the day until he goes about his own business before returning to you at night. He’s always there to bring you your meals, sitting in comfortable silence or making light conversation, making you remember just how much you loved him, until he reminded you just how much you needed to run away when this was all over.

You only wish he knew how hard he was making it for you.

There wasn’t a need of yours that wasn’t seen to by Zenos personally. Whatever you wanted to eat, he went and got it. If you wanted to walk around, he was the one to pull your IV pump along, leaving you free to simply stretch your legs. From fluffing your pillow to simply being a warm body to hold at night, there was nothing he would not do for your sake.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

As you recuperated and strength once again flowed through your limbs, he turned into your physical therapist, helping you stretch your muscles and make you limber enough to fight again. He would only spar lightly at your request, making you feign exhaustion so he didn’t feel angry for making himself hold back. Naturally you made sure to avoid all blows to your abdominal area, flowing like water around his strikes, taking a more defensive approach, which you thought would make him angry.

It had the opposite effect. It seemed to only make him want you more, pursuing you like a man possessed, fucking you into the floor until your voice was hoarse from crying out his name.

This is how I got here in the first place, you grumble to yourself, walking with him to meet up with Cid and Merlwyb on another part of the estate. There was hardly a day he was not by your side, something you did not mind after spending so long apart, but you began to think it strange considering the circumstances. Varis had to be wondering where he was. But if Zenos was not worried, you figured you shouldn’t be either.

Reaching the conference room turned “briefing room”, you give a small wave to Cid and Merlwyb who greet you in return. “You’re looking better by the day, Honey. I’m glad to see you’re making a recovery.” Cid welcomes, standing from his chair to come give you a hug. You return it with equal measure, glad to have people on your side. “Please sit. We haven’t been waiting long.”

Nodding, you pull a chair out from the table, not at all surprised as Zenos takes a seat in the one directly next to you. “I’m sorry to delay everything for so long.”

“Your recovery was paramount, Honey.” Merlwyb speaks up, giving you a serious look. “You have shouldered so much of this upon your back. There is no way we could ask you to put your life on the line anymore than we already have.”

“But I want to. I want to take him down.” You insist, refusing to take no for an answer. Merlwyb looks ready to argue but Cid quickly interjects, physically leaning between the two of you.

“Easy there, ladies. We’ve got a common goal, and let’s just look at the facts before we start making plans.” Cid offers in the interest of neutrality, slowly sitting back down in his chair. “We’ve got quite a bit of information to catch Honey up on anyway.” He sighs, reaching for a remote and turning on the mounted TV. The screen is paused with Varis’ face on it, a news ticker reading “Varis Unveils Revolutionary Technology”, your heart immediately sinking.

“This has been on the news for nearly two weeks. Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking. Varis has revealed his ‘discovery’ of aether upon your capture.” Cid grounds out, clicking on the remote to start the clip. It is silent, but the clip continues to play, allowing Cid to speak. “It’s been a nightmare since. I’ve been called by more news outlets than I care to remember asking for my response.”

Sadness creeps into his features as he watches the TV with a forlorn expression. “As I had told you, my father’s laboratory had burned down, leaving me with no physical proof that it was he who originally discovered aether. All I have is my word against his ‘proof’.” Banging his fist against the table, he runs his hands through his hair. “It’s infuriating.”

Clicking the remote a different press conference plays on the TV, Varis showing off different bits of technology powered by aether. "He's got the public in the palm of his hand. Everyone's dazzled by the power of aether, but of course only we know the truth. We know that aether is not to be messed with, that it is dangerous and more powerful than we could possibly comprehend." Cid explains, tapping his fingers against the table. "I've considered trying to make my own sample, to show what a volatile resource it is…"

"We already discussed this Cid. Absolutely not." Merlwyb interjects. Their interaction comes as a slight surprise. Merlwyb was Cid’s senior by barely a decade, but within the past month they became fast friends. "Varis has already tried to take your life once and is already so sure of his victory that he's content to leave you alone for now. Let's not give him reason to try and take you out."

Nodding grimly, Cid turns back to you. "As you can see, we've got our hands tied. Varis is, if anything thorough, making it hard to plan any sort of move. We're running out of time."

Gnawing your lip, you find yourself focusing on what Merlwyb had said. "If...do you think he would try and target Lord Hien?" The room is completely silent, and you don’t know if it’s because they find the notion preposterous, or they wonder how the thought has never crossed their mind. “I mean, clearly Varis has to think he’s nigh untouchable now. He’s attempted to kill Cid once without facing any consequences. He successfully killed Raubahn and forced Merlwyb into hiding. Don’t you think…?”

Cid drags his hands over his face, heaving out a dry laugh. “Nymeia save me, I think you might be onto something.”

“But Cid, why would he need to kill Hien? The election is so close, he’s already done so much to make himself look like the ideal candidate. What more could killing Hien do for him?” Merlwyb questions, posing some good points.

“An easy win.”

The three of you turn to Zenos who has remained uncharacteristically quiet this entire exchange. “Honey has been around my father long enough by now to understand how he thinks. However, as his son,” he grounds out, “I have intimate knowledge of how his mind works.” Shifting in his seat, he sighs. “Before he had stopped telling me of his plans, he thought himself untouchable; he had evaded you all for decades.” He explains, looking pointedly at Merlwyb before his gaze shifts to Cid. “And the only one who could ever bring any evidence against him had no physical proof, nor the courage to say anything.”

Giving a frustrated sigh, Cid turns once again to the TV. “I can’t deny that. My own cowardice has allowed this to go on for as long as it has.” Cid murmurs, fidgeting with the remote in his hand.

“And if he were to kill Hien, who could stop him?” Zenos asks, glancing around the table. “The Chief has been killed, and the only other ‘good cop’ remains hidden for her own safety. Who is next in command to take Raubahn Aldynn’s place?”

You gasp, turning to Zenos. “Ilberd.”

Shrugging, the heir goes back to looking bored once again. “With his longtime supporter at the head of police, it would be no problem to have Hien’s death look like nothing more than an accident even if he shot him point blank on national television.”

“Twelve above…” Merlwyb whispers, burying her face in her hand. “Decades worth of planning. Decades worth of moves. I had always suspected Ilberd, but on this large a scale…” Gasping, her eyes widened in horror. “By the Twelve, he has the entire police force under his control. If he wins the seat, he would have an entire army--”

The room is silent once again, the three of you processing the scope of Varis’ plans. When he boasted of his intellect, you had thought little of it, knowing that like any businessman he was educated, but to be so thorough, to make the right connections, to plan this far ahead…

Clenching your fist, you stand to your feet. “We have to save Lord Hien.”

“I don’t disagree, but--”

“But what, Chief Merlwyb? I refuse to have another person die because of that bastard!” Your chest is heaving, Cid looking surprised at your outburst while Merlwyb maintains her composure, giving you a knowing look.

“Honey, please calm down.” She urges, reaching across the table to place her hand atop of your own. Something silent passes between the two of you and you take a few calming breaths, sitting back in your seat. “If you will allow me to finish, what I was trying to say is that this is not something we can go into guns blazing. We are dealing with a man who knows how to run circles around the law; this I know well. We will have to make a plan that is fool proof and draws no attention to us.” Her eyes turn to the heir sitting by your side. “Especially now that we’ve got his son on our side.”

At that Zenos fixes Merlwyb with a hot glare. “And where did you get the notion that I would be assisting you in any way, shape, or form?” Zenos asks, his voice even and neutral, but you can see the rage within his eyes.

“If you are not helping us, then why have you stayed here, Zenos?” Cid asks sternly.

“Is it not obvious?” Zenos scoffs, eyes upon you. “My only focus has been, and always will be Honey. But even then…” Something haunting passes through his eyes, seeming far away before coming back to the present. “...even then I could not aid you. I cannot go against my father, but I will no longer aid him either.” Standing to his feet, he prepares to leave but you snag his hand, giving him a pleading look.

“Zenos...I,” you begin, unsure what to say. “We could use your help.”

Shaking his head, he tugs his hand free and continues on his way, saying nothing else. Your heart breaks that much more to see him go.

Stewing in your thoughts a bit, you find yourself a bit hurt at Zenos’ refusal to take down his father, but try to think about it calmly. Given what he revealed to you, that his own mother did not want him, saw him as a monster, who knows what psychological damage had been done to him to make him unwilling to raise a hand against his father?

You’d make a point to ask him about it later, but for the time being, you needed to make a plan. “We’ll have to carry on without Zenos. He’s not against us, which is almost the same as being on our side. Trust me...if Zenos did truly serve his father and Varis had kept me hidden, the only being who can take Zenos down, Varis truly would be unstoppable.” Cid and Merlwyb nod grimly at your words, having no other choice. “Do we have any way of contacting Lord Hien?”

“I have his number due to working with him for the...rally. The only problem is he’s surely seen my funeral and thinks me dead.” Merlwyb answers, flipping through her phone.

“In that case, perhaps Cid can give a call, especially since he has the technology to make sure it isn’t tampered with.” You direct, having taken the lead. “We’ll call Lord Hien and apprise him of as much information as we can. If I have to go in and make the rescue myself, then so be it.”

“Absolutely not.” Cid interjects, eyebrows pinched together. “I will not have you shouldering this entire operation again. Besides, if you’re not familiar with Lord Hien, he’s got an excellent shadow of his own I hear. Yugiri, I believe her name is. What she lacks in your sheer strength she more than makes up for in stealth. In fact, she just might be our ticket to get Lord Hien to safety.”

Unfortunately, Lord Hien has other plans.

Cid contacts Hien as promised, relaying as much information in as little time as possible. Lord Hien expresses his concern and guilt for the recent happenings, and due to the credibility of your accusations, hears you out.

However, he will not escape.

“But Lord Hien,”

The three of you are seated in the same conference room, staring at the TV screen where current Kugane Prime Minister, Lord Hien sits staring back.

“I understand your concern, Mr. Garlond,” Hien pauses, handsome face deadly serious. “But this would be a terrible time to abandon the public. I would go as far to say that my sudden disappearance would only usher Varis into his seat faster.”

Biting your lip, you can’t deny he’s right, but still you worry. “But we can’t let him get to you either!”

“Do not worry for me, my friends.” Hien smiles, as if all will be well. “I did not say I won’t take safety measures. I will remain out of the public eye, and stay hidden with those who I know are loyal to me. These past few years as Prime Minister have allowed me the opportunity to gain many allies.” Hien explains calmly, pausing to take a sip of water. “This will also allow me to help you behind the scenes as well.”

“While we appreciate your aid, Lord Hien, this entire operation is contingent on you living. Will you not reconsider coming into our custody where we know we can protect you?” Merlwyb asks, sounding as strong as ever.

“The operation does not revolve around me, my friends. It revolves around Varis atoning for the crimes he has committed against the people.” Hien frowns, threading his hands together. “He has murdered civilians he is desperate to rule over. Lied and stolen from his constituents. While Kugane needs a good leader, yes, it does not have to be me.” Smiling, something about him makes you wish you knew that kind of calm. “While I appreciate that you want me to remain in my seat, what matters most is his crimes coming to light and being locked away for what he’s done.”

Unable to argue against that kind of logic, you merely stand from your seat. “I understand. I need a moment of rest, so if you will excuse me.”

Not stopping to hear what anyone has to say, you flee from the room, allowing your feet to carry you anywhere within the estate.

Lord Hien either put too much faith in you, or he was a fool.

His certainty that all would be well, that things would work out, where did it come from? You could see his appeal, a confident, easy going charisma backed by an unwavering sense of justice, of doing right by the people. All the things that Varis lacked, that would make Hien the ideal candidate for Kugane.

But he was right. No matter how ideal he was, what mattered most was making sure Varis did not come into power. Even if it meant Hien somehow died in the process.

It was a tough pill to swallow, that Lord Hien was so okay with being a willing target so long as Varis was brought to justice. It made you feel as if his life was in your hands, a deeper part of you whispering to trust in his words, that he would do his best to keep himself safe.

Coming to a stop to a door leading outside, you step out into warm, summer air, feeling the grass between your toes. Days like these did wonder for your mood, making sure you made a point to keep as much stress off of you as possible. With everything going on, it was hard to do, but Merlwyb had aided in that department, making sure you kept your temper in check for the sake of the child growing inside of you.

The thought of getting rid of it had occurred to you more than once, to simply rid yourself of all the “what ifs” and “maybes” and be done with it. But each time you did, you found yourself weakened by the thought of being able to give your child everything you didn’t have. To raise her with the same love and adoration in which Minfilia had raised you.

When this was all said and done, you would have plenty of time to make your escape. Perhaps you would flee to Eorzea, make a new life and name for yourself there. You doubt Zenos would care enough to spend time to track you down on another continent, making it the ideal place to start anew. You could get a new home. You could find a new job.

You could continue running away from the best thing to ever happen to you.

#FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #zenos #zenos yae galvus #THP

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shadowsnlace · 4 years

Note

Could you write a scenario for Mayuri please? He's drunk and shows a lot of affection towards his s/o, which of course is unusual. Could this be NSFW? That would be awesome! And congratulation for 400 subs ^^

Sorry this took so long! I really love writing Mayuri. He’s a gold mine of comedic possibilities! And, I haven’t written a scenario for him yet, so no time like the present ;)

I went a little bit of a different way than Mayuri being drunk. I have the feeling that alcohol has no effect on him. All that modification that he’s done has probably made him immune to the effects. I hope you enjoy!

Oh, Mayuri, why must you hide this handsome face?

“Gotcha” – Mayuri Kurotsuchi

Mayuri had been deftly avoiding your attempts to dose him with libido boosters. It had become a game for him, one that he enjoyed immensely. One of the reasons Mayuri allowed your continued presence in his personal life was because you were so intelligent. He found you challenging and loved nothing more than thwarting your attempts to slip him a little something special in his food or tea. He’d even had to knock the rust out of his martial arts skills to dodge all manner of darts and other inventive hypodermic delivery systems that you’d created.

“I can’t believe you poisoned my dessert,” Mayuri shot you a side look as he walked by the bed where you’d draped yourself. “And that pathetic barb hidden in my chopsticks. It was so obvious.” He peeled off his clothes, placing them into a hamper in the corner of the bedroom. He turned around, giving you a full view of him naked. You quirked a brow, said nothing, and boldly scanned all your favorite places on him. “I do believe you’re losing your touch, my dear.”

You pursed your lips to force away a smile, “I guess you’re just vastly more intelligent than I am, darling.”

“Of course I – “ he broke off, trying to read your look.

The suspicion in his eyes made you want to laugh. The anticipation made you want to squirm, but you remained still, poker face firmly in place. One wrong breath right now would send Mayuri into high alert and your plan would dissolve like a fresh tissue sample in an acid bath.

“Hmpfh,” the huff was soft, barely audible, as he walked into the bathroom.

That’s it, Mayuri, time for a nice hot shower.

You watched him test the water temperature then get into the shower.

Gotcha!

You sat up on the bed, watching him as the water created streaks of white mingled with slivers of black. Any moment now the libido booster that you’d rigged into the showerhead would kick in and he’d realize it was too late for him. You admired his profile as he tipped his head back to let the spray rain down on his face. The black and white makeup melted away, running down the drain to leave behind Mayuri’s true visage. Ah, so handsome…

He managed to soap up and get about halfway scrubbed when the first effects began to settle into his bloodstream. His head whipped to the side, golden eyes blazed an accusing look your way, “You!” The edge in his tone was so sharp you could have shaved your legs with it.

“You’ve got about 2 minutes, tops, to finish your shower.” The triumph in your voice sounded a lot like smug humor.

He finished quickly, turned off the water, and barely toweled off. He fussed the whole time. “I can’t believe you poisoned me!” He began marching toward you, naked, eyes sparking with paint-blistering outrage, “It was in the showerhead, wasn’t it?”

You shifted to start peeling off your clothes. “Such a smart man,” you cooed.

“You sneaky, oversexed – ” He stopped in his tracks. His face relaxed, his eyes softened, “ – completely beautiful woman.” He reached out to pull you against him, running his hand up your arm to your neck, “Your skin is so soft, it fascinates me.” He tipped your chin to expose your throat for his lips.

You sighed and leaned into him. He shook his head, fighting the chemicals, “That’s it, you’re in for punishment! I should – “ his eyes hazed, “lick you until you scream.”

“Well, if you insist.” You sat down on the bed, shifting to give him room to join you, “I completely agree, the punishment must fit the crime.”

Mayuri opened the nightstand drawer. A hidden latch was sprung and he produced a vial that wasn’t familiar to you. “I prepared something new for you, something special.”

Excitement skipped through you, adding a quaver to your voice, “Wh-what does it do?”

He gave you a toothy grin, “You’re about to find out.” He pulled the stopper, tipped the vial, and watched a drop slowly ooze out to drop onto your nipple.

The reaction didn’t take long to go into effect. Pleasant warmth followed by a pulsing sensation made it feel like his mouth was sucking on your sensitive flesh. Your eyes widened as a surprised “Oh!” escaped your lips. A drop to the other nipple and you were soon arching your back, hoping to entice Mayuri to touch, lick, or suck on your pebbled peaks.

He watched you with a pleased smile on his face, used his one long nail to draw spirals around each nipple, grazing it when you least expected so that you’d suck in a surprised breath. “Are you enjoying my new formula?”

There was a breathy pant in your response, “Oh, yes!”

“I coded this to work only for your DNA,” he leaned over your chest, “that way when I touch you it won’t effect me.” His tongue circled your areola before his lips closed over the erect bud.

The intensity made you squeal sending liquid lightning straight to your core. He pulled and sucked, licked with the flat of his tongue, setting the rhythm for the pulsing that would continue as he moved on.

You were barely aware of him settling between your legs or his hands guiding your legs up and up until they were folded away, spreading you wide. Mayuri’s magic oil was keeping you focused on those sensations. That’s why it was such a shock when his long tongue plunged into your wet heat, his fingers pulling your lips open to allow him as deep as he could get.

Your body bucked as a loud gasp stole your words and nearly your breath. Your focus shifted as he began tongue fucking you, spearing that delightful muscle into you again and again, making sure to curl and tease at just the right spot.

You were just starting to build toward an orgasm when he dragged his tongue slowly up, flattening against your whole sex until he dragged it over your clit. A moan began but morphed into a groan as he sucked that little bud between his lips.

Mayuri knew your body so well, knew exactly what drove you to bliss and just how fast or slow he could get you there. Right now it was going to be fast. He wasn’t relenting or giving you any chance to relax. He meant what he said, you were being thoroughly licked as punishment.

Thoughts were tumbling and scattered. Between the thrumming of your nipples and the pulsing of his tongue and lips you were completely overwhelmed. Your body pulled tighter and tighter, you felt so hot, almost like you couldn’t catch your breath. Then you seemed to go numb for a few seconds before a burst of pleasure washed over you.

Mayuri’s hands clamped down on your thighs keeping them open, not letting up as your body jerked and your hips lifted into his greedy mouth. Deep moans turned to cries of ecstasy as he kept going until you were spent.

You were hazy, euphoric, unable to open your eyes as the bursts of colors behind your eyelids started to abate. You felt Mayuri turn you over and lift your hips. He stood next to the bed, impressive erection standing proud and ready. You propped your knees under you and eagerly angled your pussy up for him.

Mayuri’s thickness pushed into you, stretching you. He sank slowly, enjoying the slide into you. You moaned into the sheets, then groaned “Oh, yes…” as he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressing into that wonderful spot inside.

He stood straight up, gripping your hips as he set a steady pace. The retreats were sweet relief just as the deep thrusts were thrilling pleasure. You settled your cheek against the cool sheets, hands clawing them reflexively as Mayuri rode your g-spot. You rocked back a bit, enjoying the feel of him and knowing that you’d won this prize. Sure, he’d be fussy later, but for now, his attention and focus was all yours.

You were nearing another orgasm. Mayuri’s hand settled on your lower back. He stopped, seated deep inside you, then began pushing hard on you, bouncing you hard and fast on his cock. You sang out with primal joy. It felt so good. And then you were cumming, your inner muscles fluttering and clenching uncontrollably.

He grunted, but kept going. Once you went a bit limp, he stopped. He leaned over your back, dropped a kiss on your neck, his voice slipping into your ear like soft velvet, “I’m not finished with you yet, sexy.”

Before you could form a reply, Mayuri stood back up. His hands glided down the backs of your arms, stopping at your wrists to wrap his fingers there. He lifted your upper body off the bed, half-standing you up on your knees.

He pounded hard up into you. Every thrust beat at a spot inside you that shoved uncontrollable sounds from your throat. It was skating near brutal, but the pleasure was blinding. You could barely hear Mayuri growling something that may have been words. Swept away, your body was caught up in the maelstrom of another orgasm. A loud shout from him mingled with a scream from you that made your throat raw. You felt him thumping inside you like the beat of a drum.

Mayuri let go of your wrists and followed you down onto the bed, slipping out of you and landing next to you in a puff of exhaled breath that sounded a lot like contentment.

You stretched your legs out a bit clumsily since they felt like half-set jello. You caught your breath before cracking open your eyes to look at Mayuri’s handsome profile as he stared up at the ceiling. You reached over to rub the muscles of his chest. “That was amazing.”

He cut you a look, “Of course it was.”

You giggled. Smug bastard. Oh well, after that wild ride, you could let him gloat.

#Bleach #Bleach scenario #Mayuri Kurotsuchi #the smut fairy visited here #Gotcha by ShadowsNLace #Bleach imagines

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lvlyhao · 3 years

Text

「PART THREE: FAMILIARITY」

HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K

A/N: guess who forgot to update lol they’re whipped i just— also two surprise appearances hehfjfhsjh

important: i can’t think of anything??? the general warnings are in the masterlist if you wanna be sure none of them is a trigger for you!

word count: 2.8K

pairing: qian kun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

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Cussing like a sailor, you trudge towards the man, who's catching his breath by the sidewalk. His glance instantly darts to your face, about to say something. You cut him short, though, too disturbed by the fear that still clouds your every action.

“We have to leave while we can. Like right now.”

“H-how do you know I’m not infected?”, he asks, abruptly realizing something even more critical. "How do I know you are not infected?"

He backs away, then, gorgeous features closing off in hesitance. While he stares at you, you think his voice is much, much more angelic than you thought. It drips with uncertainty but is beautiful enough to make you forget how to speak for a minute.

"Uhm”, you clear your throat, now looking for your weapons. It's a good attempt at escaping his piercing eyes, but it dawns on you. He has quite literally no reasons to agree with what you were planning.

"I'm immune, actually. My DNA has some mutation that I honestly cannot explain that well. You", you pause, scanning his defensive form before going back to putting away your knives. "You are definitely clean. It's been over 15 minutes since I arrived: no walker bit you or you would have, at least, screamed. If by some chance it happened and I was not aware of it, I would have seen it in your eyes by now. It's the first part of the process", you grimace.

The guy stays silent while you speak, taking everything you say into consideration. You find it makes sense to him if his relaxed posture is anything to go by.

Finishing up with your arrows, you promptly head back to where you came from, assuming your companion is close behind.

“Wait!”, he trots, halting in front of you. “I… I don’t think I can go with you.”

You could say it's the dumbest thing you have ever heard, but your yell from earlier begs to differ.

“I can see you don't trust me, and you have no reasons to, but this is how rescue missions go. I see someone in danger, I do my best to get them away, and we go to my settlement, where we can hopefully be stronger by numbers. We can get there if we run." Your voice is borderline dull, almost like you have made that same speech 500 times in the past few days. It would have made him laugh, under different circumstances. Yet, he plainly breathes, running a grimy hand through his hair.

“It’s not that”, he peers around, lost. “I came to the pharmacy for medical supplies for one boy in my own settlement. He needs them as soon as possible, or I’m not sure I’ll be able to help him at all. Besides”, he tentatively lifts your dominant arm by the sleeve of your jacket, careful not to touch you. “We should clean that and put some bandages around it, even if I don’t have the time to stitch it up.”

You are not sure what part of his speech you should pay attention to first.

“You have a settlement?” The question bursts its way out of your mouth before you can think better, but he doesn't seem to mind. Lips curling into a proud smile, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah, I’m currently the father of 6 children from the college I used to attend”, he snorts.

“That’s amazing! I’ve been mapping this area for some weeks now, and I never found anyone”, you smile. “I’m currently the parent of”, stopping, you count the names in your not-chewed fingers. “16 children? Around that. I swear there's a new name every time we make the roll call."

Studying his kind expression, warm under the red sunlight, you feel as if you could talk to him for hours. I'd never get bored. Your situation seems small, squeezed all the way in the back of your mind. It's clearly much less important than your attractive stranger.

Gasping quietly in realization, he sobers up. He pulls you by your jacket once more, just as delicately, and keeps you close.

“Listen, I understand you have people to take care of, but you said you could get there in time if you run. My boys are not too far from here. I think it would be safer for you to come with me for now, at least wait until morning. Otherwise", he gulps, "we will both be in more danger."

You reflect his words guardedly. You are painfully aware that the clock is ticking and each second spent here makes it a bit worse. When the sun goes down is when things get seriously nasty. The night would swallow you whole before you could get to the campus, and then your eyes would be useless. You wouldn't be able to see any walkers or even traps you came across. You'd be a sitting duck.

Sighing, you know your decision has been made.

I can only hope Taeyong forgives me for this.

With a curt nod, your free hand gestures for him to lead the way. He seems awed by how fast you agreed but decides against mentioning it. Instead, he gives you a gracious smile and goes on. He stands just past the crushed glass, where you can now see a coffee-coloured messenger bag on the once-white floor. Something seems to be fidgeting inside of it, and you stiffen.

Before you can ask about it, he drops your wrist. Picking up the bag gently, he cradles it to his chest and looks at the inside softly. He coos, speaking in a language you know to be Mandarin. That’s when it pushes out—the little, furry snout of a puppy, licking his hand and whimpering.

It's like your systems just crashed.

“You have a dog in your bag?”

Laughing briefly, he turns to you again. Cosy inside of the leather is a tiny Beagle, looking at you with bright eyes. You can't help but think it's ridiculously adorable.

“Well, not at all times. I found her wandering around here, but one of her ears was bleeding and she’s limping”, his voice lowers to a whisper, watching her with concern. “One of my boys is a vet student. I thought maybe we could help her.”

Choosing not to question it, you simply nod. The bleeding ear would explain why she stayed here even with the noise. Her hearing must be quite damaged.

“And I’m assuming the medicine or whatever you needed is also in there?”

He's serious once again, reminded of the primary reason for his trip.

“Yes, I placed it in separate pockets and smaller bags. We are good to go.”

A breeze swiftly races inside the barely lit building. It’s a warning of how fast the twilight is coming, and he takes it. His quick steps sound first, light on the ground, and he checks to see if you are coming. Understanding of his rush, you jog along.

“I didn’t forget about your hand, by the way. I know a safe spot close to here where we can stop for me to treat it.”

Staring at his broad shoulders, your breathing hitches as the throbbing in your fingers come back. Treatment would be useful before you have to amputate it, but...

“Do you know how to do that? Not to doubt your capacities or anything, but I can just clean it with some water later.”

Running to come up to his side, he playfully eyes you. He is moving so naturally along the streets you imagine he must know this route well.

“I am a med student. Uh, was, I guess.”

His striking traits are highlighted by the blue hour, hues of periwinkle ghosting over his nose, forehead, cheekbones and lips. He chuckles airily, and you are conscious of how surprised you must look.

“A med student. That’s pretty helpful, huh? I’m sure you care very well for your friends."

From the corner of your eye, you see pink spread over his face. He glances up to the sky, lost in his own head.

“I try to. Our youngest has just turned 20. I can’t imagine what it must be like to go through this at that age.”

You hum.

“I know how you feel. I’m watching over an 18-year-old”, sighing, you think back to the freshman dance student at the settlement. You pray he doesn't feel your absence so strongly, familiar to his tendency to cry.

Comfort sparks in the way your companion bumps his shoulders into yours, drawing you out of foggy thoughts. When your heart suddenly tries to break free from your ribcage, you swallow dry. Could I not find a worse moment to develop a crush?

Beating yourself over your feelings, you travel silently, sometimes admiring the starry skies. It feels nice to be like this, almost… at peace. Funny how you can feel that way around someone you barely know while touring a town full of bloodthirsty beasts.

“Ah”, he breaks the silence awkwardly. “I still don’t know your name.”

You wince at that, realizing you were forgetting about it. It's like I've known him for ages.

“Sorry. I’m Y/N”, your voice is soft, rivalling the autumn winds.

“Y/N... That’s a beautiful name”, he compliments, eyes finding yours. “You can call me Kun.”

You say his name out loud, testing it, and giggle. It feels nice in your lips.

---

The trip to the first hiding spot was fast, just a matter of minutes cruising under the starlight. The place is a dainty, small wooden cabin, right at the foot of the mountains that surround the city. All around you are bushes and fireflies, that blink over stray pieces of cars. How they got to here, in the forest, is a mystery to you, but then again, a lot of things do not make sense anymore. It's simpler to overlook it and get inside, plopping down on a rusty chair as Kun grabs a flashlight from a corner.

His hands work quickly, and with confidence, like medicine is in his blood. It's impressive, but, most of all, painless. His touch is even gentler than Tyong’s and feels warm against your cool skin. A tiny smile plays on your lips the entire time, watching him and the sleeping puppy discreetly.

After that, your wounded hand is snug against the white bandages and the sting lessened. You feel like you could go on for miles, but Kun only laughs and tells you to calm down. No way you two are running uphill to his house.

“Wait, you mean you guys live… up there?”, you point, and he follows your finger, contemplating the towering trees of the forest nonchalantly.

Seeing your dubious expression makes his heart crack a little. He understands how intimidating it is: the dark, unknown forest. Who could guess what lurks between the twigs, spying on the few, brave souls that dare cross their territory?

“I know hiding from zombies in the woods sounds a bit weird, but I promise it’s safe. They have a hard time traversing the trees because they’re so closely set. Also”, he studies the grass beneath his feet, feeling a mix of shame and hesitance himself. “We might have planted a few landmines around the perimeter.”

The sound you make then is something between a wheeze and a gasp.

“How did you…?”

“I preferred to not question when Yukhei showed up with them”, he breathes, sounding like a tired father. “There’s a protected path we’ll follow, though!” He makes a face at how he saved the most important detail for last. I have no idea what is wrong with me today.

But, Kun thinks, secretly relishing on the way you shine under the moon, if you’re scared, I’ll hold your hand.

---

The journey to his house is more serene than you guessed. There are no walkers you perceive. It's almost like this place is completely cut off from the world, far away from real danger. Although maybe that is just Kun's effect on you. You have not failed to notice how tranquillity seems to flow out of him in waves, wordlessly comforting your wild heart. It's nothing like you have ever felt.

I met him two hours ago.

Once again shaking off your feelings, you try to focus on the other things that surround you. The crickets, the faint crunch of the grass and fallen leaves, an owl, how smooth his skin could feel under your fingertips...

Oh my god, you cringe.

As you steady yourself against the trunk of an oak, your shoulders finally loosen. Not too far ahead, you can see something that resembles a ski cabin, surrounded by barbed wire, and with orange light pouring from the windows. The path you walk on is surrounded by sharp wooden stakes from both sides, but the place still feels homier than the campus.

You don't notice your grin until he smiles back, taking your hand in his and continuing the walk. You remain quiet until the ground changes from grass, pebbles and mud to beaten earth, and you stand right outside the fence. It's far taller than you, with the metal glittering intimidatingly. If the landmines had not made you feel safe, this definitely has.

Kun, still grasping your hand delicately, surrounds the house with an attentive look. He searches for something and stops a few meters from where you were. It’s always simple to find—the crossing point—and he spins to face you.

“If you don’t mind holding the bag, I can cross over first and then help you. Is that okay?”, he asks, looking for approval in your eyes.

Warmth takes over your heart at his caring nature, knowing he could have just gotten in and expected you to not hurt yourself.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

With no other words, you reach for the bag, and hug it against your chest, observing the sleeping dog in your arms. While you are distracted, Kun steps on the lower row of wire and carefully places his hands on the upper one, creating a space he can shimmy through.

He pays close attention to where the barbs were, but does it calmly, and gets to the other side with a small sigh. He then gestures to the bag, stepping on the wire once again, and passing it over with even more care than he had for himself.

The moment he takes the bag from you, you feel your fingers brushing. While you both pretend not to notice, the heat rushing to your cheeks speaks for itself. Neither one of you mention it.

Then, it's time for you to get in. You can admit you are a bit apprehensive. Kun’s frame is sturdier than yours, in general, and he was just fine, but the idea of sneaking through sharp thorns is not exactly exciting.

Kun seems to know what you feel, and gives you a sweet smile, hoping to calm your nerves. He places the bag on the ground gently, trying to keep the puppy asleep. The process, then, starts over.

One foot over the first wire, a hand on the upper one and the other stretched out for you to grab. The wind picks up abruptly, and you can't tell if you shiver from it or from the grip of his fingers on yours.

“No need to hurry”, Kun whispers, eyes trained on where your body is concerning the barbs. He, time or another, tells you to bend a little lower or higher, and pulls more at the cable. To your relief, though, all is well. After a minute of wiggling, you touch the other side of the fence and allow yourself to rest.

“You did good”, he praises, patting your hair kindly. You sort of feel like a kid, but maybe not in an unpleasant way.

Tardily letting the tiredness from the day catch up to you, your brain slows down, and your limbs ache. You had not noticed Kun was already up on his feet with the bag until a hand shows up before your eyes, a silent offer. You take it without a second thought, letting him pull you up.

From then on, your mind gave up on processing a lot of what you did. You were nearly sure you went up a row of stairs to a wooden deck, the floor squeaking under your boots. Your new friend still holds your hand securely, which you are thankful for when you trip on a loose board. His eyes examine you for a second, making sure you're alright before he turns to the door.

It is also made of wood but painted red and unyielding. Letting go of your fingers, he knocks 3 times, waits a couple seconds, and then 4 others. The house, so far still, erupts into hushed cheers and shouts. Kun can only shake his head, holding in a smile, and look up when the door flies open, candlelight spilling out. The slim figure that appears nearly throws himself in Kun’s arms, but freezes when he sees you and the bag.

“Y/N?!”

“Hendery?!”

“...You two know each other?”

---

final notes: don’t question the way the virus works. just don’t, ok

16 notes · View notes

atamascolily · 3 years

Text

Tyrant’s Test. Okay, we’re almost done here.

We open with Chewie on Kashyyyk having family time! I may re-read that section because I want to do a Kashyyyk thing later and there’s not that much detail in the TTT. Right now, I’m interested in Luke stuff.

. It’s impossible to work when the Current is in chaos. And it’s intensely uncomfortable to remain connected when the Current is carrying so much pain.

This is interesting - so the Fallanassi live the way they do by necessity as much as choice - they cannot function without peace and quiet.

We start to see more of Akanah’s perspective and realize she’s manipulating Luke to keep him with her. At least Luke is aware of it?

But that threat was also nakedly manipulative, and his reflexive resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to resist it.

It was not that he gave no credence to the threat. Akanah’s conduct on Atzerri had made clear that she was perfectly capable of striking out on her own when her interests so dictated. But he had no compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar demon of Duty had reentered his consciousness during the conversation with the shipwright, and he could do nothing else until he either answered to his conscience or silenced it.

There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke knew his own mind—until he knew if he could allow himself to continue the journey.

Again, DUALITY. fuck. “my way or the highway” - LITERALLY.

For the question gnawing at Luke was not whether Leia wanted his help, but whether she needed it. If his presence might mean the difference between triumph and defeat, then he would go to her—as she had come to him in his darkest moment, aboard the clone Emperor’s flagship.

Leia had pulled him back from the precipice of the dark power, and joined her power to his to defeat Palpatine. If she had not been willing to sacrifice herself and the child inside her in confronting the reborn Emperor, Luke would never have broken the grip of the dark side—and the history of the intervening years would have been written with the pen of tyranny. He could not have done it alone.

But having seen not only the great strength in her heart but also the Jedi power she could summon, Luke was all the more loath to volunteer himself as a rescuer. He knew that Leia had within her extraordinary resources of will and power—resources she had of late become reluctant to draw upon. Luke thought that he was much of the reason, with both his example and his presence creating disincentives. It was important that she find that strength again.

It seemed to Luke that Leia had neglected, even abandoned, her own training, and that her training of the children had become unbalanced, with the disciplines of warrior and weapon excised as if they were dispensable. Luke had not spoken of it with her, but from what he had seen, it was almost as though Leia hoped to delay, training the children as Jedi clerics rather than as Jedi Knights—as if the path before her, the path he had followed, promised to take her somewhere she did not want to go.

It was her choice to make. Her destiny was no more clear to him than it was to her. But whatever that destiny was, it seemed that she was fighting it rather than following it.

And it was certain she would learn nothing from an errant Knight’s well-intentioned but unnecessary rescue—if she would even allow it to happen. Knowing her streak of aristocratic, self-reliant pride, Luke was not at all confident he could count on her to ask for help, even if she needed it—not after the fight they had had the night he left Coruscant.

No, those around her, the others who loved her, would urge Luke to return to her side, no matter what the circumstances. And Leia herself would insist that he stay away, no matter what the circumstances. It was essential that Luke make his own assessment of the situation, that the decision be his alone. And it was better that Luke stay out of sight and out of reach until the decision was made.

Hey, a Dark Empire acknowledgment! And also, again, duality: either/or. Either Leia saves herself or Luke saves her. There’s no middle ground, no compromise, not alternatives. Sigh.

As always, there were hundreds of blind messages—love letters and propositions, requests for personal favors, questions from amateur and would-be Jedi, the occasional diatribe from an Imperialist stubbornly resisting the idea that his world had changed.

Luke almost never looked at any of it. The novelty value of blatant proposals had long ago faded, and the one-two punch of praise and begging had worn thin even faster—it was as uncomfortable as being surrounded by a crowd in which everyone wanted to touch him.

So let me get this straight: Luke is constantly being bombarded with e-mail requests, yet he’s unaware that women want Jedi babies? UNREAL.

The young woman looked up at him with eyes widened by surprise. Her tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her as a follower of the Duality, a popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the twin principles of joy and service.

Oh, wow, DUALITY AGAIN.

“My goodness,” Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level and saw Luke clearly. “My goodness. This is an honor.” As an afterthought, he gathered himself for a salute. “Forgive me, sir—I don’t know your proper rank—”

“I no longer hold one,” said Luke, leaning over one of the data stations.

“Oh—I see. Then I’ll confess that I’ve never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual there, I guess—I don’t know anyone who has. Is there a proper form of address—”

“You can call me Luke.”

LOL.

The event had given both such inexplicable pleasure that he hated to take those memories away from them, but he had no choice. He had already blocked the machine records of his visit from being written to the logs. Compressing a nerve here, a blood vessel there, Luke brought on a moment of unconscious paralysis, and in that moment swept the memories from their minds.

Luke is very cavalier about mucking with peoples’ minds, I’m just going to say. Why not just mind-trick them directly?? Seems like that would be less invasive that cutting off blood vessels.

By the way, this is how we learn Luke and Akanah Did It:

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Have you ever had sex in hyperspace?”

This time she could not contain her bubbling laugh of bemusement. “Yes,” she said, and melted away into the night.

*shakes head*

“Where the Current touches self-awareness, there is a tiny ripple—as when you sense a presence with the Force. The metaphor is more different than the means.”

“But I can’t feel anything here—nothing more than the energy of the ecosystems on the fourth and fifth planets,” Luke said. “Nothing of consciousness—nothing of will.”

“It is not consciousness or will that matters—it is the profound essence of being, nothing more,” she said. “I can perceive the crew just as you would perceive a handful of sand I scattered on the far side of a pool. From a distance, sometimes you can see only the effect, not the cause.” She smiled. “But you must be very still to see even that, for you are also of the Current, surrounded by the ripples of your being.”

Yeah, okay, so the water metaphor is spot-on.

“Best for everyone if they never see us at all,” he said as he charted the course.

“Done,” Akanah said, looking on from behind Luke’s flight couch.

Luke looked up at her quizzically. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Eh—don’t you have to know who it is you’re trying to hide from?”

“Why?” she asked.

“So you have a focus. So you know whose thoughts you’re trying to deflect. It’s done with precision, not brute force.”

“That’s coercive,” she said. “And invasive. You reach into another mind and bind its thoughts, or place your own there.”

“Well—yes,” Luke said. “But the use of that power is constrained. The purpose must be important enough to justify the deed and the consequences.”

“It seems the Jedi are always finding reasons to justify their violence,” she said. “I wish you would try as hard to find ways to avoid it.”

“Violence? What violence?” Luke protested. “More often than not, all that’s required is to induce a moment’s inattention, or reinforce a suspicion. No harm is involved. A sworn Jedi would never—oh, make someone walk off a cliff thinking there was a bridge there.”

Akanah shook her head in earnest disagreement. “You, who’re immune to your own tricks—who are you to judge the harm done? You do this in secret, to lead a suggestible mind, or compel an opposed one. Do you think that those you’ve coerced see the morality of it the same as you do? Besides,” she sniffed, “it’s inefficient.”

“What?”

“Inefficient,” she repeated. “It requires your constant attention and involvement.”

“If you know an alternative, I’m your eager student.”

“What about the way you concealed your hermitage?”

Luke frowned. “That’s different. I created it from elemental substances to have that quality—to blend in with the coastline as though it were part of it.”

“It was a powerful bit of work,” she said. “When I saw it, I knew you had the gift of the Fallanassi. But you didn’t go far enough and apply the principle to its ultimate conclusion.”

“Which is—”

“To make it not merely resemble its surroundings, but merge with them,” Akanah said. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. She let the breath out slowly as she lowered her chin to her chest—and then she was not there.

“I’ll be a—” Luke reached for her where she had been standing, but his hand grabbed only air. “Cute trick,” he said, taking a step toward the refresher, away from the forward deck. “Handy for breaking into libraries, escaping arranged marriages—where are you?”

“Here,” she said from behind him. He turned to find her silting sideways in the right-hand seat, wearing a small proud smile. “Did I touch your mind?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not that I could notice.”

Akanah nodded. “A long time ago, one of the Circle discovered that when she achieved a particularly profound Meditation of Immersion, she would disappear from the view of others. Much later, we learned how to take an object in with us and leave it there.”

“Where do you go when you disappear?”

“Where do you go when you dream? It’s impossible to say. What does an answer from that context mean in this one?”

“Well—is it difficult?”

She shrugged. “Once mastered, it’s no more difficult or mysterious than concealing a cup of water by pouring it in the sea.” Then she smiled. “But achieving mastery is much like trying to remove that cup of water afterward.”

“And you’ve merged this ship?”

“Yes. Some time ago, while I was in meditation.”

“Will the engines still work?”

“Did the floors of your hermitage hold you, and the roof keep out the rain?”

Luke wrinkled up his face. “So we’re completely undetectable now?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing is absolute. But we’re safe from eyes, and from the machines that are like eyes.

gotta say, Luke totally deserves being dragged so hard here, given his behavior in these books.

“If I have to pick between your being an illusion and your being real, Akanah, I think I have reason enough to know that you’re real.”

OH COME ON WHY THIS COYNESS ABOUT THE SEX, LUKE??? Are you never even going to talk about it directly???

Oh, and Luke deduces that the Fallnassi are around him, and he can’t see them, which is clever. Not all of them are human - interesting. Luke convinces them to abandon their vows and help the NR against the Yevetha.

Leia goes to see Mon Mothma, which is kinda nice. They watch birds and it’s nice for Mon to be a mentor figure to Leia.

Leia turned and looked back at her mentor. “But I still don’t know how to choose between the other two.”

“I think you do,” said Mon Mothma. “What you don’t know is how to live with the choice. And there I can be of no help to you. That secret escaped you when the clarity left you.”

“When did that happen?” Leia asked, returning to sit on the edge of the stool at Mon Mothma’s feet. “I didn’t see it go—did you? Never before in my life have I struggled with decisions, or with accepting their consequences. It’s been so strange, watching myself from the inside, wondering why this woman was speaking for me.”

“Your clarity came from your certainty that our cause was just and our purpose worthy,” Mon Mothma said. “But there is little certainty of that kind to be had in a place like the Senate, in a city like Imperial City. Certainty is eaten away by the thousand and one compromises that are the currency of democracy. Causes fall victim to the building of consensus. Accountability becomes so diffused that it vanishes, and agreement becomes so rare that it startles.”

OH NO, there’s the duality again. Luke and Leia are mirrors of each other - see Luke’s ideas about isolation vs. civilization earlier. Sigh.

#star wars #eu fuckery #the black fleet crisis

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nosferatyou · 4 years

Text

Double Indemnity: Ch.1 (Josh Kiszka x Reader)

Summary: After an incident their freshman year they could barely stand to look at each other. Now it’s their senior year and are grouped together for their final project. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Cursing

WC: 2.3k

Authors note: Well. I flipped into Josh’s lane and thought of this sucker and couldn’t get it out of my head. After I heard the story behind the writers of “Double Indemnity” I just had to make this. Heres to me hopefully finishing a series! Enjoy!

Let’s go back to the day when I “met” Josh Kiszka and when I actually met Josh.

It was the summer before my freshman year of college, and at that point, film sets weren’t a stranger to me. But I sure didn’t have the experience that most of the already film majors around me had. I was roped in by my long time friend Jack who I hadn’t spoken to since graduation, but due to the circumstances, he needed as many crew members as possible. He had 2 days to write, shoot, and cut together a short film. I was a PA (production assistant) and was frantically running around helping in any way I could. I was smart enough to stay out of the way and speak up when needed.

I met most of the crew except one, the cinematographer/camera op, who was the busiest on set. The exception being Jack, who was the director. I heard the camera OP was only there because he had the nicest camera, but my mind may have tainted what I heard about him that day.

With only an hour to spare we had finished the film. All of us dehydrated and starving, sleep-deprived too. I was cradling a horrendous migraine from the lack of water and was ready to leave before someone suggested we go to Cookout. Which is arguably the best food at 3 am.

Against my will, I was dragged to the fast-food restaurant with the rest of the crew. At that point, I was barely conscious and sat in the back seat of Jack’s car. The stranger cinematographer who I hadn’t noticed was next to me until he tapped my shoulder. With a concerned look, asked me if I was okay and needed anything. Which was nice of him considering we’d never spoken.

After the short exchange of words, he never seemed to fully leave my side. May it be his glances from across the table with the same concerned look, or him bring me cups of water, which I still don’t remember him getting up for.

After that night it would be months until I see him again.

I didn’t expect him to be in my Post Production class, but I was definitely happy to see him. It was my first day of classes and to see a familiar face was a nice change of pace compared to whirlwind of a day. Though it wasn’t too long after that that my feelings for him changed.

If you’re a film student you’re going to edit a Gunsmoke fight scene, it is basically a right of passage. Anyways I was an experienced editor and of course, was going to cut the fight scene to the beat of an Ennio Morricone song. If we were going to work on a western scene then Ennio was a must.

I was damn proud of my work, I seemed to be one of the best editors in the class, josh being right there with me. We didn’t exchange many words, but we kept each other company by simply sitting next to each other.

Then came the critique day, when everyone watches your video and gives you notes. Usually its never good notes.

After our class watched it everyone had a lot to say, mostly over small slip-ups I didn’t notice, that’s normal. Josh’s video was next and the moment the music played I was livid, he had used the same exact song, even cut it the same way I did. The worst part was that no one had anything bad to say about it, all good comments. I kept it contained, for the most part. I didn’t verbally say anything, but my constant tapping and dirty looks in his direction said otherwise. I don’t think he’d noticed.

I waited until everyone left and simply gave him a piece of my mind. Maybe I snapped at him… either way, it led to us getting into our first screaming match. Josh saying he “didn’t” copy my video and me disagreeing. I honestly don’t remember how it ended, but I do remember us getting kicked out of the building for it.

Anyways that was three years ago, and we still hate each other. Yet here we are still in all the same classes, but the difference is we have silent warfares. Constantly competing with each other, showing each other our higher grades, and besting each other’s videos. I can barely stand to hear him talk anymore, but I do have to say. He knows how to make a good line.

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

Even with the cold chill of the November air prickling my skin and the wind whipping my hair, my mood couldn’t be damped. Maybe “chill” is an understatement. Living in “The City by the Lake” aka Chicago brings on the harshest of winters, and as crazy as it seems, I always weirdly miss it when I go back to Michigan. Sure it has it’s many feet of snow, but Chicago makes the wind weirdly dazzling.

This is my last coffee, I’ll switch to tea. Is something I say every morning when I get up before classes, but here I am again, with an out of place cold brew in hand and a raging caffeine addiction. In hindsight, it is better than my previous vice, cigarettes, but the headaches it brings on is just as bad as missing a cig. My one hand shoved in my pocket and the other is clutching the same cold brew as before. I may have said that I couldn’t be bothered by the weather, but I’m not immune.

As soon as I enter Columbia’s Media Production building everything becomes flush with warmth. Its a bit uncomfortable really. I remove my gloves and quickly checked my phone, affirming that I’m right on time as always. As I stroll through the halls I tune more into the music, enjoying my free time. There is just something about Chet Baker and Chicago that just mixes so well.

Todays a good day though, it marks my one year of quitting cigs. Did I mention that I quit? Because I quit. Anyways my roommate made a big deal out of it, I also figured out the coolest riff, I’m kind of shit at making music out of thin air so it’s a big day.

After taking the long way to my Directing class (Cinema Directing III if you want to get technical) I finally made it to the small class. Most of the class was there, luckily for me my two-year seat partner, Gwen, was already there, waiting where she always does. We met in our Single Cam 1 class and have been inseparable since, well actually Gwen, Cora (the previously mentioned roommate), and I have been inseparable ever since.

I made my way to my usual seat and peeled my overworn leather bomber jacket off, already feeling more comfortable. Slumping back in my chair I lazily grabbed my sketchbook and pencil out of my bag. Its become a kind of habit to draw my professors and classmates every day, something is just so fascinating about their compositions. I got to work on Gwen who was hunched over, focusing on her book in front of her. I got to work and as soon as I finished up on the basic shapes she quickly sat up, focusing on me.

“You ready for the final project?” She questioned, stealing my coffee in the process.

“I’ve been working on a few ideas already, but then again I don’t know the assignment yet. I do know I will be grabbing the usual 4 of you the moment he says “groups.”

“Heres to hoping we can pick- Oh!” She almost spilled my coffee when she interrupted herself.

“I forgot to text you! Happy one year of being ciggy free!” She exclaimed, handing me back the bottle.

I took a swig from the bottle when she gave it back. “Well thank you, darling. I feel like having clean lungs shouldn’t be such an achievement, but I guess here we are.”

“Be proud! Besides gives us a reason to head to Jerry’s.”

“We’d celebrate over anything if it meant going to Jerry’s and getting pissed.” I smirked at her.

“Well. You got me there. Anyways you are right, we will be getting drunk out of our minds tonight. Bless the man who decided to open a bar directly next to your apartment building.” She said, with a playful smile on her lips.

“Bless him indeed.” I laughed.

At that moment I locked eyes with none other than the aforementioned, Josh Kiszka. It’s oddly enough what we do every time we see each other. Which is more often than I think both of us care for. But seeing him roll his eyes every time I glare at him is kind of fun.

I followed him with my eyes as he sat down in his seat, instantly sticking his nose in- wait what is he reading? I focused and realized he was reading the screenplay for Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs.” Where the hell did he even get that?

My eyes snapped up to the professor when I realized he started class.

“Alright, I’m just going to jump into this. Today we start on your final projects, and I think it’ll be very fun. A challenge for sure, but fun nonetheless.”

I slipped a sly smile to Gwen, already thinking of the best ideas in my arsenal to use.

“In groups, you all will be recreating a favorite film, but it should max be 20 minutes long. Now that’ll be your job to rewrite and format it so you can fit in the timeframe. Oh, and I swear to god if another person does Pulp Fiction I will actually scream. You can hold me to that.”

Oh Jesus okay this will be hard as hell, I guess something with a simpler plot will be easy. Ooh, or something that’s so overcomplicated I can rewrite it so it’s simpler. What’s something that’d be good for Gwen, she’s a good actress, but she can only play so much-

“I already have your groups picked out let me just put them up on the board.” My professor said, searching for the list on his computer.

Oh god. He’s never done this. We always pick groups. If Gwen and I aren’t grouped together I may just riot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him drag the document over to the screen, so I quickly directed my attention to it.

I searched all of the lists, finally finding my name at the top of group four. Rob, Eric, and- Oh shit Gwen! Wait. There’s one more. The moment I saw the J I knew exactly who it was. My eyes darted over to Josh’s seat and had the same look I could only guess that was on my face. We both glared at each other, if we stared any harder we’d burn holes in each other.

“Motherfucker!” I whispered to Gwen, trying not to raise my voice.

“What? We are in the same group.” she looked back over to me with confusion on her face. She followed my eyes to the equally angry man across the room from me.

“Oh, shit..”

“Oh shit is right! I can’t work with that guy, I swear to god… Damn it, I can’t think of an insult! Quick help me!” I stammered out, you could practically see the steam coming out of my ears.

“Um... You can’t work with that Frodo look alike?” She suggested, both of us whispering to each other now,

“I’ll take it. I can’t work with that Frodo look alike! He’s just gonna take all of my good ideas and throw them into the lava like that fucking ring. Wait is it Frodo or sam who throws it? Know what, I don’t care. Look at what he’s making me forget important plot points in movies. I can’t work with someone who hinders my thinking process.”

“First off, Gollum falls in with the ring in hand. Secondly, drink your coffee and focus on what movie we should do. Suggest something so good so fast that it’ll make his head spin.”

She put the almost empty coffee in my hands and I took a swig, still glancing back at josh, making the same face.

Gwen started to ramble on, her words in the back of my mind. All I could focus on was wanting to be in any other group than his, even Leonard. He refuses to watch a Tarantino film, and simply because he thinks he’s beyond that. Leonard is someone I talk to if only necessary.

I tuned back in to hear. “I mean if you think about it, as much as you and Josh are to Frodo and the Ring. You’re more like Billy Wilder and Ray Chandler. I mean they hated each other, but damn if they weren’t good writers. Plus, they respect a good line-”

Inspiration was swept over me. I knew exactly what we had to do. Before I knew what was happening my feet carried themself over to Josh’s seat. Same as before, we both had the same expression, except this time it was one of surprise.

“Double Indemnity!” I blurted out a bit too loudly.

He seemed even more confused. “Double insurance money?” He questioned.

“Fuck. No. It’s the film we are going to make. It’s a fantastic idea, and it’s happening. Not even you can argue with me!” I sped out.

He sat for a moment in thought, his brows furrowed together and a cliche hand positioned on his chin.

“Fine.” Is all he said, his arms were crossed. He seemed defeated.

I simply turned on my heel and headed back to my seat. An overexcited grin plastered to my face.

#greta van fleet #josh kiszka fic #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka x reader #double indemnity #my fic #double indemnity series

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for-fucks-sake-h · 5 years

Text

No Other Man

a/n: I don’t have much to say other than he looked so fucking good this night and that is literally all that inspired this lol. Thanks to @biteharrysthigh for beta reading <3. Enjoy babes! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts! x

Word Count: 5.4k // Rated: M

He looks amazing.

Like walking, dripping, deep sex.

He always looks amazing but tonight? It’s like he’s been notched up to a whole other level. The pride pulsing in your chest may be making him that much more attractive this evening.

He’s being celebrated, as he should, for his spread coming out in Another Man. He deserves it. The photos were breathtaking. The articles and interviews were exceptional. You knew his fans were going to love it. You loved it.

You’re watching him across the room, talking with his hands, making the rings adorning his fingers catch the light every so often. He’s so inviting. You know once he gives someone his attention he zeroes in on them and pulls them in just with his eyes. Not to mention that he genuinely gives whoever he’s talking to his full attention. You’ve seen the person he’s talking with stammer once they have his focus, recognizing the nervous laugh that you use to sport more times than not around him. Now, not so much. But you weren’t immune, you just got better at hiding it.

His head tilts back as he laughs and your eyes immediately go to the creases that form on the back of his neck. Noticing how elongated his neck is, begging to be bitten. How the outside of his eyes crinkle with his smile, lighting up his whole face. You can’t help but to admire him. He looks tall and lean in his pristinely tailored suit. His hair perfectly coiffed, begging to be messed up. Your eyes flick down to his jaw then to his hand, black painted fingernails wrapped around his glass the way you want them wrapped around your throat.

Sometimes if you wonder if this is normal. If it’s normal to look at someone just being - them - and feel your heart and stomach twist simultaneously. To watch someone do the most mundane things but somehow make your heart swell with love for them by just existing. To see them doing something completely normal that somehow triggers your mind to suddenly filter in a memory of the way their face looks when they’re about to orgasm.

That’s always how it’s been with Harry.

But especially now. He’s been so busy, between the movie and his album and the press and everything that goes along with his job, you haven't had much time for each other. He’s been traveling a lot and while you are use to him coming and going, accustomed to only having him in spurts, it doesn’t make you miss him any less.

He flew in late last night, long after you had already been asleep. He snuck into your home quietly and made his way to your shared bedroom to find you curled around his pillow. He stripped down to his boxers and slid into the bed, slowly taking the pillow out of your arms to replace it with his body, relaxing as you wrapped your arm around his waist and nuzzled your face into his neck with a sleepy “love you” against his skin. He repeated the words back to you as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and fell asleep within minutes. The comfort of being back in your bed lulling him almost instantly.

When you woke up this morning, his side of the bed was empty yet still warm to the touch. You threw a sweatshirt on to cover your skin from the cold morning air and went downstairs to find him sitting at the kitchen island with Jeff going over a million and one things that he had going on.

The rest of the day followed in the same pattern. You stole kisses and quick words of how much you missed each other when you could. You sat curled into Harry’s lap on the couch as people from his team came in and out, going over the schedule for the rest of the day, the week, the month. But you never really got to have more than five minutes alone with him. You missed him even while he was right next to you.

Watching him now from across the room, all you can feel is how much you’ve missed him. His breath on your face, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his fingers holding onto you. It was consuming you the longer you gazed at him.

It was scary sometimes just how much you could love someone. How their presence in a room could ease your soul and ignite you at the same time. You were so happy he was home but at the same time felt like you were being teased with him so close yet still feeling so far away. You shook your head at yourself, suddenly questioning why you were on the other side of the room when he was right there.

Taking a sip of your drink you made your way over to him, catching the tale end of his conversation.

“You should be so proud of yourself, H.” John praises, turning his attention to you as you make the last few steps over to them. “Your boy is doing amazing,” he directs his comment to you with a smile.

“Always,” you smile as Harry wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side and kissing your temple.

“Well aren’t you two the cutest. Alright lovebirds, I’ll leave you to it.” John smirks, leaning in to kiss your cheek and clap Harry on his shoulder before wandering off.

“Alright?” Harry asks, blinking slowly as he looks down at your face, his eyes slightly heavy from the alcohol.

You hum in response as you wrap your arm around his waist as well, “Having fun?”

“Yeah, gettin’ tired though.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” you say before leaning up and kissing his neck softly.

“Are ya?” He questions and you can hear the smirk pulling up the left side of his mouth. Lifting your head away from where it’s resting against his neck to peer up at him just to be met with blown out green eyes gazing back at you.

You hum a quiet “mhm” with a nod as you lean in to give his bottom lip a soft kiss.

“I’ll have Jeff pull the car ‘round.” He kisses you softly before detaching himself from you with a soft, “Wait righ’ here.”

You finish off the last bit of your drink, turning to hand it to a passing waiter with a smile. The party is dying down anyway so you don’t feel bad about the possibility of swaying Harry to leave. It’s nearly two am and you know he really must be exhausted. You’re kissing someone goodbye when Harry appears at your side, leaning in to kiss the friend as well with a hand on the small of your back.

“Ready, love?” He asks as his fingers draw soothing circles against your dress. You nod with a small smile as you let him lead you out of the venue and into the waiting car. The ride home is quiet, your head resting on Harry’s shoulder while his fingers stroke lightly against the top of your thigh. You feel at ease just being in the same space as him again. Being able to feel his shoulder moving slightly with his breathing and the chills running up your leg when he scratches his nails against your skin.

You thought maybe he had fallen asleep when his fingers stilled and his palm rests on your leg. Lifting your head to look up at him only to be met with his gaze. His head is tilted against the headrest and you straighten how your sitting so you can do the same. His hand reaches up to brush along your jaw as he softly speaks, “Hi baby.”

You smile at the low rasp of his voice, both from the alcohol he consumed and the sleep that so desperately wants to pull him under.

“Hi baby,” you repeat back to him as you reach up to hold to the forearm that’s resting on your chest as his fingers pet your jaw and neck.

“Like when we’re both baby,” he says lowly, his mouth lifting into a smile at the same pace yours does. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, H.” You whisper as you lean in the inch needed to press your lips to his.

The kiss is soft, your lips dancing together slowly as neither of you lift your heads from your headrests. But when you tease your tongue against Harry’s top lip he’s turning his body towards you slightly at the same time his head is tilting to the side so he can graze his tongue against yours.

You feel like you’re both in slow motion as your tongues pass each others in a soft glide, his hand cupping the side of your neck so his fingers can press into the nape of your neck. His lips pull kiss after kiss from you, each one giving more of a crescendo into deeper kisses. And when you bite into Harry’s bottom lip and pull it back with you slightly before realising it he groans deep in his throat.

The sound alone makes your core clench with need. You push forward again, nudging your nose against his softly before kissing his cheek, grazing your lips against his skin until you could nudge your nose against his jaw. You sponged soft, wet kisses against his neck once he gives you access, tilting his head back against his headrest again.

His breathing was heavy, you could hear it as you bit into the skin of his jaw and you could feel his chest rising and falling harshly against the hand you had tucked under the tie he wore under his shirt, resting right over his heart.

“Do you have any idea how good you look tonight?” You ask as you press hot kisses to his neck, sucking a light mark into the skin just below his ear.

“Yeah?” He breathily answers, his chest rising and falling quicker the more you kiss and bite his sensitive skin.

“Mhm,” you whisper by his ear, “killing me. Can’t wait to have you,” flicking your tongue on the lobe as you scratch his chest.

“Can have me now,” he mumbles up to the roof of the car, pulling your hand from his chest to bring it down to his cock. He’s rock hard in his trousers and you can’t stop your fingers from squeezing him gently. “So hard for you.”

You give his cock another light squeeze while your other hand comes up to grip to the back of his neck. He turns his head, meeting your lips with his before his tongue teases into your mouth with a slow stroke against yours. “Have me,” quietly falls from his lips and into your mouth, the beg in his tone tasting like a warm caress on your tongue.

“Should feel how wet I am,” you tease against his mouth, swallowing his moan with another sucking kiss to his pink bottom lip.

“Let me,” he whimpers and the sound makes your skin feel like it’s been set on fire. He’s turning his body towards you, his hand gripping your waist before trailing down your side.

“Mm, we’re almost home H.”

“You’re killing me,” he whines, leaning in to steal another slow kiss.

“You can wait for me, can’t you baby?” Your question tingles your skin, the way you take on that innocent tone sometimes, knowing you’re anything but. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the car pulling into your driveway. “Take me inside,” you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Take me,” you whisper against the skin of his jaw, closing the request with a nip to the sharp edge.

He groans low in his throat. He almost sounds like he’s in pain. He almost is.

You hear the car door slam behind you as you make your way towards the house, hanging your keys on the designated hook once inside the hall that leads to your kitchen.

Harry is hot on your heels once you cross the door jam, his hand pulling you back to him by your wrist. You turn to meet him as he wraps his arms around your waist, your arms instinctually going up to wrap around his neck. He’s smiling before he leans in to take your top lip between his. One of your hands pushes up the back of his head, threading your fingers into the curls that were so perfectly styled at the top as he walks you blindly towards the stairs.

He walks you straight into the wall next to the stairwell, pushing you up against it with his body flush to yours. His hands are everywhere, squeezing your waist before pushing down over your hips to pull them closer to his own. His face is in your neck, sucking kisses being placed against your skin.

“H,” you whisper as he wraps one of his hands behind your knee to pull your leg up his hip. He pushes himself up to your core more, the pressure from his cock making your cheeks warm with a quiet moan.

He hums in response as he kisses down your neck to suck the skin covering your collarbone.

“Need you so bad,” you admit quietly to the ceiling. He pulls his face from your neck to look at you. His hands come up to hold to the sides of your head, keeping you in place as he leans in to kiss you again.

His hands trail down your body, fingers grazing the sides of your thighs as they lift back up to tuck his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

“Need you,” he speaks slowly, a stark contrast to his hands as they push your underwear down your thighs, quickly reaching up to bring the zipper down on the back of your dress. “Gonna show you.”

His fingers fumble with his buckle as his tongue licks out to graze the front of your throat, your head tilting back, listening to the pull of his zipper before you feel his shoulder move beneath your hand as he pulls his cock from the confines.

His eyes are on yours as he guides himself through your folds, his breath catching when his tip is coated in your wetness. He’s bending at his knees as your hand grips his hair tight and then he’s pushing into you.

It’s so slow, just his tip has you pulsing. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him like this. Since you could feel the heat of his body radiating to yours and feel his hands gripping your skin as tight as it is right now. When there was no rush and you could completely lose yourselves in each other.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your head falling back with a thud against the wall as he pushes into you further. You didn’t realize how much you missed the stretch of him. Forgetting how unbelievably full you feel once he’s pushed in all the way.

“Fuck,” he moans as his hips pull away from yours just to push back in. The hand holding your leg up is gripping bruises into your skin from how tight his fingertips are digging into you. His other hand is even tighter in the back of your hair. “Fuck, I love you.”

He gasps as he murmurs his affection into your mouth, quiet I love you’s accentuating each pulse of his hips into yours. You moan deep in your throat when he pushes in deep and holds it. He pulls back, eyes flicking over your flushed face, his hand untangling from your hair to cup your jaw.

“Gotta go upstairs,” you whine at his words, his lips shushing you with a kiss before continuing. “Can’t have you the way I want here.”

He releases the vice grip he has on your thigh and pushes back from you. You eye him for a moment, taking in his frazzled state. His hair is a mess, the collar of his shirt is wrinkled and his cock is the deepest, most beautiful shade of pink. It glistens when it catches the light, slick and smooth and completely coated in you.

You watch him shrug out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor before quickly pushing his pants down his legs, kicking them off where they’re bunched at his feet and leaning down to pull his socks off. He’s standing in front of you, silently watching you now in just his boxers and dress shirt, his cock pulled out of his boxers, begging for it’s return back to your warmth.

You push yourself off the wall and turn to go up the stairwell, pulling your dress over your head as you start to ascend, throwing it over your shoulder at him. You can hear him laugh as he follows you, his hands gripping your waist once you’re at the top of the landing.

He pulls you to his body and wraps his arms around you. His breath is hot at your ear as he plants a kiss to the back of your shoulder. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, holding you close to his chest as you start to walk down the hallway, making you stumble a bit.

When you make it to your bedroom you turn in his arms, pushing his hair back away from his face to rest your arms on his shoulders. His lips are flushed and his eyes are hooded and the way he’s looking at you makes your skin hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his face merely an inch from yours. “You, this, it’s all I’ve thought about. Haven’t been away from you this much in a while.”

“Gotta get used to it again,” you sigh.

He’d been around a lot more since the band went on hiatus. But you remember that feeling you always got right before you knew you were going to see him again after a long time apart. After it’s been a while and your skin starts to knowingly buzz with anticipation of feeling his hands grazing against it. Random rushes of goosebumps and twists deep in your belly when you would think about being able to touch him again.

It was torture. But knowing he was doing it too? Knowing that his mind was conjuring up all the different scenarios of you two together again? That was its own kind of torture.

“Did you take care of yourself while I was gone?” He asks, prompting you. It’s what you do, you both like getting the other talking. Telling each other the things you’ve thought about and done while you were apart. Even things you already know from phone calls when one of you just needs the others voice to get there. Coaxing each other to come from miles and miles away, just to feel connected.

“Mhm, had to,” you confirm quietly. “Felt like I was going insane.”

“You gonna show me?”

You shake your head no, making the line between his brows crease deeply in question.

You start to back away from him slowly, grazing your fingers across the back of his neck and down his chest until you step out of reach. You hold his eyes with your own as you reach back to unhook your bra and pull it from your body. You cup your breasts gently as you walk backwards until you feel the comforter on the backs of your legs. Sitting down, you pull yourself back until you’re towards the top of the mattress, twisting so that you’re stretched diagonally across it as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“I want you to do it, Harry.” Your voice is quiet as you tell him what you want. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Your heart was pounding as if you haven’t done this with him multiple times before. You spread your legs for him as he walks closer, watching as he unbuttons his shirt to push it from his shoulders, harshly pulling the black tie from around his neck and dropping it to the floor. He stands at the foot of the bed as his eyes drink you in, pushing his boxers down his thick thighs.

“Fuckin’ soaked, love.” He’s blinking slowly, his eyes hazy from his lust. “S’it all for me?” He’s climbing onto the bed, your legs spreading wider for him to fit between. You’re totally exposed but not an ounce of you feels shy. You want him to see what he does to you.

“Always. Fuck H, please,” is the quiet beg that comes effortlessly from you. He was just inside you but it’s like your brain completely forgot. Your body feels like it’s starting over, like he hasn’t touched you yet. Your skin is tingling as you wait to feel him, to feel anything from him.

He lays on his stomach between your knees, eyes trained on the desire that’s dripping from you. With his palm down towards the mattress, he watches as he pushes his middle finger into you in one smooth glide making your mouth fall open in a silent moan. He pulls his eyes up to yours as he extracts his finger only for his ring finger to push in alongside his middle.

When he pulls them out again he twists his palm up before he pushes in deep, curling his fingers up like a hook to brush the spongy wall that makes you gasp fully. Your head drops back on your neck at the feel. You know his fingers always reach that spot better than your own, but somehow you feel like you momentarily forgot. Or maybe it’s just been so long it feels like a shock to your system but it has you clamping down on his fingers hard.

“Fuck, you’re gonna squeeze my cock like that, aren't you love?”

He doesn’t give you any time to answer as he leans in to lick a strong flick to your clit. Your arms give out and you fall flat to the bed, instantly reaching down to card your fingers through his hair. The soft strands are tightly gripped as he licks his tongue flat against your clit repeatedly.

“Let me taste you,” you moan as his mouth suctions to your clit, making Harry moan against you in response. He wastes no time kneeing his lower half up the side of your body to place a knee on either side of your head, all while trying to keep his tongue stroking your clit.

You lean up the tiniest bit needed to flick your tongue over his tip before you’re guiding him into your mouth. He moans into your core at the contact, his taste - and yours - invading your senses for a moment before you’re pulled back to the slow circles Harry is tormenting your clit with.

There isn’t much room for you to move your head in this position, leaving him to pulse his hips into your mouth while your head presses into the mattress. Your hands are gripping his thighs, nails digging into the strong muscles as he fucks your mouth. And everytime his tip hits the back of your throat he moans deeply into your core, making him flick your clit faster or fuck his tongue into you deeper, anything to get you to moan for him too. Which you do, moan after moan vibrates his cock, making the whole act a circle of pleasure for you both, each moan spurring the other on for more.

“Wanna come like this?” His question is murmured against your core. He sucks one of your lips into his mouth, the same way he does when he’s kissing your mouth. You hum around his length, earning a curse from him before his tongue is back on your swollen bundle.

He pushes two fingers into you, gliding in slow and curling up before he pumps his hand. Your walls are fluttering around his digits as his tongue assaults your clit until you’re clamping down on his fingers and groaning your release around his cock. He always slows down with you after your high, coming down with you with the way he strokes his fingers into you gently and soothes soft licks to your sensitive clit. He never pulls away until your closing your legs around his head or gently pushing his head away when it becomes too much.

He swings a knee over your head so that he can turn around and lay on his side next to you, his fingers dancing along your collarbone and down the center of your chest, drawing random shapes to the skin of your stomach as your breathing evens out.

“Please fuck me,” you turn your head towards his face, opening your eyes slowly to meet his. They’re wet with desire, twinkling back at you from the street light shining into the room. He doesn’t say anything as he leans in to kiss you, your orgasm strong on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth.

He fits himself between your thighs, holding his upper body up on one arm as his face hovers over yours. He takes hold of his cock to run his tip through your folds, your orgasm coating him before he slips back into you.

You can’t take your eyes off his face, watching his eyebrows pull in once he’s sheathed in your heat once more. His face is beautiful, but watching him experience pleasure, knowing you’re the reason he feels good, it makes your skin tingle with your own pleasure. His mouth is parted, breathy moans slipping through his lips when he starts rocking his hips into yours. Your eyes trailing down to watch him lick his lips before he groans deep from his chest at the way your core clenches down around him.

His thrusts pick up, each one feeling like he’s pressing his cock deep into your belly. Your nails run up his back causing him to whisper a quiet “fuck” before they settle threaded in his hair. You can’t help but to squeeze the curls in your fingers with every pulse of his cock into you. His scalp is hot against your hands and his forehead is glistening softly.

“M’not gonna last,” he whispers over the soft sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Please come,” you beg before a moan falls from your lips.

His hands smooth back your hair softly, his fingers stroking down the side of your cheek. Certain things he does feel so intimate you wonder if he knows he’s doing it. The way he strokes the back of his knuckles against one of your cheeks as he thrusts his cock deep into you makes both your heart and your core throb.

His hand lowers, grasping to the side of your neck before his fingers wrap around it gently. Your nails dig into his scalp as he squeezes his hand around your throat, making the moan you were releasing come out broken and desperate. Tingles are bursting under your skin as his grip tightens on the warm skin of your neck, his thrusts becoming harder and sporadic.

You want to moan but the sound is getting caught, your mouth opening but no sound coming out. He’s watching your mouth hang open in silent pleasure, eyebrows creased as he digs his cock deeper inside you. And when he quickly releases your throat, you gasp harshly as your head tilts back, your back arching your chest up to his more as you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck me,” he moans breathlessly, slamming his cock into you once more before he stills. You can feel him pulse deep inside you once, twice, three, four times; each pulse accompanied by an even deeper groan.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, clenching down around him repeatedly, pulling every drop of cum from him that you can.

You reach up to push the top of his hair back but just as soon as you get your fingers into the strands he’s pushing his body down the bed, gripping your thigh to pull your leg over his shoulder and sinking two fingers into you.

“Har,” you moan deeply, a harsh gasp following when he leans in to stroke his tongue over your clit as his fingers fuck into you.

You lift your head to look down at him to find his eyes already lifted up to yours. He’s pumping his fingers quickly, his eyebrows raised causing little lines across his forehead as he tries to pull another orgasm from you.

“Come on,” he begs against your clit, pulling his fingers out just to push three back into you.

Your head falls back to the mattress as your core tightens around his fingers. Your hips are bucking up to his face uncontrollably as each wave of pleasure coasts through your body. His fingers switch from pumping to instead curl and pulse deeply while his tongue is heavy on your clit. Each movement pulling a moan from your throat. His other hand grabs your hip roughly, indenting his fingertips into your skin to try to keep you still as you ride out your high, riding through it with you.

You grip his hair to pull his mouth off you when you really can’t take anymore. Lifting your head again to be met with bright, wet eyes. His lips along with the skin surrounding his mouth are flushed red and glistening from you. Just looking at him makes your clench around the fingers that are still inside you.

He leans in to press a wet kiss to your thigh, sucking the skin harshly before releasing it and slowly pulling his fingers from you. You watch him climb up your body with the left side of his mouth pulled up into a smirk until he can press his mouth to yours, sweeping his tongue against yours. He sucks your bottom lip softly, pulling away to press his plushy lips down the skin of your jaw, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck and letting his full weight press you into the mattress.

You stroke your fingers up and down his back, scratching over the top of his shoulders and down the hard planes of muscles, feeling him breath in deeply and exhale against your skin. The room is quiet for a bit, just your breathing and soft sighs pressing into each others skin, fingertips stroking gently anywhere they can reach.

“Want a sandwich?” He asks, suddenly pulling his face from your neck to look down at you with a boyish grin.

You chuckle at the way he’s nodding his head, willing you to say yes. Everything about him is endearing. The top of his hair is sticking straight up, his cheeks are still flushed and there are scratch marks painted on random spots of his skin. You hum a quiet “mhm” before leaning up to kiss his mouth softly.

He climbs off of you with a smile to disappear into the bathroom, returning not even a minute later with a baby wipe from the container that you keep in the vanity.

“Can you grab me a shirt?” You ask as you clean yourself up.

“What do you need a shirt for?”

“Aren’t we having sandwiches?” You chuckle as you climb out of bed and make your way over to him.

You wrap your arms around his waist once you’re close enough, his hands rubbing up and down your back as he leans down to pull a slow kiss from your mouth.

“Don’t need a shirt for that, love. They’re shirtless sandwiches.”

You try to fight your smile but it’s hard when he’s letting his own radiate off his face. He detaches your hands that are locked behind his back and steps away from you, turning to walk towards the door. You can’t pull your eyes from him, watching the way the muscles of his back move under his skin, how his body goes from broad to narrow in a blink as you scan your eyes down the length of him.

He turns back to face you when he steps out into the hall, his eyes light with mischief when they meet yours. His hand holds to the door frame as he speaks, “You coming?”

***

Thank you for reading! x

Masterlist // Ask

#harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #those pictures of him haunt me on a daily basis #so now we all must suffer :)

1K notes · View notes

lywinis · 5 years

Note

Ineffable Husbands: I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine / I'm waiting for my man / Here he comes, he's all dressed in black / Beat up shoes and a big straw hat / He's never early, he's always late / First thing you learn is you always gotta wait I'm waiting for my man

AO3

[1941, three months after the incident in the cathedral.]

Crowley was almost never on time. That was something Aziraphale had become used to in his acquaintanceship with the demon. It was as though he eschewed all rules, not just his own, arriving precisely when he meant to – and usually precisely when it would annoy Aziraphale the most.

He tried not to think on it too hard, instead breathing in the cool night air. It was tinged with the smell of smoke and burnt brick, scorched timbers rising over the skyline like skeletal fingers, but it was cool. That would have to do.

It was half past eight, the thick fingers of night creeping over the city as mandatory darkness swept through London. The sound of planes was on the edge of one’s subconscious, even for the angel, and he frowned, looking up at the starry sky. Would the Luftwaffe blot out the small pinpricks of light again tonight?

The bombings had become unpredictable, Hitler’s forces wearing themselves down against the staunch British cheerfulness that propelled them through the war. Even Aziraphale was weary, the smoke and death wearing his mortal form thin. He was sick to death of war.

That was partially what this was about. His botched attempt to lead the Fuhrer astray from his horrible plans meant that Heaven was losing this conflict. He’d not heard from the others stationed throughout France and Germany, or even Switzerland, but he was quite sure there was a reason for such radio silence.

Even as inured to violence as angels were, surely they couldn’t be immune to such horrific sights day by day, month by month. If he was as heartsick as he was, surely even a being like Gabriel might take pity, though he rarely walked the earth anymore.

It was another reason to contact the demon; he had a feeling that this wasn’t Hell’s doing. Sure, some demon might take credit for the conflict – and that demon might even be Crowley – but it was rare that demons pulled this off on a global scale. Influence was a tricky thing; one had to believe that the choice was theirs, because it was.

Aziraphale wanted to meet with Crowley to see about teaming up to end the war. Or at least, slow it down.

The first hour had him looking at his pocket watch and sighing.

The second hour had him peering through the dark with a frown.

The third hour had him marching back into the city proper to drag Crowley out of whatever hole he was hiding in. They rarely met, both being busy with the war effort on either side (not to mention botched spy activities, he thought with the tiniest wrinkle of his brow at himself). He could go months or years without seeing Crowley.

If he were honest, that was another thing. This time he’d been worried and had pushed up the next meeting.

He didn’t think Crowley had realized he was limping. Likely the hot foot had hurt more than he’d anticipated. It was compassion that caused Aziraphale to reach out.

Truly, it was.

He hurried down the avenue, avoiding the stones with preternatural grace, his sensible shoes scuffling along the crumbling pavement. He missed his oxfords, but the buttery leather had no place in war-torn London, and he’d opted for being sensible rather than fashionable, at least until this dreadful business was over.

Crowley was quite a chore to find on the best of days. While Aziraphale had his shop – at least, while the war hadn’t been on, now it was disguised in the rubble of the street and tucked away where it couldn’t be gotten at – out in the open, Crowley holed up and disappeared.

Needs’ must, of course. The righteous must be a beacon of all that’s good and upright, and that meant out in plain sight. Evil tended to hide its head from the light of day.

Thankfully, Aziraphale considered himself a bit of an expert on finding this singular specimen, and he got himself toward the tube as fast as he could, avoiding the eyes of the patrol with a little bit of prestidigitation. Thankfully, he knew better than to bother with the crowded shelters, heading for the collapsed Balham station. Still unrepaired from the bomb that had struck the street above, the station was closed, the lights out like the rest of the city.

Aziraphale had a hunch. He stepped lightly down the stairs, passing through the locked gates, picking his way through the rubble. They’d managed to clear goodly swathes of the crumbled infrastructure, but he was looking for…ah.

An access door, almost hidden off the tracks, up and out of reach of the flooding. That was what he was looking for.

He sniffed.

While he didn’t have as good a nose as the demon he was looking for, he knew exactly what he happened to be seeking, which was a large help. Under the wet, musty smell of the tube itself, the scent wafting out of the access door was familiar.

New leather, good earthy greenhouses, the hint of a campfire. There was also the scent of engine oil, very faint. Crowley had bought a car, a strikingly terrifying automobile – he’d been proud of it, showing it off to Aziraphale when he’d taken him back to his corner of London.

Crowley loved that car (as much as any demon can love anything), and drove far too fast for the war torn streets. Neither car nor owner seemed to care.

Aziraphale touched the lock, felt the tumblers turn beneath his angelic caress, and pushed the door open.

Crowley looked up from his rather plush looking chair as Aziraphale stepped into his well-appointed apartment. Fine leather seating, wood floors, carved stone walls, all of it screamed high rise apartment, all of it was buried in the walls of the Tube.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded, brows drawing low over his sunglasses.

“You missed the meeting.” Aziraphale shrugged. It seemed rude to take his coat off so readily in the abode of his erstwhile enemy.

“Yes, well, I had things to do.” Crowley sniffed. “Totter on then, Angel, there’ll be bombs tonight.”

“Well, then I ought to stay here, oughtn’t I?” Aziraphale said. “You’ve carved out this cosy nook for yourself, and it’s safer deep underground.”

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Crowley hurled himself to his feet, only to hiss an expletive as his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the waxed wood floor, the dull thud of his body echoing in the cavernous apartment.

Aziraphale saw then that the demon’s feet were bare, wrapped in gauze that was now weeping red against the elegant arches of Crowley’s feet.

“You’re hurt.” Aziraphale said, starting forward.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. The angel stopped, dithering half a dozen paces away. “Just…just go.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Let me help.”

“Are you deaf from the raids?” Crowley said, mustering enough willpower to pull himself back into his overstuffed chair. “Must be. I told you to get out.”

“Cr–”

“No!” His pale fists clenched on the good leather of the chair. Aziraphale could just see the long fingers spasm, delicate knuckles moving beneath the porcelain of his hands. “Stop it. Go home.”

Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height. His wings belled from behind him, his primaries brushing the walls as he glared at Crowley, a righteous tizzy pressing Crowley back into his seat.

A tense moment of staring became a tense moment of silence, then a tense moment of contemplation.

“Let me do this. I owe you for the books.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Angel.”

“Oh, do hush, Crowley.” Aziraphale tucked his wings away, smoothing his feathers as he did so. He shuffled forward, manifesting a small copper basin, which he set near the fireplace. It was burning without smoke, without wood, so it was all right, he reasoned.

“It’s not hellfire,” Crowley said, at his hesitation. His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. How he knew, he couldn’t say.

He decided not to dwell on it.

He summoned some water, set it to heating, and went about summoning the rest of what he’d need. The foot bath was hardly a new invention, but it was something that would ease the pain in the demon’s feet.

It had been the floor of the cathedral. He’d been hopping about as though he was on hot sand, but Aziraphale had seen Crowley walk across hot sand with barely a whisper. (He may or may not have watched Crowley leave before the floods, and Eden before that.)

Carefully, he stripped the bloodied bandages from Crowley’s feet. They were nice feet, he thought, his toes elegant, long and well-formed, like his fingers. His arches were delicate, sculpted. There were no blisters or callouses on his feet, his skin just as pale here as the rest of him. Delicate veins like skeins of color in marble, and Aziraphale traced them with his gaze.

Very well made, for an angel. Fallen. He corrected himself, turning Crowley’s foot this way and that. Fallen angel. Demon.

And here he was about to clean his feet.

He decided not to dwell on that, either, and got to work.

Marring Crowley’s soles were large patches of bloodied skin. Holy ground, it would have seared him to the bone, and wouldn’t be miracled away.

And yet he’d willingly gone into the church for him. To help. Aziraphale swallowed and poured the steaming water into a wooden trough he’d summoned for him to work with.

He scraped the acacia nuts, grinding them into a fine powder, his fingers going dark as he added them to the water.

“This might sting,” he said softly.

Crowley was silent, though he could feel the demon watching him, his face inscrutable with the glasses on. Aziraphale carefully set one foot into the cooling water, carefully letting the tannins soak into Crowley’s feet. An old remedy, as old as time, and it was one of the only ways to treat these burns. They would fester otherwise.

Crowley remained silent, even as he allowed Aziraphale to manipulate his legs as he willed. The angel carefully wiped away the blood, watching Crowley’s toes curl when he hit a particularly painful spot.

It must be torturous, yet Crowley seemed more intent on watching Aziraphale than making noises of discomfort. It made the hair on the back of his nape stand straight up, as though he were back on the wall, watching the rain and lightning lash the desert, striking the sand and turning it glassy with the Almighty’s anguish after Adam and Eve fled.

Lotion of wine and myrrh, summoned from Israel. It was Important, and he snapped his fingers to bring them to him, without question of the power it would cost him this month, or the questions it would raise Upstairs.

It was Important.

Carefully, he pulled one foot at a time from the bath and dried them; he anointed them in honey, myrrh, and wine, wrapping each one in clean gauze.

Carefully, he manifested a fluffy carpet square beneath Crowley’s feet, setting them down and leaning back on his heels.

Carefully, he avoided the demon’s gaze.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said.

His name, his True Name, startled him, and he looked up. Crowley’s glasses were gone, his lambent yellow eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face, pupils blown wide.

It was said so softly, with such tenderness. It made him ache. It made him…

It filled him with such sadness, he thought it would fill him up and tear a chasm in him. Angels loved, indiscriminately, in that way the Almighty did. Crowley was…

He was…

Aziraphale didn’t know. Knowing would mean that he himself was Known, laid bare beneath the gaze that burned like twin stars in the firelight. Something in his eyes called to the wildness of Aziraphale’s core, and it…

It frightened him. He shouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

It wouldn’t have been right. At the same time, he knew it would have felt like coming home. How he knew, he couldn’t say.

He rose to his feet, the movement jerky, as though he were a marionette desperately trying to continue to move with half its strings cut. He snapped his fingers to clean up his mess.

“I’ll leave you be now, Crowley,” he said. He smoothed down his waistcoat, biting his lip and looking anywhere but at Crowley’s naked gaze. “Buck up, you’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

“I–” Crowley started. Aziraphale didn’t let him finish, didn’t let him fill the silence with tempting, pretty words that he was so desperate to hear.

He took his leave, hurrying from the tunnel and all but running for his bookshop.

There were no bombs that night. The silence weighed on Aziraphale like a yoke about his neck. It would be his penance.

#kamidoodles #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #lywinis writes

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

lay me gently | ksj (preview)

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin. | monsters and gods pt 2 (masterlist)

pairing | seokjin x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, aphrodite!jin, hephaestus!reader, disabled!reader (kind of, it’s presented more as chronic pain, but that’s a whole discussion), fluff, slight angst but not a ton, v brief allusions to violence but its purposefully vague, not so brief descriptions of physical injury, descriptions of chronic pain, cyclopes! everywhere! i use that word so many times!, this also features dionysus!jimin but only a little,

word count | 11.3k for now

a/n | short lil preview bc i’m so close to finishing it but also have --89515221354 willpower to finish and edit this, so hopefully seeing that people are even halfway reading about this will kick my ass into gear!!!

It's hot. It's always hot here, the consequences of living inside a volcano, you suppose, but the callouses on your skin have long since made you immune to the burns. You glide down through the halls, an old habit since the day you crafted the wheels you attached to your sandals. No longer did you need to carry the awkward and hefty cane everywhere you went, or struggle to make your leg move the way you wanted it to. The invention of the wheel was one you were forever proud of.

The forge is already blazing when you arrive, each of the hundred levels full of cyclopes all hammering away. Steam hisses and rises through the air, and you chance a glance at the lava bubbling miles below you.

"Careful today," You call to the cyclops closest to you. "It looks like she's feeling the burn again. Raise the guards soon, and keep them up until she blows. No sense letting good work go to waste." The cyclops nods and barks orders out at others across the levels. You wheel yourself further along, the sound of the celestial bronze shields being brought up serving as background noise. You probably could have waited another day or so to raise them, if you were honest; cyclopes are fireproof, which is useful in a forge, and you yourself aren't likely to be taken out by a mere volcanic eruption. The work, though...heat like that could affect even the strongest of your creations, and you all worked much too hard here to have to reform every bolt, repour every blade.

You valued your time too much for that.

"You have a guest, my lady," one of your workers called. You look up from the notebook in your hands - soot-covered, bound in leather, edges singed, with bits of paper sticking every which way from the many times you've jotted something down for later and stuffed it inside quickly before tying the leather cords that bind it - and frown. The cyclops grimaces slightly. "It...seems to be Lord Zeus."

You scoff and spin yourself around to follow him to the elevator reluctantly. "Probably wants to commission another throne, the bastard. Should've stuck him to the last one, maybe he'd get it through his head that not everyone wants to fuck him." You wave a hand and your guide gives you a curt nod before returning to work. You settle yourself in the lift and flip the lever. It's not a long journey, thanks to the many improvements you've made over the years, but it still seems that too soon the grate is sliding back into the wall to allow you exit.

You tap your heels together twice as you glide off the lift, already reaching for the cane that you keep there for situations like this. The soft clicks and whirs are nearly imperceptible as the wheels break themselves apart and regress into the hidden compartments in your soles. Your leg becomes dead weight once more, and you wince at the way it drags behind you. You've half a mind to curse whoever came to call on you this time; you hate walking, even if the charade is a necessary one. You're still contemplating the idea when you hobble into your entry to see Zeus himself, stoic and cold as he ever is.

"My lord," You call, barely keeping the venom out of your voice as you do. Many would say it's the heat of the mountain making your blood boil, but you know the truth. Very little in the world sets you off like the man in front of you.

He turns and fixes a blinding grin on you. "My dear Hephaestus!" You scoff at the title; no one has called you by your name in centuries, lest they inherit your lameness. "Wonderful to see you, truly. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Yes, four hundred years does seem to crawl by without you to grace the halls of my forge," You drawl. His eyes steel for a moment, your sarcasm not as lost on him as you'd hope, but it quickly passes. "Why are you here, my lord?"

"Well, you remember how I said I would owe you a favor?" Your eyes narrow and you nod. In the handful of times Zeus has repaid the hundreds of favors he owes, it's hardly ever been something positive. "I'm here to pay it! I brought you a gift."

"A gift, what-?" You don't get the chance to finish. Zeus has already waved forward a steward he brought along. Your heart aches for the boy as sweat drips down his body and his tunic is already singed. Your own leathers are slightly oppressive in the heat, but at least they don't catch fire. Zeus takes a scroll from the boy, harsh and rough, and shoves it into your hands. You unravel it quickly, your eyes darting across the words on the paper.

"A marriage?!" Your screech echoes throughout the mountain and the clanging of metal on metal pauses for a moment. "What am I supposed to do with a marriage, much less one to a-" You scan the paper again. "A love goddess?"

"Not a love goddess," He tuts. "The love goddess. Well. Love deity. Aphrodite is a beauty, you're lucky I could arrange such a thing." Your eyes strain against your skull, threatening to pop out with every word Zeus says.

"What in all of Tartarus is a ‘love deity’ supposed to do in my forge?" You ask him. He scoffs and waves the question off as if it doesn't matter. Your hand twitches with the urge to throw him into the lava, and the only thing keeping you from doing exactly that is the pain striking through your leg - a bitter reminder of just what Zeus is capable of - and the knowledge that it wouldn't even kill him.

"Your mother was adamant about this, Hephaestus." You echo his scoff at this; you're sure she was. "Aphrodite will arrive within the week. See to it that everything is fit for a god." He chuckles at his own joke, and a vision of your cane shoved through his skull implants itself in your brain. You force yourself to take in deep breaths. The scent of hot metals, sparks, and sulfur calms you, as it always has.

"Fine," You say, though Zeus is already on his way out. "I'm not keeping anyone here against their will, though!" Your shout goes ignored, as you knew it would. You grumble under your breath and hobble back to the elevator. Within moments you're shooting down to your bedroom, large and situated close to the heart of the volcano. You don't bother to activate the wheels of your shoes, instead leaning on your cane until you get to your bed.

The plush mattress and blankets are a relief on your aching hip and leg and you let yourself lean back and just relax for a moment. The notice is still clutched in your hand and you find yourself staring at the looping curves of Hera's signature, wondering what she's up to this time.

Memories flood you before you can stop them; being a young godling in Olympus, attached and in awe of your mother as she led you around the city, light gleaming off the golden columns. Seeing the fire in Zeus' eyes the first time he struck her in front of you, and the blaze that came when you stepped in front of her. Starlight glinting off her silver robes as she cried in her garden. The bruising vice he kept on your calf, the feel of the winds against your skin as you fell, the way Helios painted the sky as you kept falling. The feel of a hammer in your hand for the first time, juxtaposed to the throbbing pain in your crippled leg every time you so much as twitched.

The notice is across the room before you realize you've thrown it. You want to believe she isn't playing games; Hera has always been somewhat conniving, but your mother has never been outright cruel to you, not since the night you tried to save her from her husband, and she always had her reasons. You may not always agree with her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had them. Still, condemning an innocent person to a life here...condemning you to live your days with a constant reminder of your plainness, your deformity, wasn't something you expected from her. Zeus, yes, but not her.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, only to adjust a few moments later when the pressure on your hip becomes too much. You're angled now, weight resting on your good side to alleviate even a bit of the pain from the other. It was the only way you could get a moment's peace since your fall, the only time the pain lessened.

You allow yourself five breaths. Five breaths to let the tear slip down your cheek, drawing its path through the soot and the smoke. Four to let your breath shake in your chest and shudder in the air. Three for the ache in your hip to disappear completely, so you are blessedly free from your pain for once. Two for the thorns to tighten impossibly around your heart and let it bleed for you. One for the hole in your chest, shaped like a loving father and a true family that doesn't constantly commission weapons from you to throw at each other.

Pain arcs through your leg once more and you wince. Your hand massages the muscles there absentmindedly; it provides no relief to anything but your mind. You stand and click your heels together once more, glad when the wheels are stable once more. In seconds, you're off, flying through hallways to get to your workshop.

You've got work to do.

It's nearly the entire week later when one of the workers knocks on the door of your workshop.

"Aphrodite has arrived, my lady." You wave at him and he disappears back into the mass of his brothers. It doesn't take you long to get to the entryway, rolling through the halls until you're just outside the large bronze doors. You retract your wheels and grasp your cane, reminding yourself that the more people thought Zeus had crippled you debilitatingly, the better. Your hip aches again and you tune it out in favor of tapping the end of your cane against a small hammer at the base of the doors. There's a quiet whir as they slide open, and you limp forward as best you can.

The foyer is packed with people, cyclopes everywhere with bags slung over their shoulder, forest nymphs tapping at their smoking roots, naiads hissing with steam. In the midst of everything stands two still figures, one infinitely more familiar than the other.

"I thought I told you that the next time you step foot in my forge, I'd stoke my fires with your bones." Your voice is loud as it reverberates across the walls. Both figures turn to look at you, but your glare doesn't falter.

"Aw, are you still mad about that?" His smile is deceptively innocent. "You never would've gotten her off that throne otherwise."

"It wasn't supposed to be her throne in the first place, was it?" You spit back as you make your way to him. It doesn't escape your notice that everyone but the cyclopes is staring at you, and you're glad the heat from the mountain keeps you flushed. You can't show weakness in front of this crowd, you can't let them know that you know they think you're below them.

You can't let them know that in your worst moments, you agree.

"Get the fuck out of my mountain, Dionysus, before I throw you out."

"Ooh, take after your old man a little too much there, don't you?" Jimin's smile never leaves his face and you resist the urge to smack it with your cane. Instead you tighten your grip on it and take a breath.

"What are you doing here?" You eventually ask through gritted teeth.

"Just escorting a dear, dear friend." His grin has turned predatory as he rests a hand on his companion's shoulder. "My dear Hephaestus, I'd like to introduce you to Aphrodite." You glance over, looking the man up and down briefly.

He's taller than you - though with your pained hunch, many are. His shoulders are almost as wide as his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the granite walls and bronze moldings. His clothes aren't practical in the least; soft and sweet and flowing linens in a pale lilac that complements the purple of his hair. It's a stark contrast to the harsh reds and greys of your soot-stained leathers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are the same color as the grease you use to oil your inventions and give you no clue to his thoughts.

He's fucking beautiful and it brings a sob to your throat.

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tanyuu · 5 years

Text

end-eavor

Hi! This is my first article-style theory. It’s obviously not like an actual article, you can tell by the deteriorating quality and fact that I used my own headcanons in place of canon information, but I’d just really love to see an article written by a sleep-deprived reporter bashing Endeavor.

That’s… all this is. It’s just a 7-page rant on why Endeavor is a terrible parent. And then it quickly dissolves into a theory on why Dabi is Todoroki Touya, so… good luck.

The reporter who writes this (Ella) is me! I’m not actually a reporter or writer at all, but I work around books. So. I’m gonna call bullshit on myself and get INTO THIS!

YEEHAW!

Todoroki Enji, also known as Endeavor (#1 in PHR, but #-7,000,000 in our hearts), has at least three children. They are known as Todoroki Natsuo, Todoroki Fuyumi, and Todoroki Shouto. Shouto has been in the public eye for a while now, especially after he was accepted by recommendation into UA.

Shouto was confirmed to be previously the victim of an act of domestic violence. His well-known facial scar (over his left eye), covers a quarter of his face. The cause was confirmed to be his mother's unstable and rapidly declining mental health.

All three of the Todoroki children released statements in the following years to plead their mother as not guilty (and worthy of single custody.) Endeavor harshly refused these claims, and insisted that their mother had endangered his children. (though he did not call Shouto his child. the term used was 'masterpiece,' which implies... certain things.)

In all fairness, Endeavor's stance on the topic is expected. The safety of your children is important. It's a touchy subject though, so all you need to know is this:

- Rei Todoroki (ice quirk), mother to the Todoroki children, poured boiling water onto her youngest child (Shouto)'s face.

- The cause was deteriorating mental health, but the cause of said mental state has not been released. Ever.

- Endeavor has potentially harmful opinions regarding his children, as well as near POSSESSIVE qualities with and to his youngest child.

Moving on.

Todoroki Natuso (quirkless), has cut ties with his father, for unknown reasons. Speculators and theorists claim that his father MADE him, as to not interfere with Shouto's "training."

He is now working as a doctor near Shizuoka Prefecture, and has saved many lives. His sister and brother are very proud of him. (and we bet his mother is, too)

Todoroki Fuyumi (sparking ice quirk) works as a preschool teacher. Though Natsuo moved out of Endeavor's "estate" (look up the square footage. we DARE you), Fuyumi has not. According to THIS (link) article, she will not until Shouto has graduated from UA. When prompted, she gave no answer.

Now, you're probably wondering: "Hey, Ella? If there's some kind of scandal, why don't you just go right out and say what you think is going on?"

That's the fun part! I legally CAN'T. Todoroki Enji (Endeavor, your #1 PUBLIC HERO) has ordered that no reporters are allowed to comment on 'how he runs his family.' And honestly, I value my job just a LITTLE too much to run the risk of the Hellflame's wrath.

Onwards, I suppose. And time for some (LEGAL) speculation.

If you recall, I mentioned how there are three confirmed children. That's because (and i did some actual digging here) there are FOUR legitimate Todoroki children.

Does anyone else remember the sports festival 6 years ago? The kid who had a CRAZY blue fire quirk? And then there's the fact that five-ish years ago, all of the footage from the semi-finals was deleted. Almost all of it.

Now, (I say with a grimace, here) I found one photo, and anyone with an eye on the news regarding high-profile villains would recognize THOSE piercings.

Why am I bringing up this blue fire quirk kid, anyway? Blue fire, blue fire, blue fire.

Todoroki Enji, ENDEAVOR. THE NUMBER ONE HERO. Lied about his kids. I'm definitely losing my job now, so... might as well just go with this, I guess. How do I know this?

We're familiar with Endeavor's ultra-move, the jet-stream style fire blast. He used it in the Hosu attack earlier this year, just before he captured the villain 'Stain.'

What color is the fire in that crazy powerful attack? B L U E.

Sports Festival mystery kid? Blue fire, spiky RED HAIR, turquoise eyes. It's like... younger, amped-up Endeavor.

I brought up piercings already, right?

The boy from the sports festival (let's nickname him v2 for now, short for Version Two of Endeavor. because I would pay SO MUCH to see this kid kick Endeavor's ass. i'll be linking a kickstarter for that later, too) has four piercings on his ears, and a triangle of nose piercings on both sides of his nose.

Blue fire, spiky hair, turquoise eyes, a FUCK TON of piercings, and just LOOK at this smirk: <IMAGE ATTACHED>.

Now, who does this remind anyone of?

The leader of the Vanguard Action Squad of the infamous League of Villains (LoV). The villain's name is 'Dabi,' which means 'Cremation.' Coincidentally, I looked up what v2's quirk was named. After a HELL of a lot of digging, I found both v2's name AND the name of his quirk.

Cremation.

And as for the name, well, I'd like Endeavor's official and public reason for keeping his FIRST and OLDEST child out of the public eye.

Todoroki Touya.

What am I implying, here? That one of Endeavor's children became a villain? A high-profile villain, involved with the kidnapping of a minor and attempted murder of at least 19? A villain with a criminal record longer than Shiozaki Ibara’s hair?

I'll provide a list of reasons why I (personally, and definitely not free of bias) think there's way more going on in this picture. Thank you for reading this far, by the way. It really does mean a lot, especially considering that this will likely be the last thing I'll... ever write, at least professionally.

To answer my own question, I'm telling you that Todoroki Touya became the villain 'Dabi.'

Now for the REALLY fun part. Why on Earth would Touya even become a villain? And especially as one of the children of such a well-known (but, frankly, not well-liked) hero?

I have a short list of reasons why this may have happened.

- Todoroki Enji kicked Touya out (reasons unknown, date unknown, all unconfirmed)

- Touya ran away (reason unconfirmed)

- Pressured by villains (honestly? unlikely)

But, drawing attention to the scar patterns on Dabi (Touya?)'s arms and face. It's a fire burn, but not a REGULAR fire burn. From the looks of it, it wasn’t caused by an external force (you can tell b/c of his fingers). But this implies that Dabi did it HIMSELF, which... is a whole new can of worms.

(I swear all of this is relevant. I'm just... speculating. Diligently.)

In order to do so much self-inflicted damage, you would need a few key things.

1) High pain tolerance. (30% of Dabi's skin is scar tissue. That's... a lot. Have you ever accidentally touched a flame? It hurts, and keeping it there would hurt a lot more. Doing something like that and holding the flame there requires a lot of control.)

2) A high sensitivity to your OWN quirk. Now, quirk biologists have talked about how people usually have a natural immunity to their own quirks, especially emitter-types. But, if Touya THEORETICALLY had a body made for an ICE QUIRK (see where I'm headed?), it would explain why he was so easily burned.

But why would he have such a pain tolerance? And especially... towards burns...?

Well, I'll let you decide that one for yourself, there. I'm not allowed to talk about that, remember?

GREAT! We've answered some questions! (some meaning, like, two)

Now onto a Fun Part™! (It's not fun. Honestly, writing this makes me feel horrible. The things pro heroes cover up, no kids should EVER go through ANY of what I'm writing about.)

So far, Enji's been in the wrong... probably 80% of the time? Some of it (20%) can be marked down as 'concerned parent,' but the rest... yeah.

Anyway! Let's address a concerning topic. There are a few things I'm going to be talking back and going back to QUITE a bit:

- Shouto's refusal to use his fire in the Sports Festival last year (earlier this year? time is a concept, and i'm not familiar with it)

- The difference in personality with the Todoroki trio. (i'd say quartet, but my boss says i'm not allowed to interview a villain, and also. all of these. are still speculation. please pay me)

- How Endeavor (#1 hero. i keep bringing that up just to reiterate who exactly is the current face of the hero world and WHY THE FUCK IS HE STILL TH-) addresses his children

Where were we again? Let me check.

Oh yeah, before I start yelling about Enji being a piece of shit, I'm going to say a few things about myself. This article is very unorthodox, and I shouldn't... technically do this? BUT I'm already gonna lose my job! So, onwards and upwards, y’all:

- My name is Ella.

- I work for a really well-known (and lovely) publishing company, as a writer and editor.

- I get paid XXXXX a year. Which is okay, and better than some other companies, but I'm still... not getting anything out of this, so you can't say I was paid to write this. If anything, I'm LOSING money by writing this. (but i'm in too deep to stop now, so...)

- My hands hurt a lot from writing this. I've written it all in about an hour, but the research has taken me WEEKS. W E E K S, I TELL YOU-

Todoroki Shouto (15, Half-Cold Half-Hot emitter quirk, aptly named) is a student at UA. He is in class 1-A, the Hero Course. He's been involved with many mainstream villain attacks, such as the USJ invasion, the Stain + Hosu event, and All Might's last stand.

Shouto's personality can be seen as cold and standoffish, and the media likes to depict him as an aloof pretty boy. Please keep in mind, he's... been through a lot. And I'm speculating that he's been through more than anyone's actually THOUGHT about before. Kudos to him.

In the Sports Festival in Shouto's first year, his fight with Midoriya Izuku was ALL OVER THE NEWS. The green haired “no bones about it” kid had gotten Todoroki "I'm not using half of my power" Shouto to use his fire. Nobody knows the exact content of the fight, but it's worth mentioning that Shouto smiled during it. Full-on GRINNED.

(the more i think about that... the sadder it is? kid didn't look like he’d smiled very much. ever, actually. WHY COULD THAT BE-)

Speculation as to why Shouto didn't actually use his fire during the first events (and according to his classmates Asui Tsuyu and Kirishima Eijirou, he hadn't used it all YEAR. not even during the USJ invasion) was rampant through hero forums. Popular theories included:

- Shouto didn't want to one-up his classmates, so he restricted his power to make it fair. (which is understandable, but.... hon.... how likely is that. the damn MOTTO is ‘plus ultra’)

- Shouto was told not to by his father, and didn't, as some kind of rite of passage. (which is a whole NEW kind of 'what the fuck, enji' and i'm just. not touching that theory)

- My personal and biased favorite: Shouto was rebelling against his father after being pressured to surpass him and be even greater. (which, fair. honestly, any kind of intense pressure ESPECIALLY from a high-profile parent is stressful. take music lessons, for example! kids are gonna give up if they're forced to do shit! come ON, endeavor)

Endeavor (in MULTIPLE) interviews, has referred to Shouto as 'his masterpiece,' or 'his greatest work,' or other terrifying names. Honestly. Children aren't property, and although quirks are tossed around like clothes in a washing machine, their uses don't justify the treatment of their people. Especially with all the stigma surrounding "villainous" quirks. (WHICH IS BULLSHIT, OKAY? quirks aren't inherently villainous. sure, some are a little less flashy and virtuous, but fear is irrelevant! it's what you choose to do with what you have that matters. choices affect content of character, not predetermined morality)

BACK ON TOPIC. I'm not sorry. I feel like I could write a whole separate article on why villainous quirks don't actually exist? Should I? Hell yeah. I will, eventually.

Endeavor's blatant favoritism of Shouto is highlighted by the way he talks about his other children. By that, I'm referring to the fact that he outright DOESN'T. Not one WORD on Natsuo's confirmed cure for quirk burns. Not ONE WORD on Fuyumi's (SIX) teaching awards.

And, most concerningly?

Endeavor has refused to allow Todoroki Rei to leave the mental hospital she was put into (10 YEARS AGO) although she's passed EVERY SINGLE examination. (fuck, i'm not allowed to talk about that. OH WELL if i go i'm going OUT)

Shouto has affirmed that he doesn't want to work under his father, and will likely be joining a separate agency in the event of immediate hero work after graduation. He sort of implied that his father didn't know when to stop, but then left the interview.

"Didn't know when to stop? Stop what, Ella?" Remember how I mentioned some kind of 'training' way early into this? Mmm-hmm.

I'm going to do some extreme hand-waving here. This is ALL speculation, and as of now it's ILLEGAL speculation.

Back to Touya for a second. The records I found said that he won his match, but lost the semi-final due to intense quirk backlash. The time of the first match was INCREDIBLE.

6.3 seconds. Holy... SHIT.

(great job, touya! we're all really proud of you!)

Honestly! That's crazy! Record-breaking, even. Second only to... Shouto.

Second to Shouto. Maybe that's... not the first time Touya's heard that phrase.

Anyway. Training plays a role in this, because the difference in control between Shouto and Touya with fire is barely noticable. They both copy a move (left hand swing and then a full-fire short range blast) from each other. Well, maybe not from each-other.

Let's look into the Hosu fight. Endeavor uses a blue-fire jet-flame attack (can't remember if it has a name, only that it's INTENSE and I would NOT like to be on the receiving end of it), but later with the LoV's monsters (they're called 'noumu'), he uses a very familiar move.

Left hand swing. Full-fire short range blast.

Only this time, there's no eye flinch or subtle shoulder tense. Only cold, hard, fury.

What am I implying?

Well, I can't legally talk about THAT, now can I?

Thank you very much for reading this! I picked up this style from a few meta posts in other fandoms; the writer has access to information the reader does NOT, in this case the lack of canon information regarding Dabi’s background and/or schooling. I added headcanons:

-Natuso being quirkless

-Touya going to UA

-Touya being a badass (that’s not really a headcanon, though. he’s related to fuyumi. of course he’s gonna be a badass)

#dabi is a todoroki #786653328 #thats my tag for fics i WROTE #ya YEET #wooooo #bnha #todoroki touya #dabi is touya todoroki #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki natsuo #todoroki shouto #todoroki enji #todoroki rei #speculative fiction #character study #todoroki family #all handwaving! none of this is canon!#im a shit writer but IDC #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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louislouisrap · 5 years

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Roarin Twenties ch. 1

Ah hello it’s been awhile

This was supposed to be a short thing but it turned into a long thing. I’m thinking it’s probably going to be my longest fic yet and I think for now the first-gen quirk idea is gonna be put on hold (´･ω･`)

With that said have some more Kirikacchako ☆*ヾ(-∀・*) Although it’s more like Kacchako and Kiribaku and eventually it’ll become Kirikacchako? I haven’t thought that far ahead but poor Bakugo is tormented by the fact that he’s in love with two people. So sad.

You can also keep up with this on my Ao3: louislouisrap

A fancy gala is the perfect opportunity to dredge up the feelings you've been trying to push down.

Bakugo stared at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. It wasn’t that he looked bad--no, he looked too good, too fancy for his liking. However, hard as he’d tried, there had been no worming his way out of the dress code for tonight’s event. Best Jeanist wouldn’t let him.

Bakugo had been a sidekick at Best Jeanist’s agency for two, almost three years now, almost immediately after graduating. Kirishima and Sero had been especially surprised, and even Best Jeanist himself had been at a loss for words for a few moments when he’d opened the door to his agency and found Bakugo standing outside with his trademark scowl, sidekick employment papers filled out and at the ready.

Bakugo knew that being a sidekick at Best Jeanist’s agency would not be easy, mostly for his ego. He’d been absolutely humiliated during his first internship with the then-number four hero, though looking back at that time as an 18-year-old with less of a temper and two more years of experience behind him, Bakugo could admit to himself that he’d been a huge brat. He had the advantage of brute strength, but Best Jeanist had years of experience to draw from. Lightning quick control of his quirk, assessing any situation and acting in the blink of an eye, the ability to remain calm and collected under pressure. UA had opened those doors for Bakugo. He had learned to be calm and to be quick, but Best Jeanist could do it better; by age 18 Bakugo had finally matured enough to swallow his pride and accept help from the same man who’d dismissed him before as reckless and unruly.

And it had been one of the best decisions of his life. He was no Present Mic, but under Best Jeanist’s watch, Bakugo’s public image slowly morphed from that of unstable hothead to an alright guy. He had learned how to put on a halfway decent outward appearance, and while his public speaking skills left much to be desired, at least he no longer scared children. He had honed his agility and critical thinking skills and was truly a force to be reckoned with. Now, at the tender age of 21, he had finally broken into the top ten heroes in Japan and, after a year of working his ass off, was finally going to open his own pro hero agency.

As if the Japanese Hero Billboard Chart in itself wasn’t a big enough event for Bakugo, Best Jeanist had reminded him that there was always an evening gala following the stage presentation.

“So when you say gala…” Bakugo leaned against his desk at the agency, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Formal wear, Bakugo,” Best Jeanist replied from his office chair and Bakugo swore he heard a hint of delicate glee in his voice.

The explosion hero slapped the edge of the desk as he rose to his feet. “Well, you all have fun then, I’ll be sure I’m watching something else from my couch at home.”

Best Jeanist sighed. “I thought by now I’d have drilled it into your head that appearances are everything, Bakugo Katsuki, but it appears I’ve still misjudged your thick skull after all these years.”

Bakugo stretched his arms out in exasperation. “Look, I’ll be at the main event, isn’t that enough? What the hell else is there to do at a fancy fuckin’ dinner?”

“Networking, most importantly,” Best Jeanist countered, poking a well-manicured finger in the other man’s direction. “But it’s also another public image opportunity, and one that you sorely need now that you’re in the top ten. You’ll be meeting with members of the press, political figures and public servants who will be looking to you for protection and who will be counting on you now more than ever.”

Bakugo grunted and looked away, crossing his arms with a ferocious petulance.

“You want to be the number one hero, Bakugo. That means taking everything that comes along with it.”

“Yeah, okay!” Bakugo spat angrily, still looking away. “You made your point, alright? But the event’s tomorrow, I don’t even have a--” He stopped himself before he could get out the rest of that sentence, stunned into silence by his own moment of idiocy.

Best Jeanist leaned back in his chair and though his mouth was hidden from view, Bakugo knew he was smiling underneath his denim costume. “I see you remembered who you work for.” He pointed to the storage closet behind Bakugo’s desk. “There’s a tailored suit in there. Charcoal, orange tie, black Oxfords. I assume you at least have a dress shirt at home that fits, but just in case I’ve included that as well.” Bakugo opened his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

Bakugo’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at the number three hero before plodding over to the closet and pulling out a thick wooden hanger, heavy with the weight of the suit, covered in a black garment bag. He slung the bag over his arm and bent down to snatch up the pair of gleaming black Oxfords on the floor. He’d never held anything quite so nice (or expensive) before, and he hated it.

“Thanks,” he drawled, voice thick with disapproval.

Best Jeanist inclined his head and Bakugo could just feel the smugness radiating from his half-hidden face. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Bakugo.”

Bakugo swiped the rest of his things from his desk before heading home for the day. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already halfway out the door, “go fuckin’ pat yourself on the back some more.”

And now, here he was, glaring at the figure glaring back at him. By some magic, or through powers that Bakugo didn’t really want to think about, the suit fit perfectly. It was a beautiful, smokey charcoal color that contrasted sharply against the satiny, vivid orange of his tie, a nod to Bakugo’s hero costume. The lapels were thin and classy and the two black buttons down the front gleamed. (There was a note pinned to the jacket as well: “Close first button ONLY”.) The waist was tapered and form-fitting without being constricting, and the edge of the jacket formed around the curve of his butt and not a millimeter lower. The crease running down each pant leg was razor sharp, and the break just barely hit the tops of his impossibly shiny Oxfords. Best Jeanist had even included a pair of black socks.

Bakugo was immediately reminded of the male models he’d seen in the magazines at his father’s workplace. Yeah, he admitted, he lookedgood, but at what cost? Already the tie around his neck was stifling, and he resisted the urge to rip the thing off and burn it up in his palm.

He inspected his hair. He knew Best Jeanist would give him shit about not styling it, but Bakugo couldn’t have cared less. His sandy blonde spikes were slightly less unruly just because there was now less of it--in the past couple years he’d preferred to have his hair cropped a bit closer to his head in a more professional looking fade. That was enough of a style, right? Right.

Bakugo adjusted his lapel one last time before tearing himself away from the mirror and resigning himself to his well-dressed fate. Soon this night would be over, and he could go back to worrying about the more important aspects of his career. The entire day had been stressful enough; he’d managed to keep his composure professional at the stage event in the wake of his firecracker nerves--excitement, nervousness, pride--and even said a few words for himself that were a far cry from his declarations of singular success at the UA sports festival five years ago. The mobs of press that swarmed the heroes after the event ended had been the anxiety icing on the cake; this gala would be a shake of anxiety sprinkles on top of that. Bakugo looked forward to coming home afterwards and shoving his suit in the darkest corner of his closet, never to be seen again.

His phone chimed suddenly and Bakugo strode over to his nightstand to inspect it.

Kirishima: hey man sorry again i couldn’t be there for your big day, but i saw everything on tv!!! you were so fuckin cool!!! really proud of you :) gettin ready to head back home in a couple days, lookin forward to hanging out and going back to the gym

Bakugo sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. If today’s events had given him acute anxiety, then Kirishima was utterly chronic. The realization that he liked his best friend had been slow to dawn on him, though perhaps that hadn’t been entirely unintentional. Bakugo had had an inkling while they were still students, but at the time he’d been so hellishly focused on his goal to become the number one hero that he’d pushed aside any feelings that had bubbled up whenever he and Kirishima spent time together. Which, admittedly, was often.

There was something absolutely magnetic about the redhead, and Bakugo, hard as he may have tried, was not immune to his pull. Kirishima’s enthusiasm, his strength, his spirit, energized Bakugo mentally in a way he couldn’t begin to explain. It was almost intoxicating, and even after their class had graduated, Bakugo couldn’t stay away. Not that Kirishima would have let him, though. They had become practically inseparable by that time, and when Kirishima broke the news that he’d been accepted at a pro hero agency a mere 15 minute metro ride from Bakugo’s apartment, it had been difficult for him to hide his excitement.

And yet, it was as if there was still an invisible wall between them, with both of them unable to break through to the other’s side. A hesitancy to dig deeper, to get closer, and when they felt themselves reaching that wall, they backed off. The question of whether or not one liked the other more than a friend hung heavily over them, had been for years, but neither one had felt confident enough to coax it out into the open.

What if he asked, and Kirishima said no? The thought had kept him up at night on more than one occasion, and for awhile Bakugo had been content to let his curiosity die down for awhile. But now things felt different. Kirishima had been away for two weeks volunteering at a new pro hero agency in a location that was often gently referred to as “underserved” and "at-risk". The agency was lacking in staff, manpower, resources, and Kirishima had generously offered his time and services to help get the place up and running. Bakugo had been genuinely happy for him, and didn’t seem too perturbed in the beginning by the fact that the town was a good three-hour ride by bullet train.

“You better not slack off at the gym while you’re gone,” Bakugo had warned him with a grin. “Otherwise be prepared to get your ass handed to you when you get back.”

But now that it had been two weeks of physical separation, Bakugo was becoming acutely aware of the strange emptiness he felt without Kirishima there, and it was digging up feelings that he’d hoped he’d buried long ago.

Bakugo was preparing to text back when two more notifications popped up on his screen.

Ashido: you better show up tonight!!! i know you hate this kind of thing but i also made a bet with sero so if you could just pull through for me that’d be great <3

Bakugo snorted. Along with Kirishima, Bakugo had had a hard time getting rid of Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari. Through sheer determination, they’d glommed onto him in their school days in spite of how aloof Bakugo had tried to appear. Truthfully, he hadn’t really minded them and perhaps he’d been a tiny bit grateful for their tenacity, as he was not very adept nor experienced at making the first move in friendships. Kirishima and the rest of them had effectively done the hard work for him, and by their last year at UA, Bakugo sincerely cherished them as a weird sort of family.

He swiped to the next message.

Uraraka: Can’t wait to see you tonight!! It’s gonna be fun :D

Ah, the other source of Bakugo’s unrest, Uraraka Ochako.

She’d never really been on his radar in school. Sure, he respected the hell out of her and her skills, and he’d seen how much impressive progress she’d made in their three years at UA, but outside of that, they’d never really gotten that close. It wasn’t until they graduated that a friendship began to blossom.

They’d both gotten jobs as sidekicks in towns next to each other, a pleasant surprise they’d learned after they’d met at the same bar after their shifts. The first time around, they’d spent a few hours there chatting, Bakugo finding that it was quite easy to talk with Uraraka. They talked about her parents’ business and how she’d begun sending them money to help expand it and buy better equipment. Bakugo told her about how Best Jeanist was doing, and his experience as a sidekick so far. They exchanged horror stories of all sorts, from the embarrassing to the truly awful parts of the job.

He’d walked her home when it got dark, and they discovered they lived only about a 10 minute walk from one another.

After that, Uraraka would sometimes show up at the end of Bakugo’s shifts on her days off, to offer some company and joke around with him, especially during his late-night patrols which were mind-numbingly boring more often than not. Bakugo then began returning the favor, sometimes bringing Uraraka a sandwich or a coffee from the convenience store.

Eventually, they’d started hanging out outside of the work environment, though usually not alone; Bakugo enjoyed spending time with her and Kirishima the most, though they got together often with the Bakusquad, mostly with Ashido making the plans.

As time passed Bakugo realized, to his dissatisfaction, that when he and Uraraka were together, he felt that same nervous excitement in the pit of his stomach that bubbled up whenever he was with Kirishima. She was innocently funny, which contrasted endearingly with the fact that Bakugo’s foul mouth entertained her to no end. She was earnest, headstrong and unflinchingly devoted to putting her life on the line as a pro support hero.

He was attracted to that, to her. To him.

He was in love with two fucking people. And he had no idea if they felt the same way.

So he buried his feelings, simple as that. If they felt strongly enough, he reasoned, they could bring it up first, but he wasn’t going to be the one to wear his heart on his sleeve and have it broken, or worse, ruin the friendships he already had. Not only that, but he was also pretty sure he didn’t know how to tell someone he liked them.

He texted back:

Me: If this is fun then I’ve died and gone to hell. See you soon round face

Well. There was really no backing out now. Bakugo gathered his keys and his courage, pocketed his phone and headed outside to hail a taxi.

#uraraka ochako #bakugo katsuki #Kirishima Eijirou #Ashido Mina #Kaminari Denki #kacchako #bakuraka #kiribaku #kirikacchako #kiribakuraka #mmm my ot3 #my fic stuff #bnha

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bainhardt · 5 years

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#RibbonQuest2019 - Part 10: A Ghost of a Chance

There stands only one final barricade between me and gen 5, one last prize to win before Ribbon Quest takes its second giant leap forward and I get to enjoy some new scenery (plus some new hardware): the Pair Ability Ribbon.

Of course, this meant that the Ribbon Gang would be temporarily split up. Ray Chase, Beldump, and Sourdough battled from Sinnoh while Jin, Freudy, and Asshole joined the fight in Johto. We’d be trying the Explosion-Protect strategy first, while also pairing the two Earthquake spammers together.

The good news is that Pair play felt much easier after my extra-long bout with the AI in Multi. Explosion-Protect was more or less equally effective as in Doubles, and I made it all the way to battle 49 on my first attempt, although I didn’t win.

The bad news is that this mode is much slower than all of the others. The connection between the two DS systems isn’t bad, but they took extra precautions to ensure there was no chance of desync: you can’t advance the text manually, and all move animations play in full (even if both games have them turned off).

I knew immediately I didn’t want to have to play this any more than necessary, and after only two attempts ended in the 40s, I was already back at the drawing board looking for any ways I could improve so that this ribbon would soon be mine.

Introducing: Silverman the Gengar.

Many of the times I’d battled with Mira in pursuit of the Multi Ability Ribbon, she’d bring her Gengar, and I found this to be the ideal lead alongside Beldump - immune to Earthquake AND Explosion without needing to even know or use Protect? Well, now that Mira was out of the picture, I finally asked myself: “Why haven’t I got a Gengar of my own?”

There wasn’t a good answer, so once I’d corrected that mistake, we were back on our way up the Battle Tower. Silverman was pulling his weight immediately, and oftentimes I didn’t even need to use Explosion because he was such a potent offensive force on his own (although it was still good to have as a backup plan).

Featuring a special appearance from the legendary Ribbon Master, Oswald!

This challenge became oddly relaxing. I couldn’t rush through it, so I’d try my hand at about one streak a day and take it nice and slow instead. Even when I’d lose, I didn’t really mind as much as with the other formats, although I can’t explain exactly why. I think after the Multi Ability Ribbon there’s no point being scared of anything left in my way. I feel newfound confidence I’ll succeed in the end, so why not enjoy the ride some more?

There’s something powerful about watching the OG Battle Tower duo continue to work together and take down all challenges blocking their path.

Before long (seriously, I wasn’t counting, but I estimate this took fewer than ten attempts) I’d made my way to battle 50. The legendary wild-cards in battle 49 can be intimidating, but I was lucky enough to encounter Regirock and Registeel, two Pokemon Beldump can dispatch in its sleep.

Imagine my surprise, then, when battle 50 had no legendaries whatsoever! It was an easy win once I actually challenged it, and after I lost my streak a couple battles later, the last of the Battle Tower ribbons was ours. I was ecstatic to know we were finally ready to leave this place behind.

Sorry to say, but you’re gonna be waiting indefinitely... You couldn’t pay me to return here anytime soon.

Jin, you’ve made me proud. You’re a challenger, through and through.

It may come as a shock to hear, but I didn’t pack my bags immediately and hightail it outta Sinnoh at the first opportunity. I’ve really come to enjoy my time spent in gen 4 (even though it was longer than I’d have liked), and I feel I can tolerate the games way better than back when I was game clearing in the prep phase. Platinum is a good game. I’m happy to say I don’t hate it anymore.

Not only that, but I wanted to try and make sure I was truly getting my fill. After shiny hunting and my run-in with Pokerus, I’m newly interested in making sure we see all the sights we can while we’re traveling the gens. And we may have bounced out of Johto prematurely, because I knew there was at least one more stop we could take...

While the Pokeathlon may not have made for a very long stop, it was another fun morning of gameplay. Some of the minigames are actually kinda cool. I also love the idea of earning these statues as rewards, because they’re almost like reverse-ribbons; rather than being a memento we’ll bring with us, they’ll remain behind as proof of where we once stood.

Ribbon Quest bared its fangs in full force this time around, with more hardship and suffering than I’d believed possible when I made the fateful choice to begin almost three months ago. But through it all, Ribbon Gang has persevered, grown, and grown stronger, proving that I’ve chosen Jin and his allies wisely.

Together, we climbed more mountains (seriously, I wish there was a Mountaineer Ribbon because we’ve definitely earned it), became legends, met plenty of new-yet-familiar-faces, dazzled crowds across Sinnoh in more Pokemon Contests, found some rare shiny Pokemon, and trounced a second tower full of elite trainers five different ways.

Our quest will continue into new regions packed full of mystery, potential, and never-before-seen challenges. There are plenty of opportunities to hit the new “hardest part” of Ribbon Quest, as well as plenty of opportunities to make memories and discover new things to love about Pokemon. And I gotta say - I’m more excited than ever!

POKEMON DPPt: COMPLETE!

#Jeffu plays Pokemon #RibbonQuest2019

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sirens-gemberry · 5 years

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You’ve Unlocked a Cutscene from “Soren Ren-egade Sharp”!

Continue?

>Yes

Warnings are for the following: Blood, Violence, and slight alcoholism! Stay wary, Farmer!

There's a couple reasons why my sister never let me into the mines. For one thing, it was really fucking cold. Like- holy shit my fingers are numb kinda cold. For another thing, I wasn't very strong. So mining was always a bit of a chore for me, compared to my impeccably strong and equally strong willed sister.

Yet, when I found out she had gotten sick not too long after my arrival to the Valley, I took it upon myself to venture down for her. She protested briefly, and we argued about it for a good hour or two, before eventually sighing and shaking her head. “... Fine, it might help you get stronger anyway. Just stay within the first 20 floors at most, okay? Don’t forget to be home before midnight, either.” Yasmine had said to me, as her friend- and at the time crush- Harvey was preparing medication in the next room over. He was humming a tune under his breath of a song I couldn’t quite place. I nod, a determined grin on my face and the usual pep in my step as I wished my sister well and turned to head off for the task ahead of me. Yasmine’s quest was simple. Get 24 copper ores and bring them to Demetrius. Now, this particular week we were a bit short on copper, as we had been upgrading our tools for the next season. Normally my more experienced sister took on this task, but with her being basically forced to rest- that left me in charge. Despite as confident as I sounded to her, I was actually a bit nervous. After all, there were more than enough times I had seen my sister covered in bruises and bite-marks. First time I saw this, I joked that she hooked up with some dwarf in the mines, before she briefly socked my shoulder and gave me a bruise to remember. She briefly told me of her expeditions in the mines, and all of them sounded fascinating- if not terrifying. Not to mention unhealthy, as she had far too many stories of these trips for just staying a little over a year.

That was a few hours ago. Right now, I’m currently resting my head against the elevator wall, going down… down… and further down, all the way to level 20. She had floors up to level 65, and I was half tempted to challenge myself further by going down to floor 30… But I figured going 5 floors beyond her maximum requirement was more than enough to make her proud of me. I am stronger than she thought, just watch! I yawn, softly, shaking my head. I should've gotten more sleep last night. I reach into the bag, taking out an energy drink I snatched from my sister’s fridge on the way out before chugging the whole thing down. If it killed what little my immune system could deal with, eh, whatever. The bell dinged just over my head, drawing me from my thoughts as I slipped the now empty can back into my bag before trudging onward into the dark mines. Only a few lights shone overhead, and unfortunately for me, I only had a few torches. ‘If I want to be able to see well, I’ll have to carry what I have.’ I mused to myself ‘Hold the torch up, and keep pressing forward.’ So that's exactly what I did. I hum softly, occasionally setting the torch down beside me to take my pickax out and swing at a copper filled stone rock, grinning when I found a few pure pieces and sticking them into a smaller bag I brought with me for good measure. I hear a gentle squelch behind me, and I frown. ‘Monsters. Why wouldn't there be monsters?...’ I think with a dead panned expression, taking out the rusty sword my sister had given me a few days after I moved here. I figured I would use it more if some vines got in my way, but I sigh and twirl the sword in my hand before whirling around and swinging the damn thing… straight into the gut of a small, green slime. “...Oookay that looks vaguely… unpleasant.” I say to it, gently retracting the sword. I stick out my tongue with a slight groan to see some slime had stuck to it, before yelping and blocking its path when it jumped at me. “Damnit- okay you want death?! Then death comes for you!” I swing it again, harder this time, and it chops clear through the slime, yet it hardly seems phased. I sigh, and shake my head. Stupid liquid-y slime… whatever. I had to get this done, and get out. It took a few more minutes of me aimlessly flailing about with this rusty ass sword, but the slime finally fell apart into a goofy puddle at my feet. I sigh, shifting my boots until they feel relatively normal on the ground again, and keep walking.

A lot of the trip ended up in similar escapades, mining with a slight struggle to pick up the pickax over my head, and dealing with slimes and occasionally what I referred to as ‘the rock crab’. Sure, they dropped decent loot, but it felt unnecessary. Eh, I just needed to get what I came for and dip. I had to remain focused on the task at hand, or it'd be more than likely I'd never get out of this pit. With that in mind, I kept going. So much so, that I didn’t notice I passed my original goal. Or if I did- I wanted to keep going to challenge myself further. It must have been around level 28 or so, after going through and collecting the last of the ore I needed, that I decided to head further down. Who knows, I might find something pretty for lil’ Abigail. She did mention in passing that she liked amethysts… That was… likely one of my many stupider mistakes. That list may be long, but the point still remains. It was mostly a normal room, wide and full with rocks along its edges. Monsters sat in the middle, as if waiting for my arrival. I sigh, swinging my pick until it was firmly strapped to my back, as I did with most of my tools, before drawing the sword from my side. “Alright y’pricks, I've already dealt with fuck knows how many of you lot, so let's cut to the point.” I growl to myself, eyes leveling with the group before sighing and charging forward with what burst of energy I could muster. Dodging, blocking, and slicing. I've learned better techniques with the hours I’ve been down here at this point, and I've learned to try and keep my ADD to a damned well minimum if I didn't want to get bit. Still, I take considerable damage, especially when a bunch of slime basically glued my one foot to the floor. “Oh for fucks sake-!” I swear, trying to slice away the slime as I get smacked repeatedly by the other enemies around me, and underneath my feet. Once I dislodge myself, I huff, reaching into my pocket. I didn't want to use this since, Yoba knows I have No clue how this works, but it had to be done if I wanted to finish this up rather soon. I take out a small cherry bomb, it was hardly the size of my palm but packed considerable damage. Lighting the fuse, I chucked the bomb into the crowd of monsters, before leaping back a few feet. “Fire in the- fuck you lot!” I yell, right before I cover my ears to avoid dissociating after the explosive goes off, the ground shaking slightly from the effort. I remain there for a few moments to catch my breath, and to let my over-sensitivity slowly ebb back down to functionality. A few pebbles had gotten in my hair from the small tremor the cherry bomb had caused. Once I manage to open my eyes, I see that the crowd of monsters have all but fallen apart. I sigh to myself, more in relief than anything, as I stagger back over to gather what loot can be mustered. I also shook my hair, trying to free the dirt and rocks that had collected, but to no avail. I’d need to shower when I get home.

However, when I look up, a thin green smoke had begun pouring in. I raise my eyebrows, rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, before coughing. Ugh, this certainly didn't seem healthy. I recall thinking about how it was getting harder to see, as it was dark down there as it was without a fog clouding the caves. I wave it off as nothing unusual, shaking my head and grabbing my pickax to look for the exit. It was then I feel something shove hard into my back, knocking me to the floor. “Ow, what the hell?!” I turn to look behind me, only to hear a distinct buzzing as something very large, and very wasp like flies right over my head. I couldn’t quite make out what exactly it was, but that’s the best description for those cream colored pricks. My pulse begins to race. If there was one thing that scared me half to death, it was wasps. Wasps, yellow jackets, the likes. Bastards stung me more times than I can count. Honey bees are little sweethearts, though… I digress. Breaking from my train of thought, I groan and wipe some blood off my face, flinching gently as a small shot of pain echos from my lip. “....I repeat, what the hell….???” I get back to my feet, facing the way the bug had originally came from, only to be shoved again from behind, knocking me back over. I swear to myself, for what must've been the upteenth time that evening, as I finally get a good look around me, holding up my torch just enough to project the light around me. My face drops in abject horror. ‘Holy hell- there must have been dozens of these things, coming from fuck knows where!’ It was after I thought that, that the whole mine descended into absolute chaos. Every time I tried to get back up, I would only get shoved back down, getting more hurt in the process as rocks scratched my cheeks, hands, legs and arms. That's not even to mention that this haze I had that was clouding the air was causing me to constantly cough and wheeze. Damn, it's times like this I hated being an asthmatic. Still, I had to force myself up. I had to just get to the ladder and get down… No, no that'd just get me killed. I had to get out of these mines, quickly. I had to get to the elevator. Covering my eyes, and using my rusty sword to block any oncoming onslaught, before opening my eyes as I charged towards the elevator’s exit. Still, I kept losing balance briefly from all the nudging and pushing; stumbling left and right until I reached and grabbed a firm hold of the edge of the elevator. “Gotcha-!” My victory is short lived, as I yelp when there’s a feeling a sharp pain going through my back. One of those wasp fuckers...they had a vicious bite, leaving me feeling drained between the throbbing pain and the likely wound that had opened as a result. I coerce myself to whip around, slicing the bug creature with what little effort I could manage, before backing up into the elevator and slamming the hilt of the sword into the top floor button. There was a distinct thud of the bugs as they slammed uselessly against the mine’s elevator- though notable dents in the metal doors leave my tension unmoving.

As the doors closed, I took a deep breath- trying to summon any energy to move. Or to, at the very least, calm the hell down. I felt it, very clearly as I slid my sword back into its little compartment in the side of my belt, the pounding of my heart that rang in my ears and left me feeling exhausted from head to toe. U g h. ‘Going beyond 25 was probably a mistake.’ ‘Going into the mines was a definite mistake, too.’ Still, I push myself to my feet once I hear the ding of the elevator, making my way outside. It was raining densely by then, and I had to keep myself from limping too badly. The sun had since mostly set, save for a gentle light that poured in from elsewhere- covered by clouds. The pain in my back was growing, and I had to stifle a whine through a stern bite to my lip. Which, quite frankly, only made me whine more from the cut there from earlier. I just wanted to go home and recuperate, however… There was still something I had to do. I had to make sure one of my friends didn't get too worried about me, after all- that’s the last thing I needed to top off the evening. Once I made it back into town, I sighed and swung my bag over, reaching through until I got some gold; putting it into a small satchel. I groan a bit from the pain still flaring from my back, but I’m honestly too afraid to survey the damage right then & there. Frankly, I probably should have, but the pain was making my head fuzzy, and out of sync with the rest of me. I’ll deal with it at home later, before Harvey notices. If he's even still with Yasmine, that is. At least, that’s the hope for the rest of this evening. With that thought in mind, I sigh, bracing myself for some sort of inevitability as I limp my way into the Stardrop Saloon.

The usual scene greets me when I walk inside. A few waves and a quiet laugh, though it does fall eerily quiet rather quickly once everyone seems to notice the state I’m in. Beaten to shit, and by then dripping from the rain. I wring out my shirt just a slight bit, before meandering over to the bars counter. Gus waves from the counter but immediately hesitates- likely noticing the bruises starting to flower along my face- not to mention the cuts I can feel pulsating along my cheeks and nose. He looks, wanting to ask… But says nothing as I sit briefly on one of the bar stools, setting the satchel onto the counter. “The usual, please Gus.” I mutter quietly, as is the usual routine I've done each week since I've moved here. He nods, looking back to Emily- who knew my order down pat by then. She turns to smile widely at me, before gasping. Damnit. “What happened?!” “Ah, got into a bit of a tousle. Don't worry about it, I’ll be good tomorrow.” I shrug off the concern with a lighthearted laugh, even if the fatigue was showing in my tone. Gus seemed to want to drop it, as if he could see the desperation of not wanting anyone else's concern on the matter in my eyes, but Emily persisted. “Soren, at least let me clean off your cheeks, your bleeding-!” She sighs, taking a spare cloth in her hand and reaching over the counter to dab at my face. My nose reflexively scrunches against my face, but I don't bother moving my head out of the way. “Emily..” I sigh to myself, gently pushing her off me once she's finished with my face. “I'm alright. Don't worry. Plus, I already told you-” I give a jokingly goofy grin, “You can call me Ren.” I reassure her, as she gives me a very concerned look through the tangled mass of electric blue hair. “...Okay… But be careful, okay? I don't need you getting hurt.” She demanded, pointing sternly to me. I defensively raise my hands up jokingly with a laugh, but nod all the same. My thoughts swim briefly between trying not to focus on the pain gently pulsating from my spine, and the dizzying feeling from probably being more exhausted than I gave myself credit for. “I’ll be careful, don't worry.” I say after a few minutes, as she turns away to work on my order. She turns back to me, handing me the glasses as she leans closer, whispering gently in my ear. “...You're gonna scare the crap out of him, you know.” She said, raising an eyebrow her eyes flickering over towards the other side of the bar, “I know you've been trying to at least befriend him but..” My eyes follow briefly, before I give a slight shrug. It wasn’t that big of a deal. “I've got it under control, Em. It's chill.” I smile reassuringly, getting up off my stool with both glasses in hand, before strolling over towards the fireplace and leaning against the brick right next to it. I smirk a bit, noticing that Shane- the same person I've been stubbornly trying to befriend for a few months now- has been spacing out into the mug he was drinking out of. I nudge him gently with one of the mugs I offer to him, and he snaps out of it rather quickly. “Hey, what gi-” He stops in what he says, blinking a bit out of probably buzzed confusion. It takes a moment, before finally taking a look at my state before rolling his eyes, relaxing just a slight bit. “Okay, what the hell did you do?” He said as he snatched the mug from my hand, setting the empty one aside in place of drinking the one I had given. I shrug my shoulders, staring at the foam bubbling out of my cup. “Ah, just spent a little too long in th’ pits of hell itself.” I joke, winking playfully. He scoffs. “Why do you still even bother to joke around with me and act like we’re friends?” He grumbled, and I smiled with a bold determination set in my expression. “Since I think you're probably super nice, I mean... beyond that rude shell of yours.” I respond with confidence, despite the uncertainty that lingered in my mind. What I usually expect was a scoff, or a roll of the eyes, or some other dismissive gesture, but instead he laughs. Not at me, for once, but what I had said. I was more-so used to it, from other people in my life. I can be a bit of a joke, that I knew. “Soren, you are a different kind of naive.” He replies with between chuckles as he settled down, taking another hearty drink until the mug was empty. I did the same, leaning back further until I was sitting down. ‘Yeah, I know that, too.’ I refused to voice my thoughts aloud, though, instead crossing my arms. “Maybe so. But hey, it's worth a shot, innit?” I smile, less bold but with a slight softness to it. I was growing weary, eyes fluttering as my body tried to force sleep. I could tell, from the silence that took over for a few moments, that he was debating on whether or not he was going to actually question all the cuts along what he could see. He must have settled on not bothering, sighing and shaking his head. “Whatever you say, kid.” He muttered, to which I pout, just a bit. “I’m not a kid!” I immediately protest, arms flinging out just a bit in overzealous expression. “You're like 4’5”. You're a kid.” “4’10”, first off, secondly I’ll fight you, mister!” I let my offence fade, giving a mischievous smirk, and putting my fists up jokingly. He shakes his head a bit. He tended to do that a lot around me. What can I say? I specialized in being a bother, and an annoyance. I’ve come to accept that. “You would be knocked out in one hit for starters, missy, even if you weren't beaten to shit.” Shane replies, sighing as I shake my head to dismiss the remark. “Oh whatever!” He hides his amusement behind a slight smile as I go to get up, my stance slightly wobbly. Jeez, did the alcohol already get to me?... However, it was after a few steps that I get an answer. I heard a gasp right behind me. “Holy shit, Soren!-” I look back, confused, as he gets up and shakes his head, “Your back, Soren.” “Huh?” I raise an eyebrow, more curious than before, and reach behind me. A damp warmth takes my hand as I make the grave mistake to check, only to find the darkened crimson shade of blood staining my palm. My eyes widen, with a sick nausea briefly twisting my stomach. “Oh fuck.” “You should get that seen, and maybe fast. That looks pretty bad...” “No, No it's fine. I can fix this myself. I’ve taken scouts, I know how to patch this up. I just...need to head home.” I reassure with a smile. Shane doesn't seem to buy it, and goes to quickly object, but before he even could I had walked right out- hellbent on not letting Yasmine or Harvey know about this particular incident.

“I can fix this myself… I can fix this myself.” I reassure myself as I start walking home, not even listening to see if Shane has followed me. I had to keep pressing forward, it wasn’t an option to let Yasmine or Harvey know. So I kept saying that, just to myself, almost like a mantra. Before I could even feel it through, a wave of vertigo made me trip and fall- and wouldn't you know it? My head slams right into a rock.

Man, my luck couldn't have been worse today. I saw stars, briefly, with pain shooting through my whole body between the damage dealt earlier, and the striking new pain blooming from the side of my head. Either way, it instantly rendered my mind unconscious as the blood loss takes hold, some sort’ve muffled groan dying on my lips as it passes.

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