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minefield-of-a-ninja · 1 year

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CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5

Summary (request from @thesassywallflower for @spnfanficpond Secret Santa): Donna is horrified to learn that the boys have never had a proper Christmas, so she invites them to her house for the holiday.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings/tags: explicit (eventually), fluff (? Idk), angst (? light), domestic (can’t get much more domestic)

Chapter WC: 2000

Author’s notes: There will be multiple chapters to this -- at least three, and they will all be written in 3rd person POV, shifting perspective in each section.

Many thanks and love to my dear friend and the very best beta ever @brrose-apothecary. Text divider by @talesmaniac89.

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“That’s it,” Donna exclaims, after wiping down her machete and carefully replacing it in its secure case in the bed of her truck. “You two’re comin’ home with me.”

She’s hyper-aware that the Winchesters didn’t have the most conventional upbringing, but, dangit, how many more times will they break her heart with stories about never going to a Christmas party or experiencing the joy of opening gifts on Christmas morning?

“C- coming home with you?” Dean wonders aloud as if he’s testing the words in his mouth. As if she uttered the invitation in Old Norse.

“Yes, Dean. To Stillwater.” Donna turns to face the brothers who both eerily resemble that deer she missed by a hair’s breadth on Highway 95 last week. “Jody and the girls’ll be there, and all’s you need’re the clothes on your backs. We can stop at the dollar store down the street for you two to pick up a couple white elephant gifts.”

“Dollar store?” Dean asks, looking thoroughly bereft of understanding.

“Dean, stop repeating everything that comes out of my mouth. And close yours while you’re at it; you look like a drowning guppy.”

Donna rounds the side of her pickup to stride toward the driver’s side door. The brothers shuffle after her like a couple of 10-year-olds who’d rather be playing Super Mario than endure whatever perceived Hell she’s invited them to.

“Donna...” Sam lets his words hang in the air while both brothers huff and puff condensation into the frigid night air and fidget after her. “We’ve never been to a Christmas party or anything like that.”

“That’s why you’re coming to mine. No excuses.” She spins on her heel and stares them down as they exchange looks and unspoken words.

Dean’s the one who breaks first. He swings his narrowed gaze back to her.

“Will there be mistletoe?” he asks pointedly.

Donna tries not to think about Dean and mistletoe at the same time. Not that she’s never imagined kissing him, but now is not the time.

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Of course! What kinda Christmas party would it be without mistletoe?”

Dean grins before slapping his brother on the back. “Well, Sammy, looks like we’re gonna have Christmas after all. Ya know, one without a Wood Nymph.”

“Huh?” Donna furrows her brow in question.

Sam shakes his head. “Never mind, long story,” he mutters. “I guess we’ll follow you?”

Donna claps her hands together as she nods, bouncing on her toes. “You betcha!”

“Can’t believe we almost passed this up,” Dean mutters to Sam as they unpack their bags, making a load of laundry. They each showered in Donna’s guest bathroom and she gave them some old clean sweatpants and t-shirts of her dad’s to wear for the night.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Sam agrees quietly, tossing his last pair of underwear to the floor. He’s pleased that Dean sees the value here in Donna’s home.

Ever since they defeated Chuck, Sam has tried a dozen different ways to get Dean out of the bunker and into a real house and real jobs. Dean seems frozen in time, though, like he can’t see that they can do just about anything they want now. They’re regular hunters — no angels or demons to battle (Jack and Rowena have seen to that). In fact, most of the monster world has quieted and stays in their own lanes.

“Imagine having this on the regular.” Sam tests the waters. “A washer and dryer from this century?” he chuckles, scooping up the dirty clothes and shaking his damp hair out of his face.

“Yeah, well, I doubt Donna wants a couple salty old hunters camped out in her guest room for the rest of her life.” Dean turns down the covers of his borrowed bed and inspects the pillow. “‘Sides, I like havin’ my own room.”

Sam watches Dean smooth his hands over the bedding, wondering...

He knows how Dean feels about Donna, even though his brother’s never put those feelings into words. Sam’s seen the way Dean looks at her, the way he touches her like she’s made of glass, and the tone of his voice when he says her name. Dean adores Donna, but even more than that, he wants her.

“What if...” Sam starts then pauses, shifting his weight. When Dean turns to face him with a questioning brow and wistful smile, he forges ahead. “What if you could share it with someone like Donna?”

Dean almost rolls his eyes as he slowly straightens his stance. His soft smile twists as he meets his brother’s gaze. Sam worries that he’s pushed Dean too far.

“And now we’re back to Donna deservin’ a lot better than...” Dean shakes his head and motions between himself and his duffle bag.

“Heya,” the woman in question sing-songs as she pokes her head around the door. “How ya doin’ in here? Need anything?”

Dean’s edge immediately smooths at the sight of the sheriff.

“Hey,” he answers with a quick, practiced grin. “We’re good. Better than. Just, uhh...” He reaches for the bundle in Sam’s arms. “Gonna throw this stuff in your washer if that’s okay?”

Sam notices the tiniest flush in Dean’s cheeks, and the sight squeezes his heart in his rib cage. Dean doesn’t think he deserves a life like this.

“Yep,” Donna replies, a bright smile gracing her freshly scrubbed and freckle-dusted face. “Right down the hall.”

“Alrighty then. Lead the way,” Dean says, following Donna to her laundry room.

Sam heaves a sigh before wandering to the small bookshelf in the corner for something to read.

Dean has nightmares almost every time he closes his eyes. Last night, he had a different kind of dream.

Donna was there, her soft blonde waves were piled on top of her head. Her fingers were floured and her big flannel shirt was dusted just the same. She laughed at his jokes and hummed through her smile when he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She smelled like butter and vanilla.

When he wakes, Sam’s already up and out of the room. A low light sneaks through the curtains, and Dean smells coffee. He rolls out of bed, runs his fingers through his hair, and makes his way to the bathroom across the hall.

“Dean, hey.”

Dean cocks his head and squints because it’s too damn early for pleasantries. It’s Kaia, though, and Dean owes that girl a lot of pleasant.

“Hey, kid. When’d you get in?” He turns toward her and she steps into his arms for a hug.

“‘Bout an hour ago,” she replies. “Claire’s in the kitchen.”

“‘Kay,” Dean answers pulling out of the hug with a lopsided smile. “Be there in a minute.”

Kaia nods and shuffles past him. “There’s coffee and french toast.”

“Nice,” Dean grunts, pushing through the bathroom door and switching the light on. When he sees his reflection, he groans. “Christ.”

His eyes are puffy and his hair’s sticking out in nine different directions. He shakes his head and sighs before taking care of business. Dean definitely puts the seat back down, washes his hands, and splashes his face and hair with water.

Before heading to the kitchen, he makes his bed and changes into his own clothes. As he shrugs into his flannel, he realizes it’s the one from his dream. The one Donna was wearing — his shirt and nothing else.

He could feel every dip and curve in his hands. She was so warm and soft. Dean’s thought about a hundred different ways to make her say his name the way she did in his dream. He can still hear her breathy voice in his head as he walks the length of the hallway toward the bright kitchen.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Donna greets him first, and his skin flushes with heat.

Before he can focus too much on it, Claire sacks him without a word.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding her close. He isn’t exactly the picture of emotional growth, but since Cas… well, he’s trying to be more present.

Dean closes his eyes and buries his nose in her messy hair. She’s been smoking, and probably drinking by the looks of it. “Takin’ care of yourself?” He pulls back, gripping her shoulders and looking her in the eyes.

Her smile is crooked, and her blue eyes are shot red and rimmed with black, but she’s still the strong little girl from Illinois whose daddy loved God enough to leave her.

Claire shrugs. “More’r less.”

Dean huffs a wry laugh, squeezing her shoulders before releasing her. “Sounds about right.”

“Heeeyyy.” Jody and Alex round the island to greet him with hugs and Patience isn’t far behind.

“Coffee?” Jody asks.

“Absolutely. I also heard there was french toast. Or did I miss it?” He turns to find Donna extending a plate heaped with carbs, and a steaming cup of joe. “Awesome.”

He accepts the proffered items from Donna with a hearty thanks.

Jody and the girls retreat to the dining room where Sam sits, doing a crossword puzzle. He looks up and Dean nods a good morning to him before sliding onto a stool at the island.

“So, uhh, dollar store, huh?” He digs into his breakfast, trying not to ogle Donna’s ass in her cute little red and white snowflake leggings. The phrase ‘thick thighs save lives’ will be stuck in his head for the rest of his stay here and he isn’t mad about it.

Donna nods as she turns to face him with her own cup of coffee. “And if I give you a list, can you pick up some wine?”

Dean bobs his head as he chews and his eyes roll back. “Oh, yeah... Yes, anything. Holy shit, this is good.” He’s momentarily distracted from objectifying his hostess by the un-fucking-believable french toast.

Donna chuckles, jutting a hip against the island. “Family recipe. Just like the smorgasbord for tonight.” She sips her coffee and watches him devour the rest of the meal in silence but for Dean’s moans and groans of satisfaction.

How many times has Donna thought about this? About Dean Winchester sitting at her kitchen island eating a breakfast and coffee that she made? About him enjoying it?

Experts say that good food and good sex share neural pathways. That a person’s reaction to good food is similar to their reactions to good sex. That theory takes on a whole new level of wow when applied to Dean.

Dean drains his mug and wipes his mouth.

“More... anything?” Donna asks innocently -- or so she thinks.

Until Dean’s gaze flicks to hers for a hot minute. She could write his hesitation off as morning brain, but then he drops his gaze to her mouth. He licks his bottom lip into his mouth then slowly drags it through his teeth.

Donna’s breath catches in her chest and her insides flip.

“Hey, so, we should hit that dollar store, and I think Donna wants us to grab a few bottles of wine, right?”

Sam realizes a beat too late that he’s walked in on something; Dean looks ready to attack and Donna’s cheeks are fuchsia. The younger Winchester’s gaze bounces around the tension between Dean and Donna before he clears his throat.

Dean blinks a couple of times and shakes his head. “Yeah... yeah, uhh...” He draws a deep breath and looks back up at Donna. “Got that list?”

Donna gnaws at the corner of her anxious grin. “Oh, yeah. I’ll text it to ya.”

Dean nods and pushes out of his barstool. The brothers find their boots and coats in the front closet. As they walk out the door, Donna calls from the kitchen.

“Oh, and Dean? When you get back, you need to help me find that mistletoe.”

The screen door slams shut behind them, and Sam laughs.

Chapter Two

Please don’t leave without telling me what you think!

#dean winchester fic #dean x donna #donna hanscum fic

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apples-of-apples · 10 months

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Ok, so like no one has to read this or look at it I just need to scream into the void about Etrian odyssey X (Major story spoilers)

Starting this off I am going to divide this into 3 sections 1. Story, 2. World building, 3. Gameplay.

Point 1 - The game actually starts pretty good in this aspect! The beginning is a pretty strong hook into the story and game as a whole! The next bits of story are good too! The pink haired medic (I can’t remember her name) giving the party a reason to been called on specifically for help early on because they find the east ruins is great for more set up! But the next part is immediately worse than this because it reuses a plot from a previous game, for some reason?? The plot isn’t any different than it was in EO4. It’s still just a big bad bear murdered some people, and now you have to kill it. The only thing that’s new is Cernunnos showing up for all of 5 seconds before being killed by the party. Like I get this is supposed to be a celebration game for the series but you can’t just reuse a plot from a previous game and add a character into it like they did. Oh well, the next dungeon isn’t horrible. I mean they made a super boss into a joke, but they didn’t copy a storyline this time. Leo and Shilleka are a cute duo together in all honesty. Leo’s moment at the end where he overcomes his self perceived weakness and curse to help the party is nice. Then the next dungeon is from EO3 and it’s different overall in story from the game it came from, but it just stole the characters traits from EO3. Like the new characters are just two kids in the dungeon who know each other and they get separated in the dungeon until one of them is on the brink of death. This is literally just Hypatia and Agata, but they both live. Again I get this is a call back to a previous game, but if they’re going to be so insistant on it then just bring someone into the game like bring Missy so she can talk about Hypatia and Agata like I remember some kids like you instead of just copying characters that were already made. Then the next dungeon is the west ruins and there is nothing to talk about except for the last floor where everyone you met is also here and they are also trying to find out ways to traverse the labyrinth! But why are they doing this? I understand that it is quite literally first come first serve with the hidden treasures of Lemuria but when there are No other guilds in sight other than some 1-2 party guilds it just decreases the tension of bosses. It’s different in EO1 with Ren and Tlachga because they are established to be strong, but in nexus these people can just handle enemies that regularly beat up player parties even though they should be around the same level as you? What’s the logic here?? Then for the next few dungeons they are basically filler that are made just to remember that these stratums exist and to show off more characters new or returning. The only returning one is Artelind and the new ones are a viking princess and the child the Wulfgar, Wulfgar Jr. eventually you get to the north ruins and it’s the same as the west ruins, but it’s a new boss and there is some dialogue between characters for a minute before moving on to more pointless dungeons. This is a good as time as any to address that fact that while there have been official missions from the princess a lot of them are just… things the party would’ve done anyway. The only exceptions are the ruins that you only really would want to do from the rewards from the missions. Other than that we get to the forest folk and they don’t matter after like 3 conversations because they’re dead whoops! Then the final ruins where the worst boss in this game is and the princess gets kidnapped I guess?? Literally no one cares though there is no panic, so what’s the point?? And what was the point of the forest folk if they just die again?? Why are half the things in this game rehashed from older games with barely any creative twist and it can just get away with blatant lazy writing?? You can only call Nexus a celebration for so long before it is just called a rehash of the entire EO franchise. Then there is jormanjander who is just boring. The idea is cool but it’s just a damage sponge that dies without to much of a fight.

#etrian odyssey #spoilers #Etrian odyssey spoilers

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buckyseddie · 2 years

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revealed feelings

pairings — derek hale x fem!shy!stilinski!reader, featuring bff!allison argent x bff!fem!shy!stilinski!reader

summary — in which, her feelings for derek are almost revealed by her twin, forcing her into admitting what she’s been hiding from him for way too long.

word count — 3.7k.

warnings — angst, shy/quiet!reader, panicky!reader, embarrassed!reader, derek being the cockiest little shit use of pet-names [princess], fluff.

notes — i’ve had this imagine planned to write for awhile, so here it goes. gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated <3.

main masterlist

BEING STILES’ TWIN SISTER CAN be undeniably stressful — [y/n] knows this more than anyone else.

stiles and [y/n] have always been close — they are twins, after all.

but, she’s always had to live in the shadow of her brother — always dealing with being treated like she’s incapable of taking care of herself.

this was something she hated more than anything in the world.

i guess, that’s understandable — she doesn’t always defend herself.

but, it’s not just her own brother who’s needs to constantly baby her — mostly, everyone in the pack treats her in the same way that he does.

although, there’s just a few other specific people that don’t treat her like that; allison argent and derek hale.

allison has always been like a sister to [y/n] — she herself knows exactly how it feels to be treated like she’s a fragile little girl.

so, the two of them usually bond over that topic on most days — especially, when allison is around and sees the way most of the pack treats [y/n].

and with derek, i guess him treating [y/n] like she can handle herself and only opening up to her because she never judges him, brought on romantic feelings.

but, with stiles being her twin, she just can’t ever admit how she feels.

it’s already to the point of her being completely in denial of her feelings — refusing to admit it to herself.

she refuses to admit the truth, mostly because stiles sometimes comes off as judgy and sassy.

and with being related to him — in her head — she can never come out with the fact that she’s in love the so-called sourwolf.

she couldn’t see that with time, her brother would eventually come to terms with the fact that she’s in love with his frenemy.

or maybe, she’s just terrified of him accepting it and trying to set her up with derek.

i think it’s pretty obvious that it’s the second one.

sure, if he ended up loving her back, that’d be a different story.

but, what if stiles budded in — like he always does with her issues — and derek rejected her?

that’d be even worse than her brother knowing the truth.

that’s exactly why she only told the one person she truly trusts in the entire world — allison.

sure, she’s really good friends with stiles and dating scott.

but, she — thankfully — knows that something as serious as her friend’s crush is to be kept a secret.

[y/n] could always count on her friend to have her back when it came to derek.

needless to say, they’re literally so similar to each other that you’d assume that they’re actually related.

there was rarely ever a moment where they disagreed on anything.

and with the whole feelings situation with derek, allison was always there for her friend in any way possible; [y/n] needed a distraction from derek? allison was there, dragging her away from anything that brought her sadness over feeling like she could never have what she truly wanted. she was feeling insecure and self-conscious about herself? allison was there, reassuring and comforting her and telling her all the ways she was too good for derek. she was feeling jealous over the countless girls that threw themselves at derek? allison was there, pointing out how none of those girls could ever compare to her. she needed an excuse to see derek? allison was there, being just that. she needed to avoid derek? allison was there, making sure that it was being done.

at the end of the day, i think allison was more than okay with helping her friend out because she understood how it felt to be scared to be with someone she thought she could never have.

with scott, it took too long for her father to finally be okay with her and scott being together.

and [y/n]? she was in the same boat with derek — scared of her feelings, scared of rejection, and scared of what her brother would do when he’d finally find out the truth.

but eventually, allison got tired of helping her friend out when it meant she was continuously hiding the truth from derek — it wasn’t fair to derek to be kept in the dark about [y/n]’s feelings, whether he reciprocated them or not.

of course, allison didn’t betray her trust and tell derek or stiles — like you’d think.

but, she did repeatedly mention to [y/n] that coming clean would make things a lot better for her.

but, of course, she refused.

i mean, who wouldn’t? everyone’s scared to admit how they feel towards that one person, at least once in their life.

and sure, keeping allison quiet wasn’t hard at all, considering how loyal she’s always been to [y/n].

but, stiles? that’s a whole other story — especially, the day that he finally finds out the truth.

it’s a normal day for [y/n] — at least — ignoring her feelings the best she can and hanging out with the pack at derek’s loft.

everything would’ve been completely normal, like any other day, if [y/n] just didn’t catch the longing and curious gaze of the hale werewolf.

just seeing the look in the werewolf’s eyes affects her more than she’d ever like to admit.

but, her heartbroken gaze hurts him even more than the whole entire situation does for her — she’d been non-discreetly avoiding him on purpose for months now.

it was only pack meetings that she was forced to show up to and uncomfortably be in the same room as him.

the conversation that mostly everyone is invested in, is quickly forgotten and tuned out by both [y/n] and derek as their longing gazes become much more intense.

allison, who’s sat comfortably beside her boyfriend, notices the interaction before stiles — or anyone else for that matter.

[y/n]’s eyes catches hers and allison shoots her a persistent look, as if telling her what she’s been reminding her for weeks now — for her to just speak with derek privately and just fess up to everything she’s been keeping from him.

[y/n] shakes her head, refusing to do anything as she tries to focus on the conversation between her friends.

but to no avail, her eyes impulsively glance back at derek.

stiles looks up, his words instantly going on pause as he finally realizes of the moment between his twin and the sourwolf.

“hey! eyes off of my little sister, hale!” stiles sputters sassily, glaring daggers at derek.

[y/n] groans inwardly as she rolls her eyes, snapping her head up in her twin’s direction.

“god. stiles, stop treating me like a little fucking baby! if he wants to look at me, he can! there’s no crime against that!” she blurts out, her words not fully registering as they leave her lips.

stiles stutters, brows furrowing, before he points at his baby sister with a suspicious look.

“wait a minute… why are you getting so defensive about that? and why would you want him to be looking at you in the first place?” he questions in his all-too-familiar interrogative tone.

upon hearing her brother’s question, [y/n]’s eyes widen as she realizes what she’d said and who she said it in front of.

“w—what? i—” she stutters, her shocked eyes catching derek’s confused ones from across the room.

gulping anxiously, she catches the glance of her best friend, who wears a sympathetic look, while everyone else watches in confusion.

“oh, god. [y/n], please, tell me that you don’t—” stiles starts, but allison abruptly stands up, her hand dropping from scott’s.

“—stiles, guys. why don’t we clear the room for derek and [y/n]?” she asks directly to stiles, ignoring the sternly scared expression on her friend’s face.

stiles sputters, glancing incredulously between his twin and derek, not trusting either of them to be alone together.

“b—but—” he starts to say, trying to find any excuse that’ll keep him from moving.

but, before he can continue on, lydia instantly notices allison’s expression, immediately beginning to take the hint. “—sti, c’mon. why don’t we go out and get everyone some snacks from the store? i’m sure everyone’s hungry and exhausted from all of the planning.” she murmurs gently, trying to distract her boyfriend and do her friend a solid.

stiles sighs, his gaze finally moving from both [y/n] and derek to his girlfriend’s soft eyes.

“w—what about derek and [y/n]?” he stutters, becoming completely clueless to the hint that’s being repeatedly thrown at him.

rolling her eyes, lydia grabs her boyfriend’s hand and pulls him to the loft door, yanking it open.

stiles sputters, still confused and trying to see if his sister and his frenemy are still in his view.

because of this, scott groans as the rest the group — aside from derek and [y/n] — follows them out.

the second that the loft door is shut, [y/n]’s forced to turn and face the sourwolf, who looks like he’s just about mastered the ability to pout.

sighing, she slumps back into the current couch she’d been sitting on, before all the accusations from her twin had started up.

it feels like almost hours as they simply sit in the silence, neither of the pair wanting to start the conversation.

when the stilinski girl finally looks up, her heart almost breaks at the very scene in front of her; derek, leant forward with his head in his hands, his elbows placed on his knees.

his hands are buried so deep into his dark locks that you’d think his hair would start to fall out.

from seeing the real and raw pain she’d caused the only person she’s ever truly loved, tears blur her vision, causing her bottom lip to violently tremble.

derek sucks in a breath as he senses her getting up and walking over to him.

as she gets closer, her breath hitches in her throat, before placing herself on the table that sits in front of the chair he’s placed on.

“derek…” she sighs, slowly and cautiously bringing her hands up to place them over his own that are still placed in his hair tightly.

“please, don’t do this. just… talk to me.” she says, slowly pulling his hands away from his face and out of his hair.

mostly, he only allows her to pull his hands away because her touch affects him that much — he’d never admit that out loud, though.

“don’t do what? ignore you, like you’ve been doing to me, since god knows how long?” he spits out, tears spilled down on his cheeks now.

taken aback by the amount of pain and anger mixed together in his voice, [y/n]’s eyes instantly tear up once more, realizing what her actions did to him, before she draws her hands away from him.

“i—i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to hurt you. that—that was never my intention.” she stutters, guilty and regretful thoughts consuming her as she numbly stands up from the table, stumbling over to the loft door.

but, before she can escape her feelings once more, derek abruptly stands up from his position in his chair.

“then, why did you do it?” he calls out to her, not understanding how she can go from apologizing for her actions, to trying to run away from them.

“w—what?” she stutters, coming to a halt, before she turns around to face him.

“if you’re so sorry, why’d you ignore me? you made me feel like i did something wrong.” he states more clearly, taking a small step closer to the anxious and nervous girl.

“that’s just it, derek! you didn’t do anything wrong! everything you do is perfect to me, and i can’t find one simple reason that makes me want to stay away!” she bursts out, wringing her hands into her hair wildly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

her emotions are raised at a higher level — this much derek can sense.

derek’s eyes widen in shock at the stilinski girl’s outburst, always having known of her as one of the strongest people in the pack — she rarely ever loses her cool.

without another thought, he steps forward, until they’re only inches away from each other.

then, he gently places his hands over her shaking ones and slowly pulls them down to her side, careful to not get her hair stuck and wrapped around her fingers.

“hey, look at me.” he says gently, trying to calm her down from another outburst.

when she does just that, his eyes immediately soften, still holding onto her hands and rubbing soothing circles onto them.

“now, can you tell me what you meant by that?” he murmurs gently, not moving his eyes anywhere but to her face.

“derek, i—i don’t know if that’s such a good idea…” she trails off, the fear of rejection distracting her.

as he senses the huge waves of anxiety and fear coming from her, he sighs, brows knitting together in concern.

“princess, i need you to be honest with me. i deserve that, at least.” he murmurs once more, moving his hands up to her cheeks, cupping them.

“but, it’s not that easy. what if… what if me being honest… just makes things worse?” her voice trembles as more tears escape from her now shiny [y/e/c] eyes.

with a flick of his thumb, the tears are gone, like they were never there.

“it’ll all be okay. i’m not going anywhere. just trust me, okay?” he murmurs seriously, giving her the confidence she needs to admit the feelings she’s been running away from for so long.

“stiles was right. or at least, of what he was about to say, before everyone stopped him,” she starts, pausing to gauge his reaction.

his brows are still knitted together as he pulls his hands away from hers to cross his arms onto his chest, listening intently.

“allison knows the truth — she’s known for awhile. i’m just not sure why she didn’t tell you herself because she’s been nagging me to tell you the truth for weeks now.” she starts, almost rambling.

“about what?” he asks in a persistent tone of voice.

[y/n]’s eyes catch his all over again, causing her breath to hitch in her throat once more.

“o—oh, right. um, it’s about my… uh… my feelings…” she trails off, brows furrowing as she becomes lost in her thoughts all over again, easily fidgeting with her fingers anxiously.

derek sighs, noticing the amount of drowning negative emotions coming off of her body.

hearing him sigh so loudly, she instantly snaps out of her thoughts.

“i—i’m sorry, derek. you do deserve the truth and… i’m going to give it to you. it’s just really hard to admit.” she states, moving to walk over to the couch that she was sitting on before, the nervous feeling in her gut getting impossibly worse by every second.

“it’s okay. take your time.” he assures her, moving to sit beside her as she turns to face him, holding her legs up to her chest.

“no, it’s fine. i need to tell you the truth.” she states seriously, before finally connecting her gaze with the man sitting beside her.

“i… i have feelings for you.” [y/n] says all in one breath, awaiting his reaction.

but, as she tries to figure out what it is, all she can see is his shocked expression.

“i—look, it’s okay, if you don’t feel the same. but, this all has been so suffocating — keeping this from you, and avoiding you at all costs. but, uh, i think i should go.” she murmurs dejectedly, already sensing the rejection coming.

as she stands up from her position on the couch, he reaches out and encloses his hand around her wrist, before gently pulling her back down.

“you’ve gotta stop assuming things, stilinski.” he states with a almost goofy smile.

“w—what do you mean? isn’t this the part where you tell me that i’m delusional and that we’re just friends?” she sputters out, confused on why he’s acting so casual about this whole entire situation.

derek chuckles amusedly.

“you really are clueless, huh?” he murmurs, barely giving her enough time to react when he begins to lean forward, causing her brows to furrow in confusion.

“wha—” [y/n] starts to say, but she abruptly stops herself when he slams his lips onto hers, in order to shut her up from any future ramblings.

a shocked strangle leaves her lips, her entire body freezing up as she starts to realize what’s happening.

as a few more seconds pass, derek pulls away from her lips, realizing she’s still frozen in place.

“you really need to stop rambling so much.” he murmurs, a smirk placed on his lips, trying to mask his nervousness with cockiness.

“w—wait. so… you don’t hate me? i—i’m so confused right now.” she mumbles as she becomes much more confused than she was before.

derek sighs, shaking his head at her cluelessness.

“did that kiss not show that i feel the same? or am i going to have to kiss you again?” he asks teasingly, quickly sensing the feelings and anxiety rolling off of her.

but, when she hears his next statement, it’s as if all those nerves she had in her system completely dissipate.

“o—oh… then, maybe, you should remind me?” [y/n] nervously says in the form of a question.

“there’s no need to be nervous, [y/n].” he teases, still smirking, obviously liking the effect he has on her.

groaning, she grows some confidence that leads her to grip his leather jacket’s collar and roughly pull him towards her.

he inhales deeply in surprise, before the smirk returns back to his lips as she slams her lips onto his, putting in every single amount of love she’s felt for him and buried for so long.

derek’s heart sores as he deepens the kiss, glad that the two of them have figured things out before either of them could get hurt more than they already were.

but, before they can continue on, the sound of voices outside and the loft door being pulled open pulls them away from each other, glancing at the entrance.

[y/n] sputters nervously, pulling away from derek anxiously. “uh…” she trails off, glancing from her brother to derek, when the pack gathers at the door, most of them watching the scene before them in amusement.

noticing her anxiety, derek places a hand on her thigh, in order to bring her some comfort — which, easily helps her calm down, just by a bit.

“so, i was right!” stiles exclaims excitedly, seeming to not even be bothered about catching his twin and his frenemy together.

at this realization, [y/n] knits her brows together in confusion.

“wait. so, you’re not mad that me and derek are…” she trails off, turning to face derek, confused on what exactly they are.

“together.” he clarifies for her, chuckling quietly at the flustered expression on her face.

but at this point, stiles is already rambling to lydia, totally forgetting about his sister’s question and the couple sat on the couch.

with a giggle, [y/n] turns back to her sorta-boyfriend, a bit confused on how her brother isn’t acting mad at her, like she thought he would.

he shrugs, reaching out for her.

before she decides to snuggle into his chest, she turns back to face her friends, only to see them all waving awkwardly and hurriedly walking out as lydia rolls her eyes and pulls her rambling boyfriend away with her.

sighing, she watches as scott tiredly pulls the door shut behind him.

“so…” she trails off as she turns back to derek, raising a single brow at him.

“so?” he asks, raising his own eyebrows in question.

“so… we’re together now?” she asks, smirking, growing shocked at her own confidence.

derek raises a brow, smirking himself. “what… you don’t like it?” he asks, sensing the anxious emotions coming off of her, once again.

“no!” she quickly blurts out, almost losing her chill.

derek’s eyes widen at her small outburst, almost incapable of keeping the small laughs from leaving his mouth.

“i—i mean that i wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to be official like that. so, i want to make sure — that’s all.” she quickly explains, so focused on clearing up her small mistake that she doesn’t even notice the amused glint in his eyes or the way he’s desperately trying to not laugh at her nervousness.

he continues to wheeze in laughter, bringing [y/n] to hit him a few more times with complaints to stop making fun of her.

“okay, okay! i—i’m sorry! just, please, stop hitting me.” he yells out, having had calmed down, waiting for her to stop her attacks.

sighing, she glares at him as she crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for him to explain what he found so funny.

“now, would you like to explain what was so funny?” she asks in an annoyed tone, unmoving as she waits for him to respond to her.

he chuckles, finding amusement in the situation once more, before moving his hands to her hips, settling them there.

the particular touch brings [y/n] an insane amount of butterflies, her heart slightly fluttering at just that.

and even though, she knows that he can sense her emotions, she still tries her best to mask what effect he has on her.

sighing, she waits, trying to remain patient — although, it’s quite clear to derek that she’s not in the mood to be waiting all night.

she doesn’t like being laughed at — that much he can tell from just her expression.

with one more amused laugh, derek pulls her by her hips to straddle him.

a squeak of shock and surprise leaves her lips, her heart going off in a very erratic pace.

once he senses her nervous and flustered emotions and erratically beating heart, he smirks.

“i wasn’t making fun of you. i just think it’s cute that you get so flustered like this — especially, when it comes to me.” he states seriously, waiting for her nervous response.

[y/n]’s eyes soften, feeling idiotic for reacting so dramatically. “o—oh.” she softly whispers, his statement not fully registering in her head.

“wait! did you just call me cute?” she asks in a suddenly teasing tone, cocking her head to the side, after his words fully click in her head.

“maybe, maybe not.” he shrugs, acting as if it’s not that big of a deal.

“now, on to more important things,” he states, pausing, which brings [y/n]’s brows to knit together in curiosity, now listening intently to him.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he asks in a suddenly nervous voice.

her brows raise and then a giggle erupts in her chest.

“of course!”

and with that, she wraps her arms around his neck and connects their lips in an excited and love-filled kiss.

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mishafletcher · 4 years

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Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping.

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but—

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something.

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers.

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too.

#queer stuff #lgbtq #gold star lesbians #long post #sorry #Anonymous

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leonardhoee · 3 years

Text

A Rant About Ikesen’s Treatment of Motonari

I’ve been away from tumblr for a while but I had to come back for this.

So something I’ve noticed throughout playing Ikesen is the way that the game is very biased agains Motonari and I think it needs to be addressed because he is the only brown character and his portrayal is full of harmful stereotypes against brown men. I love this game but I haven't seen a single person acknowledge how badly Motonari is treated by the creators and the fandom as a result of that.

Also any racist comments will be blocked.

Possible route spoilers under the cut…

So lets start with the obvious, he is the only dark skinned character in Ikesen and when I first started playing I was so happy about that because finally (regardless of his ethnicity which honestly in this portrayal of him can be up for debate, I HC him as south East Asian) we are getting some representation. Throughout the game though I started noticing a lot of harmful stereotypes being thrown onto him that none of the other characters face.

Both him and Nobunaga are relatively misogynistic, I’m not denying that at all. However the way it is portrayed in their routes is very different. Nobunaga should in fact have sexual harassment charges, yet its romanticized repeatedly throughout his route. Motonari on the other hand treated MC as a possession the same way Nobunaga did, however he is shown as aggressive and scary as opposed to Nobunaga being shown as sexy and romantic.

There is also a difference in their respective CG’s

Motonari’s CG is shown much more threatening and aggressive than Nobunaga’s

That brings me to my next point. Every other antagonist so far is shown to have a gentle and redeemable side. Kenshin threatened to wage war on the whole country while keeping MC locked in a cell yet he is still shown to be gentle and romantic. Kennyo repeatedly kidnaps and threatens MC’s life in other routes yet he is shown as a gentle monk who just wants revenge for his fallen brethren. Why doesn't Motonari get that level of consideration and empathy? Why is he, the only brown man, shown as an aggressive two-dimensional brute in every single route that isn’t his own? And this is a harmful stereotype that shows itself in all kinds of media. Brown men are depicted as predatory and aggressive both in fiction and real life.

This leads me to his ethnicity (I’m only talking about Ikesen’s portrayal of Motonari, I am well aware he was a Japanese warlord irl). In his route there is a part where he is talking about slavery and colonialism. As a South Asian woman I completely understand his perspective and its what got me thinking about this subject in the first place.

This subject is clearly personal to him. These lines, the way he looks as opposed to the other characters, and the fact that he speaks Spanish (around this time period the Philippines were being colonized by Spain), leads me to head cannon him as South East Asian, specifically Filipino. However, historically, Motonari comes from a region of Southern Japan, which is known as Hiroshima today. Cybird meant to market him as Okinawan. A large part of the reason Motonari is being treated this way by Cybird stems from the fact that people from Okinawa face racism from mainland Japan. Considering the fact that this game was made in Japan, and knowing what we know about their history of colonization, racism, and east asian beauty standards revolving around colorism, I am honestly not surprised that Motonari is being portrayed like this.

Until now they just showed his reason for fighting the Oda to be “oh I just want to watch the world burn for no reason”. But no that’s not the reason. These lines. That’s the reason. A lot of the context behind those lines comes from the fact that comes from because people from mainland Japan treated Okinawan people as slaves. He doesn’t want to see another colonizer come into power. Sure he’s a bit of an extremist but historically people who have this ideology have always been portrayed as savage and barbaric and “against the betterment of society” (think Jet from atla or even Malcom x). It’s no different in ikesen. The devs are clearly villainizing this ideology. Let’s not forget the fact that irl Hideyoshi invaded Korea. And the fact that anime and otome games are part of Japan’s way of erasing their war crimes and rebranding themselves to the rest of the world. It’s blatantly obvious here with the way they’re villainizing Motonari for having a perfectly valid reason to fight the Oda. If Japan stays divided they can’t invade and colonize other countries like the Philippines can they? Anti-colonialism = bad.

Lastly I want to talk about how they downplayed his abilities as a leader and a warlord in his own right. In all the other routes he is depicted as less educated and frankly “dumb”, and it shows itself in his speech patterns too. Compared to Nobunaga and Mitsuhide, Motonari’s speech is stereotypically “less educated” and “lower class”. Yet he is just as much of a leader as any of the other warlords. However instead of acknowledging that, the game chooses to focus on his crimes and behavior as a pirate, instead of his role as the head of the Mouri clan.

At one point Kicho even compares his intelligence to a fifth grader which just rubs me the wrong way because lets take a moment to actually look at Motonari’s abilities. He is multilingual, has knowledge of global politics and economics, is an amazing businessman, and extremely analytical. He is literally known as the God of Decit, yet I did not hear that name once until his route came out. His strategies are good enough to be called a god, yet that is completely buried in the other routes in order to simplify his character into a trigger happy psychopath and a violent brute. He is just as smart as Nobunaga yet he is not given the credit he deserves.

Both Motonari and Nobunaga are extremely similar yet because of the horribly biased portrayals, Motonari is one of the least popular characters whereas Nobunaga is the second most popular. It makes me angry to see people in the fandom choosing to blindly hate Motonari without recognizing the fact that this stems from a frankly racist portrayal of an extremely intelligent and powerful character. Although truthfully, I blame the devs because if they had given his character even half the consideration and depth the others got, this would not be the case.

You can disagree with me if you want. I am simply bringing attention to something I haven’t seen being addressed.

I hope in future routes, events, and sequels he is treated better by the devs and and the fandom. Please stop projecting racist stereotypes onto brown men.

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt.9

Summary: Darkling’s secrets are soon to be unveiled, just in time for a trip to the Fold.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, implied sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight

=================================

The Darkling walked with a spring in his step. Residents of Little Palace have gotten used to his skulking in black keftas he wore like second skin. Never before had they seen him smile as much as he did on this particular day – as if he found the secret to happiness.

In truth, the Darkling refused to let himself hope for much. He simply hoped she’d allow him to kiss her now without receiving a death threat for it. It felt incredibly dangerous how foolishly addicted he is to his fickle wife. He never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her.

“General”, Fedyor joined him on his right, while Ivan silently took his left side. They both kept a reasonable distance from Kirigan, two steps behind at all times.

“What reason did you have to knock on my door this morning?” Kirigan’s voice is leveled, but his words are a death trap. There’s nothing more the general hates than his Grisha interrupting his private time – regardless if Y/N is with him or not. Unless there’s a burning issue at hand, he disliked being bothered unnecessarily.

“We’ve intercepted a few interesting stories you might like”, Ivan responds calmly, unafraid of his temperamental general. After all the years they’ve known each other, Ivan could read Kirigan’s mood easily. Despite his discontent, Kirigan is chipper for the first time in a long time. In fact, Ivan can’t even remember the last time his general was this happy...or happy at all.

“What kind?” Darkling asked, but his attention was undeniably divided as he caught sight of Y/N.

She walked across the hallway with a purpose – determined to raise hell and he found it incredibly sexy. She paused for a moment, her gaze meeting his briefly. When she pursed her lips, his twitched at the corners – a smile starting to form.

“Sun Summoner kind”, Fedyor spoke in a hushed voice.

Kirigan’s smile falters, his eyes leaving Y/N’s. “Follow me”, he barked on order before walking in the opposite direction.

All his life, the Darkling had been searching for the Sun Summoner. Every whisper of their existence turned out to be nothing but a fabrication, but something felt different now.

Once inside the map room, he leaned with his palms on the table. Kirigan didn’t say anything for a moment or ask for more information, but then his mouth moved on their own accord.

“Is it true?”

Glancing at each other, Ivan and Fedyor silently argued who should deliver the news.

“I asked you a question”, the general growled out, looking at them over his shoulder and the intensity of his glare had erased his earlier happiness.

“Nothing is confirmed yet, but we have quite a lot of accounts from the people surrounding the forest.” Ivan replied.

The Darkling made a sort of a grunting noise that Ivan didn’t know what to make of. The shadows covered the windows swiftly, engulfing the room in darkness as his left eye narrowed ever so slightly.

“The forest?”

Fedyor clears his throat, “Near the border.”

“Near the fold”, Ivan adds.

“I want”, he paused. Running his fingers through his hair, his shadows killed every source of outside light. “We need to prepare for a trip to the armies stationed at the fold.”

Nodding, Ivan looked to Fedyor and his deep-set frown.

“Are we to cross?” Fedyor asks.

The Darkling’s face is stone, his eyes unblinking. “Would it be a problem for you?”

Breath caught in his throat, Fedyor’s heart started to race. “No.”

“Good”, Kirigan remarked. “Prepare everything for departure in no more than a week.”

Sending them off, the Darkling sat in his chair. He wants so many things. His fingers graze his chin as he sighs – there would be no leaving without Y/N following. It’s not in her nature to do nothing and if she learns of the reasons behind his departure, he might lose her. The path of less resistance is to convince her the trip is to prove he’s honored his promise to her. He had sent the instructions yesterday and while she did force his hand on it, he didn’t hate her for it. If he’s bound for hell, at least it’s not a false one. She hates him, but she’s honest with him. He appreciated that.

Finding the Sun Summoner will change everything – for once, he will have a partner who can understand the weight of his past choices. He regrets too many things he’s done, but he was rarely given a choice. They broke the wrong parts of him, in the end, he showed them what happens when they laid a hand on those he cares for. That included Y/N now. If anything, she was a priority. Y/N is the only one he has left in this world.

While the Darkling pondered on the possibility of a Sun Summoner being true, Y/N sat in the library with a pile of books at each side.

The lingering effect of Aleksander’s gaze upon her and his devilish smirk had warmed her up in a way she least expected. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if time stopped or her heart did.

Shaking her head, she flipped the page in frustration. Her skin still burned bright from where he touched her. No amount of bathing can erase the fact she belonged to him now.

Swallowing thickly, she groaned. In all the books she had found, barely few had any information on the shadow summoner. Aside from Morozova creatures that serve as amplifiers, Y/N found mere mentions of a black heretic and the creation of the fold.

Her neck hurt, her eyes felt like they’re being pierced with needles and there was no saving her mind from all the theories she concocted. Leaning back in her chair, she huffed. Rubbing her eyes, she slammed the book closed before standing in frustration.

She didn’t want to love Aleksander, to risk her heart and life. She didn’t want to lay in bed, always afraid of what he might do if one day she’s not careful enough and he learns the truth. Naively, she hoped he’d either stand with her or just walk away but that’s not the Kirigan she knows. He wouldn’t forgive, it’s not in his nature.

Placing the books where she can find them in the morning, she headed to her room. Genya was kind enough to send a servant with lunch, but Y/N missed dinner entirely. Engrossed in books all day, she hardly felt any hunger.

At least not the kind of hunger food could satisfy.

Walking into the room, she hadn’t expected to find Aleksander sat at the bottom of their bed….shirtless.

Standing, he narrowed his eyes at her. “You weren’t at dinner.”

She raised a brow, “Wasn’t hungry.”

Kirigan crossed his arms over his bare chest, the movement making the muscles in his stomach flicker.

“Get dressed”, she quipped.

He smiled, “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a mirror in every corner of this Palace, since you love yourself so much.”

He laughed wholeheartedly as she just turned away, clamping a hand over her mouth. She couldn’t let herself laugh with him. Every moment like this feels like the world is spinning, making her resolution fragile. She’s aching to let him in, but it would be a mistake. She feels it in his bones, he’s not honest with her.

Caring for a man like him is dangerous, like standing in the eye of a hurricane.

“We’ll leave Little Palace in a week”, Aleksander speaks, “Just as you asked of me.”

She stares at him, disbelief and joy colliding. And it’s the look in his eyes, the hopeful, terrified look in those dark skies that disarms her.

“Why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

Running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, Aleksander takes a step closer. “You’ll ride with me.”

Pursing her lips, she nods without ever breaking eye contact. “And?”

A breathless chuckle passes his lips, “You’ll have to wear a special kefta. One that won’t let you get hurt easily.”

Taking a deep breath, she tilts her head up, “And?”

Suppressing a smile, he raises an eyebrow. “You’ll be equipped with a weapon of choice. I believe you’re more than familiar with guns as a soldier of the First army.”

Raising both eyebrows in response, she takes a step closer to him. “Swords”, she notes.

Humming, his eyes widen ever so slightly as he waits for her to continue.

“I prefer swords”, she touched his face gently with the back of her hand.

“Of course”, he breathes out. A soft smile spreads across his lips, “Draw your swords if you see an enemy in sight.”

“Even if it’s my husband?” Her lips remain parted, her eyes flickering to his chest where she raised her hand to.

“I don’t care, as long as you keep yourself safe.”

She held her breath as his words resonated with her mind. How can he be so callous one day and then offer up his life for her to take. No game had ever made her question every single word that left someone’s lips before. Sometimes she’d look at him and see through the mask he shows the world and other times she couldn’t see anything other than her own reflection in his eyes as if his soul didn’t exist at all.

“Since when do you care?” She frowns, gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

Letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes flicker to the hand she splayed against his bare chest. Just the simple touch of her hand made him want more. It was becoming too hard to pretend he hates her. What he truly hates is how human she is – what is he supposed to do when her hair turns grey and he’s still young? How will he survive when someone takes her to exact vengeance against him? Will he be too late to save her then?

When your world comes to a stop and the value of life is amplified by those dead before their time in gruesome ways, it feels like an earthquake shakes the very foundations life is built on. But when the walls start falling, past and future no longer exist, only the moment you’re in and the first person that comes to mind when those walls are gone is what your life is all about. For Aleksander, that person is Y/N.

Looking into her eyes, his hands cup her face, “Since I had to spend five days believing you’re dead.”

He wanted to wrap Y/N in his arms and tell her he would never let her walk away, not after he had a taste of what it means to be with her. He wanted to tell her his love is unconditional and that his soul is hers, even if she didn’t want to give him hers. He would wait, as patiently and as stubbornly as he did by now and that she will never lose him because even if he wished, he can’t scrub his heart clean of her. And he never wanted to.

“I thought you’d protect me?” She raised an eyebrow, teasing him.

She had become his heart, his reason to live. She lit a fire within, something he had lost over time and while she’s completely unaware of it, if the world tried to take her from him, the Darkling would wage war to make sure she remains by his side.

Blinking slow, a faint smile upon his lips, the Darkling tilts his head slightly to the left. “Would you allow it?”

There is nothing in the world he wanted more than to kiss her again, but this time around Aleksander decided to let her make the move. She is tender, but fierce. To understand a woman like her, one must realize that the former is who she is and the latter is what life demanded of her.

“Not likely”, she remarks and he throws his head back, chuckling.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she wets her lips in thought and he can’t help but think this is a well-designed trap for him to say the wrong thing and for her to use it as excuse to put distance between them rather than face her own desires and he was almost certain those desires included him.

“You want me”, he whispers in her ear as his fingertips slide up her spine and to the back of her neck, “And it’s killing you.”

“Physical attraction means nothing”, her voice is low, but unwavering.

Aleksander bites the inside of his lower lip in anticipation of her pushing him away and storming off, but even as he waits, he feels her hips press closer to him as if she’s telling him he won’t be left alone. Not again.

“Yet you’re here”, he grins. Tucking her hair behind her left ear, he admired how firm she stands in her opposition.

“So are you”, she quipped,.

A cocky smile appears on his lips, tiny wrinkles forming around his dark eyes as he holds her gaze bravely, unwavering even when her gaze becomes a glare.

Biting her lower lip, contemplating the right move, Y/N could hardly fight her desire for him. Her head knew he it would be unwise, but her heart screamed at her to kiss him and those butterflies in her stomach felt more like killer bees as the need to feel him inside her had taken over every rational thought she generated.

One hand caressing his lean cheek, she gave into her primal instincts as she slammed her lips against his and Aleksander’s own heart leapt inside his chest.

Their need for each other was urgent. Y/N grabbed a handful of flesh and muscle on Aleksander’s back. He gasped and laughed throatily at her haste. When her hands clawed at him again, he grasped both hands in one of his and held them over her head. She struggled to free herself, but he was too strong. When he entered her, she gasped, then moved her hips up to meet his.

He released her hands and she pulled him closer and closer to her. They made love quickly, almost harshly, before they found the sweet release they longed for. Aleksander collapsed on top of her, their bodies still joined as one when their minds gave in, slowly drifting to sleep.

Just like the previous morning, he remained in the bed, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

She barely saw him during the day as the week progressed, but their nights were spent together – entangled mess of limbs, desperate moans and needy pleas neither held back. She’d close her eyes in his embrace and begin her day the same way.

“You don’t have much time”, Genya warned as Y/N dressed in haste. She decided to dress for the trip, it was the only way she could fit in a few hours in the library.

“I won’t be long”, she smiled at her friend.

Licking her lips, Genya took her by the hand. “What is it that you’re looking for?”

Y/N clenched her teeth, wondering if she should tell Genya. Something inside her warned against it – she didn’t tell anyone his name is Aleksander, feeling privileged to know such information. If she’s wrong and she can trust him, she didn’t want to poison anyone else with her doubt beforehand. A single book remained unread on her pile of very thick books she went through.

“Just trying to learn”, Y/N shrugged.

Nodding, Genya smiles, “In case we don’t see each other before you leave, I have to implore you to reconsider David as an ally.”

“I will”, Y/N promised and she would. Someone in Aleksander’s inner circle could be of use to her.

Going through the pages, she felt exhausted. Spending all her time in ancient books didn’t seem to be of use, but for once the text made sense. It spoke of the black heretic and the many names he’s been called in history.

“He walks the earth with a power only the saints could possess. They call him The Black Heretic, The Shadow King, The Starless Saint, Staski, Eryk, Leonid – numerous names that he exchanged for each lifetime he was given and by now it must be at least a few hundred lifetimes of darkness. His name – true name was lost throughout the centuries, occasionally heard as a whisper carried in the wind.”

Wide eyed, she read through the text of a scholar who described the Black Heretic and his powers, his entire lineage being his mother who remained unnamed and…him.

“He has no descendants?” Y/N’s lips quiver. If he has no descendants and his line begins and ends with him, how would Aleksander even exist?

Unless…

No.

It would be impossible, would it not?

“Numerous names that he exchanged for each lifetime he was given”, she reads aloud only to cover her own mouth in face of a startling epiphany. It was as she noticed the dark connection between the great mystery, the horrific realization set in.

“Pardon me, miss, but General Kirigan has sent for you”, a servant frightened her.

Taking the book in haste, Y/N stood on her shaky legs. Mouth dry, she pressed her lips in a thin line.

“Thank you”, she walked out so quickly, barely containing her quick and shallow breaths. Sweating profusely, she felt as if the black kefta she wore weighed down on her like battle armor.

Was it not her armor? Was this not a constant war she’s struggled with?

Aleksander…Kirigan…The Darkling…who is he?

“Are you ready?” Aleksander is waiting by the door with a small smile on his lips. His hand is opened for her to take, but she ignores it. If she took his hand, he’d feel the shakiness she’s trying so hard to steady.

Mounting his black stallion, she tucked the book safely inside her inner pocket.

“I’ll take the reins”, she informed him as he took his place behind her.

She heard him scoff, “I’m the general.”

Is Aleksander even his real name?

Are the stories about him true?

“On this side of the fold, so am I”, she gripped the reins and the stallion obeyed.

Riding a horse always helped her clear her mind, but this time it seemed impossible.

When she married Kirigan, she believed she would marry an old, unattractive man…As it turns out, she got the old part right.

=============================

A/N - I’m not quite happy with this chapter, but I wanted to post today to keep my streak going. Also, i suck at writing a summary, like WHY IS THAT?! xD It’s Eid, so I’m tired and sleepy, forgive my grammar and prepare for things to heat up in the next chapters. Thank you all for sticking with the story and all the feedback, it honestly gives me life and will to keep writing. I also finally found the books in my native tongue, at least the Grisha trilogy and Six of crows duology and I’m really excited to dive into it and further my understanding of Darkling as a brilliantly written villain that is a multi-dimensional being with, let’s be honest, actually good points. I may not be happy about his willingness to commit mass murder, but I kinda see where he’s coming from and I really can’t wait to know more about the situation as it is in the books.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld

PART 10

#the darkling x reader #the darkling fanfiction #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #shadown and bone

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #Frankie morales fanfic #Frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie x you #frankie x reader

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linkspooky · 3 years

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Kamo and Megumi is the same...

I’ve always read the Kyoto vs Tokyo arc as a breakdown of communication.The Kyoto kids want understanding, but due to everyone being teenagers the Kyoto Kids cannot explain and the Tokyo Kids cannot understand. One of the stand out moments is when Kamo insists they are the same, and Megumi just says no.

They are both dark haired, quiet, introverts. They were both born outsiders. Toji and Kamo’s mother the prostitute. People that the clan looked down on. However, the clan will take in their children because they were born with a strong cursed technique. They’re both strategists, who act like they’re logical, but tend to be swayed by emotions instead. They’re both trying to protect someone, Megumi his sister, and Kamo his mother and both only became jujutsu sorcerers to protect these people.

But yeah, they’re totally not the same at all... More under the cut.

So, why does Megumi reject Kamo so utterly?

Well, on the surface level it’s simply because Kamo is wrong.

To explain complicated morality a bit.

Killing one child, even if it’s to protect the peace of everybody else is ethically wrong.

However, the position Kamo is trying to explain to Megumi is utilitarian. He’s saying, the best way to handle this situation is to do what’s best for everybody, kill one person out of a hundred to save ninety nine.

He then also adds that, because they’re both heirs to political families they are pressured to think that way. Kamo is thinking in a utilitarian sense, because, he’s saying that as a family with major political power they have to make their decisions on the scope of society as a whole.

So adding onto that, Kamo is acting like there is a higher order of reasoning. He says they are expected to think in strictly numerical terms like this, they have to be utilitarian, they have to make their decisions without personal bias, because that’s what is expected of them as the future heads of clan. Kamo is also trying to elaborate, he’s not really allowed, to let personal feelings get in the way of his judgement, because from such a young age he’s always been forced to act responsible in every situation.

So basically. Kamo is saying. I’m not allowed to do what I think is right because I’m the son of the Kamo clan, I have to do what the clan thinks is right and fall into line with their utilitarian thinking.

Megumi’s response to this is, I don’t care about that, I decide things based on what I think is right.

So on one level Megumi is right. Kamo is not actually doing what he thinks is right, he’s doing what the clan thinks is right and claiming he has no choice. Megumi is saying “I don’t care about your cicrumstances or what’s pressuring you, I still believe it’s wrong for you to try to kill my friend.”

He also, is right in calling that most people are just following their own conscience and just trying to do what they think is right. Kamo’s repressed motivation this entire time is, he’s not really thinking of the whole clan, he’s just trying to do right by his mother. Megumi, is trying to save Tsumiki and Yuji, Kamo is trying to save his mother, however they go about it in different ways, Megumi by saving people selfishly, and Kamo by pretending to be the dutiful and loyal son.

Megumi’s callout works. Both Megumi and Kamo are just doing what they feel is right in this situation. Kamo is the one pretending like he has a higher reasoning. He’s using the clan’s control over him as a way to excuse himself for what he knows is wrong.

However, on another level Megumi is wrong.

Megumi is saying, you are doing a bad thing. Therefore, you are a bad person and I don’t have to listen to you.

When it’s really that Kamo is in a bad family situation. It’s true Kamo’s choices are his own, and he can still make bad decisions and held to responsible for them, however, it’s impossible not to look at Kamo’s family situation, because one it influences his decisions so much (the constant flashbacks to his mother, he’s trying to do what will protect his mom), and two because it resembles Megumi’s own family situation so much (Megumi is also, someone who became a Jujutsu Sorcerer to save his sister).

“We have no choice but to curse each other.”

In other words.

“I don’t care to hear what your reasons are, I’m just going to fight you.”

It’s never a good thing when you’re quoting Geto.

This is a bad end. This is where the talks break down. The thing is, both Megumi and Kamo are wrong because they are both kids. Yes, Kamo shouldn’t have ever agreed to the order to kill Yuji but at the same time, Kamo never should have been put in that situation. It’s the adults that are making these kids fight, it’s the adults that create the situations where these kids fight.

Megumi is using a simplified morality here. Megumi unconsciously divies people into good or bad people and judges them based upon that. We’ve seen them do this countless times, he sees the bad people as not worth saving, and then puts the good ones on a pedestal where they can do no wrong.

His sister is a “good person” therefore she’s always a good person. Yuji is a “good person” therefore no matter what he does he’s always a good person and worth saving. The problem with this sort of black and white morality is that it doesn’t apply to a life that is a very, messy, gray. The thing is, the way Megumi sees the world the only people who ever do bad things are bad people.

Well, this guy must have been bad because he hit someone while driving without a liscense.

Megumi says while not knowing the circumstances at all. Maybe he was driving to work without a license because his mom needed the money and he was still in high school and couldn’t get one? Maybe, he actually felt sorry about it.

The thing is, the guy was arrested, and was already actively serving penance for his crime. And yet, Megumi is like, “Nah he’s not worth saving. I was planning on letting him die.”

That’s like, an awful thing to think, because crimminals are no longer human and therefore no longer worth saving. That’s how simplified Megumi’s view on morality is, it’s downright childish, once you’ve done a bad thing you’re labeled as bad for life. People can’t improve, or repent or feel sorry for what they’ve done.

The thing is people do bad things all the time without meaning too, or for understandable reasons, or because they’re people. Megumi’s primary fear is what if the person I save, turns out to be a bad person?

However, that doesn’t come from a place of hating crimminals per se.

It comes from Megumi’s tenderness, his kindness, his fear of hurting people. Childish is the best way to describe it. Megumi’s primary character trait is that he was abandoned by both parents, he doesn’t really know how to survive in the world but he has to pretend that he does because no one else is there to take care of him. Add onto that the idea that he was sort of forced into becoming a jujutsu sorcerer first by his dad selling him, then by Gojo only intervening on the premise that he come to work for him instead. Second, on the fact that he was completely powerless to stop whatever was happening to Tsumiki.

It makes perfect sense that Megumi has a really childish morality, he is a child, and it doesn’t come from a place of wanting to punish bad people so much as he’s afraid of other people getting hurt by his actions, and he’s afraid that he might be at fault, that he might be the reason that people like Toji, and Tsumiki left his life. Megumi is so careful with choosing his actions, because he’s so afraid that he’s the reason everyone else around him left him, and if he screws up he’ll lose other people again, or he’ll hurt people. It comes from Megumi genuinely being a soft guy towards almost everyone he meets, just like Yuji.

The problem is, Kamo is the same.

Kamo is also someone coping really badly with circumstances just like Megumi is. However, when it comes to judge Kamo Megumi just ignores those circumstances.

The difference between Kamo and Megumi is that one of them is good, or one of them is bad, they’re not better than the other, their fight even got interrupted and ended in a tie. They are both children.

The difference is their circumstances. Basically at this time, Kamo had already been placed as the next head of the Kamo clan, whereas Megumi was still being protected by Gojo. Megumi doesn’t stop to think about how their circumstances might be different, because he doesn’t think of circumstances at all he’s still hung up on good people vs. bad people.

The reason that Kamo decided to turn against Yuji is that he was being pressured too, he thought he had to choose between doing the thing he thought would help his mother, or saving a random stranger. He made a bad choice, but people make bad choices in bad circumstances.

The problem with Megumi’s reasoning is that he assumes because he’s deciding things based on his own conscience, that he’ll just somehow be stronger in those circumstances. Megumi assumes that he would still make the right choice, even if put into Kamo’s cricumstances. However, how would Megumi react if he was forced to choose between Yuji and Tsumiki. If he had to decide which one to save?

Now, Megumi is being pushed into similiar circumstances that Kamo once faced.

Tsumiki, who Megumi always held up as his gold standard of a good person might do something bad. Geto says he’s going to release all the new cursed energy users he created and make them fight, Tsumiki might hurt someone.

Yuji, who also was what Megumi decided was a good person also has hurt a lot of people now.

Yuji and Tsumiki are both victims of circumstance the same way Kamo was once. Yuji never wanted to do anything bad, his only intention the whole way was to save people. Yuji ended up hurting a lot of people in Tokyo. It wasn’t even his fault, but the undeniable reality is it’s still something that happened.

This is why dividing people into good or bad doesn’t work, good people can still hurt other people, good people make mistakes, good people are capable of doing wrong.

You could say that Yuji should have always known about the possibility that Sukuna would rampage, but it didn’t occur to him, that one he’d ever be in a situation where Gojo wouldn’t be around to stop him, and two he didn’t think he’d be fed ten or so fingers at once. It’s true Yuji wasn’t acting responsibly as Sukuna’s host, but Yuji is, just a kid. He’s like seventeen. There’s no way he can be held responsible in every single situation.

If you wanted to be pedantic you could even go back and say that Kamo’s decision was the right one. That Megumi should have killed Yuji all along, because the threat was always there that Yuji might let Sukuna rampage and kill hundreds of people.

However, even that is missing the point. The point being that, Kamo, Yuji and Megumi are all just kids. It’s unreasonable to expect any of them to be well adjusted in these circumstances. By expecting these kids to act like rational adults in situations that most adults couldn’t handle, then blaming the kids for their reactions, all you’re ensuring really is that the kids pay for the adults mistakes.

Now, Megumi is being put into the exact same position as Kamo. He’s a child, being forced to now act like the heir to the Zen’in clan because Gojo is no longer around to protect him. He’s going to become a piece to be manipulated by the adults around him.

Megumi probably won’t do very well in this situation, because he’s just a kid. If anything that’s the strength of Jujutsu Kaisen as a manga. Characters don’t ever like heroically overcome circumstances with sheer willpower alone. Yuji isn’t acting heroic like now, he’s horrified by what Sukuna used his body to do, he doesn’t feel like he can go back home right now because his friends wouldn’t accept him anymore, and he would just hurt them. It’s almost etter to see Yuji falter with circumstances instead of heroically overcome them, because now Yuji feels like a real kid. He feels what any kid would feel in that situation, he struggles with it.

Kamo and Megumi are the same, because they’re just kids. I wish Megumi would see that too, because he might learn to be more forgiving towards himself. It’s not his fault that Toji and Tsumiki left because he wasn’t good enough.

The strange thing is Yuji thinks that Megumi might blame him for what happened in Tokyo and think he is a bad person now, but Megumi is much more likely to blame himself. He’ll think it was his choice to save Yuji that led to Sukuna rampaging and he has to bear all the respnosibility alone without Yuji. When the truth is it’s neither of their faults, because both Megumi and Yuji are just kids.

#kamo noritoshi #megumi fushigoro #itadori yuji #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen theory #jjk 138 #jjk 138 spoilers #jujutsu kaisen 138 #jujutsu kaisen 138 spoilers

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Just a Human (S.R.)

Type: mini-series turned one-shot, SHIELD recruit!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 8750

Summary: Being a SHIELD recruit was a dream come true, especially with people like Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers offering an input to your class’ training.

It was also hard work for many different reasons. One of them being all those guys around; not all of them were exactly fit to become heroes, simply because they were not good people.

Maybe you shouldn’t have pointed it out so openly though. Then again, what would the world turn into if you kept your mouth shut when feeling like speaking up?

WARNINGS: so-so graphic description of assault almost turned sexual, violence and a bit of blood, boys being boys in a real bad way, language

A/N: Steve Rogers vs assholes, round 2. Also, ‘you’ vs. assholes. And Bucky in the mix.

A/N: This was originally posted as a miniseries on AO3, but now edited, I decided to thrown it in as a long, sort-of three part one-shot. Enjoy and mind the warnings.

(gif source dailymcugifs, divider by firefly-graphics)

A Handful of Spite

“Can you believe the fucking nerve on him?!” Henry hissed, punching the bag harder and catching your attention. The statement was followed by his companion nodding grimly.

You tried to ignore the walking testosterone jerks; you never liked either Henry or Jim. The reason was simple – they were, as you loved to remind people, an advertisement on toxic masculinity. Bullies on top of that. The kind of people you wanted to avoid at all costs.

You weren’t that lucky to have that chance though.

So instead, you scoffed under your breath and continued your sit-ups series. You had more important things to do than wonder about what they were talking about this time.

It was your regular training session with the other SHIELD recruits led by Sergeant Barnes – which--- oh my. When joining the academy, you had no clue that the director’s ‘you’ll be learning from the best’ meant that of all things; trained by the more-than-once-believed-late James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone here knew his story – or at least some of it. The brainwashing. The murders. His heroics to make up for them as much as he could. His everlasting friendship and a nickname that was tied to it. Bucky; the very best friend of the oh-so-praised Captain America.

Oh, speaking of which, he joined the sessions too. You were being trained by not one, but two supersoldiers slash war heroes. You couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes, but you were not one to dwell on it. You just accepted it as a fact. An abso-fucking-lutely incredible fact.

“He’s just a fucker, man. Forget about Barnes, you have Cassie in your pocket. Just ‘cause he’s all sticky sweet on her doesn’t mean she’ll suck his-“

You made a disgusting face, pushing harder to tune out the conversation. You wanted to gag and at the same time, your blood was boiling.

Could there be a jerk who was objectifying women more than Jim? A guy who was using his lower brain more frequently than him? Doubtful. You really wanted to throw up at rubbish that was leaving his mouth.

Not to mention that he was throwing dirt on Sergeant Barnes who absolutely didn’t deserve it.

“-he’s like that to all of them. The chicks. And they fucking dig him, it’s disgusting. He makes the poor brainwashed kicked puppy face, reminding the sob story of his and they’re all dropping to their knees I swear…” Jim continued, practically spitting the venomous words.

You squeezed your eyes shut, half furious and half guilty; the sergeant did have a heart-breaking backstory and many girls were making eyes on him, their hearts softened by the tragedy and his bravery, yes. And you couldn’t say it wasn’t moving you as well, filling you with compassion – but compassion only. Obviously, Sergeant Barnes was objectively a very attractive man too, but what they were saying… ugh.

He didn’t deserve these insults; he was not trying anything on anyone, he wasn’t offering his ‘sob story’, actually being rather secretive about it for obvious and no doubt painful reasons. He couldn’t really couldn’t be blamed for the girls fawning over him a bit more because of it, could he? What was he supposed to do? Stop breathing? Stop doing what he chose to be his job?

It wasn’t his problem – and thank god for that – that these two assholes had egos the size of Texas and couldn’t handle a little competition.

Seriously. Walking testosterone-filled jerks. You seriously considered moving from the station you had been given, eyeing Captain Rogers, checking if he would notice.

“Well, he’s not. Getting. Any. From. My. Chick. Asshole!”

The bag swung wildly under Henry’s blows despite Jim holding it. You laid off, taking your fifteen second break.

“I bet he’s fucking them all on side. Always so… so soft on them. I bet he’s leaving all the hard shit for bed,” Jim snorted, somewhere between angry at him competition and amused at his own crude joke.

You were gonna puke. You were sure of it.

“And he’s too hard on us. Showing off for them. I would fucking want to see him holding up against us without that metal arm-“

You had enough. You sat up sharply, panting, your face flushed, unsure whether it was from the exercise or the exchange you were listening to.

“Are you serious?!” you hissed their way, earning their shocked glances.

And then, Jim’s face twisted in annoyance and disgust.

“Oh geez, you’re one of them, aren’t you?” he snarked, rolling his eyes. “The fangirls.”

More heat burned in your cheeks. You weren’t kidding anyone; both the sergeant and the captain had showed up in your not so innocent dreams, but you were only human, alright. There was only so much time you could spend with two very fine men like them in one room, a bit sweaty and rough (or just slightly gentler with the ladies) until your brain reacted. Mostly to the captain. Not the point.

But actually crossing the line? Being a part of the thing they were describing if it ever existed? Waiting in the line until one of them picked you for the evening with a promise to do it again after they… Jesus what, tried all the others? No, thank you. You had some dignity left.

Also, you simply couldn’t imagine them doing such thing. Raised in a different era, tried by war and pain and lost, yet remaining the great men they were? Just nope.

“No! Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?” you hissed, minding your volume. You hoped that the low hum of voice in the room, of others working out, giving each other pointers and the noise of the machines would offer you a cover from the rest of your companion.

“What, you wanna tell me they’re not going easy on you? On any chick, really?”

“Yeah, well, maybe because they don’t actually want to break our bones during training. Supersoldiers. Superstrength. Does that ring a bell?” you pointed out, reaching for your water bottle, hoping either of your trainers would forgive you when seeing you only took a sec to have a sip.

Henry scoffed, leaning onto the bag. “Sounds like someone has a crush…”

You couldn’t help the motion of your hands, inconspicuously throwing them in the air in frustration.

Why were you even speaking to them? You should have kept your mouth shut!

“Oh go to hell, Ulrich! You’re just jealous and scared that your girl whom you treat like a piece of shit will run off,” you murmured, wiping your forehead off sweat.

“Yeah, because they’re sure pulling their punches with guys too,” Jim complained again, rolling his eyes as Henry now watched you, eyes narrowed in anger – oh you hit a nail on the head, alright.

You couldn’t but mirror Jim’s action, deciding to stick to Devil’s advocate, because…. yeah, because it wasn’t fair to either Rogers or Barnes. They were good people and didn’t deserve this.

“So they’re not beating the shit out of us like they do with you, get over it.”

“They’re humiliating us! Showing off their big muscles, trying to impress all the chicks-“

You chuckled incredulously as they actually admitted the real reason behind their bitching so openly; as if you hadn’t known the whole time. Ego. Ohhh, the ego was bruised. Call 911, CPR is gonna be needed! God, how did they even live with ego this big? Compensating for something?

“They’re doing their job. Training. Yes, they go a bit harder on you, because your physiology can take it. Did it ever occur to you that they have bigger problems than entering a pissing contest with you just so they could steal the girls? Jeez… just… maybe try to be less of assholes and the girls will be into you too… ”

You missed the hard look Henry gave you, laying down again, this time on your belly to work on your back.

You wheezed when a knee suddenly dug into your back, violently and painfully knocking the air out of your lungs. Before you could react, one of your arms was twisted behind your back, Henry’s voice raspy right into your ear, low and dangerous.

“Listen, you little bitch, you don’t get to talk to me like that. Understand? Huh?”

He was so proving your point, but you didn’t have the time You tried to breathe in properly, and free your arm while pushing up on the free one, your muscles burning with the effort. Shit, he was heavy. You wheezed again instead of the answer.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie. What was that?”

Peripherally, you could see heavy boots approaching rapidly, making a quick guess of who that could be. You gritted your teeth, tears of humiliation pricking your eyes. You were not about to give Henry the satisfaction of proving his point of your trainers being sweet on all the girls even if this so wasn’t that.

“Screw. You,” you let out with the last oxygen left, grabbing his left calf and sharply tugging to the very same side. A half-second later when his weight of you eased just a fraction, you threw your body to the left as well, adding a jerk of your legs.

Both of you rolled over, him ending up under you and you quickly spun away, gasping, desperately fighting for air. As it burned your windpipe, it was as painful as welcomed. Little spots danced inf ornt of your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away – luckily for you, Henry didn’t dare to attack you again.

You shook your head before pushing to sit up, only to meet with Captain Rogers’s strict gaze.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded, sharp blue eyes flickering between the three of you.

Maybe you were hallucinating, but he seemed to be murdering Henry with his eyes. Uh-uh. You would have been glad he was, hadn’t Henry been talking about favouritism only few moments ago. You pushed up simultaneously with him and you both stood straight, facing the captain.

“Apologies, sir,” you stated mechanically, his gaze immediately shifting to you. Your heart stopped. Oh wow, you would swear the blue of his irises was on fire. You gulped. “We had a slight disagreement with Mr. Ulrich. I’m aware I shouldn’t have been talking to him in the first place. I’ll take whatever punishment is given to me.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d liked taking a punishment from him, wouldn’t you…” Jim muttered under his breath, making your gut twist in disgust.

Was he ever not thinking about sex? You prayed the captain didn’t hear him and you had to stop yourself from shooting Jim a murderous glare.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Consider it a warning. Mr. Ulrich? You have something to add before you take a few laps?”

You could literally hear Henry’s blood boiling. You opened your mouth to ask for the same punishment, not wanting to have his point proved. You never got the chance to speak.

“No, sir. I only don’t understand why I’m the only one being punished,” Henry questioned innocently and you gritted your teeth.

Maybe because you attacked me, you dickhead?

Captain glared at him for a moment before his gaze shifted to Jim. “You’re not. Mr. Larkin is following your example.”

You pressed your lips together, this time to stop a smile threatening to spread on your lips. God, who knew America’s Golden Boy could get that sassy? You cleared your throat.

“If I might speak, sir, I deserve to run the laps as well,” you noted carefully, earning a curious expression from your superior. You could tell he wavered, a strange spark appearing in his eyes.

You desperately wanted him to let you run too even if you breathing was still a bit difficult; because otherwise Henry would be proved right. Yeah, nope.

“Very well, then. Ten laps around the gym, recruits. Then you move to the station free at the moment. Go. Don’t let it happen again.”

The three of you nodded dutifully and picked up a pace. For some reason, you could feel the captain’s eyes on you while he walked back to assisting his friend with hand-to-hand training. You glimpsed the sergeant leaning to him, probably asking what was that about, but the blond just shook his head.

Towards the eighth lap, you were being overpassed by Henry and Jim, who ran together; faster than you, whether you liked it or not.

“This isn’t over, bitch,” his hateful hiss reached your ears and you picked up speed stubbornly, not showing them that they might intimidate you even for a second.

They wished.

Even when leaving the room after the session was finished, you would swear there was a pair of blue eyes burning a hole to the back of your head. You hoped that you’d soon be free of the captain’s attention.

You sure didn’t want him to watch too closely. You didn’t need him behind your back to see mistakes you sometimes made just like anybody else. Also, it would be harder to admire and ogle him; you did that occasionally, okay. You were just a human, after all.

A Handful of Mistakes

Shauna, your roommate and bestie from science division of SHIELD, was very patient listening to your lament about guys being dicks; she was awesome like that.

So you vigorously vented your frustration with male population, rolled your eyes when mimicking the silent threat of ‘this not being over’, had a very unhealthy piece of cake at the cafeteria that afternoon and moved on.

You should have known better.

Henry’s words came haunting you few days later; which was too bad, because you had already forgotten about them, until the very moment they had punched you to the face.

…or rather to your shoulder and it wasn’t even a punch, more like one of those bumps people did, especially when they were being jerks, shoving you too hard for you to believe it was an accident.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” you threw over your shoulder sarcastically, continuing your way to the women’s locker room.

In hindsight, that was probably mistake number one; ignoring Henry and not starting a fight right there, not to mention being mouthy.

To be fair, you had no interest in further interaction; you were exhausted from the training, you were sticky and sweaty and all you craved was a shower. You would have just gone to have one at your dorm, but Shauna was having a hot date and you didn’t want to step on her toes. So you had taken your toiletries with you, using the showers near the gym.

Using the gym shower; mistake number two. It meant all of the students being gone by the time you emerged in fresh homey clothes, hair dripping water, because you hated hair-dryers and avoided them unless they were completely necessary.

You had spent much longer in the shower than needed, allowing your muscles to completely relax under the spray of water. That was mistake number three.

The fourth mistake was your pride. When you saw Henry, Jim, George (at least you thought, you weren’t sure, not having many classes with him) and Frank in the corridor, clearly waiting for you, since they bounced off the wall they had been resting against when you appeared, you should have probably been smarter and scream for help right away.

But no, you were being Miss Future Agent and you weren’t intimidated by four equivalents of high school jocks. Yep, this one was definitely the biggest mistake of yours.

“Fellas,” you beckoned to them, passing them gracefully, your bag over your shoulder along with the wet towel.

You barely made a few steps before a hand gripped your arm, harshly tugging you back. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you tried your best not to let it show. You turned to Henry, looking at his face, head tilted back just slightly due to his height.

“Is there a problem, Ulrich?” you asked calmly, earning a lift of his eyebrows at your tone.

“You know there is. I told you it was not over.”

You tried to ignore your pulse skyrocketing and the panic rising in your gut. You were not that stupid – you understood the implications. You knew that with four guys slowly circling you, you would have to fight bites and nails if it came to it and probably still lose. Sometimes it was just better to walk away and swallow your pride; a concept Henry and Jim clearly didn’t understand.

You jerked from Ulrich’s grip, still hoping you could walk away and call it day.

“It is over for me. Now if you’ll excuse me…“

Yes, you were being naïve thinking it would work.

The bag was torn away from your shoulder, your fingers automatically letting go to stay attached to your hand. You gritted your teeth, blood slowly reaching the boiling point.

Also, maybe you were more than just a bit afraid. Not that you would ever admit it to them.

Henry’s hand reached for your chin and your snatched it away in disgust before he could even make contact with your skin. Amusement dances in his eyes along with a flash of anger.

“Oh, kitty has claws?”

You felt another hand on your backside, sending a shudder up your spine, so you grabbed it, shoving it away as well.

Jim. Why weren’t you surprised? Pigs. What the fuck was their problem?

“I’ll let you know when I meet any. Now get out of my way,” you spat, your gut twisting as a sly grin spread on Henry’s face and he made a step right into your route.

“Or what? You’ll scratch, kitty? Or you’ll scream? Like a little girl?” he mocked you in high-pitched voice, his face lowering to yours so you were only inches apart.

“Bet you’d like that,” you murmured, narrowing your eyes when his breath with an unmistakable hint of alcohol fanned over your face. “No, I’ll offer you a breath-mint, because honestly you should do something about your breath.”

Yep, that was the mistake no.5 and definitely an enormous one.

You heard one of the guys chuckle, but you never got to enjoy the thrill of victory.

Out of blue, there was something around your neck, the weight of the towel shifting (add that to the mistake list) and your body flew backwards, colliding with a male one. George was it?

Your hands went to instinctively grab after the towel crushing your throat, but suddenly they were wrested down and pinned to your sides by strong arms. Jim had caught one, Henry another. Fucking cowards.

With your breath coming out short with both lack of oxygen and rising fear, your pulse thundering in your ears, you tried to jerk from their grip, but they wouldn’t budge, having an undeniable advantage.

Oh fuck, fuck, you were so fucked.

“Sassy little mouth, aren’t we?” Henry hummed, wry expression on his ugly face. “So dirty, feels like we should wash it with something. Who wants to go first, fellas?”

Loud alarm bells rang in your head, icy shiver running down your spine, stomach turning over.

Oh no, you don’t.

Your knee snapped up on instinct to gain the momentum, followed by a swift low kick to Jim’s knee.

He yelped and let go of your arm, allowing you to send an elbow straight to George’s face; and finally, your airways were free as the assault as the towel trap loosened.

You coughed, fighting for oxygen and mindlessly threw the item away to have at least one arm free.

“Bitch!” one of the men yelled; you weren’t sure which one, but you didn’t waste time thinking too much. Survival instinct took over.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and you barely silenced the scream when Henry took advantage of your hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back. Fuck he really had a thing for that, didn’t he?

You tried to kick him, but someone else’s leg somehow managed to swept their leg under yours and you fell on your knees. Sharp tug on your hair caused you to cry out and obediently tilt your head back. Few tears escaped you, but you pushed up in attempt to get up again.

A kick coming from behind threw your body forwards and you nearly fell on your face when Henry finally let go of you. You tasted blood as you bit your cheek, but you managed to at least land on your shoulder instead of face-planting.

It still hurt like a bitch, but at least you still had all your teeth… or you thought so, not having time to check. Catching a movement from the corner of your eye, you managed to roll over before a kick to your side could hit you with full force. Frank’s foot only brushed you, but you were sure you’d have a bruise as a souvenir anyway.

A punch landed next to your face when you dodged it in the last moment, someone grabbing your legs and holding them together. Between your efforts to free them, you didn’t have time to chase away the body suddenly holding your arms as well.

“Fuck--- she’s a handful.”

A ragged battle cry erupted from your throat as you tried to jerk your body from their grip on pure instinct, every self-defence move you had ever learned flying of the window.

“More fun to break her, don’t you think?” Henry purred, his hand sneaking around your waist under the hem of your t-shirt.

Your head spun like crazy at the skin-to-skin contact and nausea hitting you hard. You wanted to puke and scream and punch and you couldn’t make yourself to do either, tears rolling down your cheeks as your body convulsed in a desperate attempt to break free.

There was ringing in your ears, disorienting you, but aware of the hand suddenly covering your mouth you tried to bite it on instinct holding you down.

“Oh-ho, biting!“ you heard, strangely muffled as if you were under water.

“I like them feisty-“

“Playing hard to get!”

“Shit, SHIT-“

The pressure on your legs eased all of sudden and you immediately kicked with all you had, catching the rising figure in the calf, knocking them off balance.

“Fuck!”

You would swear the floor vibrated, but in must have only been your mind playing tricks on you. George disappeared from your field of blurry vision; you only saw a fist sending him flying sideways.

Yep, your mind was fucking making up things, because there was no way he could have been thrown away like this by a single punch. You weren’t complaining; the relief the illusion provided was almost blissful.

Henry’s body weight vanished as well in nearly supersonic speed as if he wanted to escape the illusion. So you did the first thing that came to your mind; with your hands free, you grabbed his ankle, stopping him from running away. Which, thinking about it, was stupid, because only a moment before, you would have given anything to get him the fuck away from you.

He kicked back blindly, but his sole never met with your body – he was dragged away and… and lifted to the air as if he weighted nothing.

Blinking your tears away, your fuzzy mind cleared.

Only to reveal a very muscled and very much pissed off blond slamming Henry against a wall and then letting his suddenly unconscious body slide down.

You gasped, your eyes catching a glimpse of the fourth figure – Frank – several feet away, running for his life.

“Buck?!” came a shout and before you could question it, a metal arm emerged from behind the corner, stopping Frank dead as he rushed straight into it.

“Yep?!” the dark-haired supersoldier yelled back, sounding almost amused.

What the hell was happening? What the hell just happened?!

You blood sizzled in your veins, loud and rapid thump-thump-thump banging in your ears, face damp with several shed tears, body aching and your mind fucking racing.

You heard a whimper on your left, automatically turning to the sound. It left Jim’s lips, his form crumbled on the floor, struggling to stand up.

The captain’s knee seemed to come out of nowhere, digging into Jim’s back and pinning him down again before you even registered a movement.

“Is it fucking over now?”

“Steve, let him be. Not worth it,” Barnes’ voice tried to reason, sounding rather growly, but not nearly as loud as before. He approached your group in rapid pace and Rogers scoffed and let go.

You gulped at sergeant’s angry grimace, crazily convinced he was angry with you for all the mistakes you made that lead to this; but his expression softened when his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there,” he greeted you almost casually, holding out a hand to help you up. “Can you stand?”

You blinked several times at the suddenly dispassionate tone, even if you still sensed something bubbling under it. You shook off the thought and accepted the offered hand – the flesh one. The detail didn’t escape you, your bran in overdrive. Of course he hadn’t offered you the metal arm. He didn’t want to scare you. He was thoughtful like that-

-or not. The strength he dragged you up with was way too much for you, more so when combined with the speed and your state. You stumbled over your feet, a wave of dizziness messing with your balance.

You awaited the upcoming reunion with the floor, unable to stop the fall, but it never happened. Before you could as much as reel, gentle hands supported you in a firm grip, pleasantly warm against your bare arms.

“Whoa, take it easy,” Rogers’ voice warned you, soothing. For some reason, it felt more like ‘I got you,’ instead of ‘take it easy.’

You took a deep breath, Barnes’ hand letting go of yours as he semi-voluntarily handed you over to his friend.

“You’re bleeding from your mouth.”

Thanks for the reminder, I noticed.

You swallowed the snarky remark, well-aware of the sergeant’s care. You fought against the urge to spit the blood out.

“Is fine…” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Bit my cheek. I’m pretty sure I—“ you quickly ran your tongue over your teeth just to confirm your theory, “-still have all of my teeth.”

Sergeant Barnes gave you a tiny smile, the worried crinkle that had found its way between his brows disappearing.

“Whatever you say.”

His gaze flickered to something behind your head, probably in order of exchanging a wordless conversation with your still present crutch. Not that you were complaining. The weight of what had happened was slowly settling on your shoulders and you were grateful for any support – and who were you kidding, Captain America made for a pretty reliable support.

“Why don’t we leave you in pu- Cap’s capable hands while I-“ Barnes’ jaw clenched, pale eyes scanning the four bodies on the floor, calculating. “-take out the trash?”

You nearly choked at the choice of his words, wincing. Captain Rogers’ hands squeezed your shoulders reassuringly and you nodded, not sure what else to do.

You didn’t want to look at Henry. Or Jim. Or their loyal companions.

So when the captain carefully spun you on your heels, you didn’t protest and your feet started moving on autopilot in the direction he had set.

“You okay to walk without support?” he asked softly, a stark contrast to the voice you remembered from earlier or from the training sessions.

You knew that if you said yes, he would let go of you. Honestly, his touch felt damn nice, firm and yet somewhat gentle, a pleasant contrast to harsh fingers of the men who had the nerve to attack you – you had to swallow bile rising to your mouth at the awfully fresh memory. Fuck, it had been so close, just a minute later and--- you shook your head mentally and tried your best to erase this memory from existence.

You decided not to abuse the kindness the captain was offering. After several indulging steps, you quietly confirmed he could release you. You found out that sensing his large frame by your side as if he was your bodyguard was nearly as comforting. Nearly.

You didn’t have the strength admonish yourself for basking the light of his protective persona. Future agent of not, you still had the right to want to feel secure at times.

After all, you were only human.

A Handful of Truths

You didn’t realize you were shaking until a blanket was tossed over your shoulders.

You were sitting on a short couch in what looked like a cosy office, hair still damp, body finally registering the ache caused by previous events, just like your brain was slowly taking in what had happened.

Captain Rogers, whose courtesy was to escort you from the hellhole you had been attacked in, had clearly took it as a personal mission to take care of your injuries; it hadn’t dawned to you until you were seated and your mind helpfully supplied you with ‘This isn’t the infirmary’.

He pulled a swivel chair to sit face to face with you, a box of medical supplies left open on the coffee table at your side. You didn’t realize he had moved the chair or dug the box from god-knew-where until the items were simply there.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, attentive eyes scanning your hunched form. You instinctively curled onto yourself, snuggling further into the blanket. You knew you should come up with an answer, but your brain started to hurt with the effort to do so. “I guess that’s fair. Can you tell me what hurts the most?”

You quickly glanced at his openly kind face, his baby blues still watching for any reaction that would clue him. Your throat went dry at the compassion of display and you had to swallow before speaking – and think. What hurt the most…?

You didn’t know what possessed you to tell him what you did, but it came out before you could stop yourself.

“My pride,” you croaked, causing his eyebrows jump just like the corner of his lips.

“That’s probably fair too. Then again, I’d rather know about something I can fix.”

You felt your body relax a little at his informal tone – you might even say a jovial one, but you could still sense too much worry behind it to call it that. You attempted a tiny smile at least to show him that you were more or less fine – you weren’t – and brilliantly failed.

“Landed on my shoulder. Probably gonna have a bruise on my side from when… when they kicked me. Ribs and arms might be a bit tender for few days, ‘cause they were heavy as they--- they’re heavy,” you voice wavered as you saw the muscles on the captain’s forearms clench and his hands curled up in fists. You sheepishly looked up to his face. “I got lucky.”

His eyebrows rose again in a ‘figures’ manner as he leaned back to the chair.

“Nothing else apart from that, your cheek and your pride?”

“I’m a little cold, but you took care of that,” you admitted, taking a deep breath in as you tugged on the blanket pointedly.

Despite what you were saying, you didn’t feel okay, the tremble never quite leaving your body. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. You stared at your knight in shining armour, gathering courage to do what was needed. You tried your best to meet his gaze, feeling so small and embarrassingly weak in front of him.

“Could have been much worse if you haven’t showed up. Thank you.”

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He leaned in, his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster... I should have kept closer eye on Ulrich,” he muttered under his breath, making you wonder if you only imagined it. “Your pride shouldn’t be hurt. You held yourself against them just fine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the honestly his voice held – and you were honestly grateful for the slight shift of attention. Oh. Had he forgotten how things had been when he had arrived?

You weren’t sure whether you should remind him. You definitely didn’t want to remind yourself, but before you could solve your little dilemma, he clarified.

“You haven’t started training the combat against multiple opponents yet. Let alone four opponents, all of them having both height and weight advantage. You couldn’t exactly go all Black Widow on them if no one showed you how.”

He accented his words with a reassuring smile and you almost believed him. The shivers finally eased, most likely thanks to the warm treatment you were being given in all senses of the word. The inner cold gradually melted and you were left in nothing but pleasant warmth.

Mentally, you patted your pride gently on its head; you couldn’t quite disagree with him. No matter how helpless you had felt earlier and how ashamed for it you were, the truth was you were still learning. You weren’t a finished agent yet.

You breathed in and out, avoiding the gaze that was still on you. It felt like a freaking brand with how intense it was. You couldn’t say you hated it necessarily, you only wished you at least didn’t look so pathetic. No make-up, probably red with a smudge on blood somewhere, perhaps with some bruising already forming, hair wet and messy. You absently ran your fingers through it in attempt to fix it a bit as if it could help.

What had you been talking about? Right… those assholes being cowards and coming at your four against one.

“I… I just fucking hate bullies,” you grumbled darkly, your hand immediately covering your mouth when you realized what you had said. Oh. Language. Still your superior you’re talking to, no matter how nice. “Sorry. Please, pretend you didn’t hear the f-word. I just hate bullies, period.”

“I might have sworn earlier too, so let’s call it even,” the captain offered, one corner of his lips raised. Oh. He had, hadn’t he? ‘Is it fucking over now?’ What did that even mean? “And so I heard.”

“What?” you yelped, your mind racing again in search for the meaning behind his words.

“I mean… I heard you. When you were defending Bucky, in the gym. I’m pretty sure your exact words were about a ‘pissing contest’.”

“Oh god,” you breathed out, your face no doubt set aflame. He had heard you; that was why he had said he should have kept a closer eye on Henry. Oh. Ohhhh.

Also, did he just say ‘pissing’?

“You weren’t wrong by the way. But… neither were them.”

You blinked in surprise. What? “About?”

You knew he didn’t mean the sleeping around with recruits, your gut was screaming that at you, because they wouldn’t, but still, you rather asked for clarification. If he didn’t mean that part, which one then?

“Ladies do fall over for Bucky,” he hummed with a lopsided smile, a playful twinkle in his eyes. It did something to your belly, a strange familiar shift that was very inappropriate, but hell, people needed to cut you some slack. He was impossible not to ogle and you didn’t have the energy to control your reaction after today’s events. “And I don’t really pull my punches when I’m training those two in particular.”

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself and think better of it.

His gaze bored into yours, burning with intensity and with a glint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I don’t like bullies either.”

Did he lean in even more or were you so focused on his face it only seemed closer?

You weren’t able to look away. His blue eyes simply locked you in, not allowing you to escape. The strangest thing was that it wasn’t scary. It should be, he was— he was a freaking captain, your superior, a superior to a lot of people, which you were constantly forgetting ever since he had saved you from falling on your ass in the hallway and you had to remember that.

Before you could though, your racing mind packed up and let your body, your mouth to be precise, act without supervision.

“Not trying to impress the ladies then, huh?”

His tiny sheepish smile cut off the uprising panic in your chest when you realized how bold of you was to say that. He lowered his gaze, giving a subtle shrug. “Guess I wouldn’t want one falling for guy’s muscles and a show-off of dominance.”

“What for then? Honesty? Sincerity? Kind eyes? Strong moral compass?” you heard yourself prying, internally horrified how far you had come when saying that. Your face was drained of colour when it clicked. You were literally naming things you liked about him, absolutely shamelessly putting them in the open. Oh shit. Fix it, fix it, fix it! “…the sass?”

His eyes went wide and he burst out laughing so loud it startled you for a second, especially as he threw his head back with the outburst. Then you reluctantly joined him, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“The sass!” he howled, unable to hold back another fit of laughter and when you peeked at him through between your fingers, you saw his palm resting against his chest as if it could help him stop laughing.

Just like that, blood rushed back into your cheeks.

“Oh god, I made it worse!” you cried out, wishing for the earth to swallow you, frantically looking around for the fastest escape route. “Oh my god, I have to switch schools now… excuse me-“

You hastily got up from your seat, but a quick hand snatched yours, pulling you back.

You stumbled, landing ungracefully right back in your place, this time without the blanket. Captain Rogers was watching you with the corners of his lips high, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Sorry for grabbing you like that. But no, please. Stay.”

Your throat closed off when you heard his soft plea, only traces of humour in it. Yeah, you bet he hadn’t met anyone with such big mouth for a while, so he thought it was better to keep the comic around.

“Captain Rogers, I-I- what I said, it was completely out of line-“ you stuttered, only to be interrupted.

“Were you making it up?” he questioned.

You gulped, your mind screaming at you to say yes to save you the humiliation. And yet, with the cerulean irises staring into your eyes, your mouth did the exact opposite.

“No.”

Dammit.

“Then why would you go?” he questioned softly. His hand still didn’t leave yours, only easing the grip into a kinder one. You felt like a brand was being burned into your skin. A pleasant one, so you didn’t retreat. Oh, you’d never. But what on Earth was he getting at? “We need someone honest like you. People who stand up for others, even if only to defend their honour. That is the kind of people who should be in this line of work. The good ones.”

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out as his speech shook you to your core, tickling your stomach pleasantly along with your pride. His words seemed to be coming from heart, genuine, which was not helping your blood pressure and suddenly wobbling limbs.

“Even when they have potty mouth and put their foot in it? ‘Cause I seem to excel in that.”

“Especially then,” he chuckled and you could tell there was no pinch of a lie in it.

Something was in the air, crackling deliciously, and you liked it. You wouldn’t be able to describe it properly, the feeling simply too unique, but it was tickling your fancy so weren’t about to complain.

“O-okay. Thank you, Captain,” you whispered, revelling in the sight of the gentle curve of his lips.

“You started with the compliments, Agent.”

And just like that, you wanted to run for your life again, drowning in embarrassment.

What were you even still doing here? Complimenting him? Enjoying his touch? Flirting with him?

Were you nuts?!

Him, a captain— no, the captain. And you, an agent--- hell, you were not even an agent yet!

The captain whose eyes flickered to not-an-agent’s lips for the shortest of moments, widening a fraction before returning to her eyes.

Oh, now you were definitely going nuts. You were hallucinating. You must have hit your head too. He wasn’t into you and you being into him was very stupid.

You should go.

…any moment now.

…just get off your ass for god’s sake-

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked yourself back to reality, shushing the voice in your head, curious smile appearing on your lips involuntarily. The softness of his voice felt better than the blanket before and you wanted to cocoon yourself in it, postponing the leaving plans to never.

“Sure,” you replied, the smile remaining on your face despite your better judgement.

He lowered his eyes to your joined hands, his thumb running over the back of your hand in a feather-light touch. You heart positively stopped at the moment, your breath hitching. Holy shit, what was he doing?

“This, does it… do you hate it?” he whispered the question, not meeting your eyes as if he was too shy, which was… ridiculous. He had no reason to be shy.

It still felt like a shot through your heart – a nice one, though, it that was possible. The words combined with the way they were spoken, it stirred something in your belly, warming it up and you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You really wanted this man; whatever this was, it was getting beyond a silly crush. Also, for some reason, it seemed as if he was trying to tell you he was interested too, which you thought was pretty freaking crazy.

“Stay honest, please,” he pleaded when you didn’t answer right away.

Did you hate it? The chastest display of affection if you dared to call it that? Your mind raced, trying to figure out why on earth he would ask that. Because the only reason you had come up with so far was completely impossible.

“No,” you said simply, earning a brief glance up before he looked down again. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Good. That’s good… and would you… I’m aware this is out of line and I—I want you to answer truthfully without fearing the consequences-…“

It was your turn to swallow loudly, because what? What did he want to ask that he considered it out of line? He was your superior – you could think of thousand ways of how you could get out of line, but him? And why should you fear the consequences?! Did he want you to help him to hide a body?

That’s not it and you know it. You know what he wants to ask, you rational side admonished you.

Oh please, shut up. Since when you switched sides?

“O-okay. What— what is it-- Steve?” you stuttered out, freezing when his name left your lips and his head snapped up, his hand giving yours a squeeze. Oh boy.

“Would you possibly say you like it?” he blurted out and your brain went to overdrive at the hope behind his expression.

Huh. He really just asked that. Oh shit. Oh wow. Your jaw fell into your lap – only figuratively, you hoped –, your ears buzzing, your blood bursting in excitement.

Oh yeah, you understood why he mentioned the consequences. Either you could say no and you’d fear he might treat you differently or you could say yes and you’d ‘fear’ he might treat you differently.

The fire in your insides burned hotter at the idea of the latter.

His hand slowly left yours, giving you a simple choice you still couldn’t believe you were given.

Holy shit. What do you even say to something like that? Coming from someone like him? Your brain froze as you only managed to stare.

Did his— did the corners of his lips turn down? Was that sadness pooling in the sea of blue of his eyes?

Oh no, you don’t.

“Y-yes,” you admitted sheepishly, closing your eyes at the heaviness of your confession.

You could feel the weight on your shoulders as silence fell, only interrupted by your soft breathing that sounded ominously loud.

Your fingers twitched when his warm palm covered them again, your lips parting in surprise. You kept your eyes closed, indulging the strange moment. His free hand caressed your other as well, the gentlest of touches, tender, contrasting with rough callouses on his fingers.

“I like it too.”

At that, you gathered enough courage to look at him, only to see him inspecting your face closely, observing your reactions. It shocked you that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you would expect; must have been the kindness and wonder in his gaze. You forced your lips to curl up in a tiniest smile. Steve smiled back with same hesitance, his face lighting up.

He looked like a boy next door (making it to a modelling agency), shining eyes and happy grin forming on his lips. He was more gorgeous than ever.

Still keeping your hands, he raised his right one, his knuckles brushing your unharmed cheek. The gesture was so tender it brought tears into your eyes, causing him quickly retreat.

“Sorry-“

You shook your head with a self-deprecating chuckle, squeezing his fingers before he could let go of you completely.

“It’s not you—I mean… it is you,” you babbled nonsensically, taking a breath to gather your thoughts. “It’s just— that was really sweet. No, that’s not-“ Not the right word. “It was beautiful. I swear I never felt so…” loved “-cared for in my life.”

He frowned, a shadow of pain running over his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that today was… unpleasant.”

Seeing his reluctance and discomfort, you went for the first thing that came up to your mind. You straightened up and pressed a light kiss on his cheek, withdrawing much slowly because once you were in his orbit, it was hard to leave.

His breath hitched, his eyes glued to you intently, flickering to your lips again.

“You didn’t upset me, Steve. That’s the last thing you could do with that,” you assured him, face still inches from his. His name rolled off your tongue easily this time, even though it still left your heart fluttering.

“And if I asked you to have dinner with me?”

Your stomach twisted in a pleasant knot at that suggestion, your lizard brain already thinking about having a dessert for a second; and you weren’t thinking cake or ice-cream.

Yeah, barely. This was a guy ready to treat you right, you were sure of it. He certainly wasn’t about to kiss you now, not afar what happened today, he might go for it after the dinner and that was only if you got lucky enough. You swallowed the disappointment at the idea, quickly shaking it off.

Make up your goddamn mind, woman. You should be glad that men who weren’t thinking with their lower brain still existed and one of those was clearly interested in you, which… yeah, what the hell, that might take a while getting used to. Add the fact that he was being incredibly considerate of how you might feel after being assaulted and you had a winner of your heart. You realized you were actually happy he wouldn’t try anything even nearly ‘funny’.

You were fine with hand-holding and brushes of his fingers on your face, which honestly, the tenderness behind that gesture made you toes curl. You didn’t care much if that made you a freaking sap.

“Still not upset,” you gave an answer at last, deciding he probably liked when you were a bit cheeky.

He offered a closed lipped smile in response, confirming your theory.

“Does that count like a yes?”

You shrugged, the corners of your lips twitching. You had no idea when the change had happened, but all you wanted now was to giggle. And maybe snuggle, but you weren’t about to say that out loud.

“You tell me.”

He licked his lips and shook his head as he retreated. Before you could protest – or have a heart attack, because the motion of his tongue attracted your gaze like a magnet, setting your core on fire –, he sat beside you, leaving enough space in case you didn’t like it.

You liked it, subtly moving an inch closer to his side. Damn, he radiated warmth. Maybe just a bit closer…?

“Cheeky dame, aren’t you?” Steve more stated than asked, reaching for the blanket pooled around you to cover you again.

You didn’t realize you had goosebumps before his hands gently tugged you in, careful not to touch you where you could consider it inappropriate.

Yeah, forget about any funny business any time soon.

You huffed. “Clearly. It did get me into trouble before.”

His eyes darkened a bit, his face noticeably falling.

No, nope, bad move, miss not-an-agent.

“I should walk you back to your dorm,” he remarked, already rising to his feet.

You first reaction was to say no, because you weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. Your second was to say no also, because Shauna probably still had her hot date.

Instead, your hand shot up to catch his, effectively stopping him. He froze before returning to his seat, tiny question mark in a place of his face right next to his soft smile.

You cleared your throat, deciding to give him the latter reason.

“Uhm… my roommate has a date. If I go there, I’ll probably find a sock on the doorknob,” you admitted, biting your lip when he raised an eyebrow and relaxed to the cushions.

“People still do that?”

You chuckled, the fact that not only he was a captain, but also Captain America, which meant he was about hundred years old, hitting you like a train.

“Yeah, people still do that,” you assured him, amused.

He pouted, which you found unfairly adorable and… kissable. Nope, later.

“Sure, make fun of the old man…” he uttered, but a spark of laughter lighted up in his irises, so you assessed he wasn’t too offended. He was most likely used to the teasing.

As an idea of interpreting his words differently popped in your mind, you grinned.

“Is that a permission to make fun of Sergeant Barnes?” you pried playfully, sending Steve into another surprised fit of laughter, not unlike when you had complimented his sass. Your heart swelled at the joyful picture of him and the prospect of seeing more of it in future.

Due to his laughter, you didn’t hear he knock on the door if there was any n the first place. The door simply swung open, revealing the other supersoldier. Speak of the Devil…

Seeing his friend, Steve burst out laughing once more. Sergeant Barnes closed the door with a puzzled look.

You just shrugged in response, opening your mouth without a sound coming out and he took in the scene in front of him again, a smirk appearing on his lips. Under that gaze, you felt your face heat up. You could only imagine how that looked like, Steve cosily close to you, laughing, your hand right next to his thigh as his outburst had sent it sliding from his hand.

The smirk on the supersoldier’s face only deepened when he noticed how flustered he had made you.

“Punk?” he questioned and Steve wheezed once more, raising a palm in the sergeant’s direction, turning to you first.

He offered you a hand to shake. Confused, you accepted as his eyes twinkling in mischief bored into yours.

“Deal,” he mouthed, sending your lips twitching, and only then he shifted his attention to his friend. “Buck?”

The supersoldier had his eyes narrowed, watching you suspiciously.

“I’m gonna regret sending you with her instead of doing it the other way around, aren’t I?” he stated, not actually asking as his gaze flickered between the two of you.

His expression pushed you over the edge and the giggle building up in your chest for the last few minutes finally broke free. You simply couldn’t contain it anymore despite having two superiors in the room. Steve gave you a warm smile as the sound left your lips, clearly not bothered by it.

You hoped you’d be forgiven by Sergeant Barnes as well. After all, you were just human.

“Yeah, Buck, I think you are.”

S.R. masterlist

Sorry for the cavities at the end. Or should I say ‘you’re welcome’? Whatever works for you :))

Thank you for reading!

446 notes · View notes

scripttorture · 3 years

Note

You mention in posts how torture doesn’t make people obedient and usually makes them spiteful (which obviously makes sense), but isn’t it realistic for someone to comply out of fear rather than loyalty? Whether that was giving up information or obeying orders or something else entirely. I imagine it depends on the person, and they would probably still be willing to turn on their torturers if given the chance, but would it be possible for them to obey orders in hopes of avoiding more pain?

This is a much more nuanced and complicated topic then we’re taught to assume.

When it comes to giving up information it’s pretty clear cut. No, torture can’t lead to accurate information for a lot of interconnected reasons. I have about six separate masterposts covering the reasons for this.

One of those is the antagonism torture produces. Another is the memory problems torture causes. Another is the effect that the use of torture has on organisations and the chain of command. Another is the effect torture has on torturers.

Torture drastically increases the chances of memory loss and it also increases the chances of inaccurate memories. So not only is a torture victim less likely to talk, they’re more likely to be wrong if they do talk.

But the effects on victims aren’t the main reason torture doesn’t work as a way of getting information. You’re assuming that torturers have access to people who have information.

The reality is that torture destroys an organisation’s ability to gather accurate information. Most information comes from volunteers: when torture comes into play less people volunteer information. This means that an organisation which tortures is more likely to be questioning someone who knows nothing. That person is then abused until they start making things up.

Because there’s less access to volunteered information and because humans are very bad at telling when someone is lying, a lot of these made up stories are believed. And this then effects who else the organisation arrests and tortures. This creates a sort of spiral, with lies leading to more lies.

Additionally the torturers themselves make things worse. There’s less quality research on them, but the research and anecdotal accounts create a pretty clear picture of their behaviour. They undermine the chain of command, they lose the skills the originally had as they turn to torture, they’re aggressive, incredibly competitive and they have a… fracturing effect on their organisation.

Basically they’re incredibly difficult to work with and totally convinced of their own importance. And this effects their colleagues. It totally divides organisations. The worst case I’ve read about involved members of the same organisation killing each other over access to prisoners.

That’s a short run through of the main factors. Torture, in the legally defined sense, means all of these factors are in play. Plus a few more I’ve omitted to keep this shorter.

With all of that together you just can’t get accurate information.

If you want longer posts I’ve made on the subject I suggest looking for the ‘torture doesn’t work’ tag and the ‘torture as interrogation’ tag. You can also read the masterposts. If you want a much more in depth look at why torture consistently fails as a way of getting information I recommend O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work and Rejali’s Torture and Democracy.

O’Mara is a neuroscientist and goes through the effects torture has on the brain in a way that’s accessible, explaining the damage torture causes and how that destroys the evidence torturers claim to be seeking. Rejali’s book is a breeze block but it’s really a must, it is the textbook on torture in a broad sense. He ties together information from across the globe creating a broader picture of what torture does, not just to victims but to societies.

The question of compliance under threat and pain… is more complicated.

People can be forced to do some things. That much is obvious from a brief glance at human history and things like slavery. But it’s important to listen to what people in these scenarios say.

And my opinion, based on what I’ve read, is that what these people say doesn’t support the idea that humans will easily obey instructions when they’re hurt or threatened. I think instead these people are making hard headed, rational choices in absolutely awful situations. I think when we don’t have these experiences of torture or slavery, it’s easy to look at the surface of the situation and assume that pain alone assures obedience. I think that happens because it’s hard for use to understand the rationale when we don’t have that lived experience.

Let me give some examples. So it probably goes without saying that slavery goes hand in hand with physical abuse. One of the major researchers on slavery, whose data I quote pretty regularly, assumes throughout his writings that pain is the deciding factor which ‘makes’ people obey.

But he also describes a couple of very obvious consistent patterns in the ways slavers behave. Slavers almost universally do the following things as well as using physical abuse:

Separate enslaved people from their community

Bar enslaved people from other forms of support

Make enslaved people financially/materially reliant on the slavers

Tell enslaved people that going to the police/authorities will lead to the enslaved person being arrested

Try to convince enslaved people that they will be better off if they comply, usually by framing it as a debt to be worked off with promises of riches after a period of time

Now here’s the thing: we know from studies on cults and studies on ICURE techniques that a lot of these strategies will result in obedience when there is no violence or physical abuse.

Given that I don’t think we can assume that violence is the deciding factor. In fact I think the evidence we have from forced confessions under torture suggests the violence may lead to less obedience and a lower ‘success’ rate then a set up that used emotional abuse or other exploitative techniques without violence.

We have two sources of historical data that are used for statistical studies on forced confessions. One is from historical France. We think that this data set only involved torture to force a confession; no other method of coercion just violence. The rate of forced confessions varied a little in different areas but over all it’s about 10%. The second data set is from the ‘London Cage’ a British prison during the second world war. Here we know that torture was combined with blackmail, bribery and other kinds of coercion. The rate of forced confessions there was about 30%.

And while this is just two studies, while the data is lacking… That is one hell of a jump.

Let’s circle back to ICURE. ICURE stands for Isolation, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotive responses. It’s a set of techniques which can, sometimes, change someone’s beliefs when it’s applied consistently over a long time.

Notice the effort slavers put in to isolating their victims. Notice that the behaviour pattern I’m describing means the slavers are creating uncertainty over seeking help and repeating those messages as well as messages that the victims will be better off if they just go along with it.

Slavers will generally also try to control the information their victims have access to, taking phones and blocking access to news sources and other resources. Now a lot of slavers will transport their victims to other states or countries putting a language barrier in place. They sometimes also use emotive responses in attempts to persuade victims to comply.

I’ve read multiple accounts where survivors of modern slavery described slavers telling them that the money they were making was being sent to the victim’s family and without it the family would not survive. (Sometimes the slavers do send small amounts to the families of their victims, sometimes they pocket everything.) I’ve also read accounts where gangs of slavers used religion and oaths taken in a religious setting to persuade their victims they’d be punished by God for not complying.

Even with all of this, all these techniques we know can sometimes ‘work’- lots of people refuse. Lots of people disobey. Lots of people escape. Lots of people actively sabotage the operations the slavers put together.

And if you look at that same history of slavery, that shows us people can sometimes be forced to work, you’ll see that this has always been true.

We have records of historic enslaved people attacking slavers, forming organised militias, forming parallel societies, sacking towns, taking over an entire Caribbean island and beating off four European armies in the process. We also have records of smaller acts. Sabotage, worship of banned deities, speaking banned languages, destruction of property, aiding in the escape of others.

What I’m saying is: this isn’t black and white. The evidence, modern and historical does not paint a clear picture of violence leading to obedience.

Instead I believe that it shows humans are resilient, stubborn, adaptable creatures. People can survive all kinds of horrible situations. It is more accurate, more human, to assume that people make rational choices.

Sometimes those choices involve short term compliance while looking for a better option or a way out. But we tend to hear less stories about the people who completely refuse to comply. We tend to treat that as an impossible fiction when it is a recorded historical and modern reality.

Bringing this back to writing as a general rule the more complicated the act the less likely you can force someone to do it. Because the more complicated it is the more opportunities they’ll have to sabotage it or use it against their abuser.

I recommend reading up on the history of Haiti pet. Then Brazil via Palmares.

I’ll end this by bringing it back to those statistics on forced confessions in historical France. Imagine the conditions with me for a moment. Unsanitary, cramped cells. Dehydration, starvation and disease. Plus the kinds of scarring torture that are conjured up in the minds of most Western people when the word ‘torture’ comes up; thumb screws, leg irons that tighten until the bone snaps, whips.

Picture it. Try to imagine the pain those people went through.

And remember that 90% of them did not comply long enough to sign their name.

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liesoverthec · 3 years

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9-1-1 on FOX Relationship Analysis, season 1 graphics.

- all relationship analysis graphics -

Do not repost my graphics.

More graphics and a discussion/explanation of the data under the cut.

Hi y’all, welcome to the relationship analysis!

The relationship analysis data is a recording of every interaction on the show, who all is in involved in the interaction, and how often that specific combination of people interacted throughout the season. Most of the time, we have more than two characters on screen, so most interactions are between multiple people at once. An important thing to note is that even if the characters aren’t directly and actively contributing to the conversation (eg listening and contributing every once in a while but not doing the bulk of the emotional work), they still get an interaction counted b/c people are ALWAYS building relationships w/ one another, whether or not other people are around. And especially on a show like this, where people are constantly growing and learning (and being traumatized lol), seeing that happen in each other develops their connections and their understandings of one another.

This lends to the data making the most impact when it’s divided into two parts - when two characters are alone together, and when they’re together but other characters are there as well.

Data should be read like - “Bobby and Buck had 15 interactions alone together this season, but another 44 interactions where Hen or Chim or some combination of mains were also there.”

I actually keep detailed notes about where each and every one of these interactions come from, so please feel free to ask me when characters interacted, or just more details about the data collection if you’d like.

Bobby

Alt id: A segmented bar graph showing Bobby’s total interactions in s1 with the other mains. He spent the most time both alone with Buck and overall on the show.

My man Bobbyyyyyyyyyyyyy. The most interesting thing about Bobby is that his interactions are almost ENTIRELY restricted to the 118. No one else on the entire show is QUITE that isolated. It definitely makes sense given the context of the season - Bobby is extremely closed off, and is not inviting relationships beyond the ones he formed through his team being irresistible, until the end of the season, which is actually where ALL of his alone time with Athena comes from (one interaction in ep 9 and then 3 in ep 10). It also makes sense with his and Buck’s stories this season for Bobby to interact the most with Buck - between the sex addict plot, Buck’s first at-work death, and then the development of Buck’s relationship with Abby and him asking Bobby about it.

Also interesting - while Buck had more interactions this season, Bobby had more screen time. Which means that while Buck talked to a larger combination of people, Bobby spent more time than Buck did actually interacting with those people.

Also Bobby is one of only two mains to interact with every single main one on one.

Here’s a final look at how exactly Bobby’s interactions broke down -

Alt id: A bar graph showing Bobby’s most common interaction groups for s1 - he had the most interactions with Hen, Chim and Buck as a group (20 interactions over the season).

As you can see, his top 3 most common interaction groupings all include Buck, which is why Bobby spent more time w/ him than anyone else.

Athena

Alt id: A segmented bar graph showing Athena’s total interactions in s1 with the other mains. She spent the most time both alone with Buck and overall on the show.

There are two things about Athena’s data that I think are worth pointing out. Number one: Athena has the most varied interactions out of any of the mains on the show. This means that out of everyone, she has the most connections, and her personal life is the most developed of the core 6 (duh 😂 but love when the data proves it - esp when she interacts second most w/ Michael TOTAL, which I’m not sure I would have guessed just based on casual watching.) The other thing worth pointing out is that she almost has more interactions where she’s interacting w/ complete strangers than with the other characters of the show. The nature of her being a solo lieutenant isolates her quite a lot.

She has the same thing going as Bobby in regards to screen time however - she might have the second least amount of interactions for the season, but it just means she spends, on average, more time with the people she does interact with.

Here’s a final look at how her interactions broke down -

Alt id: A bar graph showing Athena’s most common interaction groups for s1 - she spent the most time with Hen alone (12 interactions).

In addition to her being so isolated b/c of work, she spends most of her time alone with other main characters when she’s with them - 4 of her 5 most common interaction pairings are with people alone.

Hen

Alt id: A segmented bar graph showing Hen’s total interactions in s1 with the other mains. She spent the most time alone with Athena, but had the most interactions with Buck overall.

Just as with Bobby, most of Hen’s interactions are with the other members of the 118. While Athena spends the most time with Hen, period, Hen spends the most time with Buck, although she is alone with Athena more than anyone else. The interesting thing to me is that I might not have guessed that she spent so much time with Buck, just based on casual viewing, so that was a really interesting reveal in the data! She also actually has the most “home life” outside of Athena and Abby, despite the fact that only ~10% of her interactions aren’t with the other first responders.

Hen is in the opposite boat from Bobby and Athena - she’s higher up on the interaction chart than she is on the screen time chart, which indicates that she spent less time in each interaction on average than other characters did in theirs.

Here’s a final look at how her interactions broke down -

Alt id: A bar graph showing Hen’s most common interaction groups for s1 - she spent the most time with Bobby, Chim and Buck (20 interactions).

As you can see, 3 of her top four interaction groupings include Buck, which is why her relationship with him was her top one for the season!

Chim

Alt id: A segmented bar graph showing Chim’s total interactions in s1 with the other mains. He spent the most time alone with Bobby, but had the most interactions with Hen overall.

Honestly the most I can say about this is yet again that Chim was stiffed in s1. The most interesting thing however, is that through Chim you can see the shift in focus to his and Hen’s friendship as the show goes on - in that most of his interactions come from the last five episodes after he comes back from the rebar, and they start to develop Hen and Chim as a paramedic duo who are a little more independent from the station as a whole. The reason Hen didn’t have most of her interactions with him is that she still had interactions while he was gone 😂

It’s also interesting to me that we literally only see him with Tatiana twice but she creates such a huge impact on him.

Here’s a final look at how his interactions broke down -

Alt id: A bar graph showing Chim’s most common interaction groups for s1 - he spent the most time with Bobby, Hen and Buck (20 interactions).

I’ll be curious to see if Chim’s “number of interactions alone w Buck” goes up once Maddie is introduced or not!

Abby

Alt id: A segmented bar graph showing Abby’s total interactions in s1 with the other mains. She spent the most time both alone with Buck and overall.

I’m going to be really honest with y’all - most of the reason I’m interested in Abby’s data is to see how it compares to Maddie’s. 😂 Abby is an interesting contradiction bc she is at once, got some very developed relationships, but she’s also incredibly isolated. For one, she spends more time talking to strangers than she does to any one main character, which is not true for ANY other main, even Athena who also has a solo job. But then at the same time, she has the second most developed “outside of work” life out of any of the mains.

The most interesting thing here though is that her relationship with Buck is the single most common interaction for the entire season. I know we all know this, but it’s crazy to think about when the second most common interaction is the 118 together, and their number of interactions is that high bc they WORK together, so it’s a mix of professional and personal interactions, whereas Buck and Abby’s relationship is purely personal.

Second most interesting thing would definitely be that even though she spends time with Buck both alone and with others around, she still spends more time talking to total strangers than him.

Here’s a final look at how her interactions broke down -

Alt id: A bar graph showing Abby’s most common interaction groups for s1 - she had the most interactions alone with Buck (22 interactions).

As you can see here, they just. Put so much more work into her relationship w/ Buck even than her relationship with her mom. Most likely bc both Abby and her mom were moving on at the end of ep 10 but it’s still interesting!

Buck

Alt id: A segmented bar graph showing Buck’s total interactions in s1 with the other mains. He spent the most time with Abby alone, but had the most interactions with Bobby overall.

Last but not least! The stark difference between the time he spends with Hen/Bobby and everyone else is so interesting to me, and it’s mostly b/c eps 4 and 5 (while Chim is gone) focus VERY heavily on Bobby, which drags Hen and Buck into more interactions since he’s so isolated from the world and they’re really his only connections.

Bobby and Buck are actually the only relationship where they both have the most interactions with each other (although Buck spends more time alone w/ Abby than he does with Bobby, whereas Bobby is still alone with Buck most). It’s a little hilarious to me though, that they work so hard on the Buck&Abby relationship and then Bobby still ends up being more present in his life, and it feels very indicative of where the series goes next.

Buck is in the same boat as Hen - he has the most interactions out of anyone, but not the most screen time, which means that he’s spending less time interacting with the other characters on average.

Here’s a final look at how his interactions broke down -

Alt id: A bar graph showing Buck’s most common interaction groups for s1 - he had the most interactions with Abby alone (22 interactions).

This breakdown shows a little better why Bobby beat out Abby for relationship development this season with Buck - top interactions 2-4 all include Bobby, which adds up over the season.

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Well, that’s all folks! (If you made it this far, I’m both very impressed and very thankful - I hope it was worth it!)

Please let me know if you have any questions about this, or really anything about the show in general! (Seriously I mean that 😄)

Lots of love, and I’m marginally started on s2 of this, although doing screen time for s5 will probably slow it down, so keep an eye out but not TOO closely! 😂)

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

#911 fox #911 relationship analysis graphics #9-1-1 #911 on fox #bobby nash #bobbynashedit #athena grant #athenagrantedit #hen wilson #henwilsonedit #chimney han #chimneyhanedit #abby clark #evan buckley #evanbucklyedit #daily911 #911verse

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