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orbitariums · 3 years

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𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟔)

pt. 15

note: missed u baddies~~~!!! this chapter was so hard to write but i love how it turned out, hope y’all loved it tooooo ♡

playlist *new additions!*

word count: 7.6k

warnings: age gap, smut

Absentmindedly, you picked up your phone on the end table beside you. It was positively buzzing with notifications, and you were a bit thrown off by the sheer amount of them. You furrowed your eyebrows as you skimmed through the notifications from the bottom to the top— you had a bunch of missed calls from your parents, more Snapchat notifications on your regular snap than ever, and a plethora of texts.

You wondered if something had happened, chewing slightly on your bottom lip. Was everything okay at home? Did you post something meant for your cam site on your Instagram? A hundred various circumstances fled through your mind, but none of the situations you had made up could’ve prepared you for when you opened a text from Aaliyah with a picture attached. It read:

- Attachment: 1 image

- BITCH, THIS IS LITERALLY YOU!!!

You sat up immediately, your stomach twisting nauseatingly as you looked at the image on your phone screen. You blinked a few times, rubbing furiously at your eyes like this was all a bad dream and you’d wake up in a few seconds. Because this couldn’t be happening. There was no way that you were looking at a picture of you and Steve that neither of you had taken, walking out of a restaurant you couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of right now. A sense of urgency flooding your veins, you nudged Steve harshly. He shifted in his sleep and put his arms around your waist, unaware of what was going on.

“Steve!” you hissed, your face burning.

He woke up relatively quickly, hearing the seriousness in your tone, sitting up against the pillow and facing you, his brows knitted together, muscles flexing as he supported himself on his arms.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked, leaning forward to see what you were showing him on your phone.

You watched his expression change from one of confusion to one of concern as he began to grasp what had happened. But, instead of talking it out with you as you expected, he cursed under his breath and ripped the bed sheets off of him, getting up out of bed. You leaned forward, your naked bottom half getting exposed to the air while he pulled on some clothes and made his way out the door.

“Where’re you going?” you called out after him, and he didn’t even bother to take a look back at you as he marched out of the apartment, muttering,

“I’ll be back in a few hours.”

You tried to catch up to him, but it was too late. He was gone, and now you were alone in this apartment which felt eerily empty without him now, your phone pinging with a new notification every few seconds.

| | |

As expected, the headquarters were abuzz when Steve entered them. He had arrived in a haste, driving stoically on the busy New York streets, his mind racing just like the cars that zoomed past him. The first person to face him once he got inside was Bucky, who just gave Steve a sympathetic look and held the door open for him— Bucky already knew everything, he had figured it out a few weeks ago on his own. You and Steve had already dealt with that hiccup, and you had hoped (perhaps naively) that the situation with Bucky was just a fluke, and that nothing more like that would happen again. But you had been sorely mistaken.

Steve gave Bucky a nod, and they both made their way to the meeting room, where Steve already knew everyone would be waiting for him. Quite immaturely, he rolled his eyes at the fact that everyone was there. This matter was something personal, it had nothing to do with the rest of the Avengers, though technically it did, because Steve’s actions affected the rest of the team and he knew that. But to his own credit, he had just woken up and he was already being bombarded with messages from PR and the rest of the team about this mishap. He had to compose himself before walking in, taking a deep breath and relaxing his clenched jaw.

“Are you insane?” was the first thing Steve heard when he walked in, no doubt coming from Tony.

Steve sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets, glaring at Tony,

“Save the berating for later.”

“Were you not thinking? Is this what you were doing during your time off?” Tony continued, his hands up in the air in a questioning motion.

“Listen, Tony. I’m not here to hear what I did wrong. I’m here to solve this issue right now, whatever that means.”

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” Sam said reluctantly, sliding a magazine across the table for Steve to see.

It was one of those ridiculous celebrity gossip magazines, and multiple pictures of Steve and you were highlighted on the front page. Steve prepared for the worst as he read the headlines: “Captain America with Mystery Girl?” and “Who is Captain America’s New Boo?” He opened the magazine to more unsavory headlines, and to his extreme dismay, pictures of you from your personal Instagram highlighted.

He raised his eyebrows as he read: “More on Captain America’s New Girl.” They had found your name, your age, and worst of all, your profession. Steve was seeing red as he forced himself to keep reading the salacious article which made you out to be a deviant with ulterior motives, abusing inaccurate phrases like, “an unemployed college girl turned porn star” and, “the face of Captain America’s midlife crisis!”

Steve’s face burned white hot as he scanned the article, barely even registering the content and instead finding himself growing more and more angered by the inflammatory statements that were being made.

“That’s enough,” Nat finally spoke up, watching the expressions on Steve’s face grow more and more catastrophic.

She snatched the magazine away from Steve and shoved it across the table, folding her arms and glaring down the table at Tony.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, reaching a hand out to Steve’s shoulder. He could feel Tony’s angry glare focused on him, while everyone else gazed at him pitifully.

Steve sighed, jerking his shoulder away from Bucky’s touch. He couldn’t even pinpoint his emotions, all he was feeling right now was rage. He was angry at himself, feeling like he somehow let this happen, even though deep down he could hear your voice telling him that he was doing everything right and that it wasn’t his fault. He was angry that now, your privacy and safety were on the line, and people who didn’t know a thing about you were making absurd assumptions about you.

He felt like yelling, punching something, doing anything to let out this anger so he could at least have some sort of vessel for this fury he was feeling. But he stood painstakingly still, trying to hear your voice over all the noise, your voice telling him everything was okay even though right now all signs were saying that everything was not okay.

“You have to deny everything,” Tony sighed after moments of awkward silence. “She’s your assistant and you were undercover acting as boyfriend and girlfriend, something convincing but not as exposing as that. And you’re getting your legal team to sue all these publications for false claims and defamation.”

Steve furrowed his brows, staring at Tony,

“They aren’t false claims.”

Tony shrugged flippantly,

“If you want everyone to think Captain America is sleeping with a porn star, then so be it. But it’s going to cost you if you think for a second I’m gonna let that slide on our team-”

Steve cut him off, losing the calming hum of your voice in his mind in a new wave of anger,

“She’s not a porn star, she’s a college graduate and the owner of an online brand and a sex worker, and that’s more than a lot of people her age can say, so don’t get brave because of these god damn articles, Stark.”

“Listen, Cap,” Tony spat sarcastically. “I don’t give a shit who she is. The point is that in this case, your opinion on her doesn’t matter because everyone else is going to say whatever the fuck they want to say. And that’s bad for you, it’s bad for us, and it’s bad for her, if you care as much as you claim to.”

“Don’t act like I didn’t think about this,” Steve lurched forward, slamming his hands on the table. “She’s more than just some girl to me. Don’t act like every waking second I didn’t worry that something like this would happen. Like, like I didn’t take every precaution I could, look over my shoulder every five seconds. I’m not as stupid as you want me to be, Stark.”

Of course Steve cared about his team and how this would affect the Avengers, but the last straw was the media coming for you, putting your privacy and your safety at stake. Your job and the details of your job were extremely sensitive, and you were just beginning to make a name for yourself in the real world. Steve honestly felt like this was worse for you than it was for him. He knew he had to take care of this first, for logistical reasons, but when he was done, he’d get right to you as soon as possible.

Tony sighed, softening just a bit.

“Listen. You know what you have to do. After the Accords, this… this isn’t the kind of attention that we need. Regardless of that, we can’t have this. You’re making a statement today, and you know what you have to say. PR’s already contacting the publishers of these bullshit articles. As for your little girlfriend, if we’re not careful, she could be in huge danger. You know the kind of people we deal with, and how fast they would swing at a chance to grab her when they think she’s unprotected. That’s exactly why you need to deny everything, and we’ll do all the damage control possible. Not that there’s even much we can fix at this point.”

Steve glared all around the table, only to see faces of the rest of the members of the team looking up at him expectantly. He needed to explain himself. How’d he even get into this mess, what was he thinking, the usual. And Steve knew that that was his responsibility— as Captain America. As the leader. As a part of the team. Right now, he was just himself. Steve Rogers. And all that Steve Rogers was worried about was you. Regardless of what you said, the fact that you could be in danger scared the shit out of him, and also put him into this almost primitive, dominant mode. He needed to protect you. He didn’t care about reactions and rumors, he needed to make sure you were safe.

“Talk later,” was all Steve said, turning out of the room and ignoring Tony calling his name. When he got into the car he slammed the door shut and began the drive home.

His mind was swarming with thoughts, about what this meant for his team, for his job, all the things he’d left unaddressed in the meeting room. He knew this wasn’t his fault, he knew that’s what you would say, but Steve wasn’t going to let himself off this easily. He was livid about the fact that the magazines and web articles had found you out so quickly and had posted pictures of you, giving away personal information about you and jeopardizing you as if you deserved it at all. So he drove home in a silent, fuming rage.

By the time Steve came home, you, too were beside yourself with anger. You’d seen the posts your friends and family were sending you, and your social media was getting flooded with spam and comments from people who didn’t know the first thing about you. Some were downright cruel, others were oddly interested in this situation that was meant to be private all along. You hadn’t even called your parents yet or explained yourself to anyone, all you did was text them and tell them you’d get back to them later when you figured this all out. The only person you wanted to talk to at this point was Steve, and he wasn’t even there, nor was he answering his phone and you knew he had it on him.

The fact that he had seen the news and just left immediately, not giving you any sort of comfort or advice, not even beginning to work through this together, had you fuming. You knew that just like you, Steve had people to explain himself to and others to reach out to. But as far as you were concerned, you should’ve been the first person he talked to about this— he should’ve worked with you to at least talk about how to fix this before he just marched out the way he did.

You thought you had both worked past his eternal faithfulness to his job and the pressure to be dominant that he felt all the time, felt you had reached the core of the superhuman. But him leaving as promptly as he did only proved you wrong. You didn’t want to go through this alone, you wanted to go through this with him, as it was about the both of you in the first place.

He came in and you looked up from your phone, where you were scrolling worriedly through the trending Twitter hashtag about you and Steve. Everyone was giving their unwarranted opinions, and you honestly worried how this would impact you— tons of information about you had been revealed without your consent, and it did not at all make you look good to the typical eye.

“Where did you go?” you asked him quietly, glaring up at him.

He seemed to sense your anger and sighed, shrugging his shoulders in a resigned manner,

“Headquarters. Had to sort some things out.”

“Do you know how long I’ve been sitting here scrolling through pictures of me that are from my fucking cam site? Strangers exchanging information about me on the internet, seeing all this shit about us? And you just— just left? You didn’t even try to talk to me, Steve, honestly, what the fuck?” you snapped, your upper lip curling up angrily.

Steve glided over to you, sitting beside you on the side of the bed and trying to get close to you. He truly felt sorrowful for leaving you alone, he wished you had known how much he wanted to talk to you while he was being berated by Tony. He only wished you had known how little he cared about the logistics because you were on his mind the whole time.

But he knew you were right, he had left without even trying to sort things out with you, left you to handle things on your own without even giving you an inch of support or telling you where he was going and what he planned for when he got back.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Steve apologized, his tone genuine, trying to catch your eye. He finally did, and even though you still glared angrily at him, he grinned at the fact that you were at least looking at him. “I should’ve been here for you, and dealt with all the other logistics later. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, honestly, angel. I didn’t… I didn’t know-”

He didn’t know that your image was being plastered around everywhere, that you were being unpacked by attention-seeking publications. Your safety and your privacy came before the reputation of his team, before all the logistics. That was all he had wanted to protect this entire time. You. Looking into Steve’s eyes, you could see that they were almost glassy, and you shifted from anger to concern quickly.

“Baby,” you cradled your arms around his head, frowning. “No, no, I’m… I’m being stupid, of course you have to handle shit with your job first, I should know that. I just wish we could’ve processed this emotionally first. Instead of separating from each other first thing.”

“No,” Steve said firmly, pulling away from your touch and placing strong, grounding hands on your shoulders. “No, you are completely valid, and you’re right to be angry with me, doll. I should’ve taken a moment. That’s- that’s what we’ve been working on this entire time and you’ve been trying to teach me to step outside of my anxieties and all my duties. And I should’ve been here for you. I didn’t even take the time to comfort you. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly, and he pulled you in for a hug, nuzzling his face in your neck.

This was the warmest you’d ever felt with him, just sitting there with him calmly in the midst of all the chaos, finding peace and stillness in each other’s arms. Anywhere else but in each other’s arms felt dangerous and uncertain, and now that you were here together, you were starting to look up. Everything was still shitty, but maybe together, things would feel less shitty.

“Listen, you’ll be okay. I’m sorry for all of this, I know what you’re going to say, but I know that I’m partially responsible. I just wanted to keep you safe, and, fuck.”

You chuckled quietly to yourself, your faces only inches apart when you brought your hands up to cup and graze Steve’s cheeks lovingly,

“You still blame yourself for everything. You can’t control what these fucking publications do. You know that. And selfishly, the risk of getting caught is worth taking, if it means I get to be with you.”

Steve melted into your touch, but still there was that stiff part of him that wanted to blame himself for this mess,

“We’re gonna have to agree to disagree on this one, doll,” he laughed wistfully. “But, you didn’t teach me for naught. Instead of pitying ourselves, we’re gonna work on this, right?”

You nodded with a smile,

“Yes, yes, exactly.”

Steve sighed before continuing, frowning as he remembered the hostile air in the office.

“They told me to deny everything and get my legal team involved, but I…” Steve paused, feeling his anger and defiance resurge.

If they were going to expose you two, then so be it, it was true. If he didn’t tell the truth, if he denied all the “allegations,” he was just letting them win. He was letting them silence him, letting him think he was doing something wrong because he had found you, his happiness. And sure, your relationship was easy to publicize and critique because it was controversial for many obvious reasons— the age difference, the sensitive nature of your jobs.

But Steve didn’t care what they had to say. All he cared was that this didn’t push you apart. And if it meant telling the truth, he’d do that. The bombardment of rumors and questions would pass eventually. Nothing could soil the Avengers for long. If he handled this the way the public expected him to handle it— with some spineless apology or some weak minded statement, it wouldn’t be fair to you. Not when you and Steve were together.

He continued,

“I’m not going to. I’m not denying a thing. I’ll release a statement on my own… I’ll… I’ll tell the truth. I’ll get them to leave you alone and take down whatever they’ve posted about you. I don’t care what they have to say about us. Just… they can’t mess with you.”

Steve’s fists balled up inadvertently in frustration and anger, but he was also feeling a surge of pride, courage. He didn’t have to deal with this the way everyone wanted him to. This was a personal matter, and even though it affected his job and his team, Steve had been through too much in the past few weeks to let the public play him the way they wanted to. There would be drama, and talk, but it would all subside as it always did. He’d always be Captain, and as long as he had a good heart and good intentions, and did his job right, he didn’t give a shit about what strangers had to say about who he was in love with.

You blinked, shocked and puzzled by Steve’s words. This was like a full 180, you weren’t used to Steve rebelling like this. You figured maybe he was just worked up, and you didn’t want to be the reason he got in trouble. You knew he had his responsibilities, regardless of how you felt. You didn’t expect him to put you above everything, you knew he had to deal with matters like this in a specific way. You tried to calm him down,

“Steve, you’re sweet. But you should go through with what your team wants. I mean, it’s what’s best, isn’t it?”

Steve cocked his head at you,

“And keep doing this in secret? I mean, we can’t keep this up for long, doll, you know that. If I deny it now and the truth somehow comes out, that’d be even worse. I know my team is saying the opposite, but I think this is what’s best. The rumors, the gossip… it’ll come to a stop. What we have is stronger than that.”

You grinned, your eyes glossy,

“I know, but I don’t wanna be the reason you get in trouble.”

Steve inched closer to you and cupped your face firmly with his hands, looking into your eyes,

“You’re not. And you won’t be. Don’t blame yourself for a second. I’m taking care of this, alright? You’ve done so much for me and you don’t even know it. It would be a disservice to the both of us if I didn’t stand up for us. Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about my job. I was wrong to ever make you feel like that was your responsibility more than it was my own. We’ll be alright.”

Steve was true to his word. As the day progressed and word spread even more, soon enough there was a statement to match the rumors. It wasn’t what the publicists or his fellow Avengers wanted to hear, but it was what he thought was right. And there was no reversing it. Later that day you sat on your laptop, scrolling through the recently updated articles on your situation.

Superhero Captain America, known to those in his personal life as Steve Rogers, admits that he has been in a private relationship for the past few months. Rogers and his team ask that their privacy be maintained and respected despite the shocking, unexpected news. At the time, Rogers and his fellow Avengers will not be taking any further inquiries about the matter, and they are taking this violation of privacy and security very seriously.

You breathed out a sigh of relief as you read the statement, mulling it over a few times in your head. All Steve wanted was to keep you safe and get as much information that had been revealed about you taken down. You weren’t quite sure what you were going to do from here on out— your sensitive profession had been exposed and this was something that would quite likely impact you for the rest of your life.

How could you be expected to be taken seriously to get a career when you had been trashed and defamed on the internet for your job? It seemed that still, no one quite understood sex work and that it was just as legitimate a profession as anything else, and you knew from the start that sex workers were looked down upon. You had done everything right— you used an alias, you didn’t give away personal information. And now, your face was plastered on gossip websites, with links to the very cam site you used.

Needless to say, you were stressed. But, you weren’t panicking. You were processing everything and it was all so overwhelming. In the grand scheme of things, you weren’t being nitpicky about the specifics. You had faith that you would figure this all out, that everything would be back to normal soon. Whatever that meant for your future, you weren’t sure. But you refused to lose hope. Not yet. You’d pick yourself back up from the ground and dust yourself off, just like you’d done so many times before. The difference was that Steve would be there for you every step of the way.

Steve was out again handling important business. He’d talked to you before leaving and you understood that he’d have to be gone for a few hours trying to juggle this insane situation. In the meantime, you decided that since you had time, you’d call back everyone who had been bombarding you with messages and calls. Firstly, you’d call your parents. You dialed your dad’s number and he picked up almost immediately.

You could hear him calling your mother’s name so she could talk to you too, and you heard her scramble up to the phone to talk.

“YN, what the hell is going on?” your mother asked, but she sounded more concerned than upset.

“We’ve been calling all day, we’ve been worried sick. Everyone’s been asking about you and we had no clue what was going on,” your father continued.

You were surprised at their tone. Perhaps ever since your awkward dinner with them where you’d revealed what was likely your biggest secret, there had been a shift. You were surprised when they were so quick to accept you despite being so distant from you your whole life, being the root of your emotional issues. You sighed, rubbing your forehead,

“Look, I know it’s a lot.”

“Are you okay, sweetie? Be honest,” your mother pleaded, and you made a face,

“I’m fine, it’s been a stressful day, but-”

“No, I mean in general. We… we know we haven’t been talking much, but this… this whole thing, it’s-- we’re worried about you. You just go off to New York without saying a thing to anyone? You’re in some secret relationship with a man twice your age?”

You understood their concern, but at the same time, you knew you weren’t being irrational by doing these things. Instead, you were doing what made you happy. This wasn’t a spontaneous, crazy decision. You and Steve were both extremely logical people, and you weren’t unstable just because you did this without anyone knowing. You had your reasons.

“Look, I… this is something I did on my own. I’m an adult and I’m doing what's best for me. And, obviously, there was a reason I didn’t tell anyone. I mean, he’s- he’s not just some random guy. And what we have is… you might not understand it, but that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”

“I just wish you felt like you could talk to us.”

“Yeah. Me too. Listen, I just wanted to call you to let you know that I’m fine. I don’t really know what’s next, but I’ll try to keep you updated, alright? Don’t worry about me, everything will be okay.”

“What about all those posts about you? The things people are saying, it’s- and your safety! This is serious.”

“Dad, I know. We are working it out, believe me. I’m just as worried as you are. I’m probably more worried. But you know what, I knew the risk in coming here, and I knew what I was doing. And I’m still glad I did it. Steve means so much to me, and I’m not gonna let this change that. But all that matters is that I’m okay. I just wanted to call you and tell you that.”

“Well, we’re glad to hear that you’re okay. There’s just so much about you that we’re just now finding out, we have every reason to be worried.”

“Yes, you do, and you’re right. If things were different… well. Anyways. I love you both, I’ll call you later,” you said, hanging up without waiting for them to reply.

At least that was off your plate.

| | |

The next morning, you woke up with Steve by your side, holding you in his arms. Needless to say, yesterday had been incredibly eventful, and by the time Steve got back home, there was nothing left to do except sleep the day off. It seemed as if your troubles were far in the past, considering how quickly everything had been handled. You had to hand it to Steve, he was the one who had to talk to so many people yesterday- legal teams, PR, his team members, just to clear the air. And of course, people were still talking about everything. But the initial shock and widespread reaction from yesterday was already beginning to calm down. It was still a bit dark in the bedroom, and Steve was still asleep, his arms wrapped around you.

You stretched to reach your phone on the side table and started scrolling. There were still articles up and pictures of you up, but Steve was working to wipe those out to protect your privacy. You chewed on your bottom lip worriedly. Even after this was all over, you’d have to figure out what the hell you were going to do. Would you have to stop camming? Would you have to throw away all hopes of any other career as well? This was all on your mind.

Suddenly, Steve’s hand was wrapped around your phone, pulling it out of your grasp. He sighed sleepily, his voice still groggy and deep,

“What’d I tell you about that?”

“I know…” you pouted, turning to face him. His eyes were closed, but you knew he was listening. “Shouldn’t keep looking for updates.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed. “You’ll be alright, YN. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Promise?” you asked.

“I promise.”

That was all the reassurance you needed for now.

Eventually, you both woke up and got ready for the day. You weren’t doing much of anything, since you’d have to stay low for a few days. But it meant you got to be in each other’s company all day, so you weren’t exactly complaining. You were laying in between Steve’s legs on the couch, your head resting on his chest.

Today was supposed to be your last day, but due to recent events, there had been a change in plans. You would probably stay here until this all settled, then go back to Cali and deal with business back home. Luckily for you, your friends were supportive all the way. They were astonished and shocked of course, but incredibly happy for you. They’d be there for you just as much as Steve would.

“You okay, doll?” Steve asked, and you glanced up at him.

“Good as I can be. Are you okay?” you asked.

“Better than yesterday,” Steve chuckled, his blue eyes glimmering. “My team is still working on taking down any private information about you, by the end of this week, we should be all good-”

“Steve,” you flopped over, straddling his legs now. Instinctively, he reached up to caress your arm and your thigh.

“Hmm?” he hummed, looking up at you.

“What happens after this? I mean, as far as I’m concerned, any hopes of getting a serious job are kind of fucked now.”

“That’s not true,” Steve furrowed his brows, frowning. He didn’t want you to feel like this incident would mess up your whole future.

“Steve, I majored in environmental policy. That’s like, government job type shit. I have to be someone who’s reputable. And I don’t know many people who are looking to hire a porn star sugar baby. I mean, that’s what everyone’s been calling me.”

“But you’re not that. And once we clear up all this, I promise you, no one will think that about you. you’ Besides, Stark Industries is always looking for people like that, you could work for-”

You put your finger to his lips, shaking your head with a small smile,

“Ah ah ah. You know I like to do things myself.”

You didn’t want to just beat around the bush and take the easy way out of all this. You liked knowing that you were accomplishing what you were accomplishing all on your own. If you worked for Steve or his team, it would just feel like giving up.

“I know, and I love that about you. But why make things so hard on yourself?”

You shrugged,

“I don’t see it like that. I see it like… like making my own way. You know? I’d probably be set for life if I worked for Tony Stark. But… I don’t know, it’s just a thing I have. I like to get it myself.”

Steve sighed slowly, shaking his head with a sly smile. His girl, such a go-getter. That aspect of you was honestly a turn-on for him. You didn’t want anyone to be able to say they did something major for you, and even though there were flaws within that ideology, he had to give you credit where credit was due. You were a hard worker. You liked to do things on your own and know that you were where you were because of your own discipline and hard work. Not because your boyfriend had recommended you.

“You are something else,” Steve shook his head.

“Mm hmm,” you grinned knowingly, stretching your hands along his chest.

“Listen, I can’t predict the future. But I will be there for you. And I know how much you like to hustle and do things on your own, but it’s good to accept help sometimes, doll. And I want to help you through this. Don’t think the worst of everything. You’ve always managed, even in the worst of times. This is no different. No job you apply for is going to try to judge you, I can guarantee you that. I’ll make sure of that, no matter how much you try to stop me.”

You scoffed, smirking,

“You’re such a guy.”

“I do it for you.”

Accepting help. Maybe Steve was right. Just because you accepted someone’s help didn’t mean you hadn’t done something on your own. And when it came to something like this, you needed all the help you could get, even if you didn’t want to admit that. It didn’t make you any less of an independent woman.

| | |

You woke up to thousands more follower requests the next day as you ate breakfast sitting at the kitchen counter. Steve was at the stove, finishing up his own plate, and you were chewing your eggs pensively as you scrolled through your Instagram. Ever since the day everything went down, you’d been getting a lot of attention. Most of it was honestly unwanted. Magazines you actually read were DMing you, asking to interview you, wanting the inside scoop on “the life of Captain America’s girlfriend.” You didn’t pay them any mind, because that was attention you didn’t want. You cringed to think of yourself being interviewed by a reporter about personal matters for fifteen minutes of fame.

But the attention wasn’t all bad, and now that you thought about it, maybe your future wouldn’t be so scary. Whether you liked it or not, you were almost like a celebrity now, and celebrities always had their scandals and their speculations, and they still got booked. Maybe this was meant to be, to steer your life in a different direction.

It didn’t seem ideal, and you didn’t even want fame. You certainly didn’t want to be known as “Steve Rogers’ girlfriend.” If you knew one thing, it was that you were going to make a name out of yourself before people tried to make one for you. Now that you were thinking about it, you could honestly seize this opportunity.

Even the sales for your clothing brand had hiked up since that day. People actually took an interest in what you had to offer, and you’d rather they take an interest in that than your personal life. You had no real interest in becoming some mystical figure or some it girl who was on Steve’s arm. You were just a regular, hardworking girl from California, and you wouldn’t lose sight of that. But if this was going to happen, you were going to take advantage of it.

“Steve,” you said his name, and he turned to face you, putting his plate together.

“Yeah?”

“Look at my Instagram,” you pointed your phone screen towards him and he squinted. “All these follower requests. And I keep getting orders, this is insane.”

Steve grinned, beaming. He was glad that something good was coming out of all this for you. He knew you didn’t want or like attention, but this went to show that all eyes on you wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He knew you knew how to flip it and turn it into something beneficial for you. You weren’t the kind of girl to bask in attention just because. You would make something out of this.

“I’m proud, YN, honestly. You know that’s all you, right?”

You chuckled, shaking your head,

“Kinda crazy to wrap my head around. I don’t wanna be this sensationalized person or this public figure, but, fuck. This isn’t at all how I imagined my life going. I could make something out of this. It’s such a turn around, but maybe it was supposed to happen.”

“I’m sorry about all this unwanted attention. But if I know you, you’ll make it work.”

It was interesting, this unwanted celebrity. You had to accept that people would start to know you. You could capitalize off this and highlight your brand, make people pay attention to that instead of your private life. You could even put your studies to work and create an environmental company. You wouldn’t just work for Stark Industries, you’d create an industry of your own. Of course, this was all in theory, and you had to gather yourself before you did those things. But the fact that this was possible just because of some unwanted attention reminded you that you could always flip a bad situation into something ten times better.

| | |

“Fuck, Steve, I can’t,” you were panting heavily, sweat dripping down your forehead as you grasped onto his biceps.

Safe to say, since you were laying low and there wasn’t much to do, this was a very reliable option, every time. Now that the stress of the past few days was winding down, you were finally able to focus on what you had both been neglecting, which was each other’s bodies. Every time Steve was inside you, it was as good as the first time, if not better. You’d been going at it for hours now, partially because Steve didn’t have anything else to do and his endurance was ridiculous. You almost wanted to slap his pretty face for being able to go so long like this, drawing out your pain and your pleasure so effortlessly, only to kiss his cheek afterwards.

“Yes you can, doll, I know you can,” Steve said, not nearly as breathless as you were— it was safe to say sex with Steve was a workout. “Come for me just one more time.”

“Mm,” you whined, lifting yourself up with the help of Steve’s hands clasped beneath your shaking thighs, feeling him shift inside you. You cursed, biting down on your lip and glancing down at where you two met with your brows wrung together.

You were a mess. Both you and Steve had already came multiple times, but Steve wasn’t in a rush. He was honestly handcrafted by the devil. And since you were together, Steve had grown so much more confident. You switched in bed, sometimes you took the lead and sometimes Steve did, and sometimes it wasn’t about who was in the lead. But right now, Steve had you about to beg for mercy.

“Fuck, that looks so good, just watching me stretch you out like that,” Steve groaned, his eyes lowering to watch you slowly drop up and down on his cock, which was coated in your slick arousal. “You like this? Riding me for hours, coming over and over again on my cock?”

You shuddered with an almost humiliating moan, nodding your head because you weren’t able to speak. But Steve wasn’t letting you off that easy. He gripped your jaw with his hand, prying your mouth open.

“Use your words,” he said, nodding slowly and mouthing ‘yes.’

“Yes,” you stuttered out, feeling as Steve pulsed inside of you. You sounded ridiculous, pathetic, and you knew you looked absolutely filthy in the best way possible. You began to ramble. “Yes, yes, I love when you take me like this and— fuck— force me to come for you.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed like he was taking your words into consideration, mulling it over in his mind. “Yeah. You love this. You look so pretty like this.”

Pretty wasn’t the word you’d use to describe it. It was messy. You were practically drooling, and your body felt as exposed as it had ever been. Steve’s own cum from the previous times he came was pouring out of you each time you slid down onto him, and you were incredibly wet still. The sound your bodies made meeting was almost criminal. You were hot and sticky and sweaty and still somehow ridiculously gorgeous to Steve, and you looked even better when he was torturing you with pleasure.

You gasped raggedly when Steve had the audacity to bring his fingers down to your clit, those thick, unforgettable fingers that he used to stretch you out every time before you took his cock, rubbing harsh circles against your sensitive clit. Your whole body seemed to shudder, and Steve chuckled lowly, not even trying to hide the smirk that appeared on his face. Oh, you would so be getting him back for this.

“That feel good, doll?”

“Fuck,” you whined, your hand flinging to his wrist to keep his fingers there doing the same motion.

Your body seemed to tighten and coil up, your eyes squeezing shut before you let go, and before you knew it, you were cumming on his cock. Or more like squirting, the way it seemed never ending and made your whole body convulse. Steve groaned as you soaked his torso and his legs, stilling yourself on his length and riding your orgasm out. He must have come inside you a few times while you were squirting. Wet tears, the good, hot kind, were forming down your cheeks as you come for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of a few slow, tantalizing hours.

“There you go, darling, I knew you could do it,” Steve finally pulled out of you, still hard against his stomach. He reached up and wiped the tears off your face. “Now do that again on my face.”

Fuck. You’d get him back another day.

| | |

“Oh fuck, right there,” you sighed in ecstasy.

Steve’s hands were kneading into your back with expertise. He seemed to know just what he was doing, relieving all the tension from your spine and shoulders, and god knows you needed it. It had been about a week since the news came out, and everything seemed much less urgent now.

Reports about you two were dwindling, especially because you had stayed lowkey and didn’t flaunt your relationship about town. But it was almost freeing that you had the liberty to do so now, even if your relationship had been unfairly exposed. At least now, you could go out together without wondering if you’d get caught.

Steve chuckled and finished up, rolling off of you and facing you on the bed, his eyes glittering as he smiled at you.

“You know,” you started, reaching your hand out to stroke his cheek. “I’m kinda glad this all happened. Is that selfish?”

“No,” Steve grinned, shaking his head and reveling in the touch of your hand on his cheek. He grasped your wrist, gazing into your eyes.

These past few months had been such a whirlwind for the both of you. The both of you were doing things that surprised you, that made you endlessly happy. Steve had never felt more grateful for anything or anyone in his life. You helped him grow, and he did the same for you. He couldn’t see his future without you, and he didn’t even want to imagine it. He knew you were irreplaceable, he knew this was meant to be. Your odd circumstances and the unconventional way you met seemed to emphasize that truth. There was a reason why he had been so blue without you, and there was a reason why he had come back. Deep down, he knew all along that it was worth it, that you were worth it. Nothing else had ever been so clear to him, especially in that moment, gazing into your deep, warm eyes.

His heart blossomed with that irrevocable feeling, and before he could stop himself, the words were bubbling out of his mouth,

“I love you.”

You didn’t have to think, didn’t have to second guess yourself before you replied. You knew it all along, it was just a matter of time before one of you actually said it. And now, after you’d been through so much together, after you’d taught each other so much, and healed from so much as a collective, there was no reluctance. You weren’t scared to admit that it was true.

“I love you,” you said, with a soft grin and a dreamy look in your eyes.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there together, looking at each other and kissing and holding each other, but it was enough time to make you forget the world.

ayeeee!!! as a bonus, i’m including this lil thing i made, it’s supposed to be what i imagine moonrose’s IG to look like! the pictures are not her faceclaims, they’re just black women that i imagine moonrose to look like LMAO but she’s free to look like whatever u want her to ♡ this is her aesthetic!!

ENJOY! new chapter soon hopefully!!!!

tags added later ♡

#the l bomb #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x yn #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fic #smut #captain america #captain america fic #captain america smut #captain america x reader

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kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

Note

Fic ask game 17 and 6?

Fic Ask Game:

17: What has been the proudest moment for you so far since you started writing?

This is gonna sound so absolutely cheesy and cringe because it really doesn’t have much to do with my own writing at all but - whenever I get messages from other people (usually anons) who tell me that they’ve started writing again because they’ve been following along with my blog for a bit and I inspired them to just say fuck it and get back into it (or to start writing for the very first time in general!)

Seriously, trust me, I know how dumb that all probably sounds, but I think that is quite possibly the coolest thing I will ever do; inspire other people to enjoy the same things that I do. The internet is such a weird, wonderful, horrifying place because everyone is so encouraging and friendly until suddenly you’re Doing The Thing and then everyone seems to develop some kind of a vendetta against you because you’re making moves when they’re not or you’re not making The Right Moves or you’re making the Right Moves but you’re not from the Right Demographic to be making those kinds of moves and honestly? I’m fucking over it.

If you’re not confident enough in your own damn writing and you’re not having fun with it and are completely content writing literally just for yourself, then you need to a choose a different hobby/career path. Thinking that someone else is going to “steal your thunder away” or whatever else just because they write a similar story to yours or write a story that you’ve been thinking about writing for a while is a big ole red fucking flag - and if you’ve never heard anyone say this before, then listen to me real closely when I’m telling you right now.

Your story is just as unique of a creation as you are - even if you’re using the same old damn tropes to tell the same old damn story. I can write a Fake Dating story and litter it with hundreds of overused tropes and as long as I’m actually enjoying what I’m writing and as long as I’m giving it a proper effort to make it my own, then there is literally no one else who can write the same story as me, even if all of the elements and characters within the story are exactly the same. They won’t be able to replicate the way that I express certain emotions through the characters, they won’t be able to simulate the flow of a carefully constructed conversation/interaction like I can, they won’t be able to nail the imagery or the flowery sentence structures or the scattered symbolism or whatever else it is about your writing that makes you LOVE WRITING so damn much.

So whenever I get a long rambling Ask about how someone on this random blogsite in this random corner of the internet read my KiriBaku stories and were inspired to try writing or picking up writing again as a hobby? Bro - there is absolutely nothing else that I could ever create that would be cooler and make me feel more proud of myself than that. I truly fucking mean that.

6: What are some topics you will never write about?

This is a really interesting question because I know that a lot of people get really defensive about these kinds of things - whether it’s because they feel really passionately about a certain topic or perhaps they feel like it’s not their place to write about certain things, the reasons vary and the reactions to them vary even more.

For me (personally); there is nothing I won’t write if I have good reason for writing it.

This isn’t me tooting the ole “I Can Write Whatever I Want Cause Fuck Censorship” horn, because quite frankly I find that mindset to be kind of childish and ignorant to have (don’t misinterpret what I just fucking said, you internet scoundrels. I am not calling the act of having that kind of mindset childish or ignorant, I am saying that usually the people who have that kind of mindset are younger or uniformed in some way).

Just because you can write about something doesn’t mean you should.

Recently, I got some rather colorful Anon Hate about Cold Turkey, and honestly, I was expecting it to happen at some point to some degree, and while I won’t get into all of the gory details because like I’ve said many times before this blog space is for positive interactions and I feel like things like that are best left between the sender and the blog owner (though if you’d really like a response from me to something like that - try taking yourself off Anon next time so we can have a proper chat). But I understand where they were coming from when they sent it, which is why I chose to hear what they were saying but not directly engage.

To them - literally for all they know - I am just some random person on the internet who wrote some smut and that on its own is enough to condemn me right off the bat. Dude, I get it. I am literally the easiest target in that regard, internet trolls and those who feel they have a social justice to impart will obviously trickle into my Asks after posting a story like that because that’s how they feel and nothing I say or do can take that away from them (and it shouldn’t). It doesn’t hurt my feelings, I don’t take “You’re Horrible, go Choke” very seriously from an internet stranger, and that’s mostly because I know for a fact that person probably didn’t even attempt to read my story before they sent me all of that unnecessary hate.

It wasn’t just a smut story - it was a story that contained smut, and there’s a difference.

There are many people who use smut purely as a way to let loose on some of their most wild fantasies (whether those fantasies are morally grounding or not is a totally different topic), and honestly, as long as it doesn’t involve anything unsavory (and you all know EXACTLY what I’m talking about and if you don’t then bless you, you are what’s right with this world) then it really isn’t any of my damn business what they choose to write about on the internet.

I’m not their fucking mom. I’m not their therapist. I’m not their dictator or their president and, quite frankly, they are NOT my responsibility. I can look at something and be like, damn, that’s kind of fucked up in a way that my own emotional trauma doesn’t cope well with (I am not a foot fetish person blah gag sorry I just don’t get the appeal LMAO), but then I can just scroll past it and move on with my day.

But writing a story that contains smut doesn’t mean the story itself isn’t trying to make some kind of a point, or portray some type of healthy boundaries within a sexually active relationship (whatever relationship that may be), or try and enforce the idea that just because you have a connection with someone and just because it feels good, that doesn’t mean things will just magically work out if nobody ever openly discusses what they’re feeling.

That was literally the whole point of Cold Turkey, and I think that if the Anon who sent me that hate were to have actually read the story, then they probably would have recognized that and they might have even appreciated the overall message (or maybe they still wouldn’t, and that’s fine too)!

In the story, Katsuki believes that being attracted to Kirishima is like having an addiction because it helps to put a mental barrier between himself and his emotions that he is so unequipped to handle, and so to combat those undesirable feelings, he reacts in a sexually deviant way because in the moment it feels like the right thing to do in order to get what he wants without having to deal with any of the stuff that he doesn’t. But then he comes to realize that there’s far more to loving another person than just your sexual attraction towards them (which we see when there starts to become this emotional distance between them despite having been such good friends beforehand and despite having taken their relationship to the next level), so then he tries to defensively shoot to the opposite end of the spectrum and ignore literally everything that he is feeling in order to stumble back into the Friend Zone and maintain the relationship that they had before they were ever sexually active with each other - which he then realizes isn’t enough for him anymore. Kirishima was the perfect catalyst for this situation because at the end of the story, he showed Katsuki that there can be a happy medium between them, where they can exist together as friends and as lovers, and how all of that messy emotional stuff can still be portrayed in a healthy, sexy, fulfilling story that keeps the reader invested without falling victim to the same old toxic relationship tropes that usually come with this type of story.

There’s nothing I won’t write about if I have a good reason for it. Pretending that things don’t happen in real life and so shouldn’t happen in fiction is the same as turning a blind eye to gay relationships in fiction as being nothing more than either just “A Light-Hearted Wholesome Fic” or “Ravage Crazy Fantasy Sex.” There is a healthy medium, with beneficial values and positive outcomes, because Love is still Love and the experiences we all go through are one in the same.

Don’t let other people tell you differently. We are all humans, and we all deserve to know that the love we feel for others is in no way deviant or forbidden or taboo (whether that be with another man, or another woman, or another non-binary, or another of any of the other various labels that we like to give that make us easier to separate and manipulate and isolate from each other).

So if I write something with smut in it, or I write something with excessive violence, or I write something unsavory, I’m not doing it for shits and giggles or because I get some kind of sick pleasure from it. I’m not trying to provide shock value and I’m not trying to pry off of other people’s traumatic experiences (I’m not even trying to show any of my own because that’s my own business!)

I think a writer’s responsibility, especially in fiction, is to tell a story; a realistic story, a relatable story, a funny story, a heart-warming story, a sexy story, a heart-wrenching story. And yes, it’s all just fun and games, and no, people probably shouldn’t take it as seriously as they do, but that’s the great thing about participating in fandoms and choosing to be on the internet, everyone has their own opinions and beliefs (whether you like or not), and everyone has advice to give and wisdom to share and not everyone is filled with malicious intent if you’re willing to accept all of that for what it is.

These Ask responses got crazy long LMAO sorry sorry!! I just had so much to say and I wanted to say it in a way where I could get my point of inclusion and perspective across! I feel very passionately about these kinds of things and I don’t generally get to discuss them so openly so I really appreciate anyone who has made it this far! Thank you so much for the questions!! <3

#ask game #writing ask game #asks

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megsironthrone · 4 years

Text

Disbelief

Based on this request: May I ask for a reader x Sandor where he and Bronn save her from some not so good people and she and Sandor fall for each other much to Sandor and Bronn's shock? Happy writing!

Here you are!! *Characters are NOT mine!*

Warnings: Little angst, fluff, mentions of violence and unsavory characters.

Pairings/Characters: Sandor Clegane x fem!reader, Bronn

Sandor groaned a bit as he stretched his back. The world was still trying to pull itself back together after the Great War and that meant more work for Sandor and his current traveling companion, Bronn. Why he was travelling with the new Master of Coin was beyond him, but the king had asked the two of them to travel and see which realms needed the crown's assistance more. Sandor never expected what would happen.

A scream pierced through the dusk, putting both warriors on high alert. Sandor drew his sword as a second scream sounded, this one closer. With a look at Bronn, Sandor took off as fast as he could with the limp that still bothered him on occasion. He didn't need to look to know that Bronn was following after him. That man was still ready to fight at any time, despite everything they had all been through.

It didn't take long to find the source of the screams. As Sandor suspected, you weren't alone and the intentions of the two men with you were clear. The men hadn't yet noticed Sandor or Bronn, but you had. With one last scream, you made a last ditch effort. You reared your head back, hitting one man in the nose. He let you go and you kicked the other in the shin before darting away toward Sandor and Bronn.

With his free hand, Sandor swung you behind him. Your attackers were quick to recover and had of course, begun to give chase. They froze for a moment upon seeing Sandor. He was still a large man after all. You peaked around Sandor and Bronn which only served to fuel the anger of your attackers.

"Give us the girl. We have no quarrel with you." Bronn arched a brow before replying, "And you have one with her? Can't imagine what a girl like that could have done to you." He gave you a wink, but you skirted closer to Sandor. You just wanted to get out of there. That much was obvious. "Piss off, or you'll answer to me," Sandor told them gruffly.

For a moment, it looked like they might try to fight him. Then, they looked him over and seemed to recognize him. Or at least one of them did. The first man moved to reached around Sandor, but the second stopped him. "That's the Hound. No woman is worth losing your head to him." It took a few seconds, but he first man seemed to agree. They turned and began to walk away. The first man glanced over his shoulder at you. "See you again soon, girlie." Sandor felt you shudder against his back.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sandor and Bronn turned to you. "You alright?" You looked up at Sandor with grateful eyes. "Yes, thank you." Sandor took a step back to put some distance between you. He knew it was only a matter of time before you realized you were faced with a worse monster than the ones he'd just chased off. Bronn didn't seem to see it that way, however. He decided to question you.

"What's pretty thing like you doin' out here, all alone, when she can't defend herself?" You turned a sharp glare in Bronn's direction. "I can defend myself, I'll have you know!" you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest, "They caught me by surprise. Threw my pack and blade in the river." Bronn let out a little scoff but didn't argue. He knew what the wrath of a woman was like and he wasn't about to endure yours.

"Where are you headed?" Sandor asked, catching your attention again. "King's Landing. My home is in ruins after everything. I was hoping for employment as a maid in the king's household." Sandor and Bronn exchanged a glance. For a few seconds, the two had a silent conversation. Bronn nodded to Sandor before speaking to you again. "Just so happens we'll be heading back that way ourselves in a few days." You hummed softly, prompting him to continue. "My friend here thinks it would be best if you travel with us." You glanced up at Sandor again and saw him giving Bronn a look that was anything but friendly. It made you giggle. "I think I'd enjoy that."

*time skip*

You were staring again. You knew you were, but you couldn't seem to stop. He had you completely enraptured. Everything about him called to you. Not only was he handsome, but he was honest and, underneath the gruff exterior, he had a heart of gold. And his physique called out to your most base desires. You wanted him. His body, his mind, and his heart. You had fallen in love with Sandor Clegane.

Unfortunately, you were really bad about keeping your feelings under wraps. It didn't take long for both Bronn and Sandor to realize that you felt something deeper for Sandor. And when they did realize it, both were in utter disbelief. How, of all the people in the world, had you managed to fall for Sandor?

"I see the way she looks at you," Bronn stated the night before they were to arrive in King's Landing. Sandor didn't reply. He cast a quick glance at you. You were curled up on the ground, eyes closed, body rising and falling with even breaths. Sandor wasn't sure how he felt. He hadn't had to think about his feelings in so long. He'd thought he'd locked them away, never to darken his life again.

"She looks at you like you hung the bloody moon." Again, Sandor said nothing. He wasn't going to dignify Bronn's comments with a response. "You gonna set her straight? Or…are you feelin' something too?" Sandor looked at Bronn who wore a sly smirk. He was trying to bait Sandor into admitting some sort of weakness or vulnerability. He wasn't going to bite. That didn't seem to matter to Bronn though. Sandor's silence was all Bronn needed.

"You are, aren't you? Never thought I'd see the day. Guess we aren't the same after all." Sandor scoffed and rolled his eyes. You shifted a little in your sleep, but didn't wake. "She's better off without the likes of either of us," Sandor finally said. "We get her to King's Landing and she'll find some blacksmith or other, get married, have babies, all that sh-"

"Don't you think that's my decision to make?" your voice startled both men. You sat up, your eyes never leaving Sandor. There was a fire in them that was so intense, even Sandor nearly flinched away. "You don't get to decide my life for me, Sandor. You do not get to choose who I love or whether or not I'm better off without you."

"Think I'll go take a…" Bronn trailed off when your eyes flashed over to his. Without another word, he scurried off, leaving you alone with Sandor. Some of the ferocity left your gaze and your eyes softened. "Sandor, why is it so hard for you to believe that I love you?" Sandor arched a brow. "Do you know who I am? What I've done?"

"Of course I do. But I also know that, deep down, there's a man capable of more love and feeling that anyone ever thought possible. If you don't love me, fine. But if you do, don't push me away." Sandor didn't know what to say for a moment. "Look at me, girl. I'm a monster. You deserve better." You shook your head. You slowly made your way over to him and got as close as possible. When he didn't shy away, you sighed and leaned against him, getting your head close to his shoulder.

"I don't want anyone else," you whispered, "I didn't think I'd love you either. But I do. You're not a monster, Sandor. You have a past that you regret and a future that you can make what you want it. Don't close yourself off just because you're afraid." Sandor looked at you for a moment.

Deep down, he knew you were right. He just couldn't believe it. But you were here, with him, closer than anyone had ever been before and he liked it. He carefully moved his arm and wrapped it around your back. His hand came to rest on your hip as he pulled you closer. You sighed softly. Somehow you knew everything from here on out was going to be a lot easier with Sandor.

(a/n: There you have it! That’s the last of the old requests! I hope you liked it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @princessofthefandomrealm @littlemisscaptainfandom @etherealpotter @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @gruffle1 @smalltownbigheart @igotmadskills

Sandor Clegane Tags: @songoficecreamandfireworks @silversprings98

#george r.r. martin #game of thrones #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor x reader

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yukipri · 4 years

Text

On Koala and Fishman Karate - a One Piece Mermaid AU Story

Not an ask response, but here with another story which was posted last month on Patreon!

I never actually intended on writing this, because this was originally supposed to just be exposition leading up to Marco's Bauble 2, and kinda explaining why Luffy's being tutored in Fishman Karate. But, it ended up being too long and going off on WAY too many unrelated tangents, so I chopped it off and made it its own thing ^ ^;

Mostly introspective, with Koala x Luffy, mention of Sabo x Luffy, and some thoughts on Nami from Koala's perspective as well.

Koala gently nudges Luffy's hand a little higher, and the mermaid makes a tiny whine of frustration as she sways on her tail, trying her best to maintain the posture she's been taught. Luffy glares at her own fist with such adorable determined ferocity that Koala doesn't have the heart to tell her that she doesn't need to try so hard, and that if anything, staying relaxed is the point.

Koala's been trying to teach Luffy Fishman Karate during the few lulls between their adventures. She knows that the disciplined martial art is probably not Luffy's style, but Fishman Karate focusses fishmen and merfolks' innate sensitivity to water. It's honed for combat in this case, but it can be applied to daily life as well, which is why fishman karate is a regular part of grade school curriculum on Fishman Isand. When one lives surrounded entirely by water, ten thousand meters below sea level, it's remarkably beneficial to be in tune with it.

Even if Luffy never fully masters it, Koala's sure she can gain something of value to apply to her regular fighting style, and even if not, it's part of her heritage. It's why Koala had insisted on teaching her, and Sabo had grudgingly agreed (Koala knows the grudging part mostly comes from Sabo still being petty about being terrible at it himself. Which, shouldn't come as a surprise since fishmen arts are difficult for non fishmen and merfolk, but it gives Koala something to rub in his face, which is always wonderful).

It's nice, Koala thinks as she sings praises in Luffy's ear while fixing her posture once again. It's nice because even though Koala'll do any assignment thrown her way, and will do anything to further her primary goal of achieving justice for fishmen and merfolk, being an assistant Fishman Karate instructor is her actual formal position in the Revolutionary Army. It's so easy to forget, with the number of missions she's been on with her acting support for Sabo and others, and the increasing amount of time she spends away from Baltigo and her students. But suddenly, she's given an unexpected opportunity to actually practice and share her passion, and to someone who could really benefit from it too. It would be an utter waste for Luffy to not learn from Koala while they travel together.

(Even if it means Sabo sulks and stews with pathetically transparent jealousy over losing sibling bonding time. He can deal. He'll have plenty of time later.)

And well, Luffy's honestly a joy as a student too. Even if explanations mostly go over her head, she's got amazing physical intuition and picks things up fast. And she's so dedicated, staring at Koala with wide eyes like she holds the secrets to the universe when Koala shows her something new, always blurting out her awe exactly as she feels it and--it's endearing.

Luffy, everything about her, is honestly endearing.

The fishman karate tutoring sessions are honestly the only times Koala can have alone with the mermaid (or as alone as one can be, on the deck of a small vessel like Merry), especially without Mr. Nosy Possessive Big Bro butting in between them. So yes, maybe Koala enjoys spending time with Luffy for reasons other than just getting to do karate together, but she'll confess that to Sabo over her own dead body.

Not that Koala thinks it really matters; Sabo's already giving her the Suspicious Stink Eye (though to be fair, he gives that to everyone other than Ace). And yeah, in hindsight she honestly should have expected his suspicion, given how well her partner knows knows her dating history.

I'm warning you, Koala, Sabo'd grouched when they were alone, dropping his Cool Big Bro act to reveal the Shitty Little Dumpster Brat that Koala knows and grew up with. Don't even think about it with Luffy. Even if she's infinitely cuter than what were their names...Marinara and Cartwheels.

Their names were Marina and Kara. And I don't date every mermaid I meet!

Koala's honestly offended, but decides to let it go; Sabo's overwhelmed by his sudden wave of previously repressed Brotherly Love, and he's still not entirely rational (not that rational's a particularly good word to apply to him at any time). And she doesn't have a thing for fishgals and mermaids, she swears. She just happens to spend a disproportionate amount of time working with them, given her specific focus in the Revolutionary Army. It just makes sense.

Or fine, maybe she has a slight thing for them. And, well, maybe Luffy's her type. Just a little bit. On top of being, well, a super cute pupil. But Koala's not going to do anything, other than enjoy spending time together! Is she not allowed even that?

But, the point is, Sabo's being ridiculous! Koala's been his partner for years! Doesn't he trust Koala enough to know that she'd treasure Luffy, in the very hypothetical situation they ever dated?

(Koala knows the answer to that, knew it the moment she saw Sabo's expression melt as he cupped Luffy's face, and sighs. She never imagined she'd be love rivals against Sabo of all people, but well, shit happens.)

Anyway, Fishman Karate times are Koala's times with Luffy, and if Sabo comes poking his snooty little nose into their sessions, well, Koala's happy to volunteer him as a punching bag. Which he knows, hence why he's not here.

In fact, the deck is mostly empty, the other members of their limited crew occupying themselves elsewhere. Their sole observer is the navigator, sitting by the rail and marking up some maps, seemingly not paying attention.

But Koala knows that Nami's very much attuned to their lesson, her head jerking every time a particularly hard smack lands.

Koala doesn't blame her. She's aware of what Arlong did, had had to swallow bile when she accessed the full report when it came through, days before their fateful meeting with Luffy and the ASL pirates. She knows what Nami must think of fishmen, and to know that her impression came from former Sun Pirates leaves Koala feeling a special kind of numb.

Because that isn't what they're like at all, she wants to say. The Sun Pirates, to Koala, are a gleaming example of why fishmen deserve better, and are victims of human prejudice and ignorance. It's terrible that they mean the opposite to Nami. But given her experiences, Koala knows she has no right to preach at her. If anything, she just feels sad, and bitter, knowing that the cycle of hatred can come back to hurt those so very far away from where it started.

Koala guides Luffy's arms into position again, and despite Luffy struggling to remember everything mentally, the young mermaid's body easily accepts the form. It's an art designed for her kind after all, unlike the marine martial arts that Sabo said their grandfather had beaten into them. Koala's sure Luffy struggled with those, unable to fully copy moves that require certain feet positions, and an assumption of a more human perception of the world. But this, Fishman Karate, was made for her.

Nami twitches again, and Koala makes a note of it. She knows Nami has likely seen the form before; there were several martial artists in Arlong's group.

She knows it's difficult to watch, but admires Nami's stubborn determination in doing so. Koala's sure that part of Nami's reason for watching is to make sure Koala doesn't teach anything unsavory to Luffy, and she respects that wariness, because they haven't known each other long enough for Nami to open up to Koala and her history of friendship with fishmen.

But, and it's only a guess, but Koala thinks Nami also watches to try to learn and accept this part of her captain as well. Koala might not be important, but Luffy is the captain Nami's pledged to follow, for all that Ace is also her captain. And whether she likes it or not, Luffy's a mermaid, which, while not the exact same as fishmen, has plenty of things in common.

Now that she's no longer isolated on an island in East Blue, heading closer to Fishman Island which they'll inevitably have to cross in order to enter the New World, Luffy's learning more about herself. Specifically, the mer part of herself. And she'd be doing that, regardless of whether Koala's there to help her along.

Koala thinks it wise that Nami's forcing herself to learn alongside Luffy, so that there are no surprises, and that one day, she doesn't wake up and realize that her captain shares far too much with her tormentors for her to handle. Koala hopes that Nami's love and acceptance for Luffy will plant a seed of hope that eventually helps her accept other fishmen and merfolk, to see that they're not all Arlong--but Koala can wait.

Thanks so much for reading if you got through this~! <3 As always any comments/thoughts are super appreciated!

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #Koala #Monkey D. Luffy #KoaLu #SaboLu #text headcanons #longpost #long post #genderbend

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heyitsani · 4 years

Text

I Cannot Be Broken

Omega!Dick Week Day 5: MILF!Dick

Word Count: 2898

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Talk of past Non-Con (nothing graphic) and Robincest (obviously)

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Summary: James Grayson-Todd finds out some of his dad's past after an Alpha gets a little too friendly with the other man while picking James up from school.

Notes: This mentions the situations with Mirage and Catalina but without any kind of detail. It also deal with unsavory intentions that are not acted upon.

Also, I skipped day three and four on purpose. I will not be posting day three, but day four will come tomorrow after I post my story for the prompt I picked for day six. Day four would have spoiled day six so I chose to wait. Sorry not sorry.

You can also read this on AO3 here

“Is that your dad?” James looked up from his phone to see his dad leaning against the Bentley while surrounded by a group of women and men, cooing over the infamous Richard Grayson. It took all his will not to roll his eyes at the sight, having seen it so many times in the past. But it was rare to have his dad pick him up from school and not Alfred. The worst part about the crowd was that his dad hardly ever noticed the attention, yet it persisted.

His papa had said it was because his dad was unable to see himself the way the world did. There were too many people in his past that had taken advantage of his dad and now his self-image was shattered. Too many promises to love, care, and cherish his dad that had eventually been broken and then the blame for those broken promises placed on him instead of where it belonged. It had made James cry for his dad at first, but then his papa had said it was in the past. And all they could do was shower him with affection and love now.

“Jamie,” his dad smiled brightly when he spotted James and pushed through the crowd, going straight for his son.

“Hi Dad,” the boy greeted, easily slipping into the waiting arms despite most kids shying away from affection at the age of thirteen. James could hear the tittering behind his dad and the snickers from his classmates, but he didn’t care.

“Uncle Dick!” James released his dad and shot a glare at the kids who were watching them as his cousin Harper, Uncle Tim and Uncle Kon’s daughter, came bouncing up to them and demanded a hug.

“Dude,” James looked at Robert when he materialized next to him. “Your dad is a total MILF. Look at that crowd.”

“Ew, don’t talk about him that way.” Shoving his best friend’s shoulder, James looked back to where his dad was still chatting with Harper. He was aware that his dad was a good-looking man. You’d have to be blind not to noticed and even then, James had a feeling a blind person would still know. Because he wasn’t just beautiful outside, but inside as well. Dick Grayson was the kind of Omega that if he were to write about him in an English paper, he would be considered Mary Sue because as far as James was aware, his dad had no flaws. At least ones outside of his abysmal self-worth.

His dad was the kind of man who would give anything to protect others. And he did just that, each night as Nightwing. And he had done it back when he had been Officer Grayson for a brief moment, long before James had been born. And he did it whenever he saw someone in need on the streets of Gotham. It had always been a point of contention between him and Papa, who had to scold him constantly for trusting strangers in a city like Gotham.

And while it was amusing to see his papa treat his dad like a child in those lectures, it was concerning at times how his dad was too trusting.

“It’s true dude, whether or not you want to admit it.” James just rolled his eyes and frowned at the man who had separated from the group of fans that his dad had previously been surrounded by. The look of him immediately caused the boy’s hackles to rise and he moved closer to his dad.

“Richard, here is my card. Please call me about that coffee date to discuss the possibility of WE getting involved with the charity.” His dad took the card and James didn’t miss the way the Alpha’s fingers lingered against his dad’s.

“Thanks,” his dad said brightly, but it was too bright. James had learned how to spot the mask that his dad wore in real life now and again when he was in situations he didn’t feel comfortable in. Stepping closer to his dad, James gripped his hand.

“Dad, is Papa home yet? I wanted to ask him about something with my homework,” James interrupted anything the strange alpha might have said in response, pulling his dad’s eyes down to him. He could tell his dad knew it was a lie. His papa had mentioned he would be home late that night when they had been having breakfast that morning and he knew his dad knew he remembered.

“I do believe he is. Shall we? Harper, is your dad coming to get you or would you like a ride?”

“Uncle Jon is coming to get me. I’m going to hang out with him and Uncle Dami today.” James kept his eyes on the alpha who had narrowed his eyes at the blatant dismissal. When the dark eyes shifted to James, the teen smiled innocently at the man before letting his dad pull him along to the waiting car.

“Nice seeing you all,” his dad said kindly as he opened the door for James, who waved to Robert as he remained on the steps and watched with observant eyes. James slipped into his seat and waved his phone at Robert as his dad rounded the car and slipped inside. The instant the door was shut, James heard the rush of air his dad let out.

“Dad?” James waited for his dad to look over at him before he did or said anything else. When the older Todd-Grayson looked over at him, James reached for his hand. “You okay?”

“How do you feel about stopping by to see Papa?” James nodded but frowned. Spontaneous visits while his papa was working were rarely a good thing. “I’m good, baby. I just could use a little more stabilizing than just his scent back home.”

“Want me to call him?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” James nodded and pulled out his phone. He ignored the text from Robert asking what had exactly happened a few minutes ago and pulled up his papa’s number, hitting call. The phone rang a through to the point that James was fairly sure he was going to get voicemail until it clicked as it connected.

“Jamie, you okay?” And of course his papa would think something was wrong. James never called while he was working unless it was an emergency.

“I’m okay, Papa. But Dad and I are going to come by. We just wanted to let you know.”

“What happened? Is your dad okay?” There was some mumbling in the background and a growl from his papa. “Handle it. I have something to take care of that is more important.”

“He said he’s good, but something weird happened at school. I think he just needs to see you.” James heard his papa grunt over the phone and then a door shutting. “We’re turning onto the street from school now.”

“I’ll be in my office; Sheila is being told you’re coming now. Just come right up. Let me talk to Dad.”

“Papa wants to talk to you,” James held the phone out to his dad, despite knowing neither of them liked talking on the phone while driving.

“Jay,” his dad said, voice slightly more strained than it had been just moments ago. “No, I just need to see you for a moment. I know you’re busy today. I just need a few minutes.” There was a pause in the conversation on his dad’s end and James tried to strain his hearing to listen to what his papa was saying but he wasn’t having any luck. “No. No, Jay. I know. I’ll explain when we get there.” His dad listened, glancing over at James for a moment before he came to a stop in front of the building. “We’re here. No. We’ll be up in a minute.”

His dad didn’t bother saying anything else before he hung up the phone and handed it back to James, who watched his dad closely as they got out of the car. The familiar mask of Richard Grayson-Todd slid back into place and James just frowned more. He hated that mask.

“Hello you two!” Sheila’s ever cheerful voice greeted them as they stepped inside after his dad handed his keys off to the valet out front. “Mr. Grayson-Todd is already up in his office. Can I send anything up?” She asked as she held out a bar of chocolate that she kept in her desk just for James.

“Thanks, Sheila,” James muttered as he took the bar.

“Thank you, Sheila. I think we’ll be fine though. This is a short visit; I know his calendar is full today.” The girl nodded sagely to his dad and James could see that she could see the cracks in his mask. She had been working for his papa for long enough that she knew them before they were married in the eyes of the public. “Call me later tonight, I’d love to have you and Gracie over for lunch this weekend.”

“Of course,” she smiled brightly, turning back to the computer she had been focusing on before they had come in.

“Come on, Jamie,” his dad said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him to the elevator. The palm scanner allowed them access to the top floor where his papa’s office was located without having to key in the security code, and soon enough they were headed up.

The doors hadn’t even opened and they could already hear his papa growling at someone. And he heard his dad sigh in response. But he didn’t smell annoyed or frightened. No, he smelled guilty. But James couldn’t figure out why. He hadn’t done anything.

“I said to handle it,” the doors opened to reveal his papa talking on his phone with his back to them. But the sound of the door opening caught his attention and he turned toward them, visibly sniffing the air before frowning at his mate. James stepped forward and gave his papa a hug before heading down the hall to where the kitchen was located so he could get a drink for himself.

A glance back before he entered the room revealed his dad with his face buried in his papa’s neck and his papa’s arms wrapped tightly around his dad. A sight he had seen plenty of times in the past, but this was different. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason why, but it was.

The clock on his phone told him that about twenty minutes had passed when his papa came in to find James sitting at the table eating the chocolate Sheila had given him.

“Hey buddy,” his papa greeted, dropping into the chair across from him.

“Is Dad okay?” He watched his papa nod his head as he broke off a piece of the chocolate for himself. “What was wrong?”

His papa sighed and leaned back into his chair, glancing over his shoulder toward the door before looking back to James. “You remember the talk we had about the people who had used your Dad for their own devices and hurt him in the process?” James nodded; he would never forget that conversation. “Well, a few of those times it was…physically focused.”

“Physically? Like because he’s good looking?” His papa raised an eyebrow. “Kids at school call him a MILF.” The older man snorted at that.

“Oh, Dick would hate that. Don’t ever tell him.” He let out a few more chuckles, shaking his head, before he went back to serious. “But no, not because he’s good looking. I mean in more nonconsensual ways. Do you understand?” It took a moment for it to hit him but then James jerked back, and his eyes flew toward the door.

Rape. His papa was referring to rape.

“But…that…” He looked down at the table and tried to figure out what to do with that information. It made sense. His dad hated when people outside of the family and their close friends touched him without him initiating it. And the air had shifted when that alpha had touched his fingers earlier while handing over the card.

“I can see you working out the issue in your mind right now. You understand what the trigger was today?”

“That alpha…” His papa nodded and sighed. “But I don’t understand why we had to come here? People have touched him without his consent before and I’ve never seen him react like this.”

“I’m usually already there.” That was true. “And the intention matters. Your Dad said that he could smell what that piss poor excuse of an alpha wanted,” his papa growled. “And that he knew about me but broadcasted his intent clearly anyway.”

That was disgusting.

“It’s not a part of your Dad’s past that he likes to have known, but we both thought you deserved an explanation. And now you know for future incidents.” James nodded, pushing the rest of the chocolate away no longer interested in it. “He’s also going to be a bit on the smothering side tonight. He doesn’t like that you had to witness this.”

“He’s always so good at hiding things.” His papa hummed. James had to wonder how many times his dad had been hurt before he had learned how to fool the people around him. “Papa?”

His papa hummed again and watched him from his spot, rocking onto the back two legs of the chair he sat in.

“Does Grandpa know about what happened to Dad?”

With a shake of his head, his papa set his chair on all four legs and folded his arms on the tabletop. “Your dad will never admit it and the rest of the family is probably in denial about it, but Dick is his favorite. It’s not a purposeful thing and it’s not really anything Dad has done. Not even anything the rest of us have done,” his papa explained. “But your dad was B’s first kid. And he was basically sunshine personified, he still is despite all the shit he’s gone through. But Dick came to him when B needed that. He chose your dad. Yes, he chose Uncle Tim, Uncle Duke, me and Aunt Cass, but Dick was the original. And Dick is everything I think Bruce wished he could be.”

James could see that. He knew that his grandfather’s parents had died when he was about the same age that his dad’s parents had died. And despite that tragedy happening in front of both of them, they were like night and day.

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means that while Bruce couldn’t avenge me for what the Joker did, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do it for your dad.” James opened his mouth to argue that fact, but his papa held up a hand to stop him. “I got over that fact a long time ago. Your dad helped me move past that hatred and anger, and B and I were able to deal with our issues. But Bruce has been kept in the dark about this for that specific reason. He never would have hesitated to take out the people who hurt your dad.”

James considered what his papa said before sighing. “What about you?”

“What about me, pup?”

“What did you do when you found out?” He watched as a dark look passed over his papa’s face and that was enough of an answer for James. The people who had touched his dad in that manner would never touch someone like that again.

“Hey Jamie, you ready to head home?” James and his papa looked up at his dad who was now leaning against the doorway. He looked significantly better, but still a bit frayed around the edges. “Travis is here to collect you for that meeting off site,” his dad told his papa, who swore under his breath and pushed out of the chair.

James stayed seated while his papa walked over to his dad and placed his hand against his neck, leaning down to kiss the top of his dad’s head. “I can figure the rest of the night out if you need me to come home early.”

“I’m okay, Jay. This was enough. I’m going to stay in tonight though.”

“I’ll call Damian and Jon?”

“Nah, I’ve already asked Tim if he and Kon could do a sweep since Harper is with Dami. We’ll see you when you get home, though.” His papa nodded and pressed a kiss to his dad’s lips before slipping out of the kitchen.

“Take care of your dad, Jamie. Call me if you need to,” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to give James a look that his dad couldn’t see. James only nodded before looking back to his dad.

“Can we order pizza?” James asked, standing from his chair and grabbing the remaining chocolate to hand to his dad, who always had a sweet tooth. The man chuckled softly and took the candy.

“Yeah, Jamie. We can get pizza.”

“And build a nest in the living room to eat and watch a movie in?”

“That sounds perfect, pup. Just perfect.” James felt relieved when his dad leaned down to kiss the top of his head and he saw his papa nodding his approval halfway down the hall. Shower him with love and affection. James could do that.

#omegadickweek #omega dick grayson #omega nightwing #alpha jason todd #alpha red hood #nightwing #red hood #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #timkon #jaydic #damijon #tw: noncon

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unmaskedagain · 5 years

Text

Worse than the Devil

youtube

Hey Everyone, I got really inspired by the amazing response to my first fic Queen Of Mean. I decided to write a follow up. Its to Selena Gomez’s version of Cruella De Vil. I loved it when it first came out and it sent shivers when I realized it was perfect for my follow up.

Looking back the missing pigtails in the bluenette’s hair when she walked into class Monday morning, dressed like she just got off the runaway, flanked by Chloe at her side, should’ve been the first warning sign.

But in the class’s defense, it had been a crazy weekend. The fireworks that came with Ladybug’s video, Alya’s meltdown, and Lila being outted as a liar didn’t die down after class ended that day. No. The weekend had been filled out a never-ending stream of group texts, complaining of hurt feelings, nasty little liars, and why, or why wasn’t Marinette replying to their texts? Answering her phone? Didn’t she know they were sorry? Didn’t she know they needed their everyday Ladybug now more than ever? Alya in particular.

Alya, who had spent the entire weekend, nearly 24/7, trying to save her blog; defend her life’s work against the avalanche of criticism that had come it’s way; even the most loyal fans screamed of betrayal. She had released a dozen video explaining what happened and begging her viewers to understand that people make mistakes. Calling Marinette with no answer, texting her best friend for help only to get no reply. Texting Marinette that Lila was a dirty, rotten, liar in over a hundred different way, in over a hundred different texts; only to never get a reply; which Alya never understood. Marinette was right. Lila was a liar. Alya and Marinette should be teaming up to bring her down like their brought down Chloe; stand together like best friends do.

As Alya sat patiently at her desk, with Nino holding her hand in support, waiting for Marinette to arrive so she could find comfort in her bestie, never once did an apology cross her mind. Alya was too indignant, too self-righteous, convinced the Ladybug was victim-blaming. It wasn’t Alya’s fault. Her boyfriend agreed. Her entire class agreed. She just knew, soon, all of Paris would agree.

When Marinette casually strolled in, talking animatedly with Chloe about their week, she left the other students stunned. Gone was the pintails. Gone was the easy-going, simple, practically trademarked pink pants and grey flower decorated shirt. Gone was the happy smile that the students had always remembered was there to greet them and bring them cheer on a sour Monday, like the day was.

Instead, Marinette’s hair was down and flowing down her shoulders, longer than they could ever remember it being (though granted they hadn’t paid much attention to their once friend in last few months, except for giving her a few quick glares and sneers) and was perfectly coiffed with strands pullback in braids that would’ve made Daenerys Targaryen take notes. She was dressed in all black; a cropped leather jacket, a sparkly black halter top that tied around her neck in a pretty bow, her jeans black and skin tight, and killer high heels that would make most girls envious. The only color Marinette wore was the sliver bracelets adorning her arms and the classic movie star red lips she sported. Marinette looked a supermodel.

And if Marinette’s new look didn’t stunned them. Then the look on her face when she glanced at them sure did. Move over Hawkmoth, because if Marinette didn’t scare you, no evil thing could.

It was like the entire classroom went colder. Maybe it was because of the ice in Marinette’s stare, her curved red-stained smirk that screamed: beware. The way everything about her just screamed predator, alpha, top of the food chain. Queen.

Alya blinked hard. Nino blinked hard. Adrien blinked hard. Too stunned at the sight to even remember to badger the bluenette. She and Chloe, also dressed like a runaway model, flounced to the back of the class without a hello, a smile, a wave; anything friendly. It was like they were too insignificant for the girls to notice. If they had an ounce of luck still in their lives, that would’ve been so.

Unfortunately for them that wasn’t the case.

The girls were painfully aware of their existence; of every move they made over the week, every stupid text they sent, every false apology uttered. Because the downfall of the Ladyblog was just a taste of what was to come. At this point, Marinette and Chloe was just Spiders waiting for the kill.

“Girl, you don’t have to sit with Chloe,” Alya exclaimed. “We’ll make room, right?” Nino nodded quickly, eager to give his childhood friend an olive branch.

“Why wouldn’t I want to sit with Chloe?” Marinette asked nonchalantly. “She’s my best friend.”

What happened next was similar to what, Marinette, thought happened in movie; where the main character says something shocking at a dance, there’s a sound of a record scratch, and silence as all eyes turn to the speaker.

The smirk the spread over Chloe’s face, the glow that filled her, the thought of the havoc she was about to help commence practically made her purr.

“Best friend?” Alix asked, her pink hair pulled back and her face skeptical. “Last I checked, you were mortal enemies.”

“Last time you check was not long after Lie-La came to class,” Marinette retorted.

“Which is the last time you’re opinion matter to us,” Chloe added. “Or well to Mari here. I never paid you peasant any mind.”

“You can’t be best friends,” Alya jumped up. “You shouldn’t even be friends. I can’t believe it? After what she did to you?”

The other students nodded.

“She stole your design.” Rose put in.

“Bullied you for years,” Max said.

“Ruined your present for teach!” Kim added.

Alya nodded smugly at the class backing her up, and gave Marinette a bright smile and an expectant look that always used to work on cowing the other girl.

“Bygones,” Marinette sighed. “I forgave her. And we bonded over how stupid you were at believing Lie-La.” Marinette leaned back in her seat. “Besides it’s not like she ever called me a jealous bitch? Told me to check my sources? Ditched me a million times. Whispered mean words about me right in front of me. And even crueler words behind my back. Chloe would never do that.”

“You know who would?” Chloe grinned. ‘You.” She pointed at Alya. “And you.” She pointed at Alix. “And you!” At Nino “And you, you, you, you. And well everyone here really.”

“Chloe maybe be mean; in fact the greatest mean girl Sharpay,” Marinette smiled lovingly at the blond who preened at the praise.

“But at least I’m not a bad friend,” Chloe snipped viciously.

“Now Chloe that would imply I’m still friends with them at all.”

At the statement, students wilted into themselves. Their misdeeds weighed heavily on them. They had been so upset at Lila for lying to them, at themselves for believing her, kicking themselves for not listening to Marinette, they never once considered how Marinette felt about the whole mess. But now they knew, she wasn’t happy.

Little did they know just how furious the once sweet girl was.

The two girls turned their attention to each other.

“Wasn’t this week just amaz!” Chloe said easily. “Fashion shows are always just so spectacular.”

“Your mom is, like, the best,” Marinette nodded eagerly. “I still can’t believe we got to model.”

Chloe side-eyed the students, pretending they weren’t listening. “And why not? They were short. And just look at us. We’re beautiful. We deserved to be on that runway.”

“Runaway?” Mylène asked, awed. “You were in a fashion show.”

Marinette nodded, kindly, though inwardly smirking. “There are pictures from the show online. They’re trending.” So was Marinette’s social media accounts. “We got to model with Kate Upton and Bella and Gigi Hadid.”

“We’re all the rage!” Chloe stated. “Mommy’s thinking of making us the faces of her new line. We’ll be in next week’s issue of Teen Vogue.”

“I posted a few photos on my Insta,” Marinette shrugged. “You can look if you want, I guess.” It was said with a faux unsure, insecure, unassuming voice; a voice that even the most terrifying vampire bat could have even the smartest of victims dancing to it.

With that the girls went back to their conversation. Pretending they didn’t notice their classmates whipping out their phones to verify.

“WOW,” Rose beamed. “They do have pics with the Hadid sisters. Oh you look so pretty Marinette.”

“Dude is that Kendall Jenner?” Kim asked.

“Beyoncé!” Alya yelled. “Beyoncé was there. You met Beyoncé.”

“Chill,” Chloe snapped. “We didn’t meet her. We just waved. Jay-Z was there too btw.”

“Jay-Z,” Nino whispered in awe.

Before befriending Marinette, Chloe was have gladly lied and said they met the goddess, that was Queen Beyoncé. But Marinette wouldn't suffer liars. And hated anyone who lied about her. Chloe was smart enough to know losing Marinette as a friend would be costly to her; both personally and professionally.

The blond refused to toss away the blessing that was Marinette’s friendship. Not the like fools before her. They didn’t know what they lost. But Chloe would make sure they did.

It had taken weeks of slowly inching her way to being Marinette’s friend. The girl had been untrusting the blonde’s actions at first. But eventually, Chloe won her over, proved she could be a good friend, if not the best friend Marinette ever had.

And the best part? Chloe didn’t have to change. Granted she had to dull unsavory traits like lying and stealing but it was worth it.

“Tony. Stark.” Max gulped like he was just told Santa was in fact real. “You are in a picture with Tony Stark; Iron Man.”

“Pepper Potts wanted a vacation,” Marinette said. “Peter, their son, is a friend of mine. We met last summer when he was visiting England with his class. I was there with my grandma. We hit it off. He knew I was nervous about going on stage so he got his mom to come here so he could support me. It was just supposed to be the two of them. Until Mr. Tony realized and followed along. Swore up and down they were trying to ditch him,” Marinette laughed.

“Oh please,” Chloe huffed. “He was proud that his kid was hanging out with a gorgeous French model.”

“Two gorgeous French models,” Marinette corrected. “The three of us got ice cream afterwards, remember? I can’t wait for this summer. Peter said we can spend of three weeks at Stark Tower; interning. PR for you. You’ll be amazing at it. God knows I could do, though.” She said glumly. Though her internship was going to be assisting the Pepper Potts on her day to day life.

“Ridiculous!” Chloe snapped. “Utterly Ridiculous. You know you can’t wait to get your hands on Thor’s cape to find out what material Alien princes use. Not to mention the plans I saw for a potential Captain America supersuit.”

Marinette crossed her arms, and huffed. “Hey that man is walking around dressed like America’s drunk prom date. Someone has to step in.”

“It’s a classic look,” Nathanial told them.

“It’s a crime against fashion,” Marinette hissed.

With that, the girls went back to talking about their weekend and bickering over summer plans. Or at least they tried to.

“You could’ve invited us,” Alya snapped. “Or at least told us.”

“Why?” Marinette asked. “We’re not friends. Why don’t you ask Lila how it was? I’m sure, she’ll happily spin you a yarn about how amazing everything was. And promise you’ll meet them next time.”

It was like a slap to the face. The entire class quieted back down; wishing the bell would ring already. And wondering where Miss Bustier was.

Unfortunately for the teacher, quite a few concerned parents and staff members had taken issue with how Bustier had been running her class. Bullying, students being constantly turned into Akumas, why Lila could miss so much school without it being a major issue.

“Don’t you think you’re being harsh?” Adrien asked. “They’re sorry.”

No, Marinette thought darkly. They weren’t. Not yet. But they would be soon.

“Okay,” Marinette shrugged, carelessly, inhumanly. “I don’t see why that matters. I accept their apology but it changes nothing. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t magically make every alright again. It’s no Ladybug charm. Let it go.” She warned.

While Marinette did have plans to bring down Adrien, they were for a later time. And when she did, it would be painful. And it would break him. Like he helped break her.

For months Adrien had stood by, remained silent as Marinette was made into an outcast, bullied, lost all her friends… when he knew. Knew Lila was lying, knew Marinette was just trying to help. After he promised, vowed to have her back. Instead, Adrien let them deface her sketchbook after Lila accuse Marinette of yet another bullying incident; destroying all of Marinette’s hard work. Despite knowing Marinette couldn’t have possible done what Lila said she had. He just let it happen, too afraid to stand up and tell the truth.

Adrien didn’t take the hint. Or didn’t recognize a warning when he heard it.

“Their hurting too!” The blond boy defended, outraged at how his everyday Ladybug

“How?” Marinette asked curiously, innocently reminiscent of the girl who had been their friend who had existed when the world was still a wholesome place. “You said it yourself it’s not like Lila was hurting anybody. At least that’s what you told me, remember? You knew Lila was lying since like forever and you’re just fine.”

It went silent again. Adrien paled. Marinette could barely stop the smile from slipping onto her face. If she wasn’t careful, they might combined their collective ten brain cells and catch on. See that she was a monster that should’ve never been released.

“You knew?” Nino asked in horrified disbelief.

Dozens of hurt filled eyes trained on Adrien. It was at that moment Ms. Mendeleiev walked into class. “Students, I’ll be filling in today and possibly for the rest of the week. Everyone in their seats. Class is about to begin.”

It was the smoothest devastation Chloe had ever witnessed and grew up with her mother and Gabriel Agreste as role models.

In few years, the blonde knew there would be few would who hesitate to call Marinette, or herself, the devil. Too stunned to realize just how much worse either girl was.

Chloe glanced at the girl who had become her best friend, and fellow mean-girl-in-arms. Marinette had her bluebell eyes trained on the chaos she had just unleashed, once again, on her fellow classmates.

A lessor man, woman would’ve shivered. Chloe had shivered and had nightmares the first time that gaze rested on her.

However, when time wore off the shock; Chloe realize she’d only see those type of eyes watching from underneath a rock.

If you weren’t scared of the New Marinette, then you hadn’t met her yet.

Look out world, Chloe thought. Long Live the Queen.

#Queen Mari AU.#Ml Salt #ladybug and chat noir #ml salt fic #ml spite fic #ml spite #adrien agreste #marinette dupen chang #marinette deserves better

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zorasublime · 4 years

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So, here it is. My (I like to think) long-awaited submission to @enigmainvestigations‘s Detective Riddler Prompt 1: The Fire. Hope you enjoy, story’s under the cut. It’s called: Not Quite Cinematic

The alley still smelled like fire, even after a week. And yet, there I was, nose to the ground — figuratively, I assure you — trying to figure what exactly had caused it. I glanced down to my notebook, opened just this morning for the first time ever, frowned, and pulled on my cigarette as I remembered how I even came to be there in the first place.

You see, there’s a formula to the classic detective story. They all start the same. A beautiful woman enters the detective’s office with an urgent case. She gives him a large amount of money, usually in cash. And he offers her his services, knowing full well that, by the end of the case, he’ll have won her heart and her hand, even if she tries to kill him.

But, as the cliché goes, real life isn’t a movie.

For starters, did you know that most private detectives work in agencies? Fiction would have you believe they’re all self-starters and lone wolves, but, in truth, many are mere peons — or, if their names’re on the door, they have peons to do all their dirty work for them. Think about it this way: do you think Bruce Wayne invents all those nifty little Wayne Enterprises gadgets, the same ones we all use daily, on his own? No. He has an entire staff to do that. The only screwdriver that dolt’s familiar with is the drink.

Now apply that to being a private eye, and you’ll start to understand just how similar this business is to any and all others. It’s all about who trusts you and how much money you’ve already got. Even that famous Dibny snob has only gotten where he’s gotten because his wife’s loaded. Well, that and probably the fact that working to uphold the law in his tights-time helps the general public in thinking that he’s swell.

So, when I tell you that my name, my very well-know-for-all-the-wrong-reasons name — one E. Nygma, Private Detective — was posted on my own office door, when I tell you that I had no underlings, no peons to speak of — none on this side of the law, anyway, and none still taking my calls — you can start to imagine just how deep of a hole I was in. And with that in mind, when my first official client came through the door, you can understand how it wasn’t a beautiful, elegant, rich lady draped in furs. There was no cash, not even any payment up front. The case wasn’t even all that important, and it certainly wouldn’t have struck anyone as a dangerous one.

But in blustered the portly old landlord all the same, with a request for help, a promise of a check, and no respect for the elegance of the genre.

No matter. I write my own stories.

“I just need someone to take another look at it for me,” he had said.

I’d laughed and sat back down so I could put my feet up on the desk. “I’ll be sure to bring my giant magnifying glass.”

He hadn’t liked that, but still offered me the job. And me, looking for anything to pay off that last bottle of hooch, I’d taken it. Wouldn’t mind a bit of a reputation boost if it did turn out to be worth my time, too.

And so, there I stood at dusk, staring at a pile of cold ruins right smack-dab in the middle of the slums. I let my cigarette butt drop to the ground and stomped it out with my foot, thinking about what the landlord had told me. His building had burnt down the week before, and the fire inspector’s reasoning didn’t sit right with him.

“No wonder, that,” I muttered to myself as I crouched down in the ashes. I could see just enough of what was left to tell that the wiring was, surprisingly, brand new. I pushed a few charred shingles away from a small, warped wire panel. Metal conduit. “Must’ve been one of those Wayne charity cases from when Brucie-boy tried to fix up the city last year.”

“And so what if it is?” I spun around, but the child who had spoken was sticking to the shadows very well. My eyes narrowed. One of them. “What’s that to ya? You comin’ here to set a trap or something?”

I could tell he was trying to deepen his voice and roughen his accent, and I sighed. He was clearly too green to be a threat and, realizing that his keeper wasn’t with him, I relaxed, rolled my eyes, and pulled out another cigarette. His novelty had worn off quickly. “And here I thought the last Robin was the dim-witted one.”

He made a noise as though I’d hit him, but I ignored him in favor of crouching back down and sifting through the rest of the debris. I knew in a few moments he’d try and establish his Bat-given sense of superiority, and I was determined to figure out as much as I could from the site before having to go through too many of the familiar “heroic” lectures.

Sure enough, I had barely moved a brick before the boy was standing in front of me.

I slowly drew on the cig.

“You know, I thought your kind preferred much brighter colors.”

He stopped in the middle of flourishing his cape, an obvious attempt to replicate his mentor. “My kind? What’s that supposed to mean?” I’d caught him off-guard, enough for his voice to break. This one was young, but, then again, not as young as the first.

“Children? Robins? Bat-groupies? You’re the new one, correct?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, I shoved the panel into his hands. “Do you know what this is?”

He paused for a moment. I kept searching the ground. “... Metal conduit wiring?”

“Bingo. You get a cookie.” I pushed him away and took a step forward, squinting at what remained of the upper floors. I took the cigarette out of my mouth and held it to the side of my head. “I take it you know how new that must be, then?”

“They only came out with this a few years ago. But that’s not suspicious. Wayne Enterprises--” I waved for him to shut up and picked my way through the rubble and toward the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah. Exactly. Point is, it’s new. Keep up, won’t you?” I heard him start, then the noises of him trudging through the ashes behind me. I smirked. So much for silent creeping.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but--” He was trying to regain his assumed authority, but I didn’t care. I had a hunch.

“I’m on a case. The landlord hired me to figure out what really went on here.”

“The… landlord? But this building--”

“Burned down a week ago. I said the same thing to him. I guess he figured he could find the cause on his own. Or maybe he realized the insurance wouldn’t pay for this. To be honest, I don’t really care. This is my job, and I’m doing it.” I stopped suddenly and turned around to stare at him. His eyes widened. He suddenly looked much younger than I’d thought. “Do you question your Batman when he tells you to investigate?”

While the other two would have fought me on that, this new child had the self-awareness to lower his gaze. Shame is an odd thing to see in a bird, but, while once that may have intrigued me, I had bigger fish to fry.

And on reaching the second floor, I noticed exactly who had fried this fish for me.

“Got it.”

“Really? That quick?” The Robin was at my side in an instant, but this time his wide eyes seemed more excited than shocked. “What are we even investigating?”

“‘We’?” I pushed him aside in disgust. This time there was a bit more force behind it, my way of telling him: Save the gaga looks for the Bat, kid. I’m not your idol here. “I am investigating the burning of this building. You are investigating how best to get in my way.”

I knelt down by the remnants of a portable heater and examined the wiring. Just as I thought.

“Actually, I’m investigating a serial stalker for Batman. A few people said they saw him come around here a few weeks ago, but no one fitting his description was living in these apartments. Since the building had burnt down, Batman thought it’d be safe enough for my first solo mission.” While the other birds’ chests would have puffed up with pride at that, this one looked as though he was carrying the responsibility directly on his shoulders.

“Okay, then, little Atlas. Riddle me this: if you need a base of operations for your unsavory activities, would you do it out of your apartment?”

“I don’t think so, no. But, then again, you’d know more about that than me, wouldn’t you?” He tried to smile, but my glare forced his nerves back. He coughed. “Well, I mean, it wouldn’t be smart, but it’s a fact that most criminals aren’t the brightest, right?”

“Only the ones who get caught,” I agreed through gritted teeth, fully aware that both of us knew just how many times I myself had been caught. I cleared my throat, straightened, took one final, long drag on my cigarette’s stub, then continued.

“But, let’s just suppose for a minute that this man has basic intelligence, as difficult as that may be to believe. He’d not use his apartment, and likely not one with his own name. In fact, if he was smart enough, he’d find a seedy place where he could easily slip in and out without any attention. And to minimize that attention…” I trailed off, waiting for him to finish.

The child stared at me blankly. I sighed and pushed my fingers against my forehead, letting the butt of my cigarette fall to the floor.

“Squatting, kid. The guy you’re looking for was squatting here. Look at the heater--” I indicated it with my foot, my eyes still closed against the oncoming migraine. “It’s small and new, yet the scuffs on the side indicate it’s been moved a lot recently. While that in itself isn’t damning, I happen to know that there was one apartment currently uninhabited. 204.” I pointed to the door, just barely hanging off its hinges. “You can check if you like. This shouldn’t have been here. The wiring leading to it was poorly done, clearly not professional, and, judging by the winter chill and the looks of all this twisted metal lying around here, this wasn’t the only heater in the apartment. My theory is that the squatter -- your stalker, if you will -- got cold and brought in a few extra heaters, tried to hook them up himself, and the combination of extra appliances and screwy wiring overloaded the system and caused the fire.”

I kicked the heater again for good measure, then turned back around. Robin was staring at me with those awed, doe-eyes again. I felt my mouth begin to twitch into a sneer.

“What are you, a duckling? Go follow someone else around. Your man isn’t here.”

I made my way down the steps, and Robin was right on my heels.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said, fly away, little birdie. I’m sure you’ve got a wonderfully comfy cage to return to.”

He ignored me.

“But don’t you need to find the guy who did it? We could work to--”

I spun around and held my hand just close enough to his face to make him lean backwards. “No. Nope. Not happening. This isn’t the movies, kid. My job was to look at the scene of the crime and find out what happened. I just did that. Justice is your job. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a paycheck to collect and a bottle of whiskey to finish. Ta-ta!”

I walked out of the ruins and back down the avenue to the nearest busy street, and didn’t look back until I’d hailed a taxi and given him the address of my office building. When I did turn around, I saw the boy standing there on the sidewalk, watching me. He looked oddly disappointed. I pointedly looked back through the front windshield.

Later, my therapist would tell me that I’d just missed an opportunity to make what might have been my first genuine friend. I’d tell him to piss off.

But I am curious to see if that Robin might be interested in doing a few side jobs for Gotham’s newest up-and-coming private eye. I could use a shadower, and who knows? Maybe with a hero on the team, I’ll have the respectability I need to get some serious clients. And then, I can finally find out if crime-fighting, instead of crime itself, really does pay.

#detective riddler #edward nygma #edward nigma #the riddler #riddler #enigmainvestigations #prompted writing #writing #hope y'all enjoyed #feedback oddly welcome this time #and yes a good chunk of that beginning was because I love Hammett's Zigzags of Treachery bit on shadowing #and Tim admiring Eddie 100% hails from his hero-worship of Ted #y'know both men being smart and disrespected by heroes but really capable and amazing inventors and such (and also from Chicago)#so I thought 'cause of the similarities Tim might like Detective Eddie too

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 4 years

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Rose Puppetry Ch2

Chapter 1.

Originally, I was just going to post Rose Puppetry chapters to AO3, but I realized, when I get to post one of the last 2 chapters, I’ll finally get to reveal the other ulterior motive behind the fic’s existence (other than, you know, really wanting to write something steampunk-y).

(like, when I first thought of this fic, I had a very specific scene in mind (but we’re still not there bc I keep Going Off On Worldbuilding And It’s Fun). Anyways, the reveal of what that is, I think, would work better on Tumblr. So, for the sake of keeping everything together, I’ll post chapters here too.

The Path to You

The pilot expertly navigates the drop ship around Prime’s Flight Engines. The sharp breeze created by the churn of the engines’ massive propellers whips Penny’s hair around her head. One error here on part of the pilot and they’ll all be dead. Their ship ripped to shreds by the blades and those of them lucky enough to survive that left to plunge back down to Mantle.

With the exception, of course, of Penny, who has flight capabilities of her own.

So far, she’s been lucky enough not to be the sole survivor of an operation. Penny dearly hopes that day will never come, although she’s constantly aware of the possibility that it might.

Thankfully, they make it around the Flight Engines in one piece and steer up towards one of the unauthorized entrances to Atlas’s Prime’s notorious Underbelly.

To build their city, Atlas’s founders ripped a great mass of earth from the ground and launched it into the sky. In the gaping hole it left in its wake, Crater Town, the poorest of Mantle’s slums quickly grew. Populated by desperate people displaced when the very earth beneath their homes was yanked away and lifted to where they could not hope to reach, it remains a harsh and bitter place to live. Though most of Crater Town’s inhabitants are honest folk just trying to eke out a decent enough life, the crime lords have long since settled in and taken control.

Up above, in Atlas, Crater Town’s twin quickly formed. Sure, on the surface, Atlas may be an elegant, gleaming, polished city, but it still needs workers to constantly make it so. When they realized this problem (and that absolutely no one amongst themselves was going to just volunteer for the unsavory, menial jobs), the highest ranking of Atlas society started offering employment to Mantle’s working class. In return for their hard labor, those Atlas’s creation displaced could come up and live out their very own Atlesian Dream.

Given the alternative was staying somewhere where, if the various gangs’ enforcers didn’t kill you for not paying your debts on time first, lung sickness or another disease quickly would, almost all the offers were quickly snapped up. However, instead of being embraced into Atlesian society, Crater Town folk soon found themselves shunted off into an out-of-sight, out-of-mind underground city carved out of the very soil stolen from them. The Underbelly.

Life in Mantle may not have been good, but the Underbelly’s inhabitants consider their lot worse. Their hopes had been raised on the prospect of achieving a better life for themselves and their children. Instead they were told to rot in a dark, twisting, labyrinthine city directly beneath the Atlesian streets they keep shining clean day in and day out.

The drop ship reaches its destination. No one who isn’t looking specifically for discrepancies would be able to recognize the section of Atlas’s underside as fake. The false cover slides out of place to reveal a gaping tunnel entrance into the rock. One by one, Penny and her team climb up out of their ship and into it. They don’t stop moving until they reach a small chamber some distance inside the tunnel.

A couple members of the Rebellion’s Atlas cell are there to meet them when they arrive. They hand off the fake uniforms Penny and her team will need silently, and then depart for their own assignments. Atlas surveillance tech shouldn’t work this deep in the Underbelly, but the city prides itself on its innovations. Their mission is too important to jeopardize by saying the exact wrong thing and this being the one time the drones successfully made it this deep.

As she changes into the maintenance worker clothes, Penny lets her mind briefly wander to happier times. Sunlit days in Vale.

Her friendship with Ruby had started out as just another part of her mission. What better way to learn about Vale was there than getting to know one of the locals, after all?

Penny can’t say she knows the exact moment when things changed. She’s tried time and time again to pin it down exactly. Was it their visit to the fair? The movie theater? The way Ruby laughed or the way her eyes sparkled? What was it about her that made Penny feel like she never had before? That made her want to never return to Atlas. That made her stop sending her reports back because she was far happier in Vale.

With Atlas so far away, Penny had thought, they wouldn’t be able to reach her. Her greatest mistake will now forever remain underestimating the reach of the General King.

For all she can’t remember the precise moment she fell in love with Ruby, Penny does certainly remember the night—the last one she ever had in the cute, little apartment she and Ruby called home—that they came for her. She remembers the melody of the song she and Ruby were listening to on the radio. It had been a slow, sweet, song. Penny can’t remember the words. They’d been too busy dancing, getting lost in each other’s embrace, to listen closely.

There’d been a knock at the door; the briefest of warnings. A canister shattered the window as it flew in, popped open, and let out a cloud of knockout gas to invade their home.

Penny had been restrained before she could make the first move to fighting back. The knockout gas didn’t—couldn’t—work on her, but she’d watched in horror as Ruby inhaled it, her eyelids fluttered, and she crumpled to the ground.

That was the last Penny ever saw Ruby before a black hood was pulled over her head and she was forcibly shut off.

Penny came to in Atlas, in the throne room specifically. Ironwood lauded her for her ploy. For gaining the trust of a Vale huntress. For knowing the General King would send the AceOps, his right hand, for her when she severed contact. For rightly assuming they’d capture the huntress they found with her. For delivering what they needed to win the war once and for all.

She would be a hero for her actions, he said.

Penny fled the first chance she got.

Finding where Ruby was imprisoned was much more difficult than she thought it would be. Penny’s love wasn’t in any of the usual prisons, or even the handful of secret ones Penny knew of. Eventually, she caught wind of the rumor that Ironwood had given Ruby to his top scientist, Dr. Watts, for reasons no one seemed to know. Not that they really needed to.

Everyone knows the name Arthur Watts. The boogeyman in almost bedtime story told to overly rambunctious children. He may not be a threatening figure when he makes the rare public appearance, but he’s responsible, parents will warn their offspring in hushed tones, for the monsters who they never, ever want to cross.

Hazel, the Law Enforcer who no longer seems able to feel pain after an extended stay in Watts’s lab. A giant of a man with the ability to inject Dust directly into his body. He’ll offer candy to children and speak to them in a kind-sounding voice to get them to let him in their homes. Then, once he’s inside, he’ll lay waste to their families. Just look at what happened to the Pines after the Enforcers were tipped off that they were spies leaking intel to King Ozpin in Vale.

No one speaks the name of Tyrian Callows in fear simply saying it will summon him to their location. Technically a wanted criminal, but one who’s never been arrested. At least not for very long. Sometimes either a green or overly cocky detective will try to bring him in. Some even have managed to get him into a prison cell. The next morning will see them (and anyone in the general vicinity of the jail, if Tyrian’s in the mood, which he always seems to be) dead, poisoned wounds scarring their chests.

A couple years back a homegrown protest movement against Ironwood started in Mantle. In the first week or two, almost every leadership figure within it was dead, marked by those same slash marks. Sure, there’s no hard evidence that Tyrian did it under orders from Atlas, but when one takes into account the law’s ineffectiveness against him and his shiny, expensive-looking, Atlesian-made, prosthetic scorpion tail, they figure they have enough of the picture to come to the right conclusion.

Then there’s Cinder Fall. The less said about her the better. Some say she’s the creation of a much darker, much more sinister force than Arthur Watts. No one ever wants to imagine what that is. So they say, her dark arm, whatever disturbing substance its made out of, originated in Watts’s lab. Sure, it’s still a nightmare, but a lesser one.

And those are just the recent ones. The most well-known ones. People disappear off the streets sometimes and then something similar to them will appear out of Watts’s lab.

He’s not someone Penny can take on. At least not on her own.

Penny was recognized immediately by the Rebellion’s leader, Robyn Hill (one of the few survivors of Tyrian’s protester massacre), when she found them. Not many knew of Penny’s existence or what her face looked like, but Robyn is sharp, clever. She hadn’t survived this far by not knowing this things. There wasn’t trust between them, not in the beginning. But Penny was honest about her motives, what she wanted out of all this.

Penny hadn’t been sure what was best for everyone when she stood on the Rebellion’s doorstep. She was still struggling with separating her own sense of self from what Atlas intended for her. She could not say she was joining the Rebellion because she truly aligned with their values (at least, not then, that would come later). But, if they would help her save Ruby, she would swear her life to fight for them.

And so, she had. Until this day, when they finally have their opportunity to raid Watts’s lab and rescue Ruby.

Penny and her team make their way through the Underbelly until they come to one of the service entrances leading into Atlas itself. They pause, each making peace with their lives, before exiting into one of the most beautiful cities to ever exist.

#rwby #whirls writing #rose puppetry

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talpup · 4 years

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Crossroads:2

Summary: Loss will make a person do terrible things they never thought themselves capable of doing. Things like wanting the mobsters responsible for your little brothers death to pay so badly you’ll summon a Demon to make it happen.

Maya did just that, but little did she know that the Demon would ask for her soul as the price. Or that when she refused give it to him, he would put her in the path of someone possibly much worse.

Kai is offering to help her but what he wants is so much more than her soul. He wants her everything.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565748/chapters/56963527

If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know. Since I post for free, think of it as nice way of leaving a tip. And since comments are the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting, it’s also a benefit for you.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a VERY special thank you to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They REALLY mean a lot.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship, and reading through the draft of this chapter. This fic started as an idea back in January when they said they’d like to see me write a Kai centered fic. Through their questions and inspiration Crossroads became a fleshed out story. They even came up with the title and female insert/oc’s name. I might be the one writing this fic; but it’s as much theirs as it is mine.

2.1

For the sixth morning in a row Maya woke up in a bed that wasn’t her own. The horrid nightmare faded, leaving her feeling just as exhausted as when she had gone to bed. She turned, bleary eyes focusing on the man whose room she slept in.

Chisaki Kai.

Her breath caught seeing his gold eyes locked on her.

“You were restless again.”

His words were spoken with such familiarity that it both agitated and put her at ease.

“I saw him die again.” Maya confessed, turning away.

Kai put aside the papers he hadn’t looked at in more than an hour, the sight of her much more enthralling than the work he had to do. “It will lessen and fade.”

He sounded as if he were speaking from experience. Then again, Maya supposed that as a mob boss Kai would have witnessed terrible things that haunted and were never truly forgotten.

A Mob Boss. The idea was still hard to grasp. The Demon Dabi had certainly spoken true when he had said he would give her another way to see her justice done.

Kai wasn’t the average Mob Boss, though he certainly didn’t seem any less ruthless. At least not when he had agreed to help her see the men that killed her brother dead after hearing her story. She had thought the offer too good to be true, and when Kai had brought her back to the Shie Hassaikai’s compound she had been sure the payment for his help would be unsavory.

Not that she wasn’t unaccustomed to unsavory deals. The ones she had occasionally been forced to make with the landlord to keep a roof over her brothers head when funds were short, made her feel dirty just thinking about it. But Kai hadn’t asked for such favors. At least not yet.

She sat up in the plush bed, hugging the soft sheet that probably cost as much as one months rent.

“I don’t know if I want them to fade. Yet I want to wipe them away with something else.” She said of the reel of memories that detailed her brothers death. “Does that make sense?”

Kai looked her over, fingers twitching, wanting to rip the covering sheet away and expose her to view. “It does.”

She turned back to him. He sat on the lounge that he had taken as his bed these past six nights, though by the look of him she doubted slept much.

The piece of furniture was likely a thousand times more comfortable than her bed back home, but she still felt bad for taking his bed. Then again it was Kai who had said that she needed to sleep in his quarters. His reason being so she wouldn’t be disturbed by his men knocking and sniffing around. She might’ve thought the offer somewhat chivalrous if it had been an offer rather than an already decided statement.

Her eyes skimmed over him, taking in his handsome face. His fine tailored shirt and pants were rumbled. His jacket, tie, and vest, like his dust mask, long since removed once they had entered his private rooms. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone and she couldn’t help but linger on the peek of chest and collarbone.

She had occasionally seen the definition of his chest and abs when the fabric of his shirt pulled just so. Even the sleeve garters, perfectly fitted as they were, strained slightly when his biceps flexed.

Kai sat back and let her get a good look. It had become something of a morning routine with her. One he didn’t want to get too comfortable in. He would much rather have a routine where he woke up beside her and fucked her into the bed. But it had only been seven days. He had to be patient.

He smirked seeing her gaze lower to where his semi-hard cock made a soft tent in his pants.

Just the sight of her in his bed. Hair mussed. Night gowns spaghetti strap hanging off a shoulder. The outline of her body clearly visible under the single, thin sheet. It stirred something inside him that no other ever had.

His fascination with her had been immediate and surprised even him. But rather than question it, Kai accepted it. He had wanted her mind, body, and soul from the start. And the more he learned about her the more that desire grew.

Her openness was a breath of fresh air. And the fact that she had kept her innocence in spite what had happened was heartening. But just because she remained sweet and innocent didn’t mean that she would suffer vile deeds without seeking just retribution. She was strong in both will and spirit. And her brand of justice suited his perfectly.

She was a woman that he could share his vision with. She wouldn’t balk or be frightened by what he and the Shie Hassaikai were doing. She would understand. She would celebrate his victories with him, and comfort him on trying days, like the one where her brother had died. It was early times yet, but he could see her eventually giving him children. A vested interest in seeing his plan come to fruition. They would strive all the harder to see the filthy and immoral wiped from the earth so that his children could live and grow in an upright and wholesome society, unsullied by the sordid and depraved.

Kai got to his feet and stepped to her. He brushed back her hair, sighing at the smooth, soft silkiness. He was so use to a detached dullness to everything he felt. A barrier between him and the filth of the world. He rarely went without his gloves, unless he was in his private rooms. And even then, the things he touched in his personal space where cold, and hard, and uninviting.

But not her. She was soft, and warm, and oh so inviting. The feel of her was a gaslight that burned in the best of ways. The mere sight of her electricity, lighting up the dark recesses of his soul and showing him needs and desires he never knew he had.

He didn’t want anything between him and her. Didn’t want anything to limit or distance his feel of her. Anything to cover the sight of her. Anything to shield her innermost thoughts and wants from view. He would give this woman everything. And he would take everything she had to give and more.

Maya glanced up at Kai. She knew that look well enough. She had seen it on the landlord and numerous others. But Kai’s gaze held far more than lustful hunger. There was something else. Something oppressive and almost menacing in his golden hues. It sent a shiver down her spine, but she told herself it was just the chill from having woken from another nightmare.

Of course Kai’s eyes would hold a darkness that others didn’t. He was a the leader of the Shie Hassaikai. A yakuza that even the most violent of bootleggers feared.

Kai fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up. “What do you say we wipe those memories away with something far more pleasing?”

Maya brightened and for a moment Kai’s soft smile grew.

“You found one of them?” She saw his smile falter and hurried on. “I mean it’s not as if I had any doubts. I knew you would. I just I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

She got out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her.

Out of all the things Kai had provided for her, a robe hadn’t been one. Previously she had fought against him picking out clothes for her to wear each morning; even though she had eventually relented, knowing that she couldn’t exactly dictate how things went here if she wished to see her brother’s killers dead. But today she’d happily wear whatever Kai wanted her to.

She shot him a smile as she made her way toward the large en suite bathroom. “I can’t wait to see what you pick for me to wear today.”

The door was closed before Kai could get a word in edgewise. Not that he would've corrected her faulty presumption. He didn’t want her thinking less of him when she had been so happy and amazed.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know who had started the shoot out that day. All For One was a brand of hard booze that Shigaraki Tomura and his gang bootlegged. They were a relatively small but insidious group whose booze was sold in practically every speakeasy across several counties.

If the plan to poison their latest batch hadn’t been bundled, the world would've potentially been cleansed of thousands, if not tens of thousands of filthy carousers that sought nothing more than their own immoral pleasure.

While the Shigaraki men there that day had been mid-ranked, making a move on any member of the gang would be tantamount to war. Then again, he and his men were already at war with Shigaraki and any others that fed the public's unwholesome thirst.

Kai made his way through his quarters and opened the door to the rest of the house. A young man that acted as both guard and page straightened and turned.

“Morning, Sir.”

“See that breakfast is prepared, and tell Hari to be in my office in an hour.”

The man nodded, curtly. “Yes, Sir.”

Kai closed the door. He would send Hari out to grab the first Shigaraki man he came across. He didn’t even have to be one of those who had been part of the shootout. They were all guilty anyway.

He supposed it was time to start looking in truth for those that had been part of the shootout that day. Maya deserved the justice she wanted after all. And she undoubtedly be all the more grateful to him for giving it to her.

2.2

The day had passed slowly, with a growing tension. By the time they retired back to Kai’s chambers it was easy to tell Maya was sour.

He pulled off his mask and unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting it slide off. “You’ve been upset since breakfast. Care to tell me what the matter is?” He stepped to her, fingers brushing back her hair and tilting her chin up. “I can’t fix it unless I know what it is, Beautiful.”

Maya tired to turn her face away, but found her chin caught in Kai’s grip.

“Don’t turn away for me.” His hold lightened, thumb brushing across her lips. “I’ve given so much to you. A promise of justice. Safe place to live. Warm, comfortable bed to rest. Clothes worthy to be worn and touch the likes of you. And what have I asked in return? Nothing. The least you can do is show me the respect I am due by looking at and answering me.”

She would've argued that this was more of a place to stay, not live; and like the bed and clothes, something she hadn’t asked for. But he had been right about her rudeness. Kai did deserve her thanks and respect for what he was doing for her brother’s cause.

She blinked up at him and apologized. “I’m sorry, Kai. You’re right.”

Kai smiled, hand caressing her face. She was just so soft and warm, he couldn’t help himself. He just had to touch her.

“So tell me, Beautiful. What’s been bothering you all day?”

She swallowed. Would it seem ungrateful to say she was disappointed? Probably. But she also didn’t want to lie. Lying wasn’t who she was, and a part of her was frightened to try it with him, even if the truth had a chance of making him upset.

“It’s just that this morning I had thought that one of my brother’s killers had been put down. Only to learn that wasn’t so, but your men were closing on one. I had hoped that we would get news he had been taken out. But as the day progressed…” She looked down and away. “Now it’s late and I’m going to bed knowing that all of my brother’s killers are still live. It’s not right that he’s dead and they get to live another day. He was so good. Such a happy, helpful young boy.” Her gazed lifted to him. “I know it sounds ungrateful and I’m sorry. I’m not ungrateful. Truly. But I can’t help how I feel and don’t want to lie.”

He kissed her forehead. He couldn’t help himself.

As wonderful as the affection felt, he didn’t like the way she tensed at the contact.

“That’s good. You should never lie to me, Darling. No matter what you have to say. You should always tell me the truth. Even if it’s bad. It would be better to tell me than to lie. Lying to me is unacceptable and would be painful for us both. You understand?”

Maya’s heart beat rapidly in her chest.

“Answer me, Sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

Kai smiled at her whispered response. “So soft and meek for me. I didn’t mean to frighten you, Maya. I simply want you to understand that I won’t tolerate anything between us.”

“I… understand.”

Every fiber in her being was telling her to run. But Kai’s towering frame was blocking the door. Though in truth she probably wouldn’t have run anyway. Her will to see those who killed her brother punished far outweighed any sense of self preservation. She had given up her body and innocence before to shelter and provide for him. He was the only family she had. The only reason she had to kept on going. Without him her life was without purpose. All she had left was her revenge. And Kai had promised to give it to her.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He hand traveled from her face down her neck to her shoulder. “Now. As for your disappointment. There’s no reason to be distraught. Hari has found one of them and they will be dead by morning. I promise.”

“I want to see.”

Kai’s expression darkened. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. Of course I trust you. It’s just… These men killed my brother. I can’t get that horrid memory out of my head.” Her eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowing. “It’s always there. Him laying in that dirty street. Pained and scared and bleeding out, and then lifeless.” Her eyes opened, gazing fixing on him. “You said it would fade; but I don’t want it to. I want to wipe it out with the image of them. Dead and bleeding. I want to see it. To see them. They need to suffer and die for what they did. And I want to watch it happen.”

Kai paused.

Her words both thrilled and concerned him. He was glad to see such a fire for justice in her. It further proved how perfect she was for him. That she would understand and support his cause. Yet at the same time, for his sweet, innocence darling to be so blood thirsty that she wanted to watch these men die…

“Are you sure?”

She pulled back from him. “Of course I’m sure!”

“Calm down. Don’t raise you voice at me.”

There was a heat within Kai’s low even voice that made Maya shuddered. “Sorry.”

Rather than step to her, Kai beckoned her back with a single crooked finger. He waited impatiently as she slowly stepped back to him, gold eyes looking her over.

His hands were on her again as soon as she pulled up close. “I asked because seeing a person intentionally murdered is different than seeing someone killed.”

“My--”

Kai pressed two fingers to her lips. “I wasn’t done, Precious. Don’t interrupt me.”

He both felt and saw her lips pull in and press together, and had to lower his hand least he pressed his fingers into her mouth as well.

Later, he told himself. Soon enough his fingers and cock would fill her mouth. Good luck interrupting me then, he thought, dick twitching in interest. And if she still dared try to do so, he would fuck her till she was such a mess that she was incapable of words.

“These men are disgusting, vile creatures, Maya. They don’t deserve a swift and painless death. Are you sure you can handle that?”

She watched him a moment, considering. Finally she shook her head.

Kai could see in her eyes that despite her answer, she wasn’t happy.

“But you still want to see something.” He prodded.

Maya nodded.

“Words.” Kai commanded.

“Yes.”

He stepped around her imagining that yes was in response to a very different sort of prodding. His hand traced around her shoulder, fingers curling under the embroidered strap of her dress. So beautiful, he thought. So soft, and warm, and welcoming.

“Do you trust me, Darling?” His chest pressed against her back, breath tickling her ear. “Do you trust me to know what’s good for you?”

She couldn’t wholly say yes to that, but knew no wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. Yet she knew he would know if she were lying. She considered the situation of her brothers vengeance. How Kai was helping her, and had sought to protect her from something she might not have been ready for.

If she focused on that aspect alone she could give the answer he wanted without falsehood.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, Dearest?” His moved and spoke into her other ear “Let me hear you say it.”

“I trust you, Kai.”

Kai ran a hand over her silken hair. “Such a good girl for me.”

Maya swallowed. Maybe she should've sold her soul to Dabi. But where Dabi had asked for eternity, whatever Kai wanted would only last until justice had been fully met.

Kai felt her unease and decided not to push. He had one last meeting with Hari before he could fully unwind and rest within his quarters. And now, he had a new order to give his Lieutenant as well. One that he hoped would make his Darling very happy.

Kai pressed a kiss to her head and pulled his gloves back on. “Wash up and get ready for bed. I’ll be back shortly.”

2.3

Hari entered his boss’ office prepared to give the days report. But as soon as he closed the door, Kai spoke.

“This lackey of Shigaraki’s you found. Is he on ice yet?”

“No, Sir. But he will be by morning. I guarantee it.”

Kai laced his fingers, focusing on his Lieutenant. “Good. And the search for the men that killed Maya’s brother?”

“As you know, we just started looking in earnest this morning. But there’s a number of leads. We will find and take them out soon enough.”

“Good.” Kai sat back, gesturing for Hari to sit.

Hari did so but remained quiet, patiently waiting. He knew his boss well enough to know there something was on else his mind. It was safe to say that whatever it was, it was about the woman upstairs in Kai’s rooms.

Maya. Her looks alone were enough for Hari to understand the attraction. But Kai’s interest in her went far deeper than that. While Hari didn’t understand it, he didn’t question it. It was enough that Kai wanted her and had told him to respect her as he would him.

Kai rubbed at his brow. “She wants to see him.”

His Boss sounded tired. Hari had noted the minute changes in him over the last few day, telling of Kai’s lack of rest. But it wasn’t his place to give his leader orders, even if those orders were simply to get some sleep and for Kai’s own good.

“What to see who, Sir?”

“The filth.”

“The one we’re taking out tomorrow?”

Kai nodded.

“Is that wise?” Hari questioned, carefully.

“I talked her out of seeing him killed.”

Hari managed to silence his scoff. He found the idea of her wanting to see the man killed naive. It had been years since he had witnessed his first hit; but he could still remember it clearly. He could still smell the blood, and hear the cries that became muffled and slowly turned to nothing. He had committed countless hits far more gruesome than the first one he had seen, but it still stood out among all the rest.

“Bring his head.” Kai ordered.

“Boss?”

“You heard me.”

Hari nodded not sure how seeing a mans severed head was much better.

“She’s to be my woman, Hari. There is nothing I will deny her. So long as it suits me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

2.4

Maya was already in bed by the time Kai returned. She sat up, watching him take off his mask and gloves.

“You work hard.”

Kai turned, the tension in his shoulders melting at the mere sight of her. Truly, how had he managed without her in his life? It had only been seven days but he couldn’t imagine going back to a life without her.

If only he could get a proper nights sleep, everything would be perfect. Well, almost perfect. Things wouldn’t be perfect until Maya understood the way of things and accepted it. But he was taking that slowly, not wanting to frighten and force her.

He undid the final button of his vest, and loosened his tie. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Kai stepped over to the bed, eyes narrowed with concern. “Trouble getting to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

It was partially true. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she had grown accustomed to the sound of him shuffling through papers while he worked in the lounge sofa near the bed. That she apparently needed the sound and presence of him to fall asleep.

She told herself that it was because she was in a new house filled with scary men and foreign noises. She was use to the sounds her home made. Use to the sound of her little brother snoring lightly in the pallet across the room, a single hanging sheet their sole means of privacy. Though filled with nightmares, her first night in this room, with Kai watching over her had been the first night she had actually slept since her brothers death. Kai had become her comfort. Her refuge. She needed him. At least she needed him if she wished to sleep.

Kai smiled softly, chest swelling that his absence had caused her unrest. He took the open book laid out beside her, and closed it.

“Well I’m here now, Darling. You can rest easy.” He brushed her hair back, caressing her cheek. “I’m having Hari bring a surprise for you tomorrow. So I suggest you lay down and get some rest.”

Her hand clutched his forearm.

Kai’s fingers paused along her cheek, waiting to see if she would further or try to push away his affection. She did neither, hand simply holding him. Though he wanted more, he decided that it was enough for now.

“Do you often work through the night?”

Kai’s fingers resumed their caressing. “When I need to. The ills of booze and chaos it creates won’t be wiped away without hard work and effort.”

“Still. I can’t help but think that my being here has disturbed your time of peace and restoration.”

“You’re presence has brought me more peace and rest than I ever knew possible.” Kai asserted, so enthralled by the soft, warm feel of her that he missed her glance to the white velvet sofa.

She gently pulled his hand away. “Yet these sleepless nights are taking a toll. I can see it.”

“I’m fine.” Kai frowned, fingers itching to touch her.

Maya sighed and nudged him back. He was just like her brother. Clearly overtired yet claiming he could stay up to play, or in this case work. She wasn’t having it.

Kai didn’t budge. Then he saw her legs swing over the bed and stepped back. Not so much to give her space, but to get a better view. His eyes roamed over her, taking in the tender, luminescent skin of her thighs that the bunched up nightgown afforded.

“Seriously, Kai. How much longer can you go on like this?” She stood up and gestured to the lounge. “Is it because the sofa’s uncomfortable? I told you I could sleep in it.”

Kai closed the small distance between them, chest practically touching hers. “No, you can’t. What kind of man would I be if I let my lady take the couch?”

Her skin prickled at him calling her his. But she ignored the sense of warning and told herself it was because of the cool air hitting her skin from having gotten out of a warm bed. She told herself that she was doing this so there would be justice for her brother. That she had done and suffered worse for him than letting someone like Kai call her theirs.

Kai’s eyes lowered. Standing this close, the cut of her nightgowns neck allowed him to see a tantalize amount of skin. The pure white fabric thin enough that he was left wondering if he could actually see the color of her pebbled nipples, or if it was imagined.

Maya sighed. She knew she was going to regret this, but it wasn’t right. Taking Kai’s bed. Watching him slowly succumb to exhaustion. She couldn’t do it. Not while he was already doing so much for her and her cause. Her pride wouldn’t have it. More than that, her instincts as a caretaker wouldn’t allow it.

“Come on. Sleep in your own bed.”

Kai’s gold eyes darkened. “I don’t like repeating myself, Sweetheart.”

“I mean join me.” She saw his stern gaze turn ravenous, and clarified. “To sleep.” She crossed her arms suddenly feeling terribly exposed. “You can’t run a gang, let alone help me get justice if you keep on staying up working through the night.”

Kai smiled, pleased. It might not have been exactly what he wanted; but it was a sizable step toward it. And she had been the one to suggest it.

She truly was perfect. So thoughtful and caring. She had noticed how little sleep he had been getting and the toll it was having. And like a good mate, had sought to give him what he needed.

Hands on her hips Kai stepped her backwards, a self satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

The back of Maya’s legs hit the bed. She jumped, hands clutching at the sleeves of his shirt. What had she done? She hadn’t meant…

“Get into bed, Beautiful.”

At his hands gentle urging, she sat down with a plop.

Kai’s smile grew. His darling was so sweet and obedient. He wondered if he could take her right now. But he wouldn’t push. Maybe tomorrow night, after he had presented her with her gift.

Yes, he thought. She would be so pleased and grateful that she wouldn’t deny him anything then. With his gift he will have proven that he was just as perfect for her as she was for him. That he was a man of his word, and would provide and protect her from the filth of this world.

He gave the apple of her cheek a chaste kiss. With one last smile, he turned away, pulling off vest and tie.

“I’ll shower and get cleaned up, then join you in bed. We can sleep and dream of tomorrow.”

#bnha #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #overhaul #yandere!overhaul #yandere #1920s #my hero academia #crossroads

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winding-gulch-blog · 5 years

Text

Feisty Flower Bud (A Smile For Me Fanfic)

Putunia Mollar is the town’s greatest hero (self-proclaimed). She throws hands with big bad villains in the name of JUSTICE! But when the evil in her life is a bit too close to home, she finds sympathy at the side of a highly punchable, highly bonkers, and highly soft green menace.

(It happens once in a blue moon. A video game strikes just the right chord in me to write some fanfic. Smile For Me is one such blue moon creation. Take my bubbling found family angst and fluff before I explode beyond my ruptured appendix five years ago.) (Highly recommend you look at the wiki page for Putunia before reading. I’m expanding with my own headcanon into her family life for the purpose of this story.)

—

“KA-POW!”

“KA-KICK!”

It wasn’t as exciting to fight a pillow back home. But with the Habitat closed down, Putunia had no other place to train for her inevitable upcoming battles with all the world’s superest of supervillains.

“KA-WHOOSH!”

“KA-PUNCH!”

“KA-BOOOOM!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” A female voice that rivaled hers in volume interrupted her. She sealed her lips immediately, going rigid. Luckily, there was no sound of footsteps on stairs. Spared an earful, or more.

“Ka-blaaam,” she whispered, knocking the pillow with her gloveless fist gently. She held it there, and ran her tongue across her teeth, feeling the space where a tooth once was.

She was lucky, in hindsight—it was a baby tooth, and she could feel the little spike of the permanent one already poking out. And she knew it wasn’t intentional. It was just late, and her mom was exhausted from another long day of work, and hadn’t expected to be playfully pounced by the eager child at the top of the stairwell. Still, the following shove and tumble down the stairs was painful. Even the way her mom picked her up, apologizing profusely in a rare hushed tone, felt as hollow as the space in her gums.

This happened often. A thrown glass, or three. A brief yank of her hair. A raised hand. A small bruise or scrape she could claim as her battle scar from fighting baddies. A “CLEAN UP THE SODA CAN MESS YOU MADE DOWN HERE!” Or “KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS TO YOURSELF.”

Followed by:

“Hecks, I’m sorry, Putunia. Long day.”

Putunia didn’t mind noise anymore. In fact, she’d adopted the powerful ability to project her own vocals. But it wasn’t always nice to be spoken to like that from bigger people—especially those with a fiery, paper-thin temper like her mom.

She didn’t ever expect things to change. She just missed going to the Habitat to have a break from the shouting and other things.

Which is why it was so unusual when she heard a knock on her door while her mom was working the weekend shift.

She pushed a chair up to the door, and climbed up to peak out.

She recognized her comrade immediately.

“HEY FLOWER POWER!” She opened up the door with a big smile. Flower Kid smiled back; their teeth were extraordinary white, almost to the point of looking fake or like they were replacing what was there before. But that didn’t make their smile any less warm and inviting as its always been when they come and visit her.

“WADDUP?” Putunia asked. She remembered they didn’t talk. “COME TO SEE ME?”

A nod.

“WANNA COME IN?”

A shake of the head.

“WANT ME TO GO WITH YA?”

A nod.

“KAY!” Putunia almost darted out before pausing. “WAIT. MY DUTY IS TO STAY HOME. I HAVE TO COOK FOR MOM TONIGHT.”

Flower Kid dropped the smile and shook their head.

“WHAT?”

Flower Kid just held out their hand. Putunia tentatively took it.

The rest of the day happened quickly. Something about an investigation, based on information her floral friend had gleaned from Putunia’s home life in their visits, and having to stay at Flower Kid’s family house for a while as she had no immediate relatives. Putunia didn’t mind, it was like having a sleepover every night with plenty of superhero movies to watch, but she was confused what was happening.

But she was even more confused the day she and her short-term guardian went to the town park, and began approaching a villain.

A big, verdant, smiley one.

“GREEN MENACE!” Putunia put up her fists in time with Flower Kid grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. “SO WE MEET FOR OUR FATED BATTLE!”

Habit lost his smile for a moment. “No punching, plez.”

That was like telling a fish not to swim. But Flower Kid was persistent in holding Putunia still.

“DID YOU FIGHT HIM ALREADY?”

A nod.

“DID YOU BEAT HIM UP?”

No response before a shake of the head.

“SO I SHOULD BEAT HIM UP FOR YA!”

A shake of the head again and gentle but firm tug.

Putunia looked between them.

“WHY IS THE ENEMY HERE, FLOWER POWER?!”

“I’m here to halp out!” Habit explained brightly. “Flower Child has asked me to sit on you, because your a babey. I will watch u while they’re off being a busy-bee making everyone happy, happy!”

“I WILL NOT FORM AN ALLIANCE WITH A VILLAIN!”

But it was no use. Her loyal floral comrade gave her a light pat on the head before ushering her over and leaving her alone on the field of battle.

Habit smiled again at the tiny person, thinking of ways he might entertain her. He recalled Putunia being full of spunk during the time she spent at his Habitat. How she managed to figure out he was…somewhat unsavory at the time was a mystery. But he was better now. Flower Kid leaving this smaller kid with him proved that he had earned their trust. “Lots of time for fun-funsies together! We culd…go splishy splash in the lake, or go pet the horsies at the farm. Or make sock puppets!”

Putunia stood up on tiptoe and pouted, trying to look intimidating.

“YOUSE A BADDIE!” She declared after a moment of searching his face. “BIG GREEN BADDIE! I DON’T PLAY WITH BADDIES! I FIGHT BADDIES! WE’RE GONNA FIGHT IN A DESTINED BATTLE! BUT…NOT WITHOUT MY HERO GEAR!”

And Putunia was immediately bolting through the park.

“Oh dear. :-(” Habit helplessly watched her vanish into distant bushes. Being a babysitter sure was harder than it sounded, and it definitely didn’t involve sitting. Flower Kid would be very upset if he lost her. But he was unsure how to keep her still. It was much harder to make people do what he wanted out of his Habitat, in a much bigger world that wasn’t his own to rule. Even if Flower Kid had coached him on not always getting what he wanted, it didn’t make it any easier.

Luckily, Putunia hadn’t gone too far. He found her rummaging around in a pile of dead leaves.

And then, a great idea struck him, as they always did. Habit may have been ‘eccentric’ in his thought processes, but he was very clever.

He crouched next to her in the leaf pile.

“Lemme halp you,” he offered. “What r we looking for?”

Putunia leapt away a moment, narrowing her eyes at him warily. He smiled in what he hoped was an inviting, not creepy way.

“…MASK,” she finally told him. “AND A CAPE. AND A PUNCHING GLOVE.”

“Punching iz mean. :-/”

“PUNCHING IS HOW YOU BEAT BADDIES!”

Habit entertained her by searching with her through the leaf pile. The search was fruitless after a few minutes, so she sprung up and headed off to another part of the park, Habit doing his best to keep up.

She didn’t seem to have much luck in finding her items, no matter how far and wide she searched. Another idea struck Habit. He was full of good ones today!

As she dug around in a sand pit, he carefully removed the cloth around his neck and placed it on her shoulders. “Is that cape-ish enuff?”

“HM…I ACCEPT IT!” Putunia concluded after a moment, doing a little twirl to test its movement in motion. “BUT I STILL NEED MY OTHER THINGS.”

The search took them past a park vending machine. Putunia insisted they stop and get sodas, even when Habit told her it was “bad for teef” and that he “didn’t like the bubbly tummy feeling”. But he gave in and got them; she was so eager, and he wanted her to smile.

They eventually found an old paper bag to work as a mask, smelling faintly of apples. Not perfect, but with eyeholes punched out, it was better than nothing.

“TA-DA!” Putunia stood up proudly on the park bench they were resting on. “I AM THE MASKED DRIVER JR! I AM AMAZING!”

“U are! :-)” Habit encouraged, giving a polite clap.

“THE BADDIES TREMBLE IN MY PRESENCE!”

Habit tilted his head. “Putunia?”

“YES, MENACE?”

“Fiting the baddies makes you habby, right?”

“YES!” She plopped back down and slid off the bench to admire the park in her heroic glory.

“What makes a baddie a baddie?”

“OH! UH. WELL, A BADDIE IS SOMEONE WHO HURTS PEOPLE! AND SCARES PEOPLE!”

“I sea…” Habit looked down at his empty soda can a moment. Two things he had done before, even if he wanted to do it for the greater good in his mind.

Putunia went on in her tirade of justice.

“THEY LOOK SCARY! AND THEY TELL YOU TO GO TO BED ON TIME! AND THEY YELL AT YOU! AND BREAK GLASSES! AND PUSH YOU DOWN STAIRS! AND—“ Putunia stopped herself immediately.

No, that couldn’t be right.

Her mom was her family. Her only family. Family weren’t baddies. Family weren’t baddies, right? Family weren’t baddies…

She thought about everything that happened, and Flower Child taking her away, and her missing tooth, and felt sick to her stomach.

Habit noticed her distress (and rather troubling examples of what baddies do—he is sure he never did those things, because his office had an elevator, not stairs, and he gave the kid Habiticians plastic cutlery to prevent breakage) and frowned. “R u okay…?”

Putunia nodded in fierce denial. “Y-YEAH! I AM! BECAUSE…B-BECAUSE...” She pointed at him defiantly. “BECAUSE THE ONLY BADDIE HERE IS YOU! GREEN MENACE! YOU HURT FLOWER POWER. YOU MAKE PEOPLE SAD. YOU HAVE A BADDIE ACCENT AND YOU HAVE SCARY TEETH. I DON’T GOTTA FACE ANYONE ELSE BUT YOU! L-LET’S FIGHT…!!”

And so began their fated battle.

She went in bare-fisted (a true heroic feat) and launched an impressive flurry of tiny punches into the green menace’s…knees? Ankles? He was so tall it was hard to tell.

Habit did nothing to stop her. He just carefully pulled the paper bag off her head so she could see better, and stared down at her.

Her efforts became slower as her frustration increased, and finally she dropped both of her fists, panting heavily. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“N-NO...” She managed a strangely loud whisper, voice hoarse, inhaling sharply to stop anything dribbly and gross from coming out of her nose. “I-I DON’T WANNA…”

Putunia was sad. Habit had another idea. It was something Flower Kid had taught him to do. A kinder method to scrub away frowning faces.

The green man got off the bench and crouched, and wrapped his arms around her. But it wasn’t a violent constriction or attempt to yank her away, like she was used to. Just a gentle hug, as if she was as delicate as a flower, while she sniffled into his coat.

Her voice got the quietest it’s ever been.

“I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“I know. Me neether.”

Putunia sobbed for a while. Habit didn’t talk, just lightly touched her hair or rubbed her back or did whatever he could remember Flower Kid doing for him on bad days.

As she calmed down, Habit took his coat sleeve and wiped away her tears.

“Kno wut Flower Child taught me?”

“W-WHAT…?”

“Sometimes frownies and tears are o-kay. They can just mean that u are asking for halp from people who love u.”

“I’M NOT CRYING,” Putunia said adamantly, wiping her eyes. “I AM TOUGH.”

“Your tough,” Habit agreed softly. “You are the toughest.”

Putunia stared at the ground. Did she win the fight? She wasn’t sure.

Habit spoke up for her.

“Ur right. I’m…not that good. Flower Child, now they’re good. They’re sweet. I am not so sweet. I have bean so very sour. I have been a big baddie, a mena-ce. But, I’m trying to du better. I learned people aren’t meant to be cracked like eggs. The only cracking they should be doing is cracking smiles.”

He stood carefully, and lifted her up onto the bench with him. He let his speech flow a bit more like the others in town. It didn’t come naturally to him, and he still struggled with it, but he tried his best. “I never got to be happy when I grew up. I want you to grow and be happy and smile like I never could. If that means being a hero, u should be a hero. And if that means punching bad people, maybe u should. But you should sometimes give them something nice, too, if they seem rlly sad.”

Putunia looked up at him. “IS…IS MOM SAD? WOULD…WOULD MOM NOT BE MEAN IF I GAVE HER SOMETHING NICE?”

Habit thought about his parents. He held her a little tighter. “Sometimes…sometimes baddies are the ppl that are supposed to love you. And maybe they’re sad, but…little ones aren’t supposed to be hurt becuz of it.”

“WHAT SHOULD I DO…?”

“Let grown-ups handle it. You’ll be safe and snug and sound no matter what. And if your dream is to be a hero, you’ll be the greatest hero there ever wuz.” It was the best answer he had. He didn’t know what the future held for little Putunia. But if he had any say at all, he wouldn’t let history repeat itself and make a tiny, punchy, sad villain out of the kid in his lap.

Putunia was unusually quiet for a few moments. And then:

“…GREEN MENACE?”

“Hm-hm?”

“MAYBE YOU’RE NOT A MENACE NO MORE.” She considered her words. “DO YOU WANNA BE CALLED SOMETHING ELSE?”

“Oh! Like…Dr. Habit?” Habit wasn’t a dentist anymore but didn’t really have any other names for himself, outside of his first name, which just made him think about mean people making fun of him anyways.

“NO. LIKE…GREEN HERO!”

“Hero?! Wowzie…! Am I worthee?” Truthfully, he always wanted to be a hero. Everyone’s hero. But Flower Kid got that title. They sure made people happier than he did. He used to hate them for it, but nowadays, he understood. They were really great.

“YOU ARE TO ME!”

Her energy was vibrant and blue and sparkly. Habit smiled with all his teeth showing, from genuine joy.

Putunia didn’t even notice. She just gave a little yawn.

“Feeling woozish? Is it beddy-bye time for Putunia?”

“MMMMmmm…no…I aM aWAKE…” Putunia protested, although her desire to rest after feeling all those emotions was catching up fast. Habit retrieved the ‘cape’ from her shoulders to put back around his neck, and pulled his coat around her like a blanket.

“Have naps. Flower Child will be bac soonish.”

And they were. They never truly left, and kept an eye on everything from afar—to say they were proud of Habit was a vast understatement. The sight of the two on the bench made their heart feel very warm indeed.

“Look, Flower Child!” Habit said with much pride of his own as they approached. “I successfully sat on the babey!”

Flower Kid gave an encouraging nod, and held out their arms to take Putunia from him.

Habit looked down at the sleeping girl. She was a tiny, bright, eager flower, just like his lily. He wanted her to grow big and strong and happy. He smiled, kissed her forehead, and carefully handed her off to Flower Kid.

“Take gud care of her?”

Flower Kid nodded with a warm smile.

Putunia shifted in her sleep and joined the two in smiles, prepared to bring her blazing spirit to wherever she ended up, and whomever she ended up with.

In the meantime, she was happy to be surrounded by her heroes.

END

#Smile For Me #putunia mollar #dr habit #boris habit #flower kid #I forgot the word for bud and had to search 'what is a flower baby called'#I wrote this at 2 AM so the Habit typos are extra authentic #now back to writing my cover letter #happy Sunday all #I hear Nikki from Camp Camp's voice with Putunia dialogue but like 3x louder

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vrainsrewatch · 5 years

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episode 8 thoughts

i was gonna watch later, since i’ve got other things to do, but i burnt the shit out of my hands making hot chocolate like an idiot so i watched an episode first LOL.

this episode starts out with that really strong fairy tale scenery i absolutely adore, with yusaku and ai trying their hardest to get blue angel to wake up.

i seriously could talk about the imagery in this scene for days lmao. i love the sleeping beauty aesthetic, but i also really love the colors. LV goes through so many different color palettes through the series, but i love the purples and blues of this area here. i’m not sure if the intention was to make blue angel seem like she was meant to be there, while in contrast playmaker stands out due to his hair, but i seriously replayed this section twice because it looked so nice.

i have a lot to say about this episode, and it will also be my most screenshot heavy post so far lol, so once again, buckle up!

this episode starts to really build up yusaku as a character - his sense of justice, his core values, etc etc. on top of that, it takes its time to flesh out akira, and to show his worse qualities, which we’ll get into in a minute.

first, though, is one of my favorite awkward exchanges in the series lmao:

i’m surprised he even caught onto what akira was getting at, tbh with y’all. vrains started out ship teasing yusaku/aoi really hard these episodes, but drop it almost completely up until the minimal tease we get in s3, which i find really funny. i was always really invested in them becoming friends, though, so while i’m happy we had that happen in s3, i would’ve really liked to see it happen earlier. not this early, though - yusaku’s nowhere near ready for that.

I HAD TOTALLY FORGOTTEN VYRA WAS HERE. yugioh hair makes it known that she’s going to be an important character, but i had really completely forgotten she was working as one of aoi’s doctors during this part lmao. i love this so much, actually.

moving onto everyone talking shit about blue angel on forums and stuff. this kinda shit:

would be really awful to deal with. it’s very real, though - cancel culture, anyone? but seriously, this is so brutal. on top of that, does this imply that she’s never really lost before? she is the number 2 charisma duelist in LV, so i wouldn’t be terribly surprised if that meant that she hadn’t really lost since starting to make it big as an idol. once again showing off how good of a duelist aoi actually is, even if the show makes her lose a lot. tbf, her loss/win ratio isn’t that bad looking at the other main girls - 5 wins, 5 losses on screen, and considering the kind of opponents she faced (soulburner, bohman, ai), that’s seriously not bad.

next up we get the chess pieces again, and boy howdy, does this conversation make me seethe.

i understand it’s partially a cultural difference thing, but i can’t help but get angry about it LOL.

i didn’t remember how often the chess pieces were actually utilized in these first few episodes, either. i guess i can understand why people were irritated they were just dropped, but i don’t really see them as a plot point, more like... just a kind of weird way to run a company? just show your faces and have normal meetings like everyone else, y’all don’t have to be so extra.

the akira/emma meeting is nice because it shows you more of emma’s character, but it also gives you more of akira’s stupider (and ruthless) side.

you don’t see him like this very often, but honestly, when you think about all the unsavory jobs he was doing to keep him and aoi afloat way back when, it kind of makes sense. even if he was originally a gentle person, you don’t last doing... any of the jobs he’s done, being that way. even a higher up in a company like SOL tech would have to be a bit harsher to get to that point imo. i don’t see a lot of people talk about this side of akira’s character tbh which makes me kind of sad.

also, seriously, he’s an idiot. how did he arrive at this conclusion? when he saw that it was aoi who was baiting him into the duel? no matter what direction i approach this from, i can’t understand how he ended up on that conclusion lol.

also, the worst father ever award goes to....

seriously! i hate that man so much lmao. to say that directly to your own child, on top of everything else...

it’s a nice look into revolver, too, though you wouldn’t know it at first glance. his reply says everything, though. he fully accepts his role in his father’s life and has an incredibly toxic attachment to him, and wants his approval more than anything. we never see him get physically abused by kogami or anything of the sort, but you can’t deny the mental anguish he must’ve been going through in order to keep on his father’s good side.

i know a lot of people like to say that revolver is kind of not a great guy, seeing the tower of hanoi arc, and how he probably should’ve went to jail etc etc but really, he was manipulated hard core. and extremely suicidal. i could really talk a lot about this all day, but i’ll cut myself off and instead say how much i love how vrains sets up revolver as a character. this, combined with “i’ll fulfill your wishes, father” from episode 3 gives you his motivations nice and clearly, but this specific scene also gives a bit of a hint as to where his character arc goes and what he has to work through. just thinking about this makes me so excited to get to 116 again lmao.

anyways, though. another excellent exchange comes up. seriously, lmao, ai being like “waaaah that’s illegal !!!!” and kusanagi’s just very casual

makes me laugh every time i see it. they are criminals, even if what they’re doing is for the greater good. they’re not exactly innocent here lmao.

then there’s the talk about the virus infecting her, and it’s a nice way to bring up how that works before the another arc comes up in.. a couple of episodes, right? tbh it’s the arc i remember the least about, so i’m looking forward to rewatching it.

actually though, the idea of viruses in LV being able to infect someone’s body is so, so interesting. i really, really wish they had done more with the whole LV/rl merge idea, but guess i’ll just have to write more fanfic instead lol.

i mentioned at the beginning of this post we get into yusaku as a character more here, and this is one of the lines that really made him interesting to me originally:

he has such a strong sense of justice, but what sets him apart from other ygo protags is that he is not defined by it. he’s not the classic, stereotypical do-gooder who gets caught up in something and has to make it right, his justice is more so that he is not okay with seeing other people hurt because of what happened to him. his justice is driven by his trauma, almost entirely.

revolver even brings it up this episode:

where he talks about how some rando wouldn’t have done them any good because it wouldn’t have been public enough. yusaku doesn’t really care about the little people, not in the same way, say, yugi would. it’s not that he wants them to be hurt or see them get hurt or anything, it’s just that unless it effects him directly, it’s not on his radar. but once he gets involved, he feels fully responsible.

while he didn’t plant the hanoi virus into her, he probably knows it was to intentionally draw him out thanks to ai (and the fact that he beats them up all the time). he feels fully responsible for what happened to her, and he’s prepared to do what is needed to make it right again.

i really like yusaku for this. i find those kinds of characters really interesting, and yusaku is no exception.

we get the whole emma/blue angel/yusaku scene, which is pretty sick tbh looking at it again - just shoot a church straight up from the ground for dramatic effect! - and i’ll bring up more of akira’s ruthlessness here.

seriously, this is not a line from someone who is just angry about his sister. and it’s also him being fuckin DUMB. playmaker willingly lets himself get caught into your trap, and he tells akira straight up what he has to do to save his sister - no sugar coating it, no trying to make it cryptic or difficult despite being caught in that hand and in that trap. he’s incredibly honest, and akira still does this lmao.

then it’s probably the wildest turn of events in all of vrains:

where’s that post that’s like, “remember when playmaker gets caught in a gothic looking church while he’s getting tormented by a giant demon hand controlled by his classmate’s brother and then his rival who he hasn’t met yet shows up in a lightning bolt to save him”? bc really LMAO what the fuck. it was so hype watching it the first time, and it’s still awesome watching it back.

and why is this never really??? brought up again later???? and when he leaves in that datastorm to go prepare to fight playmaker LMAO i know it’s supposed to look cool but the animation is so dorky, i love it.

more on yusaku, though. before playmaker goes to fight revolver, who he’s been gearing towards for awhile now, we get this exchange:

to which playmaker responds with “i don’t hate you. i only hate the knights of hanoi”. which is another really good moment for his early characterization and very, very consistent with his backstory that we find out in about 12 episodes.

everyone who wasn’t involved in the LI in any way just... exists to him. they’re completely neutral. if something happens to them because of him, he feels directly responsible, because he feels like he got them tangled up in a mess that nobody should be in. i mentioned that briefly earlier, but this really drives that point home.

he doesn’t even hate akira for torturing him mere minutes ago. because he’s been through worse. because akira was doing what he thought was right by his sister, no matter how stupid he was being.

and even more so than that, he’s not seeing this as fighting for akira. he feels responsible for blue angel, but also, here’s his chance to fight revolver. it’s a two birds one stone situation here for him.

anyways, i’m gonna stop myself there lol this is really long OOPS. gotta take care of a few things, and then onto the first rev vs playmaker duel!

#vrains #episode 8

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letmeringabell · 5 years

Text

Legends Never Die - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 : Fancy Meetin’ Ya

I know, I'm posting really fast. But you've just gotta let the creative juices flow before I experience untimely burn-out that makes it harder to write. On the side-note, I really love Ada Wong's design, I think there's something just so mysterious and pretty about her design. So, imagine Vanessa as Ada.

Why Vanessa? Well, I only liked Vanessa because you could shorten it to Van. I also considered Vesper, and Diana, which I think are suitable names.

Also, can you tell I'm a fan of longing glances and slow burn? Yeah, I eat that shit up. I'm a sucker for fics of these cliches, and I always wanna die. But anyway, do tell me what you think of this chapter, whether I'm going too fast, too slow, whether i'm writing too much or too little. If you have any headcanons or scenarios, tell me now or forever hold your peace. Or do I forever hold my peace? I don't know man.

(3185 words)

AO3 link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806688/chapters/49454489

The flurry of sand and desert heat hadn’t been too kind on him, but when has Outworld weather been known for Southern hospitality? Nevertheless, he counts his lucky stars that he’s finally back, because the last mission has his bones ragged. The last mission hadn’t been hard, just tiresome; One of Kotal’s ‘trusted’ partner had been selling Imperial secrets behind his back, and who better but Erron Black to chase the bugger down?

Only this partner was highly elusive—Sending him high and low, left and right, and running all around to catch a whiff of the man. He had roamed from city to city, from village to village, and his target manages to sneak away at the last moment each time. The whole cat-and-mouse chase is enough to drive any man insane, but the cowboy isn’t deterred by the challenge so arrogantly posed. In fact, he waits, bides his time on the down-low patiently for any misstep by his target.

Although, a word from the wise is overdue; One must never let their guard down during a chase, especially when the predator had been the masked marauder himself.

Yet all it takes is one afternoon for the man to forget, wondering through busy markets without a care in the world, while Erron patiently stakes out in a room of one of the buildings nearby with his rifle aimed surreptitiously at the man’s head. The reminder had been fatal; All it takes is one shot, and the man falls without a sound.

The chaos that ensues after makes up for the silence in the man’s death. Everyone gathers around the corpse, and screams at the horror of the whole situation. He feels no need to wait around and collect the man’s body; The news of that man’s death will travel around, and that is proof enough that he had been successful in his headhunting. Nature had given everyone something to fall back on, and sooner or later, someone’s gotta fall on it.

And this time, it was that man’s turn to fall.

And it was his time to tap out for the night, had enough of all these games of cat-and-mouse. Gotta rest the old bones before conquering the days ahead.

Imagine his surprise when he got back to the Palace, to see the place filled to the brim with Special Forces units. He sees the Kahn having a conversation with the Commander, and saunters towards them, ignoring the hushed whispers on the sidelines.

“Hola, Miss Cassie Cage.”

“Erron, how awful it is to see you.”

“I assure you Darlin’, the feelings mutual,” He shoots back, “What brings you over to our humble abode?”

It is Kotal that cuts through their ‘cordial’ banter, “I have invited Special Forces here to help strengthen our ties with Earthrealm. Kitana and Jade will take care of their day-to-day needs, you will overlook their sparring sessions.”

Erron glares at the Kahn, but he lets it slide – The Kahn always compensates for his time generously. It is what keeps him loyal, and motivates him to undertake all sorts of janky missions for the sovereign. There is never a dull time serving Kotal, and he appreciates the unpredictability in his missions. It keeps him preoccupied, and least of all, keeps him entertained.

He excuses himself and leaves the Kahn and Commander to their affairs. Besides, he has an errand to attend to; A drop-off of rare medicinal herbs for the doctors at the Infirmary. All of them had requested for this specific breed of Spider Lilly, said it was good for re-energizing the tired soul. He could care less about the methods used in re-creating that effect, what mattered was the results.

He doesn’t bother with knocking when he enters the Infirmary. They know it’s him by the sound of his footsteps and they scramble to surround him like moths to a flame. He hands over the flower, and they thank him profusely. Appreciation and gratitude are good for the soul, but when a man’s tired, nothing sounded more tempting than a sip of whiskey and a comfortable bed to sleep on.

He looks up and catches sight of a woman leaning against the doorway of the unused office. Short raven hair, equally dark eyes, and she stands hardly the height of Sonya nor Cassie Cage (at least, from this distance), but looks strong enough to easily throw a man over her shoulder should he look at her the wrong way – Fitting, for a person working in the Special Forces.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s easy on the eyes as well. So, he tips his hat off to her, Howdy unspoken in his greeting towards her. He knows she can’t miss it, because he catches her in the act of sizing him up as well. Yet, she seemed confused, and a little curious? Nevertheless, she seemed to return the gesture with a small nod of her own before closing the door to retreat into the room.

“Who is she?”

She is one of the Doctors from Special Forces, one of them had replied. She had been part of the Special Forces Delegation, and assigned to the medical unit in the Palace infirmary. She came to learn and bring back Outworlds treatments and cures back to Earthrealm. A question pops into his head-- Aren’t Earthrealm’s medical practice vastly different from Outworld? In Outworld, doctors use high-level magicks to heal wounds of all variety—Burns, grazes, you name it. Given the supernatural nature of Outworlds modern medicine, he highly doubts she can learn anything from these doctors who uses spells instead of science.

(Then again, the only thing he knows of medicinal remedies is when his own Pa spat whiskey into his wounds, and damn, the pain had been one sonuvabitch to swallow)

“The Valerian root helps patients deal with their anxiety, a form of sedative, one might say. But taken in large and uncontrolled amounts, only backfires and induces insomnia.”

“What about this?”

“The Goldenseal root is used as an antiseptic. Again, if consumed in large amounts, is highly poisonous and will only further irritate the eye and skin.”

“And this?”

“The Echinacea leaf is commonly used to prevent flus or colds, but long-term use could disturb the body’s immune system.”

“Basically, too much of anything is a bad thing.”

Making medicine with the herbs and plants found in Outworld is challenging. The art of making medicine in Outworld, she finds, is similar to chemistry – If she places too little of one herb, the supposed effects don’t flourish and are made redundant because it is overpowered by the potency of other herbs. Yet, if carelessness had been her approach, she could easily induce unknown side-effects, or worse, actually kill a person. Thus, the delicate balance of underwhelming and catastrophic are outcomes she monitors like a hawk.

She enjoys this side of her work nonetheless. It allows her to better understand the more traditional aspects of her work, and expand on more creative options should modern medicine fail in being readily available.

However, the paperwork, and regular inventory checks are cumbersome all the same. Her rationale is that sometimes, you’ve just got to sit through the unsavory parts of the job so that you can reap its benefits. That doesn’t mean she can’t silently complain about how uneventful some days, or how stagnant her progress in learning can be. It’s become a point of contention, and it’s only been 2 weeks since her first day in Outworld. Her hands are itching for something new to work on.

Bored eyes cast sweeping glances over the city, and of course, she catches a glimpse of the cowboy himself. Ah, today is the training session between Outworld and Special Forces’ Soldiers. He is relaxed; There is a slight slouch in his posture, and he didn’t seem too interested in the body-tossing action happening right before him. She can tell, that he is still hypervigilant – His arms are at his side, and are steadily poised beside the holsters on his pants. All it takes is one motion to swipe his pistol up, and BANG!

And as much as she hates to admit it, her thoughts do float around the masked man she had met, no, seen. She hadn’t talked to him, nor has she passed him by in the past 2 weeks. She had asked her colleagues about the man, and the responses she had gotten were strangely varied – ‘He’s the Kahn’s main headhunter’, ‘A man who knows how to drink any man under the table’, and ‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy’. The last phrase had been told, but felt unneeded. Any person’s business under the sheets, is nothing she wants to know about. Least of all, his business.

But you are curious, a small voice whispers in the back of her mind, He is the leading man shrouded in mystery and danger.

She reprimanded herself; There are other things to be curious about.

The whole day has been a bore, and its starting to make his hands itch and fret restlessly. Apparently, today’s training session had been requested by Miss Cage, what better way there is to strengthen the bonds of friendship than participating in friendly kombat? He could just shut one eye, and believe her desire for camaraderie between soldiers of two realms, but he can see through her bullshit as clear as day, and it makes him raise a wary brow at the Commander.

The logic behind her unspoken reason had been sound – It is best to fight as many types of kombatants as you can, provided that one chooses their opponents well. Any Tom, Dick and Harry can get the theory down easy. But if you don’t have the practice, the real hand-to-hand experience, one can only expect to have their asses handed to them over and over again. Face-to-face Kombat allows fighters to exercise their real-time reactions, gives them the chance to better their reflexes and recognize the precise moment to either move forward and attack, or retract and defend.

So, today is a masterclass in Outworld Kombat for the Special Forces. However, the session is but a double-edged sword. Just as the Special Forces had come to learn and observe, the army had come prepared to do the same.

His eyes search for any telltale of black within the sea of browns and blondes, and is only greeted by her absence in return. He wants to make her acquaintance, and knows that she is a doctor for the Special Forces. That doesn’t give him the right to be waltzing into her office without any sort of official business. It would only invite talks of rumors and gossip to fly around, and he would be doing them both a favor by abstaining from such behavior.

So, what’s a man to do to earn his trip to the doctor’s office without seeming like such an ass?

He looks at Miss Cage, unless, the stirrings of a brilliant idea come to mind.

“Yo, Clint Eastwood! You too chicken to step into the Kumite zone with me?”

“Put your money where that mouth is, darlin’.”

So maybe he had been a little harsh, but Cassie had no qualms with dishing out her own brand of revenge – One rapid, well-timed kick to the core followed by a solid punch to his face. A just reward for insulting a beloved father. Outworld Soldiers are surprised by his lack of vigor in the fight, but none of Special Forces are surprised that Cassie is fierce in defending her family’s honor.

His face might hurt, and his pride a little wounded, but the fight had yielded results. He is sent to the Infirmary to await doctor’s treatment.

He waits because she is out for the moment, so he takes the chance to look around the room. There is nothing out of the ordinary; There is a couch placed near the door to welcome guests (or, patients), the books are shelved back-to-back against each other, and labelled for trouble-free browsing. He finds that most of the books are medical in nature, save for a select few in herbology and astronomy. A doctor must have her hobbies, he digresses. Everything on the desk is neatly arranged with each item assigned their designated corners; stationeries in one corner and a stack of papers in the other.

He picks up the top most paper on the pile, and lets his eyes roam over the elegant handwriting. He thinks she could easily be an artist because the sketches of various flowers and herbs are so lifelike, they mimic the figure of their real-life counterpart. There are arrows pointing to formulas and possible side-effects everywhere, and although her workspace maybe organized, her notes are just a jumbled mess.

But he admires her tenacity in the research because her notes are an impressive study in Outworld’s green.

Clack!

He turns around, and speak of the devil; She is there in the flesh, and a lot taller than he remembers.

“I’m sorry for the wait. My name is Vanessa, and I will be attending to you this evening.”

She ushers him to the seat beside her table, and begins her task; She listens to his heartbeat, flashes a light into his eyes, and asks him the routine, “Where do you feel pain?” and “Does your family have a history of serious diseases?”. He answers honestly and concisely – It’s just my face, and, I reckon not. She faithfully jots down whatever he says down into a piece of paper, and reaches for something in one of the drawers.

“First off,” She starts, and he sees a medical kit being placed on the table, “I can save you the trouble and stitch your wound now, but you’re also free to leave if you don’t want my medical attention, because in my understanding, Outworld has different and better ways to treat you. So, what will it be?”

Straight to business. “Have on, Miss Vanessa.”

She moves silently and deftly—She is quick at work to prepare all of the equipment, and arranges them in immaculate order on the tray in front of her. She disinfects the problem area, before filling the syringe with a clear liquid from one of the labeled bottles, and once he nods her assent, injects the anesthesia to help numb the pain during the stitching process.

Her gloved hands move nimbly, suture in one hand and the needle holder in the other, the constant loop of entry and exit is executed with practiced ease. Her hands don’t tremble, nor do they hesitate in fear of misstep. She is sure and confident with each push-and-pull, and it assures him that she is not without skill.

He takes the time now, to take a proper and closer look at her. Her short hair accentuates the high cheekbones and angular sharpness of her facial features and her eyes are a darkened grey; a reminder of misty mornings, and ominous fog. Her skin is glass-like, clear, no visible scar or blemish in sight. He spots the light dusting of freckles on tanned skin, no doubt, a result from the sun and heat of Outworld. She is what a cat would look like in flesh and blood, a thought he keeps safely to himself.

He will admit, she is a pretty little thing. Even so, the minute slouch in her posture, the mistiness and redness in her eyes, and the prominent dark circles under them is very telling. Underneath all that loveliness, is a woman exhausted. Whether it is the research or the field work that has her running on low fuel, he reckons that she could do with a few more hours of sleep.

She starts talking, her voice a soothing cadence to distract from the obvious monotone in the environment, “How did you get these wounds?”

“A souvenir from the past assignment, a man had gotten close enough to graze me with his knife, but not smart enough to actually kill me.”

“And why does your face hurt?”

“That’s a souvenir from your Commander,” He catches the question in her eyes, and the amused tilt of her lips, “That clown and his ten-gallon mouth deserved all the insults.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment,” She chuckles, sealing the stitch shut.

She gives him the standard doctor’s order – Rest and no sudden movements, or else he would risk exposing himself to an infection due to his torn stitches. He’s heard it all, from day one until day now, but he is thankful that she keeps it short and sweet.

“Do you sleep well, Mr. Black?” She interrupts him leaving, pulls out a bottle for him to see. “You can take it, it’s free.”

“Well, look who we have here, a doctor playing crafty salesman on a hot Sunday afternoon. Nothing in this world comes for free, so what’s the catch?”

She raises her arms in mock defeat, her expression is full of mirth, and a playful smile reaches her eyes, “Okay, it’s not FDA approved yet, but I know for a fact that it works. Cassie uses it, Jacqui uses it, and a few hundred others can also attest to its success.”

He raises a curious brow at her, a sign for her to continue her sales pitch. No matter how much she tries to hide it, he can tell that she is proud of her creation, because her voice is full of it, “It helps eases tenseness, and makes sleep easier, but unlike other soporific drugs, it doesn’t bring about excessive drowsiness, so you’re still able to react appropriately to any possible threats.”

Soporific, what a five-dollar word.

But he has something else in mind, because he leans in and places both arms rigidly on the arms of her chair, effectively trapping and confining her in the tight space between his arms. He leans towards her, and stops when the gap between them is nose-to-nose. He admits that he is shameless and forward in his flirting, but he wants to see how she would respond-- would she retreat further into her seat, or would she lean forward, would she bridge the gap between them?

So, she responds, neither further nor retreating. She stays still in her position; Her hands are firmly placed in her lap, while her grey eyes are staring straight back at him, her gaze sharpening into that of gentle steel.

“Hey Van, I was wondering if you had- Oh.”

Both of them immediately turn their heads towards Jacqui, the deer in headlights. Jacqui is full of apologies, because she is standing there, stumbling over her words, and says sorry over and over again for disturbing whatever doctor-patient examination they were having, and speeds out of the room faster than the pace she came in. Jacqui’s interruption breaks whatever tension, anticipation and apprehension swimming in the room, and it calms and cools the heat between them.

The Cowboy finally stands straight, his smirk hidden behind his mask and makes his way for the door.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Vanessa.”

#erron black #Mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat fanfiction #cassie cage #jacqui briggs #johnny cage #Erron Black x F!OC #Slow burn #Fuck-me eyes #mk 11 #mk

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utopianparadoxist · 5 years

Text

Dialectic Identity? Thoughts on Fozzer, the Page of Heart:

OK this is gonna be shorter than Marvus obvs but Fozzer DID give me a good amount to think about, so here goes

Fozzer outright identifying as a dialectical materialist is exciting for a couple reasons. There’s a lot one could say about dialectics and Paradox Space in general (I’ve been trying to write that script for about a year) but here I want to focus on the Materialist half of that, because it immediately reminded me a lot of @arrghus’ idea of the notional/material divide between aspects.

Ever since the Extended Zodiac, we’ve been wondering if the way the Aspect wheel is laid out might suggest some relationships between Aspects, either original to Homestuck, mirroring the relationships the Signs share in the traditional Zodiac wheel, or some combination of both.

Arrghus’ essay series proposes a model for how those relationships might work, at least in part. I’d suggest checking it out for the full picture, but here I want to focus on the divide I find clearest and most compelling: That between the Ideal/Notional Aspects and the Material/Physical ones.

The gist is this: The top five Aspects (Mind, Hope, Breath, Life, and Light) are more closely aligned with the World of Ideas, and so those bound to them tend to be more concerned with the ideal, abstract, and imaginary. The bottom five (Void, Doom, Blood, Rage, and Heart) are more closely tied to the material, physical, and real.

If you’ve seen my prior writing on Homestuck, you might note that this dovetails easily with Gnosticism’s old cosmology of reality as divided between an imaginary world of Light and a physical world of Darkness. That said, this isn’t a hard binary--Blood obviously refers to some concepts as well as physical experience, and Breath obviously links to some things that happen in physicality, even if those elements are by definition elusive and insubstantial.

Space and Time are an even split, as much conceptual law to be deciphered as they are physical element of reality to be experienced. It could well be that this reflects most strongly in the perspectives those Bound to each Aspect are given to, as opposed to an underlying reality of the Aspects themselves, and in any case all twelve Aspects are necessary to describe a full picture of reality.

One of the most exciting possibilities this model raises for me is the idea of Aspect “Mirroring”, which is essentially a different kind of relationship Aspects can have. Aspects that are Mirror each other vertically, for example, might express the same ideas through the filter of the Ideal vs. the Material--reflecting the hermetic/magical principle of “As above, so below”.

Heart and Light are a pretty good way to express the relationship between vertically mirrored Aspects, as it turns out. Consider:

In Gnosticism, “Light” refers to directly to Information/Ideas, as the world of Light is the world of the imaginary. This is where “Platonic Ideals” live--the perfect imaginary version of any object, from which all physical manifestations of that object are derived.

Humanity gains the ability to access this world, the self-aware conciousness necessary to think, when the Goddess of Wisdom Sophia descends from that realm and imbues us with her Light--the light of curiosity, of wisdom, of the power to know. The light of the soul.

In this way, we can think of the Soul--the Heart--of living beings as their inner Light, expressed throughout their lives in the realm of physicality. And we can think of Light/Ideas as abstract concepts, that can only enter reality proper through the doorways created by the self-expression of individuals, as enabled by their soul.

There are a lot of ideas and concepts that Dirk’s soul seems consistently inclined to express onto reality. The shades, the concept of “being a Bro”, the idea of the Hard Anime Dude, Stoicism, the pervasive homoeroticism innate to the Greek ideals he’s generally shaped by, etc.

The clearest example of this might be his sword, which is itself a physical object seemingly ripped directly out of the “fake” (read: imaginary) world of anime. An idea, made physical, through the sheer expression of will manifested by Dirk’s soul.

This is what makes his katana so powerful:

It’s quite near to being a physical expression of our collective idea of the “Perfect Sword”, much like Bro sets an impossible ideal of “Perfect Manhood” that Dave wrestles with living up to. This might give you an idea of some of the more direct ways Heart’s conceptual toolbox could be exploited or weaponized.

The point here is that just expressing the idea of a “Bro” is extremely important to Dirk, and expressing the idea of “Cats” is similarly important to Nepeta and Meulin.

In the same way, Fozzer seems like an acutely intense expression of a political Persona. A philosophical idea, expressed in the physical world as an intense commitment to an associated identity. His shovel is an expression of that identity, much the same way Dirk’s katana or Nepeta’s claws are expressions of theirs.

But then again, Fozzer’s identity ain’t exactly stable, is it?

Before we talk about The Thing That Happens, we should note that as much as Fozzer seems to genuinely believe in his communist philosophy, he mostly seems interested in it as a means for self-expression, rather than an actual political movement with direct goals and results he’s looking to achieve.

And even though he’s very intense and earnest about it, Fozzer seems inclined to exploit his own identity in somewhat self-serving ways. Unintentionally or no, he more or less uses his ideological speechifying to conscript the Reader into doing work for him, therefore inviting the reader to Serve him through Heart, for Fozzer’s own benefit.

This, coupled with his strongly noted cowardice, leads me to consider him a Page. But my real point here is that even if a lot of us here on Tumblr find Fozzer’s ideology appealing, Fozzer seems less invested in ideology proper than with the identity it comes with--and even here, Fozzer isn’t exactly being portrayed as unambiguously Good and Correct.

Even if he’s preferable to the alternative. Sigh.

Let’s talk about the thing.

[WORLDBUILDING INTERMISSION]

So the biggest surprise of this friendsim was that we stumbled onto what’s basically a swell of Scratch energy just...hanging out under Absence Park, apparently?

Which is. A lot. This energy resets our conversation with Fozzer and changes his personality, which we’ll get into in a minute, but first I want to speculate: How the hell does this thing exist at all, and what does it even mean? There’s a couple of possibilities.

Since this is essentially Time-coded Scratch energy we’re dealing with, @blindrapture pointed out that it could have something to do with the Handmaid, which I’d expand to include Lord English--and though I doubt it’s directly linked to Scratch himself, since he’s not too associated with Time the way the former two are, he may be aware of or able to use this...”glitch” in reality.

It’s also possible this is a natural consequence of a Scratch, and pockets of leftover Scratch energy like these are present in some locations of Post-Scratch worlds. For that matter, it could be a consequence of John’s retcon powers, which act like the scratch in some ways and might have had consequences we don’t yet fully understand.

Finally, given the language, I suspect that the hole in Absence Park is actually just a hole into the Void, leading to the Furthest Ring, much like Roxy’s windows. This Scratch energy seems to have entered the Furthest Ring, and is presumably writhing there until circumstances allow it to vent out through this particular entrance to reality.

What are the implications? Who knows. If this is a hole into the Void, then this is another avenue through which Hiveswap’s cast might be able to exit Alternia and find a new world.

If the Scratch outbursts are recurring enough, then we have at least one way for our heroes to “Time Travel” and basically save scum to try and achieve optimal desires results, like saving a troll friend who gets killed by going back in time for example.

That’s probably the biggest takeaway to me, because having a way to time travel built into Hiveswap’s text already makes me that much more sure that no matter what kind of carnage and brutality our beloved troll friends get subjected to, we’re ultimately headed towards a happy ending where probably nobody dies-- I can reasonably see the possibility that even antagonistic figures like Ardata and even Trizza could be saved, under these circumstances.

Ok back to Fozzer.

So the thing about “Post-Scratch” Fozzer is that I feel he’s being dismissed somewhat due to his admittedly unsavory politics. This still strikes me as a very genuine and direct expression of Fozzer’s Classpect inclinations.

Fozzer is still taking a very materialist view of reality here, for example--he’s interested in the actual physical history of how this system evolved, and considers understanding that history necessary to understanding society.

And however he disagrees with you, his instinctual response is the same. He storms off after verbally thrashing the Reader, but its interesting that he does it the same way both times: By imposing identities onto the Reader. Hilariously, Fozzer is unwittingly owning alternate versions of himself, too, and unwittingly inviting self-owns is basically the core of the Knight/Page aesthetic.

So really, Fozzer’s core personality is much the same--what’s taken place is a binary flip in the persona he relates to the world with. In one reality, he conveys the ideas of the hopeful revolutionary underclass.

In the other, he projects the identity of a happy and willing member for the Empire’s war-machine--the joyful slave, the pain of his own exploitation cushioned by a strong sense of societal purpose and identity. Note how the shovel easily parses as a strong symbol of this identity, too--a triumphant tool with which to serve the empire, rather than an ironic symbol of oppression.

I don’t think we should be hasty in assuming one Fozzer is more real than the other, even if we’re inclined to like one of them more. Especially since Fozzer works in Absence Park and seems familiar with these lights, meaning these scratch shifts might have been happening to him for a while.

The two Fozzers give us a fascinating window into the nuances of Heart, and indeed we’ve been told this sort of splintering of self can be common to the Heartbound by Calliope. Their opposing ideologies present us with a self-contained dialectic, in fact.

A dialectic at its core is a search for truth carried out by contrasting and comparing two diametrically opposed ideas, which in Hegel’s dialetic at least are defined as the Thesis and Anti-Thesis, respectively.

In Hegel’s understanding of the term, we can only truly understand an individual idea (say: Fozzer) by examining the tensions and similarities between these two opposed perspectives.

And these tensions are usually resolved not by one winning out over the other, but by achieving a Synthesis that combines he best traits of both.

Maybe because of that, I find the fact that we can only “win” by embracing the “Happy Slave” Fozzer unnerving. It’s hard to say how Fozzer’s path will evolve going forward, but given how central the idea of conflicting opposites is to his expression of his Classpect, I highly doubt we’ve seen the last of “Comrade” Fozzer.

So, I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes?

[Closing disclaimer: I’m not entirely sure how different Marxism’s Dialectic Materialist approach is from Hegel’s Dialectics. For instance, I’m unsure if it also uses the “Thesis”, “Anti-Thesis”, “Synthesis” model Hegel describes, or if I’m accidentally mixing the two.

@gamblignant8 on the Perfectly Generic Podcast described Dialectic Materialism as being Hegel’s Dialectic applied with a focus on physical reality, mixed with an analysis of humanity’s historical evolution on the physical plain.

Cursory Wikipedia research seems to bear this out, with Marx even describing Dialectic Materialism as simply the opposite of Hegel’s more philosophical and idealistic take on the idea, which Marx regarded as full of “Mysticism”. As a Hopebound more comfortable with the ideal than the material myself, I suppose its no surprise I find Hegel’s dialectics more immediately approachable and comfortable, for now.

What I’m saying here is, take everything I’ve written about dialectic materialism here with a grain of salt: I’m trying to do my homework and make sure I have the facts straight, but it turns out philosophy can get hard to sum up, especially when you’re trying to reconcile it with a fantasy metaphysics system. Feel free to clarify if I’ve messed details up. ]

#Homestuck #fozzer velyes #fozzer #Hiveswap #Hiveswap Friendsim #My MSPA Analysis #Gnosticism #Heart #Light #Persona #Dialectics #Dialectic Materialism

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

maybe this is how it starts [1/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Warning: In case it hasn’t been made clear, Dick Grayson is currently “dead” (since this takes place during some of the Spyral arc)

AN: I had way too much fun writing this. Dialogue is my happy place.

Maybe this is how it starts: with Jason lugging a bleeding and unconscious Red Robin up a rickety fire-escape, swearing every time the kid’s stupid fucking cape gets stuck on a metal edge.

Ivy’s latest creations—some kind of Venus Flytrap-vampire hybrids—have done a number on the guy. When Jason found him, his erstwhile replacement was suspended by a network of razor toothed vines doing their best to burrow through his suit’s Kevlar. Judging by the puddle of blood below him, they were pretty damn well succeeding.

As luck would have it, plants and vampires have the same aversion to fire. A brief stint of arson later (and a few gashes of his own to show for it), and Jason had Tim hoisted over his shoulder and Ivy knocked out. After a moment debating it, he’d grappled toward his nearest bolthole, the police sirens wailing in his wake.

It’s pure coincidence he found him. Jason’s only just gotten back to the city, taking a short break from intergalactic outlawing. As far as he knows, Tim’s been zipping around the world playing chicken with a bunch of ninjas and an irritating reporter. Not that they interact much beyond the occasional text or major crisis in Gotham under normal circumstances, of course. But Bruce’s demon spawn’s been back from the dead for two weeks now, and everyone’s been sticking closer to the home front since then.

Not too close though.

Jason’s still twitchy about spending long stretches of time at the manor. Since the demon brat’s resurrection gave him a bunch of friggen superpowers, Jason’s erred on the side of self-preservation. It’s not as fun teasing a ten-year-old when said ankle-biter can lift a car and crush the life out of you with it.

He’s pretty sure Tim has been steering clear of the manor for that same reason. And avoiding any parts of Gotham where Batman and Robin might be patrolling. Because of course Bruce is crazy enough to take a twerp with a hair-trigger temper on patrol.

Like it doesn’t matter he has the means of caving someone’s head in with a flick of his finger.

It’s why Jason took a detour near Robinson Park tonight (he avoids thinking about the fact it was part of Dick’s usual patrol route). It’s also why he happened to stumble upon Ivy about to turn Tim into plant food.

And really, Ivy? Vampire plants? How bored were you?

This safehouse is one of his smaller ones, the top floor of a three-story walk-up listed as unsafe and condemned for demolition. Jason’s been paying city officials off to ignore it for as long as he needs it; it’s not the fanciest or most upgraded spot, but it’s got running water and it came with the furniture. That’s about all he cares about when he’s tired and when someone unsavory comes looking for him in his usual digs.

This neighborhood is also in the anti-social and distrustful part of the Upper East Side where no questions someone in a scarlet helmet carrying what looks like a dead body up a fire-escape. Especially someone stumbling around and making as much noise as Jason is.

Vines must have been poisonous, too. No wonder the kid’s out cold, I feel like I was hit by a truck. And my arms going numb where they got me.

The door’s easy enough to get open, even one-handed, but he must stoop and contort to get himself and Tim inside considering all their armor. Blood smears across the handle and he makes a mental note to scrub everything down with bleach tomorrow.

Tim makes a discontent sound when his head knocks against the archway,

“Oh, yeah, like you felt that,” Jason mutters, kicking the door closed behind him and heading through the kitchen and down the narrow hall toward the living room and bedroom.

He bypasses the couch because stains are a bitch to get out of that upholstery and he doesn’t want the whole place smelling like stale blood forever after this. Bedsheets are easier to toss. There’s already a rubber sheet on the mattress here, legacy of several incidents where he’s shredded his stitches or didn’t bother changing after a particularly brutal fight.

“You’d better not have this thing fucking armed,” Jason tells Tim after he tugs off the cape and cowl and reaches for the tricked-out bandolier. “I mean it. If I get electrocuted, I’m letting you bleed out.”

“Awesome…bedside manner,” Tim mumbles. “Ten out of ten…would recommend.”

“Dick.”

“No…Dick’s dead…I’m Tim.”

Jason groans. “That was pitiful. Like, me levels of bad. How much blood have you lost?”

Nothing but a pained wheeze in response, and Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to strip the kid down to his underwear with rough efficiency.

Though Tim’s arms and legs are peppered with bruises and a few tiny gouges leaking blood, those injuries are superficial for the most part. It’s only the one gaping hole in his right side where one of the vines pierced through the armor; it hit nothing vital, but it’s bleeding like a son of a bitch.

Jason heads to the bathroom to grab the med kit (which is stocked better than most hospital supply closets) and injects them both with something to counteract the poison. It’s a broad-spectrum antitoxin, geared specifically toward Poison-Ivy related emergencies (and he really hopes she hasn’t gotten more creative than the whole vampire-plant hybrid thing) and sets to work stitching the rent flesh and muscle in Tim’s side back together. He takes longer than normal because his vision is blurring, and his fingers trembling.

Side-effect of the antitoxin.

Tim’s already passed out again, his chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm that assures Jason the kid’s not about to seize up and die. Still, he maneuvers him roughly into a recovery position and sticks a bucket beside the bed. It’s not unheard of for Ivy’s poisons to cause projectile vomiting.

“Don’t say I never do anything nice for you,” he grumbles, and takes the time to check for injuries of his own. The room sways, his eyes drooping, and he decides if he hasn’t bled out now, there can’t be anything too pressing.

Jason barely shrugs out of the bulkiest bits of his armor before plummeting face-first onto the bed beside Tim.

Horizontal is good; he likes being horizontal.

He doesn’t intend to stay there. Not being the same bloody mess as Tim, he’s okay with crashing on his couch because it’s an amazing couch. He might actually sleep better on it than the bed.

Except, sleep is a goddamn glorious temptress and sounds so much better than willing himself to trudge back across the apartment.

“You’d better not snore,” he tells Tim’s back, before pressing his face into the pillow and letting beautiful unconsciousness swim up around him.

There’s no transition from being asleep to being awake. One minute, Tim is swimming in the dreamless black of total oblivion, and the next he is staring up at an unfamiliar cracked ceiling.

His mouth has the rancid metallic taste it always gets when he’s been dosed with something—sedative or antitoxin, maybe—and there’s a body beside him. It’s a fact that should concern him—he’s woken next to unconscious or dead bodies more than he’d like to admit—but the unhurried, easy breathing suggests it is voluntary unconsciousness. Scent returns next, the air damp and cool, with a hint of mold mixing with odors of cordite, gun polish, drying blood and cigarette smoke.

Familiar cigarette smoke.

Jason, he decides, not even having to glance to his side to confirm his deduction.

Memories of the night before return, along with the itchy sting of new stitches in his skin and what appears to be a hundred paper cuts across the rest of his body. He can feel that especially well, since he has no clothing other than his underwear and the air is aggravating the broken skin.

This had better not be another Paris situation.

He’s not sure why that’s his first thought, because obviously he had to lose his uniform to be treated, but he doesn’t like the idea of being manhandled while mostly-naked. Not that there’s anything to worry about from Jason. Even if he wasn’t an ally-maybe-friend-not-quite-brother most of the time, the Red Hood has a very well-known attitude towards untoward behavior and minors.

Still going to check his phone for any blackmail material, though.

It’s what Dick would do in this situation.

Would have done.

Tim swallows the painful lump in his throat.

He continues to stare up at the ceiling for another few seconds, choosing to collect his thoughts rather than dwell on unpleasant realities. It’s easy to put together the chain of events from when he passed out in Ivy’s clutches to waking up in what is clearly a safehouse. It’s happened to all of them at some point, so there’s no associated panic. He is, however, curious about one thing that’s different from usual.

“Jason.”

The flatness of his tone marred by sleep, makes him sound groggier and less aware than he would like.

There is no response. He knows the older man is awake now though; it’s a universal talent of the Bat-trained, being able to rouse from a deep sleep to peak awareness at the drop of a hat.

“Jason,” he repeats, a little louder, still studying the cracks in the plaster that spread and merge with a spot of water-damage.

“Mmf…ckff…”

The words are muffled by a pillow, but understandable. He’s awake enough to formulate a response. Good, on to the next bit.

“Why am I in bed with you?”

And is there any way to make that question not sound disturbing?

“…No blood on the couch…” is the grumbled, surprisingly coherent response. “S’my favorite couch…”

Which makes a Jason-like amount of sense, even if it doesn’t outright answer what Tim is asking. He decides the conversation isn’t worth the trouble of dragging it out of the other man, mostly because he’s pretty sure a half-asleep Red Hood is just as hard to interrogate as an awake and alert Red Hood. Maybe harder, given the propensity for slurring his words.

And so, Tim eases himself gingerly upward into a sitting position, hissing when the movement tugs on the skin around the wound in his side. He examines it with a frown, noting that it’s far too close to his right kidney for his liking; he’ll have to take a break from patrol for the next few days to let it heal, and to make sure it doesn’t get infected.

Though, it won’t be due to subpar first aid, he allows, considering the neat row of stitches holding the still angry red wound closed. “At least your sewing has improved.”

“Screw you, my sewing’s awesome.” This time Jason definitely sounds more awake, and there’s a shift of the bed. “Martha Stewart’s got nothing on me. You snore, by the way.”

“I do not.”

Tim glances over at the other man, taking in his somewhat bloody appearance. He’s in a sweat-stained t-shirt, and there are a few slashes in his arms that are scabbing over; probably from the vines. He hasn’t shaved in a long while, and he’s got a bad case of helmet head—the red roots are coming out again. Coupled with the bloodshot eyes, he looks like someone who just got off a bender.

“You look like crap,” Tim tells him bluntly.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Aw, thanks Timbers. And you’re welcome, by the way. You know, for the whole saving your life thing.”

Tim grits his teeth, knowing the slightly mocking tone is meant to get a rise out of him. Jason is nothing if not excellent at pushing people’s buttons.

“Thank you,” he says. Annoyance about this whole situation aside, he is grateful. He thinks a year ago Jason might have left him to him die. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“You’d better. I almost left you to strangle on the fire escape in that ridiculous cape of yours. You know one day that’s going to get stuck in a jet-engine or something right?”

“Bruce is the one that tackles runaway jets, not me.”

Jason makes a dismissive gesture.

“So, how many times is that now?” he asks then, reaching for the shabby night table beside him and finagling open a drawer. He pulls out a rumpled pack of cigarettes and a zippo. “I’m starting to wonder if I should be waiving the family discount for my services. I mean, it’s not like you can’t afford it.”

“What’s the point? You’ll have died of lung cancer before I have to make a payment.”

Jason makes a point of holding his gaze as he lights the cigarette between his lips, just to be contrary. Tim makes a face at the acrid waft of smoke that follows.

“And that’s my cue,” he sighs, swinging himself over the bed and promptly putting his foot down in a bright red garbage pail.

“Watch the bucket,” Jason tells him after the fact, mocking lilt in his voice.

Tim closes his eyes and silently counts to ten.

It could be worse. It could be Damian.

“Can you, for one second, not be a total jerk?” he asks conversationally, carefully stepping out of the bucket ad getting to his feet. “Where’s my suit?” Jason motions vaguely in the direction of the floor, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Thanks. That’s really helpful.”

“I aim to please.”

“Right.” Tim is the one to roll his eyes now. “At least tell me you have a coffeemaker in this place.”

He’s getting one of those headaches, and at least forty percent of it is not caused by Jason.

“That would be lying though and lying is wrong.” This is said with a shit-eating grin. “Your choices are Earl Grey or mineral water.”

Tim curls his lip. “You’re destroying the whole tough-guy image I have of you. What kind of vigilante doesn’t drink coffee?”

“The kind that likes having a sparkling white smile?”

“I don’t know if I can take you seriously anymore.”

“Yeah, well, I never took you seriously,” Jason retorts, flicking his cigarette into the nearby ashtray. “I’m taking you even less seriously since you’re standing there near-naked with rat’s nest hair and a hard-on.”

Which causes color to flood Tim’s cheeks and an unfortunate automatic flick of his eyes downward to see that, damn it, he’s right.

“Shut up!” he snaps, grabbing the nearest pillow to cover himself, and Jason guffaws. “It’s a normal biological reaction.”

“Still funny, though.”

Tim’s already stumbling from the bed in embarrassment, looking for the bathroom.

“Door on the right,” Jason calls after him, disgustingly amused. “Don’t get your stitches wet.” Just as Tim reaches it, he pitches his voice louder: “And if you need to rub one out in there, have the decency to rinse down the wall!”

Mortification hits Tim even harder than before.

“Fuck off Jason!”

He hears a roar of laughter from the bedroom.

I take back what I said about Damian.

TBC

Next Chapter

#jaytim #tim drake #jason todd #red hood #red robin #jaytim fanfic #jaytim fic #fanfiction #batman fanfiction #pre-slash #eventual slash #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers #bromance to romance #witty repartee #snark #jason is a little shit #i live for sarcastic tim

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sennokami · 5 years

Text

* hanahaki disease 2.

Part 2 of this. This work has also been posted in its entirety on ao3. Check there for updates.

⋯

Love was the most dangerous emotion humanity could feel. Love drove men mad before it ate them alive.

Madara was fifteen years old when he watched his uncle die from suffocation. It was a slow death, stretched over a thousand minutes. Kazuma had been incredible once but when his time was up, he was already dead in every way but physically.

Flower petals continued to fall out when they strapped him to his pyre. They were soft and crumpled by the lax pressure of his cold mouth, but they were still vibrant, scattered on the ground like letters never sent. His father stepped on them without a second glance, his eyes on his brother’s corpse, but Madara watched the petals, riotous pink and deep fuchsia, get crushed underfoot. By the time Kazuma’s spirit was released, the petals were gone, churned into the mud by too many feet.

“This is what happens,” he heard some of his kinsmen say later, “when you aren’t careful.”

For the longest time, he didn’t know what being careful was until his cousin, Uzume, was struck by the same illness. One day after battle, they were tiredly strapping off their armor, sluggishly helping each other undo straps and pull off buckles, when she coughed next to him and spat out four tiny petals.

There was a scandalous silence after that. Heads turned and stared. Madara watched Uzume go white and run, still wearing half her armor, until she disappeared around the tents.

Unlike Kazuma, Uzume didn’t die. She just… came back, with new stitches above her belly and death in her eyes. She never coughed up a single petal again.

It took Madara five more years to understand the true meanings of these moments. He was in the grips of his feral twenties, all fresh tendons and ripe strength, and every emotion he felt was a hurricane in his chest. They said that the sickness of the flowers was what happened when your emotions took physical form. When your heart grew too full and the secrets spilled over, they grew as flowers inside the fertile soil of your secrets. After that, they could only come out.

Their clan wasn’t the only one who suffered this sentiment’s plague. But, in a way, they were the ones who felt its price most keenly.

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Some people will tell you that love is an endless, ever-growing thing, that it’s some eternal fountain that will always give and give. But they are wrong. Love is not air. Love is love, and it needs space. Take it out, and a hole will be left behind.

Some of his kin avoided the disease by being open with their affections. It couldn’t take root if the soil was thin was the reasoning, and so some Uchiha came to use their words like heavy knives, cutting through the stems of these treacherous, choking feelings. Others avoided sentiment entirely, because what had no seed would never grow. These tactics worked in their own ways. And yet.

Humans were the only animals whose greatest predator was the self.

Madara thought he was safe. While his peers coughed fragrant jasmine and gorged up buds of lily, he kept his eyes down. His heart felt no tugging strings because he was its gardener and whatever grew inside, he tore it out by the roots. He truly, genuinely, thought he was safe.

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The stupid man may burn himself, but only the blind man walks into the fire.

Madara was still picking leaves from his teeth when he walked into Hashirama’s office. It was late – the place was nearly empty – but civil administration didn’t understand time outside of working days.

Working days. He was using these words now, adopted them from the soft creatures of the capital.

He tore out another spiny bit of leaf and threw it away, slamming open Hashirama’s door as he did so. Hashirama jerked upright but it was too late – Madara had caught him red-handed in the middle of a stolen nap.

“Are you done with the clearance requests?” he asked bluntly, unfazed by Hashirama’ soft blinking and the indents on his cheek from where he’d rested it on his sleeve. “I told you we need them by tomorrow morning.”

“…I’m almost done,” Hashirama said. He had the decency to look sheepish. He was also still half-asleep, his mouth parted, as gentle as the sunset in spring. It was this way of his, this gentle, unassuming form he wore, that it made it hard to remember he killed as many men as Madara had.

Madara bit back his unkind retort and strode over. Hashirama wasn’t lying at least – mostly everything was done, the scrolls stamped and signed with the Hokage’ approval, but there were still a few left undone. Madara plucked these up.

“This is stupid,” he declared a few moments later, tossing it into the reject’s pile. The next one he did the same to. By the time he was done, he had four requests that would be sent back to their writers. “Where are the other rejections? I’ll get one of the chuunin to send them back.”

Hashirama, who’d been watching him tear through the requests, scratched the back of his neck. “Ah… there are no rejects. Beside the ones you just did, I mean.”

“What?” Madara looked at the approved pile. Now that he was actually examining it, it seemed a little too hefty for his liking. “No. Not all of these can be actually critical.”

“Well, people want their space and –“

“This isn’t about what people want,” Madara sneered, already snatching up the first approved request. “These first requests need to be dedicated to only clan-critical infrastructure, not vanity land – look at this! The Hideki clan made a request for ‘space required for tranquility’. Tranquility.”

He pushed his nail into the wax seal on the scroll and cracked it off. “That is not critical to anything.”

“Madara…” Hashirama said, but he was quiet when Madara glanced at him. He continued to be quiet when Madara ripped through the rest of the pile, muttering unsavory comments under his breath at the audacity. The Shimura want private training grounds – feh!

By the time he was done, the actually approved pile was much smaller than the rejects. Madara began writing halfway through, noting his reasons for rejection.

These requests need to be critical to infrastructure, he wrote down, his characters sharp with impatience, secondary requests regarding personal desires can come after the village is actually formed.

It wasn’t as diplomatically put as Hashirama could have done, he thought as he began to arrange the piles for tomorrow, but sometimes, you just had to stop beating around the bush and tell people where the line was. If they really thought that Hashirama’s pleasant attitude translated into tolerance for this kind of –

Madara stopped halfway through a sentence. His skin prickled and he snapped his head towards Hashirama. “What?”

He caught the look Hashirama was giving him and his heart chose that moment to do flips. Hashirama… he looked tired, because of course he was, creating a village out of a disparate handful of clans was a monumental task, but he also looked…

Gentle, a soft voice inside Madara supplied. Gentle was a good word for it, because Hashirama was still in his long Hokage robes, now rumpled by sleep, and the soft light of the lanterns he’d been working by made him glow like dark gold. Their light reflected in his eyes and Hashirama was smiling in a way that made it impossible to think.

“What?” Madara snapped again. He felt out of breath. Punched stupid.

“Nothing,” Hashirama said. His smile quirked up higher, the one dimple on his right cheek becoming more pronounced, and oh, fucking damn it, Madara felt like he was losing his mind. “I was just thinking about how you’re still more suited to being Hokage than I am.”

Nothing in the room changed, but Madara could have sworn it was getting hotter. Or was it just him?

“The people chose you,” he pointed out, too aware of how still he was. He must have looked like an idiot, sitting there with a wet brush in his hands, bent over the desk, doing work that wasn’t even his responsibility.

“But I wanted to choose you,” Hashirama replied. He propped his elbow up on the desk, putting his head on both his hands like he was a child. Madara watched his hair slide over his shoulders, his fingers going numb with the trembling urge to touch it. Wrap his hand up in it. “People just… don’t know you like I do.”

“I wasn’t that great of a choice anyway –“ Madara began, not even knowing why he was trying to deflect Hashirama’s sincerity. Probably because he might spontaneously combust if he let himself believe Hashirama really meant everything he said.

“You were the best choice,” Hashirama shrugged and Madara opened his mouth to instinctively counter him when he felt something bloom inside his throat.

He clamped his mouth shut so quickly that his teeth clicked. He straightened suddenly, his chest constricting, and he shoved his notes over, ignoring the smears of ink on his hands. “Well, it’s your position now,” he said roughly, feeling the flowers growing wildly, threatening to pour out of his mouth at any second. “So you need to actually do it properly.”

It came out sharper than he meant it. He wanted to say I’m doing this because I want to help you, because this is our dream, because these snakes will take advantage of your kindness, but it was too late for any of that. He needed to leave. He needed to leave now.

“I’ve written down why those requests were rejected. Someone else can write it down properly for you later. I’m done here.”

All his words were sharp now, glistening knives falling out of careless lips, but Madara didn’t have time to see if they were drawing blood. He left before Hashirama could say anything, his hair flying wildly behind him, his steps thundering in the empty building.

Madara made it down two hallways before he knelt down and coughed. It came from deep inside his chest, the noise echoing. He reached into his mouth and snagged the tip of the bloom – used it to reel the rest out. Through the corner of his eye, he saw frothy pale blue that deepened into a violet blush, and the wisteria continued to grow and grow as he heaved it free.

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Love is not gentle. It doesn’t care who it pricks with its arrow.

A shinobi was one who endured. The Uchiha clan didn’t do anything else but endure. Seventeen years old and growing, Madara watched his clan slowly starve. They were poor – they used up all their armor until they cracked off their backs and their weapons were spotted with rust. Food was equally scarce – lean bodies grew leaner and their mantles swallowed them up. They were all animals now, on their hands and knees, only thinking between one mouthful and the next.

Those starving years taught Madara a few things about hunger, of gaping dark mouths and wild-eyed desperation. So he recognized the way hunger migrated from his stomach to his heart, and how it made him greedy. He wanted to stuff himself with Hashirama’s presence. He wanted to gorge on his company and swallow his words; he wanted to devour him until he was finally full.

But this is a meal he could – dared not – touch. So Madara continued to starve, choked by avarice. He would rather die with his heart filled to bursting than confess anything. Hashirama didn’t feel the same way, he was sure of it, and having his pity would be the worst thing in the world. If his silence meant that he had to suffocate, then so be it.

Still. Sometimes, Madara tortured himself with thoughts of reciprocation. At his lowest, he stitched together fantasies of confessing and Hashirama smiling at him and saying, yes, I want you too. It was despicable; he always loathed himself after the heat of the fantasy cooled off into sweat and he had nothing to show for it but an empty bed and sticky hands.

Maybe if he were ten years younger, he would have seriously entertained the possibility of asking for more out of their friendship. But he was twenty-eight now, and feeling even older after everything he’d lost. He didn’t want to upset their fragile equilibrium just to have rejection thrown back. He didn’t want pity to taint what respect Hashirama had for him, if he had any at all.

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#hashimada #uchiha madara #senju hashirama #madara #hashirama #drabble

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