#seriously you don’t show footage like that

[bby-deerling]

netflix + chill (law x reader nsfw)

you and law spend the night doing some transponder snail and chill >:^)

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 1.4k masterlist

cw: fem!reader, oral (law receiving), established relationship, cocky law, some liberties taken with transponder snail capabilities for the sake of plot, crack taken seriously, messy blowjobs, law gets his balls sucked, slight cumplay

tagging: @ragethebunny @eelnoise @sanjisprincesswifey @sanjisjuul @mandiemegatron @alicesfracturedmirror @willowbelle @kaizokuniichan

Transponder snails with screens were usually reserved for important tasks on the Polar Tang, like observing live feed of footage deep in enemy territory, or replaying the outcome of battles so that Law can analyze and scrutinize his own techniques and mistakes, but on rare occasions like these, Law uses them to rewatch his favorite shows with you in his office.

Tonight, you were starting one of his favorites—a mecha show with tons of bright colors as nebulas explode on the screen in front of you during the opening sequence.

“Pay attention, this is important.” Law scolds as he wraps an arm around you and leans back into the couch as the characters on screen hop into their mechas.  “The main character gets ridiculous by the end of the series—he can even beat Sora easily.” he says, causing you to turn and squint at him as you scrutinize his features.  Law had a habit of taking advantage of how much trust you placed in him, and would often tell you complete lies—with a convincing deadpan expression—about the show you were currently watching just to mess with you.

“You’re lying.” you say decisively, crossing your arms as you lean back into the plush cushions of the couch, “How is a mecha going to beat Ultra Instinct Sora?”  His claim was nothing short of preposterous, though the look on his face betrays no sign of mischief.

“People don’t even know how to rank him when power scaling.” he insists, eyes glued to the snail screen, “Now shut up and lock in.” His words are harsh and make you roll your eyes, but his tone has a hint of playfulness to it as he pulls you in closer to his side.

Though the main character would soon apparently be able to destroy planets and galaxies, right now he was an adorable kid drilling through the ground in his bunker; Law was right, this show was good, gripping you from the very first scenes.  Entranced and transfixed, you’re uncharacteristically quiet; usually you and Law both ramble on as you discuss what’s happening on screen, but this show in particular has you pulled in and focused until the ending credits of the first episode begin to roll; as it continues to play, Law stretches out and lays on the couch, and you respond in turn by laying on his chest.

He’s seen this show a hundred times over—enough to know that he has a little over four minutes to let his lips and hands roam all over your body before the real meat of the next episode starts again—and seizes the opportunity.  There’s a practiced, comfortable smoothness to his movements as he initiates the kiss, sitting up slightly to align his hips with yours as he rocks against you.  Though you had been sucked in by the show moments earlier, now you were mesmerized by the way his thin fingers rake through your hair as he swirls his tongue against yours, cradling your jaw as he presses his clothed length against your core.  The dizzying haze you’re both swirling in makes the show fall deep into the background as it resumes, nearly disappearing from your mind entirely when he pulls your neck down and drags his tongue along it, breaking the rhythmic circles of his tongue with a bite or two every so often.  Like a predator, Law knows where you’re weak, but enjoys playing with his food as he teases you, kissing your neck and grinding up into you until you’re a whimpering mess on top of him.  The mewls you let out as he sinks his teeth into your sensitive flesh makes him twitch and throb as his cock strains against his too-tight jeans, prompting him to mumble a request in your ear.

“Can you suck me off?” he whispers, his voice raspy as it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine; it’s phrased as a question, though it’s more of a gently spoken order considering the way he’s turned you into putty in his hands.  As anticipated, you hum out a content mhm and sit up on the couch and put your hair up, nearly salivating as he unzips his jeans and frees his cock.  Eagerly slotting yourself between his legs, you swirl your tongue around his head teasingly before taking his length in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat; the little muffled gag you let out makes him growl with pleasure as he tangles his inked fingers in your hair.  Though you always start intent on doing things your way, Law can’t help but to seize control once you have him in your mouth; the prospect was far too tantalizing when you were only an arm’s length away from him.

Sensing you need a small break as your chokes become more frequent, he pulls your mouth off him roughly and leans down to capture your lips with his; he deepens the kiss quickly, his course set on sending your mind spinning with his tongue as your hand idly plays with your clit.

“You like sucking my dick?” he coos in a teasing whisper as he breaks the kiss for a moment, his hands trailing upward to play with your breasts before attaching his lips to yours again.

“Mmm… I do, I love it…” you whimper out as your lips continue melding into each other, your words drowning in so much desperation that it makes your face burn.

He exhales with amusement as he pulls away and nudges your face back towards his length.  “Get back to it, then.” he taunts, letting out a sigh as you eagerly comply and take him as deeply as you can.  The chokes and whimpers you let out as he stretches your throat make him exhale sharply with pleasure; while the sight of you drooling on his cock is mesmerizing, he wants to watch your tongue drag along his cock instead of having to imagine the movements taking place inside your mouth as you take him in.

“Lick along my shaft.” he whispers; his voice is barely audible as he directs you, but the words ring in your ears all the same.  You take no time to wipe the inadvertent tears rolling down your cheeks before running your tongue up and down along the side of his length messily; his grip on your hair tightens as he enforces your pace, using his grasp on you to drag your head back and forth; the drool pooling at the base of his cock ends up coating the side of your cheek.  Though the sensation was foreign and strange as cool air ran across it, the look in Law’s eyes as he watched your tongue run across him was like bait on a stick, keeping you in place and catering to his whims. “Good girl.” he mumbles as he throws his head back, causing you to let out a content whimper.

He drinks in each movement you make as your tongue’s movements gradually get sloppier and clumsier, prompting him to coax you further downward to put his balls in your mouth; Law’s hand replaces yours, urging you to give them your full attention.  Tongue swirling around them as you gently suck, he lets out a sharp gasp as his fingers tighten around your hair—he loves you like this, messy, pupils dilated, and focused on pleasing him.

It was enough to get him close.

“Don’t swallow when I cum, I want to see it.” he warns as he guides your mouth back towards his cock; the blood pounding in your ears as he fucks into your mouth with an unforgiving pace almost drowns out his words, though once the phrase ingrains itself in your mind, it only spurs you to get him closer to the edge.

Giving you no warning but a strangled gasp, he spills into your mouth, tasting salty and slightly bitter on your tongue.  Obediently, you open up your mouth and stick your tongue out for him, and he smirks at the sight of his seed coating it with a thin layer of white.  He ruffles your hair as you close your mouth, swallow hard, and lean your face into his thigh; he runs his fingers soothingly through your hair as you sigh contently, and he presses a kiss to your forehead—the only part of your face not covered in spit—as he helps you to your feet.

“Fuck…” he sighs quietly after the two of you clean up, sinking into the leather of the couch, draping his arm around your waist as you join him and curl into his side.  “We’re on episode three now...” he says as he pulls a blanket over the two of you, “I’ll fill you in on what you missed.”

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #law smut #law x you #trafalgar law x you #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #one piece smut #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n

[nico-di-genova]

For the ask game:

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

For Lestappen please! 🙏🏼

Thank you, have a lovely day 🫶🏼

22. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."

Charles has just about had it. Had it with the media who shove microphones in his face and demand to know what happened, why he and Max had ended up tire deep in the gravel. Had it with Pierre making little jokes about Charles and his ‘anger issues’. Had it with the disappointed looks Fred keeps casting his way during debriefs, as the damage to the car is discussed and the cost it will take to fix it. He’s had it with the social media team, the word ‘inchident’, the way his bad English in his teens seem to be one of his longest lasting legacies.

“It’s okay, we can spin this," they say, as if he gives a shit. It was a race. He raced, he saw a gap, he went for it, Max moved, and they both ended up out. It wasn’t anything.

But jesus, if Max gives him another one of those looks, Charles is going to lose every bit of media training he’s ever endured and strangle him right on this stage. In front of God, the cameras and everyone. He clenches his fists in his lap, grinds his teeth, feels his jaw tense. The cameras are probably picking it up, so he schools his expression into bored indifference. A neutral mask, they will know he is unhappy but they will not know it is with the Dutch bastard staring him down from the other end of the couch.

“It was nothing. Just an inchident, right Charles?” Max says, with that edge of ‘I think I’m hilarious, aren’t I?’ that makes Charles want to actually scream.

Instead, he picks up his own mic and laughs, nearly a giggle as he’s been instructed, it plays cuter. Makes him look less like the track menace who rammed into the back of Max’s car on turn sixteen of the Chinese circuit, as he cursed out Max’s speed in the straights over the radio.

“Yes, hah, right. We will, uh, we will do better this weekend.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as strained as he feels, rehearsed, it’s harder to pretend when he can feel the weight of Max’s gaze on him like the full weight of his own car, plus half the rest of the grids just for good measure.

Max grins, wicked little glint in his eye, “Absolutely.” And then he’s spinning the attention away from Charles and back to the Red Bull’s performance in high wind conditions – there’s a tropical storm brewing off the coast and it’s been fucking with the weather. How his team is confident they will be able to pull away from the rest of the grid with enough ease that situations like the last race don’t happen again.

Charles thinks about beating him to death with the microphone in his hands. Not seriously, not in a way he would ever act on, just in a way that would mean he doesn’t have to stare at the back end of a Red Bull wing for another fifty-seven laps.

The rest of media day is fairly uneventful. He knocks out some joint video stuff with Carlos, does a few social media photos and merch signings, and tries to ignore the questions about Max that just seem to keep coming.

Only once does he bite, when someone asks him if he and Max will ever refollow each other on Instagram.

He laughs, “He will have to follow me back first.”

There’s a camera recording his response, grainy iPhone footage that he will definitely see on Twitter later. Good. Let Max see the gauntlet he’s thrown down. Let him see the Ferrari cap Charles had been signing with the easy flick of his wrist and sharpie across the brim. Let him see Charles does not care.

Because he doesn’t.

Why should he?

Except that maybe he does, because when Max shows up at his hotel room that night he can’t help the annoyed sound that escapes him.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“So we’re fine a week ago, but you send me into the gravel and it’s you who gets to play the silent game?”

He’s been ignoring Max’s texts. There had been a lot of them.

“There is no game, I am busy. Meetings. Repairs. You know, the damage to the car.”

“Oh you’re moonlighting as your own mechanic now? Ferrari is that desperate?”

Max is angry, but more than that he’s hurt. Charles can see the flash of it in his eyes and in the tension when he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side.

“You’re-“ Max glances down the hall, at the Aston Martin employee who’s casting them glances.

Charles waves.

Max lowers his voice until only Charles can hear, “You are such a sore loser.”

The sting of it is well aimed, lands right between Charles ribs, pisses him off enough that he drops the act for a minute and tells Max to go fuck himself in Italian before slamming the door in his face.

It’s not that he’s never been called that before, more than he’s never been called it by Max. Somehow that hurts more.

Max wins in Miami. Charles has engine trouble on lap thirty and has to retire by lap thirty-two. The smile that he forces on afterward when he lies through his teeth that ‘it is like this’ hurts more than his pounding head after the DNF in China.

He tries to drown it all out by hiding in his room until his flight the next morning, instead he ends up at Max’s door.

“I hate you,” he says when the man opens it wide enough that Charles can slink past.

His hair is damp, sticking up in spikey points atop his head, and his white shirt is sticking to wet patches of his skin. He smells like ember, or leather, or something distinctly sharp. Charles tries not to think about it.

Instead, he paces tracks into the plush carpet and keeps his eyes glued to the movement of his own feet while the words spew out of him faster than he can stop them. It’s not all in English, spoken so fast he’s sure Max has missed most of it.

“I fucking hate you. You stupid. Moronic. Annoying. Idiot. You and your inchident like I am stupid. Fuck you. That was my race. My line-.”

“Is this about China?”

“Yes,” Charles spits, “Of course it is about China.”

Max crosses his arms. Watches as Charles motions wildly in the air.

“It is about China. And Suzuka. And Melbourne. About every circuit you follow me onto.”

“I follow you onto?”

“Shut up.”

“Interesting perspective.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t even finish Melbourne.”

“Shut. Up!” He yells, he can’t help it, feels like something in his chest finally snaps and then there is a long silence where neither of them say anything at all. They both stare at each other, like someone took out a gun and shot the other. Charles does not yell. He is polite, kind, he is exceedingly lovely.

He does not yell.

Except that sometimes he does, and right now he would like to just so he could feel the pure release of it. Sometimes he does not want to be fucking kind. But he also does not want to yell at Max, realizes the pointlessness of it all.

“You want to be friends? Still?” Charles asks, because it is Max who had begun this whole dance of repairing whatever shattered thing sat between them from when they were kids. Max who had started texting him asking to play FIFA and paddle, to go running with him, offered his private jet for flights if needed. Giving everything hand over fist to Charles, assumedly because Red Bull had seen how well he listened to team orders, and behaved, and wanted to own him before Ferrari could lock him down again. Charles had played the game, and he’d maybe even become Max’s friend in the process, but there’s still a part of him that is twelve and bitter – bitter that Max has always had the money, the better kart, bitter he can’t seem to catch up no matter how hard he pushes down on the throttle.

“Do you want to be friends?” Max asks, keeping a wary distance from Charles that once would have felt normal but now seems unfamiliar. He looks at Charles like he is a ticking time bomb. Charles hates it. He hates feeling weak.

“I…I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to be, “ Max says, like the thought has not occurred to Charles.

“I know-.”

Max cuts him off like he can hear the growing edge in Charles' voice and wants to avoid alerting the housekeeping staff in the hall to their bickering.

“Then just say that. I won’t text. I’ll leave you alone. Don’t do something you don’t want to do, Charles.”

It is reminiscent of Max telling him choose whatever team he wanted a few months back, telling him to fuck expectation and do something just because he wanted it. Which was ironic coming from the three-time world champion who only wanted to race cars online. Charles chose Ferrari, because there was never realistically a world where he wouldn’t.

The simpleness of it, the way Max is so willing to just let him go, to give up on the bridge they’d slowly been building between them – Charles suddenly hates him all over again. Max Verstappen and his chivalry and his kindness and his brutal honesty because he has no need to lie. It sparks that familiar jealousy in Charles.

Which is maybe why he throws some of Max’s own medicine back at him.

“I have seen the way you look at me,” he blurts out, “When you think I will not notice.”

Max takes a moment to catch-up with the twist in conversation. His eyebrows doing this expressive little dance that Charles almost finds endearing before it settles on hurt shock.

“What?”

“You are not subtle.”

“I don’t-.”

“You’re only nice to me because you think you can fuck me now. That doesn’t make you special Max, that is all anyone wants me for anyway.”

There is a moment where he thinks Max will tell him to get out, a moment where he would go, it is a moment that is quickly lost in the anger that makes itself at home in Max’s eyes. The bridge crumbles, they are twelve and all they want to do is hurt.

“God, how do you see anything over that massive ego of yours, Leclerc.”

“You’re the three time champion, Verstappen. You tell me.”

Max steps closer, Charles steps back, he meets the resistance of the dresser and Max is suddenly there. Chest to chest, the two of them staring each other down with enough vitriol that it would probably put Pierre and Esteban to shame.

“You’re a fucking dick, Charles.” Max growls, “It’s not my fault Ferrari can’t pull their shit together enough to put you in a decent car.”

“Your car is a violation,” Charles spits back, “easy to win when you ignore the rules. Like always.”

They should stop, Charles thinks, knows they’re toeing along the precipice of something. But he’s sick of playing by the rules, so he pushes.

“Cheating is how you win, yes?”

Max's hands fist in the fabric of his shirt and push him further against the dresser before he even has the chance to blink. The furniture digs into his spine, until Charles can’t help the wounded sound that escapes him.

Max wrestles with something inside himself, Charles watches the struggle. He starts to pull away, but Charles grabs him by the hips and keeps him there. Max looks at him with that familiar expression, the one that Charles has been ignoring for months, want and need and longing all wrapped in steely grey that should be cold but might be warmest thing Charles has ever been cast in the light of.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Max says, and Charles feels rage. But it isn’t rage, not at all. It’s want. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s gaining on Max in a race, hungry with the need to pass, to overtake, to get ahead and taste the clean air for once. It’s what landed them both in the gravel two weeks back.

Charles is smart, calculated when he needs to be, and right now he doesn’t want to play dumb.

“If I want you to hurt me?” he asks, really asks, even if he’s sure he hasn’t read the signs wrong.

Max’s expression does another dance, settles on the same want that Charles is reflecting back at him, “I don’t cheat.” He states.

Charles smiles, and it’s not the PR smile, all pretty for the cameras, it’s the smile of a man who drives on the limit and curses when he still can’t get ahead. “I don’t care. I’m going to beat you one day either way.”

Max wins in Imola, but Charles wins in Monaco.

They stand on the podium as the Monégasque anthem blares and he looks at Charles with pride, longing, reverence.

Charles notices, he always does.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #formula 1 #my fic #lestappen fic #I call this: want disguised as hate disguised as mess

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do- Part 3

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts. wc: 1263

“Sorry for intruding on your haunt! Total accident. Please don’t disembowel me. Sorry again,” Dick read off the card that had been tucked into the gift basket. He glanced from the card, to the rest of the assembled batclan, and back to the card in confusion.

Of course Dick had insisted on coming with Jason to check over Crime Alley. Of course when they found the basket Dick had insisted on bringing it back to the Cave to be tested for poisons—

“They’re bathbombs, who’s going to fucking poison bathbombs.”

“We’ve seen weirder, Jaybird.”

—and so of course the whole family was there now.

Before Dick had even let them move the basket, he checked it out for basic booby traps. (To be fair, this was the first thing Jason did too.) Once the basked had been to the Cave, it was checked over, again, by various Bats. Then, Tim had taken all the contents to run a chemical analysis on the chocolate and bathbombs (seriously, who poisons bathbombs?). And finally, Bruce gave the all clear on examining the basket itself.

Dick had snagged the little card out of it’s little envelope before Jason could even make a grab for it and read off the message. “’Please don’t disembowel me’? What the fuck, Jason.”

Jason raised his hands up with a shrug. “Don’t ask me. Sure, ‘please don’t behead me’ I could get—” he ignored the slight flinch that caused from Tim and Bruce— “But pretty sure word has gotten around that killing isn’t really my sort of MO anymore.”

Thankfully the computer beeped before they could get into all that.

Again.

Tim read over the results before announcing, “Report came back clean on everything.”

“Huh.” Dick seemed actually surprised by that. Jason was feeling really fucking done with his family.

“Perhaps a chemical inside the bathbombs that will explode when exposed to water?” Damian suggested.

Really fucking done.

“We do all get how messed up it is that your brains go there, right?” Duke asked. (Duke might be Jason’s favorite at the moment.)

“Can’t be that,” Tim said, ignoring Duke’s comment about their mental stability with practiced ease. “I took a sample core all the way to the center. It really is just a basket with bathbombs and some chocolate.”

“Sweet,” Stephanie said as she made a lunge for the box of chocolates. Jason quickly pulled the basket and its contents out of reach.

“Back off, it’s my gift,” Jason said with a snarl that was only half for show. As much as he had calmed back down, he still felt tense— like there was a heavy weight in the center of his chest.

Damian gave him a wholly unimpressed look. “Why? Do you deserve it for, and I quote, not disemboweling someone?”

“I mean, I haven’t,” Jason said with a shrug as he grabbed his helmet; the gift basket was tucked securely under the other arm.

“Jason, we have to talk about this,” Bruce said in that tone of his; the one that implied Jason was making a stupid mistake. The one he always seemed to have—

Jason shook the thoughts away. He didn’t need to tempt the Pit today by doing down that path. He could feel that green tinged anger lurking on the edge of his mind already. He kept heading to his bike. If he got out of here, the temptation to pick a fight would go away. He knew that. He just had to make the choice to walk away from the fight. “Fuck no. Look. I’ll check my system and put up new cameras or some shit, okay?”

The footage on every camera he had up around the exterior of his apartment had either shown nothing at all or had glitched out into a fuzz of static. There had been someone at his door— a slight person, dark clothing— but that's as much detail as they could get. Which was, sure, concerning, but seemed like no harm no foul. (Not that the rest of the family agreed with that assessment.)

“I’ll bring over some better cameras in a few days and check through your system,” Tim said, already turning his attention to the task.

Jason didn’t want that.

He didn’t want anyone else messing with his system. But he was starting to understand that having his hands on the information of his family was Tim’s way of showing he cared. Jason hated it, but he understood it, so he’d allow it. He owed Tim more than a little acceptance. He owed Tim so much.

“Sure thing, Replacement.”

-----

Jason spent hours going over every inch of his place when he returned. None of the traps or markers had been triggered to show that anyone had actually come inside his space. The feeling he had experienced at dinner hadn’t come back. All that he felt was a slight unease and that was easy enough to dismiss as lingering feelings from earlier in the day. It wasn’t any worse than a Pit hangover.

Finally, satisfied that his place was secure, Jason sank down onto his couch with a huff of air.

The gift basket mocked him from where it sat on the coffee table. He’d dumped it there when he first came in, ignoring the odd present in favor of making sure that his place was safe. It would have been convenient for someone to break in and set up a trap while they were off dealing with the basket, but no one had. Now both him and the Pit were settled and the basket was still there.

Who the fuck gave bathbombs for not being disemboweled?

Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, Jason plucked out the card. It was a simple thing, just a bit of cream cardstock in a little envelope. No logo or distinguishing features. The writing was a scrawled, half cursive— just this side of legible. Distinctive, but not any handwriting that Jason recognized. It wasn’t signed.

That would have been too easy.

That was the real issue of it all, wasn’t it? Who would leave a note like that for him? Jason Todd shouldn’t be getting a note like that. Red Hood, sure, he could understand getting such a message. He hated it a little, now that he was further away from the worst of the Pit Rage, but he got it. But him as Jason? Reclusive, miraculously returned son of Bruce Wayne? Jason shouldn’t have anyone afraid of him like that.

It spoke to someone knowing of his life as vigilante turned crime boss turned vigilante again, and that was dangerous. It was dangerous for him. It was dangerous for his family. It was dangerous for Crime Alley.

It was just another fucking thing he had to deal with. As if it wasn’t enough to having only recently, officially, returned to the living. There was also the work he was trying to do as Red Hood, the work he was trying to do for Crime Alley as Jason, and the effort of trying to spend more time with his family (preferably without stabbing anyone). Now he had this mystery too.

Maybe the bathbombs actually were a good gift and didn’t that idea make him scowl. When was the last time he’d actually taken some time to just relax? It had to be a while with the size that his ‘to read’ pile had grown to was any indication.

He could use one. They were just bathbombs.

He could run a warm bath, relax, crack open a book, eat some chocolate… and just try not to worry for a bit. Nothing was going to be solved tonight. Bruce had ordered him off patrol— which normally wouldn’t stop him, but Cass had given him big worried eyes too. There were no other pressing matters. His apartment was secure…

Fuck it. He grabbed the little basket and headed to the bathroom.

Time for some self care.

-----

AN: We'll likely get a Danny scene to cap chapter 2 off, but I though this was a nice little bundle to post! And my poor migraine is going to get even worse with the Artic front so wanted to get this posted~

Thank you all for such a lovely response on the other parts! This will be going up on ao3, but I want to get at least three chapters done first to get a little buffer. Everyone who asked should be in the tag list (as of yesterday), but if I missed you, or you want to be added, just let me know in the replies!

Stay delightful my darlings!

@fisticuffsatapplebees | @thegatorsgoose | @wolfeyedwitch | @lazy-bouqet | @confusedandghostly | @glomsk | @kailithiel | @bahfev | @d4ydr34min9 | @claudiashq | @someonebored0100 | @pastalavistamf | @samgirl98 | @angelheartgamer | @lehana37 | @spiteismymiddlename | @rosecinnamonbun | @demon-cat-goes-woof | @violet-catsarelife | @trickerdi | @avelnfear | @undead-essence | @basilf1res | @amillionandonefandoms | @stealingyourbones | @sarcastic-yami | @bun-fish | @aconitewolfsbane | @dontfightmecauseillcry | @omgnectarina

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #red hood #jason todd #batfamily #like betta fish do

[missmatchablossom]

The Champion's Babysitter

Pokemon x JJK AU

summary: you are the newest dragon-type gym leader, and you've just been tasked with babysitting the pokemon champion gojo satoru, who has not been taking his job seriously.

a.n.: fem reader, a couple of curse words, kinda slow burn romance, fluffy, cute pokemon interactions, 6.8k words. shoutout @silkspunweb for putting this AU in my head <3

~

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that? I’m afraid I’m not following,” you asked, nerves overwhelming your senses as you stood before the four toughest pokemon trainers in the region: the Elite Four.

It was impossible not to be in awe of some of the world’s most renowned fighters. How could you just stand there, not shitting your pants, when you spent so many hours watching footage of their pokemon battles? You had the utmost respect for the four figures sitting before you.

Nanami Kento, the Steel-Type master

Okkotsu Yuta, the Dark-Type expert

Fushiguro Toji, the Poison-Type wielder

Iori Utahime, the Ice-Type genius

It was an honor to be granted a private audience with them upon their request. But your reverence was halted once Nanami began delivering the news to you.

“We are asking that you oversee the business of Gojo,” he said, looking you squarely in the eyes as he adjusted his glasses.

“Gojo, as in Gojo Satoru? Our current pokemon champion?” you asked incredulously, eyes flickering between the four people before you, desperate for clarification.

“The very same one,” Yuta answered, smiling at you sympathetically.

“What do you mean by oversee?” you continued, turning towards Utahime.

“As I’m sure you’ve already heard on the news, Champion Gojo has been neglecting his post as of late. Recent challengers have been showing up to battles to find him missing,” she responded, brows furrowing in distaste. The Frosslass at her side nodded her assent.

It was true, it’s been all over TV lately. The celebrated, undefeated champion has been ghosting any challengers. The footage that you see of him nowadays is of him lounging around at different cafes, snapping pictures of the sweets he’s indulging in.

Pathetic, you thought.

“His hedonism is causing a lot of uproar. It’s a huge pain in the ass,” Nanami added, as the others murmured in agreement.

“We’d like you to check in with him now and then…encourage him to take his position more seriously,” Yuta said, the gaze of his dusclops behind him unsettling you.

You blinked a few times.

“Why me?” you asked. The four exchanged loaded glances you struggled to decipher. You could’ve sworn that Yuta’s smile felt more mischievous than usual, like he knew something you didn’t.

“You’re one of the most promising young trainers we’ve seen in a long time. The gym leaders you’ve battled and your fellow peers have vouched for you as someone of great integrity, valor, and talent. We’ve seen it ourselves.” Utahime said, causing your chest to swell with pride.

“The decision to make you the newest Dragon-type gym leader was unanimous. We hope you don’t take that lightly,” Nanami revealed. 

“Thank you, it means a lot to me,” you said. You’d worked hard your entire life to become a gym leader worthy of the Dragon-type pokemon you hold near and dear to your heart. But they were still dancing around why they wanted you to do anything with the champion.

“Forgive me for asking, but what can I do that the rest of you cannot?” you pressed, ignoring the bored yawn from Toji.

“Gojo won’t listen to us. But we believe he will at least find interest in a fellow Dragon-type specialist, especially one as strong as you,” Yuta responded.

It was common knowledge that while our champion could wield any type of pokemon, he favored Dragon-types. Not many could say the same, as most trainers found it difficult to work with the stubborn, overpowering nature that is Dragon-type pokemon. 

Toji’s heavy sigh filled the room, the weedle around his shoulders tilting its head at you.

“Look kid, we’re asking you to be his babysitter. Follow him around, challenge him to battles, do whatever you need to get his ass back to work so he can stop being a pain in ours.” Toji stated gruffly, crossing his arms and leveling you with a look.

Nanami fired a look of quiet distaste in his direction, focusing back on you.

“My apologies for his tactlessness, but he’s not wrong. We know it’s a big task, but you’re the only one we can ask,” Nanami said, his Lucario nodding its head. 

“You might even learn something from him. Few people can say they got to train with Champion Gojo,” Utahime pressed, quipping her brow. 

She got you there. While you dedicated countless hours watching pokemon battles of each of the elite 4, you studied Gojo’s battles religiously. There was no documented battle of his that you didn’t know like the back of your hand, and no matter how many times you’d seen him fight, you always felt the same awe and respect watching his talent.

The elite 4 and their pokemon stared at you intensely, waiting for your response. How could you refuse, when some of the top trainers in the world were practically begging you for this favor?

“I’ll do it if you really think I can help,” you said, fiddling with your fingers nervously. 

All of them - minus Toji - notably relaxed their shoulders, thanking you. 

“We’ve synced up your pokedex with his so you can always locate each other. You have a pokemon capable of flying, yes?” Utahime said, handing you your updated pokedex. You nodded, slipping it into your pocket.

“Perfect. Why don’t you pay him a visit?” Yuta said, smiling angelically at you. It seemed like you didn’t have a choice, not with the way they were all looking expectantly. 

“All right. I’ll forward updates in the coming weeks,” you said, nodding to the rest of them as you turned to leave. 

Before you reached the exit, a soft paw pad touched your shoulder. You turned to face Nanami’s Lucario, which was holding out a can of lemonade in its paws. You reached out to grab the can, smiling at the pokemon.

“For me?” you asked, brows furrowing as the Lucario shook its head.

“For…Gojo?” you asked, and immediately the Lucario smiled and nodded. 

“Alright, I’ll pass it to him. Thank you,” you said, waving as you left. 

Once you were outside the building, you released a sigh. Salamence immediately popped out of his pokeball, letting out a mixture of chuffs and roars and he nudged you with his nose. 

You laughed, placing your hand under his chin and scratching.

“I’m alright buddy, I promise,” you said. You were incredibly bonded to all of your pokemon, but Salamence had a special place in your heart. He has always been your proud protector, ever since you came across him when he was an injured, weak Bagon.

Flipping open the map on your Pokedex, you located Gojo near a seaside town.

“Alright, ready to fly bud?” you asked Salamence. He roared in excitement as you jumped onto his back.

~

The soothing music of the waves against the shore always calmed you. Before you became a gym leader, you often visited the beach to relax and let your water-types splash around. 

You didn’t even need your pokedex to locate the champion, who was garnering attention from every person nearby as he sat at the local cafe. He was practically surrounded by people, the shine of his silvery hair being the only thing singling him out in a crowd so big. 

There was only one trick up your sleeve that was a sure-fire way of getting a crowd’s attention. Grabbing two of your pokeballs, you allowed Kingdra and Gyrrados to come out into the water. 

They both jumped in immediately, happily swimming around as you laughed.

“Alright you two, I need you both to execute plan sparkle,” you said. They voiced their agreement and immediately began performing a dual variation of the move dragon dance in the water, causing major splashes and ripples that began drawing the huge crowd of people away from Gojo and towards them.

You shot them a thumbs-up before making your way over to the champion. It almost pissed you off how nonchalant he looked, leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out, like there wasn’t anywhere he should be. His famous luxray lay at his feet, curled up next to a plate of what looked like poke puffs. Once he spotted you, he rose to his full stature, positioning himself in front of his trainer in a protective stance. You offered the Luxray a treat from your pocket, and the pokemon gently took it in his mouth before retreating to Gojo’s side.

“Champion Satoru Gojo,” you began, squaring your shoulders. 

He glanced up at you immediately, his cerulean eyes peeking out behind a pair of black sunglasses that sat perched at the end of his nose. His silvery hair was down, brushing against his eyes ever so slightly from the sea breeze. 

A hint of surprise ran across over his features, fast enough that you almost didn’t catch it.

“My name is-”

“I know who you are, dragon prodigy,” Gojo said, calling you by your nickname. 

He knows who I am?

“May I ask why our esteemed champion is here, instead of facing all the challengers you have lined up to defeat you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He smiled at you, sending a stampede of butterfrees down your body. Gojo wasn’t famed for just his prowess in pokemon battle, no. He was one of the most famous champions for his beauty, especially with that signature smile of his.

“Looking to battle me, are you?” he said, crossing his arms over his head as he tilted his head down to get a good look at you.

“I’d never turn down a battle, but I’m not interested in your title, champion,” you said, a note of disdain in your voice. He raised a brow at you, as if he couldn’t believe a trainer didn’t want to become the coveted title of pokemon champion.

“Oh? Then why have you tracked me down here, miss prodigy,” he asked, reaching down to pet his Luxray. 

“I’ve been tasked with making sure you get back to work. Please return to your post so I can return to my gym,” you said, failing at keeping the bite away from your words.

He stretched his long arms up, humming to himself as he considered your command.

“How about this? If you can retrieve the one thing I’m craving right now, I’ll return to the Pokemon League for today,” he said cheekily.

“How am I supposed to know what you’re cr-”

“You have 5 minutes. Good luck!” 

Bastard.

You trudged back towards the beach, not bothering to waste your time on a fool’s errand. You were already mentally preparing your apology letter to the elite 4.

At least Kingdra and Gyrrados are having fun, you thought to yourself. 

Your two water types continued to dance around in the water, thriving off the attention of all of the onlookers. 

You felt his pokeball rattle against its spot in your pack before Salamence came out, seeming to sense your frustration.

“Can you believe it, Sal? The unbeatable Gojo Satoru is wasting his time here and ignoring his job. Think about how many people look up to him as champion!” you exclaimed, pacing as Salamence nodded his head.

That’s why they say never meet your heroes.

“He asked me to find his craving in 5 minutes. How the hell am I supposed to know what he’s craving? I barely met the man. I just know he likes sweets from all those interviews,” you admitted, shaking your head. 

Salamence suddenly began nudging at the backpack you laid on the ground, tipping it over until its contents began to spill out.

“Hey knock it off bud, are you hungry or something?” you asked, reaching to gather the spilled contents. You paused when you laid eyes on the can of lemonade given to you by Nanami’s Lucario.

“There’s no way,” you mumbled to yourself, holding the can in your hands. 

Worth a shot, I guess, you thought.

“Salamence, return.” Once your dragon was safely tucked back into his pokeball, you strode back to the champion, placing the can of lemonade on the table before him.

Gojo looked at you incredulously, then eyed the lemonade with a look you struggled to pinpoint.

“Satisfied?” you asked, bracing yourself for a rejection.

Instead, the sincere smile gracing his features took you by surprise. The way he picked it up made it seem like it was something precious, and suddenly the champion looked much younger.

“I am,” he said, moving to stand up to his impressive height. He towered over you, forcing you to look up as he stepped into your space. You gulped as you took notice of how stupidly handsome this man was. 

“You win for today. But I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” he drawled, stunning you with a wink. 

You watched silently as he walked away, his enormous Charizard appearing before him. You gawked at the beautiful pokemon, the dragon-type lover in you urging you to come closer.

He was gone within seconds, leaving you with a lingering funny feeling, especially after seeing that last smile. It was nothing like the smiles you were familiar with - the arrogant smiles he wore after each victory, the charming smiles he put on for each interview. You grew lost in thought as you tried swallowing the urge to make him smile like that again.

What did I get myself into?

~

“Altaria, use peck!” you yelled, watching your pokemon dive toward the challenger’s Machoke. The Machoke stumbled back with the force of the hit, but quickly righted itself. 

“Machoke, use low sweep!” your challenger yelled, his pokemon wasting no time in kicking out its feet against your Altaria. 

Your pokemon dodged skillfully, evading the assault with minimal effort. After a couple more turns, your Altaria finished off the opponent’s pokemon with a final peck.

“And the winner is, our Gym Leader! Better luck next time, trainer Itadori,” your gym assistant said.

The boy named Itadori Yuji sank to his knees dramatically, placing his head in his hands as he yelled out in sorrow. 

“You fought well Itadori,” you said, offering your hand to him. 

“Wait, really?!” he exclaimed, taking your hand. His look of despair was immediately replaced with hope, reminiscent of a puppy.

“Yes, that Machoke of yours is quite strong. My advice is to work a bit more on type matchups,” you said, smiling as he eagerly noted your tips.

“Alright, just you wait! I’ll train even harder and I’ll beat you in no time,” he exclaimed, the fire once again alight in his eyes.

“I look forward to it,” you said genuinely, watching as he ran out of the gym in record time. And you meant it. While he was a little sloppy, he fought bravely, and with raw power you haven’t seen in a while. You could definitely see him challenging Gojo one day.

You reached up to stroke Altaria’s feathers, commending her for another battle well done. 

“Okay, the rest of you can come out now,” you said aloud, smiling as the other 5 pokemon in your party came out of their pokeballs and began cheering for your victory.

Suddenly, Salamence began growling towards the platform where you usually held your battles. A familiar figure sat perched on the steps, smiling down at you like you were old friends.

“Congrats on the win, dragon prodigy,” Gojo said, unaffected by the rising hostility from Salamence.

“Easy bud, it's okay,” you said, patting his side. 

“How long have you been here?” you said, struggling to comprehend how he evaded notice.

“Long enough to see you bullshit that battle with Yuji,” he said, pissing you off with his infuriating smile.

“Excuse me?” you asked, debating on letting Salamence go off on him.

“With your skillset, you’re capable of defeating his pokemon with a single move from each of yours. Yet each of his pokemon lasted longer than they should’ve,” he said meaningfully, his long steps quickly eating up the distance between you two. 

“Why is that?” he asked, suddenly much closer to you, ignoring the snarling from Salamence. 

You looked straight into his blue eyes, intrigued by how they were flicking back and forth between your own, studying you.

“Every time I defeat a challenger that way, it crushes their spirit. I’m still beating them, but I’m giving them a bit more confidence and practice this way,” you answered, turning away from him.

It broke your heart to see the look of utter defeat on each challenger’s face when you actually fought even close enough to your full strength.

Gojo hummed, shaking his head at you.

“You’re setting them up for failure. You’re giving these kids the false hope that their pokemon are strong enough to stand against your own, then when they finally get to the elite 4, they won’t stand a chance,” he said, piercing you with his words.

“Then they won’t have a single hope against me,” he continued coldly, watching for your reaction.

You never thought about it that way, how taking it easy on your challengers could be hurting them more than helping them.

“My advice: don’t hold back. I’d love to watch that beautiful fighting style of yours when you’re serious,” he said lowly, placing something cold in your hands before walking away.

You looked down at your hands quizzically, finding a can of lemonade. 

“It’s the best after a fight!” Gojo yelled over his shoulder before he left.

You stood in silence, mulling over his words over and over again. 

~

You slid your pokedex back into your pocket after confirming you found the right building. 

Pokemon Trainer’s School was written in bold letters on the first sign you saw. 

Your entrance into the building turned a few heads, and you earned a good amount of wide-eyed smiles and points as you searched the building for a certain champion.

“It’s the 8th gym leader!”

“The dragon prodigy is here!”

“Oh my gosh let's go get an autograph!”

You smiled and waved politely at each of them, making your way through each room until you finally spotted Gojo, standing in front of a chalkboard of a small class of students.

His eyes flickered to yours, but he continued talking as if he were expecting you.

“In order for you to defeat dragon-type pokemon, it’s best to use Ice and Fairy-type pokemon. But make sure to study the types of your opponent, and be weary of dual-types,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him, which he of course ignored.

“Ah, perfect timing. Class, we have a special treat for today! A lesson from the very own dragon gym leader herself!” Gojo announced, gesturing to you. 

You froze as 6 heads turned your way, various levels of shock written across each of their faces.

“A lesson from the gym leader herself, so cool!” the boy you recognized as Itadori yelled, pumping his fist.

You plastered on a polite smile as you walked up to the front towards Gojo, leaning into his space while the students were buzzing with chatter.

“Teaching them how to defeat me, are you? You’re such a dick,” you said quietly, nudging him in the ribs.

“Worried?” he countered, the grin evident in his voice. 

“You wish,” you snapped, trying not to smile. It didn’t bother you, truly. What you were really trying to wrap your head around was why the elite champion was spending his afternoon teaching such a small class of trainers instead of battling his own challengers.

“Perfect, then you don’t mind teaching us a lesson about how to beat dragon types then right? Thank you!” he said, moving aside to sit amongst his students. You flipped him off before any of the kids could see, then focused your attention on the students staring at you expectantly.

“Alright, dragon types 101 then,” you said, launching into a lesson explaining almost everything you knew about your favorite type of pokemon.

The students listened attentively, surprising you with their engagement and the thoughtfulness of their questions. Class flew by in the blink of an eye, and soon enough you were alone in the classroom with Gojo.

He let out a whistle as you sat next to him on top of one of the desks.

“You’re a natural. Ever thought about teaching?” he said.

“Not really. But that was nice actually, those kids are very smart,” you admitted, smiling at the champion.

From the way his eyes widened ever so slightly, it must have thrown him off, seeing you smile for the first time like that. 

“They are. I’ll bet you the future champion is among them,” he said sincerely, smiling warmly for once. 

It tickled at your chest, the way his different expressions made you feel. You felt greedy to see more sides of him.

“Is that why you’re here, instead of doing your job?” you asked softly, nudging your knee against him.

“I’d much rather be here training these kids to become the best, than have to waste my time battling a bunch of rowdy upstarts who would abuse the champion title,” he said truthfully.

“Is that why you’re avoiding battles? Scared someone will beat you?” you asked curiously, studying the way his long lashes fanned against his cheek when he looked down.

“Nah. More like I don’t want to bother with kids who have zero chance beating me. It’s way more fun to train these kids to become strong enough to beat me. I’d be happy to hand over my title to one of them, someday,” he said, nudging you back.

His words made you pause. 

“That was the most decent thing I’ve ever heard you say,” you said, thoughtfully, admiring the way the light of the late afternoon made his hair seem to glow.

“That's rude as hell,” he said, causing you to burst out in laughter. By the time you finished, you realized he’d been staring at you, making a blush creep up your cheeks.

“What?” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously.

“What do I have to do to make you laugh like that again?” he asked genuinely, unleashing a hoard of butterfrees in your stomach.

You raised your brows, waiting for him to crack a joke or say something stupid again. But he didn’t, he was serious.

“Go back to the Pokemon League and do your job, then I’ll give you an award,” you said, smiling at the look of interest on his face.

“Hmm, since you were so kind to teach my kids a lesson, I’ll go back to work,” he said, rising up to his impressive stature.

“But I expect my reward to be paid in advance,” he said, leaning down so his face was inches away from yours. 

You blushed furiously as his eyes flickered down to your lips.

Clearing your throat, you calmed yourself, plastering the sweetest smile you could muster on your lips.

“Close your eyes then,” you said as silkily as you could, trailing your left hand up his arm. 

The champion froze, eyes widening before he complied and shut them. You fought a giggle before pressing the can of lemonade against his lips, enjoying the way his eyes shot open in surprise. 

He grabbed the can from your hand before you dashed out of the room, giggling at your prank. You heard his hearty laughter echoing across the halls before you left.

~

It was a rare day off you had to yourself. No gym challengers, no chasing Gojo, just you and your Pokemon lounging at the beach. 

The elite 4 sent you a thank you letter, claiming Gojo’s attendance had gone up significantly since you started checking up on him. They told you to take the week off, and you gladly did. There was an odd pang in your chest, though. You had become accustomed to seeing the champion, used to facing the different challenges he gave you that would get him back to work. He was undoubtedly annoying and cocky, yet you dared to find yourself missing him and the way he made you laugh.

Beach. Enjoy the beach, you urged yourself.

Kingdra and Gyrrados were racing each other in the water, joined by a couple of wild water pokemon. Altaria was soaring with a flock of wingulls, showing off her speed. Goodra and Garchomp were playing in the sand, creating what looked like a giant hole. Salamence was content to be laying at your side, sunbathing next to you. 

You broke out of your daze once Altaria started nudging you with her wing. 

“What’s up Tari? Are you already done flying?” you said, sitting up as you pressed your sunglasses to the top of your head. 

You were taken aback to see that the sunny skies had been completely replaced with angry stormclouds, threatening to unleash their rain at any second.

“Oh geez, it’s about to start pouring huh,” you said, quickly gathering up your things. 

You returned the rest of your party to their pokeballs, where they would be safe from the incoming storm.

The rain began coming down heavily, and you dashed out of the sand to take cover under a tree. 

An ear-piercing cry startled you, and you turned to see two kids standing next to rocks by the shore.

“Hey you two! It’s dangerous to be out here when it's storming!” you yelled, walking towards the young kids.

They turned their identical faces towards you, both streaked with tears. 

“Please rescue our Eevee!” one of them cried, clinging to you. 

“She was swimming when the storm started. We can’t find her anywhere!” the other said.

You knelt to be eye-level with them, grabbing one of their hands in each of yours.

“I’ll find her for you, okay? But I need you both to stay hidden. It’s dangerous when it rains, the stronger pokemon tend to come out,” you warned. 

“Salemence!” you yelled, watching as your pokemon appeared before you.

The twins looked at him with a mix of fear and awe as he quickly lifted his wings to shield them from the rain.

“I need you to stay with him okay? He’ll keep you safe while I rescue your Eevee,” you said. They nodded, huddling together against your pokemon.

Salamence immediately roared in protest, undoubtedly refusing to leave your side.

“I need you to protect them Sally, please. I’ll be okay, I promise,” you said, dropping your backpack next to him. You grabbed the mouthpiece that allowed you to breathe underwater, then dove into the sea before you had a chance to chicken out.

The freezing temperature of the water was a shock to your system. You had to rescue this Eevee fast if you wanted to avoid frostbite. You had honed your body to withstand extreme climates as you trained alongside your pokemon, but even you knew you couldn’t last long in this weather.

You swam furiously, dodging every pokemon within your radius. Not all of them would charge at you to battle, but the rain made it practically impossible to distinguish which pokemon was what, and you didn’t want to risk finding out. While treading water, you spotted a blur of brown on a group of rocks.

Swimming closer, you spotted a little Eevee, soaked wet and shivering. The poor thing looked up at you with sad, scared eyes as you hopped out of the water to approach it. 

“It’s okay little one, I’m here to rescue you okay?” you said through chattering teeth. You struggled to feel your fingers, but you forced yourself to take out the pokeball you borrowed from the twins anyways.

“I’ll get you back to your trainer. Eevee, return,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief once the pokemon was safely back into its ball.

Tucking the ball inside a small pouch you carried, you dove back into the water. To your dismay, a school of tentacruels were gathering near the surface of the water, and you knew them to be aggressive. You’d have to dive deeper into the water to avoid being spotted, but you were running out of time before the cold would give incapacitate you.

Mustering all your strength, you swam the distance back to shore, unable to gather the energy to do anything except lean against a rock just beyond the reach of the water. 

Salamence ran to you immediately, the two twins hot on his trail. Once he reached you, he whined and nudged at you, but you were too cold to move. The continued assault of the rain didn’t help the excruciating chill you were feeling.

“S-she’s s-safe,” you bit out, shakily placing Eevee’s pokeball back in the hands of the twins, who cried as they thanked you. 

“S-sal, please g-get them t-to the p-pokemon c-center,” you said, your shivers becoming so violent it was near impossible to talk. 

Salamence whined, refusing to move. He covered all three of you with his wings, and you had no strength left to chide him for ignoring you.

You vaguely heard the twins speaking to you, asking if you were okay. But you could barely register their words with the cold seeping into your bones, numbing your brain and making you feel sleepy. 

“Shit,” you heard from a familiar voice. You felt his hand against your cheek before he released a hiss.

“You’re fucking freezing,” he said, and you cracked your eyes open enough to see the panic racing against his beautiful features. 

“G-gojo?” you chattered, wondering if the hypothermia was getting to your brain and making you see things.

“Salamence, please get the kids to safety,” Gojo asked. You heard Salamence growl in response.

“I promise I will help your trainer, but I can’t do that if I need to help them too. Please,” he said, surprising you with how softly he spoke to your pokemon. 

It must have worked, as you heard the beating of his wings that meant he took flight. Probably to the nearest Pokemon Center to bring the twins to safety. 

“Bear with me for a sec,” Gojo said, lifting you up with one arm under your legs and one across your lower back. 

“I’m f-fucking c-cold,” you said, shaking violently in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know baby. I’ll get you warm,” he said, breaking out into a sprint. You clung to him as much as you could, releasing your grip once the sound of the rain became muffled. 

He set you down gently against what felt like a wall of rock. The cold bit into your skin, but at least it was dry here. 

Gojo knelt to face you, taking your face in his hands. You leaned your cheek into his warm palms, feeling overwhelmed with relief at seeing his familiar face. 

“I need to get you out of your wet clothes, okay?” he said, not moving until you nodded. Once you did, he made quick work of your outfit, stripping you down until you were completely bare before him. 

Any embarrassment you felt was overshadowed by the determination in his eyes, the hard set to his mouth that you rarely ever caught without a smile. A part of you wished he’d crack a joke or say something stupid to piss you off and lighten the mood, but he didn’t.

Reaching into his pack, he swiped a hand towel and began silently running it across your body, drying you swiftly as you continued to shiver. 

His cerulean eyes shimmered with focus as he stripped off his own clothing, slipping his own shirt over your frame. You sighed with relief as the warm, dry fabric of his shirt soothed your chilled skin, hanging over you like a dress and enveloping you with his clean scent. 

“Better?” he asked, taking your frozen fingers into his hands, and exhaling onto them to warm them up.

You nodded, warmth filling your body with how gently he was treating you. Your eyes traveled town his toned torso, admiring how his body seemed sculpted out of marble.

“But won’t you be c-cold?” you asked, wrapping your arms tightly against yourself.

“Worry about yourself, prodigy. Your lips are blue,” he said, settling himself behind you in only his pants and boots.

He placed his hands onto your hips, lifting you slightly and settling you on his lap. You gasped as the warmth of his front began seeping into your back, his arms cradling you and he continued to wordlessly rub your hands between his. It felt incredibly intimate.

He’s just doing it to save your life, calm down, you thought to yourself.

He paused for a second, reaching his hand to grab something from his pocket.

“Charizard,” he said. Within seconds, the pokemon appeared before your eyes, staring down at you. 

“We need your fire. Please,” Gojo said, jerking his head down towards you.

Charizard nodded, laying down on its stomach, positioning the tip of its tail in front of you and Gojo. The fire at the tip of its tail provided you with immediate relief. 

After a while, the shivering racking your body subsided, and your teeth finally stopped chattering.

“Thank you. Both of you,” you said quietly, breaking the silence. Charizard made a sound that you took as “you’re welcome, I guess,” and Gojo’s arms around you tightened.

“You could’ve died, you know,” Gojo said lowly, his voice tickling the shell of your ear.

“I know,” you answered, squeezing his hands that held yours.

“Why would you put yourself at risk like that?” he asked more calmly than you’d expected, rubbing slow circles into your palms.

“I couldn’t just leave their Eevee out there. It would’ve died,” you said, observing the rain still heavily pouring outside of the cave. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that their Eevee would’ve lost it’s life had you not saved it, either from drowning or from hypothermia.

“Why didn’t you have your pokemon help you? You have water types,” Gojo pressed, leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder, causing you to shiver.

“I couldn’t risk any of them getting injured. They’re too precious to me,” you said.

Gojo heaved a heavy sigh, the warmth of his exhale tickling across the sensitive skin near your nape.

“You and your bleeding heart,” he said, a mixture of resignment and admiration in his voice.

“Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. But I would’ve at least called for help first,” he said, making you laugh.

“Right, how did you know to find me here?” you asked, warm enough to turn in his lap to face him. Your breath caught as you realized just how close he was to you, and you couldn’t help your eyes as they lingered on his perfectly pink lips.

You’d never been close enough to him before to see the little flecks of silver that made his eyes shine. His silvery hair was slightly damp from the rain, a few strands curling around his face that made him seem younger. He was devastatingly beautiful.

He reached out to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I just had a sudden urge to see you. I’ve become so used to seeing your pretty face show up everywhere I go, that I got lonely when you stopped,” he said honestly. You smiled. 

“Imagine my surprise when I get here and you’re freezing to death. You really scared me back there,” he said, his throat bobbing.

He was frightened for you. He saved you. He cared about you.

You leaned forward, gingerly wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug. He returned it immediately, wrapping his hands across your shoulders. His hands traced small circles into your skin, as if he needed to keep touching you to make sure you were still there.

“I’m sorry. Thank you,” you whispered into his ear, rubbing your cheek against the silky skin of his shoulder. 

The two of your relaxed in the silence, the sound of the rain and Charizard’s breathing becoming strangely comforting.

The sound of a familiar roar shook you from your thoughts, as Salamence landed at the front of the cave, a package in his mouth.

“Sally!” you yelled, attempting to get up from Gojo’s lap. His long fingers grasped your hips, tugging you back down to him.

“You’re not warm enough yet. Stay,” he said, earning him a warning growl from Salamence.

Salamence shook off the rain at the entrance of the cave, walking towards you. Him and Charizard exchanged a few snarls, but neither of them actually made any moves towards the other. 

You stuck your arm out, and Salamence stuck his nose against your palm.

“You okay bud? You’re soaked,” you said, feeling the chill from the rain on his skin. He chuffed, depositing the package in his mouth beside you.

Gojo unwrapped it, finding a set of dry clothes and a few towels. The pokemon centers usually prepared these packages for extreme weather, and the twins must have alerted one of the nurses to send him off with one.

“Good job,” Gojo said, reaching out his hand to pat Salemence. To your complete surprise, Salamence accepted his touch, closing his eyes contently as Gojo scratched his chin. 

“Let’s get you changed and head out. I’d rather get you checked out to be safe first, that okay?” Gojo asked, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, checking how warm you were.

You nodded, wishing he would never stop touching you.

~

Luckily, you narrowly avoided hypothermia or frostbite thanks to Gojo. You were able to recover quickly, and before you knew it you were back at your platform inside of your gym.

“How many challengers do we have today?” you asked your gym assistant, feeding Garchomp a pokepuff. 

“Um, one,” he said, eyes darting left to right nervously. 

“Just one?” you questioned, noticing how your assistant looked more anxious than usual. You were used to battling 4-5 challengers a day, making sure to give your pokemon ample rest between. It was unusual for you to only have one battle.

“Yes ma’am. He requested he be the only one,” your assistant said, fiddling with his pokedex.

“Requested? Who the hell does this guy think he is,” you said, glaring at the trembling teenager. It was very bold to request to be the only challenger at a gym - it usually implied that the trainer thought very highly of themselves.

“The champion,” Gojo said, stepping up from the staircase, smirking at you cockily.

You furrowed your brows as you stared at the Champion. He was actually dressed in his fighting attire - a dark blue zip-up with his collar popped up, and matching pants. You had to admit he looked damn good in it, even though he looked great in everything.

“You’re challenging me today?” you asked, placing you hands on your hips as you gawked at him in disbelief. To your dismay, Salamence came barreling up to him, nuzzling his side like they were old friends. 

“Yup,” he said, happily complying with Salamence’s demands for pets. Gojo walked up to you, stopping just a few feet before you. 

“I challenge you, dragon prodigy. If I win, you’ll let me take you out on a date,” he said, flashing an infuriatingly bright smile at you as he winked.

You threw your head back as you shook with laughter. Only he would be extra enough to challenge you to a battle in order to ask you out.

“You’re on, champion,” you said, mirroring his own grin with your own. Salamence roared in excitement, undoubtedly itching to face off with Gojo’s Charizard.

“And don’t you dare hold back on me baby, cuz I sure as hell won’t be holding back on you,” he said, readying the pokeball in his hands.

“I wouldn’t dare. Lets go, Salemence!” you said, watching your pokemon ready his stance in front of you.

But you knew you had already lost - because you were going out with him regardless of the outcome of this battle.

~

Back at the Pokemon League

“Seems like the dragon gym leader succeeded,” Yuta said, smiling at the news article on his pokedex.

“Indeed. Gojo agreed to stop ditching work as long as we invested more funds into training schools,” Nanami said, kicking a ball back and forth with his Lucario.

“Oh, I was talking about her finally dating Gojo. But it was great that she helped us get him back to work,” Yuta said, showing Nanami the article he was looking at.

Newest Dragon-type Gym Leader spotted holding hands with Pokemon Champion Gojo!

The ends of Nanami’s lips curved up as he smiled, shaking his head.

“It’s about time. He hasn’t shut up about her for years,” Nanami said. Yuta’s light laughter filled the room as he handed his Dusclops an oran berry.

“By the way, why did you have Lucario send her that can of lemonade the first time she came here?” Yuta asked.

“Ah, that,” Nanami began, patting Lucario on the head.

“Gojo got that brand every time he won a battle, back when we were teenagers. I figured it would help her make a good first impression,” he said. Yuta laughed once more.

“Looks like it worked.”

~fin~

#gojo fanfic #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #pokemon fanfiction #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #female reader #nanami kento #yuta okkotsu #yuji itadori #pokemon #pkmn #jjk au #jujutsu kaisen #gojo au #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #pokemon au #satoru gojō x reader #gojo x you #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Never Again

Beau Arlen & daughter!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Beau never wanted his life as a cop to affect your safety, but he doesn’t always get what he wants.

“That wasn’t the agreement, Beau, it was—“

“I know what the ‘agreement’ was, if you could call it that, but things have changed!” Beau didn’t often get too heated with his ex wife—he let her do the belittling and he didn’t say much against it. But this was different. This was about you.

“Seriously? What, you get a little overprotective and we just throw out what we agreed on?”

Beau ground his teeth, trying to calm down.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that she’s be safer at my place until all of this blows over.”

“Safer? What, with you out all day and—“

“Don’t pretend you’re home anymore than I am,” Beau cut in. “And if need be, she can come to the office with me.”

Silence filled the phone for several agonizing seconds.

“This is really serious, isn’t it?” She said finally.

“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t.”

“And you’re not going to back down?”

“You know I won’t. Not when it comes to her safety.”

“Fine then. She can stay with you, but just until this all goes away.”

Beau sighed. He hated how against his ex was with him having custody, and he knew that soon enough there would probably need to be some sort of custody battle if he wanted more time with you, which he did. But for now, he’d settle with having you safe at his place for a few days.

“Thank you. I’ll pick her up from school this afternoon.”

“Fine.”

Beau was almost surprised that his ex hung up without a crack about you being disappointed when he showed up instead of her. There’d been plenty of those lately. Although Beau supposed she was getting tired of it, especially since they both knew it wasn’t true; you’d always been your dad’s daughter.

…

Beau arrived at your school at exactly three, eager to get you to his place quickly. He waited in his car, looking around for your familiar green backpack. Five minutes went by. Then ten.

It was nearing four o’clock when Beau finally decided to head inside. At first he’d just figured that you were held up by friends, but this was too long.

Beau made his way through the halls, scanning for you through the hoards of teenagers loitering near lockers as he went. He didn’t see you the whole way to the office, and when he went inside he inquired with the first person he saw—a young woman seated behind a computer.

“Y/N Arlen…” she repeated in a mumble, her brow drawn in concentration as she typed on her desktop. “Yes, here it is. Her uncle brought in a note to get her out of classes early. She left during lunch, about four hours ago.”

Beau’s heart sank to his toes, and in its absence his chest constricted. All the breath left his body as though he’d been thrown to the floor, and for a long, agonizing moment he forgot how to breathe.

“Sir?”

The voice of the woman snapped him back to attention.

“You just let some random man take my daughter?”

She looked taken aback.

“He—he had an ID, and his note had your signature on it. That is, if you’re the father—Beau Arlen?” The woman produced the note from her desk, and Beau snatched it up. It was his signature alright—and the forger was an expert. Beau knew deep down that he couldn’t blame the woman in front of him, but he couldn’t quite get that message to his panicked adrenaline.

“And you didn’t think to call me?” Before she could respond, Beau continued. “What did he look like? Where did they go?”

“I-uhh…” the woman faltered for a second before regaining composure. “We have security footage in the building as well as parts of the parking lot. We’ll be able to see him, if maybe not his vehicle.”

“Show me.”

The woman faltered again.

“We’re not really supposed to—“

A quick flash of his badge shut her up.

…

You woke up to the ground rattling beneath you. You tried to push yourself up, but your hands wouldn’t move right. There was a coarse…something, inhibiting your movement. You blinked your eyes open slowly, groaning at the pounding in your head.

You struggled to recall where you were or what was going on. Last you remember, you were at school…

You were called into the office…

You hadn’t been feeling very good this morning, so when the woman in the office told you you were being picked up, you didn’t stick around to hear the rest. You’d gone straight to the parking long, expecting to see either your mom, dad, or Avery; your mom’s new husband. Secretly, you were hoping for your dad.

Instead, a black SUV swerved in front of you. Before you could berate the driver for almost running you over, the side door swung open, and a man with dark hair and psycho-wide eyes grabbed you around the middle and dragged you inside. A foul-smelling cloth was pressed to your nose, and despite struggling for a couple of minutes, the chloroform took over and you were knocked out.

…

Beau got lucky—the security cameras had a good shot of both the kidnapper and his car.

He recognized the man immediately—the leader of a local cartel that Beau had been working for months to put away. It was pretty much the worst case scenario.

Halfway through watching the footage, Beau called up the department.

“Sheriff’s Department, how can I help you?”

“Poppernick, I need you to pull up traffic cameras of every road leading out of the county from the last four hours.

“Beau? What’s going—“

“Now! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

…

Once realization set in, so did panic. You’d been kidnapped, straight out of school! Not to mention the kidnapper hadn’t bothered to put on a mask. That took a pretty gutsy criminal.

The motive wasn’t hard to figure out—with a cop got a dad and a lawyer for a mom, your family was pretty well acquainted with criminals. Besides, last time you’d visited your dad, he’d acted…off. He’d even hinted at you coming to stay with him for a bit. He must’ve been worried about a criminal case.

But the motive wasn’t your big problem.

“Hey, she’s awake.” A gruff voice invaded your ears as you felt yourself being twisted into sitting up. “Wakey wakey,” the voice taunted, his rough hand slapping your face, making your eyes snap open. “There we go.”

It was the man who’d dragged you into the car. He had short dark hair and a twisted smirk that accentuated the scar running from under his eye to his chin.

You glanced around the interior of the car to see just one other person—the driver. Apparently he was more skittish, because he was sporting a ski mask.

You opened your mouth to speak, only to discover that a thick cloth was stuffed in your mouth, and no sound escaped.

Scar Man’s grin twisted wider at your struggles.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he threatened before lowering the gag.

“What do you want?” You demanded after taking in a gulp of air.

“What’d you take the gag off for?” Ski Mask asked after hearing your voice.

“Gotta make sure her dad gets a good look at his little brat.” The kidnapper chuckled. “You think she looks banged up enough?”

The driver spared a glance back before shrugging.

“You could rough her up a bit. But don’t go nuts, we gotta give her old man a chance to do what we say before we really mess her up.”

…

Beau was halfway to the department when it hit him. He would have to call his ex.

“Not until I’ve got more to go on,” he muttered to himself. He knew that wasn’t the real reason; he couldn’t bare to call the mother of his child and tell her that he had let you be taken. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, much less to the woman that broke his heart. It would make it too real.

…

Your body felt like a pulsing mass of pain. If Scar Man had taken it easy on you, you didn’t want to know what him taking it seriously was. Every square inch of you felt bruised, but you noticed that he took particular care to mark up your face and arms—the most visible places. You were now tied to a hard metal chair, the ropes around your wrists far too tight. Moving your arms even slightly sent pain shooting up your wrists from where the rope rubbed your skin raw.

“That should just about do it,” the dark haired man said with a grin. “Now for the finishing touch…”

You tried to move away from him when he pulled out a large knife, but it was futile. You whimpered as he dragged a long cut across your cheek, and you vaguely registered that it seemed to match his own.

“Perfect,” he said with a chuckle. “Now to show it off to dear old dad.”

…

“I’ve got the footage, what am I looking for?” Poppernick wasted no time when Beau entered the department, which he appreciated.

“Black SUV, Honda civic. License plate 23J OV3.”

During the silence while Poppernick went to work, Beau felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. He pulled it out reluctantly, assuming it was his ex wife checking to see if he’d picked you up.

Once he saw the image, he wished it had been her.

Beau staggered back, his feet no longer able to hold him up. Thankfully, the back of his knees collided with a chair, and he fell back into it.

“Sheriff?” Poppernick looked away from his computer, and jumped to his feet when he saw the paper-white tone and utter terror in his boss’s face. “Beau!”

Beau’s hand went limp, and Poppernick grabbed the phone before it could fall to the ground. He took one look at the image and his face turned a slightly greenish tint.

“Oh gosh.”

“What’s going on?” Jenny Hoyt asked immediately after stepping inside, noticing the palpable panic and disgust.

“They…” Poppernick couldn’t even speak, he just showed Jenny the photo. She swallowed, trying hard to keep her composure.

“Quentin, right?” She asked through gritted teeth, referring to the cartel leader that Beau had been after. The very name seemed to snap Beau back into focus. He sat up ramrod-straight in his chair and turned to Poppernick.

“Finish the trace. Now!”

Poppernick didn’t argue, and after a moment longer…

“I got something.”

…

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Scar Man taunted as he put the camera down. “Soon enough you’ll be back with your daddy, and I’ll have him off my back for good.”

You tried to ignore him, too busy trying to breathe through the pain. But his last statement caught your attention.

“You’re…you’re gonna let me go?”

A harsh grip on her chin had her wishing she hadn’t spoken, but the man just tilted her head up and grinned down at her.

“If our dear sheriff cooperates, and you’re incredibly lucky, then yes.” He dropped his hand and turned to leave without another word.

You wanted to believe him, to hope, but the crazed look in his eyes contrasted his words.

…

Hoyt, Beau, and Poppernick were gathered around Pop’s computer screen, tracking the black SUV, when Beau’s phone rang. He answered the unknown number immediately.

“Beau Arlen,” he said instinctively, then waited with bated breath for a response. While Pop had been working, Hoyt had set up a tap on Beau’s cell phone, and he was prepared to keep the kidnapper on the line as long as possible to get the trace.

“Nice to finally speak to you, Sheriff,” said a voice that chilled Beau Arlen to his core. “I’ve got a sweet little thing that belongs to you who would just love to see you again.”

Beau but back a thousand threats that wanted to escape his lips, and instead went for a smarter question.

“What do you want?”

“Nice and direct, I like that.”

Beau inwardly cursed himself for not stalling—maybe he should’ve went with a threat—but he also didn’t want to make the kidnapper angry.

“What I want—“ the kidnapper continued, “is for you to back off the investigation long enough for me to disappear. It’s reasonable—more reasonable than you should expect in your position. My cartel is out of your little town, your kid gets home safe, and I get my freedom.”

“Yeah, to go terrorize someone else’s town,” Beau spit out.

“Well they’re not you’re concern, sheriff. This is.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, and then—

“Dad?”

Beau’s heart lodged in his throat.

“Baby?”

“Dad, don’t—“

“And there’s your proof of life.” Your voice was cut off, replaced by the kidnapper. “Now do we have a deal?”

“I don’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

A chilling laugh echoed across the line. “Well then I hope you got a good last look at your daughter.”

…

“Dad, don’t—“ Ski Mask covered your mouth as Scar Man pulled back the phone to continue talking. Once you stilled, he let you go. Your gaze never left the phone in the dark haired man’s hand, desperate to hear your father’s voice.

You needed him more than you ever had, and you knew even just a few words from his voice would help calm you. You’d been trying hard not to panic, but knowing that your father was just barely out of your reach had tears pricking your eyes and despair stealing your breath.

You don’t know what your father said to the man, but his eyes were suddenly on you as a terrifying laugh shook his frame.

“Well then I hope you got a good last look at your daughter.”

A knife was suddenly in his hands, and you didn’t know where it had come from.

“No, please,” you whimpered as he advanced on you, lifting the knife above you.

…

“Wait, wait!” Beau demanded as he heard your panicked pleas on the other end.

“Yes?” The kidnapper said.

“I want to talk to her.”

“Don’t stall, sheriff. I know you’re trying to trace the line. I need a yes or a no, and I need it now unless you want me to start carving into this little girl.”

“I…” Beau glanced helplessly at his people, who were waiting for his response. “Ok. It’s a deal.”

“Good. You’ll get the address to where she’s being held as soon as I’m out of the country.”

The line went dead.

“You’re not really gonna let them go, are you,” Hoyt asked.

“Pop, what do you got?” Beau ignored Jenny’s question and focused on Pop’s computer.

“Nothing on the trace, there wasn’t enough time. But I’m still following the route that the SUV took, so far it’s still in sight of traffic cams.”

“So you were just stalling for time?” Jenny tried to clarify.

“We can’t let them go,” Beau said.

“Are you sure?” Jenny said hesitantly. “We don’t want to put Y/N in—“

“You don’t get it.” Beau shook his head. “This guy’s MO, his track record…he’s lying. He’s not gonna let her live. We need to find them.”

…

The kidnappers ignored you for a while after the phone call, busying themselves with packing the meager belongings they had into the back of a truck.

“What about her?” Ski Mask asked, nodding his head at you. “We gonna leave her here for her dad?”

“Let her live?” Scar Man chuckled. “What’s the fun in that?”

…

“I’ve got it!”

Beau jumped out of his seat at Pop’s outburst.

“Where are they?” He demanded, leaning over Pop’s chair to look at his screen.

“Well, I don’t have an exact location, but they turned down this road.” Pop ran his finger along the map open on one side of his screen, while the other side showed the black SUV turning down a dirt road. “And that’s where the cameras stop, they don’t go down side roads.”

“What’s over there?”

“Not much.” Pop shrugged. “A couple of warehouses.”

“Perfect, let’s go. Hoyt, you’re with me.”

…

Knowing that someone plans to kill you is an odd thing. You watch every move they make, no matter how innocent, waiting to see if he’s going to strike. Is he reaching for a knife, or his phone? Is he grabbing his bag, or the gun next to it? You never knew which breath would be your last, which thought would be the last one you’d ever think.

You wondered if your dad would ever find you. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to or not. Seeing your body would kill him, but never getting closure could, too.

You shook the thought away. You definitely didn’t want that to be your last. You’d never thought about it before; what you wanted to be thinking about when you died.

“I think that’s it.”

You were snapped out of your reverie when Ski Mask spoke.

“Great. Now for the fun part.” Scar Man picked up a curved knife from a metal table as he spoke.

You started to struggle against your ropes despite the pain of your raw, bleeding wrists.

“No.” You began to cry as though you were already dead, and you were mourning yourself. “Please, please don’t do this.” Perhaps you were crying because you knew it was futile; there was no sympathy or mercy in this man, you could see it in his eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue to beg, too afraid to even speak.

You’d never thought about what you wanted your last thought to be. Even so, the memory came to you instantly; the perfect one.

You were little, maybe six or seven. Your parents were together and in love, and your father hadn’t been broken by grief. The three of you were painting your room, because you’d finally chosen a favorite color to paint over the white that had been there since you were a baby.

You tried to help, but your parents just ended up painting over the mess you made. Your mom was working on painting one wall, while your dad was making his own version of an enchanted forest on another. He’d already done several mushrooms, and now he was working on a fairy.

“What is that, a flying toad?” Your mom asked with a laugh.

“It’s the fairy princess!” Beau said, staring at her open-mouthed in mock offense.

“It looks like a toad.”

You giggled at your mother’s words, and Beau snatched you into his arms.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” You squealed and squirmed in his arms as he started to tickle you. “You think it’s funny?”

“Stohop!” You giggled, and after a moment Beau stopped, but he kept you in his arms.

“What do you think, huh?”

“I like the fairy princess,” you insisted.

“See?” Beau grinned.

“That doesn’t count,” your mother countered. “She likes you better.”

“And she understands a masterpiece when she sees it,” Beau said. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?

“Y/N?

“Y/N!”

Your daydream vanished as the very voice you’d been thinking about echoed across the warehouse.

“Dad!” You were still crying, now from relief. Your father was running across the room, gun in hand.

“Get away from her!” Beau aimed the gun at Scar Man, who had the knife clutched in his fist. “Drop the knife!”

Scar Man, psycho eyes wide and enraged, lunged for you, the knife raised.

Two shots rang out, and Scar Man staggered back before slumping to the ground.

Ski Mask lifted his hands in surrender, and Hoyt went over to arrest him.

Beau wasted no time in putting his gun away and running to you.

“Dad.”

“I’ve got you.” Beau offered you a strained smile as he got to work on the ropes binding you. You didn’t realize how much you were leaning against the restraints until they were gone, and you all but fell out of your chair.

Beau held you up, letting you fall against him and bury your face against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he repeated again and again. “You’re safe, I’m here.”

You cling to him despite the way his jacket scratched at the raw part of your wrists. Your body shook with sobs, and Beau held you tightly, rubbing your back and letting you cry against him.

“Hey,” his grip slackened as he pulled back enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, and the cool texture of his hands eased the pain of your bruises. His thumb brushed feather-light against the cut on your cheek, so gentle that you didn’t even flinch. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Beau kept a hand on you the whole way to the car, unwilling to let you go for even a second.

“Can we go home?” You asked, clinging to your dad’s arm.

“We’ve gotta go to the hospital first,” Beau sighed.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “I wanna go home.”

Beau stared at you for a long moment. Proper procedure told him to take you to the hospital, then the station for some questions.

But his fatherly instincts were telling him to take his baby girl home and do whatever she needed to feel safe.

The latter won out.

…

By the time Beau reached his place, his phone had been blowing up with texts and calls, probably from Hoyt and Pop, but he ignored them other than a quick text to both telling them he was ok and headed home.

The texts continued after that, but Beau turned his phone off.

“Do you want to go to your mom?” He asked gently, not quite sure what you’d meant by “home”.

You didn’t hesitate.

“No. Your place.”

He got you to his trailer in record time, and he led you inside and to the couch. Your eyes never left him as he went to get your favorite blanket and drape it around your shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you some ice for those bruises, ok?” Beau didn’t give you a chance to respond as he went to get the ice. He returned a moment later, and you put the ice pack up against one of the worse bruises on your face. “Do you want me to make you some food?” He asked.

You shook your head, reaching your free hand out to him without speaking.

Beau got the message. He sat down next to you on the couch and wrapped you into his arms, the soft fluff of the blanket around you brushing against his arms, and your hair tickling his chin as he tucked your head under it.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

“Don’t go,” you pleaded.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Beau lifted a hand to the back of your head. He found himself rocking you back and forth slowly, and the ghost of a smile lifted his lips when he heard your gentle, relaxed breathing for the first time since you’d been taken.

Time stopped when he was like this, with you. He might’ve been holding you for five minutes or five hours, it didn’t matter to him. He was pretty sure you fell asleep at some point, but he didn’t move, determined to never let you go again.

#beau arlen x daughter!reader #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #big sky #Beau Arlen big sky #beau arlen x daughter #beau arlen x y/n #beau arlen reader insert

[isthedogawolfdog]

I just saw a reel on Instagram, which I absolutely refuse to link because I don’t want to give it more views so I attached a recording of some of the more relevant parts above, but basically this woman (who I assume was a photographer due to the cameras and such) was in the middle of the Arctic doing who knows what. She starts off the video saying something “incredible” happened, and the footage then cuts to her being surrounded by roughly 13 wild wolves. Yeah, you read that right. Due to the poor quality that is my recording, I’ll try and break down what’s happening to the best of my ability.

Throughout the video you can see that the wolves seem not quite quite laid back, but aren’t scared. The wolf closest to the camera at roughly seven seconds in is regarding them with a look that kinda says “hey, what’s this?”.* All the wolves are either walking along on their path, or taking a closer look, not necessarily circling the two individuals but definitely keeping an eye on them. This is probably due to them not seeing people at all prior to this experience. Now, I know that might sound odd, but some areas in the Arctic or places super far north in general have wolves that just haven’t seen people. There was a documentary (which I forget the name of) that covered researchers interacting with a pack who hadn’t seen people. There was also a book (Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat) published a while ago that dealt with a pack similarly. When described, the behavior in both the book and documentary kinda reminds me of the wolves in this video.

A quick look at the animals tells me these people aren’t in any real danger, however, should the wolves get more curious and get closer things could probably get a bit tricky. Wolves being naturally neophobic, attacks on humans from healthy wild wolves are slim to none these days. Plus, you really shouldn’t interact with wild animals no matter what they’re acting like. Preferably these people would’ve tried scaring them away the second they saw them approaching (acting aggressive, maintaining eye contact, and whatever you do, don’t run!), but instead, we had to have a Disney princess moment.

In the extremely rare chance that the wolves had seen these people as food, we would be seeing more quicker movement, heads below their shoulders**, various behaviors to test and see whether the people were fit enough for a snack, etc. though this is not the case here. So why, might you be wondering, is this bad if the wolves aren’t hunting the people and the people aren’t interacting with the wolves?

Well, you should never, never, interact with wild animals like this, which if you’ve been following my blog for a while now you probably already know. These wolves, if they so happen to see people again, now associate people with something they can get close to without them getting hurt, which works great if you want a cool selfie, but isn’t good if you are a park ranger, a worried parent, or any other person in a position of authority really, let alone if you have a gun. Historically, if a wild animal (especially a wolf!) gets too close to people, they get shot. It doesn’t matter if the animal was exhibiting dangerous behavior or not, people can’t risk it. Basically, wolf getting closer to people and realizing they can do it without problems = them trying again at a time where things are different and people think “oh no, big and wolf!” and kill it.

I’m not sure how the encounter ended, but later footage shows the wolves farther away rallying as a group, so I assume everything went okayish despite the obvious errors. TL:DR, these people are endangering these animals with their need for a cool video, don’t be a Disney princess, and stay away from wild animals even if they look friendly.

*the wolf closest to the camera has its ears kinda flat and to the side, this is called airplane ears by some biologists (yes seriously) and it is a sign of uncertainty.

**fun fact: theories vary, but some have guessed that prey animals can tell whether a wolf is hunting from whether or not their heads are below their shoulders or not! This would explain why we see videos of wolves calmly walking passed a herd of elk while they stay rested, and why other times the elk will bolt as soon as they see the predator.

#wolves #wolf

[the-west-meadow]

Can you write "I’m trying to say that I’m glad you’re here." from your prompt list? ☺️

Kendall Roy x Reader

prompt: I'm trying to say that I'm glad you're here.

It was the day after Kendall’s birthday party and you hadn’t heard from him all morning. The last time you had seen him, he was completely wasted, getting ready to perform on stage in front of his guests. The sight of him so out of control was too painful to bear, so you had quietly slipped out without any goodbyes. 

Now there was radio silence from Kendall. You didn’t know what he was thinking; was he angry at you for leaving early? There was no way to tell. So you got dressed, headed down the street towards the nearest coffeeshop, where you bought two black coffees then took a cab to Kendall’s townhouse.

It was a long time before anyone came to the door. When he finally did, it was like watching a vampire face the sunlight for the first time. He looked awful. Dark bags under his eyes, hair disheveled, wearing just a t-shirt and shorts. 

“Shit. Did I call you?” he said. 

“Nope. Just bringing coffee to the birthday boy.”

“Did you want to come in?”

“Is there anything in there I shouldn’t see?”

“No, no. I’m all alone.”

He led you inside, taking a seat on the big sectional sofa in the living room. The curtains were drawn, the TV on mute with footage showing the outside of his party venue the night before. He quickly turned it off. 

“That was the biggest shitshow of my life.”

You slid the coffee towards him. He took a grateful sip. 

“Sorry I couldn’t stay,” you said. 

“I’m actually glad you didn’t.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Sorry. Fuck. That came out wrong. I mean I’m glad you didn’t get to see me embarrass myself any further.”

“It’s okay. It was a good time while it lasted.”

He cupped the coffee in his hands, gazing off.

“I wish the whole night had gone differently," he said. "I feel like a fucking joke. Nobody takes me seriously.”

“That sounds like your dad talking.”

“I’ve had his voice in my head my entire life. I can’t get it out.”

He massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers, closing his eyes.

“Then you show up here with coffee. And it’s the last thing I fucking deserve after how I acted last night.” 

“I can go if you’d rather be alone…”

His eyes opened suddenly. It almost frightened you how sad and pleading they looked.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say I’m glad you’re here. I’m just a fucking asshole and all my words come out wrong when I’m hungover.”

He took a deep breath then looked straight at you.

“I’m glad you’re here because you’re the only person who has bothered to reach out to me since last night. I’m all over the fucking news, Twitter, whatever. And yet not one person has sent me so much as a text to see how I’m doing. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect them to. But the very fact that you’re here is just…”

He shook his head, averting his eyes.

“I feel like I don’t fucking deserve it.”

“Kendall.”

He looked up at you again, eyes questioning.

“I wish I had been with you last night," you said. "I shouldn’t have left. I didn’t want to see you like that. It hurts. But it hurts even more to know you came back here alone.”

You choked up, throat suddenly tight. Kendall reached for you automatically. 

“No, no, no. Come here.”

He took your wrist gently, pulling you around to his side of the sofa. 

“It’s not your job to take care of me while I’m being a drunk asshole.”

“Is it bad that I kind of want to?”

For the first time he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. 

“No. That’s amazing, actually.”

“Let me make you breakfast.”

“I can see you’re not going to take no for an answer. At least let me make some toast.”

“Deal.”

You started to get up, but he gently grabbed your hand again.

“Hey,” he said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but instead he wrapped his arms around you. He hugged you with the desperation of a child who hadn’t been held in a very long time. You squeezed him back, his warm body in your arms, his voice murmuring in your ear:

“Thank you.”

#hurt/comfort #kendall roy #succession #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy/reader #reader insert #tw: alcohol mention

[the1975attheirverybest]

The S Word

A/N: based on this lovely anon’s request. So, consider this a Me & You Together extra where Penelope goes to see them in concert and Matty is sick. 

Warnings: none. 

—

“Seriously, I’m fine.”Matty brushed off her concerned stares, as he proceeded to wipe his runny nose on a crumpled piece of tissue that he’d been holding all morning. His voice was nasally, his breathing labored. He was anything but fine. But he lit a cigarette without a care in the world, taking a puff. She couldn’t help but see it as a spiteful gesture. 

“Alright, I’m just gonna say what nobody is saying.” She threw her hands up, frustrated. “ I think you should cancel. Even in the face of all that…fineness.” The last syllable spoken through gritted teeth, her eyes shot from Jamie to George, hoping someone would back her up. But instead, she got Matty looking at her like she had three heads. 

“Are you mad?!” He suppressed a cough, not wanting to prove her point for her. “People are literally in the venue. Look!” He pointed to the tv screen that projected camera footage from the stage area. “You want me to send all these people home?”

“You’re si-“

“Don’t say it. Don’t say the “s” word. I’m fine. Mind over matter, Pen.” 

She rolled her eyes.  “If this is part of your method acting thing- If you’re just being manly and tough, and I’m supposed to play the part and beg you to take it easy, then, please do let me know cuz-“

“This isn’t about actin’ tough. This is about the people outside. And how far some of them have had to travel to be here tonight. To see us. I’m not about to let them down. No cancelin.’ Alright? So just- just drop it.” Matty turned around, signaling that he was done having this conversation, and reached for an ashtray. 

She walked over to Jamie in the corner of the room and nudged him. “Do something.” She whispered in his ear. 

“You heard the man. He’s ‘fine.’”

***

Penelope did her best to try and enjoy the show, knowing that the guys were one of her favorite live performers, and that she was lucky to be witnessing this enormous show. She couldn’t help herself though. Her mind wandered back to soundcheck earlier that day. Matty had spent the entire time sniffling, coughing, and straining his throat to keep his vocals going. She’d objected. Begged Ross to take Matty backstage and force him to rest. She’d even enlisted Adam and George’s support. But those boys were unflinchingly loyal to each other. They’d assured her that he has performed under way worse conditions in the past: hungover, high off his ass when he was doing drugs, and, on one occasion, mid-detox, where he’d run backstage to throw up in between sets.

She stood in the crowd, anticipating Matty’s next moves, and nervously thinking about how physically demanding the first half of the show is. His voice certainly sounded ill whenever he addressed the audience in between songs. But he got through the first few tracks relatively alright. When he sat down at the piano to sing the acoustics, and the rest of the band walked off-stage, Ross turning out the lights behind him, she saw an opportunity and jumped at it. 

She rushed backstage and straight to the sound tech guys. “Which of these would go into George’s ear?” She asked at the control board. “Uh- ma’am, I don’t think-“

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me!”

“Sorry, miss. Can I- call you miss?” The poor tech guy seemed legitimately afraid of her. She’d feel bad if she had the time for sympathy. 

His colleagues exchanged a look and whispered something about calling security. 

“I heard that! Don’t you dare.” She stared them down. 

“What seems to be the problem, Pen?” George appeared in the doorway, his in-ears still on him. 

“Oh, there you are! I was trying to talk to you. Matty’s sick, George.”

“I’m aware.” He blinked at her. 

“Is he…still drinking and smoking onstage? Couldn’t quite tell if he was pretending or not.”

“No, it’s all real.” George stated, resigned to the reality of his friend’s irrational commitment to the bit. 

“Do me a favor, then?”

Whatever it was, George knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

***

Behind the curtains, Penelope and George intercepted the stagehands that were cueing up to go onstage whenever Matty gave his signal phrase. She confiscated their props, handing them over to George, and replaced them with glasses of water, extra tissue that she asked to be placed by the piano and keyboard, and a mug of lemon-flavor cold and flu drink that she’d had made for him. 

George hid in a quiet corner whispering through the his earpiece into Matty’s. “Slight change of plans, mate. Penelope’s…sort of gone all rogue pirate on us back here…”

Onstage, Matty struggled to hide his smile as he went on with the performance. He should’ve known better than to expect her not to take matters into her own hands. Besides, he found it touching that she cares that much.  He straightened his facial expressions relatively quickly, not wanting to ruin the illusion. 

***

After the show, the backstage area flooded with bodies. The guys and their band rushing back, the venue staff and crew swarming to dismantle and clean up the stage, tech workers scrambling to check and pack the instruments. 

Matty walked into the main dressing room, a victorious grin on his tired, pale face. He located Penelope rather quickly, silently staring at her for a long, slow moment before walking over to her and pushing the now empty mug into her chest. 

“Thanks for the drink, Pen.” He kissed her cheek, and brought his lips to her ears, whispering “fuck with my show again, and I’ll end you.”

Without missing a beat, and entirely unfazed by his threats, she placed the back of her hand on his forehead. To her surprise, he softened at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“You’re burning up.” She observed, worry itched onto her face. 

“Yeah, no shit! I’m sick!” He groaned loudly and threw his exhausted form onto the couch. 

“What happened to ‘no s word.’” 

Matty smiled cheekily up at her, his eyelids heavy. “Show’s over. I’m off for the next two days. Can be sick now.”

She shook her head, offering him her hand to hold. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmm. I like the sound of that.” He winked awkwardly. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Matty tried to laugh at her reaction but it came out mostly as a heaving cough. 

“Oh, Matty…” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him towards the exit. 

***

In the hotel room, Penelope’s arms wouldn’t leave his body. She ushered him into bed right away. His body folded unsteadily like a piece of origami paper, groaning and struggling for breath. She knelt down at his feet and began to untie his shoes. Matty’s hand reached down to help her, but she promptly swatted him away. “Would you just- let me do it, gosh!” 

He was too weak to fight back, so he just laid there, smiling up at the ceiling, and letting her fuss over him. 

“You’re insane, you know that?” Her hands expertly undid his tie and loosened the collar. 

“Mhm” Matty nodded, struggling to remain upright as she undressed him. 

“Nothing- and I mean nothing, is worth your health. Do you hear me?” She couldn’t help herself. All the pent up frustration of watching him run himself into the ground all day was coming out now. 

“Think it’s-“ another coughing fit interrupted him. “Ahhh! I think It’s sweet that you care.”

She simply shook her head, frowning. 

“Ah- ah! Cold!!! Your fingers are cold!” He whined when her skin touched his now naked, fevered body.

“I’m not cold; you have a fever. I think you need a shower. To bring it down.”

“Nooo!!!” He cried out. “Too tired.”

“I’ll help.”

***

“Do you ever think with anything but your dick?” She’d rolled her eyes at his attempt to make a sexy joke about her joining him in the shower. 

“Hmm…not really.” He smiled, his cheeks flushed, and his curls dripping water onto the shower floor. “You’ve heard m’ songs. Plus, in my defense, I’m naked and wet and there’s a hot girl in my bathroom.”

“You’re dizzy. Please sit down.”

Matty hesitated for a moment and she braced herself for a quick comeback but was surprised when his eyes relaxed and he did as he was told. He must be at the end of his rope. 

She crouched down behind him, washing his hair  gently and rubbing his back. Matty threw his head back, resting it against her body, and closed his eyes. 

After scrubbing him down as quickly as she could, she gave him a moment, then whispered, “Matty, honey? You gotta come out now.”

“Umm…could we stay just a little longer? Think the steam is helping my breathing.” He sounded meek and it broke her heart. 

“S-sure.”

After a moment of silence, the two of them simply letting the sound of trickling water fill the room, Matty spoke again. “You’ve never called me ‘honey’ before.”

Behind him, Penelope was glad he couldn’t see her face as she blushed. 

“C’mon, that’s enough. We gotta get you dressed.”

“Alright.”

***

Tucked into bed with his comfiest joggers and long-sleeve shirt, a 1975 merch tee that Penelope had found for him, Matty shivered and fought the sleep that was slowly winning. He did his best to listen to Pen on the phone, seemingly arguing with the hotel room service staff about something, and rummaging through the adjoining living room, that he’d mostly turned into an instrument storage area, looking for his inhaler. 

He could faintly hear the words ‘soup’ And ‘sick’ and a threat of her coming down to reopen the kitchen herself, until, eventually, he drifted off to sleep. 

***

Matty’s vision was blurry when he awoke, several hours later, and struggled to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was the room service portable table right by his bed side. The smell in the room told him it was some sort of chicken soup, sitting in an insulated container next to an array of fluids, an inhaler, an assortment of pills and ointments. He moved to attempt to sit up and was nearly startled to death when a damp washcloth,  he hadn’t felt was there, fell off his forehead and into his lap. 

“Fuckin’ hell!” He yelped, and Penelope instantly materialized in the doorway, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Oh, you’re awake! Did you call for me?” 

He tried to speak, but his voice was gone. 

Penelope rushed over to him, checking his temp. “I’d feel better if your fever were completely gone.” She frowned, propping his pillows up behind his back to help him sit. 

“Where did you- when-“ his voice was barely audible. “What time is it?”

She checked her phone. “Like 2 am.”

She noticed his face and guessed what he was trying to say. “Oh. There’s a 24-hour pharmacy a couple of streets away.”

“Y-you went to-“ 

“Hush, you have no voice. Just, eat, yeah?” She pulled the lid off the soup container and reached for the spoon. “Want me to help?”

He didn’t need to say a word, his frown telling her everything. “Alright. Suit yourself.” She shrugged. 

As soon as he was done eating, Penelope hovered over him with a bottle of water and some fever medicine. “Take those.” 

Matty complied, unspoken gratitude in his eyes. 

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.” He spoke, the slightest bit clearer now that he’s had his soup. “And a horse carriage. And….another truck.” 

“My poor baby.” She mumbled. 

“I’d love a cuddle, but I’m also probably contagious.” He pouted. 

“Ah, fuck it, right?” She said promptly getting into bed with him. 

Matty instantly hid his face into her neck, latching onto her and sighing loudly as she stroked his messy hair. 

“Your breathing seems a bit better.”

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, simply listening to her comforting, sweet voice, as she made random observations that made clear to him how worried she’s been. “We’ll make you some tea later. I mean, if things don’t get better by morning, you’ll have to see a doctor. That’s non-negotiable.” With every word she spoke, his smile widened. “You do need some solid food eventually. Cuz your body needs the energy.” And finally, she concluded with “Thank god you have some days off before your next show.”

“Penelope?” Matty suddenly mumbled. 

She was startled. She’d assumed by his perfect stillness that he’d fallen asleep. “Yes, Matty?”

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “No worries.”

“No, I mean it. No one’s ever done this for me before.” She looked down at him, confused. 

“Like, obviously, my parents when I was little, and stuff. But, I mean, as a grown up.” He sniffled. “And- I know that I can be a bit- well, you know…”

He heard the laugh reverberating in her chest. “Is your fever making you hallucinate? Do I need to bring back the washcloth?”

“I’m serious! You- didn’t have to go to all this trouble, and…just thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Matty. You’re worth it.” Her words lingered in the air. 

Matty said nothing for a long time, then, suddenly, “I love you, Pen.”

“I love you too, Matty.”

#Matty Healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fluff #matty healy oneshot #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy x oc #matty healy x you

[princessamericachavez]

on the ‘accidental’ buddie

I have to laugh at these 911 writers trying to play coy, giving interviews saying things like “well we didn’t really intend to play into [Eddie’s strong reaction towards Buck’s death/parallels to the well/etc]” because, like, as someone who’s worked on audiovisual that’s not how the production of a tv show works??

What I mean by that is that his episode, and particularly that last call, was filled with a lot of deliberate choices. 

And I mean choices. Choices were made. 

Because someone decided that both Buck and Eddie would be wearing red harnesses for this event. See how Chim isn’t harnessed? Even when he thought he’d be the one going up? That is a choice someone made in the costume department. To have Buck and Eddie tied together by a red string [of fate]. 

That take of Eddie being the one to secure Buck’s harness to the line that would eventually save his life? A CHOICE. And I mean that in the most literal sense of the word. Not only was it in the script (hell, maybe it wasn’t, heavens know things change from the page to filming), but someone in the photography team chose to frame a close-up to it, to take it (and believe me with how expensive those rain effects must have been, they were not doing just ‘any take’ lightly). And- and!! Someone from post-production chose to edit it in. Chose to have it there. 

Eddie and Buck getting hit by the same lighting rod? A CHOICE. And the show runners can shrug all they want and say it only made sense because Eddie was manning the controls but who put him there? When you are writing, you are not leaving things to chance. You are creating a coherent narrative. Things don’t just ‘happen’. 

And sure, yes, I will bite and say Ryan’s performance knocked it out of the park and maybe wasn’t like that on the script. He gave it his all because he knows his character. To say it just ‘happened’ is to undermine his capacity as an actor to make choices both in voice and physical that tell the audience something. Acting is about being hyperaware of those things. 

You wanna know what is intentional, though? The way that scene is edited. THINK ABOUT IT. We see the lightning hit. We see Buck fall. We see the team’s shocked reaction to it. We’ve even seen Buck’s hanging body at this point. And yet, the camera stays on what? On Eddie. On Eddie getting up. On Eddie not seeing. On Eddie ready to get back to usual. And we get that close up —remember what I said about them not wasting on useless takes due to budget?— WELL we get to Eddie and we see his face, we see his reaction. And we go back to Buck. And we’ve already seen it! WE know! But Eddie doesn’t. Up until that moment, it doesn’t hit. And it’s then, it’s when it hits Eddie, that the music picks up and the story keeps moving. 

And let me ask you: why? Television is an audiovisual medium. You use image, sound, and dialogue to create the story. It’s multi-lingual. It’s not just what’s in the script. It’s how you film it, it’s how you edit it, it’s which directions you give the actors and what you choose to use once it’s only you in the editing room with tons of footage. This story they are telling it’s a very very deliberate choice that involves a lot of people (costume, actors, cameras, editors, sound, marketing). 

So when we see Eddie try to pull Buck back up, screaming, before he switches to letting him down? That’s a choice made in several steps along the way, red string and all, for it to get to your screen. When we see Eddie push Bobby out of the way to get to Buck, when we see Bobby pull him back, when we see Eddie looking back twice at Buck’s unconscious body and wipe his face before he gets into the ambulance? Choices, choices, choices, so many choices made by several people who had a ton of options, takes, versions, and chose to go with this one. 

So, I’m sorry, but I cannot, for the life of me, take the writers/showrunners seriously when they say things like “well, I don’t think we really leaned into that on purpose”. JESUS CHRIST. Either stop playing coy or admit you suck at your job and don’t understand the process and that you are underestimating everyone working on this project! 

And, just to be clear, I do not think that’s the case. I believe they are trying to play coy to keep people guessing their intentions. It’s just frustrating because I don’t think they realize that to anyone with a minimum background in audiovisual storytelling... they are just making themselves look bad at their job (when they probably aren’t!). 

(WHERE IS THEIR PR DEPARTMENT?!)

#buddie #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #sofia's nonsense #sorry i've been thinking about this rant ALL DAY since i read the interviews #as a film major this BOTHERS ME #911 spoilers

[mutable-manifestation]

Family at the Core

Parts 1 & 2, Part 3

Part 4!

***

Learning that he had put his soul at risk in making a deal with a supernatural entity was unpleasant enough.

Learning that said entity was firmly in ‘nearly completely uncharted territory’ was just the cherry on top.

(Or was the cherry on top Constantine calling him an idiot to his face?)

The research they’d conducted after their JL Dark allies’ abrupt departure had come up just as Constantine had implied: empty.

They’d keep searching, of course, but it wasn’t looking good.

The next morning they awoke to chaos; a bomb had gone off at the Yuyan building and police had started swarming it.

Presumably, Kitty had done it to draw them there and complete her end of the bargain. He hoped that was the case, at least.

Despite the media swarm the night before, they hadn’t shared any of the footage of their meeting with the ghosts. And none of the news crews had sent out helicopters to try and record - at least self-aware enough to know that regular voices wouldn’t be heard over propeller blades. The odds of it being an outside bombing were slim - a League of Assassins member might’ve made it out when the ghosts were removing their fellows, but they wouldn’t have risked drawing that kind of attention to their own base.

Signal practically inhales his breakfast in his rush to get on-scene.

Watching his helmet feed showed a Yuyan building with criminal evidence practically set out as a buffet. 

Every hidden passage lay open and waiting, sticky notes and brief explanations pointing to the mechanisms, labels on weapons, an A4 sheet taped to a chair with an arrow pointing down to a desk and the words “murders committed &/or planned.”

No sign of the ghosts or the boy, however.

Not until 11, when Kitty calls to remind him of their ‘deal.’

Oracle mutes the feed and answers the phone on the batcomputer’s speakers.

Information on the attached number pops up before the call even connects, but it’s practically empty.

The number is new, no information attached to it, and the location signature is easy to find except that it bounces all around the globe like a ping-pong ball.

“Hey, Wayne. The building is getting raided as we speak. Hope you’re ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Or my soul, you mean?” Bruce asks pointedly.

“Isn’t it always, in business?” She laughs. “Chin up Bruce - can I call ya Bruce? We are parent-friends now - anyway, worst case scenario you default on the deal and I make you buy the building anyway. Plus a few extras - call it interest for lying. Lucky you I never developed a taste for the finer things in after-life. Ha, taste.”

All of them stiffen at that.

“Seriously though, Bruce, you are the one parent-friend and Gotham-friend my fright has at the moment. Try to refrain from making any more underly-specific deals sealed with handshakes with beings you don’t know, yeah?”

“Right,” Bruce swallows back his frustration, pulling his ‘hurt Brucie Wayne’ voice over it like a shroud. “It’s going to take at least a few days for them to complete a sweep of that size, but the building will likely be seized before the day is out. I’ll express my interest now, but it’ll likely be at least a week before we can close. If you need a place to stay until then-”

“No,” she cuts him off. “Appreciate it but we can stay out of sight well enough, and Danny…. He really shouldn’t be going anywhere just yet.”

“Is he alright?” Bruce doesn’t even have to play up the concern. The kid had been barely above catatonic when they’d seen him on the Joker’s broadcast.

She doesn’t answer, at first.

Then they hear a single, deep breath through the line - something that had been missing from their previous conversation with the ghost.

“He will be,” she settles on. “We’re gonna make sure of it.”

That tells him nothing.

“I know a great doctor, if y-”

“Nah,” she cuts him off. “Bullet ‘s going to the Far Frozen to see if someone can make a house call since Danny really shouldn’t be traveling. Given how fanatic they can be, I doubt they’ll say no.”

Bullet was the ‘deputy’ Walker had mentioned, Bruce recalled. The Far Frozen must be some kind of clinic.

“Fanatic?” he asks dubiously. The word rarely spells good things.

“Oh yeah. They’ve got murals. Anyway, I’ve got progress to monitor and a baby to check on. We’ll be waiting!”

She closes the line before he can even say goodbye. 

The first thing Signal says when he unmutes is “Well, at least we know the only thing she’ll hurt is your pocket?”

“Assuming she is telling the truth,” Damian replies skeptically.

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

The entrance to level with the Lazarus Pit is missing.

They watch as Signal searches, but there are no clear labels to mechanisms or secret passageways like everywhere else in the building, and even the access Bruce recalled discovering once was absent. 

Nothing below the level Signal was currently on was documented; the police wouldn’t blow out a wall or floor to search through what they thought was dirt.

On the one hand, it was a relief to not have the Pit exposed so publicly. 

On the other hand, what did that say about the new residents? 

Had they merely sealed that section away to have somewhere to stay until the building was bought? Or had they truly been after the Pit the whole time?

Four days later Brucie Wayne is touring the building, in full ‘air-headed rich boy’ mode - blathering on and on about like the view from the top and the fascinating architecture -  while his children use the time to do some exploring of their own. They don’t find anything new.

Six days later - two days after their tour - Bruce Wayne officially owns the Yuyan building.

And less than 24 hours later he’s being made to sign another contract - legal this time - granting the group of ghosts rights to the building. Not that he can say no, since “buying the building for us includes making it legally for us.”

Of course the whole thing blows up in the papers when the news catches wind of Bruce Wayne owning and managing the building but signing over all rights for use and access to the new ‘meta’ group.

A lot of “blink twice if you need us to call Superman” memes are floating around - mostly in the wake of the “Batman fails to defend his sugar daddy, same as ever #BrucieDeservesBetter” memes.

The whole thing is more than a bit of a circus, and every day they don’t get to check on the kid they all get a bit more anxious. The only relief they get on that front is the update Kitty gives them when Bruce asks before the more formal contract meeting can get started - their doctor, Frostbite, finally showed up with Bullet to get the kid a check and projected that he’d make a full recovery with ‘another few weeks of TLC,’ as she put it.

At least, it was a relief until Tim questioned what, exactly, a ghost might consider to be healthy.

Luckily, Kitty only asked they “give us a day to get the place all set up” before bringing Damian - and his other children, once she’d realized they exist - over to visit.

***

@yjfk @fisticuffsatapplebees @little-pondhead @avery-isastupid-name @queenofdiscord @samgirl98 @inkyunicorn @mimilikey @aconitewolfsbane @miraculousandmore @someonebored0100 @wildbacon @fleshybeing @vala-dreams @ironicvixen @blurblurbblurrrr @ectoplasmic-knife @terzatheunderscorerima @britcision @passivedecept @demigraceling-blog @wolfjackle @xysidhe @immakittybear @d-j-t-15 @ashenfairytale @jaguarthecat

If u see this but your tag didn't work please make sure you have "Allow this blog to appear in search results” turned on if you want future tags to work. (there may be other causes like if ur blog is super new, this is just the one I know can be fixed manually)

#dpxdc #Family at the Core #Kitty being ruthless #Brucie Wayne being famous #the public thinking of Bruce as Batman's sugar daddy #the butts don't match and neither do the people #Gotham petitioning to get Bruce a better BF #mentions of Frostbite #he won't be sticking around tho #he will come back later tho #Lotta ghosts aren't there full time but they will be visiting #a lot of them anyway

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Caught In A Web ~ 9

CAUGHT IN A WEB MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,815ish

Summary: You end up having to come clean to Natasha and Wanda... but will it end there?

Notes: Please share your reactions!

Knowing that you couldn’t keep your secret any longer from the super-assassin and the mind-reader, you all sat down and explained how you got powers and who you were. You also explained what was happening between you and Tony.

“That does explain why Tony’s been acting less moody and depressed,” Wanda said.

Natasha was still quiet, her piercing eyes studying you. “You’re in love with him,” she stated.

“What?” You questioned. “No! No way. I—“

“Don’t deny it, Y/N,” Wanda smiled, “you can’t hide anything from us. It’s okay. You two would be really cute together.”

You shook your head. “It won’t happen ever. Once he finds out who I really am and how old I am, he won’t go for me.”

“Age has never been an issue with Tony,” Natasha said. “And you clearly don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re around. He either is into you or onto you.”

“Or both,” Wanda added.

You sighed. “I just don’t want to ruin what we have. It’s really good right now.”

“It could still be good. Better, even.”

“Y/N,” Natasha leaned forward for you to better see the seriousness of her gaze, “Tony doesn’t love just to love. Yes, he’s done his fair share of sleeping around but it was never love. His love is so deep and he might show it strangely sometimes, but you know it’s there and you know that you are lucky to be a recipient of it.”

“It’s true,” Wanda nodded. “We feel Tony’s love through the tech he builds for us. It’s strange, but we know he cares. He wants us safe. He may not know the real you or the whole you, but I can tell that he is starting to love you.”

“But he can’t love you fully and deeply like you deserve and you can’t experience loving him either without Tony knowing the truth.”

You sat there, thinking it over. Perhaps it was becoming time for you to reveal yourself to Tony. To take that chance, that leap of faith.

~~~

“Are we any closer to finding that Spider Woman?” Fury asked, standing at the end of the conference table.

“Unfortunately, Director, we’ve had a few bigger issues to handle,” Steve replied.

“Oh, really?” Fury pressed a button on the table causing pictures and video footage of Iron Man and Spider-Woman to appear as holograms over the table. Everyone looked over to Tony who had a blank expression. “Care to explain, Stark?”

This wasn’t Tony’s first rodeo, so it didn’t take much for him to come up with a lie. “I’ve been trying to gain her trust,” he said. Fury rose an eyebrow in question. “She doesn’t trust what we will do to her if she comes to the Tower. I’ve been meeting up with her to try and gain her trust enough for her to come in.”

“It’s a smart idea,” Natasha quickly said. “If she doesn’t trust us, then getting her on our side is pointless.”

Tony turned to face Natasha. “Did you just agree with my plan?”

“I can take it back.”

“No! You said it! You can’t—“

“Despite Stark’s plan, we are running out of time. The government is recommending that we take her in before they do.”

“Is that a threat?” Bucky questioned.

“It’s not an invitation. We need to bring her in before the government goes after her and something worse happens.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Clint said. “She’s not doing any harm and Stark clearly is working on her.”

“The government feels that her superpowers are too dangerous for her to be left unsupervised.”

“Dangerous?” Sam repeated. “We don’t even fully know what her powers are.”

“They believe she’s useful,” Wanda noted, disappointed in the system. 

“Which is why you have until the end of the week to bring her in nicely, Stark. Or the whole Team goes out to get her before the government can.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Tony tried. “I have a handle on it—“

“One week, Stark. One.”

~~~

Tony was already waiting for you when you arrived at your usual meet-up spot.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long, tin man,” you said.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Tony immediately said, his tone incredibly serious. You stopped, not allowing yourself to come any closer to him. “You need to come back to the Tower with me.”

“What? Why?”

“You need to turn yourself in, and become a part of the Team.”

“I told you, Tony, I—“

“Y/N,” he took the steps needed to get directly in front of you. “I’m serious. The government is after you and if you don’t come with me now, Fury is going to send the Team and—“

“Wait? The Team will be sent after me.” You took a protective step back. “I haven’t even done anything wrong.”

“The government is worried about your powers. They’ve seen video footage of you and they want you for themselves or on the Team.”

You shook your head. “But I haven’t done anything!”

“I know, I know, honey.” Tony stepped closer and placed his hands on your arms. “That’s why you need to come with me. I’ll keep you safe, we’ll take care of everything. You don’t even really have to be a member of the Team. It’s just for your safety.”

This was not how you wanted this to go. You wanted Tony to find out the truth on your terms, not anyone else’s. This was forcing you to do something that you weren’t ready for. Your heart started pounding faster and faster as the anxiety and panic began to take over.

“I… I can’t,” you shook your head, almost panting as you spoke. “I’m sorry.” You ran and jumped off of the roof, trying to swing away as fast as possible.

“Y/N!” Tony called, flying after you. Your swinging was no match for his suit, you both knew that. “Please, just come with me.”

You ignored him and kept swinging, just trying to get away. He flew in front of you, trying to block your path, but you swung under him. Tony shouted your name again as you flung yourself around a corner. Tony was doing his best to keep a safe distance so that he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Y/N! Just stop, please!” Tony requested. “Let’s talk about this.”

You swung around another corner, only this time you were unprepared for the drastic change in building heights. In the midst of your trying to find a good spot to shoot a web, you swung too far and slammed your right arm into the sharp corner of a brick building. You cried out in pain.

“Y/N!” Tony shouted, rushing over and catching you as you started falling. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

You curled into the suit as Tony flew you toward the Tower. Due to having a private entry for the suits straight to his lab, the two of you landed in the lab. Tony gently set you down on his couch. Stepped out of the suit and sat beside you. He carefully took hold of your arm and began studying it. You whimpered at the movement.

“You’re going to need to get this looked at,” Tony told you.

“No, no, I can’t—“

“Y/N, you are safe here… Do you trust me?”

You took a deep breath as you looked into his eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

“Then trust me when I say that I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know you won’t.” You hooked under your mask and pulled it off with your free hand.

Tony smiled once he finally caught sight of your face. “I knew it.”

“Yeah? Are you… disappointed?”

“Not in the very least, sweetheart. I had my suspicions.”

“Really?”

He smiled. “You’re not exactly a super spy, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were doing it to protect yourself, I completely understand and was prepared to respect your decision. I’m sorry that it had to come to this.”

“So I am… but it could be worse.” You let out a groan as you went to move your position and your injured arm tried to help you. 

“We can continue this talk later. Let’s get you down to the med bay and get everything situated.”

~~~

The available Team members were all called in for a meeting in the med-bay, concerning them. 

“What are we doing down here?” Bucky asked. 

“Did someone go on a mission that I didn’t know about?” Steve wondered. “And get injured?”

Tony walked into the waiting area. “Thank you all for coming,” he said.

“You called this meeting, Stark?” Sam questioned. “Why?”

“It’s about the Spider Woman.”

“Did you bring her in?” Asked Steve. “Where is she?”

“It’s not that simple, Rogers. I had my suspicions about who she was but today it was confirmed.”

“What are you talking about Tony?” Bruce questioned.

Tony sighed. “The Spider Woman we’ve been looking for is Y/N.”

“What?” / “No way!” / “Are you serious?” / “Really?”

Tony noticed how Wanda and Natasha looked at each other. “And, to no one’s surprise, it seems like Red and Little Red already knew.”

“Can’t keep much from us,” Wanda smiled.

“I can’t believe that FRIDAY wouldn’t have noticed and informed us,” Steve commented.

“I did, Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY spoke up. “I told Mr. Stark that I had information on her. Mr. Stark told me to let Miss L/N come clean when she was ready.”

“Uh, Tony?” Bruce got his friend’s attention. “This is good, I guess, and all, but what are we doing in the med-bay?”

Tony sighed and the Team could see a slight shift in their friend. “Y/N got hurt tonight when I was trying to convince her to come clean.”

“You hurt my assistant?!”

“It wasn’t me, Banner, calm down. Helen has her in the cradle, she will be fine. I don’t want anyone bugging her about being Spider-Woman or her powers. This needs to be on her terms.” Natasha eyed Wanda again with a smirk. “Got something to say Red?”

“Nope,” she responded with a knowing smile. “Not a thing.”

“Yeah, well, good. I’m going back to see how Y/N is holding up. One of you needs to tell Fury that we have her. And don’t bother me and Y/N until I say otherwise.” Tony turned and disappeared into the med bay.

Sam looked around the room. “Did everyone catch that? ’Me and Y/N’?” He asked the Team. “Is there more going on than we know?”

“Honestly, I hope so,” Bucky said. “Stark’s been in a better mood for a couple of months now, Y/N has to be why.”

“This is good for him,” Natasha said. “He needs Y/N and I have a feeling that she needs him as well.”

next chapter >

TAGLIST IS CLOSED - Taglist Information

#tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x female!reader #tony stark x f!reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x fem!reader #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #avengers imagines #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader

[aclowntiny]

The Wind Again- Jongho x Paranormal Investigator!Reader (Gender Neutral)

Hello I just found the concept of Jongho as the token skeptic on a paranormal show really funny ok? Like, look me in the eyes & tell me he wouldn't be

Word Count: 2670 | Humor, Slightly Spoopy | Warnings: some gruesome references, mentions of death & ghosts (obviously lol), one scary thing happens but no graphic violence or anything like that :)

“So, this hospital was once, shall we say, home to some investigative medicine.”

“Don’t tell me it’s another one of those places that used to rip people’s teeth out and stuff.”

Jongho had, if forcibly, read up on mental hospitals of the old days, the cruelty of which was often said to leave residual energy behind in the form of the tortured patients. Quite obviously he did not like it, but then, who did? You yourself shuddered at the thought.

“No, not teeth or anything, but they did perform lobotomies, which were a new, unexplored procedure at this time. Things like lobotomies and bloodletting were still considered possible treatments to a host of conditions.”

“Of course they were.” Jongho was always like this on camera…and sometimes off. A running joke on your youtube channel was that you’d convert him someday, but he just didn’t take the idea of the spirits people had experienced remaining in tragic places seriously. Not even out of being a hardcore science-minded person or some other form of personal arrogance, but out of never experiencing it himself. “How did they think taking a chunk out of people’s brains wouldn’t completely destroy their working functions?”

“The working hypothesis was something along the lines of amputating a shattered limb- pruning off that which didn’t serve the host.”

“Why do you have to say it like that? You sound like a serial killer,” Jongho complained, looking up at you from his seated position as you erased some more writing of your whiteboard.

“If you haven’t noticed,” you jerked your head towards the tripod in the corner of the room with a giggle, “we’re kind of making a show here.”

“I know. You work so hard.”

“Then listen to your professor,” you teased, tapping his shoulder with the soft velcro bit on the tip of your dry erase marker, “we’re learning about spooooooky stuff.” At that drawn-out syllable, you started waving your arms around, swaying side to side and bouncing on your knees.

Shaking his head, Jongho lost it, cracking up as you soon joined him. Perfect cut point for the video.

“You really do too much,” he wheezed.

“My pleasure,” you did a V pose and winked into the camera.

Unspooling your microphone and headphones, you started to record voiceovers for your video intro and hospital overview. You and Jongho were going there the next week with all your equipment, so some of that footage would be covered with your voice.

A while later, you were still speaking as Jongho sat watching you.

“And they say that many of the patients are still seeking treatment…to this day,” you announced in what you think is an ominous voice.

Jongho, however, burst out laughing again.

“Aw, come on, what was wrong with that?”

“You expect people to take that seriously?”

“I was trying to be spooky!”

“I know,” he patted your shoulder between chuckles.

Now it’s your turn to look up at him from your seat. “Is your job on this show to be funny?”

He shrugged, smiling down at you. “We do get lots of footage that way, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do,” you smiled back.

~

“What will you do if you see an apparition for the first time?” You asked Jongho as you guys pull up to the looming, sprawling, ivy-snaked expanse that was your overnight destination.

“I’ll fight it.”

“You’re going to fight a ghost?”

“No, I’d just leave it alone. What’s it going to do to me?”

Honestly, it wasn’t even frustrating having Jongho around on investigations- almost all the fear you could have had at entering a dark, dilapidated, and condemned space said to house tortured souls faded in the face of companionship, especially drily hilarious companionship. Jongho was so assured that everything was fine, he was like a living shield from anything that could pop out of the shadows at you.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t creepy, though. “Oh geez, what was that?” Jumping slightly, you turned the camera down a doorway.

“Uh, the wind?” Jongho replied.

“It sounded like something getting slid along the floor!” You said, shaking your head as you took a tentative step forward.

“Yeah, probably all these leaves all over the floor when the wind hits them.” Squinting into his night vision camera, he pointed across the lobby. “Or that tarp flapping in the corner over there.”

Alright, you’d give him that one. “Ok, we can debunk that. But we should really keep going. Room 52 is a couple floors up.”

Room 52 was the token ‘most haunted room in the building’, the place where supposedly an especially violent patient’s life ended. It was said that people heard him tell them to get out and even saw him standing over them when they woke up in the middle of the night. Or just had sleep paralysis, Jongho had mused.

“Right, is that my room or yours?”

“Well, you’re a buff guy, he might be more intimidated by you.”

“So you want me in there to provoke him?” He asked with a teasing smile. “You want some content of me trying to box him?”

“Well, at least ask him some questions,” you shoved his shoulder gently, “you’ve got a recorder in your pocket.”

“I’ll ask him how many people he killed and if he wants to add one.”

“Now you’re becoming an expert,” you praised him, shuffling out of the lobby and into a wing of operating rooms.

“Is there anyone in here with me?” You posed into the cold, breezy room, which still had pale blue curtains racked around the rusty beds. The way they rustled faintly sent shivers down your spine.

You waited. Nothing was palpable or audible to you, but that’s why you had the little silver rectangle that was your recording device in your hand- it was far more sensitive than your ears would ever be, and more believable too. A few more heartbeats passed.

“If you’re here with me, can you tell me how you died? What they did to you here? Did you get hurt?”

This time, you counted out a full minute, rewinding the recording after sixty seconds passed. Silence, rustling, you asking questions… muttering?

“Jongho, does this sound like anything to you?” You extended the device out to your channel partner, who held it up to his own ear. "Like two words?"

“If it’s words you’re looking for,” he replied, “sounds like ‘hurt me’?”

“If it’s words you’re looking for,” you repeated with a snort, “let me listen again.”

“It’s mostly garbled air. That's just the closest in-context thing that sound could be."

"You're just mad you heard it," you singsonged with a cattish smile.

"I'm not mad, just-"

"Skeptical," you imitated at the same time as he spoke.

"Yeah," he agreed, taking a few steps deeper into the OR and addressing the spirits, "how did they hurt you?"

Silence. Dead silence. Not a whisper on the air.

Before your skin could even crawl at the room’s still, the quiet, the musty, nearly suffocating air wafting odors of bygone years…a slamming sound had you jumping out of it.

“That was a door!”

“It sure sounded like it,” Jongho responded calmly as you ran out of the room, blood pumping in your ears.

“You set up the hallway cam, right?”

“Of course,” he replied, jogging after you.

Careening around the world’s creepiest gurney, footsteps echoing loudly around the high ceilings, you swerved into the hallway. Sure enough, a checkup room had a closed door.

You pointed. Jongho nodded, walking over to pull the small camera off its mount at the other end of the hallway. He pressed a few buttons as you ran over to his side, reviewing the footage to see that very door suddenly swing shut.

“Boom!” You exclaimed. “Look at that. They slammed the door!”

“They could be blown shut, too, you know.”

“The wind again?” You laughed, expression widening with incredulity. “Not everything can be the wind, you know. If you’re going to argue against ghosts you need something better than just saying the wind every time.”

“Alright, fine,” Jongho shrugged and smiled back impishly, “turn on the spirit box and I’ll explain to any new viewers why that’s baloney.”

“Hey! The spirit box provides shifting frequencies for the souls to manipulate-”

“It scans radio channels and spits out sounds. It did music once, (y/n).”

“Yeah, spooky piano music!”

“It could’ve been jazz.”

You crossed your arms as he re-mounted the camera at the end of the hall. “Why do I bring you on my investigations?”

“Because you’re too scared to go alone and like my ghost voice.”

“Yeah, do the ghost voice, do it!”

Jongho let out a series of wails you couldn’t take seriously, voice wobbling. When he was done, you were doubled over.

“See? Who else can do that?”

~

“Holy crap! Holy crap holy crap-” Your heart slammed and lungs burned, but you didn’t care, you just kept running. Panic had completely overtaken you.

“What’s wrong?” You heard Jongho’s voice from the other room. You’d split up to send him to film in Room 52, to ask the fabled violent male spirit everyone called ‘Han’ after he spelled that out on a viral ouija board video why he hurt people, if he felt like a man when he did that. If he really did scratch people.

Little did he know what was going on in room 64. “I- it touched me,” you panted, voice weak from fear and exertion.

“What?”

“I was in Room 64, sitting in the exam chair next to the bed. I asked if anyone wanted to talk to me, but I didn’t hear anything.” You shuddered. “Suddenly I…I saw a shadow dart, and as I got up from the chair I felt a hand grab me. Nothing’s ever touched me before,” you breath.

Jongho’s face steeled. “What room was this?”

“S- sixty-four,” you stammered. You wished you could be brave like him, “it really felt like a hand.”

Before you could say anything else, you saw what of his figure you could from his headlamp spread out, arms opening. “Come here,” he said, voice serious but soft.

You stepped forward into his strong embrace, letting him pull you against the firm warmth of his chest. Maybe you were overreacting, but it was jarring to have a hand reach for you in the dark, unseen fingers clamoring toward your chest and shoulders. It felt cold. It felt wrong. Jongho was the opposite; heat radiated from his hoodie and you could feel his heartbeat against the side of you, steady and comforting. Living. Familiar. Gentle.

“I’m sorry, you must think I’m being a baby. Just making up stories again,” you mumbled into his chest.

You could feel his head shake from where it rested on yours. “No,” his voice reverberated through his chest and your contact point against it, “even if I don’t believe in ghosts, your fear is real. Something made you feel that way. I’m going to go give Room 64 a piece of my mind.”

And he did. He barged right in, asked who was in there and what they thought they were doing grabbing at innocent people. “Just like Han, does that make you feel like a man? Or whatever you are?” It turned out he heard a hiss in response, but decided mot to tell you until you reviewed the footage, safe and sound in your studio, because you still had overnight in there to go.

~

Jongho insisted you guys pitch your sleeping bags in the same room rather than him sleeping in Room 52. “I already got some sound from Han,” he reassured you, “we had our fun. I think we should stay together.”

His words made your heart give a little leap. Your wish was granted in spite of content, both of you rolling out your little spaces of slick softness on the floor of room 2B, a maternity ward that wasn’t known for any malicious activity, mostly just things moving or the occasional woman’s voice. Some people even said the presences in there felt light, almost protective, so despite his skepticism Jongho was all for 2B.

“You think the mothers will look after us?” You asked him as you laid down.

“I think you’ll feel safer in this room,” Jongho replied simply, not taking the bait, but speaking earnestly and fondly.

“Sorry, everyone, maybe we’ll hear babies crying or something though,” you spoke into the camera, “besides, you saw, I captured a shadow figure.”

“No more about the shadow figure,” Jongho chided, making you giggle a little at his motherly tut.

“Alright, good point,” you agree before turning out to the beds lining the room and setting your recorder on the floor, “if you have anything you want to say to us, if you’d like to please tell us your name, the recorder is right here, mamas.”

“And babies,” Jongho added. You weren’t sure if he was teasing or not, but you echoed him.

“Want to sing to the ghosts?”

Your ghost-hunting partner grinned. “And give you a free lullaby in the process?”

You snuggled a little deeper into your sleeping bag, listening to it rustle all around you as its warmth enveloped your body. “Maaaybe.”

Jongho couldn’t resist your cute tone, you could tell. Shaking his head with a smile, he scooted a little closer to your bag, sitting on top of his and singing one of his favorite ballads. You took in his side profile as he did so- man, he really was amazing, wasn’t he?

The only activity you got in that room was a small clip of what sounded like a little girl’s voice singing too. Right at the same time as a little light drifted near Jongho. That one just brought you a smile.

~

“‘Wow, that shadow totally looked like an arm! That’s so scary, (y/n), sorry your first apparition came that way!’” You read a comment off your channel page to Jongho. “See? They thought it looked like an arm grabbing out too.”

“I couldn’t really see anything, but I agree with the rest of their comment.”

“Oh, and look at this one,” you scrolled it up into his view, pointing at the screen, “‘The two of them are the cutest couple I swear’, with that emoji that looks like this (😫),” you imitated the face.

“I see it,” Jongho chuckled, shifting to rest his arm along the back of your office chair, “there’s a lot like that. Someone else said they watch us for the OTP, not the ghosts.”

“Oh, internet,” you rolled your eyes, sardonic grin widening, “apparently you were looking at me with heart eyes half the time, too.”

He snorted. “Someone else said the same thing about you! Something about it’s always the ones that bicker that are in love.”

Your eyes fell off the screen, drifting over from the harsh backlight to the sheen of its reflection in Jongho’s eyes. His bore right back into yours, those beautiful eyelashes fluttering. “Should we tell them?” You ask. “Our eighteen months is coming up soon.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jongho smirked before pulling your chair closer, leaning forward to completely seal the gap between you two. You followed suit, practically falling out of your chair and into his. When you pulled away, he wrapped an arm around your middle, letting you stay in his lap. “Besides, we might lose ratings if the OTP resolves now. I’ll just have to keep protecting you from all the spoooooky stuff.”

You smack his arm lightly. “That’s my line.”

“Well, you’re mine, so there,” he shot back, sticking his tongue out at you.

You just shook your head, heart feeling at ease in the amusement, in your little office, in Jongho’s hold. “I love you.”

“I love you too, even if you believe in campfire stories.”

For once, you didn’t take the bait, just wiggled a little deeper into his grasp and rested your hand over his.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #jongho #jongho x reader #jongho x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #spooky #fluff

[dobs]

this is a slightly doctored screenshot from when i made the local news for yellin at some cops while wearing my sweet ‘DEFUND THE POLICE’ t-shirt.

tl;dr: attend community meetings! yell at cops! shame those that are up to no good and do it in public!

context: my local pd announced a period for public commentary regarding planned expansions to their drone surveillance policy (!). a citizen group partnered with the police to host a meeting for community members to learn about the policy and provide feedback.

this, to me, seemed like an excellent opportunity to yell at some cops and maybe even prevent an already Not Good policy from getting Even Worse, so i went.

some additional context: i am new to town so i didn’t recognize the address of the event. i figured it was at like city hall or somewhere .. ‘neutral’ ? .. if that makes sense.

nope.

it was held at the center of a sprawling campus where they must do all the Serious Police Business or whatever it is they do when they’re not out in public killing minorities and family pets. cool.

even more, even better additional context: i showed up expecting, idk, like an auditorium Q&A setting where i could air my grievances in relative anonymity.

nope.

that. shit. was. i n t i m a t e.

i was the last to arrive and maybe 10 out of 30 seats were taken, so i picked an open seat next to some guy and sat down. two minutes later when he stood up to start the meeting i realized that, in addition to being just some guy, he was also the chief of police. coolcoolcoolcool.

the good news is my wardrobe and seating choices meant that the chief of police almost certainly noticed the sick grim reaper at the center of my ‘DEFUND THE POLICE’ shirt (a perfect shirt for any occasion btw, not just for yellin’ at cops).

the bad news is my shirt got cropped out of the news footage. oh and it turns out that they have absolutely zero obligation to actually incorporate feedback which gave the meeting this bizarro, almost performative vibe.

it’s.. it’s almost like wolves explaining to sheep that the sheep’s tax dollars are going to be used to fund a high-tech arial surveillance program that totally can’t be abused thanks to the Very Good Policy the wolves wrote to protect the sheep’s rights.

.. or, because cops don’t deserve to be compared to Cool Things like wolves, maybe it’s more like a cop explaining to a donut that the donut’s tax dollars are going to be used to fund a high-tech arial surveillance program that totally can’t be abused thanks to the Very Good Policy the cops wrote to protect the donut’s rights.

or something like that. i don’t know, i’m new to this and not very good yet. but i think that’s the point!

showing up and using your voice, even if you have no idea what you’re doing, is so, so, soo important.

seriously. just do it! don’t think too hard! just show up and start yellin’. it’s almost as good as therapy and it’s totally free!

#story time #yellin at cops #acab #defund the police #drone surveillance #policy #privacy #oversight #irl #real life #activism #long reads #long post #me

[simpy-reader-inserts]

Blood in the Water

Pairing: Plus size, Fem!Reader x Multi

Wordcount: 2900

Summary: A story about hitting rock bottom, in a world that only ever wanted you when you let them walk all over you, and then clawing your way back up out of pure spite.

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), Unreliable narrator, AFAB!Reader, Fem pronouns for reader, hints to past abuse, reader being an absolute pushover and not standing up for herself. Reader has a quirk!

Notes: This is for all the people out there who get nervous about answering the phone, ordering food in person and for those who dread having others disappointed in them. Don't worry though, while it may get worse for the reader at first, it does, and absolutely will, get better.

---

All through your life, you’d been a pushover, soft in every sense of the word.

Soft in appearance, soft spoken, and soft in temperament and actions.

Too soft for your own good, and you knew that all too well.

Ever since your quirk had manifested, people flocked to you whenever they needed help. First, it was the children you played with, small girls asking their friend to make their scrapes better.

“Y/N *sniff* Please?”

“Okay.”

“Can you please make it better??”

“Okay.”

“He HIT me Y/N! It hurts, please help?”

“…Okay.”

Then you were sought out by friends of friends, strangers even.

… was it really so strange that you took it up as a job after all that, because really, it was all you knew by now.

It was familiar, comfortable even.

You helped people, it was something you could manage, despite how nauseating the sight of fresh injuries could be sometimes.

--

Watching the dim, old TV as the same grainy video played yet again, you found yourself stuck in an awkward, embarrassment filled limbo. The talk show was relaying the events that had occurred earlier that day (for maybe the 3rd time)- the screen showing a painfully familiar woman frozen mid retreat, only her blurred figure standing out amongst the grainy footage.

‘As if today could get any worse.’

Growing frustrated at seeing yourself plastered all over the screen, you sighed loudly, trying in vain to get the old and battered remote to work as the scene started up again, the reporters agonising over the footage of the woman who managed to ‘land a hit’ on the Symbol of Peace.

“Stoooooooop!!” Furiously banging the remote against the side of the table, you flushed a bright red, your earlier embarrassment at todays events flaring up as you listened to the host on screen start speaking again.

“She absolutely bit him, though no one has been able to figure out why. I, for one, wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that man either!” The host drawled out, laughing with his co-star as they began to finally move onto another story. “Did he taste like sunshine, rainbows and all things good in the world? What do you think? Let us know over on our-”

“HE TASTED LIKE SWEAT, BAD DEODORANT, AND TOO MUCH SALT!” Your gritted out, finally getting the remote to work with one last thud against the table. You quickly changed the channel, trying in vain to ignore the heat still lingering in your cheeks as you tried to reason the days events away.

“Let’s just forget that happened okay. Good? Today didn’t happen. At all. Look, I’m sure if I just go and explain why I did that he’ll understand. Just go up and say ‘Hi, I’m sorry I bit you but you literally looked like death warmed over. It totally wasn’t a kink thing, I swear to god. Please don’t sue me!’”

Giving up on finding anything to distract yourself with, you fell back into your old chair, quickly bringing a pillow up as you pressed it to your face and screamed, the muffled sound echoing loudly around your apartment.

Nope.

That was not an option at all.

As you began to run out of breath, you lazily dragged the pillow off your face, your scream trailing off abruptly as you did so, your soft form sprawled across the seat lazily as you blankly stared ahead, regretting even stepping foot out of your home today.

“NO. Not happening. Seriously, what are the chances of me ever seeing him again anyway? I’ll just do as I usually do, and just stay under the radar. He’s a Hero. THE Hero. He’s-”

“-HERE!!”

And with that, your front door was kicked in, your body hastily moving to sit up with a squeak, watching in horror as the Number One Hero stood in the doorway, his large smile suddenly seeming very unnerving.

“…”

“I believe it’d be best if you came with me peacefully young lady.”

“…imsosorry.”

---

“It was an impulsive thing to do, I understand that and I really am sorry! He’s feeling fine right? Better than fine, you’ve seen him, he didn’t even look dead anymore- It was only a bite- and I didn’t even manage to break the skin. Can I go home, please?  I’m sorry. My roommates must be worried sick.” You mumbled out for the tenth time, your dishevelled form slumped over as you used your arms to cushion your head from the hard wood of the table you were seated at.

The room was quiet, plain, and only slightly chilly.

You were fine with that…..this was okay…

(dontcrydontcrydontcry)

You’d been at this for hours now, and though there were no windows in the room, you could tell it was getting late.

Why they took you to a school of all places to interrogate you, was far beyond your (very panicked) thought process at the moment. You were done with life, you just wanted to go find a hole to crawl into and disappear.

“You don’t have any roommates.”

And then if the room itself wasn’t bad enough, there was the man in the ungodly bright yellow sleeping bag. Just…sitting there in the corner. Watching you. Judging.

“…That may be so, sir… but the old lady living next to me will be very upset if I’m not home soon. Really, she would be.” ‘He’s staring into my soul….he can see every wrong I’ve ever done…oh Jesus please don’t let him have a mind reading quirk lalalalalalala-…’

A slight narrowing of his eyes had you stiffening in place, panicking as the drawstrings of the bag pulled tighter- only his pale, sleep deprived face left on display.

Like a very odd caterpillar...

‘So creepy…oh my god…’

“So, you have a healing Quirk?”  He questioned, his voice just as flat as his expression. “Explain.”

“I-I already did…”

“Not to me.”

(dontcrydontcrydontcry)

“All the details are in my file, I think? I was a Nurse? I’m registered to use it in emergencies!”

“And how does All Might walking in front of you count as an emergency?”

“Because he looked like death and I panicked? I’m sorry!”

“How-”

“- I think that’s enough for now! Let’s let the young girl rest!” Ahh, here was the cause of your problems, standing there in all his glory. First, he kicks down your door, then he drags you to a school without even giving you the chance to change out of your PJ’s, and then he ditches you and never looks back.

And here he is again, a slightly uncomfortable smile on his face as Aizawa stared him down for interrupting.

‘At least he’s not staring at me anymore…’ you sunk further into your seat, eyes wearily watching the two stare at each other, even subtle shift of their bodies making you even more uncomfortable- especially with how the air around them both hung heavy with faint wisps on untreated injuries….in Aizawa’s case anyway.

All Might still looked like he was carrying a fog machine with how heavily it hung around his body.

“Look, we need to figure out exactly what happened and why, All Might. We can’t have young women running around biting people, just for the hell of it.”

“No need to fear, I’m A-Okay! Miss Y/L/N apparently sensed that I was unwell yesterday- Recovery Girl has already looked me over and I’m better than I have been in weeks! Thank you again, young lady, but I’d have to ask you to refrain from doing so in the future. Other people may not be as agreeable as I am, and I would hate for anything to happen to you. It’s not good to go advertising that you have a quirk like this, especially since you have no hero training and aren’t signed onto an agency for protection!”

“R-Right…I can do that!” You muttered out, forcing a smile onto your face as you tried your best to just be agreeable and get this whole situation over with.

'You’re almost shrouded in death, so why are you lying?’ You’d bitten him hours ago now, and he still had a heavy air of illness. Of a severe injury. He’d have to have been hurt badly for your quirk to only heal him such a small amount…

But, that wasn’t something you should worry about.

You just needed to mind your own business and never think of today again.

(dontcry dontcry dontcry please)

“Can I…go now?” You hesitantly asked, your shoulders slumping forward as both men fixed their gazes on one another, a silent conversation happening above your head.

“Okay, fine, we’ll be in touch though. We may have further…questions for you later on.” Aizawa finally spoke, though he didn’t sound happy about it in the least. The disapproval in his voice had goosebumps raising along your arms, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to make your smile seem even a little bit more genuine.

“Alright, okay I can do that, I’m sure you already have my number.” Two nods greeted your words, and with them went any hope of a quiet life in the city. “Great! Wonderful! Perfect!”

“Have a lovely day Miss.” All Might smiled down at you, holding the door open as you nervously walked by him, the security guard outside already waiting to escort you out.

“I will, thank you… Sorry again about the biting thing…” And with that, you got the hell out of dodge, running as fast as your legs could take you away from that school.

I’m going to go home, pass out for 10 hours and hope they sent someone to fix my door…

Oh god I hope my landlord understands…

---

You were a puzzle.

A nurse who hated blood, who cringed away from illness, who apologized too much, who only helped so much…

Especially when you could have done so much more, …at least according to others who stood back and watched your every move.

‘Legal issues’, your superiors had claimed.

“We can’t have a nurse who has to bite people to do her job. You’re a wonderful woman Y/N, a wonderful nurse, but that can only help the situation so much.”

You didn’t use your quirk though, you’d gone to school and trained right along side every other person without a healing quirk.

“Okay.”

But as always, it was the cause of your problems.

“I’m sorry, I really am. You’re a wonderful employee, but unless you sign on to an agency, we can’t keep you here. People will claim we’re trying to exploit you, or that we’re willingly holding you back from helping the heroes who need you more.”

“…Okay. I understand. I’m sorry.”

It was always about the heroes in the end, wasn’t it?

--

You tried.

You always tried.

You tried your hardest to be enough for those around you, to give them whatever they needed to make them happy.

But it always came back to the heroes.

Every time someone found out about your quirk, they asked you why?

Why aren’t you employed with an agency? (You didn’t want to be used. Passed around. Only seen for your quirk…. It was already too late for that, but you could always dream.)

Why weren’t you there when an attack happened? You could have saved people! (You didn’t do well in high stress situations…too many people, too many smells, too much blood and you could barely see a foot in front of you if enough people were dying or gravely injured.)

“Why? Y/N, why aren’t you helping?”

“I tried to.” But you weren’t good enough. You weren’t Recovery girl, you couldn’t kiss things better and heal it in an instant.

You…you had to bite, you had to rip and grind your teeth and be uncomfortable with the taste of iron on your tongue for your quirk to do anything more than act as a painkiller- as a temporary solution to a bigger problem that could literally leave you blind to the area around you.

But, your comfort was unimportant to those higher up in the world, and those around you quickly followed suit and took on the same viewpoint, damning your ‘lack of care’

Heroes needed you, they said.

You need to get certified, they cried.

Join an agency and do as your told, they demanded.

You’d never be a hero.

But you were a pushover.

A damn pushover.

(but this…this was the one thing you’d never sway on.)

---

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “Ah, Miss Y/L/N, this is To-All Might! It Is I! I seem to have missed you again- if you could please return our call, we have a few matters to discuss at your earliest con-” *BEEEP* “No, I didn’t mean to press that, what-” *BEEEP*

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “Hello, is this Y/N? This is Midnight calling from U.A – We’ve been trying to contact you for the past few days with no response. If you could please call back, it’d be appreciated.”

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “This is Aizawa, call us back.”

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “That was your last chance.”

--

The days since your ‘visit to the school’ had been hell.

First you almost lost your apartment, only a hero’s word being your saving grace as your landlord fumed about the busted door, still billing you heavily for the replacement.

You were already short on cash, but handed it over anyway after he started hinting at their being ‘other ways’ to repay him.

Then, you ate your way through the week’s groceries way faster than your budget allowed- the healing you’d done on All Might having been more draining than you’d first assumed if your appetite was anything to go by.

And now? You’d just realized you’d lost your phone. How long ago? You had no idea, you never used the thing, it was way too old to do more than call with. But the fact was, you’d lost it, and it was necessary for today’s plans.

You frantically looked around, your body sprawled out over your couch as you rummaged through the gap behind it, desperately looking for your phone, the space around you torn apart in your search.

‘Where is it?? God, I have an interview in an hour, please just-’

There was a sudden loud bang as your house shook, your front door embedding itself within the wall behind it as a tall figure loomed where it once stood, backlit as a foggy haze seemed to seep into your home around him.

“I AM HERE!”

Of course.

“…my door…oh god, I’ll be evicted for sure this time…”

“AH, Miss Y/L/N! There you are, we’ve been trying to contact you! I was afraid something had happened after Aizawa informed me that you hadn’t contacted us back, so I rushed over to check on you…I…apologise about your door. Rest assured I’ll have someone fix it.”

“That’s…, well, that’s …”

That wasn’t okay.

This was your home, and he’d invaded it twice now…though to be fair, the first time was understandable.

But this…

“Wonderful! Now, if you’ll come with me, we require your presence for a meeting.”

“H-Huh? What, I can’t- I have an interview! For a job! A job I need! I need it very much-”

“Miss Y/L/N, please rest assured that you’ll be compensated for your time. We’ll send someone over to inform the person interviewing you what has happened and arrange another date for you.” His voice was softer than it usually was, still deep, but understanding and insistent that you listen to him.

Must be from all the years of talking to the victims of villain attacks.

“Is she listening?” Came a tired voice from outside. Ah, sleeping bag man. Gosh you hoped your neighbour didn’t see them come up, she’d never drop the subject- having TWO men at your home Y/N?? How scandalous!

“Please, my friend, give her a moment, this is very sudden.”

“It wouldn’t be sudden if she’d answered her damn phone.”

“Just…Can I meet you later on? I’m sorry, I need this job…” You cut in, taking a deep breath as you tried to calm yourself down, desperately trying to fight off a nervous sweat in hops of staying presentable for your interview.

“Please Miss Y/L/N, I don’t mean to push, but we need to talk.”

They weren’t really asking, you could tell. This was all for show- like so many times before.

You’d always assumed that All Might would be different than the others.

“…okay…” You suddenly felt very small, but that was right, wasn't it?

This was the Number One Hero.

How could you say no to him?

You had no ground to deny him this, especially since he’d already started leading you from the apartment without another word.

You were a Pushover.

And sometimes, in a small part of your mind that you tried your best to ignore, you hated that people took advantage of that fact.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #all might x reader #toshinori yagi x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #this chapter is a little vague on a few things like the readers quirk but that's intentional and will be fleshed out soon #smut #minors dni #bnha #mha #plus size reader

[ripple-and-tide]

So this morning a staffmate told me about the recent Miami Zoo Kiwi incident that’s come to light, and I’ve been fucking livid all day.

Just been reading through a bunch of articles (majority NZ news sources) and the Zoo’s official statement, and somehow it’s even worse than what my irate coworker was able to convey to me. Miami Zoo had the absolute fucking privilege of receiving a (North Isl. Brown (?)) kiwi egg to hatch and raise as a species you would never normally see outside our little island at the bottom of the world as part of a some global zoo wildlife initiative.

Brief brief summary: viral videos coming out of this kiwi (Paora) being put on a table and patted by paying customers under bright lights, having selfies taken, made to run around during the day, keeper pursuing him whenever he tried to hide in his box. All around blasé attitude from keeper talking about this bird while he’s being paraded about on display. There’s video footage but I could seriously only stomach watching it once. He’s been there for 4 years and in the wake of this outrage they’re claiming to be building him a ‘proper enclosure’ now. He’s been handled like this at least 4 times a week and his current enclosure has been 3x3m.

They had access to super fucking detailed information on how to take care of this very sensitive and specialized animal, and what the fuck do they do? Disregard ALL of it to sell cutesy, ~rare bird~, self-obsessed animal encounters.

Either you knowingly and intentionally went against SO. MUCH. vital animal husbandry or you are just such a fuckwit you legitimately think it was good animal handling, I don’t know which is worse honestly. If it’s the former, congratulations; American Capitalism continues to be the most nasty, disrespectful piece of shit I see regularly parading about in broad daylight. If it’s the latter, then are your staff for real just exotic pet-obsessed freaks who showed up one day in a uniform and you just went ‘yeah sure you can be a zookeeper good enough’. Shoutout to that ‘keeper’ who had Paora’s head pinned to the fucking table with his fist going ‘hohoh yeah he’s just like a dog he loves being pat on the head’ yeah sure thing idiot I bet your zookeeper degree taught you all animals and birds especially just love being slapped around and treated like dogs.

The thing that’s got me the most though, is how over the top and pitiful they are being in their apology; “we’ve offended a nation...”, “it should have never happened”, “we are so sorry this video has caused stress to people”, ok yeah but fuck what we think why is there exactly ZERO mention of the stress, harm and sheer exploitation you have put this animal through??? Like yes, Paora is a taonga species and that is certainly adding to the severity of this response, but in and of itself the fact that their official statement answers ONLY to humans’ responses and outrage and not the failure to care for this animal is telling as fuck to me.

I really liked reading iwi leader Paora Haitana’s response (who Paora the kiwi is named after), in much nicer words than me expressing deep concern over the harm to Paora, the disrespect it is to him as a taonga species and us as protectors of them, and also heavy, heavy emphasis on words holding no shape under the weight of everything that has happened; they need to follow through and follow through right now with adequate care.

Personally I’d like to see Paora moved to a zoo that actually cares about his needs and conservation education over selling clickbait. I feel the love and intention of bringing him home to Aotearoa, though I don’t know how realistic that is with the risk of introducing diseases from abroad into the NZ populations. I also would expect a thorough investigation of Zoo Miami’s husbandry for all their species and the credentials of their staff.

Thanks for coming along to rant o’ clock, I’ll be back to reblogging regular fandom shit now so please don’t follow me if you’re expecting more of my own content lol. Enjoy some great twitter banter from this mess

#zoo miami #miami zoo #zoo miami kiwi #Paora #paora the kiwi #animal husbandry #aotearoa #nz #kiwi #kiwi bird #taonga #taonga species #cw animal abuse #shoutout to that brilliant blog article #titled 'miami zoo to stop deranged treatement of kiwi' #or something to that note #like thank you THANK YOU please say it louder

[road-rhythm]

For the record, if somebody accuses you of being heinous in whatever way because you write fiction they don’t like, or tag fiction in a way they don’t like, or ship fictional characters in a way they don’t like, you don’t have to rebut them. It’s tempting to, for sure—nobody enjoys unfairness—but you don’t have to. That is, obviously you don’t owe anything to whoever is accusing you, but far more importantly, nobody you need to take seriously is going to expect you to rebut shit.

You don’t have to respond to accusations that are stupid on their face.

Someone showing up in your inbox, or railing on your timeline, or ranting in your AO3 comments about these things is the internet equivalent of a stranger accosting you on the street and saying, “You son of a bitch, you’re wearing chartreuse. Prove to me you don’t paint innocent cows green in the night.” That is not a thing you need to defend yourself against unless somebody shows up at your house with a warrant, CCTV footage, and a really unhappy cow.

This holds true no matter what the fiction is about or what the tags are or what the relationship between the fictional characters happens to be like. Especially anything that’s going to come after a phrase like, “Yeah, mostly, but I draw the line at….”

#discourse for ts #moral panics about fiction