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daycourtofficial · 4 months

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I Know Something You Don’t Know

Summary: Everyone else finds out you and Azriel are expecting a baby before you and Azriel do.

Author’s note: this is something? Isk where it came from, just went with it.

Cassian loved calm mornings. Coming home from training, cleaning up, and enjoying a few hours of calm to himself. He usually just lounges about the house, in various rooms, soaking in the silence, thinking about his day, his family, anything really.

He was sure this was to be one of those mornings, until he hears you bustling down the stairs in a quick pace.

Upon seeing Cassian at the table, calmly eating his array of sausages and bacon, you give him a nod.

The general laughs at his brother’s mate, whose arms are full of supplies to do mother knows what.

“Do you still have a body under all that stuff or are you just a tent with legs now?” He asks, laughing.

“Har har,” you reply, walking briskly through the room, “I told my nephews I’d teach them how to set up a tent and I’m running late. Can you open the door for me?”

Cassian rises, obliging your request. He loved ribbing you, but he also adored you as a person and as Azriel’s mate. You and Feyre were the best people to have as in-laws, a sentiment his brothers likely don’t share about his own mate.

“Well, I hope you all have a great time camping, don’t get eaten by any bears, please.” He says, opening the door for you.

“Ah, we’ll just be in my sister’s backyard camping, but it’ll be loads of fun. See you later, Cass!” You say, walking through the door.

Once the door is shut behind you, Cassian freezes as your scent lingers in the doorway. Your usual scent, of course, with a very soft, delicate undertone of flowers mixed in. So soft, he didn’t notice it while you were here.

Pregnant.

Cassian got the relaxing morning he thought he would. No one else came back to the house for several hours, an opportunity Cassian would usually relish and take delight in. Today his thoughts would only allow him to think of his brother and you and your babe.

His first thought was if Azriel knew, and knowing his brother, if he had any inclination you were pregnant, he wouldn’t have let you leave alone.

When the two of you mated, Azriel was insufferable. He was certain you would die from suffocation due to his hovering. On your first time seeing everyone after the frenzy, Cassian went to hug you and Azriel growled at him. You were incredibly patient and understanding, recognizing that it came from a mixture of his instincts to protect and his fear of anything happening to you.

It got so bad at one point you started bringing a spray bottle and would spray him when he was being too territorial.

Nesta and Feyre had walked into the house to find Cassian sitting at the table, pulling on his hair, a mixture of excitement and concern on his face. It was obvious he’d been sitting there for hours, his long forgotten breakfast gone cold hours ago.

“Cass, are you alright?” Feyre asks, coming to sit next to him.

Feyre’s voice breaks him out of his stupor, “Pregnant,” is all he can muster.

Fwyre looks at Nesta, “no no, not me,” Nesta replies, sniffing the air, “not you either.”

Feyre looks back at Cassian, “are you the pregnant one, Cass?”

“Azriel is.”

Feyre’s smirk drops from her face, “w-what?”

“Well okay not Azriel, but she is. She’s pregnant. They’re having a baby!”

Cassian feels ten pounds lighter being able to share this with someone. He jumps from his chair, standing in front of Feyre and Nesta.

“They’re having a baby, and neither of them know it.”

This day was absolutely rubbish for Azriel. Boring meetings, messy work, and stupid paperwork had him leaving early and staying incredibly late. All he wanted was to come home, eat dinner, and lay in bed with you on top of him.

He walked into the doors of the house, not expecting to find anyone, let alone finding his whole family in the foyer bickering like children.

“Okay but where will the banner go!” Cassian yelled at Mor.

“We already have a banner, we don’t need yours!”

“Yeah but I hand painted mine! I want them to know I was the first to know and that I’m the most excited for them!”

Feyre scoffs at Cassian, “if you’re the most excited, then why have Rhys and I already hired a team of nursemaids and nannies and have been gathering nursery supplies all day?”

Cassian rolls his eyes at his sister in law and high lady, “okay fine, you’ve spent the most money on the child, but I’ll teach them how to fly and all the best swear words.”

Mor starts to rebuttle, “yeah but I’ll be the best aunt, we’ll go shopping and,” she pauses, the first to notice Azriel’s return home, “Az, you’re home.”

All eyes snap to Azriel in the doorway, and he is no closer to figuring out what he’s looking at. Balloons are strewn about, as are streamers, there’s confetti, cakes, and what look like two banners that he can’t see what they say.

“What’s all this? Is it someone’s birthday?” He asks, walking forward and swiping some icing off a cake as Elain tuts at him and swats his hand.

“Uh,” Cassian replies, “it will be someone’s birthday.”

Azriel looks at him, “what does that mean?”

Cassian walks towards his brother, his arms outstretched, clamping down on his shoulders.

Looking him the eye, Cassian says, “do not freak out in that Azriel way you do when big things happen.”

Azriel scoffs, trying to shrug off Cassian’s hands. “I do not ‘freak out’,” his last words in air quotes.

Cassian continues speaking, “yeah says the guy who hid for two weeks when the mating bond snapped for him.”

Azriel opens his mouth to argue, but Cassian continues. “Speaking of, I saw your lovely mate as she left this morning.”

Azriel looks at Cassian, waiting for him to continue. “And after she left I realized there was a… scent.”

Azriel stiffens, his instincts kicking in as he responds, “what kind of scent?”

Cassian immediately shuts down Azriel’s thoughts, “whoa nothing like that, no. She’d never smell like another male, she’s too obsessed with you. No, it was a-a baby. She’s pregnant.”

As Cassian’s words were registering in his brain, Mor slowly lifted the banner so he could see that it said “Congratulations Bat Baby!”

Azriel looks at Cassian, deep-rooted fear of allowing his hopes to rise just to have them taken from him, “you’re sure? Absolutely sure?”

Cassian, unable to gauge Azriel’s reaction, replies with a quick, “yes.” Azriel wastes no time, sweeping Cassian up into a hug, lifting him off the ground. This show of affection was abnormal for Az, especially initiated by him, but Cassian gladly enjoys the moment.

Cassian can feel Azriel laughing into his chest as he sets him down, and everyone in the room is smiling at him, feeling his joy.

Azriel looks at Cassian, “but wait - do all of us know? Except for her?”

Cassian looks a bit sheepish, “well… maybe?”

Walking back towards the house, you walk through the open markets of Velaris, loving the smells of all the flowers and fresh bread. Walking through the vendors, several of them stop you, giving you gifts. You try to decline them, unable to accept their flowers, their chocolates, their breads. But they won’t let you give them back, and they absolutely refuse to allow you to pay for the gifts.

“I can’t just take these without paying!” You tell one vendor you frequent, Lila.

Lila scoffs at you, “it is called a gift! Have you never received one before?”

You roll your eyes, “of course I have, but this is different-“

Lila interrupts you, “it is not different. This is a gift. Accept it. Congratulations.”

You look at her in bewilderment, but a customer comes in at that moment and takes Lila’s attention. You walk through the market, your arms full of gifts from the vendors you frequent, confused as to why you have them.

You walk up the steps into the townhouse, toeing open the door after spending several minutes trying to find your keys.

“Honey?” You call out, removing your keys from the door. “The people of Velaris have gone nuts.”

You start making your way into the living room, still carrying what feels like 50 pounds of flowers. “They kept giving me things. We have like 20 bouquets and 10 loaves of bread!”

You feel him approach, helping grab things out of your arms and setting them down. “Did something happen and I missed it? Lila even congratulated me-“ Your words stop as you see the banners over the doorway.

“CONGRATULATIONS BAT BABY!” in beautiful writing, with little bats painted all over it.

Another one reads, “CONGRATS ON THE BAT!”

One written in what appears to be Cassian’s handwriting says, “I’M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE!”

You look at Azriel, still not understanding. “What’s happening?” You finally take a good look at him, and he is on the verge of crying.

“When you left this morning, Cassian smelled you. I didn’t want to get too excited until I smelled you myself, but oh gods.”

He wraps you in his arms, deeply inhaling you. “You’re pregnant,” he laughs into your shoulder.

“Pregnant?” You ask him, clearly not having heard him correctly.

You and Azriel stopped taking contraceptives a few years ago, knowing it would probably be a century before you had a baby of your own.

“Me? Pregnant?” He laughs, “yes.”

He pauses, thinking about something. “Is this still something you want? We jumped the gun a bit with the decorating, but I assumed because we talked before.” He looks into your eyes, “if you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay. We’ll figure something out. It’s-“

You cut him off, “I haven’t changed my mind, I’m just..” you trail off, looking around you, “amazed I’m the last one to know!”

The both of you laugh, Azriel grabbing your face and kissing you deeply. When you pull away, all of the inner circle has winnowed in, Cassian shooting off confetti.

“Surprise!” They all yell, laughing. The joy thrumming through the bond with Azriel is all consuming from both ends, and you’re sure everyone around you can feel it.

Cassian approaches you, embracing you in a big hug. He kisses the top of your head, then crouches down so he’s eye level with your stomach.

“Hi Cassian Jr.” he says. Azriel scoffs, pushing him so he falls on the floor.

“What? I figured it out, I get naming rights!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, dummy.” Mor tells him, giving him a pointed look as she sweeps you into a hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says, pulling back to look at you. “Me too,” you tell her. She looks at Azriel, who has let the happiness fade enough for his instincts to kick in, “not happy to deal with him during your pregnancy.”

You laugh, “it’ll be a miracle if he lets me leave the house.” He scoffs, as if he’d ever let you out of his sight again.

Feyre approaches you, cradling Nyx in her arms. “They’ll be, what, a year and a half apart?” You smile at her, cooing at the baby in her arms. “They’re going to be best friends,” you tell her.

All of you spend the evening laughing, drinking, eating all the sweets Elain baked, and soaking in all the joy from the newest addition to the family.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff

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perlelune · 2 months

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Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your hands quake around the bucket of mice as you stand above the terrarium. The bright-skinned creatures inside writhe around, in anticipation of their next meal. You peer inside the metal bucket at the little mice with their cute whiskers and beady eyes. Your heart twinges. They will soon meet their end, courtesy of you. But what else can be done? The snakes need to eat. Because if they were not fed, the colorful reptiles would break through the glass in search of the food they were denied. You used to have nightmares of it as a child. The lab crawling with snakes, their neon scales filling every corner.

Natural order restored as every warm-blooded creature in their vicinity turns into prey.

You suppress a shudder. While that never happened, you can’t erase the slight chill dancing through your bones whenever you approach the terrarium.

Other lab assistants have offered to take on the task, noting your discomfort. You’ve turned each of them down. Mother has given you this job ten years ago. A gift, she called it. More of a challenge quite frankly. A way to test your nerves, that she always deemed too delicate. She never expected you to go through with it. “Hippity, hoppity, little one,” she mockingly sang that day as you fidgeted before the ceiling-high glass case filled with snakes to the brim. Their scales were a deep green back then. Nothing like the pink, yellow and blue shades they don today. A plethora of mutations throughout the years has made them what they are now.

You tip the bucket against the edge of the glass case, abandoning the poor rodents to their fates. The reptiles are quick to dive upon them in a heap. The mice’s helpless squeaks reach a peak, piercing your ears until they’re silenced quickly. You watch, stomach tight while the snakes open their maws and swallow the furred animals whole. The spectacle will never sit well with you.

Still, you school your features and steady your heart. Mother’s voice echoes through your head.

Emotions are a weakness. They must be harnessed, contained.

Harnessing your emotions. A feat you could never achieve. One that makes you a failed experiment in Mother’s eyes. A waste of space. A disappointment.

You start climbing down the ladder to gather more mice from their cages. Your insides clutch at the prospect of gently picking them up only to escort them to a sorrowful fate.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted when voices erupt from the other end of the long hall.

Recognizing them, you freeze. Panic floods your veins. You haste down the ladder, the bucket clattering as you discard it on the floor.

You scurry inside the nearest office and duck beneath a table.

The voices grow in the lab. You eavesdrop, allowing you to catch snippets of the conversation. They’re discussing Mother’s latest experiments with the Avox subjects. One succumbed to a chromosome translocation with a wolf mutt. The finer details of replacing the subject and what can be learned from the results are discussed in cold, clinical fashion. No regard for what was a human life, now lost, is granted. The Avox was nothing more than a slab of meat meant for slaughter. The slow, barbaric kind.

Ice seeps through your veins. You loathe visiting that room, the one displaying Mother’s human experiments on unfortunate Avoxes. Their beseeching gazes. Their warped pleas parroted by the jabberjays above them. You almost passed out every time you were tasked with monitoring their electrolyte status or switching their intravenous tubes.

Head rising from under the desk, you allow yourself a peek.

Mother’s here, of course. You recognized her voice right away. Then, there’s…him.

You let your gaze rest on him, never having the chance to observe him like that. Steal a glance from the back of the lecture hall. Get a glimpse of him amidst his crowd of friends, always in his element of course, owning every room he’s in.

Never before did you get to just look at him.

The first thing that strikes you is how beautiful he is. Handsome in that dazzling way the pretty boys in the sappy books smuggled from the Districts your mother berates you for reading are.

She calls them stupid. For you however, they are your only escape from the dismal humdrum of the Capitol. Fictional worlds that shield you from the harshness of reality. Your saving grace.

Platinum locks combed back from his face. Eyes as blue as the sky. Sharp, angular features.

Coriolanus Snow.

Behind the safety of the glass panel, openly admiring him is easier. In fact, you find it almost hard to peel your eyes away.

No wonder half the girls in your cohort can’t stop gushing about him, how there’s an irresistible, slight air of danger hovering around him since his brief time as a peacekeeper. Even Io Jasper noticed it. And Io never notices anything that she can’t wedge between two glass slides and examine under a microscope.

Awe mingles with envy in your chest. This is who your mother chose as her unofficial successor. The worthy, cool-headed apprentice she has yearned for years. She’s been through so many people, each more eager to please and impress than the last. None ever fit. Not even you. Especially not you. Nobody except for him.

No one had ever passed your mother’s crooked tests before Coriolanus Snow came along.

Blue eyes travel upward, the Snow heir seeming to sense the scrutiny upon him.

“Is someone here?” he says, pushing forward.

Your pulse quickens at the sound of Coriolanus Snow’s deep voice, disturbingly close. You crouch to hide from view.

Mother’s exasperated breath reaches you from behind the glass panel.

“Don’t worry. It’s probably my daughter. I’m afraid she’s quite useless,” she says matter-of-factly.

Your heart sinks. Face warm with embarrassment, you shrink beneath the desk. You bring your knees to your chest. Hearing such words shouldn’t affect you. Not after all these years. Yet it does. A pointed reminder that you can never measure up. That you’re a glaring mistake, lucky to even be allowed to wander the halls of the Citadel and be given a semblance of responsibility, however small.

That you’re not enough, will never be enough.

That you should never have been brought into the world.

After getting caught, you file away your embarrassment and make yourself small. Even smaller than usual. It's not too hard. When you aren’t working at the lab, your schedule consists of attending lectures and studying for long hours at the library. It keeps you busy enough to find excuses to skip a few hours at the lab. After all, midterms are only a few weeks away. They require your entire focus. You can’t fail and add more of a shameful stain to Mother’s name.

It’s why you ramped up your studying since the Academy. You were painfully average then, tragically unremarkable, not even ranking high enough to get your own tribute to mentor in the tenth Hunger Games. The shriveling stare she cast upon you the day of the reaping after Dean Highbottom failed to speak your name is burned into your mind forever. That day, you failed Mother again. You swore to yourself to never let it happen again afterwards.

This year, you will study harder, until your eyes fall off if necessary. If you can pass every class with flying colors and perhaps even aim for the valedictorian spot, you can prove Mother that your existence isn’t a complete and utter waste. It might be a lofty goal for you, but you’ve been ranking higher with every test these last few weeks.

For days, your path does not cross Coriolanus Snow’s again. Your peace is maintained. You get to almost forget how piercing his blue eyes were that day, even from behind the glass panel.

Today, you don’t expect things to veer away from your usual routine. You sit in the back of the lecture hall as is your habit. Students pour inside at a sluggish pace while you peruse your notes from the previous class. They barely make sense, even to you. Defense economics has never been your favorite subject, possibly your most hated in fact, and paying attention during Professor Cloudsbane’s class is even more of a challenge. More than once, you dozed off, the complicated concepts struggling to fully sink into your mind.

Keeping up with this class is twice as much work than all the other ones. Even Mother’s bioengineering and military strategy courses do not give you so much grief. Concepts she’s drilled into you since childhood are easier to digest.

Which is why you’re flabbergasted when the results of last week’s test are passed around and you receive yours. In disbelief, you blink at the paper multiple times.

It’s the highest grade you’ve gotten the entire semester. Possibly the highest one in the class. You bask in the private, secret victory. You’re always so behind. You plan on enjoying that tiny moment. You hug the test to your chest, a smile creeping upon your lips.

“So what score did you get?”

Your head whips up, the sudden voice startling you out of your thoughts.

Bright cobalt orbs fill your sight.

You gape in disbelief. Coriolanus Snow.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize he and his group of friends have elected to occupy the seats in the row before yours today. You’re stunned. They’re usually sitting somewhere in the middle of the hall, not quite at the front but close enough so that Clemensia can comfortably harass the professor with a ceaseless string of questions as she’s known to do.

“So?” he asks again. His eyes dart down. “Your grade?”

Your throat knots as you gawk at him. When you don’t reply, he huffs out a laugh and swipes the piece of paper from your hand. You’re too flabbergasted by his actions to even react.

Empty hands hanging before you, you watch him purse his lips as he inspects your paper.

“Hm, top grade. Figured.” His eyes twinkle. “Expected from Dr. Gaul’s daughter, I suppose.”

“You almost had it, Coryo. But she beat you,” Clemensia teases, wiggling her eyebrows. Meanwhile, Ivy Briarose, Clemensia’s close friend, giggles at her comment.

You steal a glance at his test; he’s holding it next to yours. Surprise surges through you. There’s only half a point between your grade and his. Just half a point…but still. Coriolanus always aces Professor Cloudsbane’s tests. Him getting the top grade is often expected. But this time, the Snow heir falls behind…you.

You can hardly believe it. A sliver of pride flutters through you. The fruits of your labor are beginning to show.

“If you don’t watch out, she’ll steal the top student spot from you,” Livia chimes in. You can tell the blonde is reveling in this, that strange animosity between her and Coriolanus on full display.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks, his tight-lipped smile unfaltering as he studies you.

“I suppose she could,” he utters softly. Despite his tranquil expression and the smile pulling his lips, a peculiar unease settles in your bones. You shift in your chair, goosebumps blooming across your flesh.

He hands you your test back without a word. You’re relieved when he turns and the class starts.

Still, even with his back turned, the weight of his sizzling scrutiny doesn’t part from your skin.

The class proceeds, the words pouring from your professor’s lips a befuddling heap in your ears as usual. You jot everything down, acutely aware you’ll need several hours if not more than that to decipher everything he said. Your mind already throbs at the prospect.

You sneak a glance at the row in front of you. It’s mostly filled with the top students, most of them mentors that last year at the Academy. Some of them aren’t even taking notes. Only Coriolanus sporadically does. He appears to have no issue keeping up with this class, unlike you who drowned in the first few minutes.

You’re relieved when the lecture reaches its end. Your mind is on the cusp of overflow. You desperately need a break.

You pick up your things and rush to the exit. In the hallway, some guy bumps into you from behind, sending the books in your arms flying across the floor. He doesn’t say anything to you and you bend to pick up your books. Tears press behind your eyes. This is nothing. It shouldn’t make you blink back tears. It’s not the first time someone’s treated you like you were invisible.

“Hey, apologize.”

Your eyes drift skyward. Stumped, you watch Coriolanus grip the boy who bumped into you by his shoulder.

“What?” the guy replies, confusion scrunching his features.

“You bumped into her. I said ‘apologize’,” Coriolanus articulates, as if he were addressing a particularly slow child. When the guy tries to leave, rolling his eyes, the blond squeezes him tighter. Tension flickers in the air. They trade looks and doubts creep on the guy’s face, his face blanching.

He clears his throat and whirls to you.

“Sorry,” he blurts out.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

He turns, likely hoping to leave again, but Coriolanus tuts him, pointing at your books, still scattered across the floor.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he says, arching his brow.

The guy unleashes a sigh but hunkers down to collect all of your books. He gives them to you in a neat pile as you stare at the spectacle, mouth agape.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

He nods and saunters off, avoiding Coriolanus’ eyes.

Coriolanus grabs your hand, helping you to your feet. The pads of his fingers are rougher than you expect, calluses pressing against your soft skin. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you rise.

You’re not sure what to say, your nerves flaring beneath his stare. But you suppose you should thank him. While you struggle standing up for yourself, he just did it for you. So you mumble the words under your breath and begin heading in the opposite direction.

With his long legs, Coriolanus easily keeps up with your hasty strides. Your heart skips a beat as he falls in step with you.

“I feel strange asking this but…” He leans above your shoulder to whisper, “Are you avoiding me?”

“I-I’m not,” you stammer, your pulse racing with the lie.

The blond chuckles.

“You’re walking awfully fast for someone who’s not avoiding me.”

“I’m just running late to my next class.”

“What about your mom’s lab?” he challenges. “You were hiding from me, weren’t you?”

Your lips tighten. If only he’d drop it. You don’t want to revisit that awkward moment. Everything about it makes your stomach ache.

“I…wasn’t,” you lie, your voice barely above a breath. Your face warms as a smile plays upon Coriolanus’ lips. You halt in your tracks, hugging your books against your chest as you pivot to him. You bashfully meet his gaze. “I was just a little spooked.”

He tilts his head, mirth swimming in his cobalt orbs.

“Spooked? By me? Do I scare you, angel?”

The pet name, uttered like a caress, sets your heart aflutter.

“No,” you mutter. Another lie. And it’s like he’s picked up on it, his soft, pink lips stretching even more.

“It wasn’t nice what she said,” he says abruptly.

You blink in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Dr. Gaul, about you. It wasn’t nice.”

You shrug. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

He approaches you. The scent of his pricey cologne engulfs your senses. It’s masculine but the faint scent of roses lingers underneath, as if stubbornly clinging to him.

His voice lowers, his gaze entrapping yours.

“It’s not fine. You work so hard to make her see you. You’re a good daughter.” You don’t realize his hand’s moved to your face until one of his fingers traces the curve of your cheek. Your heart races at the sudden touch. Coriolanus’ thumb drags down to your chin, his attention landing on your bottom lip. He smiles. “Hard work should be praised, rewarded even.”

Disarmed by his closeness and the strange words rolling off his tongue, you retreat.

You readjust the books between your arms.

“I s-should go. My next class is about to start.”

His words interrupt you.

“Hey, why don’t you have lunch with me and the others today?”

Your stomach clutches. You think about Coriolanus’ usual crowd, a bunch of kids from wealthy, influential families, popular and revered. Clemensia Dovecote. Livia Cardew. Ivy Briarose. Hilarius Heavensbee. Festus Creed. Most of them now hold the admiration of their peers for having survived the chaos the Tenth Hunger Games were.

You’d never fit in with them. In fact, you never did. Coriolanus must know that. Is he trying to punish you for eavesdropping on his conversation with your mother the other day?

“I-I never talked to any of them,” you answer, panic swelling in your gut.

His brows crumple. “If you don’t talk to anyone, you’ll never make friends.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need friends,” you retaliate.

“It’s always useful, having friends,” he rasps. “The right connections, they can get you far.”

You anxiously roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m not good at…making conversation.”

“We’re having a conversation now,” he says, laughing.

As you mull over what he just said, a small smile tugs your lips.

“I guess we are.”

His gaze sharpens. “That’s a pretty smile. I’d love to see it more often.”

His low, soft voice sends chills through your spine.

Coriolanus’ long lashes droop as he gauges your expression.

“I’d be disappointed if I didn't see your face, angel.”

You fidget, your eyes sinking to the floor before rising to meet his again.

“I don’t know if that’s okay… for me to show up like that.”

“I’m inviting you, so of course it’s okay.”

He speaks like it’s a given, like whatever he says goes. His confidence unsettles you.

You fall quiet, weighing your options. There’s something in Coriolanus’ silky voice that makes it hard to say no, but you’d hate being the unwanted guest at the popular kids’ table.

Still, the expectation on his face makes you not want to let him down.

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter belatedly.

A broad smile spreads on his handsome face.

“Perfect. See you at lunch then, angel.”

As he strolls away, your feet remain glued to the floor, your mind lingering in disbelief of what just occurred.

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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punkclowngod · 11 months

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I don’t think I’ve talked much about having a service dog on here, but maybe I should

Boom used to be my service dog, I got him the summer before my last year of high school bcuz I needed a nurse 24/7 to ensure I could eat/sleep/stay alive due to a recent very traumatizing event in my life and my mom came up with the service dog idea.

Getting him was hard. And expensive. No trainers were up to my standards. I, who could barely take care of myself, had to train my own dog. The problem is no matter how hard I worked, my own family or other trainers would ruin it all by messing up my commands, by letting my dog do things I had trained him not to do. It wasn’t training anymore, I ended up simply having breakdowns because everyone kept ruining my dog. People close to me thought they could be an exception to the rules I had taught my MEDICAL AID because surely my DOG would learn the difference between them and strangers.

Eventually I brought him to school. Printed papers explaining what a service dog was and how to behave around him and I plastered them all over the place.

People barked at him, petted him, tried to grab his attention.

His harness was hot pink, patches and signs on it that very clearly said “DO NOT TOUCH” and shit like that.

Someone defaced one of the papers.

Going to school was already hard, I could barely leave the house, my mom had to accompany me to the school doors every morning and then a social worker at school would greet me there and take care of me throughout the day.

I had my own locker at a floor mostly unoccupied so I wouldn’t see other people much and my dog wouldn’t be too distracted.

But it was still to much and I ended up dropping out four months before graduation.

I couldn’t leave the house. I had Boom but he wasn’t perfect yet. People kept ruining him.

But eventually I managed to leave the house. Go to a shopping mall from time to time with him to just walk and have fun.

Too many times people came up to me to tell me the gear I used was hurting my dog. Too many times people came up to me to tell me that their own dog died. Too many people came up to him and pet him without even acknowledging my presence. Too many people telling me they wished they could bring their pets anywhere. Too many people disrespecting me and my service dog.

I stopped going out. I stopped being with my dog.

All this stress and trauma drove a wedge between my dog and I. I consider him my mother’s dog now.

I had to learn to handle myself alone when I went out. It took me years to learn to go out by myself. Only last year I started doing that.

My dog doesn’t live in my room with me anymore.

Having a service dog did still save my life. But those around me ruined that. They made it about themselves. They prioritized my dog over me. My dog that LOVES working. If you tell him “do you want to go to work” chances are he’ll get so excited he will attempt to do a backflip.

We used to have a deep bond. That bond is now broken. People took that from us.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is:

Let people and their service dogs alone.

You are not an exception.

You are not special.

You are disrupting the dog’s training and distracting it.

You are endangering a human life because you can’t resist petting the cute dog.

This isn’t about you. This is about a disabled person trying to simply live their lives.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, your advice is unsolicited and lacks understanding of what the life of a working dog is.

Just leave us alone.

#service dog #service dogs #ableism #disability

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samodivaa · 7 months

Text

Training Techniques

Winter Soldier x Reader He is not allowed to move an inch—he can only watch you pleasure yourself—but why is there a ring on your finger?

Warnings - smut, light angst, mastrubation(f), rough sex, choking, breeding kink Words - 2600 ⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ You have absolutely no pleasure in the work in which you sometimes so madly indulge—training the assets with delicacy of words with which their handlers don’t approve of—Soldat is your favorite, with his expression of endless and unconditional gratitude and a silent promise of complicity unto death—he may not remember your face, but he always remembers your voice, its' gentleness. The soporific air of your room, in the soft breath of bread and sweets—he was sent there, because he was misbehaving again.

It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that you have periled this life and reputation—but here you are—on your bed trying to sleep when you see him sitting on the chair, waiting. And this isn't a romance. You're not a damsel in distress and he is not the handsome prince who comes to save you—this is his desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of the impending doom, but they didn’t know that.

You know.

He can't stop looking at you—Soldat is gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago, because he is not allowed to move until you instruct him to.

Subconsciously, he licks his lips at the sight at your body in a night dress and wonder if he will ever just cum in your mouth as you suck him off to your knees…or if he’ll take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. It doesn’t seem worth the risk —but he wanted this for so long now, he needs to voice it.

“Please-” —an irrational and indulgent mistake. you stand up on your elbows in shock at the word he utters—his eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and his lips twitch. Soldat has fallen into a state of feverish lust, but that is not a justification for his disobedience. His heart goes into a shameless delirium when your eyes meet. “Desperate?” you mock, but underneath the mockery Soldat finds a reservoir of understanding. You lay back on the bed as nothing has happened, and your voice takes on a restful strength “I still need to punish you for that, Winter” He behaves as naturally, with such discretion, that he does not lose his composure, not even when you remove your wedding ring—who committed the impertinence of marrying you? He goes through a crisis of disappointment, fury, jealousy, but this is your way of giving Soldat a layer of respect—he wants to call it loyalty. And maybe you can be his or maybe you will be entwined in this sexless foreplay tonight.

He wants to ask so many questions, but he can’t. Not now. There is a pent-up curiosity, hysteria of his unsatisfied needs, unnaturally suppressed communion and also a kind of tense respect, because if he is obedient enough—he will be rewarded.

“You will watch me, that's all you will do for now” you say, your voice has sunk to a whisper. Your words stoke a warmness in his stomach, a fire in his crotch. And he doesn’t care what you will do with him—even if you want to cut him, sharpen him however you please—that's all he knows anyways. He wants this memory to stay what it is, one intense moment, something that is strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Your room has turned into an idyllic paradise for a good many years, your skin glistening in the light coming from the slits in the blinds as your hands play with your breast through the nightgown. He has lost his voice and a thread of cold sweat runs down the path of his spine, suffocating with heat, because of the black leather clothes—the stiff collar and the tight harness that is restricting his breathing, is becoming increasingly annoying.

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, and for the first time, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning—he needs to be patient, but it’s hard—not harder than his cock—It's more erotic, more intense to watch you touch yourself. He is master of what he does, but never of what he desires. You are greatly overestimating his self-control. But this is what you are testing tonight—his ability to subordinate the impulse to fuck you. Self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, but you need to show him who is in charge while your panties are becoming steadily slicker. All you need to do is to tell him to come, but you refrain from doing the thing you want so badly—to be consumed by Winter. You glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need—blue orbits pleading for you to command him. You spread your legs open, positioning yourself in front of him—one hand still toying with your nipple while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drag them down your legs slowly before throwing them in his direction. His breath stutters as they land on his left boot and Soldat eyes them wickedly, knowing that all he can do is watch.

"Good, very good, Soldat '' you coo, sliding two fingers into your core, scissoring and stretching, curling over the one sweet spot—imagining his metal digits. You remove them as your index finger takes their place, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your clit, sliding down to tease your opening, then back up. Over and over again.

He slides his tongue across his teeth, remembering the taste of your nectar, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft.

“I want you so much, gosh” he is stirred by the lust in your smooth voice. You are breathing deep with your mouth wide open—he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t dare blink. Soldat can swear he feels the pressure of your palms on his cheeks—or is it a memory? Everything is a memory to him. “I want you here, fucking me” There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

With the auspicious attention of a strained killing machine, he examines your fingers, your shivering body and listens to your muffled moans meticulously. It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion to his mind—your scandalous behavior is pulling at every string of his nerves and self-control.

It is such a prolonged act, so meticulous, so rich in all aspects as you are giving yourself over to the deserved adoration of your own body and pleasure. It leaves Soldat breathless at the tremendous spectacle of your nudity and lack of shame as you bring yourself closer to the edge.

“Jesus-I am so close” You confess, surprised at how fast the arousal is budding. You arch your back and hips buckle like an electric current runs through your body, moaning, rubbing your clit faster, forcing yourself to let out a louder moan. The orgasm wrecks your body from head to toe and being watched by a ferocious male is exciting—all he needs is a feeling as primitive and as simple as that of love.

You see his eyes, still unblinking and you feel menaced by some invisible danger—you are keenly aware of every movement, every breath you take. Lust is a weed that grows in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind and the stacks of bad words that you have been forced to swallow, spills “Soldat, come here” you command, languid and serious.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs, getting up and slowly coming towards the bed as his thick, black pants fall to the floor around his feet, the belt clattering noisily. Winter craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten. He breathes, his chest rising and falling so close to yours.

“Kiss m-” you whisper the words, and before you even finish saying them, his mouth is on yours and you are melting under his lips, eyes flutter shut—and it is blissful oblivion—giving you the most intense and explosive kiss you two have ever shared. With the coldness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, you vow an endless bliss. He pulls back with a groan—Winter’s sky-blue eyes stare back into yours, and in his eyes you can see no parting from you. You put your hands on either side of his face, and the room falls away. You have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And the kiss is not gentle. It is a wrestle of who would lead the excursion into the territory of passion and ecstasy, heat and unending craving for one another. You suck on his lower lip between your teeth and he lets out a low groan. It sounds almost aggravated and definitely impatient. Fire looks into his quiet eyes, touches his dear, familiar face—you lean upwards for a moment and dip your head towards his ear, grazing his soft skin with your teeth, while your hand slides to the harness. Soldat stills, angling his mouth towards your bare, perfect neck. You feel a warm slickness on your skin, his tongue trailing a path towards your shoulder.

It is a wild, animalistic compulsion, an urgent need as he suddenly slots himself between your legs and you turn your head away. Your fear is returning, crawling through your limbs and leaving you numb to everything. You shut your eyes, gripping the sheets, and whimper when he pushes himself inside you. He releases a ragged breath before moving, slow but with purpose, and you simply take it with soft whimpers and gasps as he pumps in and out of you, now starting to set a steady pace. His eyes, the blue completely gone from his them, soften for a moment and he kisses you tenderly before he whispers in your ear, his breath puffs against your skin. He spends a good amount of time on your neck, a brief stop at the base of your throat—he wants to bite you, but he can’t—something melts inside Soldat that hurts in an exquisite way—you are not his. “Who did you marry, Snow White?” He asks, voice throbbing with menace—before slipping inside you again and burying himself to the hilt. Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming. He is so far in that his balls are right against your lips. You arch your back and moan “It doesn’t matter” as he slides back out nearly all the way before slamming into you hard and fast. You wrap your legs around his waist as he slams into you over and over, the only sound in the room is the skin slapping. You close your eyes and swallow. Your mouth parts and stills—your voice is barely a whisper as his tip touches your cervix. “Pierce…I am closer to ruining his plans, closer to freeing you” Despite your eyelids being tightly shut, a single, hot tear runs out of your eye. You are so angry that it has escaped—so angry—he stops his trusts completely. You moan as you feel his movement out of you. Then, as he almost has the tip fully out, he slaps it back in. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are sitting here staring at each other, time stops. Your fingertips reach to trace the metal shoulder, but he grasps your hand with his own. He leans down, far enough that the ends of his hair brush feather-light against your face, catching in your lashes and tears.

His breath, warm and measured, hits your cheek. Two breaths. Three. Then you stop breathing, and a second later, you feel his lips on your mouth. It is hungry, desperate. His metal hand wraps around your neck, thumb presses into the skin—you moan, it ripples over your nerve endings. His breath caresses your ear again—his grip on your neck tightens. And this makes you always still and submit…the act of Winter taking shameful, contemptuous possession of you is the kind of rapture you want.

“Next time-” you try, but with your restricted of oxygen brain, you are not able to. He tastes passion. He tastes lust. He tastes his power over you. He tastes a world of stimulants he’d never imagined. You are right there in front of him, he can do whatever he wants. Winter loosens his hold—only to observe you as you breathe raggedly, sliding down slowly, a moan ripping from your throat.

“Next time he calls you in his house, I will be there, too”

I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.

“I need to kill them one by one, Winter” His mouth curves into a smile—his eyes are light blue and dancing with life. He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to yours "Okay, yeah, yeah" a devil-soft whisper. He blinks several times like he is trying to comprehend your plan word by word. His trusts become so hormonal—you want his roughness. His other hand slips to your waist, pushing you into the mattress as he fucks you. For him, sex intimately relates to the most primitive kind of human contact, which can satisfy all of his needs he has been deprived from. "Winter " you gaspe breathlessly "Slow down" You try to let out a choked squeal, but his metal hand tightens around your neck again, muffling any sounds, your toes curling as he brings you steadily closer and closer to orgasm, reeling from the thrill and the fear from both his forceful thrusts of his powerful hips and the choking. Soldat is unrelenting in his domination of your body. But you are his at this moment, your cunt clenching around him while you mewls and grunts fill his ears, he can’t slow down even one bit. Logic would say that this is insane, every other fibre of his being says it's right—he has to fill you up. You can't move. You can't breathe. And his pace. And the adrenaline. “I will cum inside—dear Snow White” This is his demarcation line, all of a sudden it seems unfair to withhold it from you. Your inner muscles tighten as waves of pleasure start to build and ripple out. You don’t normally get off this fast, but you are lost in the exquisite sensations—you put your hands on his metal arm as your body bursts into flames, your fingers curling into the metal. You can’t make a sound and it is a shame, because it is the best orgasm you ever had. It is unbearable, unreal, unimaginable—it is too much as your eyes can only see darkness due to the choking. You can only hear a broken and hoarse cry escaping his lips, his warm come filling you up completely.

You can hear his breath, as your vision slowly becomes solid—a stray lock of dark hair falls into his eyes as he is looking down—he moves his hips back and then into you again, enjoying his cock being in a tub of cum, swimming in your honey.

#I WAS POSSESSED #but this is real #metal arm kink fr #winter soldier x you #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fic #winter soldier fanfiction #smut #slight angst #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. ��It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it.

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add.

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it.

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic.

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob.

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself.

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions.

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse.

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride.

If only it was that easy to fool himself.

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?”

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest.

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it.

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings.

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t.

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation.

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party.

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere.

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here.

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence.

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation.

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him.

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt.

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back.

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

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chimaerakitten · 3 months

Text

Twitter AU!Laurence writes incredibly informative and improbably clear work emails but unfortunately his life events make them all sound like that one “against my best wishes I have been shot” professor email meme at least 60% of the time:

From: William Laurence, [email protected]

To: Temeraire Flight Crew

7 minutes ago

Hello all,

Unfortunately, I have to reschedule the training exercises, and I will have to take leave on Thursday. Against my best wishes, I have been shot in a duel and am being treated in the ER. Temeraire also has the plague, and the court date for my high treason trial is set for Friday. Admin hours are still 11-12 on Mon/Wed, with your first lieutenant. If I am not hanged, the exercise will be moved to Monday of next week. Keep reviewing the maneuvers, and remember to maintain your harnesses.

Respectfully,

W. Laurence

#temeraire #the Temeraire Twitter AU

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lyjen · 4 days

Text

Maybe

Summary: Evan and (Y/n) end up closer than ever on a call. But when (Y/n) gets hurt and Evan’s girlfriend notices the slightest sign of worry for his colleague, she confronts him.

Request by: anonymous - The request

9-1-1 masterlist

Taglist: ( @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

“Come on, we’re halfway there.” Buck tries to motivate (Y/n), to attempt to give her some more energy. A sigh falls off (Y/n)’s lips as her flat hand slides over the side of the stairwell wall and starts carefully placing her feet down onto the metal railing underneath her.

They are inside a building that was going to snap in two.

Buck and (Y/n) had the opportunity to go up the partly collapsed building, doing a sweep to see if there were any signs of life inside the building. The chances of that weren’t that high, the building they were in was an old hospital and wasn’t being used in decades.

But protocol said to always do a sweep through the buildings to make sure they wouldn’t leave anyone behind. So, that’s what they were doing. But till so far, they didn’t see anyone.

“Can you believe it? They made us go all the way up there, and find nothing.” she said as she stepped down onto the stairs and grabbed the railing with her gloved hands.

“Well, if you define old broken hospital cabinets and beds as nothing.” Evan laughed at her as he panted and flashed his light, which was secured to his harness, towards the rest of the stairwell.

But his laugh was nowhere to be found anymore when he looked at the barricaded entryway of the stairwell. “You’ve got to be kidding me” he sighed as he stepped closer.

They were in the second half of the building. They were almost back on the ground floor. Although they needed to go down another six to seven levels, it still felt like they were almost there.

(Y/n) could still hear the building trying to move with every step they took inside. The concrete was creaking and cracking on every corner.

Evan turned his head to look at his colleague “There’s no other way than..” he pointed his index finger up and looked in between the staircases until he could see the part where the building was snapped. “Back up. I get it.” She finished his sentence annoyed.

She was tired, exhausted, this was hour twenty one of the twenty four hour shift she was on and she still didn’t have any decent sleep.

“Let’s go probie” Evan said with a smirk on his face as he pulled himself up by the help of the railing. He knew damn’ well (Y/n) wasn’t a probie anymore, but he loved teasing her with that nickname. He knew she didn’t like it, she could handle other people saying it, but whenever Evan said it, it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Okay, there’s nothing to worry about.. you’re going to be fine.” (Y/n) motivated herself as she walked down the stairs and focussed herself on repeating the sentences she just read in the books. “You’re going to be just fine” she whispered as she tried to reassure herself as she skipped the last two steps of the stairs and landed safe and sound on the ground with her two feet.

She had a few study books piled up in her hands, with a couple of loose sheets sticking out of the books because those were her notes she just wrote down.

(Y/n) was in her probation period, trying to train, study and work all at once. It was hard, but she knew she could do it. She just had to step up and work a little harder. While she was walking towards the locker room to put her books away, she was looking through the pile of books.

“Hey probie!” Evan’s voice sounded through the firehouse, harder than he originally wanted to sound.

(Y/n) was caught off guard as she heard her new nickname fall off the lips of Evan. The books she was holding flew out of her hands and within a second they were all spread over the ground floor of the firehouse.

“Fuck” she hissed underneath her breath as she quickly squatted down and started collecting the books she just spread over the floor.

“Oh shit, sorry” Evan said as he quickly walked towards her and crouched down to collect some lost papers.

“You-..You don't have to do that..” she stumbled as she saw Evan collecting her notes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you” Evan apologizes as he picks up the papers he collected and handed them over to (y/n).

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t really paying attention.” she said as she accepted the papers he was holding out to her, and she placed them right on top of the pile of books she made. She secured the pile of books between her lower arm and her chest as she and Evan both straightened up again.

Their eyes connected, it felt like Evan was drowning in those beautiful eyes. “Hey, uh..” Evan sighed as an awkward silence fell between the two of them and he was still looking in her eyes like he was possessed. “We’re going out with the team after shift for a drink, do you want to join us?” he continued as he pointed over his shoulder and slid his hands in his pockets.

“That’s sweet.. but I’m kinda busy” she smiled softly at him as she shrugged her shoulders and motioned with her head towards the books in her arms. “Oh yeah” Evan said as he realized what he asked her was not his best move.

(Y/n) turned around as the conversation fell silent again. She could feel the tension in the air, it made her uncomfortable, so she decided to walk away.

“Uh, maybe next time?” Evan spoke loudly as he was now watching her back again, trying to get her attention. She didn’t dare to give him another glance. “Maybe!” she shouted back as she continued her way towards the locker room again with a smile on her face.

“Hey! Open these doors with your halligan” Evan commanded as they finally reached an elevator shaft with the door closed tightly. A groan fell off her lips as she tried to balance her weight and keep herself in place while the building was obliquely.

Her hand reached for the halligan, which was secured on her back, and she pushed the metal tool in between the two elevator doors and pushed as hard as she could. Evan’s gloved hands were placed on one of the doors to assist her.

Evan panted as he had put all of his strength into his action and looked around to search for a possible anchor point to hold their weight. “This is not going to hold the both of us..” Evan said as he saw the nearest point to attach them to while he held onto the elevator door.

It was a half broken piece of railing of the hospital hallways. It was old, probably rotten, but it could only hold one of them. It wasn’t surely the strongest one, but it could hold one person to the max.

(Y/n)’s hand harshly tapped against his chest. “So, we find another anchor point.” she said as she finally got Evan’s attention and pointed her hand out to the opposite direction of the elevator doors.

There was another set of doors on the opposite side, it was a double-sided elevator.

“I was about to say that you had to ripple down first, but this could work too.” Evan laughed as he looked to his left and met her gaze. They were standing close, maybe too close, but that happens when gravity is pulling you down and you’re in a building that’s in the wrong angle than it's supposed to be.

She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin as he inhaled and exhaled. “I’ll go to the.. otherside.” she stumbled as she disconnected her eyes from his. Evan cleared his throat as he agreed with her, “Yes, do that. I’m.. going to set the rope up.” Evan said as he was pulled out of his trance.

“You do that!” (Y/n) said as she grabbed the railing with both hands and let herself slide into the wall to move a little faster. It felt like they were on this call for too long.

As (Y/n) rounded the corner and finally reached the other pair of doors, she again pushed her tool between the two doors and pulled them open. (Y/n) quickly secured her rope to the railing just as Evan did on his side of the hallway. She tightened the knot and gave it a few hard pulls to see if it would hold.

She turned around and looked into the shaft, trying to get a look on how deep it is. “Are you ready for this?” (Y/n) asked Evan as she glanced at him. “Are we really ready for anything?” Evan said as he looked around in the shaft and shrugged his shoulders.

She shook her head as she laughed at the ceiling, typically Evan.

A sigh left her lips as she saw Evan already going over the edge, rippling down. “You coming?” Evan said as he looked up and saw herself starting to second guess her idea. “You’re doing great.” he tried to give her some motivation.

She swallowed as she turned around and let the rope catch her weight. Inch for inch, she let the rope slide through her gloved hands, lowering herself down.

The sound of the elevator shaft creaking was flowing through the space they were in.

Evan looked up at the ceiling, shining his headlight towards the parts above them. On first notice, there was nothing to be seen, but when Evan shone his light right above (Y/n), he could see a large, half broken beam dangling loosely above her side of the shaft. Inches above the doors she had climbed through.

It could fall any moment.

“(Y/n). I need you to stay calm for me, okay?” Evan suddenly said after a few moments of silence. Her stomach turned and filled itself with anxiety at the way he talked. Why was he suddenly talking to her like she was a victim? What was he seeing that she couldn’t see?

“What?” Her confused voice sounded through the shaft as she tried to look over her shoulder at Evan.

“I need you to push yourself with your feet, off the side and reach out for my hand.” Evan tried to stay calm but his eyes stayed right on the large beam a few feet above her head, ready to fall any second.

“Do it now!” Evan called out. There was no time to explain what the hell was going on, she had to trust Evan on his words. So she did exactly what he asked her to do.

She bent her knees as much as she could, so (Y/n) could create enough momentum to reach Evan's side. She pushed as hard as she could and swung from her side of the elevator shaft towards his side. Evan held out his hand as far as he could so he could catch hers.

A loud bang sounded through the shaft as the beam disconnected itself from the shaft.

He could feel her fingers brushing his wrist and clinging onto it as he tightly grabbed hers. Evan was holding all of her weight and gear in his right hand. He let his left hand climb further on her arm and resumed pulling her closer that way.

A groan escaped her mouth as she felt Evan’s nails pinning into her skin. But on that last pull, a yelp fell past her lips and Evan could hear her hissing in pain. Within seconds he had his chest meeting hers. His hands were secured around her waist, and the other one around her upper back, holding her as close as possible.

Evan panted as he put each and all of his energy what was left into that quick stunt they pulled. “Fuck” (Y/n) sighed as she had her arms attached around his back, looking like they were in a hug in the middle of a lift shaft. “Yeah, that was.. unexpected” Evan said as he looked down towards the hole where the beam just fell down.

“That, and.. that beam hit my damn’ left foot.” she hissed as she squeezed her eyes. “Wait what?” Evan said confused as she tried to read her face. (Y/n) let her forehead for a second rest against Evan’s shoulder as she closed her eyes and tried to stop focussing on the pain. “You okay?” his voice sounded worried.

Yes, they were friends and co-workers, nothing more and nothing less. But yet here they are closer than ever before.

“Yeah, for now.. let’s just get down to proper ground. I don’t want another beam falling down onto us.” (Y/n) said as she looked up at the sky, looking for other loose material. “Great idea” Evan said as he let the adrenaline that rushed through his veins calm down.

(Y/n) started to detach her hands off Evan’s back so she could swing her way back towards her side of the shaft. Her palms were awkwardly pushing into Evan’s collarbones, trying to create some distance between the two of them. “Evan? You can let go of me now” she said.

Evan was lost in his thoughts when she called his name. “Oh yeah.. Right. Sorry.” he apologized as he let his eyes connect with hers once again. He could hear her breathe, he could swear that he even heard her heartbeat for a second. They were close, and he didn’t want to let go.

He let go of her back and softly grabbed her wrist to get her back to her side of the shaft slowly and steady. They didn’t want her to bang into the wall with a high force of speed.

His fingers were curled around her wrist, and hers were curled around his. Evan let his other arm slowly become looser around her waist, so now she was only holding his wrist. Gravity slowly lets (Y/n)’s body move towards the middle part of the shaft.

Their hands “Ready?” Evan asked as he kept his eyes on their connected hands. “On three okay?” (Y/n) said as she nodded. “One..two..three.” And on three they both let go of each other's wrist.

(Y/n)’s hand wrapped around the rope which was still attached to her harness as she softly landed her right foot against the side of the elevator shaft. “You good?” Evan asked, wanting to know if she didn’t hurt her left foot by returning to her side of the shaft. A sigh left her mouth, as if she was holding a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Yes. Let’s just get out of here” she said as she started rippling down towards the ground floor.

The rest of the ride down was silent, beside some creaking and cracking from the building itself. They were just focussing themselves on getting out of that shaft.

When they reached the lowest level they were able to access, Evan opened the doors of his side of the shaft as he explicitly told (Y/n) to hang tight and wait for him. Especially after she hurt her foot, he couldn’t have her risking doing more damage to it than it probably already had.

Evan detached his harness from the rope and hurried towards the other side of the hallway and opened the doors. It was a relief that he could actually walk straight again after all that climbing and sliding down. “Grab my hand” Evan commanded as she lowered herself a little more, so she could touch the ground with her right foot while she let her left foot float above the ground. Evan’s touch made her heart take a little jump.

“Hold on” he said as he placed her hand onto his shoulder, and felt her fingertips burning into his button up shirt. Evan’s hands reached out to her harness as he detached her from the line.

“Thanks” she mumbled as she limped forward, trying to not put any weight on her left foot but she couldn’t help it.

“No, no. You can’t walk on that” Evan said worried as she slightly put some weight on it to keep her balance. “Here, let me help you.” Evan said as he grabbed her left arm and slung it over his shoulders, trying to support her weight.

Groan after groan fell off her lips with every limp, every hop she took. “Are you sure you can make it outside while limping?” Evan asked as she took another hop. “I’ll have to. Unless you have some other theories” she said as she groaned again. Evan pressed his lips into a thin line as (Y/n) leaned her weight onto Evan for another hop.

“It may be faster if I just carried you.” Evan suggested. A yelp left her mouth as her ankle bent to the outside. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Evan’s suggestion or the matter of fact that she already limped almost a hundred times. “Shit” she said as she held onto Evan’s shoulder with her left arm, she felt like a monkey. “Hey, hey, you alright? Seriously you’re going to hurt yourself even more if you keep on hopping onto that leg.” Evan spoke up as he came down to the same height as her.

She didn’t want to tell him he was right, but he was and she knew it. She just didn’t want him to give him the satisfaction. “Let me carry you. Please.” He was practically begging. He didn’t want her to get hurt any more than she already was. A sigh left her mouth as she mumbled an almost inaudible “Okay”.

Evan’s hand wandered towards his radio as he held the button to speak. “We’re almost done. Coming out in a minute.” he said. And he received a small “copy that” from Bobby. Evan’s left arm was already around her waist since he was guiding her just a second ago. He let his right arm slide underneath her knees and he carried her through the hallway to the exit of the building.

Her arms were hanging around his neck, as Evan hurried towards the ambulance. “Got a possible broken foot over here!” Evan yelled as he saw the rest of his team cleaning up the halligans and other equipment they used for the sweep in the lower building. Hen’s eyes shot up as she looked towards the duo that came rushing towards the team. “How the hell-” Hen mumbled as Evan sat (Y/n) down on the back of the ambulance as carefully as possible.

“Don’t ask” (Y/n) said as Hen removed the boot and started to examine her foot. When Hen touched it, (Y/n) hissed at the pain and grabbed Evan’s wrist, she almost crushes and squeezes all of the blood out of his wrist which made Evan groan.

When the grip became looser on his wrist, he moved his hand up, so she was now holding his hand. “Jesus!” she groaned at the touches, and let her forehead fall into Evan’s chest, wishing for the pain to leave her body.

Evan placed his other free hand on the back of her head. “You’re going to be fine” he whispers and let his chin rest on the top of her head.

______

“You’re late” a familiar voice spoke through the apartment as Evan closed the door behind him. His eyes fall on his girlfriend, Taylor, who’s sitting at the kitchen island. Her hands were curled up around the cup of tea she had just made, the steam was still coming off the hot boiling water.

“Hey” Evan simply said as he slowly walked into the room. He let the keys he had in his hand, slowly slide onto the table and let the strap of the duffle bag which he was balancing on his shoulder, fall onto the ground. A sigh left his mouth as Taylor turned on the chair to face him. “I’m so sorry” he continued as he was looking for the right words.

“Hey. I’m sorry. Really Buck? That’s it? That is everything you have to say?” Taylor said as a scoff left her mouth. “You’re unbelievable” her voice continued as Evan’s eyes wandered back to his feet, which were suddenly very interesting to him.

“Didn’t your shift end like, what? Three hours ago?” She asked when Evan didn’t answer her and she blew softly at the water to try to cool it a little bit down. He nodded his head, “Yeah, I’m sorry, we were with the team at the hospital, waiting for (Y/n)’s results” Evan tries to explain to Taylor.

“And she couldn’t do that alone?” she shot back as she took a small sip of her tea and brought the mug down onto the flat surface. Evan was taken by surprise as he didn’t expect Taylor to react the way she just did. “Uhm.. We’re a team. We’re not leaving each other behind.” he spoke as he took place on the opposite side of the dining table, leaning his hands down on the back of the chair. He watched Taylor stirring her spoon in the hot water of her tea.

“Look. I’m sorry I didn’t call you or texted you back. If that’s the thing you’re mad about, then-” Evan tries to apologize, he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but he did it anyways. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Really.” She holds out her hand towards Evan to stop him from talking, as she shoves the chair she was sitting on backwards and starts walking to the kitchen with her cup of tea in her hand.

“You don’t seem fine at all.” Evan says as he pushes his hands off the back of the chair. She placed the full mug of tea on the kitchen counter as she leaned with her palms on the counter. She’s silent. Trying to find the right words. “Taylor… Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?” Evan says as he slowly moves towards the kitchen island now, trying to come closer to her.

With her eyes locked onto the kitchen counter she laughs. “Do you really want to know what the problem is?” her voice sounded somewhat broken. Evan’s voice brought out an almost inaudible yes, but she heard him.

“I was on the scene too.That call of the partly collapsed building that had been split in two” she said. Evan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. So, she was at the scene? But what had made her so upset that she was mad at him?

”It’s her. Isn’t it?” her broken voice asks him as she keeps her back turned towards Evan. “Who?” his voice immediately asked.

“Come on Buck, I'm not that stupid.” She sighs and pushes herself off the kitchen counter and turns her body around so she is now facing Evan. “I saw the way she clung onto you. The way you looked at her, and cared for her because she was hurt.” her lower back leaned against the kitchen counter now, as she folded her arms over one another.

“Taylor, whatever you saw... it’s not what it looks-“ Evan tries to defend himself as he gets cut off by his own girlfriend. “Then tell me” she shot back at him as she stared right into his soul. “Tell you what?” he could feel and hear his voice slightly rising. “That you love me!” within every word she said, her voice broke more and more.

Evan was silent, he was searching for the words. But he couldn’t say it, not if it was a lie. He had used her all this time, to get closer to (y/n), to make her jealous but it didn’t work. He stayed with Taylor to try and get her attention.

The silence was loud, Taylor had given him enough time to say those three simple words. “Guess I know my answer then.” she says as she storms towards the gaderobe.

“Taylor..” Evan’s voice sounded through the room with her footsteps in the background.

She grabbed the hanger and slid off her coat. “Please wait” he says as his eyes fall onto Taylor as she puts on her jacket and pushes with the back of her hand her red hair over the coat, so it wouldn’t be stuffed into the back of her jacket.

Taylor sighs as she turns around one more time. “I’m done waiting for you, Buck. Why should I be waiting for someone, who’s clearly head over heels in love with someone else?” her voice spoke, and with those words she walked to the door and slammed it shut with a bang.

She was right.

______

(Y/n) put down her mug with tea onto the coffee table as she hopped through the house, trying to put as little weight onto her foot as she could.

She was wearing a brace, luckily her foot was badly sprained. Which means she had to take as much rest as she could, and just let it heal by itself. Right now, she was on pain meds and she at least had to be two weeks off the job, which could be stretched out to three or four, but that was up to how good and fast it would heal.

When the doorbell sounds through the house, (Y/n) turns down the volume of the TV which was currently playing the news and hopped towards the door.

As the doorbell sounds for a second time in ten seconds, a sigh leaves her mouth. “Yeah yeah! Coming!” She calls out. Her hand pushed down the lever of the door, and her eyes met those ocean blue eyes she saw almost every shift.

Evan sounded like he had run the Los Angeles marathon and just got over the finish line. With his arm he leaned against the doorframe, as he heavily breathed.

“Evan? What are you doing here?” She clings on to the door to try and keep her balance, since she was standing like a flamingo and holding her injured foot slightly above the ground. “There’s something I have to say to you.” he said as he was breathing normally again.

“And you couldn’t do that by calling or texting me?” She laughs. Seeing her smile like that made a shiver roll down his spine and his heart almost burst out of his chest. “This is something I'd rather tell you face to face.” he says as he slid both of his hands into his pockets, something he always did when he was nervous.

“Come on in” she says and motioned her head towards the hallway of her home. Evan steps over the threshold, far enough for (Y/n) to close the door. She starts hopping towards the kitchen. “I was just about to drink some tea, do you want anything?”

Evan was in some kind of trance, his heart was beating in his chest. But quickly got pulled out of it when her voice called out his name again. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You’re a little dreamy tonight, I asked if you wanted some tea?” she asked again as she tried to keep her balance on her one foot and leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. “Yeah, that sounds good, thankyou” Evan answered. He didn’t want tea. He wanted to spill his guts.

(Y/n) grabbed a cup out of the upper cabinet and poured the warm water from the kettle into the mug. “Hey, have you seen that highway pile up on the news where the 133 worked on?” she asks. “I still wonder how pile ups like that keep happening.” she continues, it honestly felt like she was talking to a wall. She had never seen Evan that quiet.

“Hey, you okay?” (Y/n)’s voice asks as she glances at Evan and gets out a tea bag and disconnects the little string which was attached to it. She limped back to the area where the mug was standing on the counter.

“I love you” the words fell off his lips.

A silence that was so loud filled the room. “What?” the word rolled off her lips. Did she actually hear him right?

“I think that I’m in love with you” Evan says again as he stares into her soul.

“Did you hit your head in that collapsed building?” (Y/n) asks as she throws the tea bag she had put into the water, into the bin and makes a bee line to limp towards Evan.

When she’s in front of Evan, she holds up her index finger. “Can you follow my finger?” she asks and starts moving it from the left side of his face to the right side.

“No I didn’t hit my head, and besides we were wearing helmets” Evan says as he wrapped his hand around her index finger and pushed it down.

“Im serious (Y/n)” Evan let her name roll off his lips, which sent a shiver down her entire body. The hairs on her arms were standing up, goosebumps were spread all over her body.

“From the moment I saw you walking into the firehouse, you’ve had my heart.” he sighs. “It has been kind of exhausting to try and get your attention. And trust me I went far. I went so far that I got into a relationship with someone else, to try and make you jealous” Evan is out here spilling his guts.

He continues his rattle “But if you do not feel the same, all you have to do is say so and I’ll walk back out of that door and we can pretend this never happene-“ But before Evan could finish that sentence, he could feel the collar of his jacket getting crushed.

“Oh, shut up Buckley” She grabbed the collar and pulled him closer until her lips connected with his.

A warm feeling was spreading through her body as she felt his hand touching the back of her neck. Evan let his index finger and thumb of his other hand slip onto her chin, as he gently pushed it up to meet his height.

It almost felt like Evan was the air she needed to breathe and she couldn’t survive without it. One hand was still placed on the collar of his jacket. As the other one wandered to the back of his head, slightly pulling the short curls on his head.

She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin, it was almost like she was back in that building again when she opened the elevator and they were that close.

They both were panting, catching their breaths as they both took each other's breath away.

Evan let his forehead fall against hers as he smiles. “So you do like me.. did I make you jealous as well?” his low voice said as a small laugh left his mouth.

“Maybe.. ” she teased him.

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley #imagine

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 months

Note

Could I request Astarion's s/o avoiding him to prepare a Valentine's Day surprise feasts for him? Nothing angsty however, she just makes up excuses to throw him off.

Astarion x Reader - Valentine's Day

It was official. [Y/N] was avoiding him. And Astarion couldn’t figure out why.

He assumes he’s done something wrong. He just couldn’t figure out what. For all his social graces, charm, and etiquette training to seep in with the noble lords, he still had the incredible knack of saying the wrong things at the wrong time with this group of people. No one seemed to get his biting wit or rapier sharp jabs, usually with their literal counterparts. Except for Shadowheart and Lae'zel, but…that really didn’t add credibility to his argument.

At first, he hadn’t noticed. Astarion wasn’t some puppy that followed them around camp, like that mutt they picked up. He had his own entertainments and [Y/N] had their own business to attend to. It was a lot of work keeping their once neat little conclave turned full blown circus in line, but [Y/N] seemed to manage. Astarion often thought during lost moments that if anyone really wanted to take over the world, they should study and harness whatever power it was they had to keep drawing people into them. Forget the tadpoles. Much less slimy as well.

Still, he wasn’t immune to being ignored. And after a while he started to wonder what could be so important. Not that he was looking for attention. To reiterate, he was not a lost puppy following them around. Astarion was just….curious as to what could have bedazzled their focus so.

Stealthy as a cat, he followed after [Y/N] as the snuck off into the forest around their camp. Their third time out there, if his observations were correct. Silently and cautiously, he followed. Until he felt it was the perfect time to announce himself with an accusatory, “what are you doing out here?” as he stood to make his presence known.

“Gah!” [Y/N] exclaimed in a startled sound. Prone, for a moment in surprise as they turned to face him. Astarion had never seen this expression before. In battle, they were always so fierce and focused. Even when he ‘surprised’ them on one of their early nights together, hungry and asking for more than he probably should have, they still had this spark of defiance & fight about them. But genuine surprise? Now he had to know what was going on.

“I said, what are you doing out here?” He repeated in case they missed it in their shock. “Why are you slinking out here in the middle of the night like some manner of shade? Surely you can’t be coming out here to relieve yourself that many times. Wyll’s cooking isn’t that bad. And why haven’t you talked to me at all today? It’s very rude.” Looking into their eyes, which had softened out of surprise into their usual fair expression, Astarion realized he was scolding them for something he was upset about and took a deep breath before he apologized. “Look…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that...I don’t like secrets darling. So if something is wrong, or if I’ve done something incredibly foolish, just tell me so we can move on from it.”

“….it’s not really a secret…” Astarion arched a brow at their reply, then watched them move to the side to reveal a blanket, candles, and what looked like one of the better bottle of wine they’d abscond with from a pillaged merchant cart they rescued. “It was…more meant to be a surprise. To celebrate.”

Astarion was racking his brain at the moment to think on what they could be celebrating. Of course, every day they were alive, kicking, and not turned into mind flayers seemed a good enough reason to celebrate, but this seemed more formal than that. He tried to think about what it could be and then he suddenly realized. ‘Oh shit’. It was Blessed Hearts Day.

A frivolous feast day where lovers would croon and swoon at one another, give horrible tacky gifts, then drunkenly stumble down the streets to fuck like rabbits, which was probably the only reason it was on the cusp of spring.

Astarion had never paid much attention to it. Besides it being a frivolous holiday, he never had any reason to pay attention to it. Other than the fact that around this time of year he could pull in 2 or 3 victims a week, rather than his usual 1, for Cazador, if he played his cards right. Everyone was searching for love around this time of year, and Astarion was happy to provide.

Well, not happy, but obliging.

Well, not obliging, but amenable.

He never would have thought that someone as steadfast & stalwart as [Y/N] would be interested in something as foolish as Blessed Hearts Day. But, then again, he never asked. So who was the real fool here?

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s alright.” They reply with a smile. And Astarion felt that it was very much not alright. They had given him so much, kept giving him so much, and he continued showing up empty handed at their door. He’d never felt so much like a cad. “This was just something I wanted to do. I’ve never…had someone…to share Blessed Hearts Day with.”

Suddenly he wished for the ground to open up like one of those portals and swallow him up. Astarion couldn’t feel any lower than if he was under Avernus. But then all their hard work would go to waste, and they couldn’t have that.

“Well, it seems we’re in agreement again my dear. I’ve never had someone to truly share the holiday with either. Pawns and playthings, sure. But a true someone,” Astarion stepped closer to press his hand against their cheek, “my someone, well…that will be a new experience for me. It seems every where I turn, you’re always giving me new experiences.”

They seemed pleased by his words. Which was good because that’s all he had at the moment to give them. And his heart. Such as it was.

They spent the evening together under the stars. Talking some, but mostly quiet. Falling into each other’s arms much later and wrapped up in their picnic blanket in the cool grass before the night was over. He still thought it was a frivolous holiday, as he intended to spend everyday reminding [Y/N] how much he loved & how much they had changed him, but he supposed he could see the appeal now.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x y/n #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #astarion imagine #bg3 x reader #astarion fic #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #scenarios #bg3 scenarios #bg3 imagine #baldur's gate x reader

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her-devils-advocate · 1 month

Text

Everyone I've cared about has either died or left me. Except for you.

pairings: Levi Ackerman x (GN!) reader

genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff

summary: Based on the prompt from the list found here. You and Levi have a moment amidst the final battle

Warning for the final chapter spoilers. This is just a small drabble I wrote after getting inspired by one of the sentence starters!

word count: 1,106

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54683590

The hot air rushing past you causes your hair to uncomfortably stick to your forehead. You, Levi and Gabi soar across the sea of wall titans, somewhat safe atop Falco's back. How the kid had managed this, you would never know. Honestly, you are more than happy to try and not focus on anything now. Too much is happening. Too much has been happening in such a short amount of time and you can feel yourself hitting your limit. You want to praise yourself for having such a fairly sturdy limit, all things considered, but the overwhelming amount of nerves squash that thought before it can take root. Too much has happened, too much has been lost, too much can still be lost.

Your head throbs as you attempt to ignore the onslaught of thoughts rushing through it. Your eyesight grows hazy as you try to focus on the view below you, it's all too much.

Your hands shake as they cling onto the harness attached to Falco's titan, tears pooling in your eyes as you try to blink them away. Levi is next to you, struggling to hold on tight with his newly missing fingers, which had yet to start their healing process properly. His solid presence helps to quell your rising anxiety as you reach over to hold onto his arm tightly, doing your best to help keep him secure. If he were to fall now, a piece of your heart would fall with him, never to be reclaimed.

You smile to yourself when you hear his thankful grunt, his eyes not once leaving the skeletal horror, as if his glare could lure Eren out. Once upon a time, it just might have been possible. The sight of his towering titan still causes your heart to break. The Eren you once knew has slipped between everyone’s fingers, the young cadet is now a beacon of destruction. Where had things gone wrong? How had you not seen him drifting?

For the first time in your life as a scout, a part of you is glad for the head injury you had sustained during the first assault on the founder. The events are a blur, you remember flying through the air while dodging all the rocks thrown by a beast titan. You remember a sharp pain shooting through your skull as the feeling of something sticky begins to slowly run down your temple. You remember the shout of your name from several voices before the world faded to black.

Now you are on the sidelines, simply watching rather than having to bear the pain of helping to end the kid you once helped train.

You feel some guilt for inadvertently forcing the burden onto your scouts, his friends. But the nagging tug at your heart, paired with what is most likely a nasty concussion, would only get in your way. This way, you can also keep an eye on the captain, who is more than happy to keep throwing himself into the fray despite his injuries, something you will never get used to. Your heart plummets each time he doesn't hesitate to throw himself around with his ODM gear.

You look towards Levi with a small frown, his injuries are only a few days old and yet he still fights. How much of himself is he willing to give to save humanity? How much of him are you willing to lose? You knew becoming involved with anyone in the Survey Corps was a recipe for trouble and heartbreak, but at the time, you weren’t expecting a threat bigger than the titans you had been facing. You don’t regret a single moment and while you are both still alive and fighting, you don’t need to regret anything.

You repeat his mantra of ‘no regrets’ until it slowly begins to sink in through the rising haze of panic, the two of you are still alive, yet your mind races faster than the scouts below fighting for their lives.

“Pull it together, now isn’t the time to falter…” You risk bringing a hand to rub your eyes, smudging the dirt and blood further around your face, groaning as the dull pain worsens.

Your stomach drops as Falco dips through the air, dodging stray attacks while circling the battleground below. Bile rises in your throat and you’re unsure if it's due to the head injury or the harsh movements.

“Those kids are fighting to save the world and here I am, worrying over losing him when we’ve already lost too many. How can I be so self-centered?”

“Oi,” Levi says, his voice cutting through the near-deafening wind surrounding you. He’s looking directly at you now, seeing past the mask of professionalism you like to wear when on duty. He looks through and sees the swirling anxieties, the shaking of your hands, the tense shoulders and the way you bite at your lip in worry.

“Everyone I've cared about has either died or left me. Except for you.” Your heart breaks at his words, the tears you had fought back now happily run down your cheeks, parting through streaks of mud. You try to hide your face from him, refusing to show weakness in such a moment, but he continues, capturing your attention once more.

“So you better survive, understood? Get out of your head and back in the moment, we need you alert.”

His eyes soften as he stares you down, letting you see a glimpse of the worries he keeps shackled deep down. He has managed to shuffle closer towards you while you were lost in your thoughts, now subtly pressing himself against you for support. He hooks his arm around yours, giving you a gentle squeeze as he averts his gaze to the horror below.

He can feel your eyes lock onto him, the smile on your face widening despite the tears. “Don’t get all smug, it’s hard to grab onto this rope with eight fingers.”

He always did have a way of dissolving your worries and bringing you out of your head, even when staring down hell. Wall’s know you both need to keep your eyes forward and your minds focused, no matter what.

“Whatever you say, captain. That goes for you as well, you know. If you die on me, I’m breaking into the paths and giving you such an earful.”

The small scoff you get in response is almost lost to the winds, but you don’t miss the way he places more of his weight against you.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Guess we’re both making it out of this one alive then.”

#♥. writing #♥. prompt #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader #levi ackerman x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Post-nap warm up

(Edit: still not canon; sorry guys! This is more of an au to the au)

You wake up, as you do most days now, to two warm bodies sandwiching yours. Johnny on your left, practically curled around you with his big head on your chest, lightly snoring. On your right, with his body stretched along yours and chin on your head, is Ghost.

You had originally settled on Phantom, but in the course of calling him silly nicknames, you realized he responds to “Ghost” better.

You yawn, stretch as carefully as you can. Both dogs groan and huff. Johnny tries to snuggle in harder, while Ghost sits up with a drawn out sigh.

“Cmon, big baby,” you coo at Johnny’s sad eyes, smoothing your thumb in the silky fur between them, “it’s time to get up.”

He relents only when Ghost shoves his nose under Johnny’s chin and starts nudging him up. You chuckle as Johnny goes out of his way to sneeze on him, earning him a grumble. They two of them shake off while you sit up and stretch, adjusting your skewed tank top to hide your breasts.

The boys follow you into the bathroom for your morning pee, then into the kitchen while Johnny starts chugging from the water bowl while Ghost stations himself next to one of the cabinets, watching you futz with the coffeemaker.

You drop scratches on his head every time you pass, smiling a bit when he licks your palm in return. As your coffee in brewing, you pause to kneel in front of him, dropping kisses all over his face.

“You’ve been doing so well, honey bun,” you murmur, laying your cheek on his head. “I’m so proud. Such a good boy.”

He licks your neck - the only part of you he can reach without dislodging you. For as big and rough as he can be (especially with Johnny) Ghost has been oddly gentle with you since the beginning.

Oh, sure. He can be loud and grumbly - even showed you his teeth once. But he’s never snapped at you, knocked you over, or even really stepped on you while snuggling in. It’s incredibly endearing and you’re sure to encourage him every chance you get.

“I love you, ghost,” you croon as you pull away.

His ears go forward, then back, then forward again. You grin, drop one last kiss on his nose.

“I do,” you continue laughing, “you’re my big shy baby and I love you.”

He huffs. Johnny comes in then, barrels right into you with tail wagging, whining as he nuzzles up under your chin.

“I love you too, John Bon,” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. “My precious snuggle bug.”

He makes a little “ruff” noise that you like to imagine is agreement. You give him one last kiss as well before standing to make your coffee.

They pile onto the couch with you for morning shows, then follow you around the house as you do chores. Around midday you make yourself a little lunch and then say the magic words.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Johnny is instantly bouncing and barking, causing a fuss. Ghost wags, plumed tail sweeping conservatively side to side. You have to wrestle Johnny into his harness, muttering at him under your breath the entire way.

Ghost isn’t much better. Getting him accustomed to the harness has been a work in progress. Apparently he’s not food or play motivated, so training him to even tolerate it has been a challenge. The first two or three times you nearly had to chase him down (thought you were going to get bit one or twice) and even needed Johnny to help.

It’s been better lately, though - even if you have to negotiate him coming over to get strapped in. The black and silver gear is gorgeous on his cream colored fur and you’re sure to tell him that as you clip him in.

Once the boys are geared up, you finish dressing yourself and then open the back door. Ghost charges ahead as usual, ears forward and eyes sharp. Johnny splits off, weaving amongst the trees but returning to your side every couple minutes.

You hit the usual hiking trail with both boys, humming to yourself as they orbit around you. They never stray far, always checking your position and circling back to get a check-in scritch.

Maybe half an hour passes before both boys, currently flanking you, suddenly go alert. You pause, watching their bodies tense, ears forward, eyes focused somewhere ahead, mouths closed.

Ghost barks low and rough. And then they bolt.

You curse, knowing they wouldn’t leave your side for just anything, and hurry to follow.

When you finally catch up, your boys have cornered two men on separate sides of a clearing. They’re crouched low, tense, snarling and growling like thunder.

And there, cowering in the center of the clearing, is perhaps the biggest dog you’ve ever seen. You take in the big stick on the ground, the scattered rocks - nearly gag when you see a couple drops of blood.

Fury burns through you.

“What the hell did you do?!” you shout.

“Call your fuckin’ dogs off!” one of them shouts.

“Fuck off,” you snap in return, Ghost barking roughly with you.

You tug your phone from your pocket. When one of them sees, he starts towards you, only for Johnny to snap viciously at his hand, even drawing blood. He shouts and grabs at his hand, going pale. The other one starts yelling, but you ignore him, knowing your boys will keep them in line.

You dial the police, explain the situation and give your location. While you wait, you turn your attention to the lump of fur in the middle of the forest.

You creep slowly closer, positioning yourself where he can see you coming. The dog’s ears are pinned flat to their skull, mouth pulled tight in fear and pain, eyes squinted.

“Hi gorgeous,” you murmur. An answering whine breaks your heart. “Oh honey, I know. I’m sorry. It’s okay now. I’m here. We’ll keep you safe.”

You inch closer and closer. Stop whenever they twitch like they’re going to run. You dig into a pocket of your coat and extract a treat, gently toss it close to their nose. A twitch, a wet-eyed blink, and then they finally seem to come to life, carefully sniffing at your offering.

“Good baby,” you coo, “so brave.”

The police arrive quicker than you expect, and the dog curls up tight again while you explain the situation. Johnny and Ghost are reluctant to be called off, but a sharp word has them back at your side while the two men are arrested for suspected animal cruelty.

You assure them that you’ll take care of the injured dog - Johnny and Ghost sat like guards at your sides. Once it’s just you and the pups, you turn back to the poor injured dog.

“I know that was scary, sweetie. It’s okay now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The dog’s ears flick, listening but not trusting. You sigh softly, inch a bit closer.

“Johnny?” you call. “Come here, come see if you can help.”

Johnny turns, follows your pointing. He sniffs at the other dog, licks their ears and forehead, coaxing them out of their tight, terrified curl. You guide Johnny down to his stomach, putting them at similar levels.

On your other side, Ghost leans into your side, watching with those too-sharp, too-intelligent eyes.

As the injured dog slowly starts to unwind, you offer your hand, let them sniff carefully at your palm and wrist.

“There we go,” you soothe as a nervous tongue flicks over your skin. “You’re doing so well, darling.”

Johnny starts wiggling with excitement, nudging at the other dog and whining quietly. Ghost joins, nosing gently at the other dog’s side until they finally shift and start crawling closer to you.

You stare at the size of their paws - nearly bigger than your own palm. They scoot closer and closer until nearly in your lap, snout inching beneath your shirt to press against your stomach.

You smooth your hand over their head, waiting until you see their tail wagging slow and cautious.

“Good baby,” you whisper. “You wanna come home with me, pretty baby?”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #woof woof au #au of an au

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gatorbites-imagines · 8 months

Note

Might be weird to ask but petplay? I just think certain COD men *cough cough* soap *cough cough* would be esp good as dumb puppies y'know?

COD petplay headcanons

Little do you know anon, I enjoy petplay, so this is no weird question at all. And you are so right. Petplay COD be upon ye.

Ill be going on holiday all of next week, so if you guys are fine with shorter replies i can write some on my phone, let me know what you think.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Soap is such a good pup, kind of a brat sometimes but its because he wants your attention. You’ll catch him crawling around with your clothes in his mouth or half crawled under the kitchen table, his lower body still sticking out as he chews on something he shouldn’t be chewing on.

Whines loudly and paws at your leg for attention any time you aren’t paying attention to him. Can’t you see how good he’s being? How tempted his tummy is when he rolls onto his back? Don’t you wanna rub it?

The type to crawl around in a jockstrap, a harness, a collar, a puphood and pup gloves. Don’t forget the plug with a tail attached so he can wag so prettily for you, or so it can wag all over the place when he’s feeling playful.

Sadly, you’ll have to punish the poor pup on the regular, he makes a mess and can’t keep himself from humping your leg or crawling onto the furniture to lick and bite at you. Its not unusual to find him humping pillows in your bedroom, whining for you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Hes more calm than the others, but don’t expect that means he’s less of a troublemaker. Will steal your keys or your clothes and hide them under the bed, or under his dog bed so that you can’t leave. Will chew on your belts and throw your laundry all over the place.

A whiner too, has this warbled pathetic sounding whine he lets out when you tell him to stay still and quiet so you can work, but settles down if hes allowed to wrap around your feet. It always ends up with him chewing or licking your ankles though.

Wears a getup similar to Soap, with the jockstrap, harness, hood and gloves. Likes how it makes him dependent on you as his master to take care of him. Sometimes he just gets home from a mission, puts on his hood, and lays down with his head in your lap to calm down from the day.

Tries to be more sneaky when he’s horny, like subtly grinding into the floor or his dog bed, or sitting down and wiggling in his spot so he can move his plug around inside him. You always catch him though, since he starts that warbly whine when he gets close but can’t finish without you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The most well-behaved pup, think like a well-trained military dog. Always standing straight on all fours, back straight, head lifted, and chest puffed out. He soaks up any praise you give him with a gruff bark and a small wag.

Doesn’t regularly whine, is more of a barker or growler. He growls the most if there are other pups around that try to get close to you or play with him, as he’s always standing on guard in front of you. You always have to muzzle him around other pups cuz Ghost does nip at times, especially when other pups are acting up and he needs to correct their behavior.

Tends to do play either fully dressed in his military gear, just a tail strapped to his belt and a customized hood with his skull paint. Or fully naked, only wearing maybe a harness, a spikey collar, his hood, his tail, and a cockcage unless you need it off.

If Ghost is in the mood, you’ll invite other pups over (unless you are poly and have multiple partners who are pups) and Ghost will assert himself as the alpha amongst them. This is where you take the cage off him so he can push down the other pups and take them. He will always arch his back for you though, or roll onto his back and spread his legs with a tiny barely audible whine for you.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

A very quiet pup and doesn’t act up much, tends to be more on the chill side. Hes even allowed in the furniture since he wont mess it up like others, and likes to curl up beside you with his head in your lap.

When hes feeling it though, like if you’ve been apart for a while, he might start growing antsy. Crawling around in front of you or sitting right by your feet and letting out tiny barely audible whines. It always ends up with him pawing at your knee and looking at you with the most lethal puppy eyes ever.

Doesn’t wear as much gear at the others, I don’t think he would enjoy the gloves that make his hands unusable, and the hood might feel too restrictive to him. Instead hed just resort to walking on his knuckles, wearing a headband with ears, and maybe wearing a belt with a tail on top of his boxers.

A licker, he doesn’t say much, but you will know he’s truly in the mood when he starts licking you all over. Licking at your hands, your legs, your torso, slobbering all over your pants and crotch until you open your belt and give him what he wants.

Phillip Graves

Another troublemaking pup, a brat. Rips up pillows and gnaws on your belts and wallet. The type you have to play tug of war with for your belt as he growls and yips, wagging his tail and drooling on the floor.

The kinda pup you’ll have to spank and punish in other ways, not out of this world to put him in a cockcage or crate for the night if he’s acted out way too much. He enjoys it very much though, so it’s nothing he hasn’t asked for himself. Graves has probably come up with some of the punishments himself.

Hes fully geared up, hood, gloves, tail and all, except he wouldn’t wear a jockstrap, just fully naked expect for the pup parts. Hes not always wearing a cage as its only for punishment, so you can catch him grinding against stuff sometimes.

The most effective punishment for him is overstimulation, laying him across your lap and jerking him off until he’s whining and writhing and shaking, where after you’ll let him cuddle against your chest after cleaning him up, praising him and giving him good aftercare.

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 3 months

Text

Here, Allow Me ~ D.G.

A/n: Another one check marked :) It's still not the one I promised but uh... I hope that's okay. I've been struggling to write rip

Request: “ZATANNA MALE READER X DICK GRAYSON, they go on a mission together and dick and reader get hurt but dick more so and reader teleports them somewhere trying to keep him alive while help arrives. end it fluffy please” by anon

Word Count: 2900+

MASTERLIST

There were certain things you just had to accept if you were going to date Dick Grayson. One of them was that he would always be in the field. Whether or not he was Robin or Nightwing, or even Batman, the suit would always be apart of his life. Another thing you had to accept: You would have to just keep up.

It wasn't easy to match pace with anyone in the Batfam, let alone someone you were dating. It was a little easier for Y/n though. After all, he had magic.

Everyone associated Y/n was Zatanna, but he had trained with John Constantine first. It was an accidental situation, but expected when a demon with a grudge against Constantine met a young, impressionable kid with a bone to pick with the world. He'd wormed his way into Constantine's life playing as someone born with magic he couldn't control and had gotten training from the man himself. Which allowed Y/n to get more powerful as he learned more and more about his target up close and personally - weaknesses and abilities alike.

Y/n was the only one who'd ever gotten close to defeating Constantine, and almost got killed doing it. But when he revealed himself as a secret bad guy - well, Batman was impossible to fool. He'd prepared for this, seeing Y/n's anger and noticing the way his magic was almost alive - not something inborn, but something almost separate that worked to keep him alive. That was actually how Y/n and Dick had first met - when the Young Justice had come to Constantine's aide and saved his ass. At the time he'd been dating Zatanna, but that hadn't lasted much longer.

It had been rough at first. They'd had to find the demon behind Y/n, and Zatanna had banished it and destroyed the link between it and Y/n, leaving the poor teen completely defenseless. He'd hated the team for it, and hadn't talked to anyone until Constantine offered to train him for real. After all, Y/n still knew a lot about magic, and the deep connection he'd had with that demon had left behind the potential to harness such energies. With the opportunity to remain able to defend himself and a rough home life he was on the run from, the team took him on and Zatanna began to help him along with Constantine. Eventually she joined the League and Y/n was left to stay on the team as the resident magic user.

After a while, Dick Grayson could claim he'd dated two magicians.

Y/n had taken a lot after Zatanna. He used magic by speaking backward as well, and took up the magician aesthetic. They looked like a set... which had been a little painful at first. She'd given Y/n her father's old suit and matching with him like that had been a little startling. But Zatara had approved and eventually everyone had adjusted. Because of all of this, Y/n hadn't been open to Dick's advances at first; he was sure Nightwing was just rebounding on someone who reminded him Zatanna who Y/n was sure Dick just missed.

Because of this they almost hadn't happened, but Bruce was tired of watching his family be alone because of this life they lead, and took a single moment to play a little matchmaker. He'd invited Y/n over for dinner - no masks. Y/n had discovered the identities of the entire Batfam when he had been analyzing them to take them all down, so there was no need for pretenses. Bruce invited the kid under the proposition that Y/n could go to school with Artemis, but that it would require a scholarship from the Waynes and they should get to know each other first.

Everyone knew it was bullshit - Artemis had gotten the scholarship without knowing the Waynes after all. But Y/n didn't, and that was the point. With Bruce's only slight tampering out of the way, he left the rest to the others. Y/n bonded with Jason first, then Tim and then Barbara. They all adored him and seeing him get along with the family was enough to have Dick tripping over himself by the end of the night. When Alfred himself approved of the lad, the deal was done. And with some words of comfort from Barbara, Y/n got over that lingering impression that Dick didn't really care about him.

Dick drove Y/n home, and they had a first date confirmed before they even topped at the cave where Y/n was staying with everyone else who didn't have anywhere to go.

After that it wasn't hard to get approval to work with the Batfam directly as well as the Team. Y/n was busy a lot, working with Dick side by side and sometimes even without him. They learned how to balance work and relationship and personal life rather well. It wasn't perfect but all of it was theirs, and that was what mattered.

Then Jason died.

Jason and Y/n had always been particularly close. They understood each other in a way the others really didn't. They were both carrying dark pasts on the corners of bright smiles, with the constant yearning for trouble settled in their throats. They'd been horrible pranksters, and not even Dick could always predict them or avoid them. Only Alfred had never been touched. Y/n had been on the mission with Jason when he died. He'd been knocked out and Jason had been kidnapped... and then had to just sit and wait for Bruce to find his best friend.

Something changed after that. Y/n was darker, angrier. He smiled less. He was still good in the field, but he suddenly got really protective. Dick understood why Y/n felt the need to watch everyone, always run to their aid, but when it almost got Y/n killed he'd had enough.

Their first argument since even the beginning of their relationship had been ugly.

Y/n had to handle a lot more during the relationship than Dick did, and he felt irritated that after all he had taken with complete ease and no complaint, Dick was still asking more of Y/n. And then Dick asked Y/n to retire and...

When the two said they were going on a break, everyone knew that wasn't all. Everyone knew they were due any day for a break up. The Team, the Batfam - they'd all seen Connor and M'gann fall apart in real time and it had looked exactly like this. Y/n began to draw further and further from Dick, and seemed to stop caring about him altogether. He didn't seem to watch Dick's back every second anymore, but he also seemed to lose every single emotion he'd ever had. Batman was seconds away from cutting him off the team forcibly and resigning himself to losing Y/n as he distanced himself from everyone.

The moment never came.

It was a mission like any other. Infiltration and extraction. Y/n was particularly good at staying back anyway, so he had fallen into the role of look out. He had a lot of spells that helped his awareness and allowed him to play support. And with his recent habit of keeping an eye on everyone anyway, putting him on the front lines just wasn't where he was best.

It was Garfield who got spotted. It was hard for him to sneak around, and he could turn into something small for sure but when you're green it's a pretty obvious tell and some people just knew how to spot him.

Everyone was almost out when one of the flying bullets caught Dick's leg and he fell. Y/n didn't even hesitate - he teleported into the fight immediately and began throwing spells, keeping people back to try and give Dick the space to get away. Everyone else had scattered; they didn't even know Dick had fallen. It was up to Y/n, and when all you are is a spell caster there's just not a lot you can do against so many people by yourself.

Dick was amazed. Y/n's focus, the way his eyes took in every single detail. His words and the easy way they formed, even backward. He wasn't as good as Zatanna but he was excellent at the trade. The problem was Dick was losing blood fast, and it was becoming quickly clear that it wasn't just a bullet at all - he was poisoned. He couldn't get out of here without being followed and that would be even worse. So he moved closer to Y/n instead of away, gripping his ankle.

It distracted Y/n, allowing something large to shatter against his shield spell, shrapnel slicing his shoulder. He screamed, and grabbed it, but it knocked him out of his stubborn decision to stay put and stand tall until he died. It forced Y/n to acknowledge that he was losing, and Dick needed him. Despite everything between them, that seemed to be enough. Y/n reached down, grabbing Dick's forearm, and Dick returned the hold. Y/n spoke quickly, and the pair was teleporting away again.

The second they were alone Dick was arguing with him. "Why didn't you do that immediately?"

"Because you were running away from me and I couldn't get to you without compromising both of our safety," Y/n snapped back without missing a beat. Right back to their forming bad habits...

Dick wasn't satisfied with Y/ns answer. "Why didn't you just teleport closer to me?"

"Because the point was to draw their attention, not grab you and get out! You were supposed to at least bind your wound so you weren't just freely bleeding."

"There was something in the bullet, I could feel it almost immediately. There's... something.." As the adrenaline of the moment faded and all that was keeping him talking was arguing - which, as it rose his heartrate, probably wasn't a good idea - he began to lose strength and collapsed in Y/n's arms. His eyes fluttered closed and he went silent.

Y/n's breathing immediately quickened, growing shallow. "Nightwing," he snapped, slowly lowering him to the ground. He forced himself to work slowly through the panic, checking Dick's pulse. It was skittish and getting slower. Something was wrong. Y/n could feel the panic increasing. He grit his teeth and forced away the images of Jason's broken body in Bruce's arms. He instead grabbed Dick's arm, turning it to access the body monitor all the Batfam wore.

As he had the thought to get in contact with everyone else, he felt Miss Martian's psychic link restore and he reached out to her, drawing her to their location. He ran down the entire situation and analyzed how fast whatever was effecting Nightwing was effecting him.

M'gann didn't have to tell Y/n that they weren't going to make it to the two and back to the Cave in time. Y/n closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. He needed to know what was wrong with Dick in order to save him. If he didn't, no one would. And Y/n wouldn't lose Dick. Not like he'd lost Jason. Not him. Anyone but him.

Finally the spells Y/n was casting to figure out what the hell was wrong came with a result. A specific poison, fast acting, 100% fatality rate. Y/n felt his anger rise as his vision blurred with tears. He blinked quickly to clear it, ignoring as the tears fell down his cheeks. He closed his eyes to force his mind to come up with the words he needed.

"Ezilibats mih." His words echoed and Y/n was immediately rechecking his heartbeat and vitals, but his vision was too blurry. He couldn't see anything, couldn't make sense of it. He was out of ideas - if this didn't work Dick was dead. The thought made Y/n crumble and he pulled Dick into his chest, burying his face in his hair. He was begging under his breath, shaking, in shambles. And that was how the Team found them.

At first everyone thought Dick was dead, but when Miss M told them he was fine, Y/n only began to cry harder and everyone exchanged looks but they knew what had happened without even having to ask. Y/n was silent on the ride back to the Cave. Dick woke up there, in their little hospital wing, all healed and completely fine. He was updated on what happened in the mission, and Connor took him aside to tell him about Y/n's reaction to the whole thing. "Just so you understand why."

Dick tensed. "Why what?" He demanded.

Connor pursed his lips. "He quit. The Team, everything. He said he's done and has been looking for entry level jobs so he can buy his own apartment and move out of the Cave." Bruce had given him a secretary job at Wayne Enterprises, and Y/n had been doing wonderfully - even after Jason's passing. If he was looking to get out of the job, then that would mean he'd stop coming to family dinners, stop dropping by for Holidays. He'd be alone and the Batfam would be missing one more member. The Team would lose their friend. Y/n was trying to disappear.

Dick didn't wait and no one stopped him. He was up immediately, only gritting his teeth at his hurt leg but otherwise walking perfectly fine as he moved through the halls at as quick a pace as he could manage while he hunted down Y/n.

He was in his room. Where he had been every free moment since Jason's death. Unsurprising then that Dick looked there first and, upon knocking on the door, wasn't shocked to see Y/n open it. He looked horrible, with heavy lids and bags under his eyes and a slouch to his shoulders. He looked exhausted.

"Before you try and-" Y/n began.

Dick pushed through the door and pulled him in a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't thank you, thank you. Thank you for all those years ago, choosing to let us help you instead of turning away. Thank you for loving our family as much as I do and becoming apart of it. Thank you for giving Jason a best friend - he really needed it. Thank you for joining the team and saving so many of our lives so many times. Thank you for letting me love you. It was the best time of my life and I will always treasure it because you're an amazing person. Thank you for letting me know you."

Y/n was silent for a long time. He didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. But then, just as Dick was losing hope, ever so slowly, Y/n's arms moved to wrap around Dick and hug him back. They melted into each other and Dick could feel the material of his shirt get wet as Y/n cried on his shoulder.

"Bruce was right, I can't do this. I need to take a break." The words were a relief to hear.

"Okay," Dick agreed. He held his boyfriend tighter. They hadn't broken up yet, and he tried to hold onto that in this moment. It might be his last chance to think that.

Y/n seemed surprise at the lack of a response. "I won't be able to fight with you anymore - maybe ever again. We'll have way less time together, I won't be able to help you with cases. You'll have to face so much more on your own and we'll come to resent each other eventually. It'll fall apart like it always does. No time, no energy-"

"If you think that I'd ever resent you for prioritizing your needs, you're an idiot." Y/n's words died. "I will always love you for doing this. You should. You shouldn't keep going if you can't. I just can't lose you completely. I need you to be some part of my life. Everyone will miss you; the team; the family. Everyone. Promise me you won't quit at Wayne Tech. Promise me you won't disappear because you feel bad about retiring."

A shaky breath came from Y/n then and he held Dick tighter, burying his face in Dick's shoulder. They hadn't hugged this long in ages and it was what they both desperately needed. Y/n sighed, shaking his head. "Okay. I promise."

Dick leaned back and Y/n let him, even as Dick raised a hand to wipe away the remaining tears and pulled him into a kiss. They both lingered, and after a moment even relaxed. melted into each other. Dick didn't go far when the kiss ended, resting their foreheads together. "I don't want to break up with you. I want to give it a shot. I want to try, I want to fight. I don't want to fade from each others' lives - if it ends ugly then that's how it ends. I want to hold onto you."

Everyone knew how Dick's relationships ended. It was fire and joy and passion that slowly dimmed and faded into professionalism and business relations. They grew distant, but the fondness remained, and they parted on mutual, good terms. Dick always wanted to avoid ugly break ups, wanted to preserve relations as much as possible. The fact that he was willing to throw caution to the wind meant a lot.

Y/n chuckled, sighing a second time. "You're impossible, Dick Grayson."

Dick smiled. "Impossibly in love with you."

For the first time since Jason had died, Y/n laughed. Loud, with his full chest. His head fell back and he pulled Dick closer. The moment was warm and bright and all of the darkness and heaviness that had been plaguing them fell away completely, leaving them free and light. One thing was certain: they'd succeeded. They'd made it out the other side.

At least for now, they'd be alright.

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

#male reader #nightwing #dick Grayson #dc #young justice #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing x male reader #dick Grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick Grayson x male reader #young justice imagine #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x male reader

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mylovelies-docx · 10 months

Text

Sorry, I Love You - Part 2

Womp, womp. I apologize in advance for this part :)

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: ANGST x3, unrequited feelings, arguments

Word Count: 1,550

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

Part 1

Over the next couple of days, you’re kind of glad that Bucky doesn’t reach out. You see each other in the common areas, but he doesn’t offer to hang out or train together, and neither do you. But you’re the type of person that can’t hang on to negative feelings for too long, so after about a week, you’re ready to be ‘just friends’ with Bucky again.

You start by sending him a text, totally innocuous and about something random you’d seen, but his reply is short. A little odd from him, but hey, he’s probably busy at the moment and still feeling a little weird. You’ll try your hardest to get you both past this awkward phase in your friendship.

You glance up from the reports you’d been writing all morning. It’s close to lunch now, so you head to the kitchen to find something appetizing. You hope the chef has been in…

Walking into the kitchen, you see Bucky and Steve sitting at the island. There’s a large spread of food between the two of them, but you know it will be tucked away to their stomachs in no time.

“Hey, boys!” You greet cheerfully.

Steve turns around and gives you a broad smile and a “hey” back. Bucky just slightly nods his head and throws you more of a grimace than a smile.

You squint your eyes at Bucky’s ‘greeting’, but continue on into the room to start preparing a sandwich since there’s no stealing what’s left on the island. You and Steve start up a conversation which Bucky barely participates in except when one of you asks him a direct question. You can see Steve throwing Bucky exasperated looks when he thinks you won’t notice.

You throw everything into the sandwich press to heat up and turn around to lean against the counter and peer over at the boys. Bucky sits at the island, just spooning food into his mouth and ignoring you and Steve to the best of his ability.

“What’s up with you?” you finally question him.

Steve shoots a panicked look between you and Bucky, which lets you know that Bucky must have told him about what you’d said. Which, to be expected, you suppose. They’re best friends. And you’d already told Nat and Wanda about everything, anyway.

“Me?” he questions. Bucky looks at you kind of puzzled before going on, “I’m just… trying to help?” He says this more as if questioning the validity of his plan than giving an actual answer.

You’re quick to laugh it off. “Jesus, Buck. I agreed we should stop fucking, not stop being friends.”

Steve’s eyes widen further and Bucky chokes. He has to clear his throat before he can respond properly. “I guess that’s not a secret anymore, huh?”

You frown at him. “I figured you’d already told him everything – Nat and Wanda know.” You throw an apologetic look Steve’s way. “I’m sorry, Stevie. Didn’t mean to upset your delicate constitution.”

“Har har,” he quips. You smile brightly back at him.

Bucky sighs deeply. “I just don’t think –”

“Stop,” you interrupt him. “I told you to forget about it.”

“Well, it’s kind of fucking hard to forget,” Bucky gripes, stabbing his spoon down into his bowl.

You freeze for a moment before saying anything. You blink several times and take in a deep, calming breath.

“Hey Steve, could you give us a second?” you ask quietly. The man needs no further prompting; he’s immediately out of his seat and through the doors with a supportive little grin thrown your way before he’s out of sight.

You’re still leaning back against the counter, but now you pull your arms up to cross over your chest. You hate that all your hard work over the last few days might derail so quickly. You were already vulnerable once, and it didn’t turn out how you wanted; you’re not sure if you can do it again.

“I said I’d handle it, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I can’t.” Bucky looks up at you, his jaw tight.

His anger is so far from expected, you’re unsure what’s going on. You pitch your head forward, disbelieving.

“What?”

“Maybe I can’t handle it; did you think of that?” he repeats. His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands up, fists gripping the edge of the counter. “Did you think that maybe I’d be uncomfortable knowing how you feel about me?”

“Buck–” you try.

“No, Y/N.” There’s reproach in his voice. He takes a visible calming breath and lets up on the countertop before it begins to crumble.

As much as it hurt the other night, this is a million times worse. This isn’t embarrassment about being rejected anymore – you can live with that – but his genuine anger over your confession guts you. You inhale a shaky breath and prepare yourself.

“I told you time and again that I don’t want a relationship. We agreed before we started anything that there wouldn’t be feelings. You promised me. You lied.”

“I didn’t lie,” you try to defend. “I honestly didn’t feel like this in the beginning.”

“But when you started to get feelings for me, you didn’t try to stop us! You let it go on, thinking that I’d change my mind!”

“Now wait a minute –”

“I’m just…” he takes a deep breath in and out. Again. His shoulders drop and he shakes his head, the fight leaving him. “I’m trying my best not to be angry. But I am.”

Bucky looks up from where he’s been staring at the floor, trying to avoid looking at you more than necessary. You can only imagine the look of hurt on your face as Bucky fights back a defeated sigh.

“Look. I know it’s not your fault – I never should have suggested it in the first place.”

“Bucky–”

“And I wish I hadn’t.”

You suck in a tight breath between your teeth. Bucky wishes he’d never suggested it? That means he wishes he’d never slept with you at all, right? Regrets spending all the time with you that lead to being as good of friends as you are? Or were, you guess.

He regrets it? Regrets you?

Goddamn. There’s a pain so deep inside your chest, you can’t distinguish the feeling from having a bullet lodged in your lungs. You rub deep and hard with your knuckles against your sternum, drawing the pain outwards.

There’s silence in the room.

“I see,” you whisper shakily. You suck your bottom lip roughly between your teeth and nod your head slowly, looking away from Bucky.

You’re unsure of where to go from here. Obviously you and Bucky can’t go back to the way things were – you can’t just pretend like you hadn’t taken a sledgehammer to your friendship that night after the movies.

You catch sight of Bucky from your peripheral vision. He takes his rough hands and runs them through his long brown hair, gathering it into a bun at the nape of his neck. You know it’s a nervous habit more than functional, given the situation you’ve found yourselves in.

It guts you to realize that your admission has caused him this much stress, caused him so many negative emotions. He’s worked so hard after all the shit Hydra put him through. Worked to make himself into a normal man with boundaries he wanted and needed respected.

And you hadn’t done that. You’d trampled all over the lines he’d drawn in the sand, barrelled right up and over to the other side.

“I didn’t mean –”

“Don’t you dare apologize, James Barnes,” you command. He looks slightly surprised by the hardness of your tone and the sound of his real name in your mouth. You hadn’t called him by his given name since becoming friends. “I’m the only one responsible for my own decisions, no matter who brought up the idea. I agreed. I caught feelings. I ruined it. Not you.” Your voice softens to make sure that Bucky knows you’re not angry with him. Not over something you did. “Don’t apologize for my mistakes.”

You step away from the countertop, moving so that you’re on the same side of the island as Bucky. Face-to-face now, but with a meter of space separating you, you look directly into Bucky’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

It takes him a moment to stop reeling from the sheer intensity of your apology. The sincerity behind those last two words blowing through him but also rooting him to the spot. Bucky swallows thickly and nods once, accepting your apology.

You blow out a breath and crook him a sad smile. You place one foot back, taking half of a small step away from Bucky, giving him space. Giving you space.

“I’ll go see if there are any extended missions. Maybe go help out with some of the conflicts going on.”

Giving him a lot of space.

“Doll.”

“It’s alright,” you say, still with the sad smile. “Maybe Nat can go on that mission with you, huh? You’ll have more fun together, anyway.”

“We would have had fun together,” he said.

The ‘if you hadn’t messed it up’ left unspoken, you thought sadly. You flatten your lips and put on a thoughtful expression, nodding your head after a moment.

“Yeah, we would have.”

Part 3

@jackiehollanderr @aboobie (will not tag) @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #Sorry I Love You

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

Text

Solar is a market for (financial) lemons

There are only four more days left in my Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Rooftop solar is the future, but it's also a scam. It didn't have to be, but America decided that the best way to roll out distributed, resilient, clean and renewable energy was to let Wall Street run the show. They turned it into a scam, and now it's in terrible trouble. which means we are in terrible trouble.

There's a (superficial) good case for turning markets loose on the problem of financing the rollout of an entirely new kind of energy provision across a large and heterogeneous nation. As capitalism's champions (and apologists) have observed since the days of Adam Smith and David Ricardo, markets harness together the work of thousands or even millions of strangers in pursuit of a common goal, without all those people having to agree on a single approach or plan of action. Merely dangle the incentive of profit before the market's teeming participants and they will align themselves towards it, like iron filings all snapping into formation towards a magnet.

But markets have a problem: they are prone to "reward hacking." This is a term from AI research: tell your AI that you want it to do something, and it will find the fastest and most efficient way of doing it, even if that method is one that actually destroys the reason you were pursuing the goal in the first place.

https://learn.microsoft.com/en-us/security/engineering/failure-modes-in-machine-learning

For example: if you use an AI to come up with a Roomba that doesn't bang into furniture, you might tell that Roomba to avoid collisions. However, the Roomba is only designed to register collisions with its front-facing sensor. Turn the Roomba loose and it will quickly hit on the tactic of racing around the room in reverse, banging into all your furniture repeatedly, while never registering a single collision:

https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2021/04/when-ais-start-hacking.html

This is sometimes called the "alignment problem." High-speed, probabilistic systems that can't be fully predicted in advance can very quickly run off the rails. It's an idea that pre-dates AI, of course – think of the Sorcerer's Apprentice. But AI produces these perverse outcomes at scale…and so does capitalism.

Many sf writers have observed the odd phenomenon of corporate AI executives spinning bad sci-fi scenarios about their AIs inadvertently destroying the human race by spinning off in some kind of paperclip-maximizing reward-hack that reduces the whole planet to grey goo in order to make more paperclips. This idea is very implausible (to say the least), but the fact that so many corporate leaders are obsessed with autonomous systems reward-hacking their way into catastrophe tells us something about corporate executives, even if it has no predictive value for understanding the future of technology.

Both Ted Chiang and Charlie Stross have theorized that the source of these anxieties isn't AI – it's corporations. Corporations are these equilibrium-seeking complex machines that can't be programmed, only prompted. CEOs know that they don't actually run their companies, and it haunts them, because while they can decompose a company into all its constituent elements – capital, labor, procedures – they can't get this model-train set to go around the loop:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

Stross calls corporations "Slow AI," a pernicious artificial life-form that acts like a pedantic genie, always on the hunt for ways to destroy you while still strictly following your directions. Markets are an extremely reliable way to find the most awful alignment problems – but by the time they've surfaced them, they've also destroyed the thing you were hoping to improve with your market mechanism.

Which brings me back to solar, as practiced in America. In a long Time feature, Alana Semuels describes the waves of bankruptcies, revealed frauds, and even confiscation of homeowners' houses arising from a decade of financialized solar:

https://time.com/6565415/rooftop-solar-industry-collapse/

The problem starts with a pretty common finance puzzle: solar pays off big over its lifespan, saving the homeowner money and insulating them from price-shocks, emergency power outages, and other horrors. But solar requires a large upfront investment, which many homeowners can't afford to make. To resolve this, the finance industry extends credit to homeowners (lets them borrow money) and gets paid back out of the savings the homeowner realizes over the years to come.

But of course, this requires a lot of capital, and homeowners still might not see the wisdom of paying even some of the price of solar and taking on debt for a benefit they won't even realize until the whole debt is paid off. So the government moved in to tinker with the markets, injecting prompts into the slow AIs to see if it could coax the system into producing a faster solar rollout – say, one that didn't have to rely on waves of deadly power-outages during storms, heatwaves, fires, etc, to convince homeowners to get on board because they'd have experienced the pain of sitting through those disasters in the dark.

The government created subsidies – tax credits, direct cash, and mixes thereof – in the expectation that Wall Street would see all these credits and subsidies that everyday people were entitled to and go on the hunt for them. And they did! Armies of fast-talking sales-reps fanned out across America, ringing dooorbells and sticking fliers in mailboxes, and lying like hell about how your new solar roof was gonna work out for you.

These hustlers tricked old and vulnerable people into signing up for arrangements that saw them saddled with ballooning debt payments (after a honeymoon period at a super-low teaser rate), backstopped by liens on their houses, which meant that missing a payment could mean losing your home. They underprovisioned the solar that they installed, leaving homeowners with sky-high electrical bills on top of those debt payments.

If this sounds familiar, it's because it shares a lot of DNA with the subprime housing bubble, where fast-talking salesmen conned vulnerable people into taking out predatory mortgages with sky-high rates that kicked in after a honeymoon period, promising buyers that the rising value of housing would offset any losses from that high rate.

These fraudsters knew they were acquiring toxic assets, but it didn't matter, because they were bundling up those assets into "collateralized debt obligations" – exotic black-box "derivatives" that could be sold onto pension funds, retail investors, and other suckers.

This is likewise true of solar, where the tax-credits, subsidies and other income streams that these new solar installations offgassed were captured and turned into bonds that were sold into the financial markets, producing an insatiable demand for more rooftop solar installations, and that meant lots more fraud.

Which brings us to today, where homeowners across America are waking up to discover that their power bills have gone up thanks to their solar arrays, even as the giant, financialized solar firms that supplied them are teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, thanks to waves of defaults. Meanwhile, all those bonds that were created from solar installations are ticking timebombs, sitting on institutions' balance-sheets, waiting to go blooie once the defaults cross some unpredictable threshold.

Markets are very efficient at mobilizing capital for growth opportunities. America has a lot of rooftop solar. But 70% of that solar isn't owned by the homeowner – it's owned by a solar company, which is to say, "a finance company that happens to sell solar":

https://www.utilitydive.com/news/solarcity-maintains-34-residential-solar-market-share-in-1h-2015/406552/

And markets are very efficient at reward hacking. The point of any market is to multiply capital. If the only way to multiply the capital is through building solar, then you get solar. But the finance sector specializes in making the capital multiply as much as possible while doing as little as possible on the solar front. Huge chunks of those federal subsidies were gobbled up by junk-fees and other financial tricks – sometimes more than 100%.

The solar companies would be in even worse trouble, but they also tricked all their victims into signing binding arbitration waivers that deny them the power to sue and force them to have their grievances heard by fake judges who are paid by the solar companies to decide whether the solar companies have done anything wrong. You will not be surprised to learn that the arbitrators are reluctant to find against their paymasters.

I had a sense that all this was going on even before I read Semuels' excellent article. We bought a solar installation from Treeium, a highly rated, giant Southern California solar installer. We got an incredibly hard sell from them to get our solar "for free" – that is, through these financial arrangements – but I'd just sold a book and I had cash on hand and I was adamant that we were just going to pay upfront. As soon as that was clear, Treeium's ardor palpably cooled. We ended up with a grossly defective, unsafe and underpowered solar installation that has cost more than $10,000 to bring into a functional state (using another vendor). I briefly considered suing Treeium (I had insisted on striking the binding arbitration waiver from the contract) but in the end, I decided life was too short.

The thing is, solar is amazing. We love running our house on sunshine. But markets have proven – again and again – to be an unreliable and even dangerous way to improve Americans' homes and make them more resilient. After all, Americans' homes are the largest asset they are apt to own, which makes them irresistible targets for scammers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

That's why the subprime scammers targets Americans' homes in the 2000s, and it's why the house-stealing fraudsters who blanket the country in "We Buy Ugly Homes" are targeting them now. Same reason Willie Sutton robbed banks: "That's where the money is":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/

America can and should electrify and solarize. There are serious logistical challenges related to sourcing the underlying materials and deploying the labor, but those challenges are grossly overrated by people who assume the only way we can approach them is though markets, those monkey's paw curses that always find a way to snatch profitable defeat from the jaws of useful victory.

To get a sense of how the engineering challenges of electrification could be met, read McArthur fellow Saul Griffith's excellent popular engineering text Electrify:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/09/practical-visionary/#popular-engineering

And to really understand the transformative power of solar, don't miss Deb Chachra's How Infrastructure Works, where you'll learn that we could give every person on Earth the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, but colder) by capturing just 0.4% of the solar rays that reach Earth's surface:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

But we won't get there with markets. All markets will do is create incentives to cheat. Think of the market for "carbon offsets," which were supposed to substitute markets for direct regulation, and which produced a fraud-riddled market for lemons that sells indulgences to our worst polluters, who go on destroying our planet and our future:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

We can address the climate emergency, but not by prompting the slow AI and hoping it doesn't figure out a way to reward-hack its way to giant profits while doing nothing. Founder and chairman of Goodleap, Hayes Barnard, is one of the 400 richest people in the world – a fortune built on scammers who tricked old people into signing away their homes for nonfunctional solar):

https://www.forbes.com/profile/hayes-barnard/?sh=40d596362b28

If governments are willing to spend billions incentivizing rooftop solar, they can simply spend billions installing rooftop solar – no Slow AI required.

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28 - TOMORROW!) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/27/here-comes-the-sun-king/#sign-here

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image:

Future Atlas/www.futureatlas.com/blog (modified)

https://www.flickr.com/photos/87913776@N00/3996366952

CC BY 2.0

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

J Doll (modified)

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blue_Sky_%28140451293%29.jpeg

CC BY 3.0

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #solar #financialization #energy #climate #electrification #climate emergency #bezzles #ai #reward hacking #alignment problem #carbon offsets #slow ai #subprime

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