#the emotional damage surely does mount

[nanomooselet]

Episode Six: Once Upon a Time in Hopeland

After last episode's cheerful and uplifting conclusion, it's Wolfwood's turn to suffer! Heh, implying it's ever not Wolfwood's turn.

Okay, sometimes it's Roberto's turn. The boys doing a synchronised shrug in the truck's backseat was such a funny way to demonstrate their weird camaraderie even when they're freezing each other out. They looked like a pair of brooding teenagers.

Did anyone actually believe that the reporters had left the story, or that Vash didn't consider them friends?

Anyway, before we get into it, and because I've complained discussed this extensively elsewhere: Legato, Livio. These panels are from flashbacks to earlier in their lives. The further changes to their designs seem to have them more directly contrasting Wolfwood. So we have Livio, neat and professional, to this sockless loser scruffy untucked Wolfwood, as well as white/blue Legato to black/red Wolfwood.

After yesterday's rehearsal in Rollo, it's time for opening night on Nick's backstory as the "undertaker" assumes centre stage - no doubt against his will. For the moment, Vash is somewhat relegated to the background, but it is by no means a coincidence that early in the episode he starts to openly prod Wolfwood about what's motivating him. Also, Wolfwood interrupting his own cantankerous rant about "babysitting" Vash to save him from getting shot makes me laugh. Sorry, dude, you're still not fooling anyone.

Enter Zazie, Livio, Legato and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad plan. With this, uh, interesting choice of camera angle.

I doubt Knives was consulted about any of this. All other instances of threats against Vash have ended very badly for the threat. Do you want to imagine what would have happened to Legato if Livio had succeeded in carrying out his orders, and Knives found out who was responsible? Having read the manga since, I don't have to. And that's apart from Wolfwood's need to protect being all that's keeping him going. I think this episode and the next are laying down groundwork both for the actual season climax and for whatever comes next.

I said before that Nick was in a bad place, and it's in this episode that we learn just how bad. Leaving aside that his innocence was ripped away and he's been forced into an alien, too-adult body before getting shot and wadded up like bubble gum, he's been coerced into working for the cult holding everyone he loves hostage to his obedience. If he acts out, they're worse than dead. If he escapes, he's replaced. If he dies, he's replaced, so even that's off the table... but judging by the way he reacted to Rollo, he's still got inclinations in that direction. Now his mission's actively being sabotaged by the guy who mocked and tortured him, then coerced him into serving. It's no wonder he doesn't believe in God, or in the cult's angel, or in Vash's good intentions.

Faith means having hope, and that's something he simply cannot afford to have.

And of course it ends on a cliff hanger, so I'll just post these clowns and their stupid axolotl helmets.

Incidentally, axolotls are amphibious lifeforms capable of regenerating limbs, and one of the shapes taken by Xolotl – dog-headed Aztec god of fire, monsters, misfortune, sickness... and twins.

#trigun stampede #tristampparty #i can't talk about the flashback or i start crying #that's a lie i just have to get to bed #but as the series gets into its back half #the emotional damage surely does mount #trigun meta #meta: tristampparty episodes

[oersteds]

I heard the Middle Ages trio's deal is what if the Cecil/Rose/Kain situation in FF4 was switched around, and that made results. Shizuma Hodoshima voices both Cecil Harvey and Streibough for the complete irony, when Cecil is even the victor of the love triangle. While Kain is filled with envy, that it made him vulnerable to possession by dark forces.

ngl i think both oersted and straybow deserved better than princess bitchtits. i don't count her as a part of the oersted/straybow duo, but rather... a minister/king/alicia trio. the royal trio, if you will

the lal cast is so deprived of women, and they had to settle for alicia. sheesh... nobody deserves to get saddled with her, let alone fight over her.

+ oersted wasn't possessed, he chose violence. he was pushed to his limit, sure. i can see why he saw no other options. doesn't mean he was possessed by a demon.

and the shilling some of these fuckers do in universe. there's this one npc that goes "alicia is our guiding light!!" brother, if she's your brightest star, you are living in a grimdark fantasy

more alicia hot takes under the cut. it gets lengthy

i. i really hate alicia on every level, huh. i try to find something, anything that i like about her, and i just keep finding more to hate about her. "but oersted still loved her!!! his last words in the neutral ending were her name!!!" yea what if he was cursing it. kinda hard to tell by tone, even with context. for example, the "saint alicia" move could be many different things, such as:

oersted/odio trying to remember alicia, and only remembering the anguish she's caused him (emotional damage for both him and the targets) (my personal hc)

alicia's soul, somehow being repeatedly used as an attack (this doesn't make much sense to me, how could oersted/odio restore the soul from that)

something something "he still (somehow) loves her and sees her as the only "saint" in this evil world" (makes even less sense when you realize it's an attack that does A LOT OF DAMAGE to the targets, topped off with a myriad of detrimental status effects)

oersted/odio is a dnd bard and saint alicia is his personal version of vicious mockery (funny, but neither oersted/odio are bards)

also consider: my theory that the battlefield you fight odio on could very well be an illusion... hence the track name for the first phase being illusion. Mount Corpse Pile coulda been odio throwing off the protags.

finally... oersted's last words in the neutral ending are the only time he's talking directly about alicia in the final chapter. if you don't kill oersted after the pure odio fight, alicia is never mentioned by name again, and not thought or spoken of at all unless pogo is your finale protagonist. and even then, it's just "love," which can mean many things.

this is why i feel alicia is meant to be at best a throwaway character for breaking oersted's spirit, and at worst a character that we're supposed to hate, or (possibly) even a statement about how some people don't deserve your forgiveness. though that's pretty unlikely given the message of the game. that being said...

the fandom may forgive alicia, but i sure as hell won't

#cryptid running the drive thru (ask) #extra crypty (tl;dr) #live a live spoilers #cw alicia #cw alethea #no longer maintagged #i still stand by this

[gambleoakley34]

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[cairfrey]

8.

Question's credited to wisteria-lodge and this post:

The answers are created by me for the main character of the sci-fi story I've stopped writing (🙄) I'm hoping it'll give me inspiration to keep going.

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

They don't drink alcohol anymore. When they were younger, they would drink pretty much anything put in front of them, and on special occasions they will have (maybe) one or two drinks, but otherwise they don't drink. If they go to a bar/restaurant with someone, they will always let them order first so that the person they're with can order what they want (alcoholic or otherwise) before they put in their soft drink order. Their go to soft drink order is "Kon-ban-wah" which is an artificially produced pineapple soda.

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

Their grooming routine is so lax as to be almost non-existent. Haircare is their priority as they figure you can get away with a lot so long as the most noticeable part of you (I.e. your hair) as clean and tidy. But even that is more making sure it's neat than actual "grooming".

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Their cybernetics were fairly pricy. They own them outright, except the skillplug jack ("A discreet head-mounted plug port allows use of an intellectual skillplug for a skill requiring minimal physical ability, up to level-1. Once slotted, a skillplug takes fifteen minutes to boot up and integrate properly." - Cities Without Number, p. 73) they are 25 months into a 36-month contract that forces a 2-minute unskippable ad played directly onto their eyes (also cybernetic) every time they use it. Consequently, they try to avoid using it.

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory)

There's a long scar down the back of their head, the consequence of an errant wire snapping. It cut the skin right up but left no lasting damage. Their hair is long to cover it.

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.)

This is a tricky one. They don't cry often. Not because they're bottling feelings up etc. They just...don't. But at the same time, they do cry at emotional films and other well-written media. So the last time would have been when watching something particularly stirring as opposed to being under emotional distress.

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Oldest child by over a decade. Sibling is the favourite. Not antagonistic towards them, but they don't really talk. They live on opposite sides of the station, not out of animosity, that's just where they happen to be right now.

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Their shoes are stylish, but more importantly comfortable. Their mother always said to spend money on their shoes and beds because if you're not using one you're using the other. They're brown boots that provide proper arch support. They're pretty hard on their shoes so this pair is pretty worn thin.

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

Quinn's bunk is very untidy (in contrast to Calliope's) the bed is almost never made and there's usually pyjamas bundled up within the covers. There are a few pictures plastered along the walls, mainly pictures of nice views or fanart that they've printed themselves and hastily stuck to the walls of her bunk.

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.)

They're a big fan of the 'people's' holidays. Things like Labour Day, that were won in protests for workers' rights. These protests were a long time ago (because of the way the guilds operate, most of the workers have decent rights) but they're still more appreciative of them than "Founder's Day".

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)

Along with their cybernetics (that they can't help but take with them) they always have their watch (which stores a tiny PC and uses their eyes as an output display) and their notebook. The notebook is an input for the watch. It looks like an actual notebook (with paper pages etc) but it stores everything written in it digitally, and blank pages in it can be used to display things from the watch.

Their name's Quinn Taylor FYI. But that's a name I regularly use in works in progress so absolutely subject to change.

#creative writing #writers on tumblr #writing #the story i should be working on #a story im playing with #post #I've been working this for 6 days #any actual story will take FOREVER #get to know your character #character quiz #character questions

[freetriumphwasteland-blog]

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[meeksimpactlaw]

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[daydreamingatnight209]

Please check my Main Masterlist for updates on requests! 🥰

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Feedback is always welcome: HATE IS NOT ✨💕

“My Number 19”

Mason Mount x Reader

Warnings - High emotions? Fluff 💞

Prompts- Comforting Mason after the Euros and the song “Marry your Daughter”

1.5k words.

———————————————————————

A  holiday in the sun was exactly what the team needed after their devastating loss in the Euro’s final against Italy. I knew that it hit everyone hard, especially Mason. I remember watching him console his friends on the pitch with tears in my own eyes, as I stood beside his parents, but it wasn’t a time for me to cry. He needed me.

I simply opened my arms to him when he found me in the stands. He wasted no time embracing me, his weight throwing me backwards slightly. I catch myself and wrap my arms around him tightly, tracing small patterns down his back to try and relax him. The tears I caught him holding in on the pitch were now flying freely down his face, as he buries himself into the crook of my neck.

A hand of mine shoots up to his hair as I play with, knowing that it is these small intimate touches that calms him in heated moments like this one.

“You still made history babe; I am so very proud of you” I whisper into his ear as he breathing slow goes back to normal.

He looks up at me and my heart broke from him. I gently wipe away any tears still trapped on his face as he works his way to his parents who go through similar motions to me.

A few days later, we found ourselves in Mykonos. Over the last couple of days Mason has managed to put the loss behind him and thanked the fans for their support as well as addressing that there is no place for racism after virtual attacks appeared online towards some of his teammates. By the time we land his famous smile was back on his face.

A few others join us on the spontaneous get away including Dec who is dating my best friend , Chilly, Jack and Shaw with their partners.

I finish putting my hair up so that it doesn’t receive extensive damage from the pool when Mase enters the room.

“Dec and some of the lads have hired a yacht for the day, do you wanna  join?

He hugs me from behind, humming to himself as I push down any fly away hair strands. I look at him through the mirror with a twinkle in my eye.

“Of course! Do you really need to ask Mase?”

I grab my beach bag and head out the room with my boyfriend.

The day was spent swimming in the sea, sunbathing and the boys playing basketball – all their practice at SGP paying off.

I ensure that Mason is covered in sunscreen after seeing Dec’s burnt arms and my best friend battle with him to put it on. Mase just lays on the deck as I massage the cream into his back, groaning slowly when I undo any knots in his muscles.  This lasts all of five minutes before he is on his feet again answering Dec’s calls to hoop.

I sit to the side with the girls and watch as they pair up to score. The ball swings and hits nothing but net. A clean shot. I cheer out to him and watch as he happily jumps about and gives Dec a quick high five. He looks over to me and for a moment it is like time had stopped.

I take in his lean but muscular posture, his sun kissed skin, while taking in how his jersey fits over his shoulders before looking up to his face again.

Butterflies float around in my stomach as I stare into his deep brown eyes. They were like the window to his soul, showing just how kind and gentle he could be, while protecting those he loves fiercely and from his eyes came a sense of home, of belonging.

The honeymoon period of our relationship never ended and nor would it ever. His love consumed me, forever burning through me. It takes me a moment to realise what the man I am looking at is doing as he drops to one knee.

Time starting moving again but I feel like I am living in slow motion. I was aware of the sudden gasps and quickly following silence that happened around me, but I couldn’t focus on anyone but him. My faces scrunches up as a poor attempt to stop my tears as it finally clicks in me.  He was proposing to me.

I thanked my luck that he waited till I was seated a one hand grips tightly onto the side of the sunbed while the other fly’s to my mouth to stop the loud gasps and cries from spilling out.

I watch as he delivers this beautiful speech, making me cry harder before asking the all important question. It takes me a minute to regain my voice from the shock.

“Oh Mason, look at state of me now. You know I’m an ugly crier!” I protest as he laughs nervously.

“I think you are beautiful” he whispers, using one hand to wipe my tears away and the other to keep a hold of the ring box.

He does his best to clear my face, but I know that he couldn’t do much; turns out my mascara wasn’t as waterproof as it said. That makes me giggle slightly as I open my mouth again. My voice was hoarse but at this point I didn’t care.

“Of course, I will marry you!”

At that, he wastes no time slipping the most gorgeous ring onto my finger, before picking me up and twirling me around as those around us erupt into cheers after that tense silence. Champagne is sprayed all around the deck as music begins to play.

Mason puts me back on my feet, but keeps a tight hold on my waist, unsure if I have recovered from the shock yet.

I lean my forehead against his and soak in memory.

“My Number 19” I whisper just before his lips capture my own, as if to seal the deal.

 ————————————————————————

Mason’s POV-

I have never felt so much relief as I did when Y/N agreed  to my proposal. When she started crying, I panicked like never before, but I couldn’t do anything but wait. Then came the answer I have been waiting for the last 6 months. I wanted to sag in relief, but I had to keep my composure.

I remember that one moment 6 months ago, I had the ring, but I needed one more thing.

My legs felt as if they couldn’t hold me up as I stood before my girlfriends childhood home. I placed  a firm knock on the door and wait until her father answers my call. I give him my best smile (while internally cringing at my actions) and settle instead on a firm handshake.

I force myself to calm down before stepping into the household. I can do this, it’s not like I am the only guy who has asked their girlfriend’s father for his permission to marry his daughter. Its old fashioned sure but not that rare.

I take a seat opposite him and get straight to the point.

“I want to marry your daughter” I blurt out, before adding a quick “sir” on the end.

His eyebrows shoot so far up his face I was actually scared that they would disappear. Not the reaction I would have wanted but there is still hope. I have to hope.

I listen to him intently as he raises his concerns, including our young ages and my career but I didn’t let them dishearten me. I knew that Y/N was the girl I was going to marry when I first met her three years ago. Even at 19 my heart knew that she was the one. I wasn’t going to give up.

“Sir, I hope you don’t mind forwardness but in this box is ring for your oldest, she is my everything and I would really like your blessing. I know that you have your concerns, but you honestly do not have to worry, I will treat her with the upmost respect.” I take a breath before deciding to take the final plunge.

“I’m gonna marry your daughter and make her my wife; I want her to be the only girl that I love for the rest of my life.”

I feel like an eternity passes before her old man looks at me again. I watch as his face breaks into a smile and I have to close my eyes to hide the tears that threaten to spill. He approved.

He stands up and gives me another firm shake of the hand.

“You’ve got backbone kid. I respect that. Go look after my little girl”

I didn’t plan on proposing on the yacht, I had a whole beach proposal planned for that evening instead but when I caught her staring over at me, I was mesmerized. Her smile was so bright, and her eyes shone with constant admiration and love. Stuck in that single moment I knew I had to do it.

I wanted to share this memory with her and the friends we call family; it didn’t matter if it was now or in a fancy setting. I just wanted her to say yes… and she did.

#writing #fluff #fanfic #mason mount angst #Angst #football rpf #football one shot #england football #football stories #football fanfiction #football #england euro 2021 squad list #england euro 2020 #Mason Mount imagines #Mason Mount fluff #Mason Mount x reader #declan rice #ben chilwell #jack grealish #Luke shaw #chelsea fc #premier league fanfics #rpf #word counts #writing prompt #football imagines

[bokutoslittlebird]

Peter, Paul, and Mary

Alpha!Bokuto x Omega!female!reader x Alpha!Akaashi

Warnings: Omegaverse things [heats, ruts], alcohol, noncon/dubcon [coercion], implied mlm interaction [Bokuto x Akaashi], wlw interaction [Yukie x reader], threesome, fingering, lots of licking, blowjob, biased towards Bokuto, cunnilingus [with Yukie], bit of nipple play, asphyxiation

Kabukichō is well-known for it’s lively nighttime activities, hushed whispers of those who work in those frowned upon businesses. Even if the businesses seem shady, they care about their workers. Whether you’re singing lustful songs amidst a smoking crowd, sinful desires behind a curtain and closed doors, or even looking for a show to go with your dinner, every worker there is doing it of their own will and have safety measures in place to keep that.

There’s one place, down the lantern-lit streets and past the sweaty, common brothel that most people attend. Pink, purple, and red lights flicker and welcome guests into the building, one similar to a large western-styled house. Yet, upon entering, the display is one unlike anywhere else. The host offers services of the Omegas and what is and is not allowed. Tables have poles in the centers, a larger stage that offers seats of two rows, ones who come for a show, and two poles for dancers.

It’s an expensive place, offering brothel rooms for Omegas to service guests for 50,000¥ and even having an available VIP room for 100,000¥ for individuals who want a luxurious show just for them. Dancers can dance behind glass or in a cage, starting at 7,000¥ and can be removed at a few of 10,000¥. Only Omegas are allowed to work as dancers and performers, just as only Betas are allowed to work the kitchen and host positions. Alphas come in for a nice treat, expecting to get a show from their favorite Omega and pay for their services to relieve tension. Some Alphas try to come in during their ruts, but are turned away. This is not a brothel, this is a strip club that offers brothel services.

Working there isn’t as exhausting as it sounds. Tips start at 1,000¥ and can go up to as much as 50,000¥ on a regular night. The nights VIP rooms are reserved, workers find themselves getting tipped luxuriously by rich Alphas and Betas who are looking for a good time. Even someone as simple as you can work there and get a good wad of bills in your pocket, getting to go home and finally sleep after the exhausting night’s work.

Akaashi’s asleep when you get home, but Bokuto’s awake and humming as he cooks his breakfast. The showers at Akai Fukurō wash away all the unfamiliar scents of Alphas, even the ones who asked for brothel services, so he doesn’t seem too concerned as you enter the apartment. “Rough night?”

“Yeah, lots of tables requested me to serve them. Busy and exhausting,” you yawn at the end of your statement, rubbing tired eyes. Bokuto chuckles, a nice and comforting sound after the music of the nightlife.

“Maybe you should request daytime shifts? Graveyard shifts are strange for a waitress, anyways,” his concern shows in his voice, but you smile and wave him off.

“I sleep all day and work all night. I’m not ready to change my schedule anytime soon.” Neither Bokuto nor Akaashi know of your actual job. They think you work at a 24/7 restaurant in Kabukichō and not as a stripper, which is preferable. You don’t think you could bear the thought of them knowing you’re one of the people who sell their body for money. The work is looked down on, so you wouldn’t be surprised if Akaashi and Bokuto had that same state of mind.

“Well, I think you should at least consider it,” he smiles at you, then turns back to the stove. “Want some eggs?”

“Sure!”

The day goes by as they all do, but an unspoken tension hangs in the air. Living with two Alphas is straining, always having to keep your emotions in check so they don’t give into instincts. Even having alone time is rare, with Akaashi mostly working from home when Bokuto is gone. Living with the two isn’t stressful, but your heat cycle lines up with their rut cycles, which forces you three to find alternate living arrangements. You always leave the day before your heat starts, knowing that an Alpha’s instinct can tell if an Omega is ready to breed the day it begins. Even if your cycle begins at 9:00 at night, 9:00 in the morning rolls around and you’ll have Alphas begging to mount you and stuff you full.

Although, you’re not entirely opposed to the idea.

Akaashi and Bokuto are very attractive Alphas and are very loving to you, as if you were family. Your feelings for them were both intense, but you forced those feelings down a long time ago. With the way your job is, having a boyfriend or two is out of the question, which is why you are looking into leaving permanently. It hasn’t come up to either of the boys, but you might have to live with Yukie or at the club. They do offer rooms for Omegas, whether they need to freshen up or can’t be at home for personal reasons.

When Akaashi enters the kitchen, you find yourself slinking away. Bokuto’s scent gets stronger, just as Akaashi’s does. Their ruts are going to start soon, so they’re practically at each other’s throats. Despite their close friendship, your existence in their lives can change their demeanor when it comes to their ruts. Akaashi doesn’t talk, but he does nod and slightly bow to both you and Bokuto while he makes his morning tea. With the breakfast finished, you’re off to your bedroom to get some shuteye, knowing your upcoming week will involve lots of hours being awake and active.

Akai Fukurō has security for all their Omegas and safety is their priority. An Omega in heat can still work, but they become more vulnerable to pregnancy that can risk damage and harm to the relationships outside and inside of the club. Simple means to prevent pregnancy are optional, but there is always a possibility of it not working. The only effective method is not having Omegas offer brothel services while in heat.

The rooms on the second floor are completely brothel rooms, but the rooms on the third floor offer a room to stay in for the Omegas. However, similar to the dance stages, each brothel room has the ability to separate it with glass. Separation between the bed and the couch, where guests sit back and can watch the show. On the other side of the glass, an Omega presents themself on the bed and pleases themself while encouraging the guest to do the same. However, the fee for this situation is merely 35,000¥, with an extra 10,000¥ if there are two Omegas behind the glass. Putting on a show for the guest, two Omegas will pleasure themselves and each other and will accept requests of what to do and still can receive tips.

Most Omegas who engage in these activities are those with a close friend working there or coworker who is trusted. Yukie is the one who brought you here, so you both become highly requested during shows of this type. You’ve learned to be much more submissive while letting someone else take the reins, while Yukie has learned to take control every once in a while. An Omega such as you and Yukie need to be stimulated during the heat cycle, so it would make sense to have a safe alternative than have an Alpha or Beta take care of such vulnerable Omegas.

With it being the day of your heat, you’ve left the apartment and settled into the room you’ll be staying in for the week. Yukie rooms with you, her own luggage on her side. She lives with two Betas, so she only stays here for her own pleasure. When the fire of your heat settles deep in your gut, the slick pooling in your panties, you’re aware of the position you’re in. Your heat has officially begun and you need to take your stance in the brothel room. Once you’re in and have positioned yourself on the bed, Yukie follows in behind you with her heat soon about to begin. When she wraps her arms around you and her lips find yours, you can smell the beginning of her own heat. The familiar sound of the glass shield rising from the ground is in the back of your mind, only white noise, as your hands find themselves delving into her pink panties. The glass clicks into place, the pink light coming on and the door opening to have an Alpha enter the room. Settling down on the couch, he has a drink beside him as he watches with interest the scene playing out before him.

With the door officially being locked, the pink lights dimming as a low red joins them, you’re being pushed back on the bed and Yukie’s hands are diving into your own panties. Her hand works its wonders, your easily stimulated nerves finding the friction they so desperately crave. Your hand is removed from her panties, your nails digging into the sheets of the bed. A few rubs on your drenched clit, two fingers sliding up and down before diving into your pussy and suddenly you’re crying out for her touch even more, tears beading on your eyelashes. Licking her lips, you can tell her own heat has started, pulling her face to yours as you mesh your lips together. She moans into your mouth, breaking the kiss and putting her fingers in your mouth, letting your tongue lap at your own juices coating them.

Yukie’s heat has finally begun, so you lay her down and press kisses down her skin, tongue lapping at the sweat from the intense scent and heat of the room. Her eyes are focused on the Alpha in front of her, his hard cock in his hand as he pumps it, groaning. She smiles, then blows him a kiss, only to be broken with a moan as your tongue swipes over her folds. She’s just as soaked as you, practically dripping with slick as your lips press kisses to her folds, tongue flicking against the hot skin occasionally. Her plea of ‘more’ has your lips clasping around her clit and sucking, getting her to tug at your hair, only to let go and hold onto the sheets, one hand tugging and grabbing at her breast. Using your tongue to dive into her pussy and swipe along her folds, lips sucking on her clit, she’s absolutely lost in bliss from you just using your mouth. The introduction of two of your fingers in her has her back arching, crying out your name as she releases over your face. Removing your fingers, you use them to wipe any excess off and let her taste herself, her moaning around your fingers before you remove them and press your lips to hers once more.

Back home, Bokuto and Akaashi find their own ruts hitting hard and fast. Akaashi goes into your room to grab your dirty laundry you left behind, as he promised to wash them before you got back. The scent of your unwashed clothes is too much for the Alpha, his cock springing to life as he notices the black, lace panties on the top. Picking them up is wrong, but you’re not here and he can wash away his scent. He imagines what you’d be like, wearing those panties for him and begging for his cock, only him. It’s almost too much, him leaving your dirty clothes behind as he takes the panties with him, entering his room only to slam the door. Behind the door, he doesn’t lock it, too focused on stripping himself down bare as he inhales your scent, lingering on the panties. He’s so focused on your panties and rubbing his cock, the front door opening is ignored and he finds himself falling into the daydream and fantasy of you spreading your legs, whining for his cock. The mental image of your cunt dripping, desperate for him and all he can give you has his hand moving faster, a groan as he finally reaches his end, coming into his hand. Looking down, he separates his fingers to watch the liquid drip down onto his thigh and floor. Coming down from his high, he finally notices a different scent on your panties, pushing them back to his nose.

Bokuto went out for a jog, arriving home just before his rut hits. With the collar, he’s able to suppress his scent in public so he doesn’t disturb strangers, but that doesn’t help hold his rut back. Sniffing the air, he smells faint traces of you, his sadness immediate when he remembers you’re gone. But he can smell Akaashi — deep into his rut. Passing by your room, Bokuto finds himself needy and dives into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Taking off the collar, he lets his scent envelop your room as he lays himself down on your bed, stuffing his nose into your pillows. Your scent is strongest there, getting his cock hard as he whines, pulling down his shorts and boxers, large hand grasping his cock as he inhales more of your scent. He’s sure Akaashi’s indulging in his own fantasies of you, but he quickly pushes that away and focuses on a common fantasy of his — you begging for his cock while he drills himself into you. It’s such a common fantasy of his, but he loves imagining how tight you’d be, how loud you’d be, how you would wiggle your hips and cry out for more, desperate for more of him. Rolling his eyes into his head, he’s soon spilling his cum against your sheets, chest heaving as he imagines what it’d look like with his cum oozing out of you, how you’d whine for more. It’s enough to have him gritting his teeth, ready to go once more.

The weekend after your heat cycle, you’re heading back to the apartment with triple the amount of money you usually get from working the week. Yukie bid you adieu, going to her own home and sending you off with a prayer your roommates will be finished with their own cycles. The crisp morning air was nice, the beginnings of Autumn and a new volleyball season, meaning Bokuto would be busier in the upcoming weeks. Remembering how bright and cheerful he was whenever you came home, it made your chest ache. He wouldn’t be cooking breakfast when you got home and Akaashi wouldn’t be making the three of you breakfast before you head off to work anymore.

Once the haze from your heat settled, you confessed to Yukie that you were planning on getting a new apartment. Somewhere close to work, but you didn’t want to live with Bokuto and Akaashi anymore. She told you that she’d be there for emotional support, telling you that if they gave you a hard time then she’d send Kaori and Konoha over there to knock in some sense. Despite their status as being below your roommates, Bokuto and Akaashi listened when Konoha and Kaori scolded them. It hasn’t happened since Bokuto tried to jump you, with his rut beginning earlier than expected, but you hope it won’t ever happen again.

The lack of Bokuto and Akaashi’s scent outside the complex told you their ruts had ended. Sighing with relief, you unlock and push open the door, revealing a wrecked apartment living room. A common scene to come home to, seeing as Bokuto and Akaashi are both territorial Alphas that end up finding themselves trying to establish dominance over each other. You’ve never witnessed their relationship go beyond a close friendship, but a part of you is curious to see just how territorial they can get — or how rough they are with each other.

Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you move to your room, only to find it occupied. Bokuto lays on your bed, hidden under the covers but no doubt naked, with Akaashi curling into his chest. It’s such a sweet scene, you immediately take out your phone to snap a picture at them. With the dark of your room, the flash activates and wakes both of them up, you whispering curses to yourself while trying to apologize. “Sorry! You guys just look so sweet together, didn’t mean to wake you guys up,”

“‘S fine.. how are you?” Bokuto grumbles out, moving to turn towards you but stopping, adjusting himself properly and removing himself from Akaashi. Soon enough, his arms are wrapping around yours. It’s peaceful, holding him in your arms while he tries to wake up from his slumber. “You smell weird,”

“I’ve been with Yukie. She’s probably still on me,” you lie. You took a shower after your heat, so the scent is probably the sleazy Alphas you were passing on your way out. “By the way, why are you guys in my room?”

“Mm.. missed you,” he responds, before shoving his nose deeper into your neck. The bed moving takes your attention away, eyes catching on Akaashi who goes to hug you as well. You laugh at him, finding them both to be quite adorable so early in the morning. It isn’t until Akaashi pulls away and leaves the bed do you notice that something is around his neck.

“‘Kaashi, what’s that?” You point to your own neck, but Akaashi just shuts the door and locks it. “Um, Akaashi?”

“One of our collars. We didn’t want to scare you away,” he finally responds, moving closer to you. Out of curiosity, your fingers go down to Bokuto’s neck to find his own collar in place. If they have on their collars, it means that you can’t smell their full scents, just a watered down version.

They could still be in their ruts and you wouldn’t know.

“Oh— Oh my god, I-I have to go,” you get out, panic laced in your voice. Trying to get up from the bed, you find yourself pulled back onto the mattress with Bokuto’s arms wound tightly around you. “Bokuto, please, let me-”

“When were you gonna tell us you wanted to leave?” His voice is no longer tired, but rather he sounds angry and sad, wounded. “I found the different apartments you were looking at. They’re all single bedroom apartments, which means you’re trying to leave,”

“That’s— I didn’t know.. how to tell you,” You confess. “I felt it was better for me to leave, so I have been looking for apartments. I’m only here because I needed help with bills, but I don’t need the help anymore, so-”

“Because you’re a stripper.” Akaashi’s voice scares you, the lack of emotion. Panic once more runs through you, attempting to flee Bokuto’s grasp but he holds you firm. “Your clothes have a faint trace of other Alphas. Your graveyard shift is because the clubs are open at night. The large amount of money you have in your dresser tells me the truth,” he continues. You attempt to refute, but he continues, making your heart drop. “I thought you were better than that.”

Before you can say anything, Bokuto beats you to it. “We can take care of you. We’re your Alphas, y’know? It upsets me that you’ve been whoring yourself out to others. How many Alphas have been inside you, huh? I wanted to be your first, little Omega. Now I have to clean you of those Alphas’ stench,” Bokuto growls out, keeping one arm firm around you while the other leaves. Struggling is futile, but the familiar click of the collar coming off makes you cough from the intensity of his scent.

Your worst fear came true: he’s in his rut.

Mixed with his arousal is anger and sadness, but you try to close your nose with your fingers to not smell him, feeling your own slick begin to coat your folds. Akaashi’s collar is soon coming off, his scent just as overwhelming as Bokuto’s as he hooks his fingers into your shorts. “Please understand us, [Y/N]. We just want to show you why you need to stay with us. We love you and don’t want anything bad to happen to you,”

“Akaashi, no, we can’t, this is wrong—”

“What’s wrong? Having two loving Alphas? Them wanting to protect you? Don’t hurt our feelings, [Y/N]. We know how you look at us, but you don’t need to hide your feelings anymore. You don’t have to choose, you can have both of us,” Bokuto murmurs, lips against your scent glands. Nudging his nose against your neck, he licks a hot stripe against your skin. “We can take care of you,”

“Just give into it,” Akaashi says. His tone is comforting, no longer void of emotion. Eyes shine with love in them, a gentle smile on his face as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “We’ll make you feel good,”

“Please don’t leave us,” Bokuto says once more, his hold around you tightening. You heave a sigh, nodding as you relax your muscles. Both Alphas take that as their cue to continue with their ministrations. Akaashi has your shorts and panties off in an instant, Bokuto’s thick fingers rubbing at the sensitive skin between your legs. You find yourself relaxing into Bokuto’s hold, soft moans as he rubs your clit and brushes his finger against your opening, but he doesn’t push it in. No, Akaashi uses his long fingers to push into you, rubbing against your sensitive inner walls. A squirm here and there, but you pant heavily as he loosens up your walls, his lips pressing to your chest above your shirt. It was just a easy set of clothes to put on, some shorts and a t-shirt to get home in and sleep. The material is in their way, though, Bokuto’s fingers removing themselves from your clit and both of his hands tugging st the shirt.

“I can get-” you begin, only to be cut off by the material being ripped.

“No need,” Bokuto grunts, completely ripping the fabric off of your body. Now bare to both of them, you find your inner thighs coated in your arousal, Akaashi’s fingers removed as he licks them clean.

“Do you want to go first, Bokuto-san?” He offers, sitting in his heels. Bokuto gets eager, flipping you both over so he’s on top of you. “Remember, no knotting, Bokuto-san,”

“I know, ‘Kaashi,” he chirps, licking the sweat off your skin as he rubs his hard cock against your drenched folds. Akaashi sits beside you, guiding your head to his own hard cock, eager for attention. “We can save that for her next heat, right?”

“Mhm, since she’ll be spending it with us,” Akaashi’s hand caresses your cheek, smiling down at you. “Isn’t that right? We can still invite Yukie if you want, but we’re all about you, darling,” his hand moves up your cheek, into your hair and grabs the strands, tugging your head back. “Open wide,”

Akaashi pushes your open mouth on his cock, forcing you to take quite a bit so quickly. His tip hitting the back of your throat has you gagging, but soon you’re moaning as Bokuto inches himself into you. “Ah, you feel so good..” he moans, licking his lips. “It’s better than I imagined,” his hips buck involuntarily as he says that, hands gripping your hips as he forces himself to not force his entire length into you. Although you’re sure he wouldn’t be bigger than what you’ve had before, his girth and his continuous push into your cunt has you seeing stars, moaning around Akaashi as your eyes roll back. Bokuto’s knot is pushed against your entrance, but it doesn’t go in. He sighs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your back before he rears his hips back only to slam them against your ass, your hands flying out to hold onto Akaashi’s thighs as you jerk forward.

Bokuto and Akaashi don’t say much, both too focused on their respective holes. Akaashi keeps one hand in your hair, setting the pace as your tongue rubs against the underside of his cock and flicks over his slit. His other hand wipes at the tears cascading down your cheeks, eyes locking onto yours as he smiles, bring his hand to your nose and clamping down on it, preventing air from getting to your lungs. He doesn’t keep it there long, just enough to feel your throat constrict. With Bokuto thrusting into you, you need all the air you can get as he knocks the air out of your lungs. Akaashi doesn’t want you collapsing on them, letting you off his cock as you gulp down air and moan, pushing your ass back against Bokuto’s hips.

Bokuto is too focused on your body and indulging in his instincts to even acknowledge Akaashi right now. He lets groans and praises spill from his lips as they press into your shoulder, back, neck, anywhere they can reach. Hands tightly grip your hips, trailing from them to your breasts and pinching or tweaking the nipples, a stinging pain in his hips each time they slam against your skin, but he doesn’t care. He’s much too into it, eyes rolling as his hips buck and rut into your heat, tongue wetting his lips each time you let out a particular mewl, popping off of Akaashi to let them hear it. It just pushes him further, his cock getting thicker inside you before he’s whining out, telling you he’s gonna stuff you completely full of his seed.

With one more sharp thrust, Bokuto’s spilling himself into you, moaning as he ruts against the skin. The sensation of his cock completely still in you as his cum spills in has your walls clamping around him, making him hiss as you cream around his cock. You mewl around Akaashi, rolling your eyes back and catching the blush tinting his cheeks. Soon, your oxygen is cut off and Akaashi is forcing you completely down on his cock, save for the knot, letting out a perfect moan of his own while he paints your throat white.

Once the high has settled down, you’re lying on the bed, exhausted, with Bokuto’s arms around your waist. But Akaashi still has energy. “It’s my turn to indulge, darling. I’ve been holding myself back, so I hope you’re prepared,” the smirk accompanying his statement has your pussy clenching, Bokuto’s cum oozing from it and staining the sheets.

Author’s Note : Strip clubs in Japan are in the red light district (in Tokyo) so Akaashi works in Tokyo and Bokuto is a member of the MSBY Black Jackal which resides in Tokyo. I changed the canonverse so they could live in the same place to make things easier [I didn’t want to change Bokuto’s occupation] ; This is more than what was requested however the request gave me the excuse to write out a previous fantasy/daydream I’ve had with a few tweaks. So, thank you for requesting anon-chan ; brothels and strip clubs in Japan are different from the ones in America, so this involved a bit of imagination and research. The brothel/strip club hybrid is called Akai Fukurō which translates to Red Owl (get it bc it’s in the red light district? And BokuAka are owls? I’ll see myself out)

#BB.Kinky #BB.Dark #haikyuu smut #tw.alcohol #tw.noncon #haikyuu omegaverse #Mr. Kōtarō #Mr. Keiji #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #tw.dubcon #cw.brothel #cw.strip clubs #BB.Requests #Bokuto.Spice #Akaashi.Spice #haikyuu x reader smut #BB.🐾

[nikkoliferous]

Phase One: Avengers (Part Two)

Apparently I had so much to comment on this crappy book that I had to break this up into two parts (you can read part one here). No, I have nothing to say for myself. Lol

Let’s continue.

Clint Barton and Loki’s hand-picked strike team were in a stolen Quinjet with a faked S.H.I.E.L.D. call sign, 26-Bravo. That got them close enough that by the time the air-traffic officer on the Helicarrier knew something was wrong, it was already too late.

Whoa whoa whoa. I thought you said Loki didn’t care about the details. I thought you said such things were beneath him. Make up your mind.

With a last heave and twist, she freed herself from the fallen beam and ran. At that moment, the Hulk turned and saw her. She vaulted up a stairway and onto the next level. The Hulk swiped at the stairway and shredded it into scrap metal. Loki had gotten what he wanted. He must have been trying to time it so he could manipulate Bruce into becoming the Hulk right as his soldiers came to attack the Helicarrier. The Hulk would do at least as much damage from the inside as the rogue Quinjet could do from the outside.

Yes. Yes, he did. Lol

Natasha kept running, and the Hulk came right behind her. For a moment, she thought she’d lost him, but then he came at her out of the shadows, roaring. He was like walking rage, a single-minded engine of destruction. She shot a hole in the pipe over his head. Steam shot out of it into the Hulk’s eyes, stopping him for just the moment she needed to get a head start. She ran as fast as she could, but she knew she wasn’t going to stay away from him for long. He came after her, smashing through bulkheads and doorways like they weren’t even there and roaring the whole time.

Mood, though.

Steve got to the edge of the turbine mount about the same time as Tony. “I’m here!” he called out.

“Good,” Tony said, dropping into view and hovering in the Iron Man armor to survey the wreckage. He had the suit on, and Steve could hear his voice through the earbud microphone all S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel wore. At least that channel was still intact; if they lost communications, they’d be done for.

Convenient. Clint would absolutely know this, which means either 1) he's incompetent, 2) he's not as mind-controlled as we think, or 3) Loki allowed/arranged for his own team's semi-failure.Take your pick.

“What’s it look like in there?” Tony asked.

“It seems to run on some form of electricity,” Steve said.

Tony was shoving loose huge pieces of debris that prevented the turbine blades from rotating. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he said.

Steve fumed. He wasn’t here for technical support. But that was all he could do at the moment.

Ironic for Steve to call out Tony for being useless without his suit when Steve is apparently useless at anything other than beating people up. Lol

Tony stood inside the turbine housing, looking at the blades. He’d cleared most of the debris jamming the rotors. “Even if I clear the rotors,” he said, “this thing won’t reengage without a jump. I’m going to have to get in there and push.”

“If that thing gets up to speed, you’ll get shredded,” Steve said.

Hey hey hey now, I thought Tony wasn't the type of guy to sacrifice himself??

The Hulk stomped around the flight deck, roaring. He saw Thor and swung a fist twice the size of Thor’s head. Thor caught it in both hands, straining to hold both the Hulk’s arm and his attention. “We are not your enemies, Banner,” he grunted. “Try to think!”

Now, where have I heard that before...?

In answer, the Hulk punched him through the wall.

Jealous.

Thor got up and watched the Hulk coming after him. Now this was a fight! He held out a hand, waiting for Mjolnir to return to him. Mjolnir smashed through another wall and reached Thor’s hand just as the charging Hulk came within striking distance.

What's a little bloodlust between friends, amirite?

The Hulk caught the hammer, and a fierce grin spread over his face… then he toppled backward and Mjolnir pinned him to the floor of the hangar.

None but I can lift Mjolnir, Thor thought. Not even this giant.

Yes, yes. You're very special, Thor. We're all super impressed, promise.

“You like this?” Coulson asked, meaning the gun. “We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don’t know what it does.” He powered it up, and rings along its barrel glowed bright orange. “Want to find out?”

But Loki wasn’t there in front of him. Thor saw it too late to do anything. That Loki was an illusion… and the real Loki was behind Coulson.

Lokiception.

“You lack conviction,” Coulson said. He did not move from where he sat against the wall. Blood trickled at the corner of his mouth, and the enormous gun lay uselessly across his lap.

Of all the things Coulson might have said, this was perhaps the one Loki expected least. I have moved worlds out of conviction, he thought. Made bargains with beings who snuff out planets as an afterthought. “I don’t think I…”

"bargains"

“Tasha,” he said. “How many agents did I—?”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.” Better than maybe anyone on the Helicarrier, Natasha Romanoff knew you couldn’t blame yourself for things you did while you were brainwashed. All you could do was try to heal and get things right the next time.

OH? DO TELL.

“Yeah, takes us a while to get any traction, I’ll give you that one,” Tony said. “But let’s do a head count here. Your brother the demigod, a Super-Soldier, a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend, a man with breathtaking anger-management issues, a couple of master assassins… and you, big fella, you’ve managed to piss off every single one of them.”

“That was the plan,” Loki said with a grin.

“Not a great plan,” Tony said.

YOU'RE RIGHT, TONY. IT'S AN OBJECTIVELY TERRIBLE PLAN. NOW ASK YOURSELF WHY HE WOULD DO THAT ON PURPOSE.

“You’re missing the point!” he said, and his tone got sharper. “There’s no throne, there is no version of this where you come out on top. Maybe your army comes and maybe it’s too much for us… but it’s all on you. Because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be sure we’ll avenge it.”

Weeeeeell...

With those last words, he tapped Tony on the chest with his scepter, just has he had Hawkeye and Dr. Selvig. Nothing happened. The Arc Reactor in Tony’s chest countered the scepter’s effect.

Loki tried it again. “This usually works.…”

“Well,” Tony said, “best-laid plans. You know the saying.”

Uncomfortable with mild swear words and dick jokes, I see. Lol

Look at this!” Thor shouted, holding Loki and forcing him to gaze out over the destruction in the city. “You think this madness will end with your rule?”

“It’s too late,” Loki said. Thor thought he was beginning to understand what he had done. “It’s too late to stop it.”

“No,” Thor said. “We can. Together.”

Loki looked him in the eye… and then betrayed Thor again, stabbing him in the side with a knife hidden in his sleeve. Thor dropped to the ground, clutching the wound. “Sentiment,” Loki said mockingly.

OH MY GOD. HE'S MOCKING HIMSELF, YOU ABSOLUTE KNUCKLEHEAD. I swear to god, this author sat down and went, "Hmm. How can I systematically erase any and all complexity this character possesses so he's as generic a villain as possible?"

CASE IN POINT:

On a bridge, Cap huddled behind a destroyed car with the Black Widow and Hawkeye. “Lots of civilians trapped up there,” Hawkeye said, indicating the nearby buildings. A flight of Chitauri went over, and Cap noticed something different about one of them.

“Loki,” he said. He was shooting at the civilians fleeing through the streets. “They’re fish in a barrel down there.”

It can be admittedly hard to tell because most shots of the Chitauri vehicles firing on people are from too far away to tell who's piloting... but I checked the clips from the Battle of NY and the only person Loki can definitively be seen firing at is Natasha. On another Chitauri whatever-you-call-them. Not even aiming for the street.

Thor was still watching the Chitauri zipping overhead. “I have unfinished business with Loki.”

“Yeah?” Hawkeye said. “Get in line.”

“Save it,” Steve said. “Loki’s going to keep this fight focused on us, and that’s what we need. Otherwise those things could run wild. We’ve got Stark up on top—”

Almost as if... according to plan...

Look, I have historically not bought into the full "Loki formed the Avengers so he could lose on purpose" theory because I feel that it contradicts the canon explanation that he was being influenced by the sceptre. But... you'd have to be an absolute moron to think he wasn't sabotaging himself, whether accidentally or on purpose. I suppose one could argue that just because it was amplifying his negative emotions, that doesn't necessarily mean it prevented him from working against his "allies". But if it wasn't affecting his actions at all, I don't know why they'd bother to confirm the theory as canon.

Also, like... according to this book, Loki is somehow targeting civilians and not targeting civilians at the same time ?? lmao

“Dr. Banner,” Steve said. “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

Bruce was already walking toward the Leviathan. “That’s my secret, Captain,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m always angry.”

Same, tbh.

Thor reached the top of the Empire State Building and lifted Mjolnir. Storm clouds gathered and lightning struck down, hundreds of bolts reaching for Mjolnir. Thor turned the Empire State Building’s iconic spire into a lightning rod, gathering the force of the elements into it. Then he thrust Mjolnir in the direction of the portal. All the energy he had built up blazed out in a single forking bolt. It struck and destroyed every single Chitauri between the Empire State Building and the portal itself. Hundreds of them exploded and tumbled from the sky at once, including several of the Leviathans that tumbled down to smash into buildings below.

...so why didn't Thor just keep doing this for the rest of the battle? Too draining, or not exciting enough? Lol

Satisfied, Thor nodded and glanced over at the Hulk. Perhaps the scales were evened from their last fight against each other on the Helicarrier—

The Hulk shot out his left fist and smashed Thor all the way across the block-long gallery. Then it was his turn to look satisfied.

Jealous. Again.

Maybe that was just Loki, but Steve was starting to feel like the Chitauri were going to absorb every punch the Avengers could throw. They had to close that portal, or nothing was going to stop the invasion.

Well then. It sure is fortunate that Loki allowed Selvig to install a failsafe, huh?

Fury stood and listened to the World Security Council explain that they had decided to take the operation out of his hands. They were going to use a nuclear missile to destroy the Tesseract and close the portal—but at the cost of untold civilian lives. Fury protested as strongly as he could and one of the councilors cut him off. “Director Fury. The Council has made a decision.”

These crazy motherfuckers would have killed so many more people than Loki it's not even funny.

...and tbh, it probably wouldn't even have destroyed the Tesseract, so they would have killed them for literally no reason too.

The Hulk paused, confused.

“You are, all of you, beneath me!” Loki raged.

Not yet, sir, but I would very much like to be. 😏

She knelt next to him and said, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Selvig digested this for a moment and then said, “Actually I think I did. I built in a safety to cut the power source.”

Of note and as alluded to previously:

1) The mind control over Barton and Selvig was not absolute either; therefore, if they are not responsible for their actions over the course of this movie, Loki is not responsible for his either.

2) If The Other could hear everything Loki was up to, it's very likely that Loki could hear everything Barton and Selvig were up to as well. Meaning that, at a minimum, he knew about the failsafe and did nothing about it.

The missile had a lot of momentum built up, and Tony’s Mark 7 suit was not operating at full capacity after the amount of energy he’d expended in the battle already. It was no easy task to get the missile angled up sharply enough to clear the tallest buildings in Midtown—especially Stark Tower. That was where the missile seemed to want to go. So, Tony thought, the World Security Council is jealous of me, too.

Look, I get that he's mostly just being witty, but seriously... this dude is out here accusing Loki of being an egomaniac? Lol

He got underneath the missile and angled it upward, straining against its stabilizers, which tried to keep it on course. But slowly he forced it up, and once he got its warhead pointed at an angle, pushing it into a steeper climb got easier. A little.

Steve Rogers’s voice broke his concentration. “Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip?”

So... you're admitting you were wrong, then? 🙃

The Avengers looked up. On the roof of Stark Tower, Natasha said, “Come on, Stark.”

They saw the explosion through the portal, brilliant as a new sun. There was no way Tony could have survived that.

I was wrong about him, Steve thought. When the time came, he did make the sacrificial play.

Thanks, Steve. That's really all I wanted.

Loki had just gotten himself put back together enough to get out of the hole in the floor. Painfully he dragged himself toward the door. Never had a mortal damaged him as much as that green monster. He would be healing for a long time.

He's literally in better shape now than when he came through the portal. And the author made zero mention of his health there.

But heal he would, and then he would have his revenge. Even though the portal had collapsed and he had lost the Tesseract. Even though his Chitauri army was destroyed. Loki would show the so-called Avengers they never should have opposed him.

Raise your hand if you watched Avengers and thought Loki was thinking about revenge right after getting Hulk-smashed. Why aren't any of you raising your hands??

Seriously, there are two emotions I felt from Loki at the end of Avengers Assemble: relief and anxiety. I have no idea why Alex Irvine is so intent on turning him into a boring, one-dimensional villain, but it made this book absolutely insufferable to read.

Anyway, that's it! I hope you all found this as entertaining and cathartic as I did. Lol

↩️ Back to Part One

#loki meta #loki #thor #tony stark #steve rogers #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #clint barton #avengers assemble #mcu #phase one: avengers

[mishasminion360]

The Weight of Words You Can’t Take Back

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: The third, potentially final installment (or is it?) of what started out as a Javier Peña x Reader one shot. Thank you for helping this story grow with all of your kindness, likes, and support.

You remember the deafening bang, a noise so loud that it shook the earth, followed by the sound of twisting metal and crumbling stone. Then there were screams. So many screams. Some of them your own.

But as suddenly as that cacophony began, it ended just as quickly, replaced with blissful, gentle silence. And silence is where you stayed. You bathed in it, built a home in it, became it. You were a guest in the quiet for an indiscernible amount of time, maybe a minute, maybe a year, but that’s all you were: a guest. And at some point the silence had decided that you’d overstayed your welcome.

The world began to return to life gradually as, to some level of your understanding, you did as well. Sound returned slowly, muffled and distorted at first, but progressively gained clarity. You could make out indistinct noises: rhythmic beeps, the gentle tap of soft soled shoes and the sharp clack of heels, the whoosh of air and mechanical humming.

Words were the next thing to reach you, but they came in fragments:

“....hemorrhaging....”

“Cerebral....internal....”

“....damage....comatose....”

“....wrong place, wrong time....”

“Will she....?”

“Surgery....success....”

“....right here.”

“Just a matter of time until....”

“Come back....”

“Vitals Stabilizing....”

“Please.....”

“Recovery will be difficult.”

“Wake up, baby.”

“Come back to me.”

“Please, come back to me. Please.”

“I’m here.”

After awhile your sluggish brain was able to put sentences together, connecting words like puzzle pieces. The only voice you couldn’t hear was your own, and as hard as you tried you couldn’t seem to convince your mouth to open up up and let your tongue do it’s job.

You were unable to speak at all until around the time your sense of feeling returned as well. And your first word was “ouch”.

Your throat was painfully dry, made of sandpaper. It hurt to breathe, but even more so when you didn’t. Your eyes felt as if they’d been glued shut and your eyelids were tricky to separate. When the curtain of your lashes finally parted, the world was cloaked in shadow. Thank God for that. In this instant you felt that to look into any source of light would be too great a task.

As your faculties returned cautiously, you began connecting new puzzles pieces: bomb, building, pain, nothing, and now hospital. You were in a hospital. And you were sore as hell.

Tubes were going into your nose, your wrist. One of your arms was entombed in a cast, and you could feel one of your legs beneath the bedsheets was as well. You felt battered and bruised and stitched back together; Frankenstein’s monster brought back from the dead.

But all of these injuries paled in comparison to the weight that had settled on your chest. It was crushing your lungs, smothering your heart, and splintering your ribs. And this weight was a person.

Even with your eyes still adjusting to the world around you, you recognized that head of thick black hair, now a little disheveled. His face was buried in the sheets that cocooned you, and he snored into them softly. One large, gentle hand was clasped firmly around your own; he clung to you as if you were a life preserver and he were a drowning man at sea.

It took you a few painful tries to squeeze his name out of your raw throat. “J-Javier...?”

He stirred a bit, turning toward the sound of your voice in his sleep.

“Javi?”

His eyes finally fluttered open, red rimmed and bloodshot, and went wide when he realized you were also awake.

“Oh, God. Baby?”

His voice was as raspy as your own. You may have been mistaken, but you were almost positive his hands were shaking as they reached up to delicately cup your face. He smiled then, and a rarer sight you’d never seen.

“You’re...heavy,” you wheezed. He looked to see that he had practically mounted you and immediately pulled back to alleviate the discomfort he’d caused.

“Let me...let me get the doctor,” he stammered. He stood to leave the room, but you grabbed at his wrist.

“No...stay.”

He didn’t argue, only resumed his seat at your side and attempted to find new ways to touch you that wouldn’t cause you more pain.

“You look like shit,” you said quirking the corners of your mouth up in a weak little smile that made your dry lips crack.

He huffed out a small breath that was supposed to be a laugh. “Right back at you.”

Javi carefully stroked stray strands of hair from your face as his eyes grew noticeably damp.

“Baby, you scared the hell out of me.” His voice shook.

“What happened?” You had to ask even though you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

Javier cleared his throat, the words obviously not coming easy to him.

“There was a...a car bomb. 220 pounds of TNT wiped out almost the entire shopping district. It’s nothing but a crater now. So many people...a lot of people...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t utter the last word, but you knew just the one he was thinking.

Died. A lot of people died.

“Fuck, it was right outside your apartment,” Javi growled, burying his face in his hands.

“Escobar?”

“Who else?”

“How long...how long have I been out?”

“Almost three weeks.”

His voice broke on the last word and his breath began escaping in short bursts as his chest heaved. You’d never seen him this scared. This broken.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he sobbed. “For good.”

You tried to sit up but couldn’t muster the strength, so instead you placed a hand on the back of his head and gently pulled him down to you.

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. A little worse for wear, but I’m here.”

Javi wrapped his arms around you, desperate to feel you. To know that he wasn’t just dreaming this.

“I’m sorry. I so sorry. If I had just told you sooner, this wouldn’t have happened,” he blabbered, weeping between the words. “If I had just told you right from the start, then you could have been with me. Safe with me.”

Your hand traced soothing circles on his back as he cried into your shoulder. Javier Peña was human after all. Who knew?

“Told me what Javier?”

He lifted his wet, puffy face so that his glistening eyes could gaze into yours.

“That I love you,” he whispered. “That I’m in love with you.”

You smiled through the pain. It couldn’t be helped.

“Javi, you don’t have to say that just because I said it. It’s okay.”

“I’m not just saying it!” he protested. Javi carefully pressed his forehead to yours and squeezed his eyes shut. “I mean it.”

You couldn’t tell if the tears you felt on your face were yours or his.

“I have loved you since the day we met. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about anyone, and I was too scared to admit it. To you or myself.”

He pulled back, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. He wrapped your hand in both of his and kissed each one of your bruised, torn knuckles.

“When you told me you didn’t want to see me anymore, I realized that I was more afraid of losing you than loving you. And then...then this happened,” he spat, gesturing to your broken and battered body.

“This,” you interjected, “is not your fault.”

Injuries be damned, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position in bed and Javi helped you with a hand supporting your stiff back.

“I was scared, too, Javier. Scared of falling for you. Because love is a scary thing. Offering your heart, the most precious and personal part of yourself to someone is terrifying. Not knowing if you’ll get the same in return. Yes, you hesitated for awhile there, Javier, but hesitating doesn’t make you some unfeeling asshole...”

You brought your hands to the sides of his face and he mirrored the gesture.

“It makes you human, Javi. So very human.”

“Does this mean I get another chance?” he asked, his face soft but his eyes pleading.

“That depends,” you said, easing back into the bed and bringing him with you once again.

“On what?”

“Are you going to kiss me, or not?”

He wastes no time. Javi grins against your lips before deepening the kiss, filling it with every emotion that’s been overwhelming him for the past several days. And in that moment he vows to heal your pain with all the love he has to give.

@mamacitapascal @obsessivelysearching

#pedro pascal #Javier Peña #narcos #fanfics

[s-creations]

The Caring from Others

Gyro has never been good with emotions or understanding people. His younger years not helpful in those categories as he grew up. Good thing life wasn't ready to let him throw in the towel just yet.

Fandom: Ducktales ‘17         Rating: General Audience         Relationships/Pairings: Gyro Gearloose/Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Fenro       Warnings/Tags: Other characters are mentioned, How do emotions work? We’re learning today!, A little OOC.

The Father

Gyro doesn’t recall his childhood fondly.

Growing up in a small, back water farming town. A place where advancements, anything ‘new’, was labeled as dangerous. Deemed bad for everyone involved. His parents were less than thrilled when Gyro announced he wanted to become a scientist.

It wasn’t ‘honest work’.

A profession of false tests to make the common folk fearful of everything.

To make them more dependent on the government.

Even if Gyro suggested creating improved tools. Better way to help the farmers in making their jobs easier. Even safer. Every suggestion was just shot down. His parents claimed if their way had worked so well for so long, why change anything?

For 15 year Gyro had to work in secrecy. Knowing if any glimmer of creativity was found, it would be destroyed. Stomped out before it could reach their full potential. Salvation came when, after turning in so many applications, he was accepted into a high level university. Full scholarship and all. Everything was paid for, there was nothing to worry about.

Gyro should have felt some sting when his parents put up no fuss as he left. Happily letting their misfit son go off on his own journey. But Gyro honestly felt nothing but relief as he left that farmhouse behind for good.

While he now had the freedom to create in the open, university had its own issues to contend with. Like being mocked by his peers. Gyro was young and already set up with terrible social skills. It wasn’t better when fellow students deemed it a high priority to ostracize the chicken.  The other students weren’t thrilled that someone younger than them had accomplished so much in their early years. The chicken’s ideas being scoffed at when he presented or attempted to make some connection. Gyro was sure he would have dropped out long ago if not for the continuous support and offered safety from his professors.

It was during Gyro’s last year of university that he was introduced to Dr. Akita. Properly introduced anyway. Gyro was well aware of the other long before this meeting. Having studied the scientist’s work extensively. It was almost like a dream come true when Gyro was offered an internship. A way to work with his idol directly.

How quickly it all turned into a nightmare.

2-BO was Gyro’s biggest accomplishment and regret. The chicken labeled as a mad scientist and abandoned by Akita when the chicken’s creation went rogue. Gyro was thrusted into a world he had no idea how to traverse. He was turned away from every opportunity. All knowing his history, fearful of what damage he was still capable of.

Gyro couldn’t blame them for being so concerned. He was honestly fearful of his own inventions at this point.

It was a surprise when Scrooge McDuck of all people reached out to him. Wanting Gyro to present his ideas to the billionaire and his board members. It was a mounting pile of nerves that was continuously being added to as the day drew closer. The chicken was honestly shocked that he didn’t pass out while presenting. Or from the unnerving quiet when Gyro finished. The buzzards looked unimpressed. Which did not help Gyro’s as yellow eyes stared him down.

“Mr. McDuck, this was a complete waste of time,” the buzzard from the middle spoke, “We are not in need of new hires for the production line. Especially not one with such a...dangerous past.”

Gyro swallowed weakly.

“Nonsense. Who ever said about having Dr. Gearloose here to be part of our regular R&D team.” Scrooge commented casually. He stood from his large, cushioned chair. Making his way over to the quietly panicking scientist. “I’ve been in the market for a personal inventor for awhile now.”

“Please do not tell me this is for your wild excursions sir.”

“Bradford, you’re too worried about keeping finances. Personal and monetary gain cannot be achieved at the same time. I have enough monetary value...for the moment. Now is the time for personal gain.”

“If you are so determined to do this. Could you at least get someone less dangerous.”

Scrooge slammed his cane down. Causing all in the room to flinch.  “How can we expect growth if we cling to the past. Dr. Gearloose cannot be given redemption with no opportunity. I’ve seen his work. Both the bad and the good. I want him working with me.”

“Then I request a trial period. I would like to see a working, safe invention from the doctor here. If he does that, I won’t bring this up again.”

With a smirk, Scrooge gave a nod before facing Gyro. Who’d been honestly confused through the entire ordeal. Who just argues so freely with their boss?

“What do you say Dr. Gearloose? Think you’re up for the task?”

Steeling himself, Gyro gave a short nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”

He could do this. He knew he could. How many ideas had he sketched out when he was younger? Surely there were a number of inventions he could use to impress the board.

The good news was he was right. He was able to dig up multiple sketchbooks he had filled out from his college days that had yet to be used. Now came the trying task of deciding which invention he was going to use. One that was impressive enough to blow those buzzards away. But he could easily make it within the offered window of time. And that it was safe.

He wished Mr. McDuck would have been more forward with what he was looking for. The chicken would at least have a starting point.

Gyro really thought he had a winner when the month was up. More than a little confident when he entered the boardroom, all eyes on him. Giving his presentation with as much vibrato as he could. It was all going, in his mind, quite well. Even Mr. McDuck looked a little smug for Gyro’s success.

Then the machine was turned on.

It gave a warning whine, Gyro actually leaning in to see what the issue was. Letting out a choking sound as he was pulled back by Scrooge’s cane. All taking cover when the invention exploded. Leaving the pedestal it had been resting on and the wall behind it with dark scorch marks.

Gyro felt absolutely sick. Wide eyes staring at the spot where his achievement once sat. Only looking away when Bradford slammed his hands down.

“Unacceptable! Even a simple request created something so dangerous. I am putting my foot down on this Mr. McDuck.” The buzzard huffed as he stared Gyro down.

Scrooge, on his part, merely seemed unfazed by it all. Taking the time dust himself off. Pulling Gyro up and straightening him out as well before speaking. “Dr. Gearloose. Would you mind waiting for me in the labs. I need to have a quick discussion with the board.”

Gyro merely nodded. His voice stuck in his throat as he made his way to the elevator. Arms and stomach heavy with his failure. He knew he was fired. His one opportunity was gone. Gyro realized this was his best and only chance at getting any sort of job. A scientist who’s inventions caused more damage and cut off by Scrooge McDuck? Gyro would be lucky if he got a job at Radio Hut after all of this.

He collapses into the first chair he could find in the lab. Laying his glasses on a nearby flat surface and rubbing his temples. At this point in his life, Gyro wasn’t as emotionally blocked as he would later become. But he was learning that breakdowns were seen as weaknesses.

By his parents.

By his classmates.

By Dr. Akita.

So while he wanted nothing more than to hide away. Let this moment of emotional sorrow pass naturally and move on. Gyro had been conditioned to hold it in. Because what scientist falls apart?

He let out a slow breath as the elevator announced it’s arrival. Glasses on and standing as Scrooge made a direct line for him. While showing emotions weren’t allowed, Gyro learned that groveling was acceptable. Something Dr. Akita was quick to teach.

“I am sorry,” Gyro said quickly, “It wasn’t my intention for it to explode.”

“I had assumed so.”

“If given another chance-”

“Lad, you’re not fired.”

Gyro swallowed weakly. Stunned by the name and the announcement. “But...I almost killed everyone.”

“That’s a tad extreme. We would have been maimed. But kill? Doubtful.”

“It exploded!”

“I’ve experienced worse.”

“Mr. McDuck, with all due respect, you’re insane.”

Scrooge waved his hand. “No matter. Why don’t you take a seat.”

Doing as asked, Gyro looked up nervously, hands clenched together as he waited.

“As stated before, you’re not fired. Even after your explosive debut. I know Bradford is a stickler for keeping things ‘safe’. It’s one of the reasons I hired him onto the team. But he doesn’t understand that needed balance of risk and reward. I’m aware of your past. Which I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about at this point. We are our own worst critics. But I also know of your successes, your numerous successes.”

“I want to see you succeed. You deserve to see yourself succeed. I want to give you that opportunity. We’ll need to make sure you can give something to Bradford on occasion to keep him placated. But, other than that, you will have full creative freedom. How does that sound?”

Gyro swallowed hard, trying to keep himself stable. No longer fearful. Now extremely happy. However, he kept himself in check to remain professional. “Honestly, it’s too good to be true.”

Scrooge merely laughed. Clapping a hand on Gyro’s shoulder. “Well, get over that starstruck feeling quick lad. You have a lot of work ahead of you. I trust you can manage from here.”

As he watched Scrooge head back towards the elevator, Gyro realized something. “Um, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Your bet, with Bradford, you didn’t technically win.”

“Technically yes.”

“So...shouldn’t I be fired?”

A smirk appeared on the billionaire’s face, eyes seeming to shine. “Bradford needs to use his words better. He said if he wasn’t impressed, he wouldn’t discuss not keeping you. He never out right said I had to fire you. So, unfortunately, we’ll still need to hear his complaints. But he can’t fire you unless he gives me a good reason. Which I doubt he’ll be able to give.”

“I...thank you, Mr. McDuck.” Gyro weakly answered in disbelief.

“Don’t thank me. Just be the scientist I know you can be.”

“I will sir!”

Turning in the elevator to face Gyro, Scrooge gave a nod and smile. “I know lad. I trust you.”

_____________________________

The Brother

Gyro has always been a loner. He worked best this way. He was able to focus and didn’t have to constantly worry if his partner was doing their work properly. Plus, no one had really tried to include him in anything during his younger years. So he learned that working alone was better for him.

He was very much against the idea of having an intern working in his lab. Which Scrooge flat out refused to take Gyro’s refusal. Meaning the chicken couldn’t deny the hired help no matter how loudly he complained. With the unfortunate addition of the possible literal rendition of sunshine named Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera being hired a few weeks later. Which also meant an increased number of ‘visitors’ to this dangerous lab to see the brown duck. Doing nothing to help Gyro’s frantic state of keeping everything safe and making sure nothing became evil.

Scrooge was a common person to see there. After all, he owned the lab and it was attached to his place of work. Why wouldn’t he arrive to check on progress. To be shown what Gyro was working on. Now, however, the billionaire invited himself in to also check on Fenton. To make sure the intern was actually doing scientific research and not just cleaning the floors.

Launchpad had become friends with Fenton after that B.U.D.D.Y incident. The idiotic driver deciding that wasting time discussing some childhood show was perfectly fine. Gyro honestly tried to not become infuriated. But did he have to waste the interns' time! Even if the chicken didn’t want help from the other. It was the principle of the matter.

This also caused the blue nephew (Dew- something, whatever) to join Launchpad in the lab. Two children or beings with childlike personalities running around in the lab. A place filled with dangerous equipment. It was the perfect place to socialize in, Gyro sarcastically muttered to himself. And Scrooge actually encouraged it! Saying social engagement was good for both Fenton and Gyro. As if the chicken wanted to talk to someone who didn’t know what NaCl was.

So even he was surprised when he started to form a connection with Huey Duck. The red cladded nephew first started showing up to visit Fenton originally. The duckling particularly enamored with the scientist/superhero. Both talking for hours about new upgrades they could possibly make to the suit.

“With you permission, of course! D-Dr. Gearloose.” Fenton would assure with a sheepish smile. Which Gyro would respond with a mere rolling of his eyes.

As time went on and Fenton started to leave more and more due to hero calls, Huey started following Gyro around. The duckling deciding he wouldn't want to leave the labs quiet yet. And Huey wanted to pick the head scientist’s brain with his own ideas. At first, Gyro assumed his ‘wonderful’ personality would drive the other away. Huey, however, didn’t seem to care.

“You don’t have any siblings, do you.”

Gyro raised a brow at that. “Uh, no. At least I didn’t when I was actually living at home. At this point in my life, who knows. What’s your point.”

“My point being that your sullen attitude will have no effect on me. I’m the oldest of three. So, I have to deal with younger brothers. Sour attitudes are an old trick.”

“There really is no getting rid of you.”

“Nope.”

Gyro won’t lie, it was aggravating at first. He already had a shadow in the form of Fenton. Now the chicken was settled with another one that liked to constantly talk and didn’t fear him. Gyro only gave proper notice to the duckling when Fenton came to him with an upgrade for the Gizmosuit. One that sounded good.

“I thought you were busy with your toothbrush idea. When did you have time to think of this?”

“Actually, Huey came up with this.” Fenton answered.

“The red triplet?”

The duck smiled softly. “He’s been around here enough times. I think you can refer to him by his name.”

The chicken wasn’t overly fond of this idea. In his mind, the use of a name means Gyro cared enough to remember. And caring meant he wasn’t truly focused on his work. Something Akita was very adamant that Gyro learned.

But look where Gyro was now. Abandoned by his mentor.

Maybe Fenton was onto something. That felt strange to say.

“Very well. Perhaps I’ll have to try it your way.” Gyro was hit with a wave of confusion by the sudden sweeping sensation that went through his stomach. Fenton’s smile seeming to hit differently that day. But the head scientist filed that sensation away under ‘a later problem’.

Gyro should not have felt a sense of accomplishment seeing Huey’s eyes light up upon hearing his name. The chicken should have cut ties when the triplet sheepishly asked if Gyro could review Huey’s science project. And there should have been no sickening, worry feeling entering his veins when Huey arrived to the labs one day with a black eye.

Fenton, being the caring overbearing person he was, instantly panicked. “Huey! What happened to you? Are you alright?”

Gyro scoffed. “Of course he isn’t. He’s injured.”

“Do we have ice packs?”

“Freezer in the break room. I’ll get the first aid.” The chicken gestured for Huey to follow him. The duckling doing so without complaint. “Come on, take a seat. I need to see where else you’ve been hurt.”

Huey gave no response. Which was starting to become worrisome. The duckling was covered with small cuts and bruises. Gyro thankful it wasn’t worse… Because he didn’t want to waste the resources! Of course. What else would he be talking about.

Fenton came rushing back in. An ice pack wrapped in a hand towel was pressed against the black eyes. “Leave that there for a while. Do you need some pain medicine?”

“Already taken care of,” Gyro answered once again, “Now that all of that’s been taken care of. I think we’re owed an explanation.”

“Dr. Gearloose, just give him a moment.”

“I would like a reason for why Huey,” darn it Gyro said the name, “came to us instead to one of his uncle’s or other family members.”

“He can tell us when he’s ready. Give him a chance to relax.”

“And he can when he tells us- me what’s going on right now.”

“Dr. Gearloose-”

“I was able to skip a level in science.” The adult fell quiet hearing Huey’s whispered response.

“What?”

Huey gestured to his discarded bag. To which Fenton grabs it, handing it over. The duckling opened it and pulled out a familiar notebook that had been shoved into Gyro’s face numerous times. One that held Huey’s numerous sketches and ideas. Except it was destroyed. Practically torn to shreds, almost unrecognizable from what the head scientist had seen before.

“I showed my teachers my notebook. They were really impressed and talked to the principal about me skipping a level. It’s so I could enter the science fair that the upper level students can participate in. They said I had a lot of potential. Uncle Donald was happy, I was happy. My brothers teased me, but I know they were happy for me. I was kind of...blinded by my eagerness, I was under the assumption everyone would just be...okay with this.”

“Your classmates…” Gyro meant to have it sound like a statement. It instead sounded like a sickening realization.

But Huey merely nodded before continuing. “They’ve been writing things on my desk. Throwing things at me. I’ve been ignoring it…”

“Have they...hurt you before?” Fenton asked.

“No. I think they were tired that they hadn’t been getting a response from me like they wanted.”

“Have you told your uncle about this?”

“No… He’s already having a hard time finding a job and fixing the boathouse. I was hoping if I just ignored them, they’d leave me alone. ...I think I’m going to just drop back down to my grade level.”

“You are not going to let those punks win,” Gyro was surprised that he didn’t flinch as two sets of eyes snapped to him, “If you just go running back to your previous classes, you let them win. You’ll give them more fuel to think their actions are right. Especially if you haven’t told anyone about this. There will be no repercussions and they’ll continue to be terrible little creatures.”

“What do I do then?” Huey asked.

“You’re going to tell your uncle, your teachers, your principal, everyone you can. You’re going to come back with even better ideas. And This is a fight you can win because you have support. People who care about you...or something mushy like that.”

Huey gave a nod, rubbing his good eye and giving a blinding smile. “Okay...thank you, Dr. Gearloose.”

Gyro didn’t squirm weakly under the adoring look being sent his way. Or feel any sort of warmth blossoming in his chest knowing he’d helped in some way. Or become flustered at the smile aimed at him by Fenton, who’s eyes seemed to shine with happiness.

“I also know a side step that can break a femur. Very useful to know.”

“Dr. Gearloose!”

A few days later, Huey returned to the labs. Bright eyed and eager to show off his idea. No longer supporting injuries or secrets.

Gyro felt another save of fluster when Huey hugged his legs while Fenton laughed softly as he watched.

_____________________________

The Son

Gyro was surprised so much could change in one day. Well...one day-ish. It was more like three. Point being it felt as if all events had transpired in one day.

2-BO, now named Boyd, entered his life once more. The real boy having befriended Huey. Because of course that’s who would meet Gyro’s used-to-be biggest regret. Then he returned to Tokyolk after 10 years with Fenton, Huey, and Boyd in tow. The original intention was to destroy (Selene above he felt sick thinking about it now) Boyd. Get rid of his past.

Only for his entire perspective to be flipped. The mentor he thought was on his side had corrupted Gyro’s creation. Boyd was never given an option in his original purpose. Turned into a war machine that the chicken never wanted. And Gyro himself realized he was not the mad scientist so many had labeled him as.

He will admit, it was by sheer dumb luck and tapping into emotions he was sure had shriveled up long ago that it all ended so well. Akita was arrested. Going to be put to trial and allowing Gyro a chance to properly clear his name. Boyd overrode all corrupted coding, both Akita’s and Mark’s. Becoming the real little boy he was meant to be. All surviving and heading back home to Duckberg. As he rested in the cushioned plane seat, Boyd resting on his lap, Gyro was hit with two realizations.

The first topic (one which he honestly wanted to focus on much, much later) was an understanding of what Fenton meant to him. Between the fear of possible death and the burn of betrayal, Gyro had felt a deep distress watching the duck fight for his life. Fenton had given his all to protect the city and the citizens. And it almost cost him his life. Something Gyro never wanted to see again. The reason why was something that the chicken was not fully ready to review. Not yet. Possibly in the future, at some point. But he had another problem he needed to worry about now.

The second worry was equally confusing. Possibly because Gyro was still emotionally backed up. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen to Boyd. Gyro was made aware by Huey that the other real boy had been living with the Drake’s. A pompous rich family with an arrogant and rather disturbing child. A setting Gyro didn’t want Boyd growing up in. But what was the other option? Gyro himself? Someone who’s never known a stable family life and is not even close to the person Boyd once knew.

He could barely care for himself if Gyro was honest. Living off of multiple cups of coffee and cheap instant noodles. His sleep schedule was non-existent. Social skills were laughable. Gyro had honestly nothing to offer. It was terrible that there was not a better solution to all of this. Boyd deserved so much better than whatever his current care taking options could offer.

Gyro was shocked when, only a few days later, Boyd announced he wanted to live with the scientist.

“I- why?” Gyro winced at how harsh he sounded. But Boyd merely smiled back.

“I just found you. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Well, how was he supposed to say no to that? Gyro’s second bedroom, which once housed numerous boxes, was turned into a proper living space. He lived by a schedule that revolved around Boyd’s activities. Researching meals that both could enjoy and even learning how to properly cook. It was strange, but very rewarding. Gyro didn’t think it would affect him so much.

Until Fenton pointed it out.

“You’re really happy.”

It was a casual comment. But it gave Gyro pause. “What?”

Fenton stalled at that, flushing softly. “Sorry, I mean… I just noticed you seemed to be smiling more. And you’re more relaxed. You’re eating better and well rested. You just look really happy.”

Gyro leaned back in his chair. Tapping his pen as he thought the statement over. “I...suppose I am. Boyd really had changed me for the better, I think. Isn’t it strange...he was once my biggest regret. Now, I can’t see him not being in my life. I do worry that I’m not doing enough. Or that I won’t be what Boyd needs.”

Gyro flushed softly feeling a hand benign placed on his shoulder. Looking up at the beaming face Fenton. “You’re doing a wonderful job Gyro. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The scientist did all he could to not melt into the floor. He takes Fenton’s words to heart. Gyro had worked with Fenton long enough to know the duck wasn’t one to just give false praise. So, if Fenton thought the chicken was doing well, who was Gyro to question the given conclusion.

Gyro’s resolve was truly tested when he received a call from the school Boyd was attending. Apparently the real boy had been in a fight. A fight fight with another student.

Hearing this caused Gyro to panic. Worrying that possibly, maybe, the corrupted programming had returned. Wondering what could have happened for Boyd to act like this. Had Gyro said something sarcastic that the real boy had taken to heart? Was Boyd going to be taken away? Was this a sign that Gyro was not fit to be a caretaker?

The chicken was brought out of his spinning thoughts when someone grabbed his shoulders. Eyes connected to Fenton’s, who’s looking was concerning.

“Dr. Gearloose, you need to calm down. You’re drawing a conclusion with so little context. Just go to the school and hear what happened. Then you can react appropriately.”

“Right… Right, I need to get there.” The chicken mumbled weakly, eyes now frantically scanning the lab for his car keys. Fenton came to the rescue again when said items suddenly appeared in his hands.

“How about I drive.”

“...Yeah. That’s probably for the best.”

The drive was quiet. Fenton focused on the road while Gyro internally panicked. All too soon they were pulling into the school’s parking lot. The area was relatively empty as they walked up to the front entrance. Fenton made a quiet comment about the teachers having to park behind the building. It was a bit of a shock to run into Donald. The duck looked close to an angry snap.

“Hello Mr. Duck.” Fenton offered a smile.

“Fenton,” Donald’s eyes went to Gyro, “Boyd?”

Gyro nodded. “He was apparently in a fight. What about you?”

“Huey.”

What was going on?

The three walked in together, being directed by the secretary to where the principal’s office was. Dewey and Louie were waiting outside. The triplets wearing concerned looks when they looked over to the approaching adults. Donald gave them each a hug with a few words of encouragement before knocking on the imposing door. Gyro’s hand instantly shot out and grabbed onto Fenton’s as his heart raced. The duck gave no complaint. Even giving an encouraging squeeze as they walked in.

The large desk was the first thing to note. Large and imposing, telling all that the person sitting behind it to be respected. Even if the principal himself was a frail little bird. To the right sat a large bulldog boy supporting an arm with fabric wrapped around it. Gyro assumed there was a scrap of some kind underneath the fabric. A wiry female was dotting over the child while a brick wall of a man standing behind them both with his arms crossed.

To the left sat Huey and Boyd. The real boy seemed unharmed. Just appearing extremely nervous and worried. Huey, on the other hand, was supporting a black eye. A bag of ice already pressed on the injury. Gyro needed to research if there were long term effects of multiple black eyes.

Donald instantly broke away from the three, bending down to check on Huey. Gyro walked over to Boyd. Still having a hold on Fenton’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Gyro frantically asked. To which Boyd gave a sharp nod and fell still again. Deciding that was enough of an answer for now, the scientist moved himself and Fenton to behind the seats.

“Thank you all for coming,” the principal began, “I realize this was all on short notice. But we do not tolerate fighting. According to numerous student witnesses, there was a verbal dispute that turned violent during recess. One that resulted in Dennis benign pushed and Huey receiving a black eye. Before I continue, I will ask that you hold all comments and questions until the end. Is this agreeable?”

All adults nodded.

“Very well.” Reaching for something in his drawer, the principal pulled out a cell phone protected by a faded green case. “Louie Duck was able to record the incident and it lines up with the events the other students have provided. Dennis here was apparently using verbal harassment and inappropriate language against Boyd. To which Huey attempted to defuse the situation by walking away. Dennis has responded by throwing a punch. To what ends, I’m unsure, and Dennis has not provided an answer for his actions.”

The chair Huey was sitting in let out a loud noise of protest. Donald gripping the back of it tightly.

“And you well to continue, Mr. Duck?”

Donald nodded.

“Very well. Boyd here reacted to this by pushing Dennis away. The scrap on his arm caused by his fall. Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I’m unsure as to where your son has learned such language and actions. I would advise you to seriously monitor the media and outside influence your son consumes.”

“Oh absolutely,” Mrs. Morris answered readily, “Don’t you fret. We will have a stern talking to Dennis when we get home.”

“That is good to hear. Now, does anyone have any questions about this matter.”

“What exactly did young Dennis here say to Boyd. If I may ask.” Gyro’s voice was even. But, if Fenton squeezing his hand was any indication, his tone was dripping with venom.

“I won’t say specifics as I don’t wish to repeat them. Dennis was making comments about Boyd’s...past. Something about him being dangerous. As well as some...homophobic comments.”

Fenton squeezed Gyro’s hand again, the chicken shaking now. With fear or rage, he couldn’t tell. His own attention had snapped over to Mr. Morris. The father still having his arms crossed and imposing. But Gyro noticed the other’s eyes flitted down to Gyro’s and Fenton’s joined hands. The scowl seemed to become deeper once the father was caught in the action.

“I see. I’m very concerned as to where Dennis would have picked up language like that.” Gyro held eye contact with Mr. Morris until the principal cleared his throat.

“If there are no more questions… Mr. and Mrs. Morris, the actions, both verbal and physical, cannot go unpunished. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior. Dennis will be given one weeks suspension. As well as a written apology letter to both Huey and Boyd. I would also recommend setting up some meetings with the school counselor.”

“Understandable, very reasonable.” Mrs. Morris nodded while Mr. Morris was shaking with, no doubt, rage.

“Very well. Mr. Gearloose-”

“Dr. Gearloose.”

“Ah, apologizes. Dr. Gearloose, I’m aware Boyd was merely defending Huey. However-”

“You’re going to give him detention because he pushed Dennis. Defending himself in a violent way.”

“Ah...yes. Huey will receive no punishment. I hope we’re all understanding of this course of action?” Another round of sharp nods, “Very well, I won’t keep you all any longer. Mr. Duck, here is Louie’s phone. Thank him for providing me with his phone. All are excused for the rest of the day.”

It was tense walking out. The Morris’ were leading the way. But Gyro kept a tight grip on Fenton as Mr. Morris kept glancing back with a dark scowl. Something Gyro was not a fan of. It didn’t reach a head until they entered the parking lot. Away from the front doors and the cameras.

Mr. Morris turned and stalked over to the mismatched group. Gyro more than ready for the awaiting confrontation.

“I know you, Gearloose. I’ve seen your name in the paper before. You’re an absolute menace in every possible way.” Eyes darted back down to the still clasped hands.

“Yet I’ve accomplished more than you could ever hope for in your miserable life. Your need for constant approval has clearly made you bitter. Because you’d rather stomp out any spark of joy than attempt to change yourself or your family. If this incident was any indication.”

Mr. Morris let out a low growl. Gyro fully expecting to be decked as well. Only to be shocked when Fenton stepped between the two. The larger looking down with a raised brow.

“And who are you.”

“He’s my emotional support duck.” Gyro answered.

“Do you really think a confrontation on school grounds will reflect well in any way,” Fenton said, “I would suggest you step away from this now.”

Mr. Morris popped his shoulder, his scowl set. From behind, Mrs. Morris gave a clear and harsh cough. Her husband benign sent a hard stare of his own when he turned to look back. It was a silent, but brief conversation between the two of them that ended with the husband shuffling back over to his family. No one from the group relaxed until the pink mini-van drove away from the parking lot.

“So what exactly was your plan here?” Gyro frowned at Fenton, “I don’t see the Gizmoduck armor on you.”

“My body reacted before I could really...think.” The duck laughed sheepishly.

The head scientist merely rolled his eyes before turning to Boyd. Who looked back with worried eyes. “You okay?”

The real boy shifted nervously. “He called me a weapon and...I really tried not to fight. I tried to ignore him. But he...he pushed Huey and I got really mad… What if he was right?”

“He absolutely is not right.”

“Gyro.” Fenton whispers, in the same tone that told the chicken he was sounding harsh. The head scientist was thrown off for a moment hearing his name and not his normal title. Tuck that moment of broken mind away for later.

Gyro let out a slow breath before kneeling down and placing a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “Boyd, you know who you are. I know who you are. You are not a weapon or a mindless machine. You are a real little boy. And you need to remember that, because you are going to meet a lot of people like Dennis. Closed minded and very ignorant. Saying anything they can to make you feel miserable and make them feel better.”

“However...you have people in your life who know you. Truly know you. Those are the people you need to listen to. Because they are going to make sure you believe in yourself. Understand?”

Boyd blinked as he thought the statement over. Eyes darting over to Huey, the triplets watching as Donald shouted at someone over the phone. No doubt having called up the principal or someone higher up in the schooling system to complain about the interaction in the parking lot. The red cladded triplet looked over to Boyd, giving a small smile and a wave. Which the real boy returned happily.

“I understand, Dad.”

Gyro swallowed weakly, pulling the small form closer while trying to keep his emotions in check. A weight on his shoulder drew his attention back to Fenton. Who had bent down as well with a smile on his face. The chicken smiled back in appreciation.

_____________________________

The Lover

Gyro knew this realization was a long time coming. No matter how many times he tried to deny it. Tell himself emotions were useless weights. He reached the point where he couldn’t hide the fact any longer.

Gyro had fallen in love with Fenton.

Which is not something he really wanted to focus on.

Gyro was sure he was becoming addicted to Fenton’s laugh. The head scientist had a mental category that each laugh fell into. A hard exhale through the nose was a sarcastic laugh if Fenton found something ridiculous but didn’t want to say anything. Hiding behind his clipboard with shoulders shaking meant he found something online but didn’t want to disturb the quiet. Small chortles seemed reserved for Gyro, the duck finding the head scientist’s dry humor funny. His full laugh was used with abandonment when he knew he wouldn’t be reprimanded for being so loud. Which was honestly more often than not anymore. Gyro found he loved how the sound would echo in the labs. It was almost like music.

There was also a list of body ticks that always caught Gyro’s eyes. Gently tapping the eraser of his pencil against his bill as he thought through a new problem. Tilting his head to the side with his hip occasionally cocked to the side as he looked over a blueprint. His brow would furrow when he concentrated hard on a situation. The top of his tongue would poke out when he reached ‘Gyro level’ of focus. His nose would crinkle when he silently found something amusing or disgusting. Which could only be determined by how brightly his eyes would shine.

Gyro could privately say, to himself, in his head, that Fenton honestly kept him grounded. The number of insults he would have hurled at the media dwindled when he thought of how disappointed the duck would be. The chicken had substantially cut back on the cups of coffee he would consume in one day when Fenton made a comment about being worried about his heart. He was surprised when he went to the duck to look over a new design, wanting feedback. Fenton beaming with each new time he was included in something. Gyro would counter saying Scrooge had warned the chicken he wasn’t utilizing Fenton to his fullest ability. Which was partially true. But he would be lying if Gyro wasn’t also looking for that blinding smile of adoration to be sent his way.

So, yes. After all the mental and physical lists he created. The pros and cons to having a relationship with anyone. Countless nights where he would lie awake knowing he was nowhere near worthy enough to have Fenton. Gyro knew he was in love with the duck.

The problem was moving forward with this revelation.

In all honesty, admitting it just made it all more bothersome. When Gyro still had his walls up, he could blame the rapid heartbeat as some symptoms of an onset illness. Just push the problem away to keep working. But having Boyd back in his life made him realize how bottling his emotions had become so damaging. Making Gyro more aware of what he was missing.

So now he was left to tread water. Wondering who he trusted well enough to ask for help.

There weren’t that many options with the Duck family. He and Donald had never really gotten along before the Spear of Selene incident. And Gyro was sure the duck still held some hostility towards him about the incident. While Gyro would consider Della the closest person to be a ‘childhood’ friend, she was dealing with her own issues. The kids were far too young to be considered as an option. Launchpad only had two rocks rolling around in that empty head, so any advice from him was not worth the headache. M’ma Cabrera? ...Selene above no. Even Gyro wasn’t that insane.

So that only left...Scrooge McDuck. This could not be considered a work appropriate topic. But the chicken was honestly at his wits end and needed help. The billionaire was his last and only option. It was with a heavy stone in his stomach that Gyro approached the familiar office doors. Knocking on them and only entering when he heard the familiar call out to do so.

“Ah, Gyro! What can I do for you?” Scrooge asked as the chicken sat across from him.

“I...need some advice.”

Scrooge paused in his writing, raising a brow as his full attention went to Gyro. “Advice on what?”

The chicken swallowed weakly. “Uh...romantic advice?”

“I see…” The billionaire placed his pend down. Clearing his throat, Scrooge sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Well, I will admit that I have not been very successful in my own love life. But I can offer help in any way I can. So, who’s the lucky person?”

Gyro swallowed again, feeling his face become flushed at the question. Doing all he could not to groan, he answered, “It’s Fenton.”

“The Gizmoboy? Really?”

Gyro nodded, not looking at Scrooge. His face on fire. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m aware that things have been going well and I don’t want to ruin it. But I feel like I’m going crazy! My heart is always going so fast when he’s near. I want to tell him, I really do. But...I also don’t think I’m the kind of person he deserves…”

Scrooge let out a heavy sigh as Gyro’s shoulders slumped. “I won’t act as if I’ve known you for your entire life. We both know I haven’t. But I have seen you at your lowest point and every triumph you’ve accomplished along the way. I’ve seen you slowly close in on yourself. It pained me to watch because I wasn’t sure how to help…”

“Let’s be honest sir. We both have not been in great positions emotionally for a while.” Gyro commented weakly. One that got a laugh out of Scrooge.

“This is true. But, the point is you have made a change in the past few months. I know you’ve built walls around yourself. I also know...bringing those walls down can be a terrifying idea. You’ve already started thanks to that boy of yours. Even if it was unintentional.”

“But what if he says no? I don’t know… There are too many variables that could offer a negative outcome.”

“That’s the risk of life. The good and the bad.”

“So what if he says no.”

“Then you move forward.”

“...I don’t know if I will recover.”

“Gyro, you’re putting the horse before the cart. And we’re still building the cart.”

Letting out a small groan, Gyro rubbed his forehead before looking back up. “Okay. So I’m taking a risk. We’ve determined that. But what do I say to him?”

“You just ask him.”

“Could you please not make it sound so easy.”

“It sounds easy because it is. You’re asking Fenton out on a date. Not defusing a bomb.”

“Yet the latter seems easier to accomplish.”

“Take the risk Gyro. Don’t waste your life wallowing on the ‘what-ifs’. You’ll regret it.”

Gyro left the office with not many answers and a pounding headache. But with determination to try and make this work in some way.

The bottom drawer of his desk was now filled with blueprints. Not for machines, but the best plan to ask Fenton out. The perfect places to go. All ranging from the cliche to the outlandish. What day would work best. His feathers became further ruffled as he worked. After a week of no progress, Gyro knew this wasn’t going to work. No reliable variables or knowledgeable outcomes. He just needed to do this. Because Gyro couldn’t stay in this mindset anymore.

Gyro’s first move was to wait for the lab to be empty. If he was going to crash and burn, he didn’t want an audience. Once that was achieved, he took a deep breath to settle his heart (didn’t work) and walked over to Fenton’s desk. The duck breaking from his thoughts hearing Gyro clear his throat.

“Hello Dr. Gearloose. What can I help you with?”

Gyro’s heart seemed to pick up it’s pace. Between the smile and wide eyes, the chicken felt like he was melting. In a good way. If that makes sense. None of this did.

Emotions were just so messy.

Darn it Gyro, focus!

“I...was wondering if you would be interested in conducting a...social experiment with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure! Of course. What’s the experiment?”

Another deep breath. “There is a new cafe that’s opened up recently near where I live. I am curious if you would like to join me in trying the products they offer. Sometime this weekend, possibly Saturday? Possibly trade some stories?”

Fenton’s head tilted to the side as Gyro spoke. A small smile forming as the other finished. “Dr. Gearloose-”

“Gyro. You...you can call me Gyro.”

“Okay, Gyro. Would it be safe to assume that this is an ask for a date?”

“That...would be a safe assumption.”

“Then I accept.”

Gyron was honestly shocked he was able to remain standing. Relief hitting him quickly upon hearing the answer. “Good, good.”

“How about I drop by your apartment around 8? Have breakfast at this cafe?”

“That’s acceptable.”

“Good. I look forward to this Saturday.”

“I am as well.”

One date turned to two. Which turned into three. Which became having dinner at the Crackshell-Cabrera household. Gyro was shocked when he received M’ma Cabrera’s blessing in  dating her son. But not before getting a stern warning of what would happen if Fenton was hurt in any way.

“I think that was successful.” Fenton commented as they were sharing their good-byes for the evening on the front porch.

“Yeah. Nothing says accepting like a talk that ends in the threat of my kneecaps.” Gyro smiled softly hearing the other chuckle.

“Well, she may or may not be upset still about your MoonVasion comment. You know. About throwing Gizmoduck into the masses as a sacrifice.”

“I may now also regret that comment…”

Another laugh from Fenton, the duck reaching down to gently take Gyro’s hand. Placing a kiss on the back of it before holding it close. “I’m glad you came. I think M’ma really appreciates it as well.”

“I’m happy I came as well… You know...I don’t say or do things that intentionally hurt you. I did at first but-”

“Gyro.”

“Yes?”

“I know you better now than I did before.”

And the matter was dropped.

The first kiss milestone occurred at the park around the holidays. Both bundled up against the cold and falling snow as they admired the strung holiday lights hanging from the numerous trees. Arms hooked, Fenton led the way with wide eyes. Giving small comments about the lights and how lovely the park was decorated. Gyro was admiring the duck himself. Loving how the lights fell over the brown plumage. Fenton eventually caught on that the chicken wasn’t looking at the light as he was. Flushing softly seeing eyes on him.

“W-What?” The duck laughed, a small smile forming.

“You’re beautiful.” Gyro responded softly. Fenton’s eyes widened at the comment before softening into another smile. Gyro put up no restraint as he was gently pulled down. Fenton leaning up and meeting the chicken in a gentle kiss. It was only a few seconds, but Gyro loved every moment of it.

The utterance of the three words came a few months into them dating. Fenton had arrived back to the labs after an intense battle to find a worried chicken. Arms crossed and first aid kit in his hands. There was a sharp point set to the couch and Fenton understood the silent command. Stepping out of the suit and plopping onto the cushioned furniture. Gyro made it clear he was less than pleased at the moment.

“What were you thinking.” The chicken snapped. Hand shaking as he attempted to gently clean the cuts.

“People needed help.”

“Why is that your answer for everything and why do you think it’s a reasonable one.”

“Because it’s true. I have to defend Duckberg.”

“Even against crazies coming from St. Canard? Can’t that purple caped idiot keep them in his neck of the woods.”

Fenton smiled softly. “Villains are people too. You can’t control everything.”

“Don’t tell me that. You know the first thing I’m going to do is make something that controls people to make them leave this place.”

“Gyro, that’s unethical.”

“Well, maybe if you would stop being your heroic self and making me worry.”

“I understood the risks when I took this position. As did you. As long as I have you to come back to, I’ll be okay.”

Gyro huffed as he finished up. Turning to start packing up the supplies. “I love you, but you can be such an idiot sometimes.”

He didn’t catch it until Fenton grabbed his hand suddenly. The chicken looked up to find eyes filled with shock staring at him. “What...did you say?”

Gyro frowned, thinking back to his previous words. Face becoming full blown red when he realized what he’d just uttered. “I… Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry, I just- I’ve been thinking it a lot and every time you go to your superheroing, I think how I’m not going to get to say it. But I know we haven’t dated for a year and-”

“I love you too.”

Swallowing his words down, Gyro’s head snapped back up to look Fenton in the eyes. They sat, staring at each other in disbelief before Fenton chuckled. Gyro shares his own sheepish grin before leaning forward to claim a kiss from Fenton.

It was close to a year of them dating that Fenton moved in with Gyro and Boyd. The real boy thrilled to have the other doctor living with them. The once small, cold apartment was now teeming with life. Mornings were a rush to get ready for the day and to be out the door before they were all late. The kitchen filled with warmth and wonderful smells as Fenton makes dinner with Gyro helping where he could. Meals being shared at the small dining table before watching a few shows until bedtime. Gyro and Fenton taking turns reading to Boyd before he powered down for the night.

It was a comfortable routine. Something Gyro thought he would’ve hated. But with each day ending with him and Fenton in their shared bed. The younger laying his head on Gyro’s chest and long arms wrapped around him. The chicken realized he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I think we should buy a house.” Gyro suddenly commented into the darkness. Hearing Fenton hum softly as he was pulled from sleep.

“Where’d this come from?” The duck mumbled weakly.

“I’m not really sure. The boring suburban life seems pleasant after the craziness of...everything. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” Fenton yawned widely before pressing closer, “We could get a big yard for Boyd and Lil Blub to play in. Neighborhood kids to become friends with. I think Della mentioned about getting a house in a quiet suburb. We could ask her.”

“That place won’t be quiet once that family moves in.”

“Oh hush. Wouldn’t it be nice to have Huey as a neighbor? Boyd would like it.”

“I suppose so…”

Fenton gave another hum, Gyro noticing the other’s breathing was slowing down again. He leaned down to place a kiss on Fenton’s forehead. “I love you.”

The duck laughed softly. Placing his own weak kiss on Gyro’s neck. “Love you too…”

Gyro let out a slow breath, a smile forming on his face. Eyes on the ceiling as he listened to Fenton fall asleep. A hand reached up to preen a few feathers as he pulled the other closer. Heart beating happily as he settled down further into the bed. A smile still on his face as he fell asleep as well.

#ducktales #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell-cabrera #fenro #s-creations #fanfiction

[keikakudori]

"So~~~usuke--" Summon issued from within the Captain's chambers behind layers of sliding doors and translucent paper mounted within each cell of the larger panel. With enough light seeping through, one can make out a vague shadow behind the paper doors. Until the doors slide open, and Shinji is lying on the couch, sideway, surrounded by and buried in packages of chocolates and homemade cookies, some of which balanced on his person not unlike how one would balance pieces of treats on a pet for it to "stay" or "wait." It is unclear how the Captain of the Fifth managed to stack them all onto himself, all by himself. A mystery that will be left unsolved.

He watches Sousuke in the doorway, from his clearly self-inflicted predicament. "Congrats, Sousuke, yer fans were outta control again this year! I took the liberty o' hidin' them tributes outta sight t' avoid any emotional damage t' our less well-loved squad mates. Yer Welcome. An' please take responsibility."

He gestures again at the various packages; miraculously does not cause any of them to fall from his person. There are many. And, of course, with enough of them separated from any notes or cards that might've originally been attached, it would be much more difficult now to discern if any of them comes from the captain himself at all.

( a very late answer to a valentine's ask. )

he knows the calling drawl of his name very well, especially when it comes out from that lilting voice. it is enough to make him follow the summons from where he's finally slipped back to the office, having vanished early this morning with whatever paperwork he could grab before he promptly disappeared. every year, on this day, he makes a point of vanishing, going off somewhere that was never disclosed to quite simply hide. it was a tradition and barring those times when he was being forced to remain in the fourth as a result of getting between shinji and whatever attack was aimed at him? he was ever in the office at any other time.

the pile of chocolates and cookies and whatever other confectioneries have been made and created is not a surprise for him, not since this tradition started. he was sure that he'd shocked shinji when he had first disappeared on that day, some years after he had become his lieutenant. before that point, he had had to suffer through confessions and gifts of such nature, letters and more that would be given to him with hopeful eyes beaming at him, hopeful emotions written on those faces. how many had proffered their confessions to him over the years?

there'd even been some who would suggest they meet somewhere, haikus well written and some more blatant; the poetry was more often what some chose when it'd gotten out that he liked calligraphy and poetry alike, though. yet always, always, those who would gaze at him with hope in their faces, hoping that he would accept them and what they yearned for. it had been like this since his days in the academy. he had given out a few kisses here and there, attempting to see if that would help with the way his mind worked, his life worked -- but his eyes had always been elsewhere. they had been on a spill of golden hair and he had followed that vibrant banner that had so called to him. he had chosen to follow him. and he was the one that aizen wanted. he always wanted him.

but it wasn't their eyes that he wanted to turn away from. he had never asked for this to happen, year after year. he'd been left awkwardly floundering his way through rejections when he'd been in the academy but now he'd become much smoother about it. all the same, it was the one day every year when he would disappear. it was not exactly a secret either that he would find some place for himself and hide there until the day was more or less over. he had never asked shinji what he thought of it, of these gifts from his admirers as his captain put it. every year there always seemed to be a bit more. every year there were always more cards, more candy, things of that nature. it was a good thing, he thought ruefully as he did every year, that he was known to be rather frugal. white day was perhaps the one time of year where he had to actually open his wallet up more than a little.

whatever the case, he moved towards the couch as he regarded his captain and then looked slowly over the cellophane packages, the bundles wrapped in cloth, those that were without names attached; he preferred the anonymous gifts the most. those were ones that comforted him. he would quietly pass out the excess chocolates to members of the squad as he always did to those in the rukongai, taking such treats to those who could eat the food and enjoy it. he'd never asked his captain if he knew aizen did that either. oh yes, the finer chocolates would likely go to his quarters to be tucked into his small fridge or kept in an icebox of some kind, but aizen did not find any reason not to keep those that he liked. and he would, gladly, let shinji pick through the small hoard of goodies to take whatever he wished too.

❝ i feel like this pile grows larger every year, ❞ he murmured quietly. ❝ perhaps i should make some efforts at doing something to take the shine off of everyone's eyes where i'm concerned. ❞ was that a faint trace of sarcasm biting into his words? it might have been. it'd been years upon years since this had begun and he wondered absently just how shinji had done that. probably started at his feed and worked his way up along his own body, he was sure. that was how he would have done it.

all the same, he shifted a few packages aside with his feet and moved to crouch so he could meet those eyes while a smile curled his mouth before he was slipping a hand into his sleeve and pulling out a package of his own to casually plant a small bag able to fill those narrow hands atop shinji's head while he smiled to himself. it was simply done, the treats perhaps made by himself -- or he'd opened his wallet to actually get these and had worked on keeping them fresh some time ago. perhaps somewhere on the other side of the seireitei, but then again -- gossip could flash quickly through these streets. whatever the case, he was careful to balance the bag.

no, he did not want to see the man turn his eyes away. aizen had ever gently turned down those who made confessions to him, had learned to gently shake his head. somehow, even when he let those who were interested in him down, he could ever manage to make them smile and still hope but accept that he simply could not do so. duties to his division, he said. loyalty to his captain. how loyal he was and he could not forego his duties right now. it was not unheard of for shinigami to be married, no -- but aizen was not ready or willing to commit to such things at this point in time. and ever did he gently let it be known.

yet he was still very sure that that pile grew larger each and every year.

❝ happy valentine's, hirako-taichou, ❞ he murmured before he was leaning in to steal a small kiss from him before the older man could make a move to dislodge what he'd covered himself with. and if his hand slipped to snake beneath those layers to press one large hand, warm as could be, upon shinji's chest as if to brand him -- that was his own doing and purposefully so.

#anonymous #shinji tag; #whoops----

[rosesgonerogue]

I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face Chapter One

Everyone had thought that Marinette was crazy for choosing Gotham as the first city in America to accept a high-profile job, specifically a job that would require her in person. Despite all of the logical arguments against it, however, Marinette could feel it in her bones that this was where she was supposed to be. It felt like divine intervention beyond that of the usual kwami antics in her life. 

At that very moment, though, she had never wanted to curse the universe more. 

She tore through the unfamiliar streets, heart hammering in her chest. She wanted to shout his name, scream it from the rooftops, but she knew all too well justs how dangerous that would be. After all, she’d only just barely gotten away from the Scarecrow herself. 

“Tikki, where is he?” Marinette whispered, tears stinging her eyes. “I can’t lose him, I just…” 

“We will find him, Marinette,” she said, determined. “He can’t have gone far, and he knows how to keep himself safe. You’re still emotional from the fear toxin.” 

“But Gotham is so dangerous! I knew I should have left him home.” 

The kwami did her best to comfort the guardian, but she felt the same desperation growing with every minute.

“He wouldn’t have gone this far, Tikki, what if he-”

“Maman!” 

As she whipped around, Marinette’s frantic, fear-toxin addled mind locked onto two facts: her precious son was alive and well, and he was in the clutches of a costumed man.

She felt her heart rate spike, and everything she had learned and experienced as Ladybug boiled down to this one moment. In short, the man never stood a chance. 

“Ma’am, I-” 

As the stranger spoke, Marinette pivoted on her right heel, her left heel colliding with the man’s jaw with a sickening crunch. It was too fast for the average eye to see, and the man was felled in a moment, going down with a strangled grunt. 

Gathering Leo into her arms, she sprinted away, heartbeat still hammering in her chest. 

“Maman, he’s nice,” Leo said in French. “He helped me, we were looking for you. He’s a hero, like Ladybug.” 

“Marinette, you really need to go make sure he’s okay!” Tikki said, distressed. “If you explain about the fear toxin, I’m sure he’ll understand.” 

Finally her feet began to falter, the exercise further clearing the toxin from her mind. She squeezed Leo in her arms, horror mounting. “Oh no. I just roundhouse kicked one of Gotham’s vigilantes, didn’t I?” 

“I think so, Marinette.” 

It felt like a walk of shame, but when she made it back to the vigilante, he had at least propped himself  up against a nearby wall. He was groaning, clutching his jaw. 

“Excuse me, Monsieur?” she said hesitantly. “I, uh, I’m the one who ki- oh no, is your jaw dislocated? I am so sorry! I didn’t- I mean, I just, there was fear toxin from Scarecrow, and I’m not from Gotham, and I was so worried about my son, and… I’ll stop talking now. I’ve fixed dislocated jaws before. May I help you?”

The vigilante - through process of elimination, he must be Red Robin - stared up at her with wide eyes. He didn’t exactly say no, so Marinette kneeled down beside him. 

“The pain will get a lot better once I’m done,” she promised, discreetly harnessing the barest traces of magic to help this go smoothly. She’d done this for Chat Noir more than once, and as Guardian of the Miraculous, she had access to more than a little bit of healing magic. Red Robin looked more uneasy by the second, so Marinette just went for it. 

Sliding her fingers into the right position, she pushed down on his back teeth, simultaneously guiding his jaw back up into place, a burst of magic taking the brunt of the pain from him. 

Red Robin jerked backwards, working his jaw a few times. “Thank you?”

“I am so sorry!” Marinette repeated, standing and offering a hand to help up the vigilante. “There will still be a bruise for a few days. I promise I don’t make a habit of kicking vigilantes in the face.” 

He stood with her help, only looking a little dizzy. “Don’t worry about it, there were extenuating circumstances. If you don’t mind me asking, though, where are you from? If Gotham’s civilians were half as deadly as you are, our streets would be a lot safer.” 

“Paris, sir. My son Leo and I just arrived here tonight, actually. We were on our way to our hotel when we were caught up in one of Scarecrow’s attacks and I told him to run and hide. Does that mean you found him?” 

“Yes ma’am. You have a very well-behaved son,” he said, careful to keep his posture as harmless as possible. “And while you are obviously a capable defender, it would help me put my mind at ease if you let me walk you to where you’re staying.” 

She hoisted Leo up into her arms, the familiar weight soothing her. “Are you sure you want to? I very nearly broke your jaw five minutes ago.” 

“And you put everything back where it should be. Now where are you staying?

*************************

Tim couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the woman in front of him. Not to mention she was attractive, but doubtlessly married. Anyone that wonderful in general had to be taken. 

What he fixated on, though, was her skill. Thinking her child was in danger would definitely be grounds for an adrenaline rush, but her movements were too controlled and practiced for it to be a fluke. Tim couldn’t have dodged her if he had tried. He didn’t think any of his brothers could have either, maybe not even Bruce. 

She was staying in a nicer hotel in Gotham, owned by Bruce, of course. When they arrived, Tim couldn’t stop himself from lingering in front of the hotel longer than strictly necessary, trying to do something, anything to understand the woman before him. He stayed in the shadows until they were out of sight, and even then he stayed a while yet, staring at where she had stood. 

The rest of his patrol was short, and he got back home about the same time as the others. When he slipped in, Jason was in the middle of telling Dick a story. 

“-and so I went in thinking it would be a normal hostage situation, but no. Right before I can get in, the door flies open and this girl runs out like a bat out of hell. She just vanishes into the night without a trace. I go in and the Riddler is already trussed up like a pig for the slaughter. I swear, I could marry that girl.” 

“Was she French?” Tim demanded, blatantly eavesdropping. 

Jason turned to meet his eyes, scrutinizing his brother. “And how would you know that, replacement?” 

“I ran into her after that. She has a kid, and I found him. She dislocated my jaw when she thought I was trying to take him.” 

Damian snorted. “Did she damage your delicate ego along with your delicate face?” 

“Isn’t it your bedtime?” Tim fired back. “After all, it is a school night and we know how much you need your beauty sleep.” 

“She really dislocated your jaw?” Dick asked, looking thoughtful. 

“With a roundhouse kick. She put it back into place too.” 

“Not just anyone can do that. Maybe we need to keep a closer eye on this girl.” 

“We can do some research tomorrow,” Bruce said, appearing out of thin air. “Go to sleep, all of you. Tomorrow we have the meeting with MDC and we need to make a good impression. Tim, that includes you. No more caffeine until you’ve had at least six hours of sleep.” 

Normally Tim would have chafed under Bruce’s orders - he was a grown man and CEO of Wayne Enterprises, after all. But for once he felt like he could actually sleep, without nightmares, even. 

He was meeting his favorite fashion designer tomorrow, after all. For some reason his thoughts were consumed by a certain French woman, however. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he idly wondered what color her eyes were.

A/N:  I'd never really experienced being baby-hungry before, and then quarantine happened and I wasn't able to see my nieces and nephews for over a month. During that time a good number of my friends announced that they were pregnant, and I miss being surrounded by children. This is super self-indulgent, so I don't really take criticism. If this isn't your cup of tea, move along. Also don't be surprised if you see more kid fics coming your way. I have had entirely too much time missing the children in my life, so I also have a Daminette thing partially written, and several other ideas screaming at me. If you want to be tagged, let me know! 

#timinette #maribat #marinette x tim

[fanfoolishness]

Primary Directives (The Mandalorian)

(IG-11 discovers similarities between itself and the Mandalorian.  Mainly based on the episodes The Mandalorian, The Reckoning and the Redemption.  IG-11, Din Djarin, and Kuiil. 2020 words, canon-typical violence, Din!whump.)

***

It was a droid.  It had always known this, as surely as it had always known the ways of battle and weaponry, as it had known the ways to terminate over six hundred and forty-three organic species.  IG-11 knew what it had been manufactured for, and that knowledge was as certain as code and metal and electricity.

Still, though, there were surprises.  Such as the Mandalorian —

[Mandalorians: most commonly human but may hail of any race.  Exceptional warriors operating within a strict honor-based code, plated in beskar armor protecting vulnerable body systems: cardiovascular system, cranium, spine.  Beskar armor repels blaster fire, adjust angle of bolts fired to avoid secondary damage due to ricochet.  Weapons may include wrist-fired whipcords, small ballistics, flamethrowers, or missiles in addition to standard issue blaster pistols and rifles.  Kill points include jugular vein, brachial arteries, lungs —]

Despite this knowledge, IG-11 was not invulnerable.  The Mandalorian fired a blaster into IG-11’s central processing unit and all awareness ceased.

***

Systems rewired, reprogrammed, new knowledge, new directives.  Protect and nurse.  Defending became the new priority instead of attacking.  The work of the Ugnaught’s hands laid new tracts within its circuitry, paths that were worn deeper with the passage of time and every subsequent use. 

The old knowledge of vulnerabilities and weaknesses of organics melded with information on how to ease the suffering of these creatures.  There was also new information regarding the understanding of what suffering meant.  This knowledge was assimilated, and IG-11’s study of protection and nurturing began.  

It took time, as did all things worth knowing.  Fragments of prior memory were still accessible: it could still visualize clearly the manufacturer’s killing fields littered with the droids whose programming had not fully taken hold.  IG-11 had navigated those killing fields successfully, a ready and willing deliverer of death, and had emerged a formidable and fatal machine.  It did not mourn the units that did not succeed.  It knew only what it had been made for, and it knew that it would be successful.

Until it failed.  

The Mandalorian ended its previous existence and claimed the bounty for his own, and IG-11 was left for scrap.

Now IG-11 trained with the Ugnaught Kuiil on the muddy world of Arvala-7, and it found success in movements made for building, in carrying tea that nourished the Ugnaught, in protecting the small forms of life that skittered and scurried through the mudflats of their shared housing unit.  The old programming made a scaffold for the new, a web that built its way throughout IG-11’s surface awareness and sublevel routines, and it strove to fulfill its purpose as ever it had.

***

IG-11 stood over the fallen Kuiil.  It regarded the Ugnaught’s prone form, analyzing the absence of breath, the pallor of flesh, the stillness of form.  Kuiil and IG-11 had been united in their purpose to protect the Child, to defend, to nurse.  Now IG-11 stood alone, its sensors identifying molecules of smoke and burnt organic flesh carried on the harsh Nevarran wind.

It would fulfill its master’s work.  The death would not be without use.  IG-11’s purpose did not waver, and it broke into a run over the dried lava fields, leaving its master behind.

The Ugnaught’s hands had been steady and true. 

***

IG-11 succeeded, as its programming had assured it that it would.  The Child nestled against IG-11’s metallic form, letting out squeals the droid analyzed as filled with delight.  They traveled on a stolen 74-Z Imperial speeder bike as IG-11’s targeting software focused on stormtrooper after stormtrooper.

IG-11’s aim was steady and true.

***

IG-11 and the Child rejoined the Mandalorian and the humans, though the Mandalorian appeared to have been injured.  They hid from overwhelming numbers of Imperial troops as IG-11 monitored the situation for ways to protect the Child.

It did as the humans requested.  The male human requested assistance with ascertaining a route of escape as he imbibed alcohol to dull his senses.  IG-11 worked as instructed, even when the environment was temporarily compromised by the attack of a Flametrooper.  

[Imperial enemy.  Flamethrower does not project temperatures higher than 300 degrees, a level of heat that is tolerated by all IG units but is fatal to multiple organic species. Standard stormtrooper weaknesses apply.] 

Strangely, the threat was removed by the Child, a sentient creature IG-11 lacked all data for.  The Child weakened after mounting its defense.  It would still require protection.

The threat neutralized, the female human requested IG-11 bring the body of the dying Mandalorian to them.  IG-11 gave its assurance to the woman, then gave the Child to her.  She had no levels of inebriation, and protocol dictated that the Child be placed with a guardian most likely to assure its survival.  The man and woman fled the smoke-filled shelter with the weakened Child, descending into the sewer system.

IG-11 then turned its attention to the Mandalorian.

It watched the Mandalorian’s breathing.  His chest rose and fell, the breath strained, labored, then absent.  Breath, breath, apnea.  The cycle repeated.  This abnormal pattern of respiration suggested a severe head injury.  Perhaps that was why the Mandalorian had so resisted the female human’s offers to render aid.  

Instructions of kill points and nursing directives, which intertwined at countless points, were accessed.  [Brain trauma: results in altered consciousness, delirium, obtundation.  May be fatal.]

“Do it,” rasped the Mandalorian.

“Do what?” IG-11 asked.  It could not comply with the Mandalorian’s orders if the directive was unknown.

“Just get it over with,” the Mandalorian said.  

Analysis was performed.  [Fluctuating timbre of the voice.  Abnormal breathing pattern persists.  Severe pain is present.]

“I’d rather you kill me than some Imp,” the Mandalorian continued.  IG-11 noted trembling in the body, particularly the hands.  Ah.  Perhaps the Mandalorian expected revenge for the previous shot fired into IG-11’s central processing unit, and the obliteration of its old directives.  Such a thought was foolish, but then again, the Mandalorian had been injured and could be trapped in aberrant thinking patterns.

“I told you, I am no longer a hunter,” stated IG-11.  It attempted to modulate its voice to be perceived as more friendly and less threatening.  “I am a nurse droid.”

“IGs are all hunters,” said the Mandalorian stubbornly.

“Not this one,” IG-11 corrected.  “I was reprogrammed.  I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”  The injury could not be successfully evaluated or repaired without doing so.

IG-11 reached to remove the Mandalorian’s helmet, and instinctively the Mandalorian raised a blaster in his shaking hand.

“Try it and I’ll kill you,” the Mandalorian threatened, his chest heaving.  

IG-11 regarded the Mandalorian in puzzlement.  All prior programming had suggested that an injured creature would do anything to accept aid.  It paused.

“It is… forbidden,” the Mandalorian gasped, desperation tingeing his voice.  “No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I… I swore the Creed.”

IG-11 understood the issue, then.  It was a problem of programming.  The Mandalorian could not deny his prime directive any more readily than IG-11 could.  Perhaps there was a logical means of resolution.

“I am not a living thing,” said IG-11 gently.  It extended its arm to touch the helmet.  The blaster shook in the Mandalorian’s hand, but did not fire.  IG-11 lifted the helmet, breaking its seal, and removed it from the head of the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian was human, as IG-11 had expected from the sound of his voice and the patterns of movement displayed by his body in battle.  The droid experienced no emotion at the sight of the man’s face, but it studied it so as to better understand the extent of the injuries.  

Blood trickled from the left nostril into the man’s patchy facial hair.  A laceration arced across the bridge of the nose.  Anisocoria was visible in the man’s brown eyes, a negative prognostic indicator.  One that, in his previous programming, would have been a sign of impending success, especially when combined with the quantity of blood and sweat matting the man’s hair.  Yet IG-11 felt no sense of completion at the man’s injured state.  Death was no longer its objective.

Yet death threatened all the same.  The threat was underscored by the frantic hyperventilation that had begun with the removal of the helmet, though the droid was uncertain if this was due to physical stimuli or due to emotional agitation.  It ran a standard analysis on the Mandalorian’s expressions to determine the answer.

[Fear is detected in the shifts of the eyebrows and widening of the palpebral fissures.  Distress and anxiety are exhibited in the frozen gaze and half-open mouth, a common response to threat in this species. Pain is seen in persistent shivering and recoiling.]

IG-11 activated the bacta unit the Ugnaught had installed on its arm, propelling a standard dose of 2.8mg/m2 onto the injured region.  The Mandalorian stared at the droid, gaze still frozen, either confused or obtunded.  The blaster wavered in his hand, then slowly lowered.

“This is a bacta spray.  It will heal you in a matter of hours,” said IG-11.  It attempted a joke; the jokes had always worked on the Ugnaught.  “You have damaged your central processing unit.”  Surely the Mandalorian would see the humor in the reversal of their situations.

The Mandalorian stared dazedly, eyes struggling to focus as the bacta spray took hold.  The lines that creased his face, indicating pain, began to ease slightly.  He raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping further open.  “You mean my brain?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“That was a joke,” said IG-11 warmly.  “It is meant to put you at ease.”

The Mandalorian attempted a noise that with further analysis IG-11 determined to be a laugh.

“You are beginning to feel a reduction in pain and impairment,” said IG-11.  “You are recognizing humor.”

The Mandalorian grimaced.  “If you say so,” he said, closing his eyes.  His mouth made a thin, hard line, but his breathing eased, beginning to settle into a pattern more consistent with normal health.  He breathed deeply, but then coughed, a loud rattling sound caused by the smoke.  Perhaps the Mandalorian’s helmet contained filters that would reduce the effects of smoke inhalation.

As IG-11 identified the problem, it felt the Mandalorian’s hand brush against its arm.  “Please,” the man muttered.  “My helmet -- You did what you needed, right?  I -- I need it -- the Imps are still out there --”

“Of course,” said IG-11.  Swiftly it raised its arm, carefully lowering the helmet back over the man’s head and face.  The Mandalorian reached up clumsily with both hands, fingertips slipping and scrabbling on the smooth beskar as he tried to pull the helmet down.  IG-11 aided him, guiding the helmet over his face until it felt the click of the seal reconnecting.  

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian exhaled, his breathing pattern finally reverting to normal.

“Can you stand?” IG-11 queried.  “The Imperial forces will likely investigate this area soon.  The bacta should continue to work as more time elapses.”

The man gave a weak nod.  “I think I can stand.”  He gripped IG-11’s hand and was pulled to his feet, where he wavered.  IG-11 draped the Mandalorian’s arm over its shoulders.

“I will assist you,” said IG-11.  

“Why?” the Mandalorian asked, leaning heavily against it as they carefully descended into the sewer after the others.  “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you are a protector, as I am,” said IG-11, leading the injured man through the darkened tunnels.  “Kuiil taught me to nurse and protect those that cannot defend themselves.  You have done the same for the Child, though you faced far superior forces and the threat of death.  Working together, we have a greater chance to fulfill our directive.  To protect the Child.  Do you understand?”

The man was quiet, and for a moment, IG-11 only heard the man’s breaths, sharp and full of effort as they made their way forward into the depths. At last the Mandalorian spoke, and when he did, the voice was heavy, shaded with many human emotions.

[Relief, surprise, gratitude.  Understanding.]

“This is the Way,” he said softly, and the words echoed, ringing, in the dark.

#the mandalorian #ig11 #din djarin #kuiil #mandalorian #my mando fic #noromo mando

[theundergroundlondon]

ROMAN BARANOVSKY (RU) VS. OLIVIER FONTAINE (FR)

Roman had been thrilled to find out that he was fighting another Frenchman. After last year’s victory, he had upped the training. It was good on the streets, but it also kept him in shape for the big event - to make sure that the French were put in their place. Stepping into the ring, he scanned his opponent: tall, blonde, cocky. Nothing that Roman had ever dealt with before.

And being placed in the middle, he knew he was going to have to make this a show. It would be embarrassing if people were too bored to watch. So he waited, he wasn’t going to shake the man’s hand, he wasn’t that polite, and waited for the bell

-

Olivier was fighting a battle of nerves that had managed to wind itself into his core, as his feet planted onto the slightly sprung floor, a bounce to his step as eyes of cerulean blue landed upon his opponent, Roman. Instantly he fell into his usual way of checking around the room, landing upon an array of eyes trained to the both of them, sucking in a haggard breath. When he felt like he had everything mapped in his mind, he tried to centre himself once more. He had something to prove, a title to uphold and many people to impress. Taking those few steps to the middle of the ring, eyes dead on the outside. ‘’Let the games begin, Roman.’’ he calls.

-

Roman’s eyes narrowed at the Frenchman’s words. He already wasn’t a talker, so he never would have responded even if this was a regular fight; but there was something about his opponent saying his name that just made Roman’s blood boil. He flipped the man off as the fight started, turning the hand into a fist as he threw a punch aiming at the man’s throat.

-

Olivier managed to scramble back on his feet, dancing now as he hopped from one foot to the other, a beckoning smile taunting as he cocked his head to the side. ‘’That’s all we’ve got?’’ Olivier let himself freely move around the ring; Roman was unpredictable, which was what made this harder than a usual fight that Olivier may have found himself involved in. Trying to watch his body movements to see if there are weak spots; he lunges forward himself, trying to get a hook in, hoping to keep the show alive just a little longer. Anticipation was key.

-

Roman rolled his eyes at the French man - honestly wishing that he would shut up. His words in that horrendous accent just took away from the beauty of the fight - the art form that Roman had worked hard to become an expert in. Though one of the better things about Olivier being bigger is that it took that much more effort to move. Half a second more to throw a punch, take a step, everything because he had so much more body mass than Roman. He dodged the hook, and threw another punch, aiming for the man’s jaw. With a hit, it would at least get things going, and with luck, it would shut his opponent up.

-

How could he have missed that, a drop of his right arm and the connection to his jaw was almost instantaneously painful as a sound of air flew from his mouth, he stumbled back just slightly as the spinning room slowly came back into focus and for the first time the nerves were gone from Olivier as the anger ignited deep within the pit of his stomach? This was now pure rage, but amidst that, the pain was there creeping across the side of his face. ‘’Fuck you.’’ He spat spots of blood landing upon the floor. He beckons him with his hand, now purposefully taunting and luring. It took only a few moments as he watched the steps of his feet before he took a lunge, making his first connection with Roman.

-

He was angry - which was what Roman had wanted. People were more prone to mistakes when they were angry, when they let emotions run their fight. it was a great way to see a person’s weaknesses. They tended to be more prominent when they were acting on emotion. Was it the same for everyone? No. But Roman had fought enough people to see the trend. Roman smirked at the blood on the floor, he always as a fan of making his opponent bleed first. 

The lunge caught Roman off guard - he didn’t expect a man of that size to move that fast, but it was a learning experience. Enough of one that he could see what Olivier did and adapt, not to leave that kind of opening again. He felt his nose crack, and the blood seep down, and while he knew that Vika would be annoyed that his nose was inevitably broken. He moved back, walking around the ring for a moment, looking for a weak spot, before quickly turning on his foot, going to try and kick in the man’s knee. 

-

The sound of a crack and the sight of gushing blood gave him the dose of confidence he’d been sourly lacking throughout the day, as he hopped from one foot to the other. In his time training they’d always told him to be light on his feet, for a man of his statue he needed to be able to move around in order to get his attacks in from different positions and angles. Seeing that he’d finally managed to land one on Roman, the crowd was a battle crowd — screams for both their names could be heard from each side. He was sure Evelyne was watching somewhere; he didn’t have time to look.

But his moment was fleeting as he felt the world slip from beneath him as he hit the deck with an almighty crack. His knee was most likely out of place, as cerulean eyes looked for a second and tears welled in his eyes — the pain was almost unbearable as he let out what could only be described as a feral animal growling in the face of danger. He would not cry. Instead he let his mind go his job, there is always a way out, he thought. He saw it straight away like it’d been staring him in the face, Roman’s leg. Reaching out he took no time to grab both his hands around Roman’s ankle as he yanked it from beneath him, the thud satisfying. 

‘’If I go down, you come with me mother fucker.’’

-

How the fuck does this asshole keep talking? 

Roman thought to himself, pain radiating through his body as he hit the hard floor. It took a second to recalibrate and work through is body. He didn’t think there were any major injuries, though he was sure to be bruised not that long after the fight. But Roman didn’t care about that. Glancing at his opponent, he noticed the tell-tale signs that Olivier’s knee was dislocated. The man wasn’t getting back up. 

It was Roman’s time to shine. 

Rolling over, he straddled the man’s chest, and began punching. With the height difference gone, and Roman with the advantage, his aim was the man’s face. It would only be a few more punches before the man was unconscious - and Roman would no longer have to hear his annoying banter anymore. 

-

It only took a few seconds before the weight was on top of him, each hit sending a searing shot through his head, sure enough the damage would be lasting. His knee added to the pain that was mounting up as each second passed, he was grasping for anything he could get his hands on; Roman was prepared and way too powerful. Olivier knew there was no way he was going to be able to get back up on his feet at this point, trapped beneath him and struggling to move. THINK. His mind was screaming as another hit pushed his thought process to halt for just a second, he managed to open an eye that was already beginning to close up. The eyes. 

His eyes. 

It was like a new lease of life had been poured into Olivier, a new found strength as he reached up with both hands quickly, thumbs heading towards Roman’s face, just one kick move and his thumb had jabbed into the left eye, and the right just a few seconds after. He screamed in anger, pain and emotion as he used every ounce of strength he had left to push inwards. ‘’I hope to god I fucking blind you, you absolute russkaya pizda.’’ Using the Russian language to hurl his insult to the other male.

-

Roman had assumed that the fight was over. It was cocky, but normally people in Olivier’s position didn’t keep fighting. So when the man’s thumbs were in Roman’s eyes, it took him by surprise. The pain rushed through his eyes, through his brain, and when he pulled away it didn’t disappear. HIs eyes watered and his vision went blurry. And that was the point that Roman knew he had to finish it. 

Even with blurry vision, the man’s face hadn’t moved. And Roman’s punches were coming faster, with more intensity. It took a second for him to realize that Olivier was unconscious - that he had most definitely won. Roman got up, but there was something that still stayed with him. The talking, the bastardization of his mother tongue, just the general arrogance of the French. And with an evil, monstrous grin, he stomped as hard as he could on the man’s throat. Hard enough that if there wasn’t damage to his larynx Roman would be legitimately surprised. 

Maybe that would finally shut him the fuck up. it was at least worth the shot as he left the man on the floor of the ring. 

#fightpara #fightclub31 #olivier fontaine #roman baranovsky

[ozbian]

... I don't know if Caduceus can run.

He had his leg broken when he was a kid.

The adults were often away from home, if it was a bad break and his parents and aunt weren't there, it probably healed all wrong even with his sibs trying their best. It's really hard to fix a bone that's healed wrong, and even with magical healing you have to straighten out the limb first.

His family left him home alone. They must have thought he was safer in the wood then travelling with them. Firbolgs seem like they would be fast runners, they couldn't risk him falling behind or keeping to his pace and risking the whole group and the quest. At least in the wood Caduceus had a defensible home and the dangers were known.

He wears sturdy thigh-length boots and carries a large staff, both of which could assist with a weak leg.

He's giant-kin, firbolg are usually stronger than he is, with a weak leg he'd have difficulty carrying heavy things and wouldn't be able to brace himself very well which could be reflected in his relatively poor strength stat.

He was worried about more than was obvious when they took the Balleater. Caduceus never panicked that hard before or since. Something pushed him hard and it was a lot of things at once but it was also worrying he would drown himself trying to swim out to that ship if his leg cramped up or gave out on him.

He can keep up with the M9 on foot, he is the tallest and has longer legs than anyone else, and the party usually have to keep to the pace of the shortest members, Nott and Jester. They usually make sure to get mounts when travelling long distances anyway.

When he does have to move fast, he can probably get by with calm emotions and teas for pain management, and overflow from healing spells or leftover spell slots for any damage he does to himself.

And you know he wouldn't tell any of the others about it. There's nothing they can do. They'd just feel bad if they end up having to move fast.

He doesn't want to be a burden. He doesn't want to be left behind.

#caduceus #caduceus clay #critical role #slight spoilers ep 95 #clay family #mighty nein #oh gods Thursday is so far away