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jxsatlas · 3 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍 ⇢ keith kogane, ch. 1

keith kogane x gn! reader – next

DISCLAIMER! this story does not originally belong to me, the author is @MaddieWolf37 on Wattpad. i have simply received permission to rewrite and continue her story. go and check out her profile for the original version!

SYNOPSIS! a story in which you are thrown into the middle of an intergalactic space war and have the undesirable weight of being a symbol of peace dropped on your shoulders. but maybe if you look past the constant danger and endless fighting, there's some good to being a paladin of voltron.

MATURE CONTENT! swearing, violence, gore, war, graphic descriptions, mentions of self-harm

"Galaxy Garrison flight log 5-11-14," Lance announces, "Begin descent to Kerberos for a rescue mission."

He shoves the yoke forward and the aircraft takes a steep dive. You plant your feet to help fight against the inertia. You give him a sharp glare as the aircraft steadies out.

"Ugh, Lance, can you keep this thing straight?" Hunk whines from the back.

You look over your shoulder and recognise the nauseated expression on his face all too well. Last semester, there was a girl on your team that didn't do too well with excessive motion and often got sick.

Lance brushes him off. "Relax Hunk, I'm just getting a feel for the stick," he says with a lazy grin, which quickly turns mischievous. "It's not like I did this, or this!" Lance jerks the aircraft side to side, making Hunk feel worse.

"Knock it off, Lance," you warn from your chair next to him. You reach up above you and press a few buttons in hopes of stabilising the aircraft out after Lance's little joke.

"Yeah, listen to [y/n] unless you wanna wipe beef stroganoff out of all the little nooks and crannies of this thing," Hunk groans angrily.

"We've picked up a distress signal!" Pidge says from his seat in the back.

"Alright, time to quit our bickering and get serious," you say, doing your own little thing to accommodate for the lower altitude while Lance flies the aircraft.

"Pidge, track the coordinates," Lance says with a roll of his eyes at your comment.

Pidge does so, typing away on the computer. The aircraft gives a large rumble and Hunk groans again.

"Knock it off, Lance! Please!" he whines, his face all scrunched up in discomfort.

"Oh, that's on you buddy," Lance says sharply. "We got a hydraulic stabiliser out."

Hunk nods and goes to fix it, but when the aircraft shakes again he gags. "Oh no."

"Oh no, fix now, puke later," Lance growls.

So much bickering... you think to yourself with a sigh.

"I lost contact!" Pidge says. "The shaking is interfering with our sensors."

Lance looks over his shoulder at Hunk. "Come on, dude!"

"Sorry, it's not responding," Hunk says and unfastens his safety belt. He carefully gets up and makes his way over to the gearbox to see what's up.

"Coordinates are back," you say, seeing the blue dot on the dash.

"Nevermind Hunk," Lance says.

"No, he still needs to fix it," you say. "We can't properly fly this thing if a hydraulic stabiliser is out."

"Whatever," Lance rolls his eyes, "Preparing for approach on visual."

"I don't think that's advisable, given our current mechanical..." Pidge warns, trailing off when he hears Hunk gag again. "...and gastrointestinal issues..."

"Agreed!" Hunk says, not before quickly emptying his stomach into the gearbox with the unsavoury sounds of food chunks and liquid hitting the metal. You cringe, not liking the sound, and hope he's okay.

"Stop worrying," Lance says dismissively.

"No, they're right," you say firmly as you place your attention on Lance now. "We should wait before we do anything."

"Nah, this baby can take it! Can't ya champ?" Lance coos and pats the dash. The aircraft rumbles again and he retracts his hand with a sheepish look. "See? She was nodding!"

"That wasn't nodding Lance," you deadpan. "Now listen to us and wait."

"I'm the one flying this thing, aren't I?" Lance asks. "So I'm in charge, and that means what I say goes!"

"Excuse you, we're both flying this thing," you argue.

Ignoring you, Lance turns to Pidge. "Pidge, hail down on them and let them know their ride is here," he says.

Knowing that you're now doomed, you keep your mouth shut and wait for the inevitable failure of the simulation. You can already see it, the big, bold, red letters appearing on the dash.

And when Lance flies towards an overhang, tilting the plane as much as he can in a sad attempt to thread through the little hole rather than going over or around, you know this is where you fail.

Lance doesn't make it. The wing gets torn off, the alarms blare, and the aircraft pummels to the ground. The dash goes black and those red letters you were anticipating appear without hesitation.

Simulation Failed.

The first failure on your school record.

You toss your head back and sharply exhale, frustration building up in you. "Nice going," you grumble and look at Lance through the corner of your eye.

He catches your gaze and glares at you. "Oh, shut up," he growls.

The four of you sit in silence for a second, you and Lance glaring at each other, before an instructor opens the door and beckons you to come out.

Reluctantly, you all unfasten your safety belts and crawl out of the aircraft. You then mentally prepare yourselves for the lecture about how you are all failures to come.

You, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge line up before the Commander, avoiding his scowling gaze.

"Let's see if we can't use this complete failure as a lesson for the rest of you," Commander Iverson's voice booms angrily. He's not at all impressed with your behaviour. "Can anyone point out the mistakes these so-called cadets made during the simulator?"

"The engineer puked in the main gearbox!" a boy from the back of the group of students shouts out. Iverson nods and turns to Hunk.

"Yes. Everyone knows vomit is not an approved lubricant for engine systems," Iverson sharply criticises Hunk. He turns back to the students. "What else?"

"The comms-spec removed his safety harness," a girl points out.

"The pilot crashed!" another shouts.

Iverson nods, approving of all the answers given. "And worst of all, the whole jump they're arguing with each other," he growls and turns to the four of you once more.

You keep your gaze on the ground shamefully.

"The Galaxy Garrison exists to turn young cadets like you into the next generation of elite astro-explorers," Iverson lectures. His hands are on his hips as he looks down at you. "But these kinds of mental mistakes are exactly what caused the lives of the men on the Kerberos Mission."

In your peripherals, you notice Pidge clench his fists at his sides and scrunch his nose up in anger. You fully turn your head to him when he takes a bold step towards the Commander.

"That's not true, sir!" he barks.

Iverson looks at him and glares. "What was that, young man?" he growls.

Lance quickly slaps a hand over Pidge's mouth and pulls him back in line. "Sorry, sir! He must've hit his head when he fell!" he says, smiling sheepishly in a sad attempt to cover up his fear. His hand gets tighter over Pidge's mouth, almost as if he's asking the ginger what the hell is wrong with him.

With Lance speaking up, Iverson's attention is now pinpointed on him. He takes a few steps closer to Lance, his intimidating figure making your brother cower back a bit.

"I hope I don't need to remind you that the only reason you're here," he growls, his tone of voice menacing and powerful, "is because the best pilot in your class had a disciplinary issue and flunked out."

Lance drops his gaze down to the floor, a look of dejection taking over his face.

"Don't follow in his footsteps," Iverson warns. He stares Lance down a bit before abruptly turning to you. "And you!" he barks.

Your entire body freezes up and your eyes wearily follow him as he stops in front of you now. Your heart sinks down to your gut.

"I expected better of you."

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

You returned to your dorm at the end of the day with a cloud over your head.

You grumble about the day's events as you aggressively tug your shirt over your head. You really wish you could pinpoint the source of your frustration. Are you mad at my brother? Your team? Or yourself?

You toss your clothes on the floor and pull out some track shorts and a hoodie from your dresser. Getting dressed in your pajamas for the rest of the night, you try to sort out your emotions.

"Stop mumbling to yourself," your roommate says from her bed.

You turn to her. "Ah, sorry," you say. "I didn't realise I was talking out loud..."

"If you're that mad at your brother why don't you just punch him?" she asks. You blink, surprised she actually heard you.

"I'm not violent like you," you say with a sigh. "Besides, I don't even know if I'm mad at him specifically."

"Eh, I would punch him either way," your roommate shrugs. "It's a good way to alleviate your stress."

You roll your eyes. "I alleviate my stress by sleeping."

Your roommate laughs. "Ain't that the truth?" she jests. "How many times have you taken a nap between classes this week?"

You stare at her with a blank expression for a moment before picking your clothes up and off of the ground. "I'm not answering that," you say and toss them into the hamper.

You and your roommate pause when there's a knock on the door. You look at her and she looks at you.

She raises her hands up. "And I'm not answering that," she says.

You roll your eyes and grab one of the dirty articles of clothing you tossed into the hamper and throw at her without any remorse. She yelps in fear and disgust as you walk to the door with a smirk on your face.

"Don't throw your nasty underwear at me!" she barks and she pinches the panties between her thumb and index finger, tossing them as far away from her as possible.

You cackle and open the door. Your laughter cuts short when you're suddenly face to face with your brother. Hunk stands behind him.

"What are you doing in the girls' dorm?" you ask, but then take the opportunity you just created for yourself to tease your dear elder brother. You think of it as a bit of revenge for crashing the simulator. "Visiting someone?"

Lance rolls his eyes. "Heh, I wish," he sighs. "But no. We're thinking about hitting the town tonight! You know, for some team bonding?"

"Who is it?" your roommate calls to you.

"Lance and Hunk," you say over your shoulder at her.

"Punch him!" she shouts back.

"No!" you hiss and turn back to your brother.

"I don't like your roommate," Lance comments under his breath.

"Neither do I," you joke.

"I heard that!" your roommate barks.

"No you didn't!" you ready. But getting the feeling that she's going to keep interrupting, you push Lance out of your way and step into the hall with him and Hunk. You then close the door and give the boys your full attention.

"So, you're gonna come with us?" Lance asks.

"I don't know," you say with uncertainty in your tone. You cross your arms. "It's past curfew and I don't really think you have off-campus privileges..."

"That doesn't matter," Lance waves his hand dismissively. "Iverson wants us to bond as a team, so why don't we listen to him for once?"

"I'm not feeling that adventurous," you say.

"What? Why not? It'll be fun!" Lance cajoles.

"Lance, your idea of fun always ends up with you and me in the principal's office," Hunk reminds. "Don't drag your little sibling into it."

"Hunk has a point," you say. "I don't want to get in trouble again. I had my filling for today."

"Since when were you a goodie-two-shoes?" Lance asks in a somewhat offended tone.

"Since I got a scholarship here?" you quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Who are you and what have you done with my sibling?" Lance says as he gives you a look of utter betrayal, as if you were some alien.

You roll your eyes. "I'm not too keen on losing something like that because I went along with your dumb shenanigans," you sigh.

"Please, the max punishment for something like this is just a weekend detention with old man Brechin," Lance says and a mischievous grin spreads on his face. "That is, if you get caught."

You bite your lip, looking away in thought. Team bonding sounds very appealing after what happened today, but are you willing to risk your scholarship? You don't know if you can lose it because of a simple detention. The Galaxy Garrison is a government program, which means they are pretty strict.

"Do you really need to think about it?" Lance asks with raised eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're scared!"

His words irk you immensely.

You snap your gaze up to him. Is he serious? You aren't scared. Why would you be scared of sneaking out?

You silently walk back into your dorm and quickly throw a bra on, some socks, and your shoes.

"Where are you going?" your roommate asks as she watches you scramble about the room with a sense of purpose all of a sudden.

"Team bonding," you say, now tying the laces of your shoes.

"This late? Are you sure?" she asks.

"All common sense in me left the moment Lance basically called me a scaredy-cat," you say bluntly.

"Well, have fun," your roommate says.

You give her a small salute as you walk out of the dorm. "I'll be back by morning."

"Alright, see ya!"

You close the door and turn to Lance and Hunk expectantly. "Well?"

Lance gives you a cocky grin, proud of his persuasion skills. You suddenly consider your roommate's suggestion for a second.

"We need to go grab Pidge," Lance says. "It won't be team bonding if someone's missing. You gotta have everybody."

You shrug, doubting Pidge will join.

Lance takes the liberty of leading the way to the boys' dorm, you and Hunk following closely behind. You expertly dodge the officers patrolling the halls making sure students are in their dorms like ninjas on a stealth mission.

As Lance rounds a corner, he suddenly stops and back peddles quickly. He peeks around the corner and watches whatever is on the other side. Curious, you and Hunk sneak up close to Lance and peek as well.

Pidge steps out of his room, a backpack swung over his shoulders. He checks his surroundings before closing the door and running off.

You, Lance, and Hunk share a look. You all then telepathically agree to follow the small boy. Once again, Lance takes the lead.

#voltron #wattpad #keith #voltron keith #keith kogane #x reader #keith x reader #gender neutral reader #vld #vld fanfic #fanfiction #vld keith

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barnesandco · 3 years

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Little Hands (VI)

Series Masterlist

You and Ana cope with the aftermath of Bucky’s arrest.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1145. Square filled: “Natasha Romanoff”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Sad Child. Mild angst. Discussion of feelings.

A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. That is all. Please enjoy.

Steve’s Brooklyn brownstone is well-equipped and roomy; you suppose it has to be to be accommodate him and his four teenagers, as well as a number of Avengers, what with their mi casa es su casa tendencies. It feels empty right now, though, with just you and Steve and Anastasia in the kitchen, the weight of Bucky’s arrest in the air.

It's quiet in a way a house full of kids never should be, and you know Steve’s sent them away with instructions to give you privacy. Before the last of them left, though – Zoya, pretending there weren’t any tears in her eyes – she left Anastasia a bag of toys. Ana sits on the floor by the counter with the wooden building blocks spread out before her.

You focus your mind back onto what Steve is saying.

“…they’re saying they found Bucky’s fingerprints and hair on the scene. We think Zola is framing him. He would have had access to Bucky’s biometrics and samples of hair from when Zola was with Hydra.” Steve’s perceptive eyes are constantly searching you for any sign that you want to ask for help, for relief, for consolation.

You set your shoulders. “How are you going to prove his innocence? They have pretty solid evidence.”

“He’s innocent. That’s the truth,” Steve says, determined. “That’s going to set him free.”

You don’t say, it has to.

-----

Dinner is a sombre affair. The kids lay the table, quiet as mice, all of them, as Steve brings the lasagne out of the oven. Natasha is visiting in both aunt and bodyguard capacities and has brought tequeños from the small restaurant owned by the Venezuelan-American family on the corner.

You watch her carefully because her situation is so easily comparable to yours. Neither of you have much experience with children, but when thrown into interacting with them, you’ve both improvised well. As has Bucky, you suppose, with a pang of hurt. Natasha’s smiles are rare and bright around her godchildren, and you watch her gaze return repeatedly to Ana where she sits beside you.

At least Ana is safe, you think, as you know Bucky must have repeatedly in the past couple of days, right up to the moment of his arrest.

-----

When you sleep, you dream. And when you dream, you worry. Eventually, you stop twisting and turning on the mattress and leave the bedroom. The bottom step at the stairs creaks dangerously loud. From the windows in the kitchen, it looks like the backyard is empty, but stepping on to the porch finds you company. Redheaded company, and not just the Black Widow kind.

Natasha is sitting with her arm around Hannah, Steve’s second-youngest, a girl with auburn braids the length of her spine and tears tumbling down her round cheeks. You begin to turn and leave them to it, when Hannah calls out, “it’s okay. Please stay.”

“Yeah, join our pity party,” Nat encourages with a sarcastic but sad smile, and so you sit on the steps.

This silence is different from the one in the house earlier today, with Steve or at dinner. This is grief and hope, and faith beyond belief. None of you know what to expect, and how could you? These are thoughts that cannot be expressed, and so you can only sit with them. Sometimes, all there is to do is wait.

The sky is clear tonight, and the stars wink brighter than they have any right to, and you wonder if Bucky can see them from where he is. Probably not. It’s a damn shame. He loves stargazing.

“Uncle Bucky loves astronomy,” Hannah says in a small voice, and you smile. Bucky’s told you a lot about her, and his other godchildren. He’s so proud of them, so happy for them. “But then, you probably know that.” As he should be. Sharp as knives, the lot of them. “You seem close. He talks about you a lot.”

Oh no. Is this the if you hurt him we’ll kill you talk? Are you really having that conversation now? You try not to let the dread show when you look at Hannah, and see the loose smirk on Nat’s mouth. It looks unnatural above her soft, purple sweatshirt. Don’t worry, she mouths behind Hannah’s head. You try not to.

“I hope they’re all good things.”

Hannah laughs. “You might as well have hung the moon and all the stars. He looks at you the way Aunt Nat looks at—mphhh” Nat’s hand covers Hannah’s mouth until Hannah promises – with vague hand gestures – not to tell. When Nat lets go, all three of you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

“I don’t know about the moon and stars,” you begin, after things have settled down. You look at the moon, think about blue eyes and calm nights on the roof. “I care about him. So much that it scares me. I just want everything to be alright.” It’s a childish confession, and you allow it to yourself knowing that your present company won’t judge you for it. You’re sure that inside, you all feel the same.

The heart has many chambers, but one of them always wants just that one thing: safety. Somewhere to call home. And if you can, you’ll give that to Bucky, and with time, you think you can learn to do the same for Anastasia.

“He has to come back. For Ana,” you say, and Hannah nods solemnly.

Nat looks on, with approval. “We’ll get him back. I promise.”

“And Aunt Nat doesn’t make promises lightly.”

“I am from Russia. We people of our word,” Nat jokes in a heavy accent, before dropping it entirely. “He’s going to be fine. We have a plan, and it’s going to work.”

Again, you think, it has to.

-----

Steve storms into your room with an apologetic expression at odds with the ferocity with which he entered and says, “We need to get you out of here.”

You can only say, “Ana—” before he says Nat’s bringing her down. You have just enough time to put on a dressing gown before you’re unceremoniously escorted out in a rush. The Rogers children are with you, and you’re split into two groups, one in each armored vehicle out of place on a suburban street like this.

In the end, it’s too late. Not too late to get you out, because the tires screech and you’re off. But it’s too late to get you out before you catch a glimpse of what you’re running from. A man in black leather, weaponry everywhere. It’s Bucky, only it’s not Bucky at all.

It's the Winter Soldier, you think, as you leave him in the dust. It isn’t until later that you realize Ana has been weeping silently in fear, and you clutch her as tight as you can. Now what?

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #avengers

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

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Daring - Chapter 3

This is the last chapter for Daring! If you haven't, read part one and two first 💛 This is just a very fluffy chapter with vanilla smut at the end (with love for all of you who got whiplash from my last fic).

CW for alcohol consumption, language, talk of loss/trauma, sex and SPOILER WARNING for Guillermo del Toro's The Shape of Water. I will spoil the ending for the movie here so if you want to watch it first and haven't yet, now's the time! Honestly, it's an amazing movie and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, so lmk if you have ~thoughts~

Chapter 3 - Home

The days until Thursday went just as excruciatingly slow as the days before your first date had. The only difference was that now you knew what to expect. Or did you? You knew she liked you, too. Wanted you, too. She had told you every night on the phone. Every day after you finished at work you waited patiently for Abby to get off her shift, too. She was on day shifts at the moment, usually from 6 am to 4 pm, but more often than not it took a few hours longer.

Abby was very kind with her patients, often taking people back home from the hospital or helping them get accommodated in their hospital rooms. It cost her a lot of time, but when she told you how grateful they all were you could hear how much she cared.

“I’m telling you Y/N, she actually cried in my arms. This poor old lady, I think she must have been over 80. She could barely raise her arms to put on the gown, the fall had stunned her pretty bad.”

You and Abby were cooking on FaceTime, or rather you were pouring yourself some cereal and Abby was making pasta with fresh tomatoes and herbs. You wished you were there.

“I hope she recovers fast,” you said, pouring in the milk. “It must be awful, being away from home in that state.”

“Yeah,” Abby sighed, “but she luckily didn’t break anything. It’s horrible though, the way elderly people bruise. She is going to have every single step of those stairs visible on her torso for at least a week.”

You took your phone and bowl, using your elbow to open the door to your room. Leah winked at you from the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth and water dripping from her hair. She was going out with Nora and Jordan, seeing some action movie.

“You’re incredible for taking the time to help her. Did she really have no one else?”

Abby sprinkled some basil into her pasta sauce.

“I don’t think so. She was pretty confused, but she said her daughter lives in New York and she didn’t want me to call her. I’m gonna check on her tomorrow when I have a minute between calls.”

“Oh speaking of…” You leaned back against your headboard and propped up your phone against your thigh, staring into your bowl. “Are we still on tomorrow?”

Abby laughed quietly.

“Baby, I’ve been counting the hours. I can’t wait.” You felt a pull in your stomach at the name. She had never called you baby before. Looking at her, you could see she was trying to hide her nervousness. You smiled at her.

“When can I come over?”

“I hope I get off at 5 and they don’t rope me into an emergency in the last minute of my shift. I’ll just call you as soon as I head out and you can come over straight away. I’ll buy all the groceries we need tonight.”

“Hey, I can -” you protested, but Abby cut you off.

“No, you just grace me with your presence, that’s enough. You don’t know the exact ingredients anyway.”

You smiled and finished your cereal. You couldn’t wait.

Abby called you at 6 pm, still sitting in the passenger seat of the ambulance.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t call sooner.” Little strands of hair had fallen out of her braid and framed her face, some of them looking damp with sweat. There was a flush on her face and dark circles loomed under her eyes. You felt just a little bit guilty, having stayed up with her on facetime until after midnight the night before.

“Don’t worry, I’m not the one working extra hours. How was your shift?”

“Honestly? Terrible.” You knew Abby was not one to complain, so that really had to mean something. You saw her sway in the seat as the ambulance pulled into the garage and finally came to a halt. “I’ll tell you about it later, okay? I’ll be home in half an hour, so just come over whenever you want. I’ll leave the front door unlocked in case I’m still in the shower.”

A prickle went over your skin at the thought, but you quickly pushed it away. Abby was obviously exhausted, this was not the time to imagine her and you in a shower.

“Are you sure you really want to cook? We could just order takeout and call it a night.”

Abby considered it for a moment. It had to have been the worst day. She quickly spoke to the person next to her in the driver’s seat, then you heard the car door being shut. Abby looked back at you.

“Abby. Let me take care of you.” Your voice was soft. You wished you could brush the loose strands of hair behind her ear. The blonde sighed and unfastened her seatbelt.

“Just come over, okay? We can decide then. I just want you with me.”

You jumped up and grabbed the bag you had already prepared for sleeping over, a bottle of Merlot on top of your clothes.

“I’m on my way. I can’t wait to see you,” you said as you struggled to put on your shoes with one hand.

“See you soon,” Abby smiled and ended the call.

You called out a goodbye to Leah and she yelled back “Go get her!” Smiling to yourself, you closed the door behind you and rushed to the train station.

Sitting in the uncomfortable plastic seat of the train, you couldn’t help but grow more and more nervous, just like the last time. But this time was different, you reminded yourself. This time you could make your way straight into Abby’s arms, straight to her lips. You secretly checked your breath in your hand. The train arrived both too quickly and not fast enough.

After knocking at the front door twice without any answer, you made your way inside the house. Abby had told you to just come in, but you felt like an intruder nonetheless. Where could you wait without taking up space that wasn’t hers? You didn’t want to be sitting there like a movie villain when she came down. You called out but there was no answer, only the bass of a rock song playing upstairs and the sound of water rushing through pipes in the wall.

Deciding to make your presence as visible as possible, you dropped your bag on the stairs and took the bottle of the wine to the kitchen. Abby’s heavy paramedic jacket was thrown over a chair and her keys were on the table. An empty glass was standing next to them, water droplets running down on the outside and leaving a wet ring on the wooden surface. You picked it up and placed it in the sink, drying the spot with a tea towel. Then you took out two wine glasses from the cupboard you had put them into after cleaning up the last time and put them on the counter. You leaned against it, wondering what you should do now.

Thankfully, you heard the water shut off upstairs and a few seconds later there was the soft thump of naked heels on tile floor. You decided just to wait until Abby came down. It only took two minutes, then you heard her on the stairs. She slowed when she reached the bottom, probably noticing your bag.

“Y/N?” Her voice was light, but there was excitement in it, carefully restrained.

“I’m in the kitchen!” You suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands and reached for the bottle, then realized you didn’t have an opener and you probably wouldn’t be able to use one either. You let your arms drop to your side and Abby entered the kitchen, stopping a few steps from you.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing a light grey cutoff shirt and dark navy sweatpants. Her hair was still wet and hung loosely over her shoulders, darkening the cotton where it touched the fabric. Her face was still tired and her shoulders slumped slightly, but her eyes had lit up at the sight of you.

“You’re here!” She held out her hands, still not moving from her spot.

You closed the distance and threw your arms around her, burying your face in her neck.

“I’m here,” you mumbled and Abby’s arms closed around you, encasing you completely. She smelled wonderful, moisture still evaporating from her skin and warmth spreading from her body to yours where you touched. Your excitement didn’t falter, but your nervousness did. A wave of calm came over you. You were here.

“I’m sorry your day was so terrible,” you murmured, lips brushing the skin of Abby’s throat just above the neckline of her shirt. “Wanna spend the rest of it on the couch?”

Her upper body fell forward into you and her forehead came to rest on your shoulder. She nodded and you gave her waist a gentle squeeze before drawing back, resting your foreheads together and cradling her cheek with your hand.

“Come on, then. Let’s order you some food. I brought wine as well if you want some.”

Abby sighed.

“I’d love some.”

You wanted to step aside and take the glasses to the living room but Abby’s arms around you tightened and the corner of her mouth lifted.

“You’re an angel,” she whispered. And then she kissed you.

It was sweet, gentle, and tired, her lips soft and warm. You melted into her, both of you clinging to each other for a moment until Abby pulled away smiling. She took the bottle of wine and rummaged through a drawer for the opener. You held the glasses and watched her open the bottle, brows knit together and her tongue peeking out between her lips. It was both adorable and incredibly hot. You sat down on the large sofa together and Abby poured both of you a generous amount, then you clinked glasses and the blonde stole another kiss.

“Alright,” you unlocked your phone, “what are you craving?”

Abby gave you an amused look before she let her head fall back on the sofa cushion and thought for a second.

“Do you like Mexican food? Burritos?”

“Love it,” you said, searching for the closest restaurant and checking their website for delivery service. Abby just hummed in approval when she saw which one you had picked out. You placed the order together, Abby’s right hand never releasing yours as she clumsily used her left to pick her food. When the order was sent, you threw your phone to the foot of the sofa.

“So,” you said, turning to your side in order to get a better look at the blonde. “Wanna tell me about work?”

Abby sighed and opened her arm for you to crawl into. You gladly scooted closer, resting your head on her shoulder and throwing an arm over her stomach. When she spoke, you could feel the thrum of her voice in her chest.

“I went in early to check on the old lady who fell yesterday and found out she’d fallen again last night. She hadn’t told anyone because she was embarrassed, but I could tell something was wrong. Turns out her arm was broken in three places. I had them call her daughter even though she begged me not to bother her. I don’t know what her daughter is like, but I hope she takes care of her.”

You hummed and pushed yourself even closer to Abby’s side.

“After that, we had a call because of a domestic violence case. The police were there already, it was horrible.”

She rubbed a hand over her face and you pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

“After that, we had to go straight to another family dispute that ended in someone being stabbed with a steak knife. We got them to the hospital fast enough and it all went well in the end but I just hate cases that revolve around psychological trauma as well. All those family issues… I hate it.”

You could only imagine how horrible this must be for her after what had happened to her dad. Though you still didn’t know the whole story and you could probably find out easily by googling her name, you didn’t want to feel like an intruder in her past. She would tell you when she was ready.

“I’m glad you’re telling me about it,” you said, trying to sound firm and gentle at the same time.

Abby let out a little huff that sounded slightly surprised.

“Yeah, I don’t usually do that. Normally I would have just shoved all that into the back of my mind and tried to make this evening go perfect. Not that I don’t want to put in the effort with you-”

“I know,” you interrupted her, raising your head to smile at her, noses brushing against each other. “I think this is perfect. You are.”

You moved in for a kiss and Abby placed a hand on the back of your head, holding you gently as your lips touched. She deepened the kiss soon, breath going a little faster as her arms pulled you even closer. You threw your leg over her thigh, half on top of her now. Her tongue was smooth and hot against yours and when her teeth scraped over your bottom lip, you let out a whimper that she caught in another kiss. Feeling bold, you finally moved on top of Abby, straddling her thigh and placing your hands left and right of her flushed face. You rolled your hips forward and she made a guttural sound, low and hungry.

Her hands were all over you, pressing between your shoulder blades, wrapping around your waist, grabbing your hips to make you grind forward again, then finally cupping your ass and digging her fingers into the muscle. You stopped trying to keep yourself from panting and leaned forward to kiss Abby’s jaw, then the soft spot beneath her earlobe. She drew up her leg behind you, pressing her thigh between your legs, and you whimpered into her ear.

“Abby,” you whispered, “what are you doing to me?”

“Anything you want,” she murmured against your cheek, “anything, baby.”

You could hear your pulse drumming in your ears as you kissed the blonde fiercely, then moved your lips over that chiseled jaw again before biting the delicate skin of her throat. You dragged your tongue over her pulse point, actually feeling the beat of her heart fluttering against your sensitive nerve endings. She smelled intoxicating, warm, and earthy, and it made you want to take her in completely, to drown in her and never come to the surface again.

Her hands were on your hips again, guiding them against hers as she let out another low moan, lips parted and pupils blown as she looked at you with a mixture of amazement and pure, burning desire. You let your hands wander down her torso, trailing your fingers along the hem of her shirt and slipping them underneath. Abby’s skin was radiating heat, her stomach flexing beneath your touch.

“May I?” You asked, your voice breathless. Abby just nodded, lifting her arms over her head and arching her back so you could push the fabric up, revealing her broad frame, toned abs, and a black sports bra. You threw the shirt to the side and fell back onto her, your chests pressing together as you enveloped her in another heated kiss. You ground down against her thigh, the seam of your jeans pressing against all the right places. Abby’s hands were on your back again, broad and warm and reassuring.

You stayed like that for a while, melting into each other, catching the other’s breath, and trying to move in ways that would get the other to moan even though you were both still shy and careful about making noise. Abby twisted her pelvis ever so slightly so you could keep riding her thigh and hit her hipbone at the front of every movement. You responded by pulling her damp hair and making her hiss before she pulled you in and kissed you fiercely.

“God, Abby…” Heat was pooling at the bottom of your stomach and there was a sudden, almost painful sensitivity to your core. Pleasure had sneaked up on you without you noticing, completely surprising you with its intensity as Abby rolled her hips upward and you had no choice but to cry out. There was a hunger in her eyes, a triumphant glint and she held your face gently with one hand while the other was tight around your hip, guiding your movements against her and pressing into your flesh.

“Fuck, Abby, fuck, I’m so -” She swallowed your whimpers with another searing kiss, her tongue pressing into your mouth and her thumb stroking your cheek.

“Come on, baby, you’re so good, so beautiful, baby,” Abby mumbled against your lips, followed by more sweet compliments and hot kisses, her eyes always on yours. You found the perfect angle at last and dug your fingers into her shoulder, your moans going high and fast as you pressed your forehead to hers. She placed a last gentle kiss on your lips and you came undone on top of her. Her hands caught you easily, stroking you through your high, her lips caressing every inch of your face. Her skin was warm beneath you and slightly sweaty. You licked a small stripe up the side of her throat and kissed her jaw.

Abby pulled back just an inch to get a better look at your face, running her hands through your hair and over your cheeks, then down your shoulders and coming to rest around your waist.

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” she said quietly and with a blissful smile. “An angel.”

Her gaze was so piercing, so raw and knowing that you suddenly had the urge to bury your face in your hands, to hide from this infinite feeling inside of you that you could see in Abby’s eyes as well. You forced yourself to hold her gaze and reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face.

“I’ve never… this has never happened to me before,” you confessed softly. “You are doing things to me I never even dreamed of.”

Abby chuckled at that and caught your hand, kissing every knuckle and then the inside of your palm.

“We fit well, don’t we?” It was cautious, a step forward with no weight on it yet, a hand on a door handle.

“We do.” You grinned at her, and maybe it was the rush of the high that still hadn’t faded or a rare wave of courage, but you decided to rip open that door from the other side. You sat up and placed a hand on her sternum, feeling her heart thrum beneath your palm.

“Abby, I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to for a long time. You don’t have to have an answer right now, but just know that I’m already yours, no matter what.”

For a moment, Abby didn’t seem to fully comprehend. Then she frowned, the smile not fully leaving her lips but turning bittersweet. You felt your stomach drop. Had you spoken too soon?

“Y/N.” Abby’s hand covered yours on her chest. “I’d love nothing more.” A weight fell off your shoulders. Abby wasn’t done talking yet.

“I’m a difficult person to… be with. I’ve really put in all I had with you so far, but there are times when I will be cold and closed off and I won’t be able to let you in, to let anyone in. I don’t know if I could hurt you like that.” She squeezed your hand now, her eyes glossy. “I’m not saying this because I’m scared or unsure, I’m saying this to give you an out. Or at least some more time to really get to know what it’s like with me in your life. I can be exhausting. At least that’s what I’m told.”

You felt something hot flare up in your throat. That was not fair.

“Who told you that?”

“Owen. I mean, he’s the only person who knows what it’s like being with me and he certainly didn’t like it very much.” Even with her broad shoulders, her set jaw, all her muscles, she looked strangely small now. You felt like you were going to burst with rage.

“Abby, do you honestly think an ex’s opinion of you counts? To me? I don’t give a shit what Owen thinks because I’m not him and this is not the same thing. I get to decide what it’s like and so far it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” You placed both your hands on her cheeks and leaned forward. “Babe, stop trying to deny yourself happiness. You deserve to be happy. And if I make you happy, if you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

Abby sat up straight, her face now directly in front of yours, and wrapped her arms around you tightly. She blinked the tears away, a smile beginning to tug on her lips.

“You’re mine?”

“Only yours.”

She kissed you and you could feel her grin against your mouth, smooth teeth softly clicking against yours.

“Mine,” she mumbled and began trailing kisses down your throat, hands now wandering down your back and under your t-shirt where they immediately provoked goosebumps to spread over your entire body. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Both of you pulled back with surprised faces.

“The food!” you realized and you had to laugh as you scrambled to get up from the couch. You had almost forgotten how hungry you were. Abby quickly pulled on her shirt, grabbed her wallet, and opened the door, hair wild and her lips still red and swollen. You hovered in the background, probably looking just as disheveled, and tried not to giggle like an idiot.

The delivery guy took one look at you and just gave Abby an amused smirk as he handed her the food. She tipped him generously and thanked him before closing the door and turning to you, both of you frozen in your spots for a second. Then you both burst out in laughter. Abby was next to you in three strides and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before you let yourself flop down on the sofa together. Abby had ordered two large burritos, you had chosen a vegetarian taco bowl and a big bag of tortilla chips with salsa and guacamole. While you unpacked all the food and laid it out on the coffee table, Abby turned on the TV and scrolled through the movie options.

After some looking around, you decided to watch The Shape of Water, which you hadn’t seen yet despite being a big Guillermo del Toro fan. You ate in silence, letting the film pull you into a cold war era story of a mute woman, her gay best friend, and a strange fish-human being in the facility she was a cleaner at. You generally avoided watching more artistic, less Hollywood-typical movies with other people in fear of them constantly ridiculing the story to hide their own discomfort with monsters, but Abby was just as immersed in the story as you were. Sally Hawkins was a fantastic actress and the amphibian man was beautifully designed and a fascinating character. Del Toro’s handwriting was all over the film - beautiful colors and cinematography, fairytale monsters next to very human, real-life ones, the fear of the Other and the idea that maybe if one just dares to look beyond, the Other may have a story to tell and love to give.

When you had finished your food, you snuggled up to Abby, occasionally feeding her chips with guacamole and kissing the salt from her lips. During the final scenes when the shooting happened, Abby tensed up next to you. You hadn’t even thought about movies possibly triggering her or making her uncomfortable. Fuck, you should have looked it up beforehand. Now all you could do was press your temple to her collarbone and wrap your arms around her as tightly as possible.

“Do you want to turn it off?” You mumbled, your thumb drawing circles on her ribcage. You could feel Abby shake her head.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it by now. The movie is almost over anyway.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled you close. The ending was beautiful and heart-wrenching and you shed a few tears, staining Abby’s shirt. She just smiled and kissed the tears from your cheeks.

“Did you like it?” You asked tentatively, not sure if the shooting may have ruined it for Abby.

“I loved it.” Her expression was warm. “That scene in which she talks about the way he sees her without any of her flaws, just her, and how her fight for his life is what makes her human was beautiful.”

“And then in the end she wasn’t human after all,” you added, “I’ve never really seen it that way around. Usually, the beast turns into a prince at the end. I always hate that. Why can’t the monster stay a monster after having proven their love and their honor and whatever else is needed to redeem them, you know?”

Abby thought about that for a moment, her eyes going unfocused.

“That’s true. In so many stories, all the things that make the monster monstrous are stripped away as soon as they have proven their worth and found true love. It doesn’t work like that in real life. We all have things inside that could deem us monsters and it’s only when we hope to have found love that we can dare to reveal them and hope the other person loves us anyway.”

Something warm spread inside you, reaching out to every corner of your body, every toe and every fingertip. You leaned in and kissed her gently.

“The silver plate.”

Abby looked confused for a second, then she remembered the things she had said during your last date.

“Yeah, my own monstrous silver plate.” She smiled. “Scared?”

“Not at all,” you grinned and climbed on top of her. “I’ll devour you.”

You pressed your lips to hers her and it quickly turned into another heated makeout session. Your limbs were tangled together and her hands roamed your body as you kissed her neck and when she finally asked: “can I?” you almost knocked your head against her jaw trying to sit up so she could take off your shirt.

Sitting up on her hips, you dragged your nail from her ear to the hem of her shirt, scratching the skin and making her hiss, eyes burning.

“Want to show me your bedroom?” you asked, trying not to lose your focus at the feeling of her hands wandering up your thighs. You yelped as Abby sat and stood up in one swift motion, arms secure around your waist and thighs so you’d stay pressed to her chest. You wrapped your legs around her and laughed into her mouth before she kissed you again.

The tall blonde carried you up the stairs like it was nothing, making soft noises when you bit into the soft skin just below her jaw.

“Y/N…” She kicked open a door and didn’t give you any time to look around, crawling on the bed and trapping you under her large body, attacking you with kisses, all teeth and tongue. It was glorious.

You pulled on Abby’s shirt until she grunted and took it off herself, then her hands were trailing the skin above the waistband of your jeans. More, more, more.

“Can I take those off?” Abby asked, sitting back on her knees between your legs.

“Please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips for better access, but Abby had other plans. She let her hands wander over your upper body, her fingers teasing your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette, then softly tickling your stomach on their way down. Finally, she opened the button of your jeans and slowly opened the zipper, her eyes flickering up to your face and back down to her hands.

“Come ooon,” you begged, “please, Abby.”

There was the hint of a smirk on her lips, but she complied and pulled off your jeans, both of you laughing as they caught around your ankles and Abby had to wrestle them off. Then Abby’s hand was on your foot and she held it in place on her shoulder, slowly kissing her way up your leg. Your breath got faster with every inch she came closer to your heated center, that place that had gotten a taste of what was to come and wanted more. She dragged her lips over your clothed core and your legs trembled, a gasp escaping you.

Abby took her time with you, kissing your stomach and chest before taking off your bralette and teasing your nipples with a gentle tongue and fluttering fingers. You were squirming beneath her, a mess of pleasure and want for more, begging her to touch you. Finally, she sat back up and hooked her fingers under the waistband of your panties, keeping eye contact and pulling them down slowly. Her gaze was burning, pupils wide, lips hanging open and breath going in shallow pants.

Her tongue was heaven, it was heat and silk and everything at once, enveloping you in waves of ecstasy and making you moan and bury your hands in her hair. She was gentle, cleaning up the mess you had made earlier and the one just now, broad tongue and small circles sending your hips up to meet her, her fingers around your thighs too far away.

“Abby, please…” you gasped and she looked up to meet your gaze. You melted inside.

“What do you want, baby?” Her voice was deep and husked, lips shining with your juices.

“Your fingers.” You gave her hand a light push downward and with a smile, she complied.

If you had thought you had already reached the pinnacle of pleasure, the best there was, you had been oh so wrong. Abby’s fingers were magical, teasing you and filling you up, stroking against that tender spot inside you, then slowing down as her tongue made you see stars, complying when you begged her for more, faster, harder. Your legs hadn’t stopped shaking in what felt like forever, your fingers were cramped into Abby’s beautiful blonde mane and you were crying out her name over and over again as she brought you to your peak, guiding you through it and moaning along with you as your juices covered her fingers and her tongue.

When she finally crawled back up to meet you, her arms were shaking slightly and her face was flushed. You still felt like you were somewhere far away, but her smile pulled you back to the present. She kissed you, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. Slowly, you let your hand wander down and play with the seam of her sweatpants and the hem of her boxers peeking out underneath.

“Wanna take these off?” you mumbled in her ear and you could see she was trying to keep her composure as she tried to get out of her pants as fast as possible before coming back to you. She stopped and looked unsure suddenly.

“Is it okay if I keep these on for now?” She gestured to her sports bra and underwear.

“Of course, baby. Can I touch you?” You whispered, one hand on the back of her neck as the other wandered lower. Abby nodded and kissed you again.

“Yes, please,” she whispered back. You slid your hand into her boxers and were greeted by wet heat, desire practically pooling in your palm. Both of you gasped at the same time, eyes flying open to meet each other’s, bodies grinding together.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet,” you cooed and watched Abby dissolve in front of you, blood shooting into her cheeks before she buried her face in your neck and began leaving lovebites on your throat. You dragged your fingers between her folds, relishing in the tiny noises she made whenever you touched her clit or came near her entrance.

You put all your strength into throwing Abby to the side and rolling on top of her, hand never leaving her center. She laughed in surprise and grabbed the back of your neck to pull you in, and at that moment you slid a finger inside her. Her eyes went wide and the noise she made would visit your dreams for the rest of your days. You kept your lips wandering over her throat and back to her lips, pulling moan after moan from her with your fingers, gently pushing inside her and curling upward, your thumb drawing circles on her clit. After a while, you could see her abs flexing as her core convulsed rhythmically, her moans getting higher and breathless, her fingers digging into your waist.

“Will you come for me, Abby?” you whispered and kissed her again. Her hips bucked up into your hand and she made a strangled noise, then her legs clamped together around your fingers and she sighed, tongue darting out to brush against yours as you slowly pulled your hand from her sensitive core.

You threw your thigh over her hips and pressed your face into the crook of her neck, giving her time to breathe as you drew patterns on her bare stomach with your fingers.

“Baby…” she mumbled above you, voice vibrating through her chest. “That was… I don’t even have words.”

You grinned up at her and she brushed your hair behind your ear. Her gaze was full of love and adoration, like sunlight warming your skin, soft fingertips caressing your cheeks.

“I’ve never felt so safe,” you said, resting your head on her shoulder so you could look at her. “You’re so careful.”

Abby smiled and followed the path of your fingers with her eyes.

“I’ve had other experiences in the past that made me realize how important it is to always check on your partner.” She looked down at her clothed hips. “Thank you for… not making this weird. I’m just… one step at a time.”

“Of course, baby.” You moved your lips closer to her ear. “I think it’s really fucking hot, you between my legs in those boxers, all muscles and freckles. But then when I touch you, you’re so needy, just a wet mess, coming on my fingers in your underwear.”

Abby let out a shaky breath, chest trembling at your words. She laced her fingers between yours and pressed them to her sternum.

“You leave me speechless every time,” she said, voice quiet and content.

“I love it.” You pulled the blanket up with your foot and covered both of your bodies up to your hips, yawning into her shoulder. Abby chuckled quietly.

“Do you need to set an alarm for tomorrow?” She reached over to the bedside table, then let her arm drop. “Our phones are still downstairs.”

You groaned and rolled onto your back before blinking up at Abby innocently, hoping she would go and get them. She just laughed and got up, stretching her arms and making the muscles on her back dance beautifully.

“You need to go pee,” she said with raised eyebrows. You sighed and lazily rolled out of bed, pulling the blanket up around you.

Abby showed you the bathroom across the hall and made her way down the stairs, a bounce in her step. You could hear her clean up the takeout containers and throw away the trash in the kitchen. Suddenly there was a noise outside, a deep voice and the jingle of keys at the door. You froze with the towel in your hands. The front door opened and Manny tried to stay quiet in that completely ineffective way most men do, dropping his shoes with loud thumps and whispering into his phone so loudly you could hear every word.

“Hi, Manny,” Abby said in the hallway. Keys dropped to the floor with a clunk.

“Dios mio! What the hell are you doing sneaking around here, Abby? You just get back from the gym?” You could hear her laugh quietly as he tried to catch his breath.

“I could ask you the same. Weren’t you supposed to come back tomorrow?”

You snuck back into her bedroom on tiptoes, wrapping the blanket around you tightly and staying near the door to hear the conversation downstairs.

“Had to go early, my dad had a hot date tonight.” You could actually hear his grin.

“Yeah, well, me too.” Abby’s voice was dry, but you could tell she wasn’t actually annoyed.

“Really? Y/N? How'd it go?” A pause, then another loud whisper - “holy shit, she still here?

“Y/N, Manny’s home!” Abby’s raised voice rang through the house. You grinned. She knew you were listening.

“Hi, Manny!” You looked around for any clothes you could throw on quickly but came up empty. Sighing, you checked your blanket placement and went to the top of the stairs, looking down at Manny and Abby in the entrance hall.

Abby was still just in her sports bra and boxer shorts but didn’t seem to mind at all. Manny wore sweatpants and a green sweater, along with a hat that said women want me, fish fear me. Behind him were two large bags, one of them clearly full of fishing equipment. His smile lit the room.

“Hi Y/N, nice seeing you here. You two have a good night?”

You nodded and he made a knowing ah-ha sound. Abby elbowed him and red spots formed on her neck.

“Well, I’m gonna eat something and pass out. Breakfast tomorrow?” He threw a hopeful look in Abby’s direction. “When does your shift start?”

“Noon, I get late shift for the next two weeks. Y/N, what about you?” Both of them looked up at you and you shifted your weight, very aware of the way you looked right now.

“I just need to study, I can sleep in for once.”

Abby nodded and patted Manny’s shoulder.

“Breakfast at 10.”

She came up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and grinning from ear to ear. Manny vanished into the kitchen, continuing to scream-whisper into his phone. You made out the words “finally… girl is here” before Abby simply picked you up and carried you back to bed, kicking the door closed behind her.

You snuggled up together and Abby stroked your hair while she told you about her friendship with Manny and how glad she was to have him. He had been there for her through everything and he had wanted her to make a move and ask you out for weeks. You felt yourself drift away slowly.

“I’m so glad I’m here,” you mumbled, hand stroking Abby’s chest.

“Me too, baby. I still can’t believe I get to call you mine.” The bliss in her voice was the same you felt in your heart.

“Finally.” You craned your neck for a last kiss and melted beneath Abby’s soft lips and warm hands.

She held you wrapped tightly in her arms, almost as if she was scared you could vanish in the night. As if you'd ever leave her now. The last thing you thought before falling asleep was that you were finally home.

Author's note: Have you seen The Shape of Water? Did you like it? Let me know here 💌 If you'd like to support me, you can buy me a coffee here 🤎

#abby anderson #abby tlou2 #abby tlou #abby the last of us #the last us 2 #tlou abby #leah #leah tlou #abby anderson fanfiction #smut #fluff

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pumpkinpot · 3 years

Text

Hoshi

A/N: this is part of the Citrus Dome Sci-Fi collab. this is also pure fluff. no smut, no real angst. just spooky summer vibes and poly love. I hope you enjoy. (I’m sorry for grammatical errors in advance.)

synopsis: since beginning your relationship with Katsuki Bakugou and Ochako Uraraka you’ve developed a love for exploring abandon places with them whenever you three have time to explore. This time, so happens to land on a derelict observatory. (additional head canons for this story on my tik tok under pumpkinpots)

“It says here it was abandoned in the mid-nineteenth century due to the spike in light pollution with the growth of the city,” you say, pointing to the dome at the peak of the building. “All of the mobile telescopes were transferred to the university's observatory, while this placed rotted away.

Uraraka half listens, levitating sheetrock from the doorway and discarding them in the nearby field.

“Why just abandon it?” Katsuki asks, fiddling with varying lenses in his camera bag. “Couldn’t this have been a museum or something?”

“Yeah,” you agree, shifting a glance to make sure Uraraka doesn’t need help. “It looks like it was bought by a merchant in the eighties who wanted to turn it into a house, but he was indicted for tax evasion before the renovations ever finished. It hasn’t been touched since.”

He scoffs with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Rich idiots.”

Uraraka brushes specks of dust off her palms across her cut-off shorts before urging us alone. “Shall we?”

It takes two and a half pushes to nudge the door wide enough to squeeze through. The observatory opens to us with a groan of whining metal and the scratch of loose dirt on concrete.

Centered in the main foyer, a gaping mural of blue and white cobblestone depicts a dusty map of astrology stars.

Katsuki has to be coaxed with a promise to be flashed to pose under the Taurus constellation for a picture, meanwhile, Uraraka floats just above Pisces with a cute puffy cheeked expression.

Names, small sayings, and symbols decorate the wall in vibrant graffiti, the place a cocktail of color and wild Ivy.

"It's a lot more lit than I thought I'd be," Uraraka says, stuffing her flashlight into her bag.

Katuski keeps the light attached to his camera lit as he weaves in and out of rooms, zooming in on old books and broken equipment.

We follow him through a puzzle of what seemed to be living quarters and small classrooms, ending in a half oval auditorium.

At the center of the stage a white globe balances on a pillar of cement.

“What’s this?” Uraraka asks.

You touch where someone had attempted to derail the sphere like a baseball before trailing your eyes above the layered seating. “It's a projector ball. Technicians would likely project light from there into the ball to make it seem like the planet or star they were studying. That's why it's,” you knock on the sphere's cool solid surface. “Crystal.”

Uraraka shines her phone’s light into it, the shattered pieces reflecting shapes in a dim glow.

Katsuki points the camera into the orb, the bluish tint reminds you of the similar one in the abandoned lighthouse you’d explored with them two years ago. Though that one would have lit from the inside.

Quickly you explore the base and second levels, eager to get to the actual observatory. It's evident where the renovations to make this a home had been started and never finished. Small cracks in the floor, sealed with caulk, loose wooden planks pillaring knocked in walls.

It could have been a beautiful home, you think to yourself.

Up the second flight of stairs gradually more and more light fills the space until you are bathed in the orange glow of early dusk. A large open scare slits the dome, edging with rust and ivy. The circular room holds nothing of true value, nothing left behind but broken tables and a ladder to the viewing balcony tailing the opening of the dome.

“The big telescope that would have been here-” Uraraka says, fiddling with the screw holes in the floor, “- would have been a refracting telescope. It uses small bits of glass to magnify what you’re looking at, then is bent back through the telescope hitting the eyepiece. The other kind is a reflector,” she continues, “It's got a primary mirror at the bottom of the lens into a second mirror than a third eyepiece mirror. This one is mostly used to see the different parts of a star to see what it's made out of.”

Katsuki and you exchange looks of pure astonishment. "how do you know all this?" you ask.

She fishes a gum wrapper from one of the holes, tossing it to the side. “Before I was accepted into UA I was really considering going into astronomy. I thought it fit so well with my quirk, but the courses were too expensive.”

"More expensive than UA?" Katuski asks, refocusing his camera.

She nods, seeming just as dumbfounded as us.

“Do you think it could work on my explosions?”

“If you were in space maybe,” you hypothesize, “but in that case, we probably wouldn’t see it for a long while.”

He seems semi disappointed as if his evening plans had been somehow derailed.

You run your hands across the walls of the dome, dusk sun baking its metal frame like a soup pot.

For a moment you just watch them. It’d been so long since the opportunity arose for the three of you to go exploring. With you still temporarily stationed in the American hero commission and those two workings in Japan it was rare to find time to skype let alone go on adventures. You were lost in the bliss of having your partners so near without having to scream about a lost wifi connection when your hand hit something protruding from the wall.

“What are these?” you ask, inspecting circular gears attached to a crank.

“It looks like the wheel to turn the dome,” Uraraka says.

Katsuki zooms in on the puzzle of rigid plates. “This bitch turns?”

“Yeah, that slit doesn't move so the dome has to, to accommodate where in the sky they were looking.”

Katsuki fingers the gears a moment, mapping its track all across the sphere. He traces along the parts not layered in rust until he’s back at the start. “Do you think it still works?”

“Not without some serious lube and strong arms.”

“We’re one for two,” you suggest.

Katsuki hands over his camera to Uraraka, positioning himself opposite you to push the lever, while you pull left.

At first, the dial stays put, its stance unforgiving, but after a bit more pull than push a deafening whine reverberating through the entire observatory.

No visible move happens until the second crank roundabout when the shift of light against concrete becomes clear.

Katsuki’s eyes light with sheer amazement as the entire dome rotates around you. We are halfway through a full rotation before Uraraka shouts for you to stop.

You push on the lever stilling its movements as quickly as you can.

She holds a finger head tilted to the side. “Do you hear that?”

Your breath balloons in your chest as you lean in closer. The tiniest of whimpers echo around the dome from the viewing balcony.

One after another you file up the ladder, hopping on the edge of the dome. Balancing on the concrete crease between the moving track and the rest of the building you search for the sound.

“Here!” Uraraka yells from the other side.

You sprint as much as you dare, teetering along the two-story edge.

She squats over the body of a squirming animal, a tuft of fur caught in the track of the dome's rotation. She coddles its little frame, before reaching a hand out to you. “Y/n, your knife-”

Hesitantly you hand it over. She snips away the stuck pieces muttering thanks that none of the actual tail got caught. She folds the blade back into itself, pinching leaves and sticks from the animal's fur and tossing them over the side.

She holds it up, floppy ears and a black nose making it a nearly recognizable creature. A puppy.

He looks to be light brown, but that could be the soot.

Katsuki checks around the dome for any signs of a litter or mamma, before joining us with a shake of his head.

The pup squirms and with an open mouth, letting all sorts of noises tumble from his dirt-covered tongue.

Uraraka floats the puppy to the floor of the dome, as we file down the ladder. You empty the contents of your water bottle into a cup for drinking and the rest onto its back for cooling.

His fur peaks through white and brown spotted under layers of grime.

“Well,” Uraraka says, “we’ve been talking about wanting to expand our family.”

“I suppose there’s no better place to start,” you add, both of us looking to Katsuki for consensus.

He passes glances between the three of us. “Fine, but I get to name it.”

“Alright, but we get veto power.”

“Explosion-”

“Veto,” you say in unison.

He looks around puffy-lipped. “I didn't even get to finish.”

“Explosion nothing,” Uraraka clarifies.

He’s silent for a long moment looking around the space. “Hoshi?.”

“Star?” you confirm.

“This observatory was used to study the stars, wasn’t it?” He bats.

You and Uraraka exchange a satisfied, yet surprised look. You hadn’t expected something so- normal. This is after all the same man that made you name your golden pothos “boom boom boi” in his honor.

“I like it,” you say.

“Approved,” adds Uraraka.

We better take our picture before it gets too dark,” he says, turning away so you can’t see the blush on his cheeks. He switches out his filming camera for a smaller polaroid, propping it up on the edge of a broken table.

He runs back as the timer ticks down. He slides to your right side, Uraraka on your left. Their arms link behind you as you hold Hoshi up to your mid-chest. Clicking down from five you all give your cheesiest grins. A rectangular card spits from the bottom of the camera.

Ochaco shakes it a few times, swapping you a picture, for a puppy.

You wait for the picture to pixelate before opening the ninety-cent notebook of film slips and position it in the next available spot.

Urarka’s cut-off shorts and Katsuki's tanned shoulders are a stark contrast to the puffy blue coat and chunky knit beanie from the last abandoned mansion expedition last time. Before that, the three of us accidentally matched our windbreakers to Midoryia during a tour of The Ghost Candy Shop in Kyoto. We look like a group of tourists.

The small book seemed to be filling quickly despite the rareness of time to get away. Memories pile up from when it was just Uraraka and Katsuki to when you became a staple to their adventures. They’d given you responsibility for the book to garner your importance to them in their relationship until the reasoning for the gift became nothing more than routine. You were theirs, and they were yours.

Now a new member had sprouted in your little family, and if you squinted, you could imagine the rest of the pages being filled with the pup in aged years to maybe more as time goes on.

Right now, you were happy with the three and a half of you.

#bakugou x reader #uraraka x reader #bakugou x uraraka #ochako x reader #mha x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x y/n #Uraraka fluff #mha fluff

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dorminchu · 3 years

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Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

“See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

#no time to die #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #several ocs #crime drama #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably #haha... unless?#slow build

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haillenarte · 4 years

Text

white day 2020;

Here is a full translation of the (thus far) Japanese-exclusive White Day 2020 Developer’s Blog post.

First, the dry translator’s disclaimers: I acknowledge that this post is four months old. Once upon a time, I was the sort of fan translator who would have rushed to get this done within a week of its posting, but in this case, I was busy with the Ishgardian Restoration Skybuilders’ Ranking when it was first posted, and then after that... well, I just busied myself with other things. I was tempted to skip doing this one completely, but then I felt obligated to complete the series given that I’d translated the post from 2018, so... goodbye to my Saturday morning and afternoon, I suppose.

This post is intended as a polished translation on par with official content. As such, I have taken certain liberties with the text: though it was originally in more or less a script format, I embellished it to make it a prose post consistent with other English developer’s blog posts. Most of the moogle’s narration was invented by me in order to preserve humor and narrative flow. This is nothing that the localization team itself does not do. I can assure you that the core details remain essentially intact and untouched.

If you would prefer to read a more literal take on this text, I am sure that more than a few rough translations exist of it already, so please look for someone else’s post if you want something that’s more of a word-for-word take.

Special thanks to the person I trust best to write Urianger’s dialogue for helping me with Urianger’s dialogue, and then to a second good friend for Elizabethan grammar-checking the both of us!

Happy White Day, Kupo!

March 13, 2020

It’s ever so nice to speak with you again, kupo!

Do you remember me from the last report, perchance? ‘Tis I, the ever-industrious deputy postmoogle’s apprentice! The rising star that’s, ahem, still training to become a full-fledged postmoogle... kupopo...

This Valentione’s Day — like every Valentione’s Day — we postmoogles were once again entrusted with delivering confessions of love all throughout the realm. So I’m here to give you an exclusive rundown on how my deliveries unfolded, kupo!

First, I tapped into my considerable experience as an aspiring postmoogle to... erm... take care of the most difficult delivery on my list before all the rest. A-As any professional would, obviously!

...Phew!

Oh, it was such a relief that he was asleep when I dropped by, kupopo... I thought my heart was going to thump straight out of my fluffy chest! My paws might have been severed... my pom plucked...

Honestly, I was of the distinct opinion that I had done more than my fair share of the year’s work after that, kupo, but of course I tirelessly flew away to my next destination without complaint!

The second set of Valentione’s Day packages in my delivery satchel were meant for Lord Hien of Doma!

Lord Hien greeted me himself, kupo, friendly as ever. "Ah, the postmaster — right on time as always!” he said, a little breathlessly. “You have my thanks. Would you just leave your deliveries on that table so that they come to no harm?”

What harm? I was more a bit confused, but then I realized that he was in the middle of some sort of... game?

He was running around, being chased by the leader of the Buduga clan, kupo. I suppose they were in the middle of an extremely spirited game of tag! How fun! I remember when I was a young moogle playing tag with my friends, floating in circles with the wind in my whiskers... Oh, for those halcyon days!

Daidukul received a fair bit of stuff from his admirers, too, kupo. More than Magnai, that’s for sure...

Then Isse looked at me as I was laying out everyone’s packages. “Oh, the postmoogle’s arrived?” he asked. “Um, by any chance, are you the one who delivered the year-end gifts from last time? I meant to give my thanks to the person who sent me something then...”

Of course, I told him that would be perfectly fine!

After all, even when it’s not Valentione’s Day, it’s the responsibility of a delivery moogle — or delivery person — to ensure that all the tender feelings they’ve been entrusted with reach their intended recipients. That’s why there’s no better job for me than being a postmoogle!

After my business in Doma was concluded, I flew back to Eorzea, kupo.

I’m a real go-getter — and someone really ought to tell the deputy postmoogle of my great work ethic — so I darted straight to the Black Shroud to unload my paws of all the packages I had for the people there. And what luck! As fortune would have it, I met one of my delivery targets on the road: Sanson Smyth!

“Happy Valentione’s Day, Sanson!” I chirped. “I have some very special deliveries for you and your usual companion!”

“Companion?” Sanson repeated. He sounded a little incredulous. “Er, no, that’s not quite right — it would really be more accurate to call him a vexing subordinate... Regardless, if it is Guydelot you seek, he is no doubt at his usual tavern. Would you like me to walk there with you?”

Oh, but of course I did, kupo! Sanson’s such a thoughtful, helpful man, isn’t he? It was so very nice of him to ask.

Taverns are where travelers go to rest, so they seem like such wonderful places to meet other people, kupo...

Once I’d finished with my deliveries in the Shroud, I let the cool northern winds carry me straight to Ishgard, kupo. And what change it’s gone through! The city was just bustling with the reconstruction effort!

I told Edmont (Count Edmont? Lord Edmont? So confusing!) that I’d come to deliver joyful tidings of love to everyone in House Fortemps again, kupo!

And to Ser Aymeric as well, of course!

And... well, I had a whole sack of things to give to Estinien, but just like last time, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Since writing his name on it and leaving it by the window seemed to work last Valentione’s Day, I asked Aymeric if I should do the same this year, but... kupopo... He didn’t quite seem to approve of the idea.

“We’ve received word from our men afield that Estinien may no longer be operating in Ishgard,” Aymeric explained, “so it may not be enough merely to leave his gifts by the nearest window and expect him to come across them.”

My pom drooped a bit at this pronouncement, kupo. After all, how was I going to deliver Estinien’s presents if even the Ishgardians couldn’t find him? Was it all hopeless, kupo?! All those packages to be returned to their senders... What a waste!

“No, well... Another report indicated some success in luring him with the scent of roasted kraken, seared by dragon’s breath. We might try that, if you’d like.”

I thought that seemed like a reasonable suggestion, but Edmont looked a little concerned. “Ser Aymeric, do you truly think — ?” he began, but then he seemed to change his mind. “...No, forget that I spoke. That being said, the restoration of the Firmament is proceeding apace, so I would exercise caution around undue use of fire...”

Well, I am nothing if not a cautious moogle, so I very carefully cooked up some delicious grilled kraken over an open fire, kupo. We postmoogles truly go above and beyond for our work!

I left his packages with the salted cephalopod as it was roasting, so I’ll bet he was thrilled to find everything set up for him!

I didn’t forget to make deliveries to this place either, kupo.

Whenever I come here, the atmosphere of the room feels so... so holy, kupo. As if the very air is clear... but empty, too. Do you know what I mean?

I cleaned up my posture before I left, kupo, and then it was off to finish the rest of the deliveries!

I had successfully shared everyone’s expressions of love with all sorts of people in Eorzea, and now it was time for... um... the impossible, kupo. You see, I still had a whole stack of especially challenging deliveries to make to the First!

We moogles have a lot of special tricks up our poms, kupo, but even I can’t possibly visit another shard without a bit of help...

I really hadn’t the foggiest idea how to get there, so I wound up consulting the helpful folks at the Eighteenth Floor to ask them how I could get to the First!

And do you know what? They were so nice, kupo! They said that because Valentione’s Day was such a special day, and because they wanted to accommodate everyone’s heartfelt feelings, they’d let me use a special door that would take me safely to the First. Though it was not without... stipulations...

They handed me an enchanted pocket watch and said that if I failed to return before the hand on the watch made a full turn around the clock, I’d never be able to go back to Eorzea again, kupo.

Terrifying! Utterly terrifying! What other job would possibly ask you to put your existence as you know it on the line, kupo?!

But I am, as I’ve said, a professional beyond compare... so I made up my mind and zipped right through that door!

...I admit, I passed out and lost consciousness as I was traveling between the worlds, kupo. But when I came to, I was in a beautiful purple forest, and I could vaguely hear someone calling for me!

So I bounced back into the air and fluttered off to the Crystal Tower, kupo!

Naturally, the first First resident I delivered packages to was the Crystal Exarch. I had things to give him as the Crystal Exarch, and... other things to give him, too, kupo. Presents from a different time, from when he went by a different name.

Now, I must admit, I’ve never quite understood his situation, but I did dutifully deliver his Valentione’s Day gifts each and every year! I simply wasn’t able to enter the Crystal Tower, so I would leave them at the entrance, kupo. I told him this, and then I asked him if he’d received them.

...But he didn’t answer me, kupo! He just started crying!

What was a poor moogle to do? I mean, you’ll notice our paws aren’t exactly great for wiping tears away. Had I made a terrible mistake after all? Should I not have done that?

“No,” the Exarch said, shaking his head. “No, you... you have done nothing wrong, little moogle. Forgive me. Let us move on. We must needs formulate a plan to keep you safe as you navigate this shard.“

I was very grateful to have made the acquaintance of such a cooperative colleague, kupo! With his help, I charted a path through Norvrandt that would let me finish my deliveries in time.

Next time, though, I hope I’m given a bit more time to take in the sights. I still think of those beautiful flowers in Il Mheg, and all the sights and sounds in that luxurious seaside city, Eulmore...

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn were there on some sort of business trip, I suppose, and of course they received as many gifts as ever, kupopo. I was very pleased to meet young Ryne for the first time, though!

She was delighted to meet me too, I do believe, and when I explained to her what Valentione’s Day was all about, she smiled and said, “It’s so wonderful that there are such beautiful holidays on the Source!”

“I’m sure Norvrandt will begin celebrating its own holidays before long, now that it isn’t under threat of the Light,” Thancred told her. “If you want, you can start a holiday of your own, with your friends.”

“That’s true,” Ryne giggled.

Urianger was especially pleased to see Ryne smile, kupo! Er, what was it he said again? “Pray enjoy thy gifts, to the delight of those who give thee affection.” Something like that, kupo? And also, um... “Have care lest thou shouldst cross paths with pixies and their kin, for therein lieth a penchant for mischief most troublesome.”

Yes, that was it, kupo!

Seeing everyone smile made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy too, kupo. I realize I’m always warm and fuzzy, but I mean extraordinarily so!

After ensuring that all of my packages arrived in the hands of their recipients on land, I then had to travel all the way to the bottom of the deep blue sea. It still boggles my mind that people on the First live beneath the ocean waves, kupo!

It took me some time to find someone who would respond to me, but I managed it eventually. “Why, hello there!” I said. “Yes, you, the tall fellow over there! Do you know where I might find someone by the name of Emet-Selch? I’ve a long story that I haven’t the time to tell, but to cut it all short, I have a pile of presents that I must see into his hands!”

I couldn’t quite make out the tall fellow’s face behind his mask, but I got the impression that he was smiling at me, kupo. “You are troubled, little one. Yes, I understand... If you would deliver these glad tidings to him, then let me give you a helping hand. Here.”

Poof!

I couldn’t believe my eyes, kupo! With a snap of his fingers, the tall man made all my packages for Emet-Selch disappear into bits of light!

This wasn’t in any of the procedural manuals the deputy postmoogle made me memorize back-to-front, so I admit I might have panicked a little bit... but the tall fellow calmed me down soon enough.

“Even sweet gifts such as those you bear are only masses of aether,�� he explained. “Once reduced to their base components, they will go to where he is — where all life eventually arrives. Be at ease, child. Whatever his faults in character, our lord of the dead and king of the underworld is an exceedingly clever man. No matter how vast the sea of life may be, he will surely be able to pluck his presents from the aetherial flow... supposing he desires to do so, that is.”

Now, I didn’t truly understand the finer points of this explanation, kupo... but the masked man seemed sincere about getting those gifts to Emet-Selch, so I decided to believe that he hadn’t done any harm.

I wanted to thank him for his help, but then he was gone in the blink of an eye! Even though I was in the middle of speaking with him when he vanished!

The citizens of that place are so mysterious, kupopo...

After all that was said and done, kupo, I had one final delivery to make. Just one last addressee to track down, and then I’d be finished, kupo!

And I really put my all into it. I swear upon my postmoogle’s cap and bag! I looked everywhere, every mountain high and valley low, but I simply couldn’t track him down.

The time left on my pocket watch was starting to run out, kupo, so I had to accept defeat. Disappointed, dragging my drooping pom behind me, I made my way back to the door between worlds, which already looked like it was in danger of disappearing, and leapt through the gates...

Mayhap I had cut it so close to the last second that something went wrong, kupo?

I passed out again, and when I came to, I was rolling around on an unfamiliar grassy knoll... while someone was poking at me to wake up, kupo!

What luck! What incredible luck! It was the very person I’d been searching for, for all that time, up until the very last second — Ardbert!

I almost cried and threw myself at him, I was so happy! To think that I would find him like this! “Ardbert, Ardbert!” I said, like he was an old friend. “I finally found you! I had all these presents to give you, kupo!”

He laughed and took it all in stride, though this must have been greatly puzzling to him. “What’s this? Another reward for the quest we just finished?”

“No, it’s not, kupo!” I replied, perhaps a little more crossly than I should have. “Here, this is for you! Take this, and this, and this! It’s all yours, kupo! Each package represents someone’s feelings for you, kupo! Everyone loves you so much!”

“Careful, now — oh, these look delicious!” he exclaimed, affably embarrassed as he sorted through the boxes I was admittedly pelting him with. “And this is all for me? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, kupo! Eat them all up and have more faith in yourself, Ardbert!”

His eyes crinkled at their corners when he smiled. “Hahah! You’ve got a point. Then I’ll share these with my friends just over there. My thanks for bringing them all this way here, postmoogle. You’ve done a great job.”

...

I don’t quite remember what happened after that, kupo...

When I came to, I was lying on the counter of the Seventh Heaven, evidently having dozed off next to that Wandering Minstrel fellow. At first, I thought perhaps meeting Ardbert in that strange world had been nothing but a dream, but when I checked my postmoogle’s bag, I realized that it was much lighter, kupo!

So I really had met him, and I really had completed all my deliveries!

This year’s Valentione’s Day deliveries were arduous and difficult, kupo, but at the end of the day, I really did have a lot of fun.

I delivered all of your love to everyone else, kupo... and now I’m here to deliver their love back to you!

One more time, for everyone’s sake: Happy White Day, kupo!

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urlocalbunny · 3 years

Text

.role reversal - vladimir.

hello! this time, it’s present bunny at exactly 6;49AM. i’m going to try and change my pinned post so that the minors can read sfw in peace for once lmao. maybe tomorrow? also, tumblr deleted my requests so it’s gonna take some time to post them and open again. sowwy :(((

1920 words. enjoy!

Vladimir wasn't the type of person to enjoy crass things. That just wasn't how his parents had raised him as a kid. To him, politeness was a must, and even though he tried, he found it very hard to understand how some people lived, talked, or acted. He couldn't curse without getting flustered, and being checked for his behavior was outrageous and embarrassing.

However, he would find himself understanding a little more today. Going downstairs, he found the two idiots. Beliath sent him a weird look. He glared back in response as usual, because like, why is he here? Oh, he took him in. They're best friends. God, Vladimir, your decisions!

"What are you looking at?" He asked, making Beliath snicker.

"Check your wifey." Ethan giggled when Beliath winced, "Ethan, you're disgusting. Who's wifey?" Beliath answered. They kept walking. Vladimir sighed, pacing a little faster and opening the door.

"Love?" She wasn't there. He kept looking, puzzled. When he got in the Parlor, he felt her around and kept moving. She was sitting in the garden, a big- Pout?

Oh, no. Was Eloise angry? Sad? Frustrated? Thoughtful? Hungry? Sleepy?

"Why don't you ask instead of thinking?!"

Oh, right. Minds were shared if there was too much going on.

"I'm sorry, love. But what is it?" He sat down close to her, and she turned around, making him giggle. "You're turning your back on me?" She huffed.

"Can't you tell?" His giggle got louder, making her smile a little. "I'm a little stressed out. Ethan and Beliath came by, and they made it worse because they keep yelling. Can we go back to your room?" He nodded, grasping her hand and pulling her through doors and halls until they were inside his room.

"Lock the door." He said, untying his hair.

"You just tied your hair up, and you already want to let it down?" She was sitting on his bed, dangling her now bare feet on the edge.

"I don't feel like moving out anymore." Vladimir sighed, shrugging his coat and laying down. He looked at her through his loose strands of hair, reaching for her hand. "Maybe we could do something useful with our time."

Eloise squinted. Then she frowned, then smirked. Vladimir was about to pounce, but the girl was having none of that today. She jumped on him, holding his hands above his head.

"Not today. Today, you're going to be the pet."

Vladimir frowned.

"I do not quite understand. I am going to what?"

"If you want, of course. You'll be my pet."

Eloise was sitting on top of him, so he could only wince when his dick twitched lightly. He couldn't even lie to save his own life. The idea was arousing.

"... I suppose we can change the roles for a day to see what you have in store for me."

"Your safeword is, um... Red!" She managed to say it in a way that sounded cuter than before. He snorted but kept listening to her excited giggles.

Eloise smiled widely. How could a cute, small princess such as her ever do something to pin him down? He smirked, thrusting upwards lightly to accommodate her better on top of his crotch.

"Then, mommy. I am all yours."

Eloise started to grind on him, and she knew he hated the teasing. He tried to protest, but one look, and he kept his mouth shut. She worked on his buttons at the same time. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but the whimpers just kept tumbling off his lips. When he wasn't the one thinking, all he could want was to fuck. He blushed at the thought.

Eloise smirked, stopping altogether when the last button was open. She swung her leg to the side and waited, then she realized he didn't understand, so she rummaged through the sheets and under the mattress. He got confused for a second because she always undressed him, but her laugh was so full of venom that he rushed to undress and then touch the hem of her dress, only to feel a sting on his skin and recollect his hand as if he touched fire.

The whip he had was always under the mattress. He looked at Eloise's hand. The shiny, black leather mocked him. That hurt! He whimpered when he registered the situation.

"Aww. My pretty boy."

Her hand was gentle, and he all but leaned in. Her fingers grasped his neck, just enough to create some pressure and cut his breath. He whined, naked and flustered.

"What is it, pet? Do you like being at my mercy? Do you like it when mommy is mean to you?" He nodded eagerly. Oh, god, what in the world was she doing to him?

"P-please, I- Ngh!"

Eloise pumped him slowly. He was rock-hard, but it felt as if he wasn't ready yet. His senses went overdrive just thinking about the many things Vladimir wished she'd do, use him for fun, play with him, whatever she said, even beg. Her pace sped up gradually while he thought about all the possible things they could do, all the positions he'd take her in, but alas, she stopped.

"Mommy!"

"You're going to cry?" He nodded, pain installing itself into his lower half slowly.

"Please, anything, just do anything you want to me." His eyes were hazy with pleasure, pain, and urgency. Eloise stifled a laugh that neared something evil.

"You're way too eager, pet. So used to getting whatever you want..." Her hand slide across his abdomen then neared the base of his length and shot up again. She was driving him crazy. "What do you want me to do to you, pretty one?"

"Um- I, ah... Please, please ride me. Let me cum."

"That's fast-paced. What does mommy get from it?" He looked at her from below. The room lights made her look almost heavenly.

"I'll, um-" he was so embarrassed that he could almost cum then and there, but he kept pushing. "I'll eat you out, mommy."

Her laugh was crystal clear, mean yet amused, making him close his eyes to stop the prickling.

"That's what I had in mind, pretty one."

His eyes widened when he felt the silk belt on her dress wrap around his wrists, but he couldn't care less about that when she started to undress. He kneeled on the foot of the bed eagerly, ready to give her the time of her life so he could taste the bliss she could give him as nobody else did. Eloise stood up and put a foot on the mattress, helping him position himself between her legs. Her hand found purchase on his shoulder. Her eyes watched him with amusement and superiority, but what made him curl around himself not to cum was the single drop of her arousal that landed on his thigh. He shot up eagerly, wrapping his lips around her sopping pussy.

He sucked in a breath at her taste, eager for more than just that. His eyes never left hers unless he was closing them blissfully with his eyebrows furrowed, tongue lapping at the entrance softly, and then moving up to her clit to circle it harshly just how she enjoyed it the most. Her keens and approval urged him further to the point where he wanted her to cum more than he wanted to cum himself.

"Ah, good boy, you're a good boy, aren't you- ah! Vlad? If you keep going like this, you're going to make me cum." Her face was glowing, a smile plastered on it while her hand caressed his head. He couldn't stop even if his tongue hurt a little. Soon enough, her hand tightened on top of his head, pulling on his hair. Her leg that was on the floor wobbled, and she let out a silent cry, the ones he loved the most because it meant she was going to say-

"God, I fucking love you." She pulled him up aggressively, making him beam at her and lick his lips. They kissed fervently, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and slid down his arms, back up and down his torso. Her finger pinched his nipple, making him throw his head back.

"You are embarrassing me."

"You're so cute." He huffed, closing his eyes. "Do you not like it?"

"... I love it." He giggled for the first time in a few minutes, but it was short-lived, as her hand grabbed his length with urgency and lined it up to her entrance. "Let me fuck you, please."

"You're so dirty..." He furrowed his brows, but he couldn't get mad when she only distracted him from his anger. Her lips latched around his nipple, then his chest and neck, creating small marks where the others couldn't see them. He blushed again. That was too much. Her juices dribbled down his length while she ground into him but never actually let him push his hips, and she was moaning like a bitch in heat, yet he couldn't urge her down.

"Please. I'll fill you up so, so good, mommy."

"God, you're a good boy, aren't you? I suppose I made you angry enough as it is..."

Her walls engulfed him suddenly, resulting in him rutting up involuntarily. He whined, a small sob erupting from his mouth as he gritted his teeth in a mix of pain and pleasure. The pain subsided as quickly as it came, giving place to the best feeling he'd feel in a few days. His head was empty. He could think of nothing but her, and her, and more Eloise.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy..." his whispers pushed her further, hips moving effortlessly on top of him. He should command her to ride him more. They kissed for what felt like hours, her walls clenching around him almost painfully. He kept rocking with her as best as he could. His heady moans were leaving the room and escaping into the house, but who cares if they hear how good she was fucking him? How broken he felt? He was nothing but hers.

"Mommy, I'm so, so close. Please don't stop!"

"Aww, my sweet little pet. Cum for me. You did well today, and you deserve it."

Vladimir's head was spinning, but the words made him bust into her. His moans turned into sobs. Vladimir pushed her with his body and thrust as fast and hard as he could, creating slapping sounds that definitely could be heard over the bed slamming into the wall. Her body locked up, walls milking him dry as she came a little after him. Her small hands pushed his shoulders, a pained whimper erupting through her throat, and yet, her legs locked around him tightly as he kept overstimulating himself inside her.

"You are unable to even fucking think, aren't you?" She hissed, rubbing on her clit until the coil inside her snapped again, and he stilled with a loud grunt. Everything in the house was quiet, making her sigh. Vladimir giggled, eyes looking for hers in a request for praise.

"You were amazing, Vlad." He beamed at her again, nestling himself against her and sighing. She untied him, soothing his arm even though the silk was soft. "Thank you for trusting me. Did I do too much?" He shook his head quickly.

"It was incredible, love. Thank you."

"Should we look into the others' eyes when we get up to take a bath? I'll take care of you."

Vladimir's laugh echoed through the room.

#moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers vladimir #moonlight lovers headcanons #ML Vladimir #vladimir x eloise #kinktober 2020 #ml smut #vladimir smut #moonlight lovers smut #nsfwbunny

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

Text

A Need So Great-Chapter 14

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~3,300

Warnings: Smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty @anaeve

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

The ocean was huge. Wind blowing her hair around her face as Eva sat on the cliff’s edge, her feet swinging. The waves were rushing towards her, the tide coming in. She could taste salt in the air, could feel a light spray even from this height. This was really, really nice.

Footsteps sounded behind her, Horacio ambling up the slight incline. He was wearing a t shirt and jeans, a far cry from his normal attire. Eva admired the way the denim clung to his legs, the shirt stretching to accommodate the breadth of his body. She gave him a little wave before turning her attention back to the water. He sat down next to her. They had spent almost a week at the house, their existence a soft moseying pace that belied the very real danger to their lives.

“Do you come here a lot?”

He shook his head, “I used to, back before I took the badge. The work kind of got in the way of taking any time off.”

She had seen that first hand, could tell that he was desperately soaking up the softness of this little hideaway, storing it for when he needed it most. Tucked away as they were, Eva could almost forget all of the turmoil waiting for them when they returned. She imagined he felt nearly the same way.

“Shame that you’re here under these circumstances. This is a nice place.”

Eva could see him look at her from the corner of her eye. He placed a hand atop hers, “Its not a shame, just a compromise.”

Her mouth thinned, “Still…” She trailed off, not sure where she was going with the sentence.

He squeezed her hand, “Up. Dinner’s ready.”

Eva was not much of a cook, though she was pretty good at making staple foods. Horacio, on the other hand, clearly learned something from his mother. The way he handled himself in the kitchen was much like he did at work—mission oriented. Eva would sometimes sit at the dining table and flip through an old magazine, not really reading it. She like to watch him move around, a knife in hand to chop vegetables, or flipping over meat in the pan to brown it.

Today’s meal was a stuffed pepper, spices wafted in the air. He’d made rice to go alongside it. From the cellar, he’d pulled a bottle of wine, two glasses already waiting at their usual spots. Eva couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she sat down. He’d already plated their food and she leaned down, inhaling.

“This looks amazing,” she murmured, picking up her fork, “Thank you.”

He made a non-committal sound, as he usually did when she complimented him on his cooking. She cast him a long glance, noting that he was avoiding her gaze by pouring the wine. He did that a lot, took the praise she gave him and pulled it inside himself. She could tell he was pleased by the little flush across his cheeks, but other than that, it was as if he hadn’t heard her. She wondered if that was a product of his life—couldn’t be too eager for approval.

After dinner, Horacio left her on the couch to do a walk of the perimeter, as he did every evening before they locked up. It would take one of his patented interrogation techniques to get her to admit how attractive it was to watch him load a rifle and take the path around the house and out towards the woods.

He would be gone for an hour or so, depending on what he decided needed further investigation. Eva passed the time by taking a long shower and reading yet another way too old magazine in bed. The bedroom windows were open and the breeze was carrying the smell of the ocean inside.

The sun was almost set when he came back, moving into the bedroom and storing the rifle in a case that he kept laying on the chest at the foot of the bed. He straightened and looked at her for a long moment.

“What?” she asked, feeling anxious under his steady stare.

His expression softened, “I like you like this.”

Laughing softly, she lifted a brow, “You mean wearing a t shirt I’ve owned for five years and my hair still wet because I couldn’t be bothered to dry it?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, “I mean relaxed.”

Eva supposed that she was relaxed, though she had every reason not to be. She liked him relaxed, too.

“I feel safe.”

Jaw going lax, he regarded her for a few more seconds before giving a curt nod and turn, “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

Eva noticed that he took a little longer in the shower than usual, had done so since they got to the safe house. She tried not to read into it too deeply, knowing that he was off his schedule. And, everyone needed alone time.

When he left the bathroom, steam billowed out behind him, carrying the scent of his body wash. He was wearing his usual boxer briefs in a deep maroon. It was a good color for him, accenting the warm undertones of his skin. She stared at him, unabashed, and wondered how she’d gotten so lucky as to share a bed with such a beautiful man.

“What?” he asked, noting her look as he crawled in beside her to lay on top of the covers.

Eva set her magazine on the night stand and rolled to her side, bracing on her palm so that she hovered above his prone body.

“I like you like this.”

In the next second, Eva got to see those adorable dimples, his teeth flashing as he smiled. She leaned down and kissed him affectionately.

When he spoke next, his voice reverberated against her ear where it lay on his chest. He toyed with her hand, threading his fingers through it.

“We’ve come a long way these last few months.”

She hummed, nodding. His hand was calloused in a few places, the longer fingers curling over her palm. Her hand looked small when he held it, her wrist even smaller, her forearm positively tiny when compared to his.

“I never would have guessed after that meeting that I’d get to bring you here.”

Eva grinned, looking up at him, “I was a fucking mess after that meeting. I hope you know that.”

The features of his face tightened in a peculiar way, an involuntary twitch.

Eva’s grin widened, “That was an inside thought.”

Laughing, Horacio admitted, “It was.”

“Tell me.”

He started to shake his head, but Eva shifted to her belly, resting her weight on one elbow. She said his name in four long, drawn out, teasing syllables.

Pulling his lips between his teeth and releasing them, he simply said, “I was also a fucking mess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, one hand coming up to run over his face, top to bottom. He covered his eyes, chin tilting up, “I…” deep sigh, “I went into rut after that meeting.”

Her brows hit her hairline, “Really?”

He dropped his hand to the pillow beside his head, the fingers relaxed, “I told you it took less than twenty four hours for me to start trying to figure out how to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Eva confirmed, “But I assumed you were just, I don’t know, thinking about me.”

Smirking, he said, “Oh, I was.”

Her breath caught a little bit, arousal blooming in her belly as she imagined him in rut, helplessly trying to get off as he thought about her.

Voice dropping low, Eva prompted, “Really?”

His eyes darkened as he tucked her hair behind her ear, “I barely made it home before I—I didn’t even get past the front door. Just dropped down to the floor and thought about how delicious you smelled, the things I wanted to do to you.”

Blood heating in her veins, Eva swallowed around a dry throat, “What kinds of things?”

Horacio’s arm tightened around her, his eyes dropping to her mouth, “That I wanted to kiss you. That I should have thrown you down on that table in front of that idiot manager and fucked you through at least three orgasms.”

Her breath left her in a rush. She worked hard to keep herself calm. He didn’t talk that much about his fantasies, and she was desperate to hear more from him. Eva did not want to interrupt.

She kissed him softly in encouragement, “What else?”

Breathing her name, he ran his thumb over her mouth, “I could scent that you were aroused when you sat down. I wanted to lick that sweetness from the source, use my fingers to scoop it out of you. I spent hours imaging what it would be like to pull your legs over my shoulders and kiss this pretty pussy.”

The fingers of one of his hands had traced up her inner thigh in a lazy caress. He cupped her, massaging very gently. She gasped lifting her leg over his hip to open up for him.

“We’re very lucky you haven’t had a heat cycle yet. Given how I was in my last rut, I’d probably lose my fucking mind.”

Eva flinched, feeling guilty.

“What was that?” he asked, head lifting off the pillow to regard her closely.

She floundered, trying to come up with a suitable lie.

“Eva,” he warned, “What was that?”

Voice small, she said, “I’ve had a heat recently.”

His head cocked to the side, “Before we met?”

She shook her head, “No it was after we met, after we started seeing each other.”

He blinked, “That’s impossible, I would have known.”

Unable to keep eye contact she admitted, “You weren’t there. It was when you were gone for that mission.”

He processed that for several seconds, his eyes narrowing more and more, “Your voice was strange on the phone.”

Eva nodded, “I was on the upswing of it. It got...more interesting over the next few days.”

Horacio’s brows furrowed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Eva was torn by the honest, confused expression he was giving her, as if he couldn’t even fathom that she’d hide it from him. Guilty, she offered the only explanation she had.

“You were so excited. You said you thought you had a real chance at ending the whole cartel. How could I take that away from you? Especially since we’d only slept together a handful of times. It would have been selfish to ask you to set that aside for me.”

Stop talking, Eva, she thought.

Pushing off with one hand, he rolled her beneath him, resting his weight on his palms. Eva looked up at him silently, trying to gauge his thoughts.

“You’re not going to do that again,” he asserted, the muscles in his jaw ticking, “I will be with you during your next heat, no matter what is going on at the office.”

Lifting a hand, Eva brushed his cheek, his stubble scratching a little. Since they’d come out here, he hadn’t been shaving every day and she found that she liked that he had something more than a five ‘o clock shadow.

“I’m going to need verbal agreement on this, Eva.”

“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll tell you next time.”

“Good.” He dropped to his elbows, resting a little more of his weight on her, “Now, I told you mine. Its your turn to tell me yours.”

Eva’s face went red hot, heat soaking every pore. Her eyes slid to the side as she contemplated how much information she was going to give him about a heat that she had only a moment ago admitted that she’d had.

Moving in close, his voice a deep rasp, he ordered, “Dime, amorcita. How did you get through it?”

She sucked in a breath, her body curling into him a little bit. When she tried to rise up to kiss him, he used one hand to hold her down to the mattress, his chin canted down.

Eva’s mind flashed back to that day, her body clenching as she remembered the rush of pleasure, the cramps of pain when she couldn’t assuage the need.

“I slept some, woke up coming. My skin was too sensitive. And, at first, I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until I was on the couch,” she stopped, biting her lip.

Her voice was a raspy thing, the words halting. She cleared her throat, squirming beneath his weight.

Horacio ran a soothing hand down her side, “What happened on the couch?”

“I touched myself, I felt like I would die if I didn’t come.”

Eyes full of fire, he asked, “And, did you make yourself come?”

She nodded.

“How many times?”

“Twice.”

With both hands, he pushed up her t-shirt to rest just underneath her breasts, “What happened next?”

Eva’s fingers curled into fists beside her hips, “You called.”

His eyes shot to hers, “And you lied to me.”

“No,” she cried, “I just...avoided the subject.”

Horacio’s nostrils flared in annoyance, “But, you’re not going to do that again.”

“N—no.”

He gave on sharp nod in acknowledgment of her submission, “Good. What happened after that?”

His hands followed a twin path over her sides to her hips to her thighs, all the way to her knees. Wrapping his hands around them, he pulled them up and over his body, pulling the cradle of her hips into alignment so that she could feel him hardening against her core.

“I had to crawl to the bedroom,” she continued, the flush of her arousal mixing with the feeling of embarrassment. “I didn’t make it to the bed before I had to come again.”

Kissing her collarbone, he asked, “Did you use your fingers?”

She nodded, gripping his biceps for purchase as he scraped his teeth along her skin.

“Did you use your fingers the whole time?”

Swallowing, Eva shook her head, knowing where this was going and completely unable to stop it. He’d gotten into a line of questioning, and she knew he’d see it through to the end.

“What did you use?”

She hesitated long enough that he stopped nuzzling her skin and looked up at her, waiting for an answer. When she didn’t say anything, he moved up her body, kissing her cheek sweetly, then her forehead, her chin, her jaw, everywhere but where she wanted him.

“What did you use?” he repeated, his breath fanning over her lips.

Eva struggled to breathe, “I used a toy—to help.”

Thumb rubbing her bottom lip, eyes focused on that sensitized patch of skin, he asked, “A vibrator?”

She shook her head, tongue peeking out to touch the pad of this thumb, “A dildo.”

With a little groan, he kissed her, putting a little pressure on her jaw so that she would open for him. Pulling in a sharp breath, he leaned back, an arm sneaking around her waist to hold her to him.

“Did it help you get what you needed?”

Again, she shook her head, “It helped some, but I was still hurting through most of it.”

His expression hardened just a bit, a barely perceptible glare. Needing to soothe that ire, Eva reached up with both hands and slid her thumbs into the muscle at the base of his skull, kneading. His eyes closed just a little, jaw relaxing.

“Did it,” he cut himself off with a sigh when she ground a knuckle into the tense muscle. He leaned into it, his head tilting to the side, “Did it have a knot?”

“Yes,” she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek when his hips flexed forward, grinding against her.

He kissed her again, a hard press of his lips, “Did you fuck yourself with it, push it inside you?”

Between kisses, she nodded. The memory of the relieving pressure scoring through her, her body arching up into him.

“But it wasn’t enough.”

It was sentence, a declaration, not a question. He knew it, she knew it.

“No,” she warbled, tilting her hips towards him, hands roaming over his strong shoulders and back, pulling him to her to that the wasn’t an inch between them. “I wanted more. Wanted you.”

In a swift motion, he pulled off her t shirt, throwing it over the side of the bed carelessly. His hands found her breasts, pushing them up to his mouth. Long licks, a pinch of skin, teeth scraping. Eva hissed a breath, her body fairly vibrating with pleasure.

“You wanted my knot, didn’t you?” When she didn’t reply, he swatted her thigh lightly, drawing her attention, “Didn’t you?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, she made an ‘uh huh’ sound that cracked on the highest pitch. He was hard against her, his hips rocking in a sharp rhythm that, had he been inside her, would have prodded against her cervix. Sweat beaded on her belly and thighs, pooling in the hollow of her throat. He licked at it, drawing her briefly into his mouth.

“You’d let me do it now, wouldn’t you? Let me knot you in this bed.”

The image seared through her, burning away any restraint she might have had—which was, admittedly, not much to begin with. Feet on the sheets, she used any leverage she could get to put more friction on her cunt, each roll of her hips more frenzied than the last.

“Yes, alpha.”

Growling, Horacio pushed his face into the bend of her neck, hands slipping underneath her and to her shoulders where he held her steady. Mouth opening, he ran his teeth over the long line from shoulder to jaw before settling on the scent gland he’d marked. Though the bruising had healed, Eva could still see the faint scratch across it where his teeth had dug in. He sucked on it hard, sure enough to leave yet another bruise.

Eva wailed, a broken, sobbing thing, as she came. Nails digging into his back, she bowed up tight. Distantly, she could heard him praising her, his voice rough. He let her rut against him until her body eased down from the orgasm, and then he was pushing his briefs down and grasping himself, roughly stroking.

She took in the sight of him, chin down, breathing hard, working to get off. It stunned her how badly she wanted to memorize this moment, and how badly she wanted to seem him come. Both hands caressing downwards, she hooked the fingers of one hand into her panties, pulling them to the side. With two fingers of the other, she slotted them into her folds, opening them up to give him an unobstructed view of how wet he’d made her.

He choked on a gasp, groaning as his fist sped up. It only took a few pumps before he was spilling across her stomach, his head hanging low in relief. When he was spent, he collapsed to his side, trying to catch his breath.

Eva giggled, feeling more than a little lightheaded. He glanced at her, his mouth spreading wide in a smile. He picked up her hand from where it lay at her side, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist and holding it to his chest. She could feel his heart beat beneath his skin, a steadily slowing rhythm.

When he’d calmed a little, he rose and went to the bathroom, bringing a wet cloth to wipe her down. Moving around the room, he closed the windows, locking them tight, before doing the same with the door. After turning off the lights, he eased into the bed and gathered her to his chest. Eva held his arm to her body, threading her fingers in his.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years

Text

i’m not locked in here with you

Notes: ambiguous placement in the timeline; implied nanahiko, but it’s kinda tough to be intimate while in a claustrophobic medical supply closet

WC: 1,253

Technically, Shimura Nana and Torino Sorahiko are being terrible friends, imposing on Recovery Girl to keep late hours at her nurse’s office in U.A. Then again, when Nana suggested not doing that, Chiyo had been insulted to the point of nearly betraying the oath to do no harm.

It was always going to come back and bite them in the ass.

Sorahiko gets battered in a fight, and Nana hauls him back to Chiyo. She sits beside him on the cot for moral support. Once Recovery Girl doles out a kiss to his cheek, Sorahiko lists sideways. Nana banters with Chiyo and supports her partner, then, mid-laugh, Chiyo freezes like a deer in headlights.

“Chiyo-chan?”

“Oh no,” says Chiyo, staring out the window. “I think some suit just caught sight of you two. He’s just—oh, he’s just entered the building, okay—” Nana jumps to her feet at ‘suit’, and yanks Sorahiko up from the cot at ‘entered the building.’ Chiyo grabs both of their arms. Instead of dragging them to the door and shooing them down the hallway, she swings direction to her medical supply closet.

“Chiyo-chan!” Nana hisses.

She’s a little more preoccupied with how Sorahiko is going liquid; Nana turns to catch him before he trips on his unsteady two feet and takes down Chiyo too. She gets his face smushed into the crook of her neck and shoulder for her efforts. Then Recovery Girl shoves the two of them into the closet and slams the door shut on them.

It’s cramped as hell in here. Sorahiko moans into her neck obviously because momentum has propelled Nana forward, and Sorahiko’s tenderized back is pushing up against Recovery Girl’s shelves. Nana hastily pulls back, thumping her head on the door.

“Be quiet!” Chiyo anxiously instructs.

“This is your worst idea ever!”

“No one visits the school at night except us three, which means this guy is suspicious. Whoever they are, I’ll distract them.” Is she locking the door? What’s to stop Nana from exerting One for All and breaking them out? “Wait for me to knock the door twice.”

“What if they escort you out?”

“I’ll be escorting them out,” Chiyo snaps. “Torino’s gloves and cape are tucked under the lost-and-found apparel. Now quiet down.”

In her ear, Sorahiko mutters, “I don’t wanna smell like Old Spice.”

Nana shushes him. She waits tensely, standing ramrod straight in a darkened supply closet, with Sorahiko—her mind blanks. This entire time, Nana has been glossing over the fact that Sorahiko is half-naked. His jumpsuit is unzipped, rolled down, and tied with the sleeves at his waist. Nana’s arms tingle at the skin contact. She’s still supporting him.

He breathes in unsteady, exhales loud—Nana doesn’t think twice about sliding a hand up and squeezing the nape of his neck.

Sorahiko stops breathing.

A door opens. An icy voice, masculine, asks, “I did not know Recovery Girl held such late office hours here instead of Tokyo General.”

“And I wasn’t aware of being under surveillance,” Recovery Girl returns, just as cool. “Just as I didn’t know U.A. had approved of a new employee. You are an employee, aren’t you?”

“… I am.”

Nana can picture the vicious grin. “Then, my little kouhai, let me show you the exit. We can talk along the way.” The thud of Recovery Girl’s boots hitting the floor precedes the click of a door shutting. All of a sudden, Nana can breathe again, and so does Sorahiko, obviously taking cues from her. He straightens his posture and takes exaggeratedly huge gulps of air.

“Still a stupid plan,” she sighs.

“We’re making fun of her for this.”

“Mm-hm. “ Nana experimentally feels the walls for a light switch. “Hey, is there a lightbulb up top? Some kinda cord you can pull on?”

Even in the dark, Nana knows that Sorahiko is blindly groping at the ceiling. He clicks his tongue in disappointment; judging by the clatter of medical supplies, he’s trying to find a place to rest his arms.

“There’s a light in here,” he says. “I swear I’ve seen it powered on.”

“She has the switch on the outside?”

“That’s the most reasonable conclusion.” Suddenly, Sorahiko yawns. It is earsplitting at this close of a distance, but what’s more distressing is the way the whole closet seems to shrink. The more Sorahiko tries to get comfortable, the less space Nana has.

“Excuse me,” she hisses.

“I’m tired,” he whines. “I usually get to spend fifteen minutes passed out on the cot after Shuuzenji uses Heal on me, and now we’re stuck standing in a closet that can’t fit us.”

He has a point. It’s a weak point, but pertinent nonetheless. If Sorahiko falls unconscious, then Nana would rather be in a different position. She tries calculating the space in her head. Could Sorahiko feasibly switch places with her at the door, ease into a sitting position while she Floated, and safely nod off?

Nana explores either side of her hips. On her left is a metal bucket, and on her right is some heavy plastic canister. If Sorahiko sits down , he is inevitably going to slump off to one side and brain himself on these objects.

“I have a solution,” she announces grandly.

“You’re going to break the door open?”

“I’m not going to incur Chiyo-chan’s wrath after she covered our asses. Give me a second.” At Sorahiko’s affirmative grunt, Nana carefully taps off the floor and climbs her way to the ceiling, where there is more space to maneuver. “Can you sit down? Keep your face towards the door, and leave some space behind you if possible.”

A clumsy thump of knees hitting the floor, and then the slow, quiet cursing of a bulky, muscular man trying to make a tiny supply closet accommodate his size.

“Alright,” he says tightly. “Are you going to Float up there the entire time?”

“Well, hold on.” Nana tests how much space Sorahiko’s left her, and for the first time regrets her fantastic ass. Maybe she should have skipped all those leg days. Her boot skims Sorahiko’s body; he audibly shivers at the cold rubber. “Huh! Let’s see if this works.”

Nana lowers herself but doesn’t cancel Float yet. If she’s not going to fit, she’d rather feel weightless when the revelation comes. But a miracle delivers; Nana slots into place, sitting directly behind Sorahiko. Sure, the shelving unit is pressing against her neck and spine in uncomfortable lines, but—she can give Sorahiko this.

“Lean backwards,” she murmurs, and helps guide him to rest against her frame, his broad back to her chest. His head rests a little unwillingly above her collarbone, and the fluffy silver hair tickles her face. Nana’s hands are flat on his pectorals. She can feel the tension keeping his body rigid. “Relax, Sorahiko.”

“I’m kinda heavy.”

“I’m real strong.” Impulsively, Nana presses a noisy, affectionate kiss to his hair.

“Nana,” he begins, then falters. Sorahiko heaves a deep sigh, then slumps his whole weight (and then some, she suspects) onto her. “If Chiyo starts making assumptions, tell her we totally did it and tidied ourselves before she let us out.”

“She’ll be obliged to disinfect everything!”

“I know,” Sorahiko says, smug and sleepy. “That’s what she deserves for locking us in here.”

Nana snickers, and settles in for a long wait. Sorahiko just needs a little recharge. If Chiyo really isn’t back by the time he’s done napping, then Nana will stage that break-out.

#bnha #nanahiko #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shimura nana #shuuzenji chiyo #recovery girl #shih.txt #i should doodle this to elaborate on positions adfkajslfd

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rachey899 · 3 years

Text

Moon (GT)

New characters, new story, don’t know if there will be more but please tell me what you think, maybe I will continue with it.

Short story of Moon and Emmerich here: That’s something you don’t see everyday

Word Count: 4305

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

“You’re a waste of space”

“Why don’t you just run away freak”

“Did you honestly think you would make any friends”

The laughter echoed off the walls of the library at the latest school that my mother had enrolled me in. For the longest time I can remember we have bounced around school and towns, mum struggles to keep a job and I struggle to blend in and so we are constantly on the move.

Travelling to a new town was always my favorite part of our ritual, I would usually be sitting in my room crying after the latest torment of bullies from school and mum would burst in the door with a glint in her eye.

“Flowers give me the most wicked hay fever, how about we beat it?” her last job had been at a florist, she spoke for days about her wonderful flower arrangements she had come up with, usually they were very abstract and apparently the owner did not approve. It didn’t matter what the excuse was, the job didn’t fit, the school wasn’t right for me, so we beat it. On a continuous loop of fresh starts, yet they all seemed to play out the same.

Once in the car we would laugh and play a game called ‘drop the pin’ we laid out a map and let a pin drop onto it and wherever it landed was where we would go next, didn’t matter how far away it was or how outrageous it was, that’s where we would go. And then we spent hours singing loudly in the car just enjoying each other’s company. We would talk about everything and nothing or sit peacefully in silence.

And so when I came home from school today I sat in my room with my notebook and charcoal pencil and began to scribble the pain away. Mum had a new job as a beauty stylist for dogs, yes it’s as random and amazing as it sounds, and my new school was the same as it always was, the whispers and judgments, no one ever spoke to me, they would take one look at me and decide I was not normal, I didn’t fit in or I didn’t belong.

My choice in clothes was seen as ratty, I saw it as creative. I make all my own clothes from bits and pieces I find at secondhand shops, mum taught me how to sew and make clothing and it immediately become my creative release. Something I could make for myself that was so uniquely me.

“Your so very talented Moon” my mother would say.

My name was another reason people tended to think I was a freak, Moon wasn’t a very common name and maybe it seemed kind of witchy to people or just too out there. I loved my name, I was born during a full moon and my mother had said the moon spoke to her that night and told her that I was destined for magical things and so she couldn’t find a better suited name for me other then Moon. My mother always had a way of making the smallest things seem incredible and full of adventure.

I looked down at my notebook, I had drawn a troll with a large nose and covered in warts, this troll also had long curly hair and way too much lipstick, it reminded me of a particularly nasty girl at my new school. I titled it Natalie as the drawing definitely suited her and then I slapped the book closed as if giving her a slap in the face.

I huffed loudly and laid back on my bed staring at the ceiling and waiting impatiently for my mother to come home.

As if I on cue, the door swung open, and my mother popped her head in with a smile on her face. Her deep red hair curled and bounced around her face and shoulders, giving her the look of a mad scientist’s wife, but it suited her so well.

“I’ve discovered that dogs in this industry tend to be just as pompous as their owners” she stated and laid down beside me.

“Is that so” I said hiding the smile in my tone “groomed one too many poodles?” I asked her and giggled.

She rolled her eyes “Yep, let’s beat it kid” she sat up and left the room. I could hear her digging around in her suitcase, we had been here for about 3 weeks and hadn’t unpacked, we never did.

She came back into the room and laid out a large map on the carpet and sat cross legged in front of it.

“Care to do the honors?” she asked with a wink holding out a pink pin for me.

As was custom I sat beside her and we held hands and closed our eyes, with my free hand holding the pin in a fist, I silently prayed for a fresh start and acceptance, I dropped the pin. When we opened our eyes, we had a new destination set for us.

Jaeville was across the border into giant territory, we had once landed close to the border where more giants were frequent in the town, but we had never crossed the border before. Of course, giants and humans live all over the country nowadays, but the border still stands and its common knowledge that you will find more of a particular species on the appropriate side of the border. More humans on the human side and more giants on the giant side.

Of course, I had seen giants before, gone to school with them but just like everyone else even they tended to think I was weird and kept their distance from me

My mother smiled at me “Well this will be very interesting”, I laughed at her “What kind of work do you even think you’ll be able to get there? I can just picture you trying to serve a giant a cup of coffee”.

“Sounds like a challenge I’m willing to except, plus I kinda like the idea of being a tiny assistant for a big-time banker” she winked at me, and I rolled my eyes.

We packed the car that afternoon and were on the road almost immediately, we often stayed in cheap motels that mum would pay for day by day in case we wanted to leave with little notice. We stopped by a MacDonald’s and had a greasy dinner and then pumped Bon Jovi singing at the top of our lungs to ‘It’s my life’.

We drove through the night until morning, I stayed up with her, I always thought it was unfair that I got to sleep while she had to drive, so we often played number plate games or eye spy to keep each other entertained. This year I would get my license so that we could finally share the driving, or so I hoped.

It was 4:30 in the morning when we began to notice the change in the scenery, the trees became taller, the road became wider and instead of rows of human houses and a few scattered giant ones, there were rows of positively ginormous houses and only a few human sized ones. We noticed a patch of daffodils a way up the road and as we pulled up to them, they grew in size and towered over our car.

We stared at the magnificent plants for a while and then got out of the car, we walked up to the stalk of one daffodil and stared up in awe. Mum shook her head snapping out of the trance and smiled at me, without a word she grabbed my arms and began to spin and dance in and around the bases of the flowers.

When we grew out of puff, we collapsed beneath the flowers our crazy hair splayed around us, my multicolored rainbow hair mixing with her deep red and we just watched the sky grow lighter and lighter.

“Now we are ready for Jaeville” mum said still staring at the sky above us.

I only smiled in response, I definitely felt ready, the daffodil dance inspired me and made me feel like I belonged to the environment around me even if it was dramatically out of my proportions. Mum always had a way of making things particularly special.

We drove for another hour or so until we came across a large building with a sign high above us that read ‘Jaeville motel – Giant and Human accommodation available 24/7’. Mum pulled into the directed human car park, and we sat in the car in silence for a moment.

“Ready Moon?” she asked.

“Ready” I said.

We got out of the car and collected our suitcases from the boot and followed the white outlined human path into the motel, through the human entrance we took an elevator up to reception that came out on the front desk with some chairs and a bell line dup against the wall to wait for reception staff.

Mum rang the bell and a few seconds later we could feel the footfalls of a giant approaching the desk. A young giantess approached us with a gentle smile on her face, she looked to be only a few years older than me, maybe in her early twenties.

“Welcome to Jaeville, how can I help you?” she asked politely, she looked at us politely and paused on me for a moment too long “Oh my, your hair is…. Interesting” she said with a nervous laugh.

My hair was naturally a deep red like my mother’s, but when I was a child she noticed I would develop lighter and darker streaks, she said it made my hair look like a rainbow when the sun shone on it. So naturally I decided to make it that way, I dyed my hair all colours of the rainbow and worked really hard to maintain it. No one else but me and my mother appreciated it and I guess that’s why I kept it that way, even if I was judged for it by others, it was another special reminder of my relationship with my mother.

“We would like a room for two please, I’m not sure how long we will be staying, can I pay by the day?” mum skipped over her comment about my hair and was straight to business, I think she just wanted to get to the room, have a much-needed shower and sleep the day away. Me too.

“Of course,” said the giantess, she went over the details with my mother and handed her a key, we were directed to go up the elevator to the 2nd floor and follow the human path to room 39.

We discovered upon exiting the elevator that the human path was an elevated platform with railings that stretched above the doorways of the giants’ rooms with the human rooms located above the giant ones. I guess that avoids any unwanted accidents. Of course, looking down there was also the same white markings of a human path on the floor far below, I guess we could use it if we wanted to, but I would be nervous someone might not see me way down there.

“Well my sweet Moon, I’m going to get some shut eye for a few hours, then how about you and me explore the town a little and find a nice place for dinner, yeah?” mum had already claimed the twin bed closest to the window and dumped her suitcase beside it, she gave me a squeeze and twirled her finger through my curly crazy rainbow hair and then kissed me gently on the forehead before closing the bedroom door.

I thought about going to sleep but thinking about our dance with the daffodils made me feel energized, I wanted to explore, now. I left mum a note in case she woke up and took the key with me and headed back down the hall, my first plan was to explore the motel.

First, I wandered the human platform and found it to be pretty boring, it only led to more rooms that were seemingly empty beside a couple that were staying in a room two doors from us in number 41 who were arguing loudly. I retraced my steps to the elevator and went up floor by floor and found the elevator only ever took me to more human platforms that lead to more rooms. Very uninteresting.

Finally, I made it up to the top floor which opened up into a very large room where there were no human platforms, I was at floor level with any giants who may be wondering around. But there were none. There was a breeze that blew through my hair, and I noticed that the far end of the room was open, no window no doors just open into the air, the rest of the room was filled with small gardens, flowers, fruit, and vegetables scattered around the room with a few trees here and there and benches appropriately sized for humans as well as giants littered about as well.

This must have been the roof of the motel and they definitely took advantage of the space, it was quiet and still, open, and free and the scent and moisture in the air from the plants around me calmed me to my core. As I wondered around, I came across a lemon tree that was relatively skinny for a giant-sized tree and decided it was bendy and twisted enough for me to climb. And so, I did.

I made it to the top of the tree where it was covered in leaves and fresh lemons ripe enough to pick and found a groove in the branches that was comfortable enough to sit in. I pulled out a book from my colorful patchy shoulder bag and began to read quietly, embracing the peacefulness of the space.

I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep until a loud honk suddenly woke me up, I flinched and sat up too quickly and lost my footing, I began to fall.

The beautiful garden room rushed by me as I prepared myself for the harsh impact with the floor that would surely significantly injure me if I was lucky or kill me if I was not. But it never came, instead I fell on a kind of fabric that bounced slightly underneath me as I landed on it.

Carefully I got my knees trying to figure out exactly how I managed to survive, the surface beneath me was blue and rough but warm and gave a little as I pressed my hands and knees into it.

“Woah” a voice somewhere above me seemed to echo around me, immediately I stood up but lost balance on the weird surface and fell back on my butt looking up at a giant boy with striking green eyes and crazy ginger hair staring down at me with his mouth hung open in shock. He had both hands in the air almost in surrender, or surprise, one held a golden trumpet, the reason I suspected for my rude awakening and the other just hanging in the sky.

We stared at each other for a long time in shock, unsure of what to do or how to even get down from the boys jean clad lap I discovered I had landed on. Hey at least I was alive.

“I’m sorry!” he finally blurted, he quickly placed his trumpet down on the wooden bench beside him and then his hands descended on me. I backtracked, quickly sliding myself further and further away from his oncoming hands, it probably should have occurred to me that knees come to an end.

“Watch out!” he shouted as my hands touched air behind me and I fell backwards, plummeting yet again, this time a warm and very unfamiliar surface caught me and I was immediately halted in my descent and instead raised upwards closer to his face.

I rested in the center of his two cupped hands, it was warm and slightly humid, leathery, it was such an alien feeling. My heart started to pound the closer I got to his face, he watched me with the same kind of astonishment and fear perhaps, or maybe it was concern, I couldn’t be sure.

“L-let me go!” I stuttered, I had finally found my voice, there was nowhere I could go I was stranded in his hands held who knows how high off the ground.

“Right, right, I’m sorry” he said, he had an English accent I noticed.

His hand descended and I was lowered to the ground at his feet, maybe I didn’t think this through. He laid his hand out flat on the ground and I immediately jumped off, I wanted to kiss the ground but decided to hold off on that extreme gesture.

I looked back up at the giant, deciding to avoid staring at his black Van covered feet, his face was now so far away, and his body seemed to stretch for miles, I had seen giants before, even interacted with them from the safety of human railings, but I had never ever been this close before.

He seemed to sense my nervousness and stood up. Not helping giant! Though he then immediately sat down on the ground cross legged in front of me as if that might put me at ease if he wasn’t so obviously tall. I just stood there watching him cautiously, I shouldn’t be so scared, giants are people just like humans, but just much larger.

I fell on him, really, I should probably be the one apologizing.

He broke the staring contest by reaching for something on the wooden bench he had been sitting on, oh god not that trumpet again, but he didn’t pick up the trumpet, instead he held something positively miniscule between his thumb and forefinger, I realized what it was straight away.

“Um I believe this is yours” he said holding it out in front of me, I reached towards his fingers and plucked my book out of his grasp.

“Oh, um thank you…. Giant?” oh I’m so stupid, obviously his name is not giant, great job Moon, you’ve probably offended him.

He laughed, a low thundering sound that I could feel in my chest, it felt... strange.

“My name is Emmerich and it’s no problem, I’m sorry if I startled you, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here let alone hiding in a tree” he smiled softly at me, and I could see the freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks.

I blushed from embarrassment, why would I call him giant, maybe I really am a freak, no social etiquette whatsoever, he must think I’m so rude. Introduce yourself, that’s the next thing to do, or maybe that might make things worse, though Emmerich isn’t really a common name either.

“Moon” I blurted, oh inward face palm “My name is Moon” good start moron.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you, I must have drifted off in the tree, um I didn’t mean to fall on you…. twice” I laughed nervously and scratched the back of my neck, maybe I should leave him in peace now.

“Yeah we uh don’t get many human guests here and I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen any humans wonder in here before, I guess because this room has no safety railings, I didn’t even think to look around, I truly am sorry, I assumed I was alone” his eyebrows scrunched in concern and he leaned down closer to me “Are you alright, that must have been pretty frightening”.

Without thought I took a step back away from his face, the closeness overwhelming me, I nodded my head in acknowledgment of the seemingly empty room and at my wellbeing, I really was fine, just a bit shaken.

He pulled away again giving me space, his eyes scanned over me and his lips twitched up in a small smile “Moon is a very unique name kind of like your hair” he extended a finger towards my head and I took several steps back.

“Sorry” he said again and clasped his hands together in his lap as if to restrain his fingers from reaching for me.

“I’m not a very social person, forgive me for being so intrusive” he looked down at his lap, he resembled a shameful puppy.

“No your fine, I’m still a little jumpy I guess, I’m not particularly social either” I hesitated for a moment “Um well I can go if you wanted to continue playing your trumpet, sorry again for disrupting you” I turned to leave.

“You don’t have to go, I mean” he paused “Obviously you can go if you want to, but I um wouldn’t mind the company, we don’t generally get kids my age staying here, usually it’s just old, retired travelers” I turned to look at him, his striking green eyes seemed hopeful for companionship.

“I guess I could hang around for a while” I said making up my mind, perhaps I would make a friend for once, so far, he hasn’t been unkind or judgmental of me, he didn’t even seem that concerned about my name or hair colour, maybe this would be a good thing. Maybe I was putting in too much hope.

“Okay, brilliant” he says smiling, he places his hands on the ground either side of me “I’m just going to lay on my stomach, then you wont strain your neck” he explains.

I watch as he slowly lowers himself down and crosses his arms under his chin, he is a few feet away from me but still feels extremely close, or maybe he just looks magnified. I can see every freckle on his face, I can see the slight anxious blush in his cheeks and the light and dark hues of green in his eyes, his curly red hair hangs around his face in bouncy little spirals. Everything is just so…. Big.

To stop myself staring too much I sit down in the grass and cross my legs, I pick at a few strands of grass and fiddle with them in my lap.

“So how long have you lived here for?” I ask wanting to break the silence.

“Me and my Dad moved here when I was six, Dad’s dream was to run a bed and breakfast so he bought this motel, we have made some improvements but it’s still a long way from the cozy bed and breakfast he really wants” looking around this room in particular you can tell that a lot of love and time has already been put into making the place feel homey.

“What about you, what brings you to Jaeville?” he asks bringing my attention back to him.

“Mum and me kind of just bounce around the country, mum picks up jobs where she can but we are sort of just going wherever the wind takes us I guess, it’s nice” I fiddle with my long patch work skirt and busy myself with fraying the hem, I would fix it later, this skirt in particular was a favorite of mine and has been fixed and modified many times, its due for another touch up.

“That seems kind of lonely, do you keep in touch with friends?” he looked sort of sympathetic like he pitied the lifestyle my mother and me had chosen.

“Don’t really have any, my mother and I are really close, I don’t feel very lonely, at least not often I guess” I began to mumble, maybe I was lonely, I never seemed to fit in no matter where I went. And when mum was at work I would sit alone, drawing in my notebook and dwelling on the hurtful things people say about me every day. It does sound kind of lonely.

He seemed to pick up on my feelings, he looked so sad for me but there also shone an understanding in those eyes as well “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to upset you, I don’t have a lot of friends either. Perhaps we should change to a lighter subject, I did notice you were reading, what is it about?” he smiled reassuringly.

I pulled out my book and sat it in my lap “For the 3rd time I’m reading ‘Graceling by Kristin Cashore’” I said proudly, it really was a wonderful story and one of my favorites.

His eyes widened “I love that book, I’ve read it twice so far myself” he smiled again, he seems to do that a lot.

“Perhaps you could read it out loud? I didn’t bring my copy with me, but if that’s too we-“

“Emmerich! Room 26 needs fresh towels! Could you see if we have any clean pressed ones ready!?” a loud shout filled the room coming from the giants’ entrance to the roof, I couldn’t see the man who had spoken as we were a fair way into the room, but his deep voice shook the very foundations.

“Sorry Moon, I’ve got to go, perhaps another time and I’ll bring my book too, are you staying here long?” he lifted himself up into a crouch ready to go.

“At least a few weeks” I said quickly.

“Great I’ll see you around then” and just like that he stood and ran off shaking the ground beneath him.

I walked back towards the elevator with my head reeling, what a day. First, we arrive across the border into giant territory, dance around giant daffodils, I climb a humongous lemon tree only to fall into a giant’s lap, then fall off the giant’s lap, said giant saved my life twice and I may or may not have made my first ever friend. Definitely not a normal day for Moon.

#gt #gtfluff #sizedifference #giant #tiny

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cheshiremadd · 5 years

Text

Superfluous

Chapter 1

AO3

Idea from a discord conversation that I’m fairly positive was started by @alexseanchai

Adrien and Marinette think they're in a polyamorous relationship. They're wrong.

Hi, Adrien, I was wondering if

Do you think you could

Hey, purely hypothetical….How receptive would you be to going on a date with me?

I’ve tried to tell you this so many times and I know you deserve to be told in person but I’m just not sure I ca

Marinoodle: Can we have lunch today? I have something I need to talk to you about.

Marinoodle: Alone. Don’t tell Alya and Nino?

Marinoodle: Sorry. I just. I’ll explain at the cafe.

She texted Adrien in the early morning. It was the easiest way, and still put her on the hook. If she started this with those damn eyes of his looking at her, and the eyes of everyone else, no way would she get the words out. It’d be troisiéme all over again.

She reminded herself that Chat believed in her, and she can’t let him down. She can’t go to their next patrol and tell him that she chickened out. It’s entirely unlike when Alya would...encourage her. Alya pushed, and sometimes didn’t think of things like consequences, and generally didn’t have to deal with things like anxiety. For her, the best way to do things was just to do them. Like that old American Nike meme. Chat fed her a quiet strength. Cooled her buzzing nerves. Said that she was capable, but that it was okay if she wasn’t ready. And Ladybug hated to disappoint him.

Her phone buzzed.

Agreste My Case: Of course!

Agreste My Case: Is everything okay?

Marinoodle: Cool. Cool. Everything’s cool. Grand really.

“Marinette!” Her Maman called from below. “If you don’t hurry, you won’t have time for breakfast.”

She was still wearing pajamas. Shit!

Marinette shot out of bed, thanking her lucky stars and Past Marinette for leaving out clothes for today. It was...well, it was Chat’s favorite outfit of hers. Past Marinette thought she could do with the confidence boost. And the reminder. When she’d shown it to Tikki, the tiny kwami had heartily approved.

It was a prom dress she found on clearance at the local thrift. The original was strapless, floor-length, and had rainbow stripes. She’d removed all the layers of the skirt but the outside and the lining, shortened it to hit just above her knee, and added a fitted denim jacket. The overall effect was airy and fun, and great for a day in the sun, and Chat had said that the sky in her eyes reflected in her outfit. Marinette had blushed, but laughed, and said, “Okay, okay, that pun deserves a cookie.”

That memory carried her through her morning routine. Teeth brushed, hair brushed, hair down? Chat liked it down. Hair in messy bun? Adrien said he thought it was cute. Hm. She shook her head; she didn’t have time for this. She’d leave it up and could take it down later if she needed something to fiddle with. Grab breakfast (two croissants in a white paper sack). Out the door. Cross the street. Stare at the school building.

She can’t do this. Why did she think she could? Alya’s going to know something’s up. Alya always knew. They’re all going to know. The whole class is going to take one look at her and know and be ready to laugh at her bumbling attempts to confess to the man she loves and Lila would be there and she’d smirk and say, Oh Marinette. You know I’m dating Adrien; he confessed to me weeks ago--

“-ette. Marinette? Are you okay?” A hand across her shoulder blades jolted her out of her spiral and two full feet away. Adrien raised his hands in defense, and Marinette could feel the embarrassment across her face. Her eyes hid behind her hands. A small whine left her mouth. She stewed in her mortification for a moment.

Then Adrien chuckled. And she peeked through her fingers. The early morning sunlight glittered in his hair. His eyes as green as the thick turf at the park. His teeth pushed into his lower lip, a failed attempt to hide his grin.

“It is far too early for this.” She closed her eyes again.

“You say that every morning, Marinette.” Kwamis, she loved the way he said her name. Slowly, intentionally, as if each syllable were important. Mar~i~nette.

“Yeah? Well, I mean it this time.” She grumbled.

They stood in silence. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Marinette could feel her nerves rising again. She was making this weird. She really thought she was over this.

“Marinette,” Adrien called to her, softly. “Is everything okay? Your texts sounded kind of...Is it Lila again?”

Her eyes snapped open and hands flew to her purse for her phone. Tikki dove deeper to avoid being spotted. “No, no!” She opened the text message app and grimaced. Her response sat unsent.

“Got caught up and didn’t send your reply?” His relief showed in his grin. That he picked up on what happened so quickly was both embarrassing and pleasing. Her face was going pink again. Time for a distraction.

She shoved the bakery bag at him. “C-croissant?”

He blinked at the abrupt change of subject, but went along with it. Thankfully. His delight was clear when he opened the bag.

“Croissants are my favorite,” he sighed.

“You say that about all of our pastries, Adrien,” she parroted.

“Yeah, well, I mean it this time.” He mocked her in kind as he dug one out. He looked at it, and then looked at her, and she could see the question brewing.

“I’m actually not all that hun-mmpff!” Marinette glared and growled through a mouthful of croissant. Adrien just smiled cheerfully and pulled out the second.

“We should really get to class, you know.”

They got to class. And the class after that. And the class after that. Marinette couldn’t say what the lessons had been. She remembered his gold-spun hair beside her. The fidgety edits she made to a design that just wouldn’t come together. Three other designs she flipped to when sudden, but ultimately brief, inspiration hit. His thigh pressing against hers. She always wondered if he did that on purpose. She supposed she was about to find out.

Suddenly, the lunch bell was upon them.

“Lunch at the bakery? Just wait ‘til you hear what the tweebs did last night! They’re on lockdown for the foreseeable future.” Alya looked at her expectantly until she went cross eyed. She pulled her glasses off and squinted at them.

“O-oh, uh-” No, no, no! Of all days for Alya to not attempt the matchmaking! On second thought, she was glad for the lack of expectations.

“I’d love to join,” Lila cut in, flicking her hair over her shoulder, “but Mom got reservations for that new five-star by the embassy.”

How nice of Lila to take herself out of the way so neatly.

“Nice! You’ll have to tell us all about how fancy it is.” Alya squinted at her while she cleaned the lenses with her shirt. Ugh. Marinette refrained from rolling her eyes, barely.

Lila’s smug smile dropped when Adrien popped up behind Marinette. “Actually, Alya, Marinette and I are going to find somewhere to study for that maths test that’s tomorrow.”

She could kiss him for that.

Alya squinted at her glasses again before putting them back on. “Oh! Nino and I’ll go with you, then.”

Lila looked like she wanted to jump in, too, Marinette could tell, but she couldn’t when she supposedly had a lunch date already.

“No offense, Al, but we want to actually study. Not that nauseating couple thing that you and Nino do when you’re only pretending to study.” He grinned and winked.

Marinette decided to help him out with some gagging noises, smile hidden behind a polite hand.

Alya huffed good-naturedly and flapped her hand at them. “Fine, fine, you two go be boring and study. But I’ll remember that comment when you get a girl, Agreste, because I know Mr. Heart Eyes is going to be ten times worse.”

Alya went off to find Nino and Lila went off to do...whatever Lila did. Marinette gave Adrien a half-smile as he shuffled her out of school, still mostly trapped in her own thoughts.

That squiggly feeling was back in the pit of her stomach. Like a tiny venomous snake writhing around, and she was just waiting for it to bite. Thanks, Alya! Why did she think she could do this? Adrien’s one of her best friends! Surely if he wanted more, he would have said so by now. He’s never shown interest in anyone outside of Kagami (briefly) and Ladybug and offhandedly mentioning that Luka’s cute (though no one else knew about that, he’d sworn her to secrecy).

Again, he broke through her cloud of doubts.

“That was awfully accommodating of Lila to remove herself from our plans like that.”

She looked up at him and found a strained smile. Argh! Get it together, Marinette! You know he’s picking up on your weirdness and thinking it’s his fault!

Ugh. Her inner voice sounded like Tikki. Right, as usual.

“I had that exact thought! It’s got to be the single nicest thing she’s ever done for me.” His nervousness faded into a real laugh, and then they were back to normal. She hardly noticed the walk to the cafe while they giggled and teased. He held the door open and she blushed pink as she ducked inside. The line to order wasn’t too long, but Marinette was nervous again by the time they reached the front. She managed to give her order, but stuttered her protest when Adrien swooped in to pay for her.

They were about to sit down when Marinette’s hands reached for her backpack and didn’t find it. She had her purse (and thus, Tikki), thank Kwamis, but everything else...

“I left my backpack at school!” Her hands went to her head and her whole face scrunched up. Adrien shuffled the strap of his bag when she looked up at him. “I have to go back to school and get it! Oh, but by the time I do and come back here, there’ll barely be time to eat, and, and, then we won’t be able to talk and I’ll have to sit on this for days because you don’t always get free time and it just be my luck to not see you for a week after this, and you can’t just say this kind of thing over text, well you can but that doesn’t mean you should, and -are you okay? You’re shuffling your bag around an awful lot; are your shoulders hurti…”

Marinette cut off and stared at the pink backpack strap that wrapped around Adrien’s shoulder. She huffed. “You could have said something. Instead of letting me panic.”

“It was cute.” He gave her a fond smile. “You’re cute.”

Her legs gave out. Good thing she was already in the process of sitting down; she landed in her chair instead of the floor. He didn’t seem to notice, and kept going. “I meant to tell you earlier: I like your dress! Is-is it one of yours?”

Her already pink cheeks were turning red, she just knew it. She’d be as red as her suit, soon. This boy was trying to kill her. “T-thanks! It’s a thrift buy; I, um just changed it up a bit.”

“Oh! An upcycle!” He set their backpacks down and took his seat much more gracefully than she had. But, then, he’s a model.

“Ah, well, technically an upcycle is where you take one thing and turn it into something totally different. What I did is considered an alteration.”

He chuckled. She was so lucky, to be someone he could laugh freely with. “I see. Regardless ...you make it beautiful.”

She stared into his eyes, caught by them. Bright and clear and honest. The way affection crinkled the corners of them. She knew those would be his wrinkles, when he gets them. Laugh lines and love crinkles, like her parents.

It was the perfect moment to speak, she knew. If only she could bring herself to do it. Why couldn’t she? He’d complimented her confidence outfit, carried her bag here, paid for her lunch, said she was cute. And it...he said she made it beautiful. But the way he said it. The way he said it, he sounded like he meant she was beautiful. She just needed to open her mouth, and say-

“I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widened, and her face exploded in color. She could see his doing the same. Her usual reflex reaction rose up, take it back, take it back, she could still fix this rebutted with no, this was the whole point of lunch, to confess, see if he was interested to be countered by he hasn’t said anything yet, oh, what have I done.

“I-I didn’t- I mean I did- love is such a-”

He cut off her panicked babble. “You’re in love with me?”

His tone said he didn’t quite believe it, but the look on his face added that he dared to hope anyway. He was looking down at her (even sitting, their height difference was..much) and he had this softness to his eyes that she didn’t see him use with anyone else. It reminded her of Chat sitting with her, gently telling her that her feelings weren’t going to destroy hers and Adrien’s friendship, building her courage.

She couldn’t do anything other than give him the truth.

“Have been for awhile.” The effect her words had was immediate. All that hope and, dare she say it, longing turned into something much brighter, something beautiful and gentle.

“Me too.”

When Marinette looked back at this moment, far into the future, she’d recognize it for what it was: undeniable proof that she was going to marry this man someday. All she could think while in the moment, however, was she clearly spent way too much time with Chat Noir and she’s going to kill that cat bastard.

“You’re in love with yourself, too?”

The words came out of her mouth, and she was mortified. She’d done it. She’d confessed to her years old crush. He actually accepted her feelings. They did the sappy staring in the eyes thing. And then she ruined the moment. Chat’d done this to her so many times; she couldn’t believe she was picking up the worst aspects of his humor.

A muffled chuckle redirected her attention back to Adrien. Hand over his mouth, he tried to contain himself, but it was a battle already lost. A petulant pout from her, and that was all it took for him to give himself over to the laughter. He stopped trying to hide his smile. His eyes scrunched closed. He slowly leaned towards the chair next to him, curling in on himself, using the table as a crutch, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

His joy rang through her. It warmed her toes and eased her stomach, stopped her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

He was catching his breath when the server brought their food and took their number. Marinette set the plates on her side with a small “thank you”.

“I’m going to kill my boyfriend,” she grumbled. “That was all his fault.”

Adrien, back in a sitting position, tilted his head in curiosity. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Oh! Ah..I do. Um. Gosh, I’m doing this all wrong.” Marinette stared resolutely at her food. “It’s, um. It’s new. I haven’t even told Alya yet. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone for a while. Except you.”

She peeked at him through her fringe. Adrien didn’t seem upset. For all the world, it looked like he was patiently hearing her out. But it wasn’t always easy to read through his Model Face. She twisted her fingers together.

“We.. He.. Well, he’s in love with two people. And, and I’m in love with two people. So we decided to try polyamory.” And that was the rest of it. Everything that had her knots all day. She hoped he would understand.

A flutter of movement, his hands moved into her peripheral vision. “Can I have your hands before you start digging your nails in?”

She swallowed, and carefully looked no further than her hands as they moved to meet his. He started rubbing slow circles on contact.

“Let me make sure that I have this right. Are you asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“You have a boyfriend? And he’s okay with you dating another person?”

She glanced at his expression and was caught by it. It was warm, and encouraging. “Yes.”

His hands squeezed hers. “Ah, in the interest of full disclosure...I have a partner, too.”

“O-oh?”

“I met her online and, well, you can imagine what would happen if the public heard that Adrien Agreste had an online girlfriend.”

Marinette cringed sympathetically. “That’d be a nightmare. You have a lot of crazy fangirls.” She paused for a moment and then ventured, “I can’t imagine Gabriel would approve, either.”

“Ha. No. Which means it has to stay secret for awhile.” Adrien shook his head, as if it would get rid of the sour thoughts. “But! We, well, exactly like you two. We’re both in love with two people and I couldn’t make myself choose. I wanted both of you.”

She stared at him, pink painted across her cheeks and lips parted slightly. “Me?”

“You.” His smile was back. “I’ve been working to get the courage to ask you out. Tried half a dozen times or so.

“What I’m trying to say, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, is that I’d love to go on a date with you.”

#miraculous ladybug #Superfluous #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #polyamory

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yhella18 · 3 years

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Gold Medal Match: Men's Singles Table Tennis of Rio Olympics 2016 || A Sports Analysis

Table tennis, additionally called (trademark) Ping-Pong, is a ball game similar in principle to lawn tennis and played on a flat table divided into two equivalent courts by a net fixed across its width at the center. The object is to hit the ball so that it goes over the net and bounces on the opponent's half of the table in such a way that the opponent cannot reach it or return it correctly. The lightweight hollow ball is propelled back and forth across the net by small rackets (bats or paddles) held by the players. The game is mainstream everywhere in the world. In most countries, it is highly organized as a competitive sport, especially in Europe and Asia, particularly in China and Japan (Barna, 2008). Today's blog will focus on the final game of Men's Singles Table Tennis of Rio Olympics 2016.

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This blog will consist of the following:

Court Dimensions

Equipment

Basic Skills

Technical and Tactical Skills

Rules of the Game

Officiating the Game

Overall Game

Court Dimensions

Table tennis at the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro took place from 6 to 17 August 2016 at the third pavilion of Riocentro Convention & Event Center.

Room Size

If there is not enough space in a table tennis room, it will be frustrating, and the players will not enjoy the game. The table tennis players' level will determine the amount of space that they will need in a game. Professional table tennis players need enough space to be able to exhibit their table tennis skills. For instance, a defender would need a lot more space because they tend to play more away from the table.

Therefore, the place needs a clear five feet at each end of the table, where the players will be, and three feet clearance on either side. So, for a regulation table of around 9 feet in length and five wide, you will need a square of clear space of about 19 x 11 feet (579 cm x 335 cm).

Table Size

Table tennis equipment is relatively inexpensive and straightforward. The table is rectangular, 9 feet by 5 feet (2.7 meters by 1.5 meters), its upper surface a level plane 30 inches (76 cm) above the floor. The net is 6 feet (1.8 meters) long, and its upper edge along the whole length is 6 inches (15.25 cm) above the playing surface.(Table Tennis Table Buyer's Guide, n.d.)

Equipment

Basic Skills

Serving

A table tennis' serve is the first necessary skill, and it's a crucial skill since the service is the only time you have complete control of the ball and the game. There are many different types of serves, each with different pros and cons but the basics remain the same.

Stance and Footwork

Before hitting your first shot, it's worth getting your body in the right position. A correct and stance in relation to the table depends to some degree on your grip and whether you're are attacking, defending, or serving the ball. However, even as your arm position and placement relative to the table changes, you should always have the correct stance and body posture. The right stance gives you the balance, stability, and range of movement you need to play the game.

Holding the Paddle

Your hands and arms' exact position in your stance depends on your grip or how you hold the bat. There are two basic grips in table tennis: the shake hand grip and the penhold grip. The different types of grip have specific variations for your hand position on the paddle, depending on your preference and style of play.

Each grip has advantages and disadvantages, but it's also essential to choose the grip that is comfortable and natural for you. Once you have mastered an essential grip, you may want to learn more advanced grips to improve your game further and give you more options. Check out our guide to the different types of table tennis grips here.

Ball Control

Developing ball control in table tennis is probably the most essential skill you need to survive at the game's upper echelons. Ball control refers to the ability to return the ball during play. By this, players need to do many different strokes used during a table tennis match, but forehand and backhand strokes are easily the most common. Learning how your body responds to the backswing, the point of contact, and the follow-through of each stroke is crucial before going on and learning anything else.

Technical and Tactical Skills

MA LONG: This player played accurately and undoubtedly, making sure not to overpower his strength to make the ball out of the court or the table. Although Zhang Jike tends to hit in the player's open spot, he could still receive it as time passed by and until he could accommodate Zhang Jike's strategy of hitting. However, not all of the shots given to the player were successfully defended because of the strength that the player gave, and sometimes Ma Long was not able to control the ball well. This shows that there is still a human in him and showed that he was not perfect. Moreover, his legs, thighs, twisting of the body, upper body, shoulder elbow are perfectly coordinated. Hence, it was quite a useful technique that a player sure had. Due to his stance, he moved skillfully as he endures the shots given by the other player. All in all, Ma Long did great in executing all the necessary skills and utilized them to win the game.

ZHANG JIKE: This player used all the necessary skills. However, he needs to practice controlling the ball since most of his attacks were out of the court. He was slightly aggressive, especially in the second set, due to the gap between the scores and making mistakes. However, he was able to overcome, and he made mistakes frequently, unlike before. Despite his out control ball, Zhang has adequate strength and endurance, especially when a rally happened between him and the other player. His strategy was to attack where the other player would have a hard time in defending it. Overall, he did his best in defending or attacking the other player.

Rules of the Game

Scoring and Games

Games are played to 11 points.

Players serve two serves each, alternating. A player does not have to win specifically off their own serve in order to win a point.

If a game ties at 10-10, a player must win by 2 points. In this situation, players serve one serve each, alternating.

If your hit bounces back over the net by itself it is your point.

An “edge” ball bouncing off the horizontal table top surface is good.

In competition, games are played best of 5 (first to win 3 games) or best of 7 (first to win 4 games). Social games can also be played best of 3 (first to win 2 games).

Legal Serving

The serve can land anywhere in the table.

You must throw the ball up straight, from a flat palm.

Your toss and service contact must be behind the table surface (not over).

You cannot hide the ball from the ball toss to contact, with any part of your body.

If the ball hits the net during service, it is a let, the point is replayed. There is no limit or point deductions for let serves.

A point is lost if:

The service is missed.

The service is not returned.

A shot goes into the net.

A shot goes off the table without touching the court.

A player moves the table, touches the net or touches the table with their free hand during play.

Equipment Basics

A table tennis racket must be one side black, one side (recently approved) any approved color.

The official approved ball is the 40mm+ plastic ball.

Officiating the Game

Referee

He/she decides any question of rule interpretation and ensures that the competition is conducted in accordance with the relevant laws and regulations.

Umpire

His/her primary duty is to decide the result of each rally.

Assistant Umpire

He/she takes over or shares some of the umpire's duties and solely responsible for decisions on edge balls, and has the power to decide on the legality of the player's service action.

Timekeeper

Monitor the duration of the practice, play in a game, intervals between games, and any authorized suspension of plays.

Stroke counter

His/she solely has to count the return strokes of the receiver.

Overall Game

Both of the players used all the techniques and tactics that they have to win the game. However, Ma Long stood victorious over fellow compatriot Zhang Jike in the Men’s Singles final, as China won their second Table Tennis gold medal. With the top two seeds going head-to-head, there was potential for a thrilling final; however, after edging the first end in deuce, Ma thundered past Zhang in the following three games to win the gold medal on his Olympic singles debut (14-12, 11-5, 11-4, 11-4). All in all, Ma’s performance on the game was legendary and dazzled the audience with his play.

Bibliography

Barna, V. (2008, June 9). Table Tennis. Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Britannica: https://www.britannica.com/sports/table-tennis

Basic Table Tennis Skills You Need To Know. (n.d.). Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Pingpong Ruler: https://pingpongruler.com/basic-table-tennis-skills/

Developing Ball Control In Table Tennis. (2012, December 8). Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Table Tennis - Made Simple: http://ttforyou.blogspot.com/2012/12/developing-ball-control-in-table-tennis.html

Larcombe, B. (2012, September 26). Table Tennis Rules and Regulations. Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Expert Table Tennis: https://www.experttabletennis.com/table-tennis-rules-and-regulations/

Maribao, T. M. (2018, November 20). Officials of Table Tennis and their duties. Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Prezi: https://prezi.com/uuswuvndkebu/officials-of-table-tennis-and-their-duties/

Rules of Table Tennis. (n.d.). Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Team USA: https://www.teamusa.org/usa-table-tennis/rules

Table Tennis Table Buyer's Guide. (n.d.). Retrieved March 10, 2021, from Liberty Games: https://www.libertygames.co.uk/store/table-tennis/buying-advice/buyers-guide/#:~:text=table%20tennis%20table.-,Room%20Size,around%2019%20x%2011%20feet.

#sportsanalysis #tabletennis #physicaleducation #blog

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freerabbitmanandpig · 4 years

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My Friend With Parkinson’s

On Oct 1st of this year I was given compassionate release from Allenwood USP for (what was diagnosed as) an unspecified connective tissue disorder. I had served roughly 60 months of a 70 month sentence. To secure this extraordinary release my lawyer had sited the new emergency COVID increased risk criteria, pointing to my status of being prescribed immunosuppressants, as well as suffering from lifelong asthma. Being as that I’d been housed in a care-level 3 medical facility, most of my time had been spent around inmates with chronic conditions, many of them without a chance of making it home within the course of their natural lives. Conscious of the fact that many of these men lacked the financial resources available to my family, especially as the pandemic has left many people in the street without regular employment, I made promises to some of these men to attempt to get their stories out into the world.

Christian Tarantino (Reg. # 14684-050) is a middle-aged man that I met while in Allenwood. A gambler with a good sense of humor, who was generous with his friends and, while in the street, lethal to those who stood in his way. According to the FBI, back in the early 90s Chris was part of a crew that committed a number of armed robberies. In 2011 he was sentenced to three consecutive life-terms for the murder of a guard during an armored car robbery back in 1994, as well as the murder of one of the participants whom he feared would flip on him.

Criminals, conscious of their own status, tend to withhold judgement, and I’d be lying if the description of Chris as a “cold killer”, spoken to me with admiration by more than a few inmates, did not inspire this same admiration in me upon hearing the stories of his exploits. To be clear, I never personally heard Chris tell any stories about his case, or murder in general; the stories he did tell me were often funny ones about the club scene in NY, or his dog. The problem was that, when Chris spoke, I often had to strain to hear him. Still, the Parkinson’s had made him patient over the years, and he did not get frustrated when a person had to ask him to repeat himself, sometimes multiple times. No matter how long it took for him to finish the story, it was worth it to hear it all the way through – as I said, he was funny.

Chris and I had started talking more about his disease a month before my release, after having heard that the Marshall Project had published a short story of mine the year before. The problem, he’d told me one morning, was that a 15-minute analysis with the MD did not take in to account the fact that his PD fluctuated in intensity throughout the course of a given day. Even if you’re classified as a care level 3, you generally only get to see the facility’s MD once a year, with all subsequent outside appointments and medication adjustments being managed by your assigned PA. The key to adequate treatment lies then in the temperament of your PA. My PA was considered the best on the compound and was likely instrumental in getting me the workups and appointments I needed to secure my compassionate release. Chris’ PA was largely considered the worst on the compound (one of two), a bitter woman who often had to be compelled into action via administrative remedies, which Chris was inevitably forced to file. If he came to a sick-call and was not actively in the throes of intense contortions (which he sometimes referred to as ‘crazy legs’) then he was often disregarded. Chris and his PA were prone to devolve into shouting matches, nor was this a problem that she had only with him. Even when he wasn’t engaged in fighting the crazy legs, he was mostly still confined to his wheelchair. There were, on occasion, times when he felt in control of his legs enough to walk, albeit while holding on to another inmate’s shoulders. There was no shortage of willing shoulders, as inmates of all races would step up to ferry him, either to the computer room – where they would inevitable have to help him type his emails, or to the shower – where no handicap accommodations existed. This last omission struck many of us as particularly negligent, considering the yard’s care level. Another problem was the speech impediment. I’d often heard him ask, rhetorically, how it was that sounding like “a retard” when he spoke was not a clear enough indicator of the severity of his condition, regardless of the tremors. Of course ‘retard’ is not really the best adjective for any modern condition, but the point was still valid that, when he spoke, he sounded like a person recovering from a massive stroke – only he wasn’t recovering, Parkinson’s is a degenerative illness.

The prison had no choice but to provide him with follow-ups to the local neurologist after a highly invasive surgery, known as ‘deep brain stimulation’, in which a device, a ‘neurostimulator’, was implanted into his brain. This local doctor told Chris flat-out that he was incapable of treating him at this stage in his illness, nor is the facility capable of recalibrating his implant.

At night, a small group of us would walk to pill line to get our evening medications. I got Elavil and Gabba Pentin – the former for my interstitial cystitis, and the Gabba Pentin for more generalized pain. Chris, on the other hand, got a bunch of different pills, each with an Old Testament-sized list of potential side effects. To add insult to injury, the medical staff crushed most of his medications, as though this middle-aged man in a plastic, yellow wheelchair, barely able to get the cup of powder into his mouth, would somehow be able – or even willing, to cheek these many pills so that he could smuggle them back to the unit and…. What? For anyone curious enough to look, Federal Penitentiaries are full to the point of bursting with real narcotics. Who the fuck wants to sniff twenty different PD meds?

During these evening walks (some of our only time outside of the unit since the pandemic started) the subject of my pending motion came up on a regular basis. It was news, if nothing else. As for Chris, PD does not put him at an increased risk for COVID complications, and although I’d heard him, on occasion, tentatively breech the subject of outright compassionate release, his main request to me was that I put his story up, in the hope that perhaps someone else from the outside would get involved and get him moved to a medical facility. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about falling down in the shower and bearing the indignity of calling for help, alone and naked on a wet floor that’s covered with other men’s piss and body hair. Before I was released, I wrote one final staff request for him to the medical coordinator attempting to get him transferred to a care-level 4 facility. This was not his first attempt to obtain such a transfer, and, for the purposes of the request, Chris provided me with a list of names of staff members who had seen him fall down, or else had helped him get back to his cell after an accident. It was a long list.

For a man who devoted a large part of his life to fitness, it’s a hard pill to swallow. In my mind I am stuck wondering what three consecutive life sentences (or a thousand for that matter) really means for someone like Chris, who’s own body has become a prison. In a sense I have an idea – back in 2017, my uncle Steven Parr – a successful and well known archivist in San Francisco, was diagnosed first with Parkinson’s, which was later amended to a diagnoses of Lewy-Body syndrome – a disease that bears similarities to PD. His initial suicide attempt was precluded by his manager, Adam, who was on the phone with my mother at the time. His second attempt, however, was successful. To me, though, the most poignant encapsulation of Chris’s attitude was made apparent when I was pushing him to the showers one morning. He’d removed his shirt before getting back in his chair, and I was struck by his apparent muscle tone and total lack of body fat, despite his sedentary lifestyle,

“Damn Chris, you’re in a wheelchair and still in better shape than half these dudes in here.”

“Yea..” he spoke slowly – struggling to force his tongue to conform to the consonants, “..this is the worst thing god could’ve done to me.”

In a way it was cruel how the progress in my appeal seemed to engender a sense of hope in some of the other care level 3’s working fervently, without the aid of outside capital or competent legal help, to obtain their own releases before the virus made it’s way to the yard. By Oct 1st the USP at the Allenwood Correctional Complex had 7 cases, all of them quarantined in the shu after having arrived on a plane, and then a bus, with who-knows how many others potentially infected. They’d already shut the medium back down as, despite their ‘best’ efforts at screening all arrivals, 15 cases had popped up in general population. As I already stated above, the administration fought me every step of the way – even after the motion had been granted and I was only awaiting the end of my obligatory 2 week quarantine, the staff refused to allow me to call my family, my lawyer, or even probation, so that I could arrange for transport. I didn’t know whether I’d be going straight home or to a program until the last minute. I could see it in their faces every time they brought me legal mail or were forced to set up my screening for the drug program that I’m in now – they didn’t think I deserved it. Like they had only just found out via the granting of my motion that they presided over an unequal system. I got 8 months back – goodtime I’d lost, along with years-worth of visits and phone calls - “privileges” they justified in taking almost exclusively over dirty urines, and for what? Suboxone. At my final workup the MD confided in me that, prior to the pandemic, they’d been told by the region to start preparations for the MAT program (medication assisted treatment) and to apply for the DEA approval to begin prescribing both suboxone and vivitrol. Unfortunately, these proceedings had to be halted to focus their energies on the then emerging public health crisis. Maybe it’s my prejudices, but itt seemed to me that these people took it personally – as though those reclaimed 8 months had come directly off the end of their own lifespans.

#jail #mass incarceration #parkinsonsdisease #social justice #criminal justice

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