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Barbie Girl 💄 | Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin Imagine
Takes place before, during, and after the events of Top Gun Maverick
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TGM Masterlist
Characters & Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Barbie!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)
Content warnings: light profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.3k
Requested 📨 yes/no (for @kayla-swiftly)
Premise: They say the sky is the limit and anything you set you’re mind to will be achieved as long as you’re dedicated to it. For most people that testimony is nothing but a mere fantasy. But for one woman, with too many dreams to count on her fingers, she took that statement to heart. Proving you can be anyone you want to be and maybe even a few others give or take 😉
Note: Anyone else obsessed with Barbie lately?? Omg y’all I saw the movie last week and absolutely fell in love and i had this request from around the time the final trailer dropped and knew it was the perfect time to write this. I know I know I haven’t been living up to my promise of being consistent but man they having me working my ass off at my job. Also I’ve been traveling and I saw Big Time Rush last night (i felt like a teenager again and it was amazing 😭) anyway I hope you enjoyed this and let me know what you think!
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“Hi, Barbie!” The familiar greeting fills Y/n’s ears as it does every morning she arrives at the hangar. With it comes an instant smile, hand raising to wave at the person responsible for it, “Hi, Phoenix!”
“Hey there, Barbie,” winks another friendly face.
“Hiiii, Hangman,” her tone is playful like his, turning energetic for Bob when he goes, “Hiya, Barbie!”
“Hi there, Bob!”
“Hey, Barbie.” “Good morning, Barbie.” “What’s up, Barbie Girl.”
“Hello, Rooster.” “Good morning to you too, Fanboy.” “Nothing much, Pay. And yourself?”
Unlike her fellow pilots, clad in their deep green flight suits, Y/n stood out in the crowd for hers was a little unorthodox when one thinks of a naval fighter pilot's uniform.
It was pink. Completely as in her combat boots were also the bright color and the patchers were white and pink tones rather than red, blues, black and any other color seen in the ones attached to her coworkers arms. ‘Barbie’ in pink cursive writing instead of traditional bold Times New Roman lettering.
And don’t forget the little flower dotting the ‘i’.
Growing up, Y/n took ‘you can be anyone and anything you want to be,’ quite literally. At no point was it a joke to her when she would tell her friends and family, “oh I’m gonna be a fashion designer and Olympic Gold medalist when I’m older,” “I wanna go to space, fly in planes, and see all the wonders of the world,” “I’ll be a doctor, a teacher, and movie star!” They’d smile and laugh, thinking it was adorable for a little girl to dream big. No way would it be possible to achieve all of those careers. Everyone only gets one life to live and time goes so fast one can only set their eyes on one path and hope for the best.
But Y/n was a dreamer. And if you’re going to dream, might as well dream big.
All through middle and high school people took Y/n’s intelligence for granted. Focusing more on her beauty rather than brains, it came as an under shock to everyone when Y/n had the credits to graduate at the ripe age of 15. Exceeding in her standardized test scores with a high school resume taking up three pages with extracurricular and academic achievements, she had colleges from all over the country begging for her to apply.
Stanford. Cornell. Pratt. Juilliard. NYU. John Hopkins. Harvard. UCLA. Duke. Top medical and law schools. Ivy League universities. Performing Arts schools calling for auditions after sending scouts to watch her perform in school plays and dance recitals. Coaches from high ranking NCAA gymnastics teams sending emails after emails.
So many to choose from….And so the story of Y/n L/n becoming a real life Barbie Doll begins.
Setting her eyes in New York, Y/n attended not one but two of the best schools in the country. While obtaining her bachelor’s in both astronautical and aeronautical engineering at NYU Y/n also completed a two year degree in Fashion Business Management at the Fashion Institute of Technology. During this time she continued training for the Olympics in hopes of making the 2008 Beijing team in gymnastics.
“How do you do it?” Her roommate at NYU constantly asked. “You go from here to FIT, working on two degrees that are completely on opposite sides of the spectrum and career paths,” she emphasized with hand expressions, “and still have enough to time to go to the gym to practice, eat three meals a day, have all your assignments done early, and sleep a reasonably about of hours each night.” Letting out an exhale, her roommate looks at Y/n as if she’s an alien from another world, “What’s your secret? Are you some kind of Barbie doll the government created as a test robot?”
Each time Y/n would pause, think for a moment before smiling, “I don’t know if I should find that as an insult or compliment, but I’m gonna chose it as a compliment and say it’s because I want to live a life where I can look back on and go, ‘I took a risk and tried something new even if it didn’t look possible but it was all worth it.’”
By the time Y/n turned 20 she had accumulated a vast list of credentials to her name. The list included getting her fashion business degree at 17, Bachelors in astronautical/aeronautical engineering at 19–receiving her Master’s for it at 20–An Olympic Gold and Silver medalist, dancing with the Radio City Rockettes, performing with the NYC Ballet Company in their rendition of Swan Lake, landing a role on Broadway, walking a runway at NY fashion week, and appearing on episodes of SVU, 30 Rock, All My Children, Sex and the City, and Ugly Betty.
So yeah, New York was a success in experiences for Y/n.
Following the high note, she packed her bags to leave the golden apple for the flashing lights of Hollywood, California. This time Y/n was working on her doctorates at USC, running her own business with her fashion degree called ‘Dream Closet’, and auditioning for film and tv shows.
Hollywood was a dream come true just like New York. Again she attended two different schools, this time flight school and USC. During the day she was occupied running from class to the hangar and then the observatory. Coaching dance and gymnastics on the side, designing clothes for her online shop which developed into a pop-up chain store in malls across America.
It wasn’t long until Y/n’s name grew into nationwide popularity. People started realizing the Y/n L/n who won the Gold and Silver medals in the 2008 Olympics was the same one responsible for the most recent fashion trends and guest starring on their favorite tv shows. What really set it in stone was when Y/n landed the role of an engineer officer in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek, going on to appear in both the 2013 and 2016 sequels.
Impressive was the only word her costars could use to describe her. What else was there?
Anytime there was a question involving, “who’s most likely to become president?” “Who’s most likely to try something new or create a new hobby?” “Who’s most likely to win a Nobel Prize?” Along those lines…the answer was obvious.
“Oh Y/n,” Zoe Saldana waves her hand, “Always.”
“Yeah,” Chris Pine agrees with a laugh, “That woman, I-I don’t know how one has the energy to do all that she does—a-and still want to do more.”
The Interviewer laughs with them, “didn’t she just race in the Daytona 500 last year?”
“Yes!! And she did a song with Lady Gaga when they were on American Horror Story,” Zoe’s tone is in absolute awe, “All while teaching at USC and creating new technology at NASA.” Chris lifts a finger.
“Don’t forget she had her own Mac Viva Glam line a couple years ago.” Zoe made a sound along the lines of ‘see what I mean,’.
“I’m telling you, she’s gonna be a name in the history books.”
What all has Y/n accomplished career wise? Let’s take a look.
Model, dancer, actor, singer, fashion designer, entrepreneur, athlete, engineer, race car driver, and professor.
And now she can add pilot to the list. Although she got her license to fly way back in 2009, Y/n didn’t put it to use full time until 2016, wanting to wait until after the release of Star Trek: Beyond to say goodbye to Hollywood for the time being and set forth on her next adventure.
Boy did it come as a surprise what she had planned.
The Manila folder containing her resume hit the desk of the Admiral, his eyes wide as saucers. “You wanna join the Navy?” Reading the front page for a fifth time, Cyclone glanced back at the woman in front of him. Doctor Y/n L/n. Or is it professor L/n? “And you wanna be one of my pilots?”
“Yes, Sir.”
”Ma’am, I apologize if this comes off as offending,” he really didn’t know any other way to put it. “But you are more qualified than any person on this base. Doctorates in aeronautical and astronautical engineering from the University of Southern California,” he counts off on his fingers, “you recently developed a groundbreaking advancement in space technology that’s going to help our astronauts—on the road to becoming a Nobel Prize nominee.” He raises his eyebrows, “And this is only what relates to this career field. I’m not even mentioning your acting, athletic, and fashion credentials. Why join the Navy?”
Y/n only offers a shrug, “I think the better question is, why not?” Cyclone lets out a sigh.
“What did you say your callsign was again?”
“Barbie.”
There was no stopping the small smile trying to break free, “I should’ve guessed.”
After completing OTS there was much debate on what Y/n’s rank would be coming into the Navy. Civilian lawyers and physicians often are Lieutenants (O-3) right away, but considering Y/n had two doctorate degrees and her pilot license they felt it was only fair for her to come in as Commander (O-5). From there Y/n was sent to North Island to attend Fighter Weapons School.
Better known to its flyers as Top Gun.
Y/n was used to the looks she received on a daily basis. From head to toe she was covered in variations of pink depending on what she was feeling. When teaching her briefcase and pantsuit were baby pink, in the labs her coat was hot pink, at auditions she wore pink leather jackets. Even her race car for the Daytona was pink.
Shoutout to Mac cosmetics for the sponsorship.
So it’s no surprise her flight suit would be the color she was known for—despite it being out of regulations.
Being more qualified than your superiors had its perks.
If she could have a pink F-18 she would but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. That was okay for Y/n. After all, she managed to get her own custom flight suit. One which had everyone having to do double takes whenever she walked into a room.
“Is she wearing…?”
“How the hell did they allow that?”
“Does that mean I can have mine in purple?”
Her first day at Top Gun Y/n met Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace. They were paired as roommates in the dorms and quickly became good friends. Phoenix was beyond amazed with Y/n’s accomplishments and experiences. Every conversation led to a new discovery. “Do you ever burn out?” Nat stag criss crossed on Y/n’s satin pink bed sheets, admiring her wall of photos from when she traveled to see all the wonders of both the ancient and modern world. “I feel I’d be a walking corpse from exhaustion. And you mentioned you’re still running and designing clothes for ‘Dream Closet’?”
Y/n removed her diamond studs, placing them on her desk she was using as a vanity. “I have a team dealing with the business side of things for the brand. I’m still CEO and creative director—usually I work on designs for a couple hours before bed to prepare for the next launch.”
Nat was in awe, “I have to ask….what’s been the best career you’ve done so far?” A common question Y/n heard, there was never a true answer. She loved every career. They all had their perks and their flaws, but at the end of the day it left her satisfied she achieved them.
“I don’t know yet,” she spoke truthfully, “I still have a few to check off on my list. When that happens I’ll let you know.”
Fast forwarding to 2019, Y/n answered the phone to Admiral Simpson’s voice with the news she needed to report back to North Island for a highly confidential mission. The details were unknown, but Y/n packed her bags, loaded her pink vintage corvette convertible and high tailed it to sunny San Diego.
The squeals initiated by Y/n and Nat the moment she stepped foot in the Hard Deck had heads whipping in their direction. “Hi, Barbie!” Nat’s arms opened for a hug.
“Hi, Phoenix!” Y/n accepted the embrace, still grinning ear to ear. The guys around them were looking at each other like, ‘what the…?’ Y/n wasn’t in her standard Khakis like they were—minus Rooster. She bore a pink denim number with matching boots with her hair curled and pink eyeliner surrounded by tiny rhinestones.
“You got selected too?” Nat complimented her outfit before cutting straight to the point.
“For the special detachment? Looks like it,” she winked.
“What happened to the Artemis program? Weren’t you up as a candidate?”
“Oh I still am,” Y/n affirmed proudly, “They’ll be announcing who’s to be selected in the coming months. So for now I’m still with the Bounty Hunters. Plus,” she leans in to whisper, “this will look good on my resume.” The two giggle before Y/n drifts her gaze to the boggling gazes in front of her. “Oh! I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m Y/n L/n,” extending her hand to the first person who’s name tag read Fitch, Y/n added, “But you can call me Barbie.”
“Barbie,” the blonde holding a pool cue repeated like a question, “like the toy Barbie?” Nat chuckled, throwing an arm around her friend after she was done shaking everyone’s hand as they introduced themselves.
“Fellas, if there is anyone who is a life sized version of Barbie, it’s this one right here.”
“Now, Phee…” Y/n’s tone was that of, ‘Don’t start.’
“It’s true,” the pilot defended. “Not only is she Commander Y/n ‘Barbie’ L/n,” jaws drop, “but she’s Professor and Doctor L/n.” The jaws hit the floor, “On top of founder, creative director and CEO of ‘Dream’s Closet,’” Javy makes a sound, familiar with the brand, “Emmy nominated actress,” Fanboy chokes on his water, “Olympic Gold Medalist and soon to be astronaut for the Artemis program.” By now all the guys are on the verge of losing their minds.
Bob rapidly blinks, “uh—.”
“Now I’m not an astronaut yet,” Y/n points out, “I’m a candidate for one.” Nat scoffs lightly.
“They’d be stupid not to pick you, Barb,” she then slaps her side, turning back to the guys, “Oh and how could I forget Broadway, Vogue, and the Daytona 500.”
“Daytona 500!?” Payback practically screeches.
“You were on Broadway?”
“—featured on Vogue—?!”
“Wait a minute I recognize you from Star Trek!”
“—How in the hell—.”
“Guys, guys!” Y/n laughs with her hands slightly raised, “Please, one at a time.” They were in for a long night of questions and story times. And just like Nat was years prior when she first roomed with Y/n at Top Gun, the officers were in complete amazement over the woman in front of them. Never had they met anyone like her.
“Wow,” Jake whistled once she finished bringing them up to date on her most recent careers. “You really are a real-life Barbie.”
“Shhhh,” a finger went to her lips, followed by a wink, “don’t tell Mattel.”
And thus the dagger squad was formed. Two and half weeks of hell bearing training preceding a face-with-death mission brings people closer. Every morning Y/n arrived at the hangar to a chorus of “Hi, Barbie.”
She waved at Reuben, “Hi Payback.”
“Hey there, Barbie Girl,” Javy threw her a peace sign.
“Hiya, Coyote!”
“Good morning, Barbie,” Rooster tipped his hat.
“Mornin’, Rooster.”
“Hi, Barbie!” “Hi, Barbie!” Her favorite duo harmonized.
“Hi, Bob! Hi, Phee!”
And for some closer than others….
“You know I was thinking,” Jake commented, taking Y/n’s hand before leading her to the pottery class he signed them up for. Every Friday night was reserved for date night. Dinner and a movie. Walk on the beach. Spending $20 worth of quarters at an arcade. Attending a comedy show. Paint and sip. Following the successful mission, Jake and Y/n hit it off and began seeing each other.
“Famous last words.”
“It’s not bad,” a chuckle left his lips, stopping at the door. “I just thought it was funny. You know how you’re basically Barbie?” His cheeky smile resulted in her mirroring it.
“Yessss.”
“This means I’m pretty much your Ken, right?” The question makes the woman visible ‘awe’. Jake ruffles a hand through his hair and gives his best blue steel, “we kinda look alike. Don’t you think?”
Laughing, Y/n kisses his cheek, “I mean…name a more iconic duo than Barbie and Ken.”
“Barbie and Hangman?”
“Exactly.” It was safe to assume what their Halloween costumes were going to be.
Time went on, missions were run. And after a year of anticipation—though it felt like forever, it was finally announced in 2020 Y/n would be one of the astronauts selected to be part of NASA’s Artemis program launching in 2024.
Making Y/n the first woman to go to the moon.
The call came in from a restricted number when they were in a meeting, and knowing she was to expect a call within the month everyone quickly shut up so the pilot could answer.
She excused herself to leave the room, staying in front of the window so the team could see her. Throughout the conversation Y/n’s expression remained neutral to the point none had a clue whether the news was good or bad. Only when she reentered the room did they get the answer.
“I’m going to the moon!!!”
“Ahhh!!!!” The team exploded in an array of cheers, Y/n jumping up and down, careful not to drop her phone that was in her hands when Jake lifted her in his arms.
“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Despite being unauthorized to show pda in uniform, Jake gave her a big kiss on the lips, not caring who saw. “You are the most exceptional human being on this planet.”
“Jake,” tears welled in her eyes, which he kissed away. Her heart filled with warmth and gratitude. Feeling on top of the world with her closest friends supporting her.
Once all calmed down and they finished the meeting, Mickey jumped from his seat, “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” Everyone sped to the Hard Deck to celebrate the news. Mav bought the first round, followed by Payback.
“Guys you don’t have to do all that,” Y/n said once she realized they all agreed to buy her drinks for the night.
“We want to,” Nat tapped her beer with Y/n’s cocktail glass, the guys voicing agreements. “For years you’ve been dreaming about this and it’s finally happening. Your hard work is paying off and we want to celebrate—show you we love and appreciate you, Barbie.”
Y/n fought back tears, never afraid to show her emotions. Some may find it childish or thinned skin, but to Y/n that was what being human was all about. “I love you guys.”
“We love you!” The voices echoed together.
The night had been going well with the squad hanging out by the pool tables like they usually did when Y/n approached the bar to pick up the next round Mickey was paying for. Not paying attention to those beside her, she smiled at Penny and repeated the order before waiting patiently.
But what’s a night at a bar without someone who lacks boundaries.
“You must be the one they call Barbie,” a voice says, flirtation seeping through the words. Glancing to her right, Y/n recognizes a gentleman from the flight line whose name she could not recall. “You’re quite the talk around base. In fact, weren’t you in some Hollywood blockbuster?”
“Yes,” she politely responds, keeping the answer short. Though she was known to be a sweetheart and kindhearted to anyone she met, Y/n could tell where the interaction was heading toward and did not feel comfortable entertaining it any further. “A long time ago.”
“I’m Lieutenant Paul Billings,” he extended his hand, and she immediately clocked he was trying to show off his rank. ‘Boy he’s in for a treat.’
Not wanting to make a scene, she accepts the handshake. “Commander Y/n L/n,” there was emphasis on the Commander, displaying the woman was of higher rank and therefore a silent warning to Billings to not cross a line.
There was a flash of surprise on his face. Y/n held back an amused laugh, ‘guess you didn’t hear everything.’
“Something the matter, Lieutenant?”
“No,” he brushes it off, “Nothing. Say,” he nods to the bar, “can I buy you a drink.” Did he not just hear her order a round for the people she came with?
“That’s kind of you,” she starts just as Penny arrives with a try full of cold beers and her usual cocktail. “But I’m all set, thank you.” Hands moving to take the tray, she jumps slightly at the feeling of his own coming to her wrist.
“What about lunch this week?”
“I’m sorry but I am spoken for, Lieutenant,” removing his hold, Y/n takes a step away.
Now Paul had lost his reasonable composure. Scoffing, he says, “What? Am I not enough for you?” The question results in her raising a brow.
“I beg your pardon?”
He makes a face, “You think because you’ve done all these careers and occupations that you’re better than the average person? I’m not a pilot and an actor or researching the cure for cancer while creating a documentary series,” venom seeps through his tone, obviously depicting his jealousy, “Basic is not up to your standards, so you have to throw our failures in our face as if we don’t already know.”
By now a crowd has formed. Jake started moving the second he noticed Billings etching too close to his girl, followed by Nat and the others who were ready to back him up. Behind the bar, Penny was fixing to ring the bell until being stopped by Y/n’s wave of the hand.
“Are you done?”
Paul’s expression was that of, “what?” No audible response was voiced therefore Y/n continued.
“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and say this, Paul,” Y/n drops her shoulder. The change in body language let Jake and her friends know she wasn’t taking anything that the man said personally. “I know I should be offended by your insults and insinuations, but the truth is I’m not.” A small smile forms on her lips, “I don’t view myself higher than anyone because of what I accomplished. The only person I do that to, is myself—because I don’t have to prove to no one but me that I am capable of achieving what I set my mind to. And yeah,” a light chuckle escapes, “I’ve set my mind to a lot of things—way more than the average person. But that doesn’t mean you or anyone else can’t do the same.”
Pausing Y/n takes a breath before exhaling, “You look at me, and hate the way it makes you view yourself. Makes you believe you’re a failure because you didn’t follow the path you hoped to make for yourself.” Paul’s expression shifts to one of solemnity, like he was thinking of his younger self who had dreams and aspirations. Mourning what could have been.
It made Y/n sad for him. Empathetic despite him attacking her. “One thing I’ve learned over the years…is time is what you make of it. Life is about taking risks. You can still set out to do whatever it is you wish, as long as you’re committing to taking the risk no matter how scary it is. Sure you’ll find obstacles and it’ll feel like the whole world is against you. But determination will guide you through the walls, and you will be successful so that you can look back and think, ‘it was worth it.’ As cliche as it sounds,” she couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Barbie isn’t a person or an object you can obtain. Barbie is a mindset. And you have to unlock it in your own way, Paul.”
It was so quiet in the building, a pin could drop and everyone would hear it. Their looks of awe, admiration, and even newfound motivation by Y/n’s speech. Impressed by how classy she handled what very well could have been a scream match between rival squadrons.
Behind Billings the Dagger squad stood with proud smirks at their friend. Especially Jake, who caught Y/n’s eyes and threw her a wink. Nat gave the woman a salute, a silent gesture to say, ‘you inspire me everyday.’
And Billings? Well he was at a loss for words.
Patting his shoulder, Y/n grabbed the tray of drinks, “I wish you luck, Paul.” Thanking Penny, who gave her a proud nod and replied, “this ones on the house,” Y/n returned to her friends where she was met with a sweet kiss from Jake, claps on the back and “You go girl!” “Tell them who’s boss.” “Damn, you made me wanna go out there and live life the way I should.”
“What’s stopping you, Javy?” she handed him a beer, “the world is your playground.”
A couple hours later it was time to call it a night. Hugs went around, promises to meet up the following night and tabs were closed.
On their way out, Jake dropped a kiss to Y/n forehead, pulling her close to him as he led her to the door of the parking lot, “So what’s next for you, doll? You’ve proved you can be anything and anyone you chose to be,” he grins at her, “What will you set your mind to now after space?”
“First, I want to write a book—I think that’s something a lot have been waiting for me to do. Afterwards, well, I’ll have to wait a couple more years, but,” The corner of Y/n’s lips lift up before flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m thinking….the Oval Office is in need of a makeover. Don’t you think?”
Then, before he could answer, Y/n turns her head in the opposite direction as if she’s trying to find a hidden camera. Makes eye contact with you, the reader, winking before turning back to Jake where she sets off on her next adventure.
…………….
TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris
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uwuboowoo · 1 year
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The snowflakes will guide you home | Viktor x f!Reader | 4k + words | One-shot
For my dear friend @uniquedeerwitch , surprise, I am your Secret Santa:3 Heehee. I went with the eloping prompt, but also added a few more things that I think you will enjoy<3 I hope you're having a good time, that you're warm and that you like this. Yo la kiero compadre<3
This is a fic done for the @therealtendercrisps 's Secret Santa event! Thank you for organizing this:)
Tags/warnings: Elopement, FLUFF, a smidge of smut but nothing too serious, and depiction of Viktor's and Reader's kids:) sort of canon-divergence with this one!
I also listened to this song on loop while writing this:
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Viktor considered himself a lucky man.
Regardless of circumstances. Regardless of being born in one of the most polluted zones of Zaun, the Entresol, where toxic fumes came to rest and conglomerate in a thick cloud of pestilence, acid, and disease.
But despite that, he was a lucky child.
His parents worked endlessly to stack coin after coin and save for Viktor's education.
Schools were either rare or the work of people who created community schools with the tools at their reach, and Viktor was brought to one of these places when he was little, since the first time his dad realized he was starting to read at just three years old. They accompanied his learning with home education provided by them, in whatever field they could teach him something of.
He had to move constantly from building to building, running away from the constant chemspills roaring from the factories, the rumble making Zaun's fragile foundations tremble in protest as if they were the monster under Viktor's bed.
This was an annoyance for sure, meaning he had to leave whatever invention he was working on incomplete, but it also meant his parents had small savings for a rainy day, that they were just ready in case something, anything, happened.
How lucky he was to have loving, doting parents that would reveal all their cards in favor of his beloved son, Viktor.
And when he was just a teenager with dreams reflecting in his eyes and hope held in his hands, he was lucky enough to have someone believe in him, in his designs, in his craft. Lucky enough to have helped an entire production line and reduced human error to almost zero, and then doing so in other workshops. The money that was given to him would be of aid when he decided to pursue his dreams.
He considered himself a lucky man, taking into account his unorthodox method of entering the Academy. His parents at first looked at him as if he grew a third arm, incredulous at the words Viktor uttered. Their plan was for him to enroll in the College of Techmaturgy, knowing him fully capable of succeeding and standing out among his peers, maybe even having the honor of a well-off patron. And regardless of the strangeness of what Viktor was proposing, his parents, with a heavy, hopeful sigh, agreed to instead buy a uniform from Piltover’s Academy.
His luck could only be considered one of a kind when he met you. A friend of Jayce who happened to be not only kind, funny, and gentle, but also a great artist and in his eyes, the most beautiful person he’s ever met. He would have been happy to just remain as your friend, even in those evenings when he sat with you under a tree, the cold twilight of winter already vanishing on the horizon, both sets of hands trembling but not by the cold. Seeping under all those warm layers protecting you from the chilly air, threading between the space between you two, a different kind of flower started to grow, and it would bloom even before spring.
The night you walked with him to stargaze in a solitary square, cobblestone threatening to freeze underneath the soles of your shoes, his cheeks red by both your presence and the cold weather. And you, wanting to try out your luck with him and see, dare to believe that your feelings were reciprocated, uttering in a voice that he would forever register in his memory.
“Your cheeks are cold.”
Face held between your hands, each of your thumbs delicately caressing the skin over his cheekbones, like the most precious of your treasures being admired under your loving gaze. And then, just then, he closed the infinitesimal distance between your lips, in the gentlest iteration of a kiss you have ever experienced.
It felt like a shared secret, like the mischievous winter wind taking away loose pages, like the twinkling of a star but only for you two.
That day, he considered buying a lottery ticket but persuaded himself from it because that would be abusing his fortune.
The years would pass you two by, not a single moment wasted once you two were together.
Seasons kept their natural course, first the blooms of spring and the walks to show him your favorite flowers, a tender smell lingering in the air that could only be attributed to the scent of gardenias and jasmines, the cherry candies he kept in his pocket for you, fruity drinks you carefully made for him or maybe a combination of everything. You pressed between books every flower he tucked behind your ear, preening under his gaze because of all these flowers, he considered you the most beautiful one to have ever been.
Summer came with a loud announcement when one day you got so fed up, that you decided to wander around your house while wearing only a thin white cotton shirt and your underwear, not caring if Viktor spent four out of seven days of the week in your house, trying to cool himself with every new fresh concoction you came up with. Your choice of clothing –or rather, lack of it–, made the task of cooling himself almost impossible. That summer you wouldn’t get to wear much once you were inside the comfort of your home, either because of the scorching summer heat or because Viktor was going to help you out of them anyways. After all, whether you were scribbling away in your respective notebooks, or you were panting his name in between kisses from underneath him, your skin was going to be damp with sweat and hot anyways. And you much rather preferred the second option, to have him between your legs whispering sweet promises in your ear.
His luck was carried with him to autumn, green leaves turning like twilight, like the sunset full of orange and yellow. Like the color of the fire you started at the chimney of your place, safely tucked away from the sharp fall wind that left the tips of ears cold, lips cracked and hands searching for another set to hold. His arms suddenly felt empty, the ache for you growing more and more each night you had to say goodbye and part into different roads, each one headed to their own lonely, empty, cold apartments.
And by the time another winter came around, he was already sure that he’d like to keep you for the rest of winters, for any upcoming spring. For however much time destiny allowed him to be by your side, no matter how cruel the upcoming seasons were, or how sweet the next summers treated you. Enjoying the sun and bracing together for the snow, arms stretched towards the fire as if you were trying to chase for the sun.
Voices calling, singing for one another, and always a reply in the darkness in a comforting melody.
Spring became summer, summer gave way for autumn to come, and another autumn passed before winter came once again. And the cycle repeated: hot chocolate was exchanged for fresh tea, tea was changed for a cold lemonade, lemonade was left behind in favor of tea, and finally, the tea was abandoned for a time before switching to rich chocolate.
Years pleasantly passed in a sweet rhythm, where eventually you not only joined your lives, but also your spaces, your dreams, your fears, a place where you would be safe, warm, and loved.
Even though the troubles and tribulations of daily life left you exhausted and wanting to drift away, he was your rock, your safe haven amidst the unforgiving circumstances of the here and the now.
“Fuck my life.” Your starting sentence left no place for further questioning: there was something that was not going according to your plans.
And Viktor, ever the so-sweet voice of reason, calmly opened the chair right beside him on the breakfast nook and offered with his hand for you to take a seat.
His hand rubbing circles on your back was a comforting anchor for all the twisting and turning ideas inside your head, especially when you propped your elbows on the table, cheeks covered by your own palms in a pout that, despite Viktor knowing it was due to troubling, he couldn’t help but find cute.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
“Look at this shit,” you answer, hand almost shoving the paper sheet you held into his face.
He took the form in his hands, those sharp eyes scrutinizing the paper in a few seconds.
“This is, eh… Unexpected. And frankly ridiculous if you ask me.”
“I know!”
Your arms decided to give up on supporting your weight, and finally, they fell to your sides like two noodles hanging from a pair of chopsticks. The trembling didn’t help much, and your forehead came to rest flat on the table, a sigh momentarily warming up your nose.
“They are, eh… They are basically telling you to be a Piltovan citizen or abandon forever the right to sell your paintings, yes?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“And… Are there any loopholes, any way you can solve this situation?”
You heard the soft tap of his cane, announcing that he was standing up with the intention of rummaging through the cupboards. If he couldn’t serve as a way of cheering you up, then he was going to find your favorite dark, rich and bitter chocolate to serve it warm.
In no time a steaming hot mug full of chocolate was served before you, with a chocolate pastry on a plate. You knew that Viktor’s first response upon hearing something was troubling you was a how can we fix this?
You took a sip of the drink, enjoying how your face and the tip of your nose seemed to warm up almost instantaneously, for a moment your worries washing away a little bit more, with each stroke of Viktor’s thumb on your cheekbone.
He retook his place by your side, holding your hand over the table and softly threading his long, lithe fingers with yours. He always enjoyed how his hand looked right beside yours, like they were in the place they were supposed to be.
“So,” you started, taking another sip of chocolate before continuing, “I have two options. Well, three, if we count not being able to have an income from my art as an option. The first one is trying to apply for Piltovan citizenship through offices, bureaucracy, and useless processes that honestly? They won’t even do shit. Not unless I am employed by a Piltovan citizen, or I have studied in the Academy. And besides, that will take literal years to achieve.”
Your back reclined into the back of the chair, eyes facing the roof for a moment before letting out a defeated sigh that seemed more like a huff. frustration at your own helplessness taking over you.
“And I need this to be done by the beginning of the next year. A little over a week after Progress Day.”
His gaze, while curious about your predicament, held a pointed stare. Not at you, of course, but at the problem itself. Wanting to make it go away, evaporate it into nothingness, eliminate whatever thing was filling your thoughts with dread, and slowly eating away at your sanity.
“Why would they even do that…? They are one of the only galleries that show the work of artists from the Undercity. It's almost self-sabotage, you yourself have told me that that is one of the main reasons they have succeeded as a gallery… What could have prompted this?”
You let out a laugh, even more bitter than the chocolate you have almost finished.
“Because some rich snobs from the richest part of this rich, snob city decided that the only way for people like us to succeed in art was from stealing.”
“I’m not sure I’m understanding…”
“Some people, apparently people that have never even fucking heard about this gallery before, or even the godsdamned workshop beside it, think that because there’s no art school in the Undercity, there is no fucking way for people down there to have any ounce of artistic talent. So the next plausible option for them is that we stole all the pieces exhibited. Some people are very fucking creative to make excuses as to why they’re a bunch of classists, honestly.”
You could see anger in his gaze. Anger not only at this new measure to drive away people that came from Zaun, but a whole system that did in fact fail you, that has failed you both.
“It sounds like a sound of xenophobic bullshit, too.”
“I’m afraid it does,” he says, voice showing the way he tried to compose himself in favor of offering comfort and most importantly, a solution.
He already was aware of what other alternatives would entail. Part of your income came from teaching classes and workshops, and that specific gallery you worked for and that occasionally exhibited your works was the only one in Piltover that refused to disclose the origins of some of its professors and artists. Whether it was from Zaun or from Ionia, from Bilgewater or Demacia, no one except the workers themselves were entitled to any kind of information regarding the place someone was born.
“You mentioned another alternative, too.”
“Ah, yeah… So you know that there are people that just by having some names associated with them, have some kind of prestige, at least in the eyes of many people in the city. People working for the council or assisting councilors, or people that have a high rank within the enforcers, Academy’s researchers, and–”
“Yes. I do know that, my love.” His tone was not harsh, but he was encouraging you to get to the point.
“I can get married to one of these people and that would save my ass from being thrown into artist jail.”
And in the way his eyes gazed everywhere, you knew the gears in his head were turning.
You already knew what the words you uttered implied. He not only was an academic (and at least the engineering department knew who he was just by the name) but also he had, for a time, the privilege of being an assistant of the Academy’s dean, Cecil B. Heimerdinger, who also was a member of the Council of Piltover.
And he wouldn’t refuse to sign as a witness for Viktor. You could also get Jayce Talis, Man of Progress himself and one of the closest friends of Viktor, to sign as your witness too for good measure. Yes, that seemed like a good idea. Also, he thinks that you would–
“Viktor?” you asked softly, watching how lost in thought he was for a few moments.
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t even say anything yet!”
Despite your protest, you couldn’t help but start to giggle.
“You don’t need to,” he says, frantically rushing to your shared bedroom only to hear him open a drawer for a few seconds before he is back in the kitchen.
“Viktor! You need to think this more carefully, what if–”
“No. I even bought a ring a few months before. I was just… Eh, waiting for the right moment, perhaps?”
And instead of sitting on the chair he was occupying moments ago, he propped himself on one knee, supporting himself with his stronger leg.
His fingers fumbled for a few seconds with the velvet box, and you already knew what it was.
Knowing exactly what it was overwhelmed you to no end.
When did he even have time to choose it? How in the world did he know your ring size?
“Please concede me the honor of marrying me.”
As if you needed further convincing, his eyes reflected the lights in the room, and his smile was only making your heart race.
“Yes.”
The ring fits perfectly around your finger, and the more you looked at it, the more you were convinced this was exactly where the piece of jewelry belonged.
You offered a hand to help him stand on his feet once again, and not letting go, you used your linked hands to bring him to you. Viktor lost no time and held your face between his hands, both getting lost in the giddiness that he was going to become your husband soon.
You would get to call him yours, and he would call you his. For the foreseeable future, for a couple of decades more. For the rest of your lives, and a little bit more if you could make it happen.
“Tomorrow, or as soon as we can,” you said.
“If I am correct, the courthouse doesn’t close until two hours. We could try our luck and see if there is someone available to, eh, make the union official, yes?”
After that, it was as if your feet moved by themselves to gather every possible paper they could ask for, fueled by the excitement you felt at the sole thought of Viktor being your husband by today’s dinner.
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Viktor was a lucky man.
He had the privilege of calling you his one and only, and the honor of you accepting to forever join him in the mysterious path that was life.
And his lucky streak came in handy when there was one judge available to lead you two through the process of signing any paperwork, and officiating an impromptu ceremony that was standard for anyone wanting to get married in Piltover.
Jayce ran off his house the moment the emergency telegram reached him, shirt askew, messy hair, and a bright smile plastered on his face. He carried with him a form attached to a letter that professor Heimerdinger signed in a hurry, along with a brief congratulations card for Viktor.
The process was quick and frankly unexciting in and of itself, but it was made so much better by every squeeze of Viktor’s hand on yours, by every knowing glint reflected in his eyes, and by every grin he gave you every time you corresponded to these gestures.
Signatures were collected in brief moments and the judge read aloud something akin to ‘the present judge now declares you as equal spouses, equals to one another and equals to the city of Piltover itself’.
Once you were out of the building, Jayce was all hugs and congratulations to both of you. But as quickly as he had come, he was gone too.
“I would love to have dinner with both of you but, huh… I think I will leave you to celebrate by yourselves by today.”
You knew what he meant. Viktor knew what he meant. And you honestly couldn’t care less of the fact that he knew you were going to be very busy tonight.
The walk home was peaceful, and Viktor could barely contain his smile as he held your hand walking home.
He had imagined before what it would be like to get married to you. Would it be a fancy celebration? Or a rather simple dinner? Big or small? Sometimes he imagined you picking an intricate dress that would be difficult to get into, with lace, buttons, and a corset attached to it, with matching makeup. Sometimes he imagined you choosing a simple dress that fluttered at the lower ends with the wind, dedicating a smile to him, and walking side by side in a vibrant green garden, a butterfly in the wind that chose to fly alongside him.
But then he decided that you couldn’t have looked more beautiful, wearing a very simple white dress that covered the entirety of your arms, but barely covered your knees, alongside flower pins in your hair that in his mind, made you seem as a creature that came directly out of a fantasy novel. And the snowflakes getting caught between your eyelashes were the perfect touch to frame that set of eyes that he adored so much.
You looked beautiful, and he planned on showing you how precious you were to him.
He couldn’t carry you through the threshold of your apartment, but you couldn’t deny how delightfully surprised you were when he held your face on his hands right when you opened the door, giving you a sweet, long kiss that let you feel his smile on your lips.
Once the door was closed and the lock on its place, you noticed the small place you and Viktor lived in: despite looking the exact same way it looked before going to the courthouse, there was something different about it. Perhaps it was the fact that newcomers to the building would ask who lived in apartment number 5, and your neighbors would answer oh, a cute pair of newlyweds! One works for the Academy, the other does art at a workshop near the bridge.
Perhaps it was the fact that the piece of welded iron that now served as your wedding ring felt heavy on your hand, instead of a burdening kind of heavy, it was a comforting weight on your hand, reminding you that you were now married to him, married to Viktor.
The events of the day left you without much appetite. Still, you decided to ask Viktor if he wanted to eat something.
“Do you want to have something to eat?”
Before you could even begin to process anything, really, his hands found your waist, cane hooked over his elbow and his gaze hungry with something more, hungry with desire.
“You.”
The way to the bedroom was a hazy memory once you found yourself inside, too distracted by Viktor’s kissing and his roaming hands, impatient to get handfuls of you.
“Come to bed with me, wife,” you didn’t miss the teasing tone in his voice, and you much enjoyed the way he said it.
“I will. I’m very cold, but you will help warm me up, right?”
His lips smashed against yours once again, possessive, devouring, biting the soft skin and tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.
The rest of the night would be an unforgettable one.
Clothes were thrown all over the floor, some discarded in a corner of the bedroom, others ripped by the force that they were taken off.
Viktor once again would thank his lucky star, for he did not remember a sight more beautiful, more enticing, than having you on top of him.
His eyes burned with adoration as he admired your naked body, nipples taut peaks by both the cold and your own arousal. His hands wouldn’t get enough of your body, bouncing on his lap and begging, pleading with those eyes for him to fill you up, to keep pleasuring you with both his cock buried deep inside you and his thumb rubbing relentless circles on your clit.
Bodies warm against one another in a sheer contrast against the cold winter air, you wouldn’t stop until it was well past midnight, well until you realized there was a snowstorm outside.
The remaining days would be spent together, in between kisses, sweet nothings and baking to pass time.
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“Mom, when did you marry dad?” asked your five year old son, hair still a mess from his troubled sleep.
Your oldest child had been dealing with nightmares as of late, and while Viktor and you could put him to sleep with ease a few minutes after he woke up, today was the exception, bringing him to your shared bed so he could snuggle between you two.
“A few months before you were born, kid.”
“And why did you marry him?”
Your husband in question, Viktor, snorted into the pillow. Kids were naturally curious, and this inclination towards asking all sorts of questions was incredibly endearing to him.
“Because I love him.”
“Oh.” He seemed satisfied with that answer, until… “Dad, do you love mom?”
“Very much so, little one.”
“And did mom dress like a princess at your party? Did you have a party?”
“We didn’t,” you answered, remembering that there was only a small dinner organized by your parents and Viktor’s mom, cake brought by Jayce’s mom herself. “But do you see how much snow there is today?”
“Yes!”
“It was snowing when your dad and I got married.”
“Oh. And did you have fun?”
There was a very knowing look Viktor gave you. You indeed had fun that night, the same kind of fun that left your firstborn as the happy aftermath, your second son as yet another joyous consequence, and the same kind of fun that now had you expecting your third (and hopefully last) baby.
“Yes, we did.”
Finally satisfied with his inquiries, you could tell your child was beginning to drift away into sleep. Viktor searched for your hand and brought it to his mouth, placing a delicate kiss on your knuckles.
He mouthed the words I love you on your skin, admiring gaze placed on you with fondness, occasionally stealing glances at your round belly.
Closing his eyes once again, he thanked every star and every streak of dumb luck that allowed him to be right there and right now, shielded from the winter, healthy and loved, right inside the small sanctuary he built with you.
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full-moon-full-team · 1 month
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Fortune Favors the Bold
(Persona 3 spoilers)
A sound of acknowledgement. The Ralts chirped gently, tilting its head upwards towards Makoto. He adjusted one of his earphones to not cover the ear facing them entirely, giving a soft, but undeniable nod in response to the small creature. His nose had a bandage on it and his lip was still a bit cracked, but he was still relatively alright despite his. Forceful meeting with the ground the night prior.
Faintly, the young man hummed, peering upwards. The Ralts didn't annoy him. Desperate as it seemed to be to stay around him, he didn't exactly seem all that bothered by its presence. He had no clue about what gender it was or why it had such an affinity for him, but. He could mime these little "conversations" just fine. They weren't as annoying as people. He actually had to think of how to word things around them.
With how bright the moon was in the sky, it lit up Sandgem almost as much as the general streetlights were. A small town, sleepy at this time of night. But according to the night clerk at the Pokémon Center, the professor of the region had a rather unorthodox habit of staying up far too late for his own good. Professor Rowan, who specialized in Pokémon evolution, apparently. Night time evolutions were apparently a thing, and he was seemingly raising two Pokémon kits at the moment to make sure that he could see exactly how that played out.
Makoto, ever the pragmatist, figured that would have been his best bet to learn a bit more about what Pokemon as a whole were and potentially even get a good grip on what this Ralts even wanted. If anything. It wasn't like they would just want to share space with him, they were a wild monster and he was just some high schooler. A shift of his earbud back onto his ear a bit better as he reached for the door to the lab, grasping--
"Thanks again, I'll keep in touch once I--"
THWUMPH--
The door was swung open as Makoto grasped onto the door handle. It caught him just off guard enough that he had no real way of reacting to having an entire other person slam straight into him. There was no fanfare, they both simply tumbled to the dirt road with Makoto on his back and this new mystery person upon his chest, coughing. "A-ah, man, I'm sorry...!" A masculine one, similar in tone to Makoto's own, a tinge of yellow crossed the floored guy's eyes. And eventually, white matched it, the undershirt of what looked like a school uniform donning a yellow scarf above it. And the other, slicked back hair of a black hue, finally stood himself with a blink of gray eyes that matched Makoto's own. A smile crossed his lips, almost on instinct.
And in them flashed a notable amount of excitement as he glanced down at them. "Oh, there you are! I was getting kinda worried you wouldn't get here in time." Out came a hand, and Makoto stared at it for a curt few seconds. Long enough for the one standing to begin to lose his smile. It fell entirely when Makoto began to stand on his own. The earphone he had been fiddling with fell off his ear entirely, allowing the song, Burn My Dread, to calmly play from it as he brushed himself off.
"Please watch where you're going." Curt. Calm. Not a hint of anger or annoyance. But a distinct lack of something else that the other was expecting: recognition.
"... Really, Yuki-kun? The cold shoulder? Ouch. I know the last time we met wasn't the best of terms, but that's harsh." He rubbed the back of his head, one hand sliding down into his pocket as it happened. Embarrassment flashed across his face as he glanced up a bit sheepishly from a lowered gaze. "You're gonna blow my goodwill with that kinda talk."
"I don't see how--"
"Ah, yes! Was this that 'Makoto' you were speaking of Ryoji?" An older fellow's voice, soft but audible enough to be heard. There was a moment of pause as the one with the scarf was addressed, and he reached out to grasp Makoto's arm to abruptly yank him inside. There was a moment of almost fake protesting, though the furrow in his brow stated it was genuine. However, as the door was soon closed, the white-shirted young man stepped to the side with a bow and a motion straight to who he had yanked in. Which allowed Makoto to notice who had been speaking.
An elder man. White hair, a practical mullet of it on his head and muttonchops to match. The mustache stretching his entire face as well, the sideburns, the hair all matching the snowy appearance with much lighter gray eyes peering out towards them. However, the warmness in his gaze helped to emphasize the other notable trait. Underneath of his sweater-vested upper body was his lap. Which held two very small creatures.
One, brown fur mixed with the cream of their rather cushioned scarf of fluff, peacefully sleeping while the other looked over with a curious gaze as their fur had a pointedly different coloration: silver with white. Two very young, but very healthy little Eevee. "Do forgive me for not coming to see you. I had heard you were in the local doctor's care, but I had been out of town until just the last few hours."
"... It's fine. I was coming here anyways," mused Makoto, his bored expression completely contrasting the other two beside him. Ryoji gave another embarrassed grimace, wincing slightly at his tone while the Ralts... well. They were giving Rowan quite a prompt look of wonder before, as per usual, grasping right onto Makoto's pant leg.
Rowan was not ignorant of these occurrences. This so-called "friend" was seemingly a walking plank of wood... that a Ralts of all things seemed attached to at the hip? And with a lack of a Pokéball anywhere on his person... He stroked the silver-furred kit in his lap, smiling warmly at Makoto. "Your friend here tells me you're a recent arrival in Sinnoh and that you had an inkling to learn a bit more about Pokémon, is that right?"
"I came for that reason, yes, but--" A hand wrapped right around Makoto's shoulder as he attempted to dismiss the 'friend' comment, Ryoji tugging him right into a half-hug with a bright grin.
"Told ya, Professor! He's a real--" "Personal space." "--passionate fellow underneath all of that sulking and brooding."
Makoto's expression was just. Tired. Completely deadpan, not a hint of malice or anger. He was just dealing with this with one of the most bored faces one could wear. Which juxtaposed hilariously against the bright smile his "friend" was displaying... and the equally as excitedly smiling little Ralts, who was looking up with a light clap of their arms together. And poor Rowan couldn't help but laugh in pure amusement at this matching. "Well how can I refuse such a heartfelt plea! Makoto, your expression belies your good heart. A Ralts does not approach someone like you without getting a good feeling from you."
"Can you explain Ryojis?" The scarfed teen snorted at the comment and gave Makoto a small pat on the back before resting a hand on his shoulder a bit more casually, the opposite hand sliding right into a pocket once more.
"All this after I told you to remember? A dagger straight to the heart." This caught Makoto off-guard. Enough that his eyes showed a bit more consideration to the concept of knowing them, even going over to look at Ryoji. This time... he smiled a bit more warmly. And nodded gently in response. This gave a moment of pause, one that Ryoji egged on. "Go on."
In that same voice as the night prior.
Makoto looked forward. He let his hands slide into his pockets. And he glanced to Rowan with a gentle nod.
"... What can you tell me about Pokemon?"
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kbthebearcat · 4 months
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Art from January! WALL OF TEXT INCOMING (I copied and pasted the desc I typed out on DA hgngh…) I looked up poses for some of the characters that inspire me when it comes to Troy’s character and his world.
The ones I picked here are Fred from Scooby Doo, Doyle from Galaxy High, and StarLord from Guardians of the Galaxy. 
All of these character I feel share similar traits and energy. All of them can be goofy and silly or like to crack jokes,  and even have similar physical characteristics. Fred is usually depicted as being a bit out of touch and does some pretty unexpected and funny things, also gives off “himbo” vibes. His actions or methods to catch the bad guy can seem unorthodox, but still work. Overall just quirky, but means well. I see Troy as that too. Unless it’s a very serious situation, Troy’s silliness and goofiness is going to come out while he’s on the job and in uniform, but that doesn’t mean you can’t count on him to get the job done.
In the more recent stuff they show Fred to have an obsession with nets and traps, and that reminds me of Troy and his love for tacos. He also just gets excited or really happy about certain things in general, which makes me think of Troy too, because he can get like that about things. I could have chosen a lot of poses and expressions with Fred tbh, but I saw him making that one in a clip I was looking at, and I just got an urge to draw it. 
I haven’t gotten to watch every episode of Galaxy High yet, (there aren’t that many as the show didn’t last too long) but from what I’ve seen, there’s a lot of elements in there that inspire me, not just the main character. The overall plot of him and another human girl from earth being chosen to attend a high school in space is already interesting to me. There’s aliens of all kinds co-mingling, futuristic tech, space-related hijinks, and just good-ole 80s vibes! Which of course, I always enjoy. 
Doyle himself is pretty much a jock. Not an extreme one, but I’d consider him being in the category. He’s sporty/athletic, plays football. That reminds me of Troy because he’s athletic and sporty too and plays basketball. That’s why I thought that pose there would be a good one to try.
They make Doyle out as meaning well too, but since he’s a teenager his choices aren’t always the best. There’s usually a lesson to learn at the end of an episode. Even though Troy isn’t a teenager, he’s still a young adult, and can honestly still act like a teen or big kid anyway.
ALSO Doyle works as waiter at a diner, and Troy works as a waiter at a restaurant when in hooman disguise! I didn’t even know about Galaxy High when I made that a thing for Troy, so I thought that was an interesting similarity as well. I’m tempted to draw Troy in the outfit Doyle wears just for the fun of it.
Annd then we have Starlord, who may be the least surprising choice here…. He’s a part of a group called “Guardians of the Galaxy”. They travel around space helping people, fight bad guys… and there’s some comedic flare thrown into the mix. I mean, that’s pretty much Troy’s concept in a nutshell. Starlord himself reminds me of Troy in a lot ways. I could see Troy listening to oldies music while in his ship, or exploring a planet, jamming out and all that. Cracking jokes while he’s fighting with something or someone. All that stuff. 
Whew boy, uh… sorry for this wall of text here. If you made it to the end of this then kudos to you haha. ;w; Just felt like giving a bit of explanation for each character here… there’s many more characters that have inspired me with Troy though. 
Also this was a experiment here, taking screenshots or looking up pics of characters that inspire me and trying to redraw their poses/expressions. I gotta do this more. I’ve never really gotten to before but it really helps with going out of my comfort zone and exploring a character more. 
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veronicaleighauthor · 4 months
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Before “Little Women”
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Louisa May Alcott is best known as the author of the American classic “Little Women,” and has become synonymous with her literary counterpart, Jo March. While the Alcott family and their experiences inspired the events of the book, we must remember it is fiction and Louisa was her own person. She was raised by the idealistic Bronson Alcott and practical Abigail May. The Alcott’s were often in debt, starving and moving from place to place, yet their unorthodox Transcendental beliefs encouraged them to continually sacrifice for others. It was not uncommon for them to ration their food and give what they had to spare to the less fortunate. The Transcendentalists supported the abolition of slavery before it was popular; Bronson welcomed an African American girl into his classroom and was later forced to close down his school for such a progressive act. The Alcott family even had connections to the Underground Railroad.
            When the Civil War began, the Alcott’s did their part. They rolled bandages, donated their time and meager funds. For Louisa that was not enough. A woman of action, she was not satisfied with sitting on the sidelines and she was not faint of heart. For years she struggled alongside her family, striving for something more. At age fifteen she made a vow: “I will do something by and by. Don’t care what, teach, sew, act, write, anything to help the family. I’ll be rich and famous and happy before I die, see if I won’t!” She had always had a knack for writing and had begun to make a small name for herself writing blood and thunder tales. Louisa had become her family’s breadwinner.
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Dorothea Dix and her band of nurses broke barriers. Prior to the Civil War, it was unthinkable for a lady to attend to wounded and ailing men. Early on in the war, only married women were allowed to participate. By 1862, the Union was so desperate for volunteers, that they accepted unmarried ladies. When Louisa heard of this, she volunteered and headed to Washington. Bronson felt as though he were “sending his only son to war.” It was the only acceptable way Louisa could serve her country, without actually donning on a uniform and fighting. This was one of the many times she lamented being born a girl instead of a boy.
            On her arrival at the hospital, Louisa’s eyes were open to the results of war. She supported the Union wholeheartedly and believed that slavery was a great evil. However, she realized that there was no glory in the suffering of men who shed their blood. Men of all ages and backgrounds were coming straight from the battlefield. They were mangled, ill, and many dying. The ones that survived, their broken bodies and spirits had to be repaired. Louisa washed them, administered medication, assisted in surgeries and amputations, read to them and helped them write letters home to their families.
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She connected with one Union soldier; a Virginian blacksmith named John. She was drawn to his strength and quiet grace. As he slipped away, she remained by his side, holding his hand. Withdrawing from him, the white marks of his fingers were still pressed into her skin. He also left a lasting impression on her heart. While she worked there, she sent letters home detailing her experiences. Her parents saved and cherished her correspondence.
            Typhus, typhoid fever, cholera, and pneumonia struck down many of the patients…and the hospital staff. Louisa was in her sixth week of nursing when she contracted typhoid fever and struggled between life and death. Her long, dark hair –which she considered her one beauty- was shorn off to relieve her of her fever. The doctors treated her with mercury, in the form of calomel. Calomel was deemed unsafe, but many physicians still used it, which would result in mercury poisoning. When he heard she was deathly ill, her father Bronson escorted her from the hospital and brought her back home, where it took many months for her to recuperate. Prior to her service as a nurse, Louisa’s health had been robust. But now it was fragile and remained so for the remainder of her life. The mercury would have eventually left her system; however it is suspected that her illness and treatment could have let to her suffering from the auto-immune disease, Lupus.
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When Louisa recovered enough from typhoid fever, she looked over the letters she had sent home. After some editing, she submitted them to a gazette. Excerpts of her work, “Hospital Sketches,” appeared in print throughout the east coast. In 1863, it was published in book form. A slim volume, it was a costly 50 cents and though the royalties she received did not lift her or her family out of poverty, it was a literary success. She received attention and made important connections, paving the way for her to become a famous author.
            Louisa made her youthful vow partly come true. By 1868, through “Little Women,” she was famous and rich. Her family never had to worry about money again. Yet all of that came with a heavy price. The public always wanted another book, her health and emotional state were delicate and she never wrote the kind of fiction that she had dreamt of writing.
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But she was forever proud of her service to her country and at that time in history, she was considered a war veteran.  
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tobitofunction · 2 years
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Oh Baby Part 7
Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part8 Part9 Part10 Part11 part12 part13 part14 part15 part16 part17 part18
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You walked towards the gym when a blonde girl ran into you making you crash to the ground,” I’m sorry” she squealed collapsing on her knees and bowing to you,” It’s okay no harm done” you said carefully getting up rubbing your backside,” Why were you running?”,” I’m late to get my bus, mom is busy with work and she expects me to make dinner” she began rambling,” Hey kid, breath, you choke when you keep that up”,” I’m Y/N L/N” you said holding out your hand,” Your the pregnant cheerleader” she squealed making you sigh,” I guess I should get used to it” you mumbled,” Yes and before you say something remember this phrase if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all” you said making her eyes widen,” I’m sorry, I didn't - you just- I... I’m so sorry” she said bowing again,” It’s fine, I guess I see you around kid”
Daichi was talking to Suga and Asahi when you walked in,” Hey Daichi” you waved him over,” Hey baby” he kissed your temple,” How was your day?” he asked,” The usual but it got better now that I’m here with you” you teased,” Hey, I’m the supposed to be the cheesy one” he nudged you,” Can the two of you not? I feel single enough already” Suga teased making you playfully roll your eyes at him,” Okay ladies, let's get training, but beforehand specs has something to say, “ Ukai said making the group gather around,” Takeda pushed his glasses up his nose and gave an award smile,” Well due to unavoidable circumstances, we have to discuss emm safe sex,” Takeda said blushing softly, you heard a water bottle drop and looked at the direction it came from, it was Asahi who dropped it, his face was red like a lobster,” Do we have too?” he asked,” Yes, you are in the mids of puberty and you will start to have these urges” Takeda began but he quickly changed the subject and looked at you and Daichi,” Y/N and Daichi you two have a meeting with the vice-principal tomorrow before school with your legal guardians,” he said,” my parents disowned me,” you told rubbing your arms,” Daichi’s parents will be enough,” he said,” Sooo you want to have the talk before or after training?”.
The talk with Ukai and Takeda was probably the most awkward thing in the world. Takeda trying to keep it professional while Ukai just explained in the most unorthodox way possible definitely added to the awkwardness but what was the worst was the sneaky looks given to you and Daichi by Hinata, Yamaguchi, and Kageyama.” I hated this” you said walking with Daichi,” It was pretty awkward mostly the locker room afterwards, I felt like I was in the zoo” he said readjusting his gym bag,” I even think that Hinata started at my crotch” he said as entered the house making you lift a brow. “Mom? Dad? We have to talk” Daichi called out making his parents appear,” Is everything okay?” Daichi’s dad ask,” Vice Principal wants to have a chat with us before school tomorrow,” he said,” It was bound to happen sooner or later” his mom sighed wiping her hands on her jeans,” Everything else is okay though right?”,” The whole schools know. That’s about it,” you said walking to your shared room with Daichi.
“Hey Honey, can we talk?” Daichi’s mom asks you laid on Daichi’s bed with your stomach on the mattress and with your chin resting on your hands,” Sure” you said making her sit at the corner of the bed,” Is everything okay?”,” Today I got a taste of how it feels like being off the crows, and how I was treated by people I never was treated before. I was respected, the uniform was a form of protection as among all teams in Karasuno we have the most wins. Being head cheerleader of the team was like a badge of honour, now I’m a loser, slut and they aren't scared to tell me that. Boys are repulsive” you said making Daichi’s mom frown,” You're not any of these things. Yes getting pregnant at 17 isn't ideal but it doesn't make you a slut and not all boys are repulsive” she nudged you with a smile,” All but the Volleyball boys, mostly not Daichi” you smiled,” I know being off the team hurts but you can always try out next year and be head cheerleader again. I know you have it in you” she rubbed your back soothingly,” We are a family now, we will support you and Daichi as much as we can. You defiantly have a free babysitter in us, I can't wait to spoil my grandson”, you smiled at her and sat up,” What do you think Vice-Principal wants to talk about?” she sighed,” The problem with living in the countryside in Japan is that people are more judgmental than in the city. More conservative than in bigger cities” you bit the inside of your cheek,” I will be kicked out of the school like I was of the crows? I know it would be hard getting an education but now I might be stripped from it completely. If so no other school will take me in this prefecture” you pushed your knees to your chest, tears starting to build in your eyes,” I won’t let that happen, they can't just kick you out. You have a right to an education, no matter the circumstances you are in” she moved a piece of fallen hair behind your ear,” If you get kicked, I will leave Karasuno. I join a different school” Daichi said appearing at the door,” What?” you said,” Daichi no” you said,” Why? It’s only fair, yes you are carrying the baby. Still, I’m the father and should be held accountable for my actions as well” he said moving to the bed, grabbing your hands,” I love you Y/N, I go to the ends of the universe for you”,” I appreciate it Daichi but please if I get kicked out, stay it’s your last chance to play with your friends, to go nationals. Don’t let it go to waste. I will always see you after school”,” I-”,” Please Daichi” you begged, he stayed silent for a while before nodding,” It’s all good to hear that but Y/N won't be kicked out of the school and we will make sure of that” Daichi’s dad said putting his hands on his wife's shoulder,” Exactly”. 
“Nice to have you Sawamura” the vice principal had his usual fake smile plastered on his face,” and you L/N”. You tried hard not to roll your eyes at him and Daichi seemed to notice, he reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze,” What are we here to discuss?” Daichi’s dad asked,” Well as you know, L/N found herself in an unusual situation” he said,” I’m involved in this situation as well sir” Daichi said,” Yes of course but L/N is more involved in this than you are”,” Yes, I’m pregnant sir but what do you want to talk about? We aren't just here to have little chat aren't we?” you asked,” I’m here to discuss about the possibility about transferring you-”,” That’s not happening sir, Y/N has friends in this school and is involved in club activities” Daichi’s mom said cutting the vice principal off,” Yes but her position in the volleyball club can be replaced and I heard that you are actively looking for a new manager, why does one club need 2 managers and what is your roll again?”,” I’m helping with injuries and training due to my parent's experience in helping the Japanese national team, I have been observing them since I was little and being a head cheerleader in middle school and later here in Karasuno helped” you said making Daichi smile proudly,” Yes but those things can now be handled by the Coach and the manager” he said,” Y/N is a vital part of the team, she has a close relationship with all of the players. She has the aura of calmness, she also helps handle the more energetic players” Daichi said defending you,” And she helped bring 2 of 10 national titles to this school and probably even more if she hadn't sex with the man with the weakest pull-out game in Japan, who also happened to have a receding hairline at the age of 18 which seemed to be passed down” your cheer coach said barging, her eyes went from Daichi to his dad who looked offended and looked at his wife for reassurance that his hair wasn't horrible.” And I do believe Y/N personality helps bring up a teams spirit up. Since I kicked her ripping stomach out of the team I noticed that I haven't someone to stand up to me. They just do what I say, even smacking themselves with a chicken breast” she said making Daichi’s parents lift a brow,” Y/N, deserves to stay in Karasuno and you will let her. Otherwise, a little birdie will tell the papers about the horrible double Standard in this school between losers like Daichi and winners like Y/N, but now you treat her differently than she was used to be treated” the cheer coach said making the vice principal's nose flare,” Very well, nothing will happen” you smiled,” It was good making business with you Hannah Montana” the coach said to the principal before leaving.
”I’m surprised that your former Coach even showed up,” Daichi said kissing your temple,” Oh Squirtle, you hurt me, you think so little of me? I might have kicked Y/N out but it doesn't mean that I don't care about her” she turns to you,” Squirtle?” Daichi whispered,” Y/n, just that you know I mean every word of what I said in there. I hope to see you back next school year” she turned around and walked away,” But tell anyone about this act of kindness and I will buy your unborn demon a little puppy dog and will become a vital part of your family and one day in darks of a Japanese winter night, I will sneak through your window like the boogyman and I will punch Squirtle’s dad in the face,” she said before turning around and walking away,” I thought it will go to more a darker outcome,” Daichi’s mom said making everyone nod.
The rest of the day went by as usual, besides getting odd looks from both students and teachers and the odd comment from here and there.” Hey Tubbers, can we talk?” your locker was slammed shut by the new head cheerleader,” Do me a favour and don’t try for out the crows next year as Coach keeps comparing me to you and how weak-willed I am. She is just waiting for you to squeeze out that lizard baby and rejoin”,” And how is that my problem that you just don’t have it in you to be head cheerleader. Better get practising from what you say you will need it” you said moving past here,” Your lucky your pregnant or otherwise I would have punched you, slut” she called out after you.
You went to Ukai’s store directly after school. Daichi stayed behind as he had training and with the tournaments coming he can’t miss one so you started taking over his shifts as well, something which Daichi wasn’t keen on but you didn’t mind, as the second the baby is born he won’t have much time to play Volleyball as one most of friends will be busy with college, he will be busy with the police academy training and the baby will be taking the rest of his attention.” Are you sure you going to be okay alone? Normally I’m here with you?” Ukai asked,” Yeah, so long you be back before closing I will be fine” you smiled making Ukai pat your head,” Don’t worry I will be. If you get hungry my mom made some food, it’s in the back in the microwave” Ukai said, you thanked him and he then left. You plopped behind the counter,” Look who we have here?” Oikawa’s voice said,” Oikawa, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a handshake event to attend? Can’t see your fans waiting” You mocked,” I’m here to pick up my nephew from school,” he said,” Beforehand I want to buy him some meat buns,” he said making you nod,” How many do you want?” you asked,” 4, two for me and two for him,” he said making you nod,” Didn’t see you as the type to babysit,” you told placing the hot buns in the brown bag,” You're not the first person to say this. People think I have only Volleyball in my head, well they aren’t wrong as Volleyball means a lot to me but I love taking care of my nephew, he’s also getting into Volleyball which makes me proud” you smiled,” Anything else?”, he hummed,” Do you have milk bread?” you chuckled and nodded,” I don’t want to sound rude but I heard rumours about you being-“,” pregnant? Yeah, I am, don’t ruin the moment as I just began seeing you not as an asshole” you said typing in the products into the register,” No, I won’t. I was just to say if you need help I’m here.. my sister was in a similar situation. She got pregnant young as well”, you didn’t say anything,” That will be 2,000 yen,” you said, he handed you the money and grabbed his stuff,” Oikawa… thank you,” you said making him stop at the door,” Don’t worry, call me Toru” he gave his signature wave and smile before leaving. The next hours went by with nothing significant happening, soon before closing time Ukai and Daichi showed up,” Hey kid, just like I promised here before closing” he smiled,” How was training?” you asked hugging Daichi,” I can’t feel my legs, I have no idea how I’m still walking” he joked,” Get used to it man, until regionals this will be the usual” he patted Daichi on the back who groaned,” I saved you a meat bun” you said,” Ahh what a nice girlfriend, back in my days my girlfriend wouldn’t do that, well she also cheated on me with a guy from the swimming team.... anyway see you tomorrow guys” he said.
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elev-toreth · 1 year
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VICTRIX TORETH
note: most Romulan has been translated into Federation Standard for reader continuity
_____________________________
Streams of blue and green gas slipped over the smooth arcs of the ship's hull, swirls blurring the broad green sweep out to the glowing warp nacelle visible out of the large window. Whitish light spilled in faintly, drowned out by the low lamps illuminating the room. The IRW Khazara was moving smoothly along the edge of a large nebula, skirting the denser concentrations of gas and dust. 
Standing beside the large, heavy bed the ship's commander, Toreth, stood in her shirt sleeves, brushing the heavy uniform jacket smooth with her hand. The rich dark gray and silver fabric gleamed dully in the light, beautiful quality. Loosening the collar at the nape she slipped it on over her head, reaching back to secure it snugly around her throat.
Toreth looked at her image in the mirror. No longer in the bright bloom of youth, she had matured into a handsome woman. Deep set, hazel eyes, at times flashing green and at others a warm brown, gazed cooly back from her reflection. Brows that were beautifully sculpted rose smoothly to disappear under glossy black hair. Her skin had a faint olive undertone, as did all Romulans, a cool cast to it. Elegantly pointed ears that lay close to her skull added to her graceful appearance; a proud, determined commanding officer of the Imperial Navy, serving the Romulan Star Empire.
It had not been an easy road to where she now found herself; it was the result of a life full of grueling study, hard work, harder choices, blood and ruthlessness in war.  
Going to her dresser she picked up her command insignia and carefully affixed it to the throat of her uniform. The metal gleamed in the light as she turned to pick up her brush, smoothing her hair.
After a normal enough Romulan childhood for one of her standing, she had been raised communally until the age of 13, she learned who her parents were and entered secondary schooling. From there she had gone into the compulsory military service all Romulans were required to enter. Her education, right from the earliest times she could remember, had been focused on becoming a commissioned officer. She had attended both the Imperial War College and Intelligence Academy, being polished for work as a field commander with aspirations of an admiralty.
After meeting her parents and extended relations she had learned she was a member of a family well known for remarkable and often somewhat eccentric officers in the Imperial service as well as Senatorial fleets. Not quite of Senatorial rank, they nonetheless had members that reached that high, and well as down to lower castes, having a broad network of ties and alliances. It helped them pull strings, as any of the other equally old and established families did. The vast ancestral family compound was set at a distance from the capital, and enjoyed a taste of a more rural setting though within easy reach of the bustling city where they were often employed.
Many of those members not in active military service instead were in the seemingly endless branches of the government, but notable absent was the Tal'Shiar. The family had a healthy distrust of the secret enforcers of the Imperial service, reasonable given that many were vocal in their wish for a better Romulus for all…not just a select few. The extended family shared the same spirit as all Romulans for family and a zeal for life, but they also had passionate hearts and souls with a strong streak of the unorthodox. This passion usually served them well in their lives.
Yet it could lead to ruin.
An only child, upon rejoining her parents following her Unclouding she was to learn the depth of their love. Many Romulans never knew what it was to have caring parents, she knew she was lucky that hers not only loved her but were touchingly devoted to each other. They indulged her desire to seek a Navy commission, paying to have her receive the best education and training possible.
As a teenager she loved to listen to her father's stories, he had been a decorated officer, a commander himself, who had retired to teach at a training school. His experiences were an excellent basis for educating youths interested in moving on to military service. They inspired a young Toreth to dream of the stars and Imperial service.
As an adult she had a more tempered outlook, but had loved the old man deeply. However, the seemingly inherited family eccentricity had led him to speak out often for a better future for Romulus, one of greater freedom and less warfare, a happier, simpler future. 
The passionate belief in this had led the Tal'Shiar to him, their violating all rules of society and even basic courtesy. They barged in the family compound uninvited, eyes uncovered as they entered the back entry in defiance of all culture and decency, to drag a harmless, idealistic old man from his bed. From the arms of his devoted wife, out into the cold, damp night.
Never to be seen again.
A frantic message had arrived from her mother, begging Toreth to come home, to save her father but everyone knew it was too late. She was commanding the Khazara, engaged in exterminating Klingon colonies, there was no way she could return home. Even if she did there would have been nothing she could have done.
Worse was that they couldn't publicly mourn him, being taken as he had been it was clear her father was to be viewed as a criminal, or a traitor. So tears were shed hidden away, grief strangled in the company of anyone else. It added to the deep pain in her heart.
Just a few months later that passion claimed another victim,Toreth's mother; she had died a shadow of the proud commander's wife she had been for most of her life… from a broken heart.
Toreth went into her wardrobe, where a small vanity was set into the wall tucked close to a small washroom at the back. She carefully selected an eyeshadow that would help bring the green out in her eyes.
While she was in training at the academy she had met a brash young officer who had stolen her heart. Brave, proud, fearless, with a cheeky smile, deep brown eyes, and a handsome face and broad shoulders, he had an excellent education and pedigree. They were mad for one another, excited to imagine the future. Two hearts burning like binary stars locked together. Their families had approved of the match, and they had decided they would pledge their trust bond to one another. 
The young couple were still trying to settle on who would be their third, the Verificator, when the orders came that sent them both to the Romulan Klingon border. The fighting had gone on for months when word had come through that her handsome young officer had been killed in action, slain by a Klingon blade. He had received a posthumous citation for bravery in the face of certain defeat. Toreth had received a broken heart. 
After she had learned of her young man's death she changed. Becoming harder, driven, she had distinguished herself in battle as an absolute terror in any action against Klingons. She blamed them all for the loss of her love, and made every Klingon she encountered on the field pay dearly for the pain that burned away at her passionate heart. 
As she gained notice and notoriety, she rose through the ranks. By the time she had made commander Toreth had already earned recognition for her determination, cunning and valor.
During her time as a subcommander she met another of the same rank, Tomalak, never dreaming that they would end up commanders that spent much time working together. Their dedication to chaos and war played well together, he often dangled a carrot for their foes, doing a song and dance for them, playing politics, knowing that she would be there with a hell of a stick and just waiting to use it. It still served them well over the decades.
After her eyelids were touched up with the rich eyeshadow she took out her lip color, choosing a rich, nearly plum tone. Toreth carefully painted her lips, the creamy feeling sensual on her sensitive skin. 
Upon being elevated to commander, with a ship and squadron under her, the crusade against Klingons had continued. This expanded to the Breen, and Cardassians, among others. She trained young officers in the ways of leadership, to trust and rely on other military commanders to work together as she had been trained, and use that teamwork and trust to devastating effect against the Empire's enemies. Her faith in fellow officers only failed when it was a paper pusher giving the order, some fool that would cast Romulan lives away without setting a foot on the field. 
That was how she had earned the Sotaric Citation, following orders after an Intelligence Officer had found a Klingon outpost supposedly unguarded; she had been sent with a squadron to eradicate them. Intelligence had been assured it was going to be a soft target, with minimal risk. 
When they had arrived and decloaked a Klingon squadron, hidden under cloak themselves, had appeared and destroyed half of those she had brought before any of the Romulans had even got a shot off. Her ship had taken heavy damage, she herself had been whipped so hard against her command seat she suffered a compression fracture in her lower spine that she still suffered from.
It had been a bloody, fierce battle, but she had been quick to counterstrike, savage in her response. She had brought down the flagship herself and they left the outpost a smoking hole in the ground. The Intelligence Officer had been executed for his incompetence.
Following a number of additional victories, many very high profile, she had found herself considered worthy of marriage into the Senatorial classes, if she so chose. Offers to serve as a commander in Senatorial fleets had come in, and still did, but she tenaciously clung to her Naval commission. Toreth saw it as the best way to serve her Empire, her  family, and herself.
Pressing her lips together she evened out the color, enjoying the feel of it, the way it looked. She wore it only for herself, not giving a damn what anyone else thought. There was no need to impress anyone, in her opinion, she just wore it for her own enjoyment. 
Over the years she had a number of lovers, none serious (not like her lost officer) some among the crew and other high officers. It was acceptable in Romulan society, they were a passionate people and surprisingly sexual for such a secretive culture. Perhaps even because of it.. There was great leeway in the realm of physical affections and interactions, as long as they didn't betray the deeper trust bonds that took so long to establish.
Walking to the window she stood a few minutes, looking at the stars and wisps of gas. Space had long been home to her, when she returned to Romulus for shore leave she almost always stayed on the ship. After the deaths of her parents the family compound held no real connection anymore. She had no children, no spouse, no immediate family. Cousins now resided in her parent's suites, her own small apartment was still there but felt like any handful of anonymous rooms. 
When she did visit home the old aunties would shake their heads and suggest she find a spouse, and the uncles would suggest strangers they thought would advance the family. Toreth found staying on the Khazara the best option for her own peace of mind. During its refit she had spent some time doing additional training at the War College, as well as on other ships as an observer and trainer.
With the Tal'Shiar debacle, when Vice Proconsul M'ret of the Imperial Senate defected to the Federation, she had feared she would be stripped of her commission. Suspecting she had been targeted by the conspirators due to her father's beliefs, the commander had kept her rank and ship, her long history of service to the Empire saving her from disgrace. 
Instead her first officer took the fall, the Tal'Shiar didn't want to admit they had been made to look the fool and instead of rewarding him for killing the Romulan officer N'Var for his involvement her first officer was disposed of for not capturing N'Var for interrogation. 
The fiasco had inspired a deep rage against the Federation. For all their lauding nobility, a superiority over the Romulans, their bitch of an officer was quick to use tactics exactly like the Tal'Shiar, throwing her father's death in her face, and telling her she was unfit for command. She often thought she should've destroyed the Enterprise when she had the chance. Then she could've made that officer pay. Afterward she had launched a months long campaign to scour her crew of anyone that was questionably loyal, she wanted a crew she could trust not to get them all killed.  
With a final glance out the window, then a quick look in the mirror, Toreth headed out of her quarters. In the corridors she passed her crew, getting saluted and hearing softly muttered acknowledgements. They all knew she was devoted to them, she wasn't a commander that would throw away their lives to stroke her own ego or gain fame. They all shared in any victory, any glory, she led them to. The crew knew she loved them, and they were fiercely loyal in return. She walked with the air of someone much taller, a dynamo in a small package. Life was to be faced as zealously as any other battle.
"Commander on the bridge!"
The sentry at the door called it out with obvious pride, being the first to see and announce her as Commander Toreth strode into the nerve center of the Khazara, head high. The officers present all gave a sharp "Sir!" or "Commander!" as she came, a few saluted, Subcommander Inle gave her a slight bow as she gave way for her to take the command chair.
An excellent crew.
She didn't miss the slight turn of head from her newly transferred and assigned Chief Tactical Officer, Centurion Bochra, as he glanced at her over his shoulder, his cheeks suddenly flaring with a faint greenish blush. 
Excellent crew, indeed.
The commander gave a faint approving nod, knowing he would see it, as she took up her seat to continue the work of the Empire.
__________
[raptorinblack; also on archiveofourown.org]
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kuroyrii · 8 months
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    (h.c // meta)  Beautiful faces painted in white, accented by the moon, Clan Kobayashi utters their mantra; only in the darkness can the truth be revealed. Light is forbidden, for it brings no solace && serves only to blind them. Beauty is a fabrication of the heart’s desires && perverse yearning, in a world of willow && flowers, every young girl must know their role. When a child is born within the lineage their fate is determined by birth from the elders. Ruled by a Matriarch, who becomes the next head is considered unorthodox. 
      One must show their might && determination, only then can the lowest among them ascend to greatness. No one has a birth claim, that nonsense is swiftly denounced when a girl is young, but historically that is how life within an Okiya was. The Geisha ruled the house, if she was appointed the surname of the owner, she held power && that is how Clan Kobayashi operates. In all of Gion, they are the most renowned Okiya who produce infamous Geikos, the modern day treasure is Sayuri’s auntie - Hatsuko. She is considered fearsome among Jushiki Sorcerer’s, scathing with her penetrating ruby eyes && autumn colored hair, she bears little desire to speak with others of her kind thus meetings are short && to the point.
   At the age of nineteen, she successfully made her name as a sorcerer && entertainer, enough that she funded the  entire clan, making her the most profitable. Her blood is that of Nure-Onna, thus she is heavily referred to as a ‘viper’ with no love in her heart, except for her biological niece who she considers a daughter. Hatsuko is rigid in staunch traditional beliefs, unbending && hissing in disgust when those ‘lesser’ speak to her. She is quick to remind everyone, know your place. Though under her reign, Clan Kobayashi has found peace, they are united && hold the belief only those of their blood may enter their secretive world. Men are generally chosen from higher families in arranged marriages as many of the women will remark, it’s political. They often are tasked with the daily chores, while all the financial && business aspects are held by their wives, it has been this way for centuries. Sayuril will even attest, ever since their first Matriarch life has remained the same && it’s worked but she finds it archaic.
   While the family will swear they started as nothing more from the blood of a peasant girl, they refuse to acknowledge, she was a lethal weapon. In olden days, due to their beauty && poise, they were assassins for hire. Painted as courtesans, attendants, faithful lovers, only to strike when they must - their deception has kept them safe && is often instilled, beauty is a lie. Their inherited technique was used to camouflage themselves in order to blend in, by stealing the image of another or distorting the desires of their target, they took on the shape of whatever they wished. It operates solely on RTC, the first sign is when a girl is able to change her facial features. Many exploit it to enhance their physical image, even Sayuri is the same as she has lightened the hue of her original eye color to give it a ‘cosmic’ gaze. When a daughter is young, she is given the choice between entertainer or marriage, to embark on the path of a Geiko is also being trained in assinaition, though that isn’t told until one figures out - nothing is what it seems.
   For the few who break through this uniformity, they are famed for their blessings, most will attend school within Kyoto as Clan Kobayashi is renowned for never leaving their ancestral home. Sayuri’s life within Tokyo was an extension of goodwill, she was essentially, an offering to smooth over any ill bearings due to Tsukuyomi. Hence, she often snidely responded she was their bargaining chip to ensure that clan life functioned favorably, her life was out of her hands until she was within the city. Does Clan Kobayashi still practice murder for hire? Yes && no. It depends on the figure but most prefer to entertain now, making the kuro usagi the outlander for holding onto her position as a sorcerer, they find it adorable even if she finds it to be mocking. Children are often co-raised by multiple figures, thus everyone is ‘mother’ && ‘auntie’ it’s common for daughters to know their biological parents but have no involvement with them. It’s also extremely rare for a son to be born, they will quickly learn how to create kimono’s, style a Geiko / Maiko’s hair, how to run daily errands, cook && clean.
   The few who are exceptional will become kimono dressers which is hailed as honorable, even coveted. When one becomes Matriarch, she will earn her ‘white collared’ kimono, it is designed specifically for that figure, in Sayuri’s case hers was stitched in silver. The deepest black with images of cranes in mid flight, every robe is meant to depict a story, hers was that of wisdom && the reign of the Eclipse. She wears it loosely with no obi, only a sash && no underskirt / lining. There are no hair adornments she will take or jewels, her ascension was granted on the basis she was able to transcend the limitations of strength. Her indomitable spirit secured the position, as the elders declared despite her youth, a leader with a mind that is balanced && selfless will bring them prosperity. While it seems like a suffocating life, Sayuri does remark she loves all of her cousins, uncles && aunties.
   She can name each couple, child, and routinely venture the gigantic estate to visit each one. Unlike Hatsuko who is the blood of Nure-Onna, Sayuri is that of Hone-Onna, the bone woman. She likes to giggle with her auntie, will her smile become that of a skeleton? It is meant to symbolically represent she is the Maiden that Death adores. Life within Clan Kobayashi is rigid, it is unbearable at times && yet, they are meant to resemble the antithesis to the Zen’ins. They do not hold the seldom belief their own is to be thrown away when showing little promise. Instead, they uplift one another && find a place, because of this, they are remarkably deadly.
   To enter their estate is sacred, few can attest to ever seeing life behind the Okiya walls, where the gardens are meticulously handled && children are always laughing. Though, the women of Clan Kobayshi were kind enough to grant access to Sayuri’s then friends. Some even looked forward to it, the promise of a happy summer with new faces spirited by the rabbit they loved. 
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sherlockisademigod · 2 years
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Minor Schools around the world: Long Island Sound, New York, USA, Sterling Academy
Known among both non-maj's and the wizarding community as the location of the famed Camp Half-Blood, Long Island sound has long since been the home of Sterling Academy, second only to Ilvermorny itself. Sterling Academy as a school is often known for it's almost unorthodox methods of teaching- the school days are long, and the weeks the same. Weekends only account for a half day on Saturdays and Sundays. It is a hotly debated topic as to exactly why the school uses these methods, but the general agreement is that it is a left over tradition from The Great Depression, when students of all bloodlines relied on the school for their future, food, and money, in exchange for hard work and little rest. Today, that has been changed slightly in order to maintain the upkeep and federal Education laws.
It goes from ages 12-18.
The classes offered are: Mandatory: -Charms -Transmution (ages 15 and up only) -DADA -Potions -Transfiguration -No-mag studies -Runes -History of magic -Herbology Electives: -Astronomy and Athrimancy -Magical creature studies -Arts -Band/Orchestra (Ages 15 and up only), and woodwind quartet (ages 16 and up only) -Languages (Students can choose from Latin, Greek, Spanish, Tagalog, French, Mandarin, Russian, Hebrew, Hindi and Welsh) -Physical education
The uniform for Sterling students consists of: Girls: -White collared shirt -Silver robes -black skirt -black shoes
Boys: -White ruffled shirt -Silver robes -Black pants -Black shoes
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Because during The Great Depression many students could not afford extra things that could identify houses such as ties, scarves or badges, they were only separated into two houses; House of Jifer (Blue collar on shirt), and House of Greyhorn (Plain shirt collar). There is no true identifying house traits for each one and teachers only make sure that each house has a balanced number of students each year.
Wake up bell: 5:00am Breakfast: 5:00 until 6:30 School starts: 8:00 Lunch: 12:30-1:45 school ends: 5:45 Study hall (Mandatory): 6:30 Dinner: 7:45 Lights out: 11:00 Astronomy students go to bed at 1:35 with help of a sleeping draught. School starts on the 26th of August and ends on the 4th of July. Winter break is from December 15th to December 28th.
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skvaderarts · 2 years
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I'm literally one weak moment from making V in Elden Ring and going for the bad ending just for the fuck of it. Anyone want to follow that story? I'm legit thinking of making like a in-game diary and being like:
"Dear diary. I woke up on the floor today in a hail of mist and I set it to follow some creepy yellow light through a doorway. I have no idea where the hell I am, and I don't think I have any powers here, so it looks like I'm going to have to start over from the beginning. Also, apparently I'm "maidenless" and a "lowly tarnished". Whatever that means. Anyway, I just want stuff to stop stabbing me for 5 seconds so I can figure out where the hell I am. I'll update you later."
"So diary... Everything here wants to kill me. Like everything. Some dude turned into a bear, and I'm pretty sure a tree just tried to beat me to death. Looks like calmly offering to read them poetry isn't going to cut it here. I'm going to need some way to defend myself. But hey, some creepy doll offered me a bell that can summon spirits, and I have a magic horse. Still better than how most of my days start!"
"Well Diary... Today I roasted an entire plateau of these godless illiterate psychopaths. I still don't know what I'm doing here, but I know what's going to happen. And everyone here is going to regret the day they tried to kill me unprovoked."
"Well well well, diary. It appears that no one knows who William Blake is in these lands. I must educate them. After they stop stabbing me."
"Oh diary. After a month of being nearly stabbed to death, I have awoken and chosen violence."
"Diary. You have no idea how close I am to burning this entire kingdom to the ground. If one more lobster or giant crab attacks me just going to be held to pay. And the magic college here? Raya Lucaria?! It's run by complete and total hacks, and they wouldn't even look over my admittance paperwork! Looks like I'm going to have to go straight to the dean! There has to be some sort of mistake! This is probably the only place in this kingdom I actually belong! And they have some kind of creepy iron maiden that snatches her soul out patrolling the courtyard? And a giant bowl that tries to roll over you on the way to class? And a dog with a giant sword? Not to mention that the school uniform is a little bit unorthodox... But it literally is the only school in this entire kingdom, so I guess I'm short on choices. It's either that or go pick a fight with the trees again... Or open another chest and get teleported to God knows where. Anyway, it's been a productive day! I'll get back with you soon."
"I'm not even going to start my entry with a greeting today. I can't die. Well, I can die but I don't stay dead. Let me out of this endless death loop! My life consists of nothing but endless suffering! Well, at least some things never change. But that spell yesterday that made me shoot yellow fire out of my eyes? Can't recommend it. So far I'd rate this day a 4/10, and the only reason it isn't lower is because a giant lobster hasn't killed me for a few hours and I found a snazzy outfit on a dead guy. Wouldn't be the first time I procured my clothing by ill gotten means. Guess I got to take what I can get!"
... Omg part of me really wants to do this now holy shit. Would you guys want to see posts about it? Because I would have so much fun writing them!
Not going to lie I'm kind of desperate for somebody to want me to do this now lol! Sounds like I could be a blast! Also, check my stupid tags if you want more ideas has to what I might be planning.
Sorry for any spelling errors. Did this at 4:00 in the morning with speech to text. This is what happens when you stay up this late thinking about two different games... But hey, I did this in Bloodborne, and I can do it again! (Oh boy did the Bloodborne one go completely off the deep end. I ended up platinuming the game with my V character and that one... I mean, have I finished my first playthrough of Elden Ring? Absolutely not. But this might just be the most fun I've had in a while, if you guys are behind it.
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cophene · 5 months
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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐓 | vento aureo; interlude iii.
★ ⁺ — 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒
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pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them  a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and a pretty-faced crew. notes : sci fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 7.1k+
content warning : descriptions of sexual abuse and violence
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★˚⋆ PANNACOTTA FUGO HAD NEVER BEEN LUCKY enough to know his parents cared about him. The Fugo's had never been warm people. Their emotions were cast in smooth glances and icy tones. One was hard-pressed to ever know what they were thinking of. They always appeared stoic and aloof, and that carefully maintained appearance was to be in place at all times, no matter the circumstance.
Fugo suspected early on that his parents had never cared to have children of their own. His mother was an astrophysicist and his father a political-science professor. Their marriage was businesslike, a partnership between like-minded individuals who didn't want to be scrutinized. The Fugo's were immersed in their work. The austere glass-and-chrome penthouse they lived in was hardly the place to raise a child. It was more for appearance's sake that they had Fugo at all. Couples their age had children. They had Fugo for the same reason that people bought the latest holopad—not because they needed one, but because everyone else had one. They probably would've named Fugo something perfectly mundane too if it weren't for his grandmother.
"Panna cotta," she said, spooning a bite of sweetened cream and vanilla into the infant's mouth. The baby laughed as though she had said his name, and the sound was every bit as sweet as the dessert. The Fugo's frowned at the unorthodox name, but weren't people always trying to find unique names for their children? They supposed it would do.
Nonetheless, his grandmother was the only one who used that name. He was only ever summoned by his parents by a curt "Fugo."
The affection that Fugo received from his parents was always distant. Removed. If it could even be called affection. They held his hand in public. They met with his teachers. They attended his sports events. But their involvement was obligatory. Any chance they had to hand Fugo off to a tutor or babysitter or friend, they did so, because raising a child did not interest them.
This lack of interest might have glanced off a different child, but Fugo was a burning fire. When left unattended, he grew out of control.
Fugo's temper tantrums were awesome to behold. His anger was too large for his little body, and it threw him around, burning him out, escaping him in ragged screams. There was no controlling him when Fugo became angry. All you could do was handle the aftermath. The unbridled anger that all children had never left Fugo. It only grew larger. Simmering under the surface until someone was stupid enough to lift the lid. Fugo was smart enough to keep the anger from his parents, but sometimes he wondered if they would've cared at all even if they had known.
The school day was drawing to a close. All of the primly uniformed boys were seated at their desks, their tablets flickering as they swiped through pages for quiet reading. Fugo was doing his best to focus, but he couldn't help being annoyed by a redhead in the back who kept snickering with his friend . He told himself to ignore it. But his six-year-old attention span was scant, and the boys just wouldn't shut up.
Fugo pushed back from his seat. The other boys glanced at him as he made his way to the redhead's desk. He gave the boy one last chance to stop talking. When he didn't, Fugo opened his mouth.
"You need to be quiet. We're supposed to be reading."
"I know," the redhead sneered. "I already finished reading."
Fugo clenched his fists. "Then you should be quiet so other people can read." The redhead exchanged an incredulous look with his friend. Then, to Fugo's annoyance, he ignored Fugo completely and picked his conversation back up with his friend.
Suddenly Fugo had never despised red hair as much as he had at that moment. "You need to be quiet!" he said. His high-pitched voice rang with anger.
"What are you getting mad at me for? No one else is reading, stupid."
Fugo felt red-hot fire race down his arm. It lifted of its own accord and slammed down on the boy's face. A satisfying smack sounded. The gasps around him only egged him on. He brought down his hand again, the savage feeling of hurting this boy sweeping him up like a tide.
"Are you gonna be quiet now? Huh? Are you?"
Fugo shoved the boy so hard he fell to the ground. He stood above the redhead, breathing heavily. The edges of his vision blurred red. For a moment, all Fugo could think to do was—
"Pannacotta, what is going on here?"
The teacher dragged him away. He was only able to do so because Fugo's anger had withdrawn, leaving a pale, scared boy behind. He sat mutely in the headmaster's office, the chair seeming to swallow him. He rubbed his eyes but didn't cry. Fugo felt strangely empty after his outburst. The adult's sharpened words slid off him like water. He only felt the smallest prick when the headmaster informed him he would have to call his parents.
They didn't come, of course. His grandmother arrived in a black Levi to pick him up, exchanging solemn nods with the school staff. Fugo was hurried into the car like a feral cat and the ride home was silent.
Fugo searched for signs of anger or disappointment on his grandmother's face. He found none.
"Aren't you going to scold me?"
"You've probably had enough people scold you by now."
That was true, but somehow, Fugo found this worse.
"Aren't you upset?"
Fugo's grandmother sighed. "I am, but I understand, Pannacotta. I know you well enough to know that this won't be the last time your anger gets the better of you."
Fugo waited for the rest. His grandmother would beat the anger out of him, send him to a distant star system.
"Nonna?"
"Your anger will consume you," his grandmother said. "All you can do is become stronger. The anger will come again, but you must learn to deal with the consequences."
Fugo frowned. "Then why don't you punish me when I have a tantrum?"
"Because you have every right to be angry, Pannacotta."
And so, the person who truly raised Fugo was his grandmother. He didn't learn how to share or be kind like other children. Instead, he learned to listen, to understand. To control himself, because he couldn't control others. It was impossible to tamp down on his anger, so he had to learn to guard himself. He had to understand himself to understand the anger.
Fugo was a boy who didn't know how to express himself, but everyday he found ways to show his grandmother how grateful he was that she tried in a way his parents never had.
But then death tightened its bony fingers, and Fugo lost even her.
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Fugo wanted his parents to look at him with something other than disappointment or detachment or some combination of the two. In the months after his grandmother died, Fugo tried to find ways to catch his parents' attention. Neon butterflies caught at school, splattered art projects, funny stories he overheard the boys telling. His parents barely nodded when he spoke at the dining table, looking up briefly before just as quickly returning to their holopads. The only thing that held their attention for more than a few moments was when his progress reports came home.
"Well done, Fugo," his mother would say over her glasses. She would pass the report over to his father, who grunted. "Glad to know you're doing well."
Schoolwork was never difficult for Fugo. He never struggled with numbers or words or diagrams. He often got praise from his teachers for his continual progress, but it had never occurred to him that his parents might appreciate his progress as well. Then again, he doubted two-digit multiplication and reciting every planet in their star system would cut it. He would have to prove his intelligence in other ways.
Which was how he found himself in his mother's office one day when he was ten.
Fugo's parents never found a problem with Fugo being in their workplace. He was quiet and never disturbed them. He often went around fixing their papers and research equipment, something other parents might have found endearing, but Fugo's parents barely noticed.
Fugo was perched on a stool at his mother's elbow, surreptitiously glancing at her work while he was supposed to be watching a video for school. He'd discovered not long before that he could keep up with his mother's frantic calculations as easily as anything at school. She often did all of her math by hand, claiming it flowed better when she wasn't hindered by technology. Thus far, it had never proved her wrong.
"Why is the error margin so high?" she murmured to herself. "It's never been like this before."
Before he could think better of it, Fugo said, "You didn't carry through the negative after your fourth round. That should've made your final answer positive to match your hypothesis."
Fugo looked back down at his tablet. He waited for his mother to hum thoughtfully, fix her mistake before moving on. But when he looked up, she was staring at him, eyes wide behind her glasses.
"What did you say?"
"That you didn't carry your negative?"
Fugo's mother looked at her calculations. "How would you know that?"
Fugo hesitated, not wanting to overstep. But it seemed as though his mother was genuinely perplexed. He scooted over, scanning the rows of equations and proofs until he found the mistake. "Right here. If you carried your negative here, this number would have changed ... and this one ..."
Fugo swiped his finger clumsily over his mother's writing, his numbers overly large compared to everything else. He continued writing until he'd carried through the negative and changed the final answer, checking back quickly through his work before leaning back.
The bewildered expression hadn't left his mother's face.
"That's what I think, anyway," Fugo said hastily. "I don't know if that's the mistake. I just saw the negative and figured ... well—" Fugo shut his mouth, feeling his ears burning. He shouldn't have said anything. What did he know about all of this? What if he'd messed up all of his mother's careful work by scribbling all over it?
"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
"Fugo..." His mother's mouth twitched. Fugo braced himself for a rebuke. The last thing he expected was a small laugh.
"You're correct. You're absolutely correct." Fugo's mother ran her eyes over his numbers, nodding to herself. "Have you always known how to do this?"
"I—I don't know."
Fugo's mother set her holopad on his lap and handed over her stylus. The screen was now open to a fresh table with a system of equations at the top.
"Why don't you try solving this?"
Fugo had never heard his mother like this: gently encouraging, slightly eager. Fugo quickly got to work, not wanting to lose this new side he'd opened up. He pulled up a calculator alongside the equations and after a few minutes, wrote out an answer. His stomach twisted itself into knots as his mother scrutinized his work.
A smile spread itself over her face. It was such a strange expression on her perpetually stern face that Fugo couldn't help staring.
"Correct. Correct again."
Fugo spent the rest of the afternoon solving equations for his mother. Each correct answer was met with a stiff smile, a shine in his mother's eyes. By the end of it, Fugo's brain felt like it had been wrung dry.
There was a beat when both of them stood at her office door. Fugo's mother brought her arm around his shoulders and drew him close. Fugo couldn't remember ever receiving a hug from his mother. His arms hovered before he settled them at her back and squeezed her tentatively.
"You're a genius, Pannacotta," she said. The warmth in her voice made her sound like a different woman. "I can't wait to tell your father. You're an exceptional talent. Once everyone hears about you, there won't be anyone in the galaxy who can touch you."
In truth, Fugo didn't hear anything his mother said. He was too busy enjoying how nice the hug was and wondering why she'd never given him one before.
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The outburst with his parents had done something. They deferred his admission until the next term and gave him an entire year to just be. Granted, it was the most strained, tense year he had ever spent under his parents' roof. Passive-aggression trailed all of the interactions he had with them. It became obvious they still wanted him to study, even if it wasn't at university. He didn't have near the amount of freedom he would've liked, but still, it was one year where Fugo almost felt like a regular kid.
Last year felt like a distant memory now. The prickly stares he'd gotten on his first day at the Institute still made him shudder. Most students thought it was a joke that he was sitting in on their lectures. One professor even went so far as to ask who had brought their younger brother to his workshop. It was humiliating and embarrassing and everything Fugo had wanted to avoid going to university so young. Remote learning was always an option, but Fugo's parents had always wanted to flaunt him to everyone else, as though Fugo had ever had a say in the matter.
It wouldn't be the first time that Fugo wished he knew what his parents felt when they showed him off like that. Maybe if he did, it would make all of this more bearable.
"Mr. Fugo. Would you mind staying back a minute?"
Around him, people unplugged their holopad from the indent in the workbenches and shoved their things away. Fugo looked around, hoping someone else would go up even though his name had clearly been called. The student beside him, Caprese, was oblivious to Fugo's discomfort.
"The prof's calling you," he said, closing the tabs on his holopad.
Fugo took his time putting his holopad away. Maybe he would just pretend he hadn't heard his professor and leave with the rest of the students.
"Mr. Fugo, can I talk to you please?"
Fugo's ears reddened. He looked over at Caprese, not knowing what he expected the older student to do. The two of them had talked on occasion, maybe more than Fugo had talked to any of the other students at the Institute. Sometimes Caprese would share his notes with Fugo after class or ask to compare their analyses on some topic or other. Fugo had the sense Caprese was just as reserved as he was, and that other students avoided him because he was prickly. A few floating rumours said he'd used to be a pilot before coming here to study.
Caprese returned Fugo's look strangely. He glanced at the professor. "You're not scared of the prof, are you? Just go talk to him."
"He ... he makes me uncomfortable," Fugo said quietly.
Caprese scoffed. "Why? He's just some old guy. Maybe he wants to recommend you for a scholarship or something. At the Institute, prof's don't usually talk to you unless it's something good. Otherwise, they couldn't care less."
"Really?"
"For sure." Caprese's grey eyes darkened. "He's probably just trying to give you a leg up. Help you out a little, you know?"
"I guess." Maybe Fugo was overthinking this. He was a student. Professors helped their students. Not that Fugo needed the help, but still.
"See you later?" Caprese said, rising from his seat.
"Uh, yeah. See you."
Fugo watched Caprese and the rest of the students leave the lecture hall before stepping forward to the professor's desk.
"Sir—" Fugo's voice came out like a squeak and he cleared it before starting again. "You wanted to speak to me?"
"How are you finding things?" the professor asked. "You're keeping up?"
Fugo nodded. Once all of his professors had gotten over the initial shock of him being there, they'd left him mostly alone. Except this man, who must have gotten it into his head that Fugo needed extra care or something equally stupid. He greeted him every morning and made it a point to call on Fugo during discussions. When they ran into each other outside of class, he would always start up a conversation, as though he and Fugo were old friends. It made Fugo uncomfortable. And it made the other students irritable. The professor was well-known in the research circles and gaining him as a reference was invaluable.
"Good. That's good." The professor sighed and rubbed his eyes. Fugo thought it might have been an invitation for Fugo to comment on how tired he looked. He said nothing, however. He just wanted to shut himself in his dorm.
The professor nodded to himself. "Have a seat, Pannacotta." He strode over to the door and scanned his hand to lock it. "Don't need anyone barging in on our conversation."
Fugo's limbs went cold. What was there to talk about? He had busted his ass keeping up with the coursework. His grades were of no concern.
Fugo stayed frozen where he was. The professor closed the distance between the two of them. He was a touch too close. Fugo had to look up to meet his gaze.
He wished he hadn't.
"I know you're having problems, Pannacotta," the professor said softly. "I know the other faculty and students don't respect you. That could change. What if I took you under my wing? Made you my protegé?"
"N-no. You don't need to do that."
"I have influence. I could offer you protection. If you're willing to repay me."
The professor trailed his fingers across Fugo's jaw. He flinched violently, jerked back from the man. Fugo immediately made a beeline for the door.
"Don't you want to be like the other students? No one would make fun of you again." The professor caught Fugo's arm. He pulled Fugo to him, crushed him to his chest.
"Let me go!" he screamed.
"You're beautiful," the man rasped in his ear. "I just can't contain myself when I'm with you. Why can't you just—"
The man wrenched down the collar of Fugo's shirt, moving his mouth across his neck. Fugo wrenched away, bile clawing his throat. He shoved the man back with all of his strength as he lurched toward him, kicking the man in the stomach when he stumbled.
"Keep your hands off me, you son of a bitch!" Fugo should have run. But the door was locked and no one would have heard him if he screamed.
"Please," the man said, looking up at Fugo from the floor. "Just once. It will feel good. For both of us."
Fugo roared. He threw himself at the man and it felt like an inhumane force possessed him. He pounded at the man with his fists, his feet, screaming all the while. He heard his holopad skitter across the floor somewhere behind him. He swiped it up without thinking and brought it down on the man's hand.
"YOU. FLACKING. PIECE. OF. SHIT! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!"
Fugo didn't stop. Not when the screen shattered. Not when the cracking of plastic and glass became the crunch of bone and sinew. Not when drops of blood flew into the air. Not when the professor's cries turned into whimpers and then silence. How dare this man? How dare the students, the other professors? How dare the people around him? How dare his parents?
They all deserved to die.
To die.
To die.
To—
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"Huh? But there's barely anything written."
"There doesn't need to be a lot," Fugo snapped. "It's a simple code. All it needs to do is carry out one task. Your assignment asked for the most efficient method and that's what it is."
The student tugged on his tie, frowning down at his holopad. "But you don't even have the initial start codes my teacher gave me."
"Are you gonna pay for me or not? I don't recall you having the right to be picky when I'm doing your homework."
Fugo banged his ident chip on the table impatiently. After a moment's hesitation, the student plugged it into his holopad and transferred over 500 credits.
"Thanks," he mumbled, and slunk off.
Fugo slumped in his seat, massaging his eyelids with his fingers. He needed a better gig than this. Doing schoolwork for highschoolers had seemed easy enough, what with him being gifted and more or less the right age. The assignments were insultingly easy and the students paid well enough when they were desperate, but it was getting harder to spread out the credits. Doing homework for highschoolers wasn't a sustainable livelihood, no matter how well they paid. He was lucky none of these kids had thought to report the blonde-haired Upper Space noble who'd shown up out of nowhere on this little space colony.
For all his brilliance, Fugo couldn't cough up any potential jobs. It was surprisingly difficult to get a job when you were barely an adult with next to no background information.
And one case of first-degree murder on your criminal record, but the sentence had been bumped down to manslaughter and swiftly brushed under the rug. Hence no background information.
Fugo's parents had reacted as well as he expected. They went through the legal proceedings, paid an exorbitant amount, got in touch with the right people and Fugo was able to get away without serving time. The professor hadn't exactly been an upstanding citizen, so that had helped things. His parents cut off all contact with their prodigal son not two weeks after, a sign that Fugo clearly took. He'd managed to scrape by since then, but an illegal homework scheme, a cot in some rando's basement and freeze-dried spaghetti was no way to live. His conscience was weighed down with all of his random outbursts at civilians and the shouting matches he got into with his "clients". Fugo wasn't sure how to sort out how he felt. He was constantly upset, which led to constantly being stressed, which led to constantly being pissed. He couldn't remember the last time being happy about something, as miserable as that sounded. He felt like a cartoon character, that one character that was always bad-tempered and made everyone else feel like shit.
It was a herculean effort to drag himself from his seat and out into the muggy air of Triton. He couldn't say he liked the moon colony much, but, like most things in his life, it was something. He stood in the street for a few minutes, people in rustly silver and gold coats brushing past him. The adverts on the street were obnoxiously bright and loud, boasting this cream and this shirt and that show.
What was he supposed to do?
Fugo pulled out his holopad and started walking. Just walked down the street to see where it would lead him. He swiped right to his newsfeed, tapping the first headline that came up.
THIEVING CREW PASSIONE SPOTTED IN TRITON. 50K CREDIT REWARD FOR ANY AVAILABLE INFORMATION.
Fugo scrolled until he got to the attached photos of the thieving crew. They were all from some backwater colony called Solymus, barely into their early twenties. Bruno Bucciarati. Guido Mista. Y/N L/N.
What was taking the GA's so long to catch these guys? It was to the point where people were beginning to follow them like minor celebrities. Fugo wouldn't have been surprised if they were paying off civilians to hide them. Still, 50k credits was a hefty sum. He was trying not to get carried away thinking about everything he could do with that much.
It shouldn't be that hard to find them, right? Especially if they're still here.
Still walking, Fugo began running multiple apps on his holopad at once. It was an old-ass model he'd pawned off some guy, but it hadn't taken long for him to update it to the latest software with some dark-net onion tech. He cross-referenced online feeds, dock records and nearby surveillance footage. By the time he made it to Triton's commercial area, he'd figured out two ships by the same name had entered not two hours apart. Flight officials were still trying to figure out the glitch. Except the ship's copy had registered three distinct ident chips. Fugo couldn't see the chip's entire code, but after running a search on all three of them, he found a suspiciously similar partial code that had just bought a mocha drink.
Ten minutes ago. From a café that Fugo could see right now.
If he hadn't killed a man, he would make a banger GA officer.
Call it a hunch, but Fugo would wager good money that the thieving crew had just entered the bougie Versus boutique right across from the café. He'd never cared for the designs the Imperial Prince put out, but they were still from a high-class fashion brand and fetched prices in the thousands. Donatello Versus had just released his spring collection, if Fugo remembered correctly.
He entered the boutique. The attendant in front looked ready to kick him out, but a greeting in Fugo's Upper Space accent seemed to convince him otherwise. Fugo had never been aware of the distinction between the two classes. Even now, Fugo managed to scrape by when people thought he came from old money.
The boutique was garishly decorated, curling shapes and gag-inducing colours inspired from a dream of the Prince's, according to the scrolling displays. A thick, heady scent hung in the air, and the lighting was dim and moody. Everything pressed in close around him, thick, velvety and uncomfortably warm. On marbled podiums, Versus' designs were displayed, their colours and prints at odds with the decor. Fugo genuinely didn't know what vibe the Prince was going for. It screamed rich, though, so something was going right.
There seemed to be particular interest around a podium near the back. A single pink spotlight beamed down on it. Wasting no time, Fugo pushed his way to the front to see what the flack it was.
It was a lilac leather belt, VERSUS running across the front in giant gold, crystal-studded leathers. Holographic thread stitched the belt's sides and made dizzying patterns under the light. Fugo's lip curled. Who in their right mind would wear that?
Like most things in expensive boutiques, there was no visible price tag. Fugo had to shove his way to the front to sneak a hand under the podium for the price to flash briefly.
25 000 credits.
"Excuse me, sir," the attendant from earlier made his way forward. "Unfortunately, we'll have to take the belt from display. We were lucky enough to have a buyer call in and we'll be reserving this particular piece for them."
Fugo moved aside. The attendant crouched, withdrawing a sleek metal chip to insert into the podium. It took a second for the belt to release, and the attendant took it away in literal kid skin gloves.
He didn't take the chip with him. As soon as he disappeared, the chip began smoking.
"Hey, you! Stop! You're not an attendant!" Fugo lurched after the man. It was one of the Passione thieves, he realized with a jolt. They'd been bold enough to nick the belt in plain sight of everyone.
Beeping sounded. The attendant glanced behind him and immediately picked up his pace. Fugo was already speed-dialling the GA's. If he could catch them now, that bounty money would be his.
The attendant burst outside to the disgruntlement of a few clients. No one thought to chase after him as he pelted down the street, Fugo on his heels.
Rich-ass morons!
The call went through and Fugo risked tearing his eyes away from the attendant to punch in the numbers for the call menu. Soon enough, his holopad was broadcasting his location to the GA's as he continued chasing the attendant down the street. He could feel his strength flagging, however, the distance between him and the thief getting wider.
And that was before the thief started shooting.
A pulse barely missed him, leaving a stinging pain along his cheekbone. Fugo flinched, slamming into a random passerby. He didn't have time to pull back before another shot went over his head and knocked out the guy he'd bumped into.
Electors. Set to stun, but still.
"Just stop where you are!" Fugo shouted. "The GA's are on your ass!"
"You! You're under arrest!"
A grin split Fugo's face, viciously gleeful that the thief with the ugly purple belt was caught at last. But then his head slammed into the pavement and an elector ground into the base of his skull.
"Hands flat on the ground! Don't move!"
"What the flack?" Fugo blinked away the stars in his eyes. "W-what are you doing? I'm the one who called you!"
"Shut your mouth. You think I'm falling for that again?" Fugo twisted his neck to see who had him pinned down. The scowl twisting the officer's face curdled his blood. His yellow-violet eyes were so intense they almost seemed to glow.
"I'm not with them!" Fugo insisted, but the officer ignored him. A forcefield seemed to form around the two of them as the people on the street gave them a wide berth. The officer tapped on his earpiece. "Have you got him?" His face didn't change as he listened to the other end, but his grip on Fugo tightened. Before Fugo knew what was happening, the officer had hauled him up like a potato sack.
"Move," the officer said gruffly.
"I said I'm not with them," Fugo growled. He was about to lodge his elbow into the officer's rib cage when a small zing! sounded and his limbs gave out.
"We bringing him to the station?" Fugo heard faintly as his vision blinked in and out.
"Not yet," the officer said. He began moving. "We're using him as bait first.
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"How many times do I have to flacking tell you? I'm not part of Passione! Why the flack would they be shooting me with an elector if I was, you asswipe?!"
"They never leave one of their own. You won't be waiting long," Abbacchio said impassively.
Despite Fugo swearing himself hoarse and throwing himself around like a rabid animal, the GA officer's plan was to wait in the Versus boutique Passione had stolen from until they came to grab their wayward crewmate. They would swap the belt for Fugo, but by then it would be too late and Abbacchio would have them rounded up. It was a bullshit plan that Fugo was sure the thieves would see from a mile away. But Abbacchio seemed convinced that they were noble enough to risk themselves for a crewmate. It might have been touching, if Fugo wasn't just some random schmuck who'd tried to report them.
Although he was trying his best to keep it together, Fugo's body was vibrating with anger. Whether it was Abbacchio's impassiveness, or his own stupidity, or just the absurdity of the situation, Fugo was wondering just how much a pair of magcuffs could restrain him. The magenta stool Abbacchio had parked him on wasn't helping things either. This entire repulsive boutique could burn in deep space.
"If you're such a dedicated officer, how come you haven't caught these guys yet?" Fugo sniped. "They're just some backwater thieving crew. It's been, what, three years since they started? What the flack is taking so long?"
Abbacchio's eyes flickered to him. "You should know why."
"Why don't you just give up? If catching them is so hard?"
For a minute, Fugo thought Abbacchio wouldn't answer him, and he went back to trying to burn holes into his stool with his eyes. But then the officer said, "I made a promise."
"How romantic."
Abbacchio turned away from him. He muttered something that Fugo didn't catch.
Fugo supposed in a way, it was lucky that Abbacchio hadn't thought to run his ident chip yet. He wouldn't have been so chummy if he saw Fugo's record. It would be just Fugo's luck if this was what landed him in jail.
Something brushed against him. Fugo flinched so hard he thought he snapped a tendon. He would've screamed if his voice hadn't curdled in his throat.
He stared at the blue-and-white ... thing hovering beside him before glancing back at Abbacchio. The officer's eyes were still pinned on the boutique entrance, sitting as though a metal rod had been shoved up his back. He couldn't see this thing that was brushing against Fugo.
"What the flack are you?" Fugo breathed. Had he gotten so angry that he'd started hallucinating?
The vaguely-human-looking thing was a shiny blue and white. A spiked helmet covered its eyes and although it opened its mouth, it didn't look like it could talk. What looked like zippers dangled from its neck and belt, as well as over its knuckles.
It looked scary as hell.
Fugo opened his mouth to scream when the thing reached for his hands.
"Get the flack away from me," Fugo hissed. "I'd rather take my chances here than against a-a ... demon-alien."
The demon-alien sighed. It brushed its fingers across Fugo's magcuffs and he barely suppressed a gasp as a zipper appeared over the restraints. The thing pulled on the zipper, leaving room for Fugo to wriggle his hands out. It did the same for his leg restraints, drawing back as Fugo gingerly got to his feet. Abbacchio hadn't noticed anything yet.
The thing drifted away from him, into a hidden access door for the boutique attendants. Fugo hesitated before rushing after it as quietly as he could. Not two seconds after the door slid closed behind him did Fugo hear Abbacchio start yelling.
The thing thumped a hand over an emergency door, opening a person-sized zipper in it. It stepped through it, inclining its head for Fugo to do the same.
What the flack was going on? Fugo went through the zipper-opening, looking behind him as the zipper closed and disappeared, leaving the door as though they'd never touched it.
"What are you?"
Fugo nearly lost blue-and-white demon-alien as it disappeared behind a corner. He chased after it, struggling to find it in the now-evening light of Triton's streets. He caught sight of a nondescript Levi pulling up beside him. Fugo wondered if the demon-alien had stolen it somehow before the driver's side window rolled down and the driver grinned puckishly at him.
"Get in, blondie," the guy said. The—frankly—ugliest hat Fugo had ever seen sat over his brow. And Fugo had just come out of Donatello Versus' boutique.
"You need an invitation? Get your ass in here."
Fugo backed away from the car.
"You're with Passione," he said. Goosebumps raised on his arms at the realization. "You nearly got me arrested! Why the flack would I go anywhere with you?"
"We don't have time for this," the guy sighed. To someone in the car, he said, "I told you he wasn't going to come with us, Captain. Let's just go."
Fugo swore, looking up and down the street. He'd have to find somewhere to lie low while Abbacchio was out looking for him. Just his flacking luck. He'd always wanted to get off Triton but he hadn't planned on being a wanted man for it.
The back window rolled down. "You're Pannacotta Fugo, correct?"
Fugo didn't bother to answer. He stepped around the car, ready to start booking it. A hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Or what he thought was a hand anyway. It had moved too quickly to be human. When Fugo looked down, sleek silver-green fingers held him in place. Great. More demon-aliens.
"You're Pannacotta Fugo. You're an intellectual prodigy. You got into the Galactic Institute at fourteen and got expelled soon after for murdering one of your professors. Your parents cast you out. You've been erased from official records as ever being their son."
Fugo looked up sharply. The interior of the car was too dark for Fugo to make out whoever was speaking. "What do you want from me? Don't you think you've messed me up enough dragging me into this bullshit? That GA officer back there thinks I'm part of your thieving crew! Since you know so much, how do you think things are going to end up if I get arrested, huh?"
"I'm sorry about that. That's why I want you to come with us. We'll give you a place to hide out until this blows over. If Asswipe already thinks you're with us, you might as well just go along with it."
"Like hell I will." Fugo yanked his hand from the silver-green fingers. He heard a gasp.
"He can see them," a third voice said.
A head peeked out from the car. The intensity the pair of eyes pinned him with stopped him in his tracks.
"The humanoid that saved you. The hand that grabbed you just now. Did you see them?"
"What the flack are you talking about?"
The person in the car opened the door. Fugo took in a dark jumpsuit and silver lines running up their boots. He'd seen that face before. Y/N L/N. The ringleader of Passione. And the dark-haired man beside them would be Bruno Bucciarati.
"You're a Stand user," Bruno stated.
"A what?"
"Stop! You're under arrest by Galactic Authority order!" Abbacchio exploded from the boutique's front, sprinting towards Fugo and the car like a madman. His elector extracted itself from his belt.
"You don't want to get arrested, right?" Y/N hissed. "Either you come with us or you spend life in jail. We're trying to help you here."
In the end, it was Abbacchio's elector firing shots that pushed Fugo to scramble into the Levi. The car sped off, leaving a pissed-off GA in the rearview.
That and the fact that a checkered-purple limb had come out from somewhere to shield Fugo from the incoming elector pulses.
He'd scrambled a neuron or something. If he didn't know better, he'd say he'd just summoned his own demon-alien.
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"Then shoot me."
"Flack, if you don't apologize, I just might."
Even the sight of Mista's Pistols floating around him didn't faze Fugo. He stared down the muzzle of the elector, silently daring Mista to fire. He wanted to see him try. If he was half as pissed as Fugo was, he wouldn't hesitate.
"Say sorry, you flackbag! Is that so hard?"
"I'm not going to apologize for being right! It's not my fault you're too pigheaded to realize when you're making a mistake! If you want to die, go ahead! Just don't drag down the rest of the crew!"
Fugo really thought Mista would shoot then. The anger that sizzled on his face was almost a relief, because Fugo was tired of being the only one who felt that way. He'd tried so hard to get along with these people. They just wouldn't listen to him. Even when the Captain said they needed someone with his logic and ingenuity. Fugo had tried to rein himself in, but if they wanted to be stupid and go against everything he said, then why the flack was he here?
Instead, Mista's gaze slid somewhere over Fugo's shoulder. He stiffened, his knuckles going white on the elector. A moment passed. Mista clenched his jaw, tossed his elector to the side with a clatter and stalked off. The Pistols swore colourfully at Fugo before trailing after him.
Fugo was momentarily flabbergasted. He was about to chase after Mista when he glanced over his own shoulder. The sight of his Stand made him cringe.
Purple Haze. It had appeared without him noticing. No wonder Mista had left.
Fugo threw himself down at one of the metal tables. He looked at his indistinct reflection in the metal and crushed his head between his hands.
What was he doing?
"You want something to drink? We only have some Coco Jumbo left, unfortunately."
Fugo straightened. "Captain."
The Captain waved a hand at him. They went into the cupboards before returning with a carton of chocolate milk. They sat across from him, their expression carefully neutral.
"Talk, Fugo."
Fugo knew what he should say. The debacle at the Versus boutique had been weeks ago. Triton was long gone and Fugo could have chosen any number of places to bid adieu to the thieving crew. Instead, he'd asked to stay on, because a part of him had enjoyed stitching together plans and hacking security and leaving false trails. He might even have been good at it. Being on the wrong side of the law was fun. And though everyone kept him at arm's length, they liked him. Paid attention to him in a way his parents never had.
But then he'd discovered his Stand's abilities. By accident. Mista had ticked him off and he'd exploded. He'd been furious. His Stand punched something. Everyone rushed into the room. Bruno's skin began bubbling grotesquely. He fell to the ground. And now he was confined to the med bay, barely able to move. Mista had pushed them to go to Terra or another major planet to get him proper treatment. Fugo had argued it was too soon after a job and that they would get caught with the heightened GA presence. Mista had wanted to know what Fugo could possibly do without making things worse. Fugo had called him an ignorant asshole. The Captain left and Mista pulled out his elector.
Fugo had to leave. He couldn't control his temper. Couldn't work with these guys. They had taken him on out of charity, not the other way around. Everything had been fine before Fugo had come in. And now with his Stand, no one was safe.
"I think you have every right to be angry," the Captain said into Fugo's silence. The words were an electric shock through his system.
"What?"
"I don't hold your anger against you. Things are flacked. People can get angry. We're not bots." The Captain sipped their chocolate milk. "Where I have a problem though, is when you take out your anger on people who don't deserve it. When you don't even try to control your anger."
"But I do—"
"I'm not you, Fugo. I don't know what your emotions are like. But you don't hurt your own crew. No matter how stupid they may seem or how much they go against you. Your anger is a beast, but I think you're strong enough to get it under control." The Captain waited until Fugo met their gaze again. "We need you. We've never been this efficient or evaded the GA's for this long before. You're the brain this crew has been looking for and I'll be flacked before I let you go. I'm willing to support you, but only if you don't give up first."
"And my Stand?"
"Is an extension of yourself. I won't be afraid of it if you aren't."
Fugo let out a shaky breath. "I already hurt Bruno. What if I hurt you too?"
"You won't. You know how I know?"
The Captain put their hand palm-up on the table. Fugo hesitated. He gently put his hand on top of theirs.
"Despite everything, you still find it in yourself to care. You're really a softie at heart, aren't you, Pannacotta?"
Fugo's heart tripped. The Captain squeezed his hand before getting up. "I'll talk to Mista, see if we can't catch a ride to Bend Gate III to help out Bruno. You're right when you said bigger planets will just get us caught. Don't think we have enough for bail right now."
Fugo barely heard them leave. He was too busy staring at his hand. Thinking about how nice the Captain's hand felt in his. How he wanted to hear the Captain say his name again.
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sanoism · 11 months
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@ashrifts continued from: here (repost for editor change)
He doesn’t know why Ran is laughing , but the absurdity of it all certainly warrants it. Two highly sought criminals waltzing into a school parading as lovers. Ran’s mind was certainly a mystery; it was always simpler to leave demystifying the elder Haitani to Rindou. — but there was no better time then now to learn a little about his inner workings. Mikey allows his hand to be swung , and thinks of their proximity. Though few dared to do so today, it wasn’t so long ago where the norm was to be draped over a friend.
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When lips brush his knuckles Mikey can at least discern this  — Ran certainly likes to put on a show. He plays his role with no expenses spared. At least he doesn’t have to doubt the commitment of his “husband.”
Mikey’s never quite broken out of the habit of only talking to people who interest him , and catches his attention no more then it did twelve years ago. He manages to give the impression of listening , though he much rather sleep to the droll of class explanations and uniforms. The food plan would bring some light to his blank eyed stare were it for him. ( It certainly was the motivating factor on days where the infamous Toman leader would show up to class. ) 
More then happy to let Ran do the talking , he plays his part too , patting Ran comfortingly like dear , don’t worry we’ll figure it out , we always do. He hopes the lady draws more history then what actually exists. “ They will , ” Mikey agrees. “ No one can resist our Yaki. ” He sets his gaze on the woman with a piercing gaze. “ Can we take a look around ? We’d feel much better if we knew the facilities were safe. ”
 She seems nervous , so Mikey looks away , momentarily forgetting intimidation wasn’t the key to what he wanted this time.  It can’t be unorthodox to want to tour the school , ( not that Mikey actually knows ) , but he softens just enough to play the protective parent. “ We just want to make sure our little Yaki is safe.” He hopes Ran doesn’t laugh , “ Gangs seem to be popular for kids these days. ”
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the-frozen-pheonix · 1 year
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“I’m gonna make it at U.A. My way!”…“Me too!” (Closed Rp with @alexandraxsuoh )
Lunch period was a good time to admire the beautiful grounds that U.A. High-school had to offer, as in spring the world was in a time of rejuvenation. Blue skies with sparse clouds, mild temperature, and wild life free to roam. Despite many of the students taking the time to enjoy the outside world, there was one who seemed in a rush. It wasn’t rare to see him in a rush, but it was rare to see him not enjoying his lunch period to its fullest.
For those that knew him a bit were aware that every minute of his lunch period was precious to him, as there were 3 distinct times he got a moment of freedom from the rigorous effort he put in. One hour in the morning. One hour for lunch. One hour before bed. Then Sunday as an exceptional 4th time. Every other minute of his day was filled with something, though it was hard to tell if you weren’t aware of his unorthodox curriculum plan. Didn’t mean he wasn’t social, quite the opposite. He partitioned bouts of his day for it, this the need for selfish time frames in his day. If you got his attention in those times, then it was either very important him or you were very special. Despite his oft rushed status, he was a handsome young man who handled it well. Rarely seen with a loose paper or backpack, he was very proper looking. Were it not for his student uniform, one would assume him older. He carried his student hero briefcase as a rule, and everything else he needed was in pockets on his person though the day. The eye patch he sported and the demeanor with which he often held was very mature, though this didn’t stop him from being very true to himself in actions and free time.
It being start of second week meant he was slightly behind though-the last day where his free time of the week would be hard pressed until the next break. That was thanks to his parents, though that was a topic he had minimal time to worry on. His rush saw him less-than-attentive to the world around him, and this was dangerous. ‘I have to hurry. These need to be turned in before lunch starts, and if I can’t get them and now they don’t have to do it tomorrow and I am tired of not having any free time! I need a break damnit!’ His thoughts would distract him just enough to make his worry come true.
It was a flash of red on his good eye before he felt a tough push on his body. A thud and some plastic clutter. “Well, these papers will go in tomorrow.” He would mutter softly before looking down to see who he’d bumped into-as he was one to treat others with more importance than paper work. When he saw his classmate Suoh on the ground, with a hair accessory or some other that had fallen-his immediate response was one of sincerity. “My mistake Suoh-are you okay?” He would ask, quickly down on his knees to attend to her. He was one to carry minor medical supplies on him, so anything less severe than an internal injury, he was able to treat. Once any injuries she’d sustained were seen to, he would reach over and grab the seemingly broken accessory. “I didn’t mean for this to break-here…” though he knew it was frowned upon and sometimes against the rules, he quickly used his powers and his on-person supplies on fixing her accessory. “By the way-call me Max. Don’t bother with my last name, everyone here always messes it up anyway-not that I enjoy being reminded of my family anyway.” He would state to her as he worked.
“There we go. Good as new for you.” He would say and smile sweetly, before getting somewhat in her personal space to replace said item into his classmate. This would be thwarted by some young hero class first-years who decided this would be their first act of infamy. Pick on a seemingly un-fitting ‘general education’ student and some ‘washed up third year hero’. They were obviously new enough to be unaware of the unorthodox study Max did, though even Max himself was unawares as to Suoh’s story. He loved gossip, but didn’t ever have the opportunity of hearing what was going on with her.
As a group of three first years zipped down the halls using their quirks and natural athleticism, Max stood sighed and stood. It’s worth noting Max knew Suoh’s last name through being enrolled in the same school. He had never interacted with her outside of formalities. He wasn’t one to let that change his actions. “No more lunch period for me.” He softly spoke before offering Suoh a hand up. As she rose, he would speak. “I’ll get your stuff back to you as soon as possible. Enjoy your lunch, and worry not.” He would offer before bolting after the would-be punks. It wasn’t on his mind that she may have decided to go after them too… though it wasn’t an issue to sacrifice his important time slot for a stranger in need, so who knew what was in his mind today.
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Revolutionary Girl Utena // Kill la Kill
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yanderenightmare · 3 years
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yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI
goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon, profanity, abuse, anger issues, anxiety, arson, bullying, child neglect, child abuse, drugs, addiction, anorexia, guilt, pills, unprotected sex, stalking, trauma
TIP-JAR
PART ONE 
IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM - PART TWO
IN THE TRAILER
She ran away from him in the hallway.
He’d warned her of what would happen if she did.
Knowing it was a matter of when as the next day he was left waiting, grazing the halls of where she’d left him with a kicked ball-sack on the dirty school-floors, all lovesick and frenzied with fire ants raging over his skin and a manic promise that one way or the other he’d get her. Lying in suspenseful spiteful wait to tell everyone what type of slut the little spitball in class 3c General Studies really was.
But, timing was everything, and as the day went by without him spotting her he realized the opportunity to ruin her reputation in school wasn’t going to rear its head.
She was home… 
Sick.
Or, that’s what she’d told the school. One quick question at the reception told him so.
She was home. 
Home in that run-down trailer-park sorry-excuse for a home she despised, the one she cried about so often, the one with neighbours who didn’t give two shits worth a damn about who she was or that her mother was a crackhead-whore in no position to take care of her. 
She was there instead of at school begging him to stop, begging for him to give her a second chance, begging him to kiss her, like she was supposed to do.
Standing outside her trailer, he wondered if whether her mom was home or not. He wondered if either one of her neighbours would care if they saw him break in, if it even was considered breaking in.
He spotted her mother slouched on a beach-chair beside some other trailer with a needle still stuck to her arm, ugly destroyed skin sizzling in the summer-heat, mouldy flip-flops sticking to her feet. 
He cringed at the sight of it, but knew then that his pursuit would go on unprovoked, which at the very least brought him some sense of relief.
She’d gotten in through scholarship as she in no form or way could afford a school like UA. That much was clear, unlike how unclear the crystal-meth shards decorating the plastic salon-table placed on the outside of their van was. 
She transferred half-way through the first year, all on the account of pure hard work.
He could respect that. 
He did respect that. Given she was quirkless and all. It was the reason she’d caught his eye.
It all went sideways when she rejected his invitation to Homecoming.
He’d already gone miles away out of his comfort-zone, out of his element, talked himself into asking her out, only for her to turn him down.
Him.
Best student in Hero-course 1A at the time.
Rejected.
He knew it was petty of him to bully her because of it, but… she didn’t only make a fool out of him, she broke his fucking heart.
He could have listened to Kiri, and tried to forget about her through some other extra, but... he wanted her. He’d decided. She was his. And a quirkless trailer-rat like her was in no position to just say no.
In some sick sense he believed she deserved better. Him being better. But, he would like for her to ask for his help, instead of him just giving it to her. He would like to see her grovel, beg, just a little bit, or a lot. He wanted to see her regret her decision. He wanted to see her sorry. He wanted to see her want him as much as he wanted her. And he wanted it to be her who initiated it.
But… he could see that wasn’t happening. He could see that his unorthodox methods of courting her through continuously trying to bend her until she broke only consisted of her rewinding or snapping back like a rubber-band.
She was distracted, too busy being broken by what life had given her, too busy with juggling different shifts, bills, schoolwork, to be thinking about him and how he pushed her around a bit at school.
He eyed the cracked paint of the faded trailer with much the look of a snob on his face. Fingers brushing over the door-handle, testing how much noise it would make if he were to pick the lock, coming to a complete loss. 
He could barely believe it… the door was unlocked, and when he stepped inside he was even more distraught to see there was no existing lock there to be locked in the first place. 
Meanwhile her mother was too busy slowly dying to better protect her daughter from depraved humans who could come and do just about anything they wanted with her.
Meaning… just look at him.
Soft snores brought him back to where he was once he closed the door behind him. Making the short way to the source of the groggy sounds, feeling his stomach flutter at the thought of how wrong it was of him to be there, sneaking about like some love-obsessed sick stalker, getting turned on by hearing his prey sleep.
What the fuck was wrong with him? 
And why didn’t he care enough to stop?
He stood at the foot of her bed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted to the side to view her sleeping frame.
Sleeping on top of the covers, not under.
He doubted it was because of the heat, the same way he doubted the mattress beneath was clean.
She was curled onto her side, knees bent and tucked up. Cute with that teddy-bear she used as a pillow, silly and stupid but cute because of it, especially in her uniform despite having left the tie and blazer off.
She was wearing her uniform.
Meaning... she’d either gone to bed with her clothes on and slept through the entire day, or she had planned on going to school this morning, but weaseled her way out like the weakly coward she was.
Well, in that case… what he was about to do would serve her right then...
Ought to teach her lesson.
He lifted his hand out of his pocket, producing a finger to poke her ankle softly, before stroking up a path alongside her socks, all four other digits joining in the stride before the fabric came to an end and his callous fingertips glided onto the doughy flesh of her leg, over the dome of her knee and onto her even softer thigh, coming to the edge of her skirt.
He always liked her in that skirt. 
That’s where his mind was at as he started lifting to see what underwear she was wearing, yet never getting that far as something sharp dug into each side of his wrist.
Her nails weren’t of course any close to lethal, yet managed to surprise him as she whipped around to meet him, digging the talons into his roughened skin.
She might not have prioritized figuring out who it was that was currently touching her in her bed, but she had assessed the situation enough to know that someone was in fact in her house and touching her, something of which is not a good omen when you live where she lived, nor in any other situation for that matter.
He tried subduing the splash of struggles that followed her awakening by climbing and crawling some further up on the bed in order to control what myriad of flailing limbs came at him. 
Soon, hands that had primly started clawing at him were safely locked in his much larger hands.
“Oi, relax! It’s just me!”
As if it being him would have any other effect than of rising her already racing heartbeats. Yet, even as her lungs heaved for as much air as her tight chest would allow her, he managed to capture her focus, her hands pinned to each side of her head whereas her feet were stopped amidst their kicking, crushed beneath the weight of the much stronger, much more encompassing mass and weight of Katsuki’s legs.
He hunched over her, back arching with his face a mere half-foot away from her own, the only thing supporting his upper-body being his arms, which were stretched out and grasping at her wrists, pushing them into her pillow.
Her eyes were large with craze-ridden fear as they locked with his recognizable carmine ones. 
“Bakugo?” 
Shocked and scared, with the creeping feeling of anticipation waving over her again, now all for different reasons then when she first understood there was an intruder in her caravan. 
Somehow, it being Bakugo gave her an even starker unsettling eerie feeling than if it had been a total stranger. Maybe because oblivion is bliss and knowing what is to come makes the inevitable that much more inescapable. 
Still, she demanded he tell her, even though she thought she might already know the answer. 
“What are you doing? Why are you here!?”
“You weren’t at school.” He stated, spoken as though it preforming as explanation enough, though serving as far from it to the girl beneath him, the confusion shown in the way she scrunched her brows together.
He noticed, contemplating whether or not he should make his reasons known, but deciding against it and for playing with her for just a little while longer.
“I thought, since you managed to wiggle your way out of your punishment at school, I’d bring the punishment to you.” 
He searched her features for any cracks in her composure, but though she looked beyond uncomfortable, she made no moves to push him off.
Her eyes squinted instead, narrowing at him. 
“I’m not scared of you, Bakugo. I know you’re not gonna hurt me.” 
Her body started twisting under him. The action far from vigorous, mainly meant to show her discomfort as she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere unless Katsuki decided she could.
And though the intention to her wiggling was not to evoke his arousal, it most certainly managed to do just that.
He inhaled sharply and she felt her body freeze up, seize at the feel of his hips making a shift to slot himself against her, grinding down onto her flattened and unmoving body.
“Hurt you?” 
He let out a low rumble of a laugh, like building thunder. 
“Who said anything about hurting you?”
Her breath strained as his eyes scrunched closed upon her jerking, his own teeth sinking into his bottom-lip to maintain the hiss on his tongue at the pull in his pants, his head descending to nuzzle against her chest, spiky hair poking at her chin. 
Mouth breathing hot breaths onto her ear, causing her to whimper.
“Thought you just said you weren't scared?”
She swallowed thickly, improperly giving his rhetorical question an answer, feeling her wrists go numb under his hold and her blood running cold.
“Bakugo…?” 
He didn’t answer and she felt herself go even more rigid at the absence of his voice.
It wasn’t often Katsuki didn’t speak back to her when she willingly spoke to him. In fact, it was never. But now, he was quiet, too quiet, making the frightening rugged sound of his heavy breathing overwhelm her ears, dulling her senses in the process before everything being sent into hyperdrive upon the feeling of his hand leaving her one wrist to cup her breast outside her shirt, giving the mound a careful and slow yet full squeeze.
She yelped at the sudden attack, her body jumping up against him, making yet another teasingly harsh contact with his clothed cock.
This time he hissed, both upon her delicious little struggles but also because her newly freed hand had actively made the decision to pull his hair as a desperate means of making him move.
It worked to some extent, at least in freeing her other hand which opened for the opportunity to drag herself out from beneath him. 
Yet, the action was stopped in a series of rather clumsy fighting, where Bakugo managed to retract the upper-hand once again, pinning both her wrists with one hand whilst tugging loose his tie with the other. 
He’d slotted himself between her legs now, her skirt spreading and hiking up her thighs as she struggled to stop him from tying her wrists together and fasting them to the handicap-bar mounted on the side of the bed, yet failing.
Her body free for him to touch now, to tamper and play with, and she felt her heart catch in her throat, small pleas coming erupting from the place because of it, but he didn’t seem to hear her, and if he did, he was electing to ignore the pitiful sounds.
His hands traveled down her sides, thumbs rubbing over the scratchy material, the fabric of her shirt stiff as a result of using dollar-store laundry detergent.
White shirt; made up of thin fabric to make the fight against the Tokyo-heat easier, yet resulting in it being so temptingly easy to make see-through with just a little spill of water. Water Katsuki was always so eager to pour, either with light teasing spritzes from his water-bottle or in carrying her over his shoulder into the showers and holding her there as the water rained down upon her, drenching both her and himself, then offering ever so mockingly if she would like to borrow a shirt, because unlike her he had a dorm-room with fresh and dry clothes, whereas she only had that one uniform and all other clothes made up of more holes than actual textile.
He chuckled at the memories as his fingers moved up-front and centre to tamper with the buttons.
“I bet you just hate this uniform, don’t yah?” His voice, although maintaining the snicker, was soft. Not loud and abrasive and rushed, but as though he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that, drinking in the moment.
His movements too, were slow; careful.
Large warm hands stroking down the bare skin of her stomach, feeling the tremors as he did so, with eyes glued to those perfect mounds found beneath what looked like a well-worn sports-bra, making him wonder what she’d look like if he were to dress her up in expensive red lace. She’d be mouthwatering to look at either way, and breasts are just as soft whichever way they’re dressed… it’s not like the bra is staying on for too long anyway.
He swallowed thickly to stop his mouth from dripping.
He tucked her shirt out from her skirt, taking a moment to grip her midriff and squeeze to try and ease her struggling. 
It only resulted in her thrashing even more, whirlwinds of panicked get-off-me’s and fuck-you’s and stop’s spilling from her mouth in rapids, but the plead seemed to repel off Bakugo’s ears like water off a ducks back where the desperation only aided in satiating his sick sadism, in the same fashion tears fell from her eyes aided in making his stomach churn or flutter with something he could only describe as bliss, her arms trying to the best of their efforts at tugging at her bonds, to no avail except for making the skin found their chaffed and sore.
He spent a few seconds deciding whether he wanted the skirt on or off as he felt up the fabric between his fingers, more memories flushing his mind with such sweet and potent nostalgia of him lifting up the short excuse for coverage in the school-halls every day to sneak a peak at her underwear, or those times he would bend her over classroom-desks and push his bulge where it would fit so snuggly against her ass.
“Kinda feels like this skirt gets shorter and shorter for each year...” He mused, stroking up the skin of her thighs, lifting the fabric in the process, revealing a pair of black cotton boxers which, despite being lackluster, forced a groan to rumble from his chest.
The fuck-you’s had turned to please’s and the change made a smirk curl onto his lips as he put his lips to the inside of her thigh before pulling away to look down at her, all spread open and quivering for him. 
Breasts all perfect, squished together in the comfort of her bra, hair splayed on top of the pillow, her nose turning all red and adorable with her eyes brimming with both panic and tears.
Her skin felt so soft and untouched beneath his fingertips as he stroked up and down her thighs, pulling them towards him, as far as the bonds on her wrists would allow, slightly struggling with how much the panic had taken a hold of her, her legs kicking and flailing.
But he liked it that way. 
Messy and desperate.
“Don’t be difficult, Quirkless, you’re not getting out of this.” He spoke so calmly, so collected and controlled and determined. As though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, as though this was his right. “This is the only thing you’re any good for anyways.”
He leveled with her clothed little sex, slung her legs over his shoulders, watched as she squirmed upon his breath, heard her whimper and plead with his name as he stuck his tongue into the fabric, her legs doing a little involuntary kick while her thighs where firmly secured in his hands.
“Worthless quirkless little pussy on legs.”
She sobbed as his fingers latched around the ribbon of her underwear, pulling, tearing the fabric, with no need to pull it down her legs, just a need to pull them off.
A content and knowing smile made its way onto his lips, yet she was unable to see it in her position, something of which she was thankful for, or… as thankful as one can be when being defiled by a friend. 
Not that Bakugo was much of a friend anymore, but he had been, at some point before he'd offered more than one concerning opinion about quirkless people and their place in the world.
Of her place in the world.
He didn’t share her nostalgia though, not when the future was smiling at him with the face of her shaven warm pussy right in front of him.
“Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me? Huh? Knew I was coming?” He teased as she shook her head sporadically, unable to form any type of words in her overwhelming embarrassment and fear and panic.
He grinned smugly, despite knowing it was due to her spot on the swimming-team she kept herself clean and hairless, also knowing that the only reason she took swimming-lessons was because she and her mom couldn’t afford the hot-water bill, making her take showers at school instead, and that a spot on the swimming-team gave her a free-ticket to using those showers anytime she wanted.
How many times had he snuck in there to watch her soap up her body?
How many times had he palmed his erection to the sight of her?
How much he’d wanted to waltz in and take her against the cold tiles, make steam roll off the walls, hearing her voice echo his name... 
Now he had the real deal though, no more time for fantasies.
She was smart, she was resourceful, but not enough to put a lock on her door.
She was lucky if one thought about it.
Lucky it wasn’t just any random guy who walked in and took her like Bakugo was going to take her.
Lucky it wasn’t just anyone’s tongue jutting out to lick up her spread folds.
Lucky it was Bakugo who was hugging her thighs close to him, using them as soft warm pillows as he nuzzled between them to lick and suck and bite at the little bundle of nerves found right there in front of him.
Lucky it was Bakugo that had her squirming and quaking and whimpering and crying. 
Because, taking everything into consideration, she was safe with him.
Safer than she would or even could be with anyone else for that matter.
Who else could really protect her like he could, like he will, like he has?
She should be grateful he still wants her after she rejected him, humiliated him like she did. She was sure going to pay for it tonight. But first, he could at least treat her to what she had been missing, especially when thinking of how much he was going to take from her before the day let up.
It almost made him feel bad.
Almost, being the keyword, because without it he wouldn’t have thought it funny how many noises she could make without alerting anyone from outside, how no one cared whether she blubbered out common sniveling protests and screams of his name, begging him to stop, or those equally loud yet scarce moans that sprung from her despite her not wanting them to, each time he sucked too hard or too harshly on her clit, teeth rubbing over the sensitive skin found there. Her hips dancing a panicked series of shimming from side to side, controlled in his grasp and only aiding in his tongue finding new places to lick and suck at as he laid abusive worship onto the temple between them. Nose bumping and dipping and rubbing onto places too tender as his mouth moved lower.
Her knees jolting as he kept them spread open, claws digging into the grabbable flesh each time she would pound the ball of her heel into his back, the movement always falling still upon the building simmering threat of explosions in his palms, pain much sharper than that of his nails.
She wanting nothing more but to wrench away, especially upon feeling the shameful treacherous dripping of herself down onto the bedsheets, disgusted with her body, humiliated beyond repair, with the tongue of Katsuki lapping up what mess he had made out of her, teeth from a grin gracing in feather-light motions, yet still managing to shoot electricity up her core. 
All she could do was pant and sob through moans and trying her best to force out more protests even though she knew it was to no use, until she felt him pull away, leaving her cold in loss of contact with heat. 
She doubted his removal was because she’d begged it from him.
Her doubts being answered as she heard the crisp clatter of a belt-buckle opening.
Her eyes were swimming, gifting her with more panic as she wasn’t even able to see what he was doing, yet knowing, again wishing she didn’t, wishing she was rather deaf as well as blind, wishing all her senses to simply give away, all so that she didn’t have to witness what she was surely soon going to have to be the victim of.
She heard the clothes dropping to the floor, looked up at him through bleary blurry eyes, still recognising the sandy nuance of his skin fully on display before her. 
His large hands found her knees again, prying them open. His hips fitting between her thighs.  
“Ba- ba- Baku- go,  plea- please, don’t- don’t… stop.” She choked on her tears, on her fear, on her panic, on the feeling of the cold breeze making her exposed sex shiver and beg for something warm to fill it up, on her disgust.
“Don’t stop?” He snickered, pinching her clit between his fingers, making her arch with a whine before trying to wrench away, yet stopped by his hands steadying on her knees, spreading her open for him.
His cock-head delved between her folds, and he had to catch a pathetic whimper from escaping his throat, settling for biting his lip instead and ridiculing the reason as to why he was feeling so weak in the first place. Growling at the little girl beneath him, all tied up and defenceless and hopeless and pathetic, but still able to make him feel so small.
“I knew you were just a stupid slut.”
It helped hearing her scream for him. 
It helped hearing her choke on her own gasps as he filled her tight little space up with the warm length of his cock. 
It helped feeling her squeeze and seize around the girth of him, hugging him close and tight, filling and stretching her out so nicely.
She had resorted to hectic crying, no words, no protests, just sobbing, hiccupping, coughing up her own cries. 
And, although he imagined himself growling and groaning he fell short of those guttural rusty sounds and fell prey to whimpering like a lovesick puppy humping a plushie-toy instead. 
His hands holding onto her hips as though letting go meant death as he rolled his hips into her, feeling her warm velvety walls welcome him home.
It felt so good he nearly barreled over, his face buried in her chest, hand coming up to enclose over her mouth as so to stop the cries and hear those soft muffled moans she made instead.
Small stifled broken wet mews spurred into his palm, as he kissed a trail up the valley of her chest and onto her neck, whispering with his breath shaky.
“If it makes you feel any better… this is my first time too.”
He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because he was suddenly regretting his decision of being a monster, or maybe because the fright of being vulnerable disappeared at the feeling of conquering what made him afraid.
“I spread a rumour in second that I fucked Ururaka just to see your reaction.” He let out a breathy laugh, the open smile on his face indicated his nostalgia, as though it were a fond memory. “But you didn’t care at all did you?”
He snapped his hips forward, hitting something painful making her scream beneath his hand, opening it to hear her sob out in whimpers.
“Did you?!” It was accusatory and loud and right next to her ears, as he bared his teeth.
She was sure she was bleeding, feeling as though he was tearing her up, splitting her open, every harsh thrust felt deep within her abdomen, churning her guts.
“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor- sorry!” She spluttered out, more thick gulps of tears streaking her cheeks with red.
“You know what I think?” 
He leaned in closer, his nose poking into her cheek, lips brushing her ear, hands now having moved to cup her knees, pushing them up into the bedsheets beside her shoulders, hiking her up to meet his sharp thrusts. 
“I think you wanted this…”
She shook her head as his grin gleamed from seeing her discomfort.
“Leaving your door unlocked like that, you were begging for this to happen.” He laughed, biting her earlobe, heavy balls clapping against her ass.
She sniveled. “You- you know we can’t afford-” She started, but was cut off by her own broken moan as Bakugo yet again made another sharp movement, sending an earth-shattering smack to fill the crammed space of her RV, and then again cut off by Bakugo’s own response.
“Yeah? But you could still afford that dress you wore to Homecoming couldn’t you?” He sounded crazed, upset and angry and obsessed with making her regret it. “When you went with that fucking extra instead of me?” 
His forehead pushed against hers, eyes a feral red and large with rage, watching in sadistic glee as she scrunched her eyes together in pain, trying to block his voice out from her head. 
“Yeah, I bet you’re sorry now.” He growled, again taking a break from his series of shallow thrusts to push deep into her, making her whine in wet agony. “That was the worst mistake of your life and you’re gonna make it up to me tonight.”
He pushed himself up, looking down at the crying mess he was buried inside, licking his lips.
She couldn’t stop apologising, as he fucked into her, her hands going numb under the bondage of his tie around her wrists. 
“I’m sorr- sorry-” She croaked, face burning from her tears.
“Yeah? You better be.”
He gathered her ankles in his hands, holding them up, one hand coming to roll her sock down her leg.
“You’re gonna be.”
His hand caressed her small bare-foot tightly, thumb digging into her sole, his mind drifting to how cute and tiny it was, smaller than his hand, and strangely soft for someone who chooses to walk everywhere to save money.
“I’m sorry-” She blubbered. “I’m- I’m sorry...” 
She struggled for breath between her apologies and cries, forgetting how to inhale as Bakugo’s cock crammed into her, stripping her lungs of their air.
He kissed the pad of her foot, before leaning down again, hands once more cupping her knees and pushing them against the mattress.
“Good.”
She quaked beneath his stare, his sharp teeth too close as she cringed at the wet creamy sloshing sound of his cock pounding into her.
She had to look away, wanting to twist to hide her face in her pillow and cry until he was done.
But he wouldn’t have that.
“Hey, look at me when I fuck you.”
Gathering her face between his fingers, he scrunched her lips together as his own face closed in, his teeth coming to bite down on the vulnerable pout.
“You’re nothing without me, you understand that?”
One of his hands seized around her throat, adding slight pressure to accommodate his words.
“Good for nothing.” He spit. “Except for being my little slut, right?”
His claws scratched her throat, making her mewl and suck at her bitten bruised lip, tasting the metal.
“Come on, slut, I asked you a fucking question!”
Again, he angled his cock to jut into her painfully, making her gasp in strained pain at the stretch, followed by a sob.
“I’m just a slut-” She sniffled, eyes spiralling when looking into his unforgiving scarlet ones.
He smiled again, kissing her cheek.
“Who’s?”
The kiss became a lick, as he dragged his tongue up her tear-slicked cheek.
“Who’s slut?”
He felt her tremble and stiffen under his tongue, her eye’s squeezing shut.
“Your slut.” She answered, but it proved not to be good enough as another sharp painful thrust hit her core. “Bakugo’s slut.” 
She knew it was wrong the second she said it as a growl rumbled against her neck, his teeth gracing, scraping against her tender flesh. 
“Katsuki’s slut!” 
The words all broken and wet and beautiful coming from her bloated and reddened lips.
He placed a chaste kiss to her jaw, nibbling his way up to her mouth, whispering upon them. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re nothing without me.”
He kissed roughly, growling for her to kiss back, hand still tightly locked around her neck, begging for her to refuse him only for him to squeeze the life out of her.
His tongue pushed into her mouth as he slobbered and drooled above her, mouth sucking on her lips, trailing down her jaw and down her throat, nibbling and biting and lapping at her skin like some hound drooling over steak.
His hand left her throat to grasp her clothed breasts as he hit a particular spot, calling an unintentional bucking of her hips into him, making him groan in pleasure, his own thrusts gaining speed, hitting that same spot he now knew would make her unravel.
“You’re so lucky to get my cock.”
He worked himself into a taller position again, dragging himself off her chest to admire what artwork he’d made of her collar and chest.
“Say you love it.”
She shook her head, a petty begging-look on her face. 
It was a weak protest, almost enough to make him let it go, yet still outweighed by his need to make her pay.
His hips suddenly thrusting into her deeply, sharply, in all the ways he’d found out hurt.
She cried out. “No, no, Bakugo, please!” Panicked sobbing, her chest arching in pain, her legs coming to kick him off, yet were stopped as he pushed her knees into her chest. Jutting into her brutally.
“Say you love it and I’ll go slower.”
He saw her knuckles whiten at how hard she was balling her fists, tugging at her bonds desperately.
“I’ll fuck you good.” He promised, finding himself grow excited upon the thought. “Nice and slow like lovers do.” He had to snicker, even as she sobbed and hiccupped up screams that caught in her throat at his sharp thrusts, her eyes screwed tightly shut, allowing no tears to drop yet leaving them swimming in stinging salt.
His head dropped again to her temple, lips nibbling lightly on her cheek bone, his heavy breaths sounding louder than what snapping noise was made between his hips and the softness of her ass.
“Come on…” He drawled an impatient growl into her ear, a rumble that strung another whimper out from her.
More sobs followed, broken in their execution. “I love it… I love it.”
She hadn’t screamed it the way he wanted, but hearing it hang loosely onto her cries, all trembling and weak, was somehow better than what he thought he’d wanted anyway.
He slowed down, enough to lessen the sound of flesh slapping flesh and for the squishy noise of him filling her up again and again to replace it.
“What do you love?”
He made his way to rip open the seams of her shirt on her shoulder, not caring in the moment that she didn’t have a spare uniform to replace it. The shirt gone before she could even answer his question.
“You’re cock, I love you’re cock.” She sobbed, as her bra met with the same fate her shirt had, leaving her in just her little black skirt and one sock remaining, her tits springing loose, bouncing on both her cries and Bakugo’s movements.
“Fuck, good, such an obedient little pet.”
His head fell into the newly presented bare flesh with a moan, heavy panting as he slobbered up the valley between her breasts, palming the soft mounds before twisting the nipples between his fingertips, pulling at them, playing with them, his mouth sucking and biting, teasing the tender sensitivity.
His hands quitting their torment in favor of holding onto each their knee to keep her spread open for him as he rolled deeply into her spot.
“Feels so fucking-” He groaned, not bothering to finish the thought, before another impulse struck him.
His position in having his face buried in her neck and his body laid tight and snug on top of hers moved, making her feel the wisp of a chill coat her as their warm sweat-slicked bodies parted, feeling almost as though they were glued together as he pulled away, cock still being kept warm inside the comfort of her walls.
His hands came up to fickle with the knot that kept her hands locked above her head, his fingers sloppily tugging to loosen the tie, before gripping her hips tightly in a fashion meant to make sure she understood that despite being loose she was far from actually free.
Lifting her up of the spot she’d sunk into on the mattress and on to straddling his torso, his feet hitting the ground with a dunk with her propped up on his thighs, every little movement of his adjusting making his cock poke and message into other new dangerous places, places too tight to be attacked in whichever reckless unthoughtful way Bakugo saw fit.
Fingers running, or rather digging into her skin and making way to rake up her sides, grabbing and clinging to her midriff to pull her close, with his thighs beginning to impatiently move in a boyish manor to satiate the need for friction his member craved.
One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand made to grab her chin, allowing him to look over her, again tempted to bite into those lushes red lips, all bloated and made for his teeth to gnaw on. Yet, his mouth made way to her neck instead, licking up her throat, sucking on the thin skin, wanting to make his mark flourish in red explosions all over her.
“Be a good quirkless slut and bounce on my cock, make yourself useful for once.”
His knees jolted upwards making her hop, followed by his cock sinking deeper into her.
Her hands held uncertainly mid-air made to grip his shoulders at the further intrusion, biting back another cry, however unable to keep the sobbing sigh from rupturing her throat.
However, she wasn’t given long to recover as his hand came down to plant a red-hot slap on her ass, making her jump on her own.
“Come on, don’t be shy.”
She started moving, unsure of what or which way to do it, finding the rhythm of rocking her hips forward after a while, earning a disgusting sigh of satisfaction from the blonde holding a bruising grip on her.
“That’s right...”
His arm moving to hold a death-grip on her waist, thumb digging into the underside of her ribs, poking each time she lolled forward and at the same time threatened her to stop.
His other hand came to grip her face again, stiff lips crashing against teary lips. Sucking her face as though stealing her life-source, only breaking between breaths to announce cocky cruel comments and instructions.
“Stay right there, slut.” A thrust from his hips accompanied the nickname, making her wince and lurch forward into him. “Aww that’s cute.”
Both his hands went under her skirt to grab at her ass, lifting her up only to sleeve himself inside her once again.
“Does that feel good? Huh? Right there?”
Another slap and she rested even harder against his chest, trying to find comfort in the pitch black her screwed-shut eyes left her in, yet the overwhelming scent of caramel wasn’t easily ignored, and neither was how perfectly his cock sunk into her.
His hands fingered the fabric of her skirt as he bumped into her from beneath. Tugging on the textile until ripping it off, the action earning her gasp as she was now wearing nothing but her one sock, the skirt having provided as some false sense of coverage.
“Is the slut enjoying herself?” He mocked, a salacious grin constantly spreading on his face between moans and grunts.
She shook her head, the urge to fight herself to freedom awakening yet again as her hands moved to push at his chest. 
“No… stop.”
But her back was supported, or rather steadied, with Bakugo’s large palm, little sparking ignitions gaining control of her struggles quickly, the fight leaving her body with a whimper of defeat, just as quickly as it had arrived.
Another sharp thrust ripped a strangled moan from her and he grinned. 
“Liar.” He snickered. “You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut 'cause that's the only thing you know how not to fuck up, only thing your whore mom ever taught you.”
Forcing her hips to roll faster, the slick coated their thighs as her tits bounced for him.
“Does she share this bed with both you and her crackhead fuck-friends?” 
He couldn’t defend his need to make her cringe in his arms, why he wanted to see her ashamed, why he wanted her crying into him. 
“Such a freak. Are you gonna cum on the same sheets your mom sleeps on?”
Sharp fingers dug into her cheeks again, all because he wanted to be entertained by the show of her breaking.
He pulled her hips closer, fighting to hit that spot that had her mewling earlier, wanting to hear her mewl again, wanting to prove his point.
Once he found it she fell flush against him, melting in his hands, soft-spoken moans falling like drool down her chin.
“Like that, right there?” His words fell hot on her lips as his thumb pushed into her mouth and down onto her tongue, holding her chin in place. 
Her eyes crossed then upon his cock nudging in just the right way against her cervix, as well as her brows drawing up into a pretty eruption. 
“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, clutching tighter onto her hip, rocking her forward to meet his thrusts. “Are you gonna cum on my cock, huh?”
With his thumb still dipped into her mouth, she tried her best to retort. 
“No…” 
It couldn’t be referred to as defiance as it was too pitiful to be called that.
“Yes, you are.”
He sucked on her collarbone, making his way up by kissing a trail of slobbering kisses and bites to her ear. 
With his hips still angled just right, his thumb left her mouth to grip her other hip. 
He could feel her tight little pussy start to convulse around his shaft, small flutters that squeezed him tightly, milking him.
She hated that she wanted to spill over so badly. The surging swimming boiling buzz constantly teased by Katsuki’s plush cockhead pushing and poking and jabbing at her cervix again and again.
She felt it coming, the snapping, breaking, splitting, the building coming close to bursting, yet she was reminded of who she was with in her reach for bliss and found herself regretting chasing it.
“No, no, not with him, not with him, not-”
It was too late as she tried holding it back, tried grasping it as hard as she was clamping down on his cock, as hard as she was digging her nails into his shoulders.
The movements of his hips slowed down. 
“There you go. Feel good, slut?” He mocked as her body spasmed, skin freezing over under his touch, feeling disgusted, skin-crawlingly disgusted with herself and how she was unable to control the continuous spasms that seemed to ricochet through her spontaneously. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”
His speed picked up again, humping into her, making her ride through her orgasm, feeling the almost painful ticklish pressure build again upon each time he bottomed-out ruthlessly inside the comfort of her wet walls.
“No, Bakugo stop, stop!” Her pleads weren’t met.
“Is it too much?” He laughed, gathering a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck in order to make her look up at him, making her wince as he spit his words into her face. “Mommy didn't do too good a job at raising her slut, I see. Can't even handle cumming without crying." He jeered, mock pouting at her with his forehead pressed into hers, blood-soaked orbs forcing eye-contact from her wide tear-stained ones as she whimpered. "Aw, is my cock too much for the little whore?”
“Yes, stop!” She couldn't care less if she was answering some cruel nickname , the painful pressure assaulted inside her was something too vehement she needed to make relent, but yet again was her plead answered with a lack of mercy in an eerie whisper and nothing more.
“I’m not finished yet.”
All she could do was beg for him to finish… so that’s what she did. 
“Please...”
He gathered her face in his hand again, fingers squishing into her cheeks hurtfully as he made to sneer into her face. 
“Please what? Please fuck your whore cunt harder? Please make you cum again?”
Even as he snickered and mocked, his cock twitched at the sight of her. 
Eyes all puffy and swimming in her own tears, eyebrows knitted together, begging for mercy. 
Completely and literally held in the palm of his hand, yet her gaze still managing to make him feel fuzzy with the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.
“Oh fuck, say you love me.”
Cold dread made up most of her body, what else was the rising crippling shameful feeling of something sweet knotting up somewhere in her lower abdomen again, this time harder than before as her already abused high was continuously pocked by Katsuki’s swollen cockhead kissing her cervix harshly again and again and again, driving her insane. And all of it made his demand impossible to answer, impossible to even comprehend.
Yet, she was in no position to refuse with her face held up between his fingertips and his crimson eyes boring holes straight into her terror-wide heart.
“Say you love me or I’ll cum inside you.” His voice lacking all she considered still human. Not a hint of remorse or guilt or shame or pity.
She gulped on her breaths, yet managed to voice the words. “I love you, Katsuki.”
Her eyes now unable to look away from him. Even as he picked up the painful pace, stabbing at her core, in places she had no former knowledge of, places the length of her fingers could never even as much as dream of reaching.
“Fuck.” A boyish virginal whimper laced the moan that escaped him at her words, satisfaction easing the raging and crazed look on his face. “I love you too.”
His toes curled painfully, cold and numb against the floorboards.
“I love you.”
Hands warm and sliding against dewy and doughy flesh.
"I love you."
Something pulling, straining, building to burst was chasing release, sending spasms to shoot through his shaft.
"I love you."
He knew what was coming. He knew it would be better than ever.
“We’ll get you a pill later, ‘kay?”
The guilt was washed over with the promise of painting her walls.
“It’s fine.” He tried reassuring as he felt her revolt in his arms, all her strength fighting to get off him, yet was no match against the force of his hands holding onto her, and his need to explode inside.
She resulted to begging instead. “No, no, Katsuki stop, don’t, please!”
Feeling her hope being crushed in his palm, picturing his laughing face as she turned her vision to black, his feral smile like supersonic light, dangerous and deadly and made to rip throats out.
And then it was done, she felt the last thrust like the last blow through her gut.
Cream filling her up, smearing between their thighs, Katsuki’s head resting on her shoulder with his hands holding onto her hips, fingers marking their presence into her back yet softening their grip with each of his panting breaths landing on her breasts.
Her blood ran cold through stiff veins, as though she were dead. Her skin crawling, as though rotting with mites. 
Sickness. 
Sickness in her lungs, in her throat, building, climbing up her pipes.
She slung herself off in a hurry, and with Katsuki coming down from whatever sick high he was riding, he wasn’t alert enough to catch her, which was probably a good thing because after her staggering her way to the bathroom, feeling his cum and her wetness leak out of her and drip along the inside of her thighs, she only barely made it in time to open the toilet compartment, get to her knees in the small space and haul her guts out into the small stained bowl.
Feeling like her mother, each time she came home all sweaty, mascara smeared with tears on her face like a garbage racoon, sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging until she collapsed on the floor, face laid in her own puke.
She heard Katsuki’s heavy footsteps, one and two before his hand met with her neck. Collecting her hair in a ponytail in his grip with the other hand encompassing her naked back.
She was afraid he was going to pull her up, expecting her scalp to soon scream in protest at the feel of her hairs being ripped up from their roots. 
Yet, as she awaited the torture… all she felt was the slow stroking of carefully placed paths running up her spine and then down to the small of her back in a manor either meant to be comforting or patronizing, with her hair being kept away from her face as she retched on repeat.
It was mostly just water and acid, and Katsuki made a mental note to make her eat later as he helped her up with his hands under her arms, supporting her when seeing how her shivering rendered her knees too weak to stand on her own, lifting her up on a tiny counter which would have been impossible for him if he were to try and sit on it, yet seemed the perfect size for her.
The ruff base of his thumb brushed the spit from the corner of her mouth, her large eyes meeting his own as he leaned in, soft weak hands only barely pushing against his chest in an act to stop him, but his lips pushed onto her anyway.
Parting with a string of silver connecting them, and he couldn’t help but fall prey to how beautiful she was even in her broken ugliness, how prettily her eyes fluttered with sticky eyelashes clutching together as though hugging for comfort, stray wisps of hair dancing in front of her face. Her wet breaths, sobbing breaths, hiccupping breaths, trembling past those soft pillow-y and blossomed lips, plump and full and bitable, or huffed through her nose, sniveling and sniffing and so very unfairly precious.
His thumb stroked over those lips, watching them quiver. 
He took time admiring her, feeling her cold fingertips vibrate against his chest, wondering if she could feel how hard his heart was hammering inside his ribcage with how much she was shaking. Wondering if she knew just how much he’d wanted this, how long he’d wanted this, how despite him ignoring her cries, that she understood how this wasn’t in vain, how he wasn’t just doing this because he could, that he was doing this because he needed to, that he wasn’t doing this because he hated her but because he loved her, loved her too much to let her simply slip from between his fingers again.
His fingers latched onto the band of her sock, pulling it down and off at her toes, finally leaving her completely bare.
“Let’s get you in the shower.”
He moved to pick her up, uncaring of her newly sparked urge to fight him.
“No, Katsuki…”
She tried pushing, she tried making him stop despite everything being slippery and sticky and gross. The want to cry herself to sleep knowing and finding some comfort in the fact that Katsuki was done with her and long gone outweighed the want to get clean.
“The water’s cold, you won’t like it.” She argued in a weak attempt to sway him from the idea, yet knowing full well that he didn’t care.
“Come on…” He drawled as he caught her bothersome fists by the wrists in his massive hands. “We’ll take a shower and then we’ll go get your pill…” 
He fought to find eye-contact. 
“We both know you don’t have the money for it anyway…”
Typical of him to mention her situation. Typical of him to use it against her. And though it was typical, though it was predictable, it still made her heart clench, her soul twist, her spirit crumble.
He swore he saw something start to break in her eyes, wanting to deliver the final blow to snuff out whatever fight she still had left. 
He leaned in more, his nose brushing against hers.
“You need me.”
Her struggles stopped at that, Katsuki wrapping her legs around his back to support her as he carried her to the shower. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, completely deflated.
It wasn’t at all as in the movies. Sweet couples who help wash each other’s hair, warm bodies gliding against one another, soft perfect handprints printed on the dewy glass.
She hadn’t been lying, the water was freezing as the showerhead spritzed the water down on them with a force close to that of aching.
They didn’t both fit in the crammed space either, Katsuki was sure that even him alone wouldn’t fit in the tight space, where he was left to have one foot on the floorboards outside the door, water rushing into the hallway, running down his leg, but he didn't care.
His frame blocked the door completely, allowing her no shape or form of exit as he made her stand there, under the showerhead, hair slicking to her neck and nipples perking into hardness under the freeze, goosebumps strutted and coated her flesh from head to toe, her cheeks and lips blossomed with a purple hue, her eyes closed, head dipped in discomfort or shame or embarrassment or sorrow or a bit of everything and even more.
Her body trembled beneath his warm hands, as they cupped her breasts, palming them and playing and pinching with her back hunching in a weak effort to get her discomfort across, despite knowing how he didn’t care, with the fact having been proven time and time again.
His warm calloused fingertips brushed down her abdomen, eyes stark and loud as they looked at her body, thinking of how unblemished and beautiful her skin was as opposed to him, no roughness or ugly greenish bruises, just milky smooth and rosy suppleness and all his.
His hand traveled further, causing her small ones to reach out and grip around his wrist, both hands giving their best effort at trying to stop him. Though his other hand was quick to wrap around her throat and extract a sweet gasp with the movement.
Her hands removed their pressure yet remained on him as he brushed featherlight touches over the sensitiveness of her sex, fingertips dipping into her folds, slithering in the slick velvet of his cum mixed with her wetness.
A sob ricocheted through her as her toes curled, fingers bending and nailing into his wrist. Still, he continued. Fingers pushing inside, pumped knuckle-deep inside the puffy spongey walls, reaching deep before scissoring, making her knees bend, yet kept from falling by the hand around her neck keeping her up like a noose as he curled the two digits.
Her eyes avoided his, looking down at his limp cock who somehow seemed just as intimidating as before, like a sleeping beast ready to wake at any second. 
Yet, as much as he played with her sex, his own remained still.
He picked her up again as he saw more of her skin going purple, not really wanting her to get sick, just refreshed.
Water flooded on the soft-with-mould floorboards in the tight hallway as her feet dragged against the walls when he yet again carried her to the bed. And as much as she wanted to fight as he placed her dripping body down onto the sheets, she couldn’t find the energy. Tears, however, still managed to drip down her face, unhurriedly gliding down her cheeks, warm in stark contrast amidst the freezing shower-water.
“Do you wanna hear something really fucked up?”
It was rhetorical, but he wouldn’t have gotten an answer either way.
“I used to be jealous of your crack-whore mother…”
Her face cringed, confused yet still not desiring to know what he meant.
“Fuck, I’m still jealous when you come to school and I see that there's somebody else who makes you cry harder than me.”
She had to swallow in order not to gulp.
“You’re sick.”
Those were the wrong words, for as quickly as they entered the air, he was once again on top of her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs.
“I’m sick?” He questioned, fingers plunging inside her, a forced moan ripped from her throat. “You’re the one cumming and creaming and squirting all over my cock while crying.” He bit out while starting to pump into her cruelly, finding it easier now as she was already wet from before. “Telling me you love it, telling me you love me.” He laughed as he sneered. “Who would’ve known what a slut you are. So desperate you let your own bully fuck you like this. You fucking whore.” 
His pushed his thumb into her clit cruelly, a sadistic smile on his face as she struggled.
“Stop, shut up, shut up!” Her palms made to push at his hard chest, yet was weakened as she felt the burning sweetness start to pool were his fingers poked.
“You don’t like that nickname? No? Aww, that’s fine.” He hissed, then scoffed. “It’s not true anyway...” He muttered beneath his breath, trying to find what sweet spot his fingers could reach as so to have her unravel beneath him again, wanting to lick the sin from her expression, wanting to bathe in his victory of making her his. “How did it feel to have my cock balls deep inside your precious little virgin innocent cunt, huh? Better yet, how does it feel to know how I am your first? First to kiss you, first to fuck you, first to make you cum.”
“Fuck you.”
Any remnants of strength was now spent on those last words, as the rest was spared to support her oncoming orgasm, the one she could feel clawing, sucking all senses up as though preparing for an implosion.
“That’s right…” He whispered. “Fuck me. Your first and your last.”
His ominous tone had her guts churning, which in some sick sense only added to the pooling dam that was about to snap inside her, but she kept her eyes wide, further digging into what his words meant, wondering if this would be her last day on earth, wondering if Bakugo would be the last person she'd ever see, ever feel, ever touch.
“You look like I’m gonna kill you.” He observed as he curled his fingers once again, making her hips buckle into his hand, which in turn made him grin. “Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you…”
His head dipped so that he could nibble at her neck, lick up the tender flesh with his fingers pumping in and out of her, coated in slick, collecting and drenching in his palm.
“I’m just gonna make sure no one ever touches what’s mine again…”
She couldn’t explain why the growl in his voice had her abdomen doing flips.
“Including that fuckface slut you call a mother.”
His fingers scissored, her back arching as she moaned.
“You’ll be lucky I even let you graduate.”
She couldn’t quite catch what he was saying anymore, just the lilt in his tone which had her falling apart beneath him, the walls of her pussy fluttering in pleasure.
“People go missing all the time.”
Her toes curled and she braced herself.
“That way I can have you all for myself.”
His warm lips pressed against her neck, his growls reverberating on her skin.
“All mine.”
His fingers poked at something that was about to burst and as she wanted to climb further up on the bed to escape it, she also wanted him to follow.
“Where you belong.”
And there it was, body melting into the mattress, all shame obsolete in those seconds.
Unable to see him lick her orgasm off his fingers as her eyes had crossed and traveled way too far into the back of her skull.
Unable to prepare for his kiss as her mouth hung open, soft feeble moans cut loose into the air, captured by Bakugo’s mouth.
She didn’t catch the second he stopped kissing her, nor did she catch the moment he got off the bed.
She must have fallen asleep for a short while because when she opened her eyes again Bakugo was dressed, rummaging through cabinets containing worn out clothes and things like it, seeming displeased with most of what he found.
She looked to her side, where placed on the bed was a towel, fresh underwear and a bra.
She motioned for the towel first, feeling the shameful wet stickiness between her thighs, hurriedly wiping it clean before putting on her garments, looking up to see Bakugo staring at her, having found something suitable to dress her in.
“Put this on.” 
She didn’t bother looking at what he’d so graciously offered her of her own clothes.
Her eyes narrowed at him instead. 
“I don’t want your help.” She sneered, looking away, crossing her arms over her chest as so to hide herself from his piercing gaze.
His fingertips were quick in clutching her cheeks, raking them into her skin as he turned her head back to look at him.
“Too bad, you need it.”
The fabric was cast at her lap unceremoniously, the soft silky feel cold against her bare thighs.
“Put it on.” The growl was followed by him removing his hand with a push.
She huffed before looking down at the presented article, wondering what Bakugo wanted to dress her up in, her lips forming a disgusted snarl.
“It’s my mother’s.”
The yellow summer-dress, flowy and frilly in texture, something she’d never wear, something Bakugo knew well she would never wear.
“It’d go to waste on her.”
This made her look up, curiosity or maybe even a form of flattery evident in the curl between her brows.
The sudden eye-contact catching Bakugo off guard as he’d shared the uncharacteristically tender opinion of the girl out loud.
He scoffed, crimson eyes darkening in an attempt to hide the building flustered panic, masking it with a growl instead. 
“Put it on, I won’t ask again.”
She fingered the fabric for a while longer before treading it on over her head, letting the skirt dress her thighs with a featherlight fall.
Looking like a spring-daydream, not at all as though she’d just lived through a nightmare.
With her drying hair falling in messy curled tousles down her shoulders, Bakugo reached out a hand to fasten the small wispy strands coming to tickle her forehead behind her ear, grabbing her wrists in favor of her hand when he pulled her up.
“Let’s go. I can’t stand this shithole.”
Wondering if he should have said that he couldn’t stand her in that shithole instead.
TIP-JAR
PART ONE
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kiribakuhappiness · 2 years
Text
Literally nobody asked for this but I am so FUCKING in love with them. Rad boys.
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Rex + Blaze
[click for better quality]
-Preview below the cut-
Rex tosses his baseball bat up in the air and catches it again with a firm grip on the bloodied barrel before he points the clean knob straight into Blaze's face. Blaze startles at the intrusion and winces away like he expects to be hit.
Rex tosses his baseball bat up in the air and catches it again with a firm grip on the bloodied barrel before he points the clean knob straight into Blaze's face. Blaze startles at the intrusion and winces away like he expects to be hit.
Rex: "You play?"
Blaze blinks at the other boy in surprise following such an unorthodox question.
His eyes dart over to look at the unconscious body lying on the pavement and he outwardly panics at what he thinks Rex is suggesting.
Blaze: Huh?! Play what?! The ‘Bash People’s Faces in With a Bat’ game?!
Blaze gives a hurried, frantic shake of his head and tries not to notice how visibly shaken he is. Rex snorts with a roll of his eyes like he’s amused by that reaction. He throws the baseball bat up again and catches it on the handle this time.
Rex: “Lame.”
He swings the bat around to let it rest on his shoulder, dirtying the wrinkled material of his frumpy school uniform before he holds his other hand down towards where Blaze had fallen.
Blaze continues to stare in astonishment at the dirty hand being presented to him like he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be doing with it.
Rex’s eyes narrow dangerously when Blaze doesn’t move to accept his kind gesture.
Rex: “Well? You gonna get up on your own, or you gonna let me help you?”
Blaze looks surprised all over again. He glances at the unconscious body [of the bully that had been chasing him from the school yard] lying on the ground beside him.
Rex: Wait, he... he saved me?
Blaze takes a cautious hold of Rex’s outstretched hand. Rex noticeably tightens his grip before he hauls the smaller boy up to his feet as though he weighed nothing at all, and Blaze stumbles with his footing at such aggressive force.
Blaze: “You... you...”
Rex starts to walk away before he can finish spitting out the words that are getting all caught up in his throat. He carries the damaged bat over his shoulder in a calm, lazy manner when he calls back to him.
Rex: “C’mon, we gotta bounce!”
Blaze stares after his retreating figure in outward confusion.
Blaze: ‘Bounce’?
He hurries to catch up with him, and he glances over his shoulder at the abandoned body that they were leaving behind in the deserted alleyway while he pulls his hood back up to hide his butchered hair from view. He scurries along in Rex’s shadow as the other boy confidently makes his way down the busy urban street. Despite Rex’s youthful stature, the crowd seems to part in its natural flow to avoid him without ever having to glance in his direction; like there was an invisible forcefield preventing them from getting too close.
Blaze: “Are... we just gonna leave him back there like that?”
Rex: “That guy was ‘boutta beat you within’ an inch of your life for some Ecash and leave you for dead, so...”
Rex shrugs with a nonchalant indifference as they cross the street together at a busy intersection.
Rex: “I sure hope we’re leavin’ him back there.”
Above their heads and in the scenery behind them, the surrounding area has started to become grimier, rustier, and less crowded with people.
Rex: “’Sides, he’ll wake up on his own in a few hours. Prolly with a pretty gnarly headache, too. Maybe he’ll even get robbed!”
Blaze looks bewildered at those insidious suggestions. Rex grins with the corner of his mouth in that way that he does that shows off his intimidating canine before he leans in closer and whispers like he’s sharing a secret.
Rex: “Maybe he might deserve it a lil’ bit.”
Rex knocks his elbow into the back of Blaze’s hooded head in a friendly manner, and Blaze jumps at the unexpected, light-hearted contact. It felt comforting, somehow. Safe in the space of this terrifying boy - the dangers of the hazardous streets in this unfamiliar city seemed to pale remarkably in comparison to that bloodied baseball bat of his - and Blaze continues to walk along beside Rex as they make their way further from the bustling plaza center.
Rex: “Where’re you shackin’ up, eh? I’ll walk ya home.”
[...]
The neighborhood that Blaze lives in is quieter than the main streets - tucked away deep in a less populated area where tumbleweeds of black-plastic trash bags are seen for the first time outside of the exclusively bright-colored recycling bins residing along the sidewalks of the inner city. Blaze’s Family Shop is a convenience store on an incline hill, presentable enough and kept relatively clean, though there is an apparent layer of integral filth from years of being abandoned and left to rot before they had moved in.
Blaze continues to openly stare at Rex as they make their way up the hill, and Rex is making an apparent effort to ignore his very blatant gawking, but the pretense doesn’t last long.
Rex clicks his tongue impatiently against the roof of his mouth.
Rex: “You do this starin’ thing a lot, or what? Not gonna lie... kinda makes me wanna kick your ass too.”
Blaze startles out of his thoughts with a firm shake of his head. He yanks his hood down to reveal his badly-cut hair and straightens out his glasses as though that might help him to see the other boy better.
Blaze: “Who are you?”
Rex grins his boyish, lop-sided smile at that; like he can’t believe that it took him this long to ask.
Rex: “They call me Rex, usually. Sometimes Fleabag, or Mutt. Even got a Hound Dog, once!”
Their shoes scuff along the sidewalk side-by-side. Rex is sporting a dirty pair of black boots and Blaze’s sneakers, while old, are in relatively good condition in comparison.
Rex: “What label they stick you with?”
Blaze raises his head enough to look over at him curiously.
Blaze: “Huh?”
Rex: “Yaknow, your coded identifier, or whatever? When you had to register your mutation at the gate.”
Blaze: “Oh... it’s just Blaze.”
Rex snorts at that like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever been told.
Rex: “Incredible. Some kinda fire mutant moves to town and they call ‘em Blaze. How predictable. Shoulda guessed it myself.”
Blaze is still staring at him like he can’t quite figure him out.
Blaze: “Aren’t you gonna ask?”
Rex looks back at him and raises an eyebrow for further clarification.
Blaze: “About my mutation? You obviously know that I have one. Don’t you want to know where I came from? Or why I’m here? When we first showed up, everyone kept asking me about-”
The baseball bat swings from where it had been resting on Rex’s shoulder. He holds the barrel and handle in a white-knuckled grip before he knocks the length of it into Blaze’s chest. Despite his new vantage point that the hill has provided to help make up for their difference in height, Blaze is still apprehensive about this confrontation.
Rex’s smiling, charismatic features have turned somber and serious. His bright eyes squint and narrow like he’s honing in on prey, and his grip tightens even harder around the splintering wood in his hands.
Rex: “If there’s one thing I learned while growin’ up in this city... ‘snotta stick my nose in other people’s business. You should try an’ remember that for yourself... eh? Might keep ya outta trouble.”
Blaze stares back at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, astonished by this rather simple sentiment while he struggles to come up with something to say in response to it.
Rex pushes the baseball bat into Blaze’s chest again with a firm nod before he swings it around to rest on his shoulder once more, and it’s like the previous confrontation hadn’t even happened. Rex pushes his free hand down into his pocket and stares back at him expectantly; his very presence radiating with attentive obedience.
Rex: “How much further?”
Blaze blinks at him before he points sheepishly to the fluorescent storefront beside them.
Blaze: “It’s... right here.”
Rex leans against the baseball bat and cocks his head to the side like a curious puppy to gaze up at the convenience store’s flickering sign.
Rex: “You live inna shop?”
Blaze’s cheeks redden with embarrassment to hear it spoken out loud so bluntly like that. He rubs a hand awkwardly along the back of his neck, and his eyes drift down to look at the pavement below their feet.
Blaze: “Uh... upstairs, yeah.”
He vaguely gestures to the second-floor windows of the squat building surrounded by such towering neighbors crowding down into the smaller building’s space, hovering overhead like imposing blobs that were waiting for the right moment to reclaim the spot for themselves.
Blaze: “My mom and me... and my granddad, too.”
Rex continues to gaze up at the window with a thoughtful expression.
Rex: “No kiddin’... you got yourself a whole family up there with ya...”
Blaze gives Rex another confused look at that strange remark, but Rex doesn’t bother to elaborate when he kicks the bottom of the bat with the muddy heel of his boot before he turns abruptly and starts to walk away.
Rex: “What time you head out for school in the mornin’s?”
Blaze stares after him; caught off guard yet again by this swift change in topic.
Blaze: “Uh... early, I guess. Six, maybe? Wait, why?!”
Rex doesn’t bother looking back at him as he goes, and Blaze watches him leave in further amazement. He’s almost certain that he can hear the grin that’s on the other boy’s face when he calls back to him, though.
Rex: “Shouldn’t walk ‘round here without a buddy... I’ll see ya bright ‘n early, Matchstick.”
[...]
Blaze is taking off his sneakers in the crowded foyer at the top of the staircase to his family’s apartment when his mother hurries out from the kitchen hiding her anxious expression behind a plastered smile. His grandfather watches them afar from his spot on the couch.
Blaze’s Mother: “How was it? Did you find the school alright? Were you safe? Did anyone try and-”
Blaze: “Mom...”
Blaze raises his head to beam up at her from his spot on the floor with a light blush of color staining his cheeks and his glasses slightly askew on his face.
Blaze: “I made a friend today!”
Blaze’s mother stares down at him in shock - clearly, she had not been expecting to hear something so positive following his first day out in the city on his own - and her posture relaxes with a quiet sigh of relief as she clutches at the front of her blouse with tight fingers.
Grandpa Arson grins at them from his place in the lounge room.
Grandpa Arson: "That's so exciting, my boy! Come - have some tea! I want to hear all about it!"
/// END
Next I've gotta finish up with the ladies; Exploit and Shade 💖💛
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