#> like when i say rancid i mean rancid. it was ridiculous and it makes me so mad just seein these takes from before his va talked abt it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-firebird69 · 4 months ago

Video

youtube

THE INCREDIBLE HULK Clip - "University Battle" (2008) Edward Norton

So he's saying that my son has taken my lines and he did. It doesn't make any sense, and it does, but we're a **** **** They're the ones bringing it. for Christ sake, it's weird. Where do we go? We're **** up all sorts of things. And we're looking stupid.. Even after that fight that little chick comes up and says the wrong thing. And who the hell would say that to a monster like that? That's ridiculous. Of course you're gonna get killed Just cut a Jeep in half or Humvee. and General Ross doesn't know how it works. Stan doesn't know how it works. You see, they're getting stronger and stronger. and cut the damn thing in half. I don't think I've ever seen anything do anything like that. And he says that. he is human Hulk. And when he's juiced up him. he'll be able to do things like that. because he destroyed the car and in front of us. And he was juiced up. And this is what he is without the green skin. And he has a normal head a normal hands and feet that are proportional. I don't really wanna look forward to that or see it or hear it or anything And he's getting irradiated and it's coming out of him and it's not coming out of us. Not fast. enough. I could work it out. But after a while, it's gonna be in the bone. And And I'm gonna have to move out of here. And he's getting the medicine out by doing it. And he's gonna be big. He says it'll take. probably three years to get this big. or more because it's like slowing down a train and speeding up a train. Unless he's irradiated afterwards and then. makes sense. What he's saying is when his 12 foot tall and in Gulf like this and he'll be a little bit bigger and he juices meaning have you stopped be prepped? and gets shocked or similar you can throw those pieces of metal fast enough to cut the ships in the little trucks in half period. Now I've seen him do something like this. and I could hear the light pole day. which was solid concrete. By the way. And something was in it. going through the air and it broke the speed of sound and hurt my ears. And he said it. He almost didn't hear anything. and it felt like he was kind of deaf or something. And he looked like he was in shock and it was from the air-breaking noise. And if you're real close to it, it happens. And he came out of it pretty quick. and we said we have to go now. and he said OK. and we're screwing around with these light poles for like an hour and kind of quiet. Nobody noticed he's punching them, breaking them, getting shocked. I mean, it was insanity watching him do it and he was getting stronger and stronger. And he was And he was in wicked shape, but he was not really huge He's smaller than he was now by far. He said 155 pounds or something. And it's truly he was not really huge. Maybe 165 and we saw him rip this pull out. and he ripped out a few with the one before it. He ripped out and he lifted it up and it bent in half. and he couldn't get the damn thing up there cause he kept bending and he was bending his light poles by hand. Rancidous like had cheap metal. But whatever. But I don't think I've seen anyone do that. And he after this last one and it moved and he was surprised and he lifted up and he said it's got something inside it. and he's trying to hit something and he saw the car The **** is black labbing. and it was kind of ironic that we were right there and that's the pull that worked and we think that Mac Daddy set it up and and he did and it was to try and locate them and he was having us witness it. so he knows what he can do and Mac is a giant and he can do weird **** like that too. And he knows how to charge. but we could hear something after he hit it. and he swung upwards in a nice swing by the way and pulled it down and we know he knows how to do it with a sledgehammer and pal pal POW. it made a huge noise. I mean a huge noise and the concrete exploded. and I could see him move. and we're further away. We had to cover our face too. He moved so fast. I've never seen anyone move that fast. I didn't see him move. He moved and people says like 800 miles an hour. and the pellets were hitting him. And a couple of them hit like the top of his temple on the skin. You could see a mark I said, wow, this is some **** And he dropped the pole. and he said now it's dead. It was started laughing. and then we said we gotta get outta here. But when he hit the car. and it came down. and mine knew he was in shape. But he didn't look really strong. He looked normal but he looked like he had muscles. But really did not look like he could do that. And he pulled the pull off the car. He was trying to figure out what it was and we were a little surprised as it looked weird and he couldn't figure out what it was. And we had to leave. But when he hit the car and the Mac Daddy doesn't want us to say we could hear Matt Daddy say. ohh my gosh. I think I've made a mistake. and he started laughing and he said he killed my damn car.. And we were leaving and I think he heard him Looks up the window real quick. and says there at better. and he knew that he was messing with him and wanted him to do something. And I've never seen anybody do anything like that That was incredible. granted we're drinking and we are smoking And Ron said this. I don't think we should do that again. And it looks like we possess these bodies. And it's because we get cancer. and you can heal the brain and we know about that. And it's happened before. and it's a painful process. and we should not be here and we're going to die from cancer. and we're going to get healed a little and just keep dying. and we should not be sitting here. I can't really tell you why we're stuck here. It's psychological. It's physical. and we're losing everything because we're sitting here berating him and we should not be berating this person He hasn't really done anything to us that we didn't massively provoke. And he was a friend. And we're decent friends. And it's kind of ruined. We turned onto this evil **** And he's been saying it. You guys wanna go in someone else's body? But it looks But it looks very odd if you put those two things together. He says but he has a plan to. create demons And this is a handy thing for him. And the Mac Proper probably wanted it. and we're presenting an easier targets. And that's what happens if you do that to his kind or to the Mac proper. and part of it is this idiot. Yeah. Father of mine who said to him. he says he said we're gonna probably shale anyways and they don't wanna try that. And it was a couple years ago. So I say screw you, you idiot. I don't wanna try that. And he says why not? And it's a way to try and get there to them. And we heard about it. And this guy says these are. slightly augmented but not massively. and we can hear one of them saying yeah, we can do that We don't know about throwing it through a vehicle but all the other stuff we can do and we can rip metal instead if you can rip metal you can throw it through there It's just like concentrating on the shot and probably. be very juiced. It looks like that they're doping as well with something else cracking maybe. and they're acknowledging that that's probably what it is because they don't look as hefty as usual and it looks like they're stronger. and he is from the human here. But yeah, those are some terrifying monsters. He said we met them at St John's and I've seen them around and you don't mess with them.. I don't really wanna go through this, but it looks like I'm making it happen And people are telling us you need to get out of here. Everybody. else is and we see you mopping around behind him. getting sicker and sicker every day. And he's somehow recovering. and doing better. And he looks like he's feeling better and has energy and it's crazy as hell. So that's my story. And something happens to me. It's gonna be in writing and people can put it down that I know the Matt Proper are having it done.. And these. guys have to do it too. And it is about the radiation. And it all makes sense now. They need workers too. And the Hulk would have a job and We can't really do it. They don't want us taking the bodies in the mac properties say they do. So it's kind of confusing.. and it's saying it. We need humans to run it. and not these guys because they'll fight us And that's not true either. . it. We need humans to run it Her friend says it's because they are. looking at grafting and things like that to try. to try and figure out the science to do it themselves. because they for some reason can't get to work unless they do it themselves. Not really sure why they want to have the keys. to controlling his demons, It already exists That makes sense, You should have with a dart and it deactivates them. Things like that. And it started to make a lot of sense.

Dave, AKA dan.

Boy, what a **** I said, if I have to do it, I would do it because it's something we have to do anyways I didn't say I had sacrificed all this stuff. but it looks like the Mac Proper are trying to take it. And I'm starting to see why. And it's not just greed. It's not just what they want. They have to. And it is to survive. And it has to do with asteroids and things. But we have lives too, and everybody.... But we have lives too, and everybody's taken from us, but that's something we kind of gotten set ourselves up for. But still, these matched properties that ruined it. We know they did. They're below the city's ruining. it. We're going to these big circles and investigating and we're finding that there's a huge amount of uranium below just And doesn't look like their asteroids. but we can't tell. So we have to go there, and we'll have to make cities and we have to make them now.

The Yankee Faust.

#youtube

0 notes

olko71 · 2 years ago

Text

New Post has been published on All about business online

New Post has been published on http://yaroreviews.info/2023/06/whistleblowing-banker-who-went-to-prison-speaks-out

Whistleblowing banker who went to prison speaks out

This video can not be played

To play this video you need to enable JavaScript in your browser.

By Andy Verity

BBC economics correspondent

A former Barclays trader jailed in connection with a $9bn interest rate rigging scandal has said telling his father about it was “the hardest day of my life”.

“I burst into tears. I felt like I’d let him down,” Peter Johnson told the BBC, as he struggled to compose himself.

In an emotional interview, Johnson revealed the devastation caused not only to his life but that of his family by what is now regarded by some MPs as a state-level cover-up, followed by a whole series of miscarriages of justice.

Jailed for four years for “manipulating” interest rates, Johnson was released in 2018 after serving two years.

He was later revealed to be one of the original whistleblowers of the scandal.

Speaking for the first time since his release, he says when he was put on gardening leave by Barclays in 2011, he descended into depression and avoided being seen in the streets near his house or informing his family about his predicament.

In 2012, Johnson was sacked by Barclays after more than 30 years’ service and faced the risk of prosecution by the US Department of Justice (DoJ), which could lead to up to 30 years in a US prison.

“[When I woke up] I’d have about five seconds when I thought all was well with the world. And then I’d realise that it wasn’t. And I’d go around all day with a sort of a weight pressing against my chest. I’d wait for six o’clock before I started self-medicating with alcohol. I had panic attacks,” he says.

“I spent years trying to suppress my emotions because I don’t want to get upset and bitter and twisted and everything else.

“[But] this is too important to forget – to sweep under the carpet. People need to know and once they know the full facts, they can make their judgements on whether what people did was wrong or right.”

Such was the psychological pressure on him that when he was charged with a crime in the UK, rather than the US, it came as a relief.

“It was ridiculous. There I was feeling relieved that I was going to be charged with a crime. And it was good! I mean, it’s just stupid. It just shows how mad things were for me at the time.”

Johnson’s lawyer Tony Woodcock, now retired but then a senior partner at prominent white-collar crime specialists Stephenson Harwood, sees his former client’s prosecution as an outrage.

Senior MPs including former Brexit secretary David Davis and former shadow chancellor John McDonnell have come to share that view after reading a book I have written exposing the scandal.

“In over 30 years in practice I never had a case in which I felt so powerless and bullied and where the smell of politics was so rancid. Hopefully all the evil lurking in the mud will be found out,” Mr Woodcock says.

One reason he feels so strongly is that Johnson, who worked as a cash trader for Barclays from 1981 to 2011, was the original whistleblower of the interest rate rigging scandal, in which banks paid nearly $9bn in fines and 37 traders and brokers were prosecuted for “manipulating” Libor and Euribor, two benchmarks that track the cost of borrowing cash.

From 2007 to 2009, Johnson repeatedly alerted the US central bank and the Bank of England to other banks publishing false, low estimates of the interest rates they’d have to pay to borrow hundreds of millions of dollars at a time – so-called “lowballing”.

He tried to publish higher, more honest estimates, but kept getting instructions from above to be no more honest than any other bank. Leaked audio recordings indicate the pressure on Johnson to lie came first from the board of Barclays, then from the Bank of England, then from the UK government.

Evidence revealed in the book indicates that then-Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s head of policy, the late Sir Jeremy Heywood, was one senior Whitehall figure who wanted Barclays to lower its Libor estimates of the cost of borrowing dollars.

“I thought they were wrong,” says Johnson. “But I didn’t feel I had any choice but to go along with them. You’re being asked by the UK government and the supreme financial establishment in the land to do something. It’s very, very difficult to say,’no, stuff you!'”

Bank of England implicated in Libor rigging

The whistleblowing bankers who were sent to jail

Interest rate ‘rigging’ evidence ‘covered up’ by banks

Yet four years later, on 27 June 2012, suppressed anger towards the banks at the lack of accountability for the 2008 banking crisis exploded into the media when Barclays was fined a record £290m by US and UK regulators for rigging interest rates.

Both Labour and Conservative MPs angrily condemned 14 unnamed traders – which Johnson knew included himself.

“When something like that happens to a major corporation, there’s usually a scapegoat. And I sort of felt that maybe it might be me.

“Quite justifiably, the public was outraged at what they saw as excesses in the banking industry. And they wanted heads on a pike. And I became one of the heads,” he says, adding: “I think they could have chosen better ones.”

Criminal authorities on both sides of the Atlantic, co-operating with lawyers working for Barclays, lined him up for prosecution.

He was not prosecuted for lowballing, but for manipulating rates on a much smaller scale by accepting requests from traders between 2005 and 2007 to nudge his Libor rates up or down very slightly.

In 2014, Johnson became the first banker to plead guilty to manipulating interest rates. But it was only because he felt the odds were against him and he had no choice. Barclays had cut him off from any financial support with his legal fees.

Because of the very high cost of defending himself, he feared he might lose his home, his savings and therefore his ability to support his children and grandchildren, even if he were found innocent.

“I didn’t feel as if I’d done anything wrong. But I could see the way the whole thing was going and it didn’t look good for me.”

Johnson, a 68-year-old grandfather, was sentenced in 2016 to four years and jailed alongside three other Barclays traders.

His first jail was HMP Wandsworth, which he describes as “pretty basic, pretty horrible”.

“There was a shortage of prison officers… and there are some times when we were not let out of our cells, apart from for 10 minutes to get our meals, for 54 hours at a time.”

He was later transferred to Ford open prison, where he decided to improve his fitness by walking around the perimeter of the prison, clocking up 6,000 miles and raising £3,000 for charity.

In the US, all 19 convictions for interest rate rigging are being overturned at the request of the DoJ – the same body that originally declared conduct like Johnson’s to be illegal – following a US appeal court ruling that the prosecution case was misconceived.

The trader requests that Johnson was jailed for, it found, were not illegal – and didn’t even break any rules. Many of those convictions arose from guilty pleas, made under the threat of prosecution in the US, which the DoJ no longer views as sound.

The UK is now the only country where making or accepting the requests is viewed as criminal. David Davis, John McDonnell and other MPs, peers and senior lawyers have written to the Times saying the cases must be sent back to the courts.

“In my most optimistic view, I would like my guilty plea to be revoked. I’d like to basically have my reputation restored. And I’d like senior people to be held accountable,” says Johnson.

Asked who they are, his reply is simple: “The board of Barclays Bank, the Bank of England and the government of the UK.”

Barclays declined to comment for this article.

A spokesperson for the Serious Fraud Office, which prosecuted Johnson, said its cases were based on evidence. It said nine bank traders knowingly rigged rates for their own benefit. “Separate juries and the Court of Appeal agreed they committed a crime.”

A Bank of England spokesperson said: “The Bank fully co-operated with the Serious Fraud Office’s investigation into Libor manipulation, responding to all requests for information and documents.”

The Treasury said in a statement: “The government did not seek to influence individual bank Libor submissions.”

Follow Andy Verity on Twitter @andyverity

More on this story

Interest rate ‘rigging’ evidence ‘covered up’ by banks

22 May

The whistleblowing bankers who were sent to jail

1 March 2022

Bank implicated in Libor rigging

10 April 2017

Libor traders jailed in rigging trial

7 July 2016

0 notes

langernameohnebedeutung · 2 years ago

Text

#i feel like he looked so much more rancid in the first season#wish he looked like that the entire show

right??? thank you! He looks so damn scraggly and ratty and rancid in the first few episodes! And I mean, okay, I give him the spraytan so that he doesn't look entirely overfished but I also feel like his aesthetic generally underwent this giant shift between season 1 and 2 and I really like the season 1 look??

It's interesting bc if you really pay attention, the izombie characters' wardrobe is generally very consistent with pieces making frequent reappearances and everyone having a very specific aesthetic - even the minor characters like Don E. Which makes it more obvious how drastically Blaine's look changes between s1 and the rest of the show. There are a lot of pieces we never see him in again (like that dumb slutty grey shirt here lmao or that one leather jacket) and a lot of new outfits making an appearance in early season 2.

Generally comparing those looks and especially the way they changed his hair away from early Blaine's very spiky look makes me feel like in season 1, they leant more heavily into a punk/grunge inspiration (which makes sense bc Blaine literally says that that's where he sees roots) while in season 2, I think they polished it up more to match his more elegant surroundings at Shady Plots. But also outside of these surroundings, i feel like they leant more into some sort of vagabound-pirate undertone (they even explicitly draw some parallels between Blaine and pirate-characters in later seasons, like e.g. in the season 4 finale) with for example that distressed leather jacket we see him wear a lot.

I feel like there's a slight bit of a return to his roots visually when he moves over to the Scratching Post - at least, it's not as toned down anymore, but it's leaning more into a kind of a very put-on business-aesthetic. Comparing that to him getting dressed up 'smartly' in season 1 - where him getting fancy literally involved a ridiculously shiny silk shirt and a shiny black tie in reptile-scale optics? - it's a very different vibe.

I also think another reason for the overall change is that in season 1, I feel like they were leaning more heavily on his background in the drug-scene/the whole drug-dealer angle of his character - which is also reflected in his speaking patterns there a lot of the time (referring to brains as 'product' very regularly or even stuff like 'help a brother out' or the ep. 2 title "brother can you spare a brain?" - which is a line we never hear Blaine say, but it clearly references him. It's also very notable in the backalley scene in that episode when he speaks to the two dealers trying to bring him to Mr Boss. If you compare that to him talking to Speedy, a person from the same background and also an old acquaintance, in early season 2, that undertone is still there, but they clearly leant more into the whole "salesperson" vibe he has imo - "you know what I feel fear more than death? Unrealised potential!"/"We always said he wanted more!"

(I'm sorry, I have had a lot of thoughts on this and you kind of stepped on the landmine here). Overall, I think it makes sense and reflects the development of his character. But also, I really love the trashy aesthetic of season 1 Blaine and would have loved if they'd kept it alive a little more. He looks so crinkly and disastrous and it's just such a good look for a villain like him.

sometimes I think about the fact that this was. their first direct interaction.

#the thing is I actually think the in-universe reason is particularly prominent in ep. 2 is bc he was trying to perform the whole #'I was so high the night of the boat-party :( I don't know what happened/I don't remember nothing :( vibe for Ravi and Liv #while trying to investigate for himself the people who put up his picture on facebook and whether they were a threat #So I think he was really trying to downplay himself as a threat a little and just look like a down-on-his-luck lonely ex-junkie turned zomb #but also it's so funny that he had this whole operation running and didn't get a spraytan until his sugar mommy payed for it in ep. 4 #bc - was he that broke or was he that blind?#I also think that's one shift: Later Blaine is actually often portrayed as very vain #(Peyton telling him that he clearly 'puts a lot of effort into his look' or Don E literally calling him a 'preening fop')#and I think that's a trait that really took off later and isn't all that big in season 1 #which still brings up the matter of his outfit at the boat-party. But really I think he was at the end of his rope when the show starts #and it's actually all looking up for him and he starts recovering into the person into the healthiest horrible person he can be #which I always think is a funny mirror of Liv because for her being turned into a zombie meant the ultimate bad break in her life-plan #(at first glance)#where she was really up-and-coming and had everything figured out and was going to do a really important internship and then #lost all that and had to break up with Major and lost her job. Meanwhile for Blaine it meant a big break in a good way.#he even points that out to her in early season 2 how he was 'a loser. a nobody. an underarchiever. a joke' but then zombie-Blaine was a hit #and I also think that's why being turned zombie means entirely different things to the two of them #and why they deal with it in very different ways #but that's a whole different essay #wow I #m being so normal at 4 am #izombie #fandom #blaine debeers

114 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 3 years ago

Text

The Mechanics of Living part 3

Summary: A day in the Life of our two heroes but from a dog’s perspective. a/n: It’s as ridiculous as it sounds. Yes, the dog is once again based on Robbie. Sue me. Warnings: Sad dog, first person POV

[Dog Days]

It’s morning. My eyes hurt but I still force myself to get up. My feet ache as the pad against the ground. The bones in my paws grind against each other in harsh rasps.

Still, I walk.

I used to love walks. I would have preferred to run back then. I would have preferred to run and jump freely with her trailing behind me. I wanted to chase after her too when she steered away from me but now, I would prefer to sleep.

I hear a sound and twist my body around. My matted fur tugs on my skin and the boils on my back smell rancid, the liquid in them feels like it's boiling under my skin as the sun shines too brightly above me. I force my eyelids open. I forgot that I had lost an eye a few days ago so opening the other really would not make too much difference. The sun is shining too bright. It's hard to see through the tattered flesh of my eye lid.

Still, I look.

I see two people walking down the street. They're talking. They talk animatedly as she had once. The tall one moves their hands frantically in loud gestures while the shorter one stares at their companion in judgmental silence. The orange cat in the judgmental one's arms hisses as they walk past me; otherwise, they act like I am not there. Not a weary glance. Not a harsh kick to my already broken ribs. Just a continuation of their heated conversation.

For the lack of anything to do other than search, I follow them.

The tall one looks over their shoulder at me. I freeze and brace myself to run, though I doubt I could manage it. They look at me with a furrowed brow, pointing and whispering something. The shorter one waves them off with their hand and says something back. I cannot hear them from this distance. It looks like the smaller one is explaining something to the taller one. The taller one nods and gives me another look.

They continue to walk on, elbowing each other and bickering.

To my relief, they stop. My paws are aching. I lay flat on my belly as I watch them comb through piles of things. I wonder if I should tell them that it has no food.

The cat hisses at me as they set him down.

The bigger one says something mean to the cat which makes the smaller one laugh which then makes the bigger one hiss like the cat.

They should have brought a dog, I think, setting my snout on the ground. The bigger one could probably scare off mean people and the smaller one could probably get away faster but they don't really look like the type to run. They're both just like her.

I miss her. I wonder if they've seen her. Maybe if I keep following them, I'll find her.

As I follow them through the day, I watch them pick up useless things. At least the people from before were looking for food, these two are just strange. Sometimes they stop so the big one can draw things or so the little one can take something a part. Or sometimes they just stop because they're hungry.

The tall one doesn't like going into buildings or anywhere with water even if the shorter one insists that they see something in the water. They'll argue and argue over it pointing to random places on their bodies until they either decide to go in or stay out.

The short one is a little funny. She once told me that people go bald when they tug on their hair too much but the short one insists on tugging one of their hair while they talk. Maybe they want to go bald. I suppose that would be good since it wouldn't require baths.

I feel my face fall when I think of baths. I used to hate them. I used to whine and run away whenever it's bath day but I kind of miss it. I just miss her petting me after she dries me.

Little by little, I come closer despite the looks they both give me. At first, it was just taller one. They didn't look scared, just weary. After a while, the shorter one started looking at me strangely too.

"Do you think it's following us?" The taller one asks when they come to a stop.

The shorter one narrows his eyes and rolls them. "No, it just happens to go the same way for the last 10 blocks."

The taller one flicks the shorter one on the forehead. "What should we do?"

"Do we have to do anything?"

I try walking closer. They take half a step back, but they're both still examining me. I whine. The taller one looks heartbroken from the sound. I stop my tail from wagging.

I lay down flat and set my head down on the ground. My tail swishes behind me.

The taller one approaches me cautiously. They crouch low on the ground. They hold out a hand to me. The short one is shouting at them from behind. The tall one just looks at them and waves.

The tall one takes their glove off letting me sniff their hand. It doesn't smell like anything other than sweat but it's warm as I press my nose against it. They wait for me to move closer. I do.

They scratch the top of my head, careful to avoid the boils and other scars. I lay my head on their lap. The tall one lets out a small huff. They pull their hand away from my head. I growl raising my head to look at them.

Why did you stop?

"Get away from that thing!"

The cat hisses but the tall one just shakes their head and laughs as they take off their other glove. They scratch me behind my ears and stroke along my back. It feels nice. I yawn and lay on my good side where my ribs aren't broken.

"Aw c'mon look at him Tim. He's such a softie."

The short one sighs, the look on their face going from cautious to curious."What if it bites you?"

"Then I die."

The small one swats the tall one on the back of their head. There's a frustrated sad look on the small one's face that's all too familiar to me. The shorter one must get frustrated with the bigger one a lot. Maybe it goes both ways.

But really, I wouldn't.

The tall one knows it. They scratch me behind the ear again. My leg kicks out unconsciously which makes the tall one laugh.

Their hand is soft against my matted fur. It reminds me of one time she and I were watching TV and I really don't remember much aside from her petting me.

The short one sits beside the tall one cross legged and stares at me.

"You really just looked at a death sentence and said sure." The short one says, bracing his elbows on his thighs.

"That's a bit dramatic." The tall one hums, combing through my belly. I wag my tail and the short one coughs from the dust I kick up. "See, he's a good boy."

“I have every right to bash your head in when you turn.” The small one scoffs, scritching the fat orange cat behind its ear.

“If you can reach, sure, by all means.” The big one says, smug.

I look up at them and find it unlikely. I snuff and nuzzle into the tall one's leg.

The small one looks at me curiously, hand cupped over their mouth. "Do you think he retained brain function?"

"I dunno about brain function but I do know a lit of infected dogs keep acting like normal dogs." The tall one pats my stomach gently.

I shut my eyes. This feels nice. I should ask them if they know where she is. I hope so. I bark at them to ask. They look confused and that worried look is back on the small one's face. They probably don't know.

I lay my head down and nuzzle it carefully. I'm scared my ear will fall off. If my whole face falls off, how will she recognize me? I suppose she could recognize my smell but then she'd give me a bath. I won't mind. Not that much anyway.

The tall one tickles my paw as I begin to snooze. It is only then that I notice that my skin is hurting less. I see the sun is no longer perched high in the sky.

"C'mon doggo, need to get up." The tall one coos gently.

I get up hesitantly, not really wanting to. The tall one is very warm. They ruffle my fur and scratch behind my ear.

I yip at them as the get up. The tall one hold out their hands and the short one pour water on their hands then splashes the rest of it all over the tall one.

"Thanks."

"Just making sure."

"Uhuh."

The tall one puts their gloves on, still scowling. Then turns to me. "We're gonna go home now. Be a good dog, k?"

I yip again and stand on my hind legs.

Don't leave, I want to say but when I look at the vanishing sun, I know that I can't ask that of them. The night is too dangerous for humans. It was for her.

I settle down. I'll just make sure they get out ok, I bargain with myself.

The tall one gives me one last pat on the head and the short one actually pets me before they get into the noisy thing.

I bark and wag my tail as they leave.

I hope they come visit me.

#Tim Drake #tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #post apocalypse

24 notes · View notes

shoutogepi · 5 years ago

Text

Scream for Me

Kaminari Denki

word count : 5.7k

[ ✘ (nsfw 18+) ]

themes : villain!denki, yandere!denki, implied stalking/obsession, DUBCON, coercion, quirk use… denki has a tongue piercing

bio : It’s been two years since your hero best friend fell off the face of the earth, and since then, he’s resurfaced as a prominent villain. You don’t want anything to do with him. So naturally, he comes to you.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “hero turned villain” slot ;) once again this fic contains DUBCON so please beware before you continue… also so sorry if denks is OOC in this— i am aware that in canon he does not have a mean bone in his body

side note: this fic is dedicated to @fanfic-me-up , the beautiful bday queen! she deserves the best, so please wish her a happy birthday! also, a great big thanks to @hawks-senseis and @boom-bakugou for beta’ing <3

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄳eep bass rattles your bones as you step around the glowing dance floor, drunken bodies bumping into your sides carelessly. It’s some electronic song pumping through the speakers and causing your ears to buzz, your tongue sliding over your lip as you make your way back to your tabe. The group you’re with barely even notices your return, your adventure proving victorious as you harbor a sweating glass in each hand. The fruity concoction initially tastes sweet on your tongue, the burn of the alcohol bleeding in afterwards and making your face twist in a bitter scowl. So much for the bartender’s lame attempt at flirting— his promise of “you won��t be able to taste the vodka at all!” falling flat.

Your flavor of the night throws back a shot from the table, the sticky glass clinking loudly as he slams it down. He’s cute enough— your classic type: tall and slender, a sleeve decorating his tan arm with swirls of ink, dark hair hanging over his bright eyes, and pink lip adorned with a silver ring. In your opinion, he’s the hottest of his group, which had joined your pack of girls nearly as soon as you’d entered the threshold.

Yet for some reason, you find yourself restless as he grinds against you, his hands firm atop your hips. Maybe he isn’t as hot as you think… or maybe you’re not trying to score tonight. Ha, as if that could ever be the case. Maybe you’re not drunk enough, or maybe you need to top off with something better than alcohol. Rolling your neck, you place your head on his shoulder, his hands immediately gliding up your torso to pull you closer against him. You can feel his semi through his jeans, and the recognition of it makes you smirk, closing your mascara-framed eyes and allowing him to sway you to the beat.

And you try to enjoy it— you really do.

But still, there’s something off.

There’s this itchy feeling of dread crawling across your skin, spreading over your body and seizing your heart with an icy fist. The poor muscle starts to beat furiously against its sudden confines, your eyes opening and moving to survey your surroundings— feeling like prey about to meet its certain fate.

That’s when you see him.

He’s right by the exit of the club, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent glow of the neon signs on the wall. Physically speaking, you can’t see much of him— he’s all the way across the room in a crowded, dinghy club— barely enough light for you to see his face. And yet, those haunting, golden eyes pierce straight into you. You freeze, bottom lip allowing gravity to take it prisoner, your breath caught midway in your shriveling lungs. The guy you’re dancing with doesn’t seem to notice, only pressing his hips harder into your ass.

It feels like you’re ripping roots from the earth as your feet move on their own accord, first one trembling step— then two. Now that you’re level with him on the main dance floor, he’s swallowed up into the tangling sea of shadowy limbs. You try to push your way over to the exit, but by the time you stumble out of the crowd, he’s nowhere to be found.

Whatever kind of buzz you had previously felt is instantly cut short. Trepidation oozes into your veins, chilling your bones and sending shivers all the way to your toes. On one hand, you want to believe in yourself— you’re sure that you’d seen him— but on the other hand, dismissing the sighting of the man would be much easier to do. And you hadn’t seen him in front of you in two years… the thought makes your chest feel tight, torn and bleeding with discomfort.

You miss him so much.

But even if you could see him again, he’s not the same boy you adored anymore… no, that would be impossible. And he could never be here, in this club, either. It might not be the best part of town, but it’s still a bustling spot in the city night life. There’s no way someone with his level of fame could just show up to a popular club like this on a Friday night, undetected.

So you write it off— take the easy way out. You’re drunk, there’s a lot of people here, and you were probably just looking for a reason to get off that guy at the table. That’s all it can be; your mind playing tricks on you. Of course, you hadn’t seen him.

That would be ridiculous.

Impossible.

It’s no surprise you feel sick to your stomach at the very idea of seeing him. Whether it’s because your stomach is filled to the brim with butterflies, or because your body feels shocked— as if his electricity crawls across your skin and makes your hairs stand on end— you’re not sure. Making your way to the back of the club, you somehow find the hallway void of a bathroom line. Never had you been graced with such a blessing, and you quickly make your way toward the door, giddy to be able to have a moment to yourself.

Once you’re inside the room, you take a moment to examine yourself in the mirror. Your hands planted on the countertop, you lean in close, eyes searching your reflection for anything that could be off. You still just don’t feel right, and you’re not sure why. The walls are colored in a dark turquoise hue, the black marble counter opaque and matching the dark stalls behind you. Fingers fidgeting for something to do, you pluck the lipstick out of your comically small purse, lining your lips before blotting the color with a paper towel.

A low wolf whistle splices the still air of the lavatory, echoing lowly on the tiled walls.

Every cell in your body is frozen, your gaze trained on a pair of yellow, slitted eyes over your shoulder. He’s slipping out of one of the stalls, taking his time as he crosses the room only to turn the lock on the door. Your heart starts to beat again at the realization that he’s really here, and that he’s just sealed the two of you in together.

Escape is the only thing on your mind right now, your eyes darting between the door, the vents on the ceiling, and the window that looks just a bit too small for you to wiggle through. Fear begins to bubble into your bloodstream, burning you with its sheer cold, like dry ice on naked skin.

“Cat got your tongue?”

His voice is just like it was before he disappeared, but all signs of his playful, positive attitude are absent. Instead, he sounds almost bored… and there’s this tone to his inflection that feels like cough syrup— thick and sticky, leaving a rancid taste at the back of your tongue.

Poison.

He keeps his distance from you, content to just watch your gaze in the reflection before you. You can’t help but look at him; too terrified that if you look away, he’ll be gone and then there’s no denying you’re crazy. You’ll have to get checked into an asylum or something, because you’re certified insane— nevermind if you’re imagining him— you can’t help but think he looks good. Really good.

Dressed in black from head to toe, he looks like he’s one with the shadows of the night. Even his hair is black now, raven strands perfectly framing his handsome face. The yellow streak in his hair is in the shape of a lightning bolt, colors inverse of what they used to be, when he was a peppy blonde. But those days are long over now, and the snakebite piercings adorning his full lower lip draw you in, much to your dismay. He looks damn good in his distressed jeans, the leather jacket sitting just right on his shoulders. And just like the last time you’d seen him, a tight, black choker sits perfectly on his throat.

“What, hmm? Nothin’ to say, sunshine?” Oh, that name. The term he had so affectionately coined you when you were still just classmates. When you were his best friend.

It takes a moment for you to think, and another for you to actually force the words out of your mouth. “What are you doing here, Denki?” You sound totally breathless, and it’s partly because you are— you’re completely shocked that he’s here, with you, in some nightclub bathroom. The balls he has to be out in public right now…

“And I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, lips curled into a displeased frown, and those big, golden eyes trailing up and down your body, assessing you in the same manner you had him. But he doesn’t stare; he’s already looked at you for plenty long. He’s over just simply looking at you. “It’s so good to hear your voice, Y/N.”

You don’t know what to say to him. After two years of Kaminari Denki dropping off the face of the earth, and more recently appearing on Japan’s ‘Most Wanted’ list instead, he’s come to you out of the blue. How did he know where to find you tonight? Does he have someone watching you? Is he… Does he still have those feelings that he used to pretend didn’t exist?

“Why are you here?” You try again, whispering, like anyone will be able to hear you over the thumping bass outside. But Denki hears you, leisurely stalking over to you.

Whipping around, your trembling fingers grab onto the edge of the countertop. You’ve read the articles, heard the news. You know the things he’s done. The terrible, unspeakable things.

Denki stops a step away from you, tongue glazing over his lip as his eyes rake over your front. A flash of metal between his lips catches your eye, glimmering in the harsh overhead lights before it’s gone.

“To see you, of course.”

He’s close now, and you can see that he’s taller, broader— more muscular than before, even underneath his jacket. His physique distracts you from his words for a moment, softening the devastating blow of fear. Your widening eyes jump up to lock with his, his gaze casting a sinister gleam over your rapidly-heating cheeks.

Denki closes the distance between you, gripping onto the side of the counter and leaning down to hang his face in front of yours. He smells slightly like smoke, stale cologne wafting onto you as his hips gently meet yours, trapping you against the sink behind you. His belt buckle presses onto your stomach, digging into you as he takes a deep breath beside your neck. You’re paralyzed beneath him, sucking in a small gasp as his fingers trace over the bottom of your spine, tingles shooting through you.

“Did you miss me? Because I missed you,” he murmurs against your throat, the cool gold of his earring dragging on your jaw. “So fucking much.”

His fingers trail to the back of your hips, palms landing on your dress as he squeezes your waist and pulls you closer to him. Your chests bump together, your cleavage pressing onto his front. Your hands fly up to push his shoulders, hating how your feelings clash against each other, turmoil brewing in your stomach. “Let me go,” you plead, spine stiffening as his fingers knead at you.

Denki chuckles, nipping at your skin and trailing the tip of his tongue along the column on your throat. “That’s not how this works, sunshine.” He pulls back to drop his gaze to your lips before his honeyed eyes swallow yours again. Wicked intent swirls in those caramel irises, tendrils of terror snagging tight around your throat. And yet, some small, sick part of you feels safe, feels comfortable in front of him— as if he’s the same guy who would stay up all night long with you just to play the latest video game, or do something crazy like make cupcakes or drive to the beach at four in the morning. As if you don’t know what he’s done since the last time you’ve seen him.

At the recollection of those unspeakable deeds, you whimper, heavy tears pooling along your lower lashes. “I’ll scream,” you threaten, though it doesn’t come out sounding like much of a threat.

A wide smirk curls the corners of his lips, that tongue jewelry making another brief appearance as he opens his mouth and leans into you. “You think anyone’s gonna hear us?” A dark brow rises on his forehead, amusement washed over his sharp features. “You’ll scream when I tell you to.”

Heat surges through your stomach at his crude suggestion, your body betraying you as his hands slide underneath your dress, his bare palms cupping your ass and distributing a confident squeeze. His fingers inch in between your legs, reaching out to ghost over your pussy through your thin, sheer thong.

The tough girl act proving fruitless, you decide to switch tactics. “Please, Denki, I don’t want to—”

“Why are you so fuckin’ wet, then?” He growls, fingertips pressing against your slit harder. He brings one hand before you, forcing you to look at the strands of slick that stretch between his fingers. Your face heats up, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. How could your body be so turned on right now, and your feelings so conflicted? The tension inside of you only worsens when he dips the fingers into his mouth, making a show of his pierced tongue stroking against them.

Finally his lips crash against yours, desire bursting inside of you and leaking into every corner of your body. You can’t move, can’t think, with his lips on you, moulding and pushing onto yours like waves in the restless sea. There’s passion behind his caress, a motive squandered and swept underneath the rug for far too long. He’s wanted you since high school, and now, he can finally have you.

“Please,” you beg quietly as you pull away, digits curling into the collar of his jacket, your lip trembling and a tear shooting down your face, “Denki, you’re scaring me.”

“Aw, cutie— no need to be scared,” Denki replies, rubbing the soaked front of your underwear as he smothers your neck with the gentlest kisses. “I’m the same old, lovable goof as before. Your Denki, your sparky. Well, one thing has changed… I waited for so long trying to think of something, anything that could make you realize how good I would treat you. I wasted so much time just playing my part as your best friend, a shoulder for you to cry on while your worthless boyfriends would betray you. It took me a while before I figured it out though—” he pauses for dramatic effect, leaning in so your lips brush “—that you love being treated bad.”

You’re speechless as his mouth conquers yours again, his tongue surprisingly sweet as it slides into your mouth with practiced ease. Your body is frozen solid for one whole second before your dignity withers and dies right before your very eyes, your thighs clenching together on either side of his intruding hand. His lips pull into a smirk, rough hands gathering the backs of your thighs before he sets your ass on the edge of the counter. It should be embarrassing how easily he peels your legs apart to stand between them, the heat leaking from his hard, jean-clad cock onto the inside of your thigh.

Noticing your stubborn hesitance, he sighs lowly as he takes his lips from yours, issuing a shockingly pleasant kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry, sunshine,” he says, hand landing on your jaw to steer your gaze directly into his. For the first time tonight, you feel like you see the faintest glimpse of him. The real him, the one you loved and laughed and cried with. He’s sincere. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise. Unless… you’re into that?”

Your hand sails through the air automatically, an ingrained, pre-programmed response to his naughty suggestion. Only it doesn’t quite reach its target, for Denki’s strong grip keeps your wrist from moving any further. With a click of the tongue and a curt, unamused glance, he shoves your wrist back, pinning it against the cold mirror behind you. His other arm wraps tight around your waist, your bodies flush against each other.

“Bad girl. You gonna make me hold you down the whole time? That’s no fun,” he admonishes in your ear, hand scooping your ass through your dress and pressing you up against him. His erection digs into your thigh, hot and hard against your shivering skin, even through his jeans. “C’mon baby, m’gonna make you feel so good.”

You had sobered up at the sight of him, but now a new kind of intoxication sweeps through you, knocking you off your metaphorical feet and throwing you into the deep end of a sticky, ambrosial pool of desire. There’s no way you can say that you’d never thought of Denki ravaging you— you’d thought plenty about it, actually— but you’d never pictured it going quite like this. Even so, you can’t deny that his new look looks especially good in him, and as he’d previously pointed out, your body was more than happy to entertain him.

So you give in.

You only tilt your head back the slightest bit, and Denki’s already descending down onto you, starving tongue greedily slithering down your front. A hand tugs down the front of your dress, his lips wandering over the tops of your tits in your bra. Teeth dragging the silky material down, he groans as your bare chest is exposed, nuzzling a cheek against you as he begins to suck and nip at your flesh. The cool metal of his piercing beside the wet heat of his tongue washing over your nipples makes you moan, your free hand slapping over your mouth in mortification. But Denki only moans back, the lustful noise making your cunt twitch, longing for his attention.

Eager to please, he lets go of your wrist, maneuvering you in his hands so he can easily slide your thong to the side. His thumb dips into your entrance, gathering your abundant slick before it floats north, circling your pulsing clit. He swears against your tits, tongue still tracing your areola diligently as a fingertip begins to prod at your drooling hole. You can’t help but whine aloud, your head knocking back and your spine bending to press yourself into his caress. It’s wrong to be into this, you know this, and yet his tongue, his touch, his kiss— it overpowers all logic, your brain turning a blind eye as your body eats up every ounce of attention he offers.

You’re rewarded for your behavior when a slender finger slides into you, then another. The two digits begin to pump into you, curling as they disappear into your pussy, brushing deep inside of you. Denki trails his mouth back to yours, tongues tangling in a furious mess. Your fingers card through his inky locks, nails scraping his scalp as you grapple onto him. Your legs fold around his waist, hips rolling as he fucks his fingers into you tirelessly.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” he groans, marigold eyes fixed on his digits slipping in and out of your dripping cunt. He sucks in a quick breath when your fingers find his belt, unfastening it and ripping down his fly. “Impatient?” he teases as you undo his pants, the dark denim falling along with his boxers.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, standing tall and proud as it pops out of its confines. There’s a thatch of blonde hair at the base of him, the very tip glistening with a swollen bead of pre. Hesitation long gone, you bring a hand to your mouth, allowing the thick saliva from the back of your throat to pool in your palm before you guide it back to him. Denki moans as your wet hand wraps around his throbbing length, squeezing just tight enough to feel how hard he really is. Slowly, you jerk him off, both your mouths parted as you pant, eyes boring into each other. His fingers thrust in turn with your fist, the squelching sound bouncing off the tiled walls.

It feels like your body is on fire, every movement of his hand stoking the flames, and you can only watch, helpless, as the inferno grows larger and livelier. There’s a small pressure forming in your stomach, your slick pouring out around him. You can’t contain your moans any longer, your arm curling around his neck to draw him close before your teeth take the skin of his neck hostage. Your noises of pleasure are hushed as they fall onto his throat, your lipstick smearing on the pale expanse of it.

Denki’s hips begin to move in accord with your hand, movements free and effortless as they greet your slippery fist. His cock is hot and swollen on your palm, veins bulging and rubbing against you. It’s only a matter of time before he’s had enough teasing, taking his fingers from you and swatting away your hand. He pants as he lines up the head of his cock with your glistening cunt, breath uneven. And then he’s pushing into you, stretching your silky walls wonderfully, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

You cry out when his hips bump yours, struggling to keep your half-lidded eyes open. Cheeks feeling hotter than ever, you wrap your other arm around his neck, pussy fluttering around his big cock as you adjust to his size. Surprisingly, Denki starts off slow, gently rocking his hips into yours. He sighs as his lips find yours again, the cold jewelry from his piercings foreign but welcome against your heated skin. He distracts you with his tongue as it slides between your lips, reaching out to greet yours. His fingers knead at your tits, your nipple trapped between his thumb and forefinger. The tingling sensations fluster you as his thrusts start to become deeper, harder— each one gracing your sensitive walls with a rub of his thick veins. His tempo begins to hasten, cock pushing into your scorching, dripping heat just as quick as it retreats. The pair of you are moaning, gasping for breath, too lost in each others’ bodies to bother with worrying about being caught.

“Does that feel good? You like it when I stuff you with my cock, sunshine?” Denki purrs, tugging at your nipple between his fingers. His teeth ghost over your bottom lip, hips slapping loudly against yours as he continues his attack on your cunt. He groans loudly when your walls tremble around him, clenching down as he finds a new angle that allows him better access to your most intimate spots. “Fuck, your pussy fits me so perfectly, so wet and tight… Made just for me.”

Even though his sentiment should be concerning, you find yourself more turned on than ever, your submission leaking out and mixing with the lust surging through your body to create a cocktail of desire stronger than anything you’ve ever felt. Unadulterated moans float out of your parted lips, raw pleasure shooting into you as the head of his cock pounds into your g-spot. Your shaking legs spread on their own volition, welcoming him inside as deep as possible. Gasping his name, your hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, exploring his warm skin and the taut muscles hidden below. “D-Denki! Oh, fuck!”

Denki growls beside your ear, the sound primal and heated. His pace continues, relentless, as he lets his hands fall from your tits, opting to clutch onto a thigh and hold you open for him instead. “You dunno how long— oh, fuck yes— nngh, you dunno how long I’ve been dreaming about this, Y/N. Y-You, moaning my name like the filthy little slut you are. My slut, my girl… My sunshine— shit!”

You whimper as he pulls out of you abruptly, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thigh. His wet cock jerks against your pussy, which twitches in response, as if calling out for him and begging for his return. You pull at his hips, desperate for him to be inside of you again, wanting— no, needing for him to stretch you full.

He catches his breath pretty quick, letting out a low chuckle at your impatience. “Got a little too close there… this pussy is even better than I thought it’d be,” he explains, gathering you in his arms and placing you on your feet. He turns you around, pushing your back so you lay nearly flat, bent over the counter. Cock gliding against your slick folds, he evens his breathing as his thumbs pull your cunt apart, golden eyes settling on your twitching hole. Playful as always, he rubs the tip of his length over your entrance, not quite pushing hard enough to actually penetrate you. You watch him in the mirror before you, seemingly entranced in his own show.

“D-Denki,” you swallow your pride, restless to be stimulated again. At the sound of his name leaving your wanton lips, his eyes flicker up to meet yours in the reflection, filled with curiosity and mischief. “Please, put it back in… I… I need you, Denki.” You whisper the words, and it’s honestly a miracle that he hears your plea, for the club music still pounds through the thin door. The embarrassment is overwhelming, forcing you to close your eyes. You can’t bear to meet his gaze, shame coursing through you. Here you are, being ravaged by your ex-best friend, now turned villain, in a nightclub bathroom… begging for his cock, like a whore.

The feeling of his length pressing into your dripping heat shakes you from your shameful thoughts, eyes flying open to meet his caramel gaze again. “Don’t worry, sunshine,” Denki coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, “I need you, too.”

You can’t fathom any response, his thick length filling you to the brim as his hips jostle yours, completely inside. The stretch is superb with this new angle, the veins on his cock so deliciously stimulating your snug, velvet walls. He draws back, only to snap forward quickly, your legs quivering at the bliss that emanates from the wonderful stretch he provides. His words have a sinfully pleasurable effect on you, a shiver spreading over your form, and your spine bending, ass pressing into him even more.

Denki hums as he begins to hasten the tempo, soft smacks filling the stuffy air inside the room. His cock glides into you easily, lubricated by your copious arousal as you pulse around him. Your ass jiggles as he begins to swing his hips harder, drilling into your slobbering cunt with renewed passion. Rough hands clutch onto either of your arms, holding his own arms straight as he uses the new grip on you to further his momentum.

Stars dance before your eyes, his cock hammering into your most sensitive area. The position he has you in provides just the right angle for him to assault your g-spot, your jaw unhinging as a string of high-pitched moans tumbles from your throat. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, rolling down your face and spattering against the dirty mirror as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. You try to form the words to warn him you’re about to cum, but you can’t think, let alone speak.

But it seems he doesn’t need your warning, for Denki analyzes your lewd expression in the reflection, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Go on, do it. C’mon sunshine, you can do it. Cum for me, fuck, cum with my cock stretching out your sloppy little hole,” he orders, still slamming into you ruthlessly. “I wanna hear you when you cum, lemme hear that pretty voice of yours— scream for me.”

You hate that his filthy words have such power, but that doesn’t deter your cunt from wringing snug around him, the coil in your stomach compressing tighter and tighter until your vision turns white and your body goes rigid. Waves of euphoria crash over you, sucking you into the sea of pleasure. Your lungs burn as you scream out, pure ecstasy zipping through your every limb. Denki has to stop thrusting, his grip digging into your skin as he struggles to keep his own orgasm at bay. Your pussy constricting around him has him losing his breath, teeth descending onto his bottom lip as he tries not to cum.

Finally your cunt stops seizing, your body relaxing onto the countertop. Your mind is totally hazed, filled with an electrifying fog of post-orgasm bliss. But Denki’s quick to snap you out of it, picking up right where he left off and sending his cock surging into your tender heat. Once again you’re thrown into the vicious throes of pleasure, his cock the only thing you’re able to focus on as it drives into your slippery, gummy walls with ease.

His hands flying to latch onto your waist, he holds onto you tightly as his eyes find yours in the mirror, his orbs meeting your barely-open ones. That same spring is gaining pressure in his own stomach, the moans slipping out of him as good an indicator as any that he’s getting close. Fisting your hair, he pulls you upright, his slender fingers slipping from your tresses to lace around your throat. “Mmmm, m’close baby,” he pants, his hot breath fanning against your ear.

He begins to kiss at your jaw, littering it in affectionate nips and licks. Moving one of your legs so your knee rests on the counter, he pistons into you, hand wandering down to press against your stomach, the tips of his fingers just reaching your clit. Your body stiffens at the sudden stimulation, the bundle of nerves having been forgotten since his cock speared into you. Yet he rubs at it attentively now, fingers dipping down to where his cock draws in and out of you to gather excess slick before he continues.

“Ohhhh, fuck,” Denki grunts, his fingers tightening slightly around your neck. You can still breathe, but the feeling of his hand flush against your throat sends heat to your core, your pussy clutching onto his cock in desperation. “Gonna paint the inside of this sweet little cunt white… fill you up with my cum, nice and full.”

Icy fear trickles into your veins at the premise of him unloading into you, nothing to stop his seed from fertilizing you. “N-Not inside, Denki,” you beg hoarsely, your voice meek and mild, still recovering from your screams. But he doesn’t seem to hear you, or at least, he doesn’t acknowledge you— only continuing his ministrations on your clit and the vicious onslaught of his cock sheathing inside of you. “Please,” you whimper, your arms reaching behind your head to touch him, one hand landing in his silky hair and the other on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s right. Beg for my cum… Mmm, love it when you say my name like that, sunshine,” he moans, too wrapped up in his own pleasure to heed your words. Or perhaps he chooses to ignore them, his pace morphing into ragged, unmeasured thrusts, and his hips jerking as he loses himself in your tight, wet heat. “Take it, Y/N— every last fucking drop’s for you,” he whispers in your ear, eyes closed and lashes fluttering on your jaw. He groans as his orgasm tears into him, electricity from his quirk bursting through his body. The energy flows into you, shockwaves seizing over your body as the lightning rolls off of him. Somehow, even though he’s howling out in his own ecstasy, he manages to direct the electric current to the fingers that toy with your clit, sending another orgasm hurtling toward you like a bus with no brakes on the freeway. The static zips through you, quivering your bones and making your body melt like ice cream on a hot summer day. Your cunt milks his cock well, your climax making your walls contract and clamp around him. Searing ropes of his sticky seed land deep inside of you, his cock gushing and emptying his load into your tender heat.

Once the overwhelming pleasure has subsided, your body falls slack in his arms, slightly twitching in recoil from the surge of electricity. Denki coos at you as he catches his own breath, nuzzling into your neck and littering your skin with kisses. He whispers sweet nothings to you as you come back to reality, still subdued from the all-consuming ecstasy that had taken hold of you entirely just moments ago. Slowly he slips out of you, careful to slide your panties back in place to catch his load as it starts to leak out of your aching hole. Moving your leg off the countertop, he turns you around, smiling happily as he fixes your smudged makeup and frazzled hair. Your body is too weak to try to fight him, so you let him hold you against his lithe form as he fixes your dress, covering your ravaged body as best as he can. He takes a moment to rub off the lipstick stains from his skin, buckling his belt before those marigold eyes find yours once again.

“Finally, you’re mine,” he muses, yellow eyes glinting at you under the harsh, fluorescent lighting of the dirty bathroom. He tilts his head as he cups your chin, angling you to look into his intoxicating gaze. “Oh sunshine… what fun we’ll have together.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

yayyy my first denki fic :D also my first time writing villain/yandere stuff too... so please be sure to lemme know if you enjoyed!

➥ masterlist

➥ BINGO masterlist

#kaminari denki smut #kaminari smut #bnha smut #mha smut #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #kaminari denki fic #kaminari fic #bnha fic #mha fic #tw: dubcon #tw: yandere

2K notes · View notes

sintreaties · 4 years ago

Note

Hi can you please do a Midari x Yuriko and the prompt is water fight

Hello! Just like the Super Soaker, Wetter is Better🔫🔫

When summer began, it happened with such an impetuosity that even the cicadas seemed taken off guard. The campus resounded with their dismay, which sometimes reached the classrooms through the closed windows for the last lessons of the day, when the sun was fiercer.

“Fucking hell,” muttered Midari, tugging at the collar of her shirt. “It’s June, isn’t it? Why the fuck is it so hot already?”

“Pollution. The planet is dying,” replied Yuriko.

“I’mma throw hands with Bestlé if it’ll mean stopping this bullshit. It’s hot as balls, for fuck’s sake! And why the hell do you have to practice outside? Is your instructor out of his mind, making you do this shit under the sun?”

“If you’re struggling so much,” muttered Yuriko against the string of her bow, “I remind you that no one is forcing you to stay. I don’t know why you’re here in the first place.”

She let go of the breath she had been holding, and with it, the arrow left her bow. She still got the target, but not the bullseye. That always seemed ten times harder to do when Ikishima was around.

“Ha!” exclaimed the latter, adding to her frustration. “See? Told ya. The sun’s melting your brain.”

“Midari, don’t you have any rounds to do for the Beautification committee?”

“Nahh. If people want to go around in swimsuits, good for them. I ain’t gonna shoot them for it.”

“What did you come here for then? You know that you can’t— Ah!”

Yuriko yelped as something warm and wet hit the back of her neck through the uniform of the Kyudo club.

“Bullseye!” screamt Midari, followed by her barking laugh.

Upon turning, Yuriko found her hunched under the lonely shade of a tree behind her, waving around one of those small plastic water guns that the konbini offered as a free gift with some brands of ice cream.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” said Yuriko, glaring at the bright pink plastic.

“Pretty cool, huh? Sayaka took away my real gun, so—” Midari shrugged. “Ya know what they say. Size don't matter, it's about how you use it!”

She shot again, another squirt of water that almost hit Yuriko in the face.

“Stop! What are you, a child?!”

Taking something from her bag, Ikishima jumped to her feet. She was all tensed up, a wild look gleaming in her eye. With a moment of delay, Yuriko realized she was trying to imitate the cowboys in those old American movies.

“This town ain’t big enough for the two of us,” she said indeed with an accent as heavy as lead. Her hand hovered over an imaginary holster while she kept the other behind her back.

“You look too much like a pirate,” thought Yuriko sighing.

“Look, look.” Ikishima offered another of those ridiculous guns, this time bright green.

“How many of these toys have you taken?”

“Look, damn it, closer!”

Perhaps the sun was really melting her brain, for Yuriko was careless enough to listen. As she lowered her face, the water hit her right in her mouth, making her taste the rancid plastic of the toy.

She spluttered as Ikishima bellowed again. She was almost choking on her own laughter when Yuriko grabbed the gun from her hand.

“Uh oh,” she had the time to say. Yumeko did get her bullseye this time.

“Not my good eye!” yelled Midari.

“Stop playing around then!”

“I will, I will — Aha!”

“Hey!”

Those who saw them from the windows of the building over the archery field, running around and playing like children, thought they must have been mistaken. There was no way the stoic Nishinotouin Yuriko would gather her gown around her legs and taunt the head of the Beautification Committee like that.

The water ended fast. So did Yuriko’s stamina as she ended up tripping on her uniform and falling right in Ikishima’s arms.

“Truce?” said Midari panting.

“Yes, please… You ruined my clothes.”

“Not like you will need them. Your house or mine?”

Yuriko hit her arm as she tried to steal a kiss.

“You’re barbaric.”

“And you’re a real doll. Even when you’re soaked.”

As the cicadas sang, they did share a kiss behind that lonely tree on the archery field, hiding from the sun and from the rest of the school.

(This was inspired by a MidaRiko comic in which Yuriko does japanese archery and Ikishima just hangs around to bother her. As I don’t know the real author and I don’t know if the translator asked for permission, I won’t link it. Just imagine it with your inner eye.)

#kakegurui #ikishima midari #nishinotouin yuriko #midari x yuriko #midariko #sintreatieswrites #sintreatiesreplies #anon #request

57 notes · View notes

unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

Text

Irredeemable my foot

Hi everyone, I decided to write a fic centered on Chloe; is a sugar fic. I always liked her character. And I would like to dedicate this fic to Sienna, aka @catsandfanfic. Happy 14th birthday. Her birthday is March 6th. In my time zone it’s March 6 so hopefully you’re not getting this too early. I hope your birthday is amazing, and I really hope you enjoy this fic; i heard you like Maribat. And @justdyingontheinside gives you a shout out on your special day.

Chloe knew how everyone expected it to go. The blond could admit… She was spoiled, selfish, petty, and insecure, with mommy issues galore.

But she wasn’t a villain. Yet she could understand why people thought she’d go down like one.

Nevertheless, for people to think she’d ever willingly work for Hawkmoth; a man who ruthlessly used his power to corrupt the hearts and minds of innocents (like her father, mother, Adrien, Sabrina, and everyone else in Paris) and use them to further his own agenda… was too much.

The people who believed that was basically saying Chloe was irredeemable; that there was no way she could ever be anything more than what she was. Like she couldn’t grow. Like she couldn’t better herself; like everyone in the world had that ability except for her. She was fourteen-years-old.

Only fifteen!

Why was it so easy to write her off?

Chloe Bourgeois was a bully, not a freaking serial killer.

She wasn’t a Supervillain. However, Chloe could admit, that for one brief moment when she realized she was passed over yet again by Ladybug for the chance to help save the day, hurt and anger had filled her. That if Hawkmoth had sent a butterfly after her that maybe… MAYBE for a second, she’d take his offer.

At least, he thought she could be of some use.

It wasn’t fair, Chloe remembered stomping her foot as jealously filled her. Why didn’t Ladybug pick her? She was so much better than all those other stupid heroes! So much better than that mangy Chat Noir even. Queen Bee would be a much better partner. If she could just prove it!

And that suddenly it was like a lightbulb went off above her head, the kind you only see in cartoons. A smile spread over her face.

The dark butterfly that was headed her way suddenly changed its course.

Yes, Chloe had thought, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll prove it. I’ll show them all. I’m a hero. And I’m going to save everyone!

She could be better.

She would be better.

(And once she did, maybe Ladybug would think so too)

Nevertheless, even if Ladybug never knew. Chloe would. She would know she did the right thing because it was the right thing to do; no other reason. That would be enough for her. Even if it meant she’d never be Queen Bee again.

Chloe was going to prove she was a hero after all. With or without the mask or magical powers.

The world thought she wasn’t redeemable. Well, she was going to show the world what a real redemption arc looked like.

The first thing needed to do was plan. Hawkmoth was too strong. He needed to be brought down fast before he becomes unbeatable. Ladybug was perfect but she was still just a kid. She needed more help.

Outside help. Chloe knew there were other superheroes out there. The Avengers. The flash and his team in central city. Superman and his superfam in Metropolis. The Teen Titans. The Justice League. But to beat Hawkmoth would take stealth. It took intelligence. And people used to dealing with total nutjobs in costumes. Heroes who could help finally crack the mystery of who Hawkmoth was.

Paris needs the Batfamily.

Which means Chloe was going to Gotham. But she wouldn’t go alone. She needed an Ally, or preferably Allies.

Chloe decided to figure out who was who on the best board of life.

The first was easy Ladybug was the White King; a true, just, and kick-butt hero. Chloe made herself the Queen; because whether Ladybug knew it or not, Chloe had just become her strongest protector. (She only just manage to argue against making Chat Noir a pawn; instead named him a Knight.) Sabrina, though had some major insecurity, was a good friend of Chloe. She was smart enough not to fall for Lila’s fool’s gold.

Sabrina had learned at the heel of her father when it came to detective work. She had mastered computers thanks to her mother who was a high-level computer programmer. She knew self-defense since her parents shoved her into Karate when she was younger. The redheaded was organized to the point of being OCD. She was loyal to a fault.

With a little confidence, Sabrina could be a real asset to Team Ladybug. And she would be. Chloe just needed to show that she trusted the redhead, believed in her.

Chloe wished she could bring Adrien in but he was a civilian with the backbone of a twizzler. He was too forgiving and to sheltered from the real world. It had worked in her benefit before, otherwise, he’d have dropped her as a friend a long time ago. But things had changed. Chloe needed friends who would stand up against her not just threatened to not be her friend anymore. It wouldn’t do any good in the long run after all.

Hawkmoth was the Black king; pure evil. The Peacock shrew was his Queen. And, Chloe decided, Lila was his bishop. The sausage haired was a manipulative, rancid, liar. And from what she had seen of Lila’s akumatization, the Italian girl was fully in control of her actions. Which meant Lila was working with Hawkmoth willingly.

And since Lila was the only bad guy she could give a real name for, Chloe decided she would be the key to bringing down Hawkmoth.

Thus Lila Rossi became public enemy number one.

Lila was dangerous in a way hawkmoth couldn’t be. She lied and twisted minds with no powers whatsoever. She turned nearly all of Bustier’s class into untrustworthy minions. They should’ve been White; on the side of good. But they had proven to be disloyal and easily influenced. The class couldn’t be trusted.

They had turned against the one person even Chloe had a hard time not deeming a Saint.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chloe strongly disliked the girl, mostly out of envy. The blond didn’t need therapy to know that she wanted what the bluenette had; a mom that adored her, a dad that actually tried to help and not just throw money at any situation, sheer talent, and pretty much the instant admiration of almost anyone she met.

However, she was also strong and fierce. Marinette was a force of good hard to reckoned with. Chloe needed all the help she could get.

Which meant recruiting Dupain-Cheng for the cause.

That might prove harder than getting Batman to help out.

When Chloe and Sabrina showed up at the bakery and politely asked to speak with Marinette, she was given a suspicious look by Marinette’s mother (Sabel or something, Chloe couldn’t remember). Still, she called her daughter downstairs.

Marinette walked into with a bright happy smile that quickly faded when she saw Chloe.

“We need to talk, Marinette,” Chloe forced herself to say the other girl’s first name. “Its an emergency.” Sabrina nudged her. “Please.”

It was obviously the shock of Chloe saying please that got Marinette to take them up to her bedroom.

Marinette tried her best to smile, “So what’ s the emerg-” Chloe cut her off.

“We’re going to Gotham to recruit Batman and his fam,” Chloe told her. “To help Ladybug bring down HawkLoser. You coming or not.”

The bluenette just blinked.

Sabrina winced at her best friend’s lack of tact, “What Chloe is trying to say is… We could really use your help. Ladybug could use your help. Everyone likes you. You can convince Batman to come.”

“…Why?” Marinette asked after a moment of silence.

“Ladybug needs help!” Chloe told her. “Chat Noir throws tantrums all the time. Hawkmoth has the Peacock and Lila at his deposal. Ladybug hasn’t called in Rena or Caraprace in almost a year, so there has to be a reason for that. She needs help! She needs us!”

The Asian girl nodded slowly, “I mean, why come to me? Why help Ladybug like this?”

Chloe frowned, “Because you always do what’s right; the good, noble thing even if it’s utterly ridiculous for you to do so. I’m doing this, helping, Ladybug, because she needs help. I’m a hero, no matter what anyone says or thinks. And Heroes help.”

The bluenette looked at the two girls. They had been a thorn in her side for years. But she always thought they could change. She believed they could. And coming to her, Chloe archenemy, was proof that they were changing. “What’s the plan?”

The blond smiled. “Sabrina managed to outline the patrol routes for the batfamily.”

“They switch who does what route but there is a predictability to it,” Sabrina added. “The idea is to force a confrontation. I’ve gathered evidence to show them so they could understand the gravity.”

“My job is to get us,” Chloe said. “You have plenty of time to come up with one of Disney motivational speeches to get them on board. We leave for Gotham tomorrow.”

It was after midnight. Three girls stood on top of an old condemned building in the heart of Gotham; dressed in black, shivering from the cold.

“By my calculations,” Sabrina said. She held a computer under her arm. “At least two of the bats should be by monitoring the area during this hour.”

“And we’re sure this is going to work?” Marinette asked.

Chloe smirked, “Oh yeah.” She took a deep breath and screamed. “AHHHHHHHH!! Help!! Help! Someone please!!” She gave a fake sob and fell to the ground; causing Marinette to jump back in shock. She looked up at Marinette and Sabrina with a wide grin on her face, “How was that?”

“Become an actress,” Marinette told her. “Let me design the dress you wear when you accept the Oscar.”

There were two loud thuds behind.

“What’s going on?” A tall hero they recognized as Nightwing asked.

“We heard screams,” Red Robin stated.

“Its go time,” Chloe told them as she got up.

Sabrina nodded firmly as she opened up the laptop and started quickly.

Marinette smiled at the heroes, “Hi. My name is Marinette. This is Sabrina and Chloe,” She motioned to her friends. “We’ve come from Paris to seek the aid of Batman to stop a supervillain that has been terrorizing our city.”

Red Robin stepped forward, “A supervillain? In Paris?”

“We haven’t heard anything about it,” Nightwing said. “We know there are heroes there that takedown small-time villain, But nothing too damaging that we’ve seen.”

“Hawkmoth possesses people,” Chloe hissed. “Turns them into monsters. Turns kids into monsters. Literal Babies into monsters. A girl who can control the weather and could end the world. Another who absorbed energy from people so she could travel back in time. Until the people she steals energy from will freeze and slowly disappear. A man with the power of the Egyptian gods and tried to revive the dead. A villain who could trap people in pictures. Another that can bring people the worst nightmares to life. How about one that caused most of the citizens of the city of Paris to drown. One man caused all that happened. Our city gets destroyed over and over again. People die over and over again. Hawkmoth is behind it all.”

Sabrina turned her laptop to them, and show the video they clipped together. “This is a news real, videos sent from regular smartphones.” The video showed proof of the fights, the monsters, the deaths, the damages, the terror. “Check any new channel centered in Paris. It will show you. This. IS. Real.”

Marinette fought the urge not to tremble as she remembered every villain she fought. “Ladybug fixes the damage the akuma causes; including bringing people back to life. But the people who die still remember. Ladybug can’t do this alone anymore. Even the help of Chat Noir isn’t enough. If Hawkmoth gets what he wants, it could be the end of everything and everyone.” It hadn’t been for a long time, she thought bitterly. Chat Noir loved the glamor and excitement of being a hero but it was like he never really felt the burden of the weight of Paris on his shoulders like she did. To him, it was all game. Or some stupid action movie. And he was too busy trying to get the girl to realize that they might not be able to save the day.

The bluenette looked hard at the heroes, “We need help. I know it’s not your city. I know you don’ have to care. I know you have your own villains and problems.” Tears burned in her eyes. “But we wouldn’t be here if we had other options; if we could handle it by ourselves. So We’re asking anyway. Will you please help us?”

Two identical horrified looks were on the batkids’ faces. Dick and Tim looked at the three kids, thousands of miles away from home, in the middle of the most dangerous city in the world, at night, to beg for help against what sounded like an undeniable monster. The teen girls were scared, near hopeless, and willing to ask for help from Batman and his family, heroes most civilians were too scared to even cross paths with.

Their situation was dire. Direr than the risk of being three, alone, beautiful, teenage girls in Gotham.

The other bats had been listening and or watching the conversation and were equally horrified. But that quickly gave way to fury.

“Red Robin, I want the intel off Sabrina’s computer,” Batman growled. “Oracle, I want everything you can find on Hawkmoth. We’ll start preparing to leave for Paris”

“On it,” Barabra stated. “I also brought up info on the girls. They’re all clean. Sabrina’s dad a cop. Marinette’s an all-star student, who has quite a few famous friends. Chloe’s the daughter of the Style Queen and the Mayor of Paris.”

“I get to kill Hawkmoth, right, B-man?” Jason asked. “I mean, I’m watching a video where he turned a crying baby who literally just wanted a lollipop into Gigantitan and used him to terrorize people. That’s gotta be a free pass on the killing thing.”

There was silence. No answer from Batman.

“Holy shit, are you considering it?” Jason asked stunned. “Kids really are your Achilles’ heel.”

Nightwing nodded. Batman always had a soft spot for kids. But even Dick was considering beating Hawkmoth to death. “Batman has agreed to help.” He told the girls who visibly sighed in relief as weight had come off them.

“May I use your laptop?” Tim asked the redhead. Sabrina nodded quickly and handed it over.

Nightwing observed the girls, “What else can you tell us about Hawkmoth?”

“No one knows his identity, obviously?” Chloe rolled her eyes. “His Allies include another villain named Mayura, identity unknown. And a civilian named Lila Rossi.”

Sabrina still couldn’t believe Lila stooped so low. “We have evidence that she has been willingly working with the known terrorist Hawkmoth and has allowed herself to be akumatized multiple times.” She pushed up her glasses. “She’s in our class. She has been lying and causing emotional distress to multiple students, increasing Akumas.” Lila had always caused the near break up of Ivan and Mylene, Nino and Alya, and for several friendships to nearly be destroyed. It was awful. “We think she will be the best way to finally snuffing out the villain. She has some connection to him we’re trying to figure out.”

“Suspects?” Damian asked in comms. “Stop being obtuse. We need to know who they suspect.”

“Robin, you shouldn’t be on the comms,” Batman reprimanded. “It’s your day off. Relax.”

Tim nodded, “Any leads on Hawkmoth’s identity.”

“Just one,” Marinette admitted. “A man named Gabriel Agreste. But we ruled him out after he was akumartized.”

Chloe snorted, “That’s stupid.” She said. “If Ladybug’s cure can heal the damage of an akuma, including what’s inflicting to her and that Alley Chat; there’s no logical reason, Hawkmoth can’t use his own powers on himself. To think otherwise, would be ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

Sabrina agreed, “Or he could’ve gotten Mayura to use it. I mean Ladybug and Chat Noir switched before. Why couldn’t they?”

Red Robin nodded, “That’s a good point. We’ll investigate him further.” He told them. “How much are you involved?”

The girls shared a look. Chloe stepped forward proudly, “I was the Hero, Queen Bee.”

“No!” Marinette said strongly. “She is the Hero Queen Bee; a loyal friend and ally of Ladybug.” She swallowed hard as she fought the nervousness. Tikki and her had talked about what would happen next. Chloe had proven herself as far as two were considered. The blond deserved a real chance to prove she what type of hero she could be.

Marinette took a deep breath and reached into her bag and pulled out a necklace and a hair comb that Chloe recognized instantly. A series of emotions flashed over the blonde’s face; recognition, understanding, disbelief, envy, embarrassment, frustration, acceptance, and then finally a look of admiration.

“Here,” She handed the comb to Chloe and the necklace to Sabrina. The kawami’s floated out.

“My queen,” Pollen purred as she landed on Chloe’s shoulder. The blonde looked ready to cry.

Trixx spun around Sabrina’s head, “Kit. I have new Kitt!”

The batfamily was just confused.

Marinette straightens up, “Chloe for your show of loyalty, for your dedication to justice, and for your willingness to help from shadows; I name you an official and permanent member of the miraculous team. Keep moving forward. Keeping bettering yourself. I believe in you. And I welcome Queen Bee back.”

“Wha…” Nightwing said only to be cut off by Chloe

She yelled, “Pollen, Buzz On!" And before they’re eyes, she transformed into the hero Queen Bee. “Eat your heart out, boys,” Chloe smirked at the stunned heroes.

Marinette giggled. She focused on Sabrina who now realized exactly what was about to happen. “Sabrina, when Chloe brought you, I didn’t know what to expect. It turned out you had spent months researching and gathering evidence. I didn’t there was proof Lila was working with Hawkmoth willingly, you did. You saw through the lies and deception to find the truth despite the danger it could bring you. Which why I give you the kwami of Illusion.”

Sabrina shakily put on the necklace. Trixx patted her head, “Now say, Trisx let's pounce.” The redhead did as she was told as was instantly transformed into a fox themed hero. Unlike Alya, Sabrina’s look was grey and a startling silver. It was more like an actual combat uniform.

“Truth is neither right nor wrong,” Sabrina stated. “It's not good or evil. It's not light or dark. Truth just is. I am Renarde Gris.”

Marinette smiled and then said, “Tikki, Spots on.” And was transformed into Ladybug. Her suit was different; darker and better armored. “I am Ladybug.” She told the bats. “And I thank you for help.”

Nightwing opened and closed his mouth repeatedly.

Red Robin just pinched his nose, “Did you just make a civilian into a superhero just like that?”

Ladybug tilted her head innocently, “Why? Isn’t that how batman got you?”

Jason snorted, “She ain’t lying.”

“You were trained before going into the field,” Batman corrected. “You all were. But let’s focus, Ladybug is a child!”

“You’re just a kid,” Nightwing said. “You’ll all just kids.”

Sabrina crossed her arms, “Weren’t you the first Robin? And didn’t you start at like ten-years-old? At least we’re teenagers.”

“And we don’t dress like traffic lights!” Marinette and Chloe snapped together, to their surprise, and then high-fived with a laugh.

Red Robin examined Ladybug in a new light, “You’ve been protective Paris for three years.”

“Alone?” Damian growled in their ears. “Father, you said I was too young. I am the same age as them. I demand to be treated befitting of my status.”

Ladybug shrugged, “The current Robin has protected Gotham on his own many times. He’s even led Teen Titans on missions. He has proven as I have that age is meaningless in the pursuit of justice. “

Nightwing shook his head, “You’re just kids. Robin is just a kid.”

“Tell me, what bothers you more?” She asked. “The line of children that followed in your footsteps. Or that current Robin is better than you ever were.”

“…I love her.” Damian said. “Father, I love her and I will marry her.” It went quiet. “Red Robin, tell her of my affections. Superboy wants Chloe’s number. Spiderman requests Sabrina’s. I still don’t understand, why, you thought a ‘kids’ game night’ was necessary, father?”

Batman just sighed.

Tim cleared his throat, “Robin would like to, uh, court you.” He said. “Superboy would like Queen Bee’s phone number.” He could wait to tell Conner that Jon had a crush. “Spiderman request Renarde Gris’.”

The girls all blushed prettily.

“Then he can hero up and ask me himself,” Sabrina smirked in a way that made Chloe proud.

“Same,” Marinette said with a smile. Chloe nodded in agreement.

“…We’re on our way,” Damian said into the comms.

The sigh that answered that statement clearly belonged to Bruce.

#ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #ml salt #Chloe deserves better #chloe bourgeois #A little bit of Adrien Salt #maribat #daminette

3K notes · View notes

princeescaluswords · 3 years ago

Note

Scott does not hold Jackson selling him out against the other teen / Jackson never held Scott selling him out to Gerard against Scott either. In fact, Jackson never even mentioned it (because Jeff Davis never gave him the chance to, just like he never gave Derek the chance to hold Scott accountable for violating him). So It's fair. As for Scott "being saddled with a beta he never wanted" Scott shouldn't have bit, kidnapped and assaulted Liam out of jealousy in the first place

I love it when you, AA, as the vanguard of the fandom extremists, try to argue about canon and show how little you (and they) actually paid attention to it. The Argents didn't know about Jackson from Scott. They discovered Jackson's identity from Allison. If you actually cared about anything but your rancid hate, you would have remember this scene from Raving (2x08):

Allison: You have a plan? Okay, okay. My father and Gerard, they're coming here.

Scott: What did you tell them?

Allison: I - I told them -

Scott: Allison!

Allison: I - I had to tell them.

Scott: Oh, my God, they know it's Jackson.

I know you feel no obligation to canon or even the truth, but you need to be careful not to make easily disproven accusations like this.

Now, Scott did tell Gerard that Matt was controlling the kanima. Matt, the serial killer who had murdered five people already, including crushing one of them underneath a car in one of the most gruesome and sadistic deaths I can imagine, and tried to kill both Derek and Stiles. The same Matt who would go on in the very same episode and kill four police officers, paralyze Stiles and Derek, shoot Scott, and hit the sheriff over the head. I think that stopping a serial killer by any means necessary would appeal to some fandom.

You also need to be careful about holding Scott responsible for Gerard taking control of the kanima. Because if you start holding Scott responsible for things he couldn't possibly know about or foresee, then that opens a whole new bag of accusations. If you start holding Scott responsible for the unforeseeable actions of villains, then we need to revisit exactly how much guilt you think Stiles has for leading Scott out into the woods or Derek for creating the kanima in the first place. You always get so delightfully pissy when you say "Scott could have said no" or "Jackson could have not asked for the Bite," so I damn well believe you have to say "Gerard could not have been a killer." If ignorance of the consequences frees Stiles or Derek from blame, then it has to free Scott. That's called 'fairness.'

And as for your endlessly repeated point about Liam, I will listen to you when you put these words in black-and-white, "Scott should have let Liam fall from that hospital roof rather than bite him without permission." Considering the ridiculously idiotic things you say on a regular basis, it shouldn't be too hard.

But I do want to thank you for pointing out another endless double-standard that fandom enjoys. You see, intent and results only matter for white characters. For minority characters, they must execute any attempt to help flawlessly and there must never be any hiccups on the way. Don't worry, it's not just you. Entire parts of the fandom treat the fact that Scott saved Stiles and Derek in Abomination (2x04) as irrelevant because Scott hung up on Stiles moments before. The fact that Scott's Master Plan saved Derek and his pack from death at the hands of Gerard doesn't matter because it hurt Derek's feelings.

What's sad is you can apply this to other minority characters in other shows.

#asshole anon #scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #fandom racism

12 notes · View notes

hazelcephalopod · 3 years ago

Text

The Eye of the World Ch 17-18

Disclaimer: this is my first read thru but I’ve watched the first 4 episodes of the show and been spoiled on some things. So… I’m going to lean into that. Enjoy figuring out what I know and what I think in know and what I don’t. Also s/x I add commentary when I edit.

Spoilers for the first book under the cut.

Immediate impression: The group must flee and is pursued as tensions escalate.

Ch 17

That is so many different songs and stories

Dancing!

Strange scared man staring and being stared at!

If it isn’t the consequences of your actions Rand? You are too noticeable to do that shit even if it was fun to read

Oh noooo. That’s bad

Oh that is good onamonapia -the sound description thing, not checking the spelling g’luck. about heard that, and I do no like it

Yup. Time to go. Break down a gate if you have too

Sure that’s the reason Thom.

And yea swords only useful if you can use it

I hope you’re just trying to be nice sir b/c you need to prepare for a storm (I later learn he probably was not)

Minor thing, my humble opinion. I get the sense from the show maybe that Two Rivers folks use Eyeless and elsewhere Fade is used. It’s a reversal that makes sense, Eyeless sounds more like a folk scary story than Fade -to me. Fade sounds like a name trying to distance itself from the terror the creature inspires

Yes you should be. You are such a little shit s/x Rand. I still like you but truly you can be such a shit, glad you acknowledge it s/x tho. That’s a good sign b/c at least you are a teenager or basically a teenager

Hey… no. She wanted to come. She was given ample warning. She’s her own person who can make decisions.

Oh compassion. Genuinely glad to see it

‘Absolutely rancid vibes’ -Rand on that stable hand Mutch (probably)

Really totally abandoned?

Are the gates open to leave then or? …no. No they aren’t.

Well actually “No one to come in except in daylight.” Sounds like they can leave to me! Pretty sure Moiraine is about to argue that (I shortly learn I was right)

Sure those are wolves

Ah yes money the universal persuasive power

Ohhh they say that in the show! The bs about Whitecloaks domain over everywhere’s in the light! This time it’s night tho.

“Absolutely rancid vibes.” -me on the Whitecloaks every time we’ve seen them

‘Insufferable fools.’ -Lan, on the Whitecloaks (probably)

Tbh I doubt he would recognize much to do with the Dark One

See shadows and gorplins is what you lot can ‘see’

Also telling a Warder *you* are the one so good at seeing evil. That’s hilarious. More so because they don’t know he’s a Warder

“The Children of Light smell the evil.” -some Whitecloak. What a line, a ridiculous line. Lol

Followed by “We smell it, and root it out. Wherever it is find.” (These are cartoon villains. I love it)

I’d be shocked if you can find your own ass

That guy? Bornhold?

Ah good old Fear spell

Yea Occams Razor. Poor inn-keep dude. They just wiped him like a murder hobo dnd party -well his inn at least

That’s pretty cold I have to say. Understandable but cold. (Still I Stan)

Well really it’s because the Dark One is just the biggest prick but sure blame the children

Just all around a bad situation. It’s not like she didn’t warn him.

“He fell asleep wondering if the roots digging into his ribs would make him dream.” -Rand, the incomfortable campsite after fleeing Baerlon

Mmm what secrets do you have Warder?

Ch 18

The little picture for this chapter is great I can’t decide it it’s corny or kinda metal or somehow both

Huh. That’s a lot of wilderness.

“…last Lord of the Seven Towers.” -Moiraine on Lan. What does that mean?!

Huh. Trap then? That’s a good tactic

500?! How… no one has noticed that?

A place Trolloc’s won’t go. Hmm interesting.

Yea Thom I think that’s clear

The plants trying to bind and or keep Rand that there is maybe something?

Rand is often l sure of himself. He’s also often wrong

Well shit Lan actually killed a Fade! And it’s entire fist of Trollocs. I mean apparently it technically won’t be dead for a while but still

Earthquake? Did she just cause an earthquake. Because that’s awesome.

Why Fades not affected by earth-ripple? Oh no.

Or their horses???

Wall of fire!

Guess that took about everything she had then

Well Moiraine is fucking awesome.

Well magic and adrenaline = heat (s/x)

So various states of shock all around

Hey that’s a good point Egwene. I’m not sure I remember those words from before

That’s weird.

You what now Egwene?

Well that feels just a bit concerning right now. Why would Mat of all people know that? Old blood just… is spice melange?

Time for pass without a trace! (Yes I’m going to keep making dnd references)

There’s that tingle again…

Ok but everyone is shivering this time it seems

Spellfocus. Got it

Yea broken branches are easier to track

Aridhol…Shadar Logoth. And Mat asks for its latter name twice

#many thoughts on twot teotw #< block or filter to stop seeing these posts #the wheel of time #wheel of time #wot #the eye of the world #eye of the world #twot book #twot book spoilers #eotw spoilers

11 notes · View notes

chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

Text

pirate king (66) || atz

It’s dark out when wooden boards creak under the tips of your toes lightly, and you glance behind your shoulder to make sure no one is watching you from the ship’s deck before you quickly stride across the pier, hoping the shadows cast from the flickering flames of the torches are enough to shroud you in their darkness.

You’re dressed in one of your Master’s tunics, with a ragged shawl wound around your head to hide your face. Darting down the harbor, you rely purely on your memory to follow the same path your feet had taken seemingly so long ago.

You blend in with the rest of the stragglers littering the dirty seaside hovels, listening to the sound of seawater lapping against the stone docks. The sea winds seem to sense your intent, the trail of salt laced air drifting past your nose and guiding you forward. You double your pace. You’re getting closer.

“Fortune favours the fair...” The raspy whisper curls around your ears, beckons you towards a dingy shack tucked in the recesses of the town, streaked with filth and grime, just as you remember it. Heavy rags and curtains hang from its rickety bamboo frame, the dim light inside barely visible through the thick drapes, suffocating and stifling.

It’s an ominous sight, but you feel no fear as you step forward into the tent without even bothering to announce yourself. You remember the terror you had felt here the last time, even with Jongho at your back, but now, all that consumes you is a ravenous desire for answers.

There’s no more time for fear anymore.

“It’s you!” The fortune teller shrieks, the second you push aside the heavy curtains at the entrance and slip inside. There’s a crash, and you glance up from beneath your hood to see the wizened crone tumbling backwards, knocking over jars of snakeskin and ripping strings of dried talons from the ceiling rafters in her desperate attempt to get away from you. “You, I-”

“Silence.” You say coldly, brushing a spider from your shoulder and she falls silent in an instant, mouth moving soundlessly. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your aura, it’s stronger now, it’s pouring from you.” The fortune teller spits, pressing against the wall behind her in a bid to get as far from you as possible as you cross the cramped hut in three steps to sit on the same chair in front of her table, just as you had so long ago. This chair feels sturdier under you, and you wonder which unfortunate soul bad broken the previous one before you. “Even the biggest fool would be able to tell, why do you think you were not approached on your way here, alone and frail-looking as you are?”

“Huh.” You say curiously, unwinding the shawl from your neck and pulling it free. “That’s a handy skill, now that I think about it.”

“Why are you here, clay one?” The fortune teller hisses, and when you stare back her, she seems smaller than you remember her to be; instead of the looming figure wrapped in darkness she’s merely a trembling, skeletal woman hiding behind her rags. You shrug, prop your chin on your palm and look at her with intent eyes. She flinches.

“You’re a fortune teller, aren’t you?” You ask quietly, your gaze unwavering. “Tell me my future.”

She sputters.

“It- It doesn’t work like that.” The fortune teller spins away from you, but you can see her fingernails, caked with dirt, dragging frantically against the rough grain of the tabletop. “The more one seeks out the future, terrible things come to pass. The more someone plays a god,” her luminous eyes meet yours through her wild tangle of curls, the colour of pond water muddied with scum and filth, “the higher the price they pay, the deeper they sink. But they never turn back until it’s too late, and by then, the price is too high for a mortal to ever pay.”

You frown. “How does someone play god?”

The second you say that, the air in the room changes. You can feel it, the way the temperature seems to drop, the way the flames burning at the ends of the waxy candle stubs flicker weakly, how the rats squeak in the cages and the birds flap desperately. The sea breeze whispers in your ears and the fortune teller stumbles back. “Tell her, tell her, tell her...” Eerie, moaning, indecipherable wails drift in with the wind and the fortune teller shrieks, nearly clawing at the walls in her attempt to escape. “Confess to her all your misdeeds, your sins... how you came to be in this wretched state...”

Frowning, you grab her by the fabric of her shawl and yank her back into her seat. “What did they mean?” She stares back at you, wild eyed and horrified.

“You can hear them?” She breathes, almost incredulous, but before you can answer she’s yanking her clothes out of your grip, mumbling to herself under her breath, teeth chattering and her words stumbling over each other. “Of course you can, you’re one of hers, you-”

“You mean Eldoris?” You ask mildly, but at the very mention of her name the fortune teller jerks across the table to clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with terror. “Do not speak her name.” She hushes you desperately, and your eyes narrow as you pull her hand from your mouth.

“Why not?”

“Names have power.” The fortune teller snaps, sinking back into her seat even as she glances warily around her, as if she’s afraid that the sea witch is going to appear any second. “Names are the identity that bind you to this world. If you live without a name, any name, it means that the world does not have any connection to you, that nothing needs to call out for you. You are an insignificant speck, without an immortal soul, as the birds of the sky to the sirens in the sea are.”

Your eyebrows furrow, bringing your hands up to play with the shawl on your lap, the wooden hand catching on stray threads here and there. “What about the names of gods?”

The fortune teller scoffs. “The gods?” There’s a trace of bitterness in her voice as she sinks back into her chair, eyes dark. “Gods, the mortals call them. No, my dear fool. They are not gods... just beings of immense powers, called into consciousness at Creation. They don’t have names, nor do they have eternal souls... no one calls upon them for who they are, only what they are.” She snorts in ridicule, shaking her head. “Thinking that the gods are human enough to listen to their wishes, to their desires... that’s all a lie. A pretty fairy tale, meant to deceive those with a penny in their pocket.”

You fingers still. “What do you mean?”

“Please, don’t tell me you actually believed those legends.” Her eyes are dark as they meet yours. “As if human offerings such as fruit or even gold would be of anything of worth to a god. They have no need for it. They have existed long before the humans have, and will continue to exist long after humans are gone. They do as they wish, and they have no heart for humans, only for each other. We are nothing but mere ants to them.”

You remember how Eldoris had told you of the names the two gods had called each other by, lips pressing into a thin line. Were the gods really such cruel, heartless characters such as what the fortune teller was saying?

“You sound awfully passionate about this.” You remark quietly, and the fortune teller whips around to glare at you straight in the eye, so close you can smell her rancid breath.

“How do you think I got here?” She breathes, and you stiffen, straightening up to look at her more clearly. She’s had dealings with the gods before? You had thought her to be merely a shady magician with a penchant for seeing the future and a flair for the dramatic. “Trying to play god, trying to gain power.” Her expression darkens. “All I wanted was the ability to see the future, to protect my village from the storms that would rage along the coast, and yet... and yet...” Her teeth bare in a growl. “And yet...”

“And?” You coax her, transfixed by the sheer pain burning in her eyes. Her head snaps up to look at you, and you’re stunned to see her eyes shining with tears.

“I do not wish to speak about this any longer.” She croaks, turning away from you and rapidly swiping the tears from her eyes. Something pinches in you, and you hold out your shawl to her. She stares at it for a good few seconds, before she takes it in her hands and holds it there.

“You’re a good person,” she manages, and you only look at her blankly, uncomprehending. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, ever. Trying to obtain the power of a god is nothing but folly.”

“How does one obtain the power of a god?” You ask, hesitantly, and she looks at you for a long while, searching for something in your eyes. Apparently, she seems to finds it, because she exhales, shakes her head. “The essence of the world is all around us, from the very air we breathe to the water in the oceans all around us. We consume it all the time, in minute amounts... but to attain true power?” Her voice drops and you lean in closer to hear her. “One needs to consume bigger sources of power... like the sirens... or god forbid, the hafgufa itself.”

A memory works its way into your mind, a hazy recollection of staring down a cliff and screaming till your throat goes hoarse.

You frown. “Just like that? How is that detrimental to a person?”

The fortune teller sighs, eyes darkening. “You ask too many questions... but you must imagine yourself as a jar. You contain your own life essence, but to take in the essence of the world around you forcibly? You are... limited... and in order to take in more, something must flow out to make more room.”

Your blood goes cold. “So you lose parts of your own human soul?”

The fortune teller nods heavily, head hanging. “A price no human should ever have to pay. Power is crazily addicting, enough for one to completely lose their sense of self... and the value of their own humanity. A human’s weakness is our biggest strength, but to lose your heart and soul in exchange for power is despicable.”

“But you tried, once.” You say, trying to make sense of it all. “You tried, and you’re still here.”

“I was too young, too afraid.” She hisses, shaking her head. “I killed one siren and consumed her essence before she could return to the sea, and immediately the sea witch rose from the waves to strike justice upon me. She couldn’t take the essence that I had stolen from the sea, so she cursed me to have the most terrible of prophecies I spoke of to never be believed, to watch the awful visions I had seen come to pass in front of my very eyes, completely helpless but you,” one of her hands reach out to touch yours almost gingerly, as if she’s afraid that you might end up being nothing but a dream, “you believe me.”

You nod slowly. “I do... I think. Something about the way you speak convinces me.” You exhale lightly, hold out your hands to her, eyes blazing with determination.

“Since I do, will you please tell me my future?”

The fortune teller flinches, before she sighs, rubbing her temples. The seashells on the silver bracelets she wears tinkle with each movement. You continue to stare at her, pleadingly, resolute, until she looks up at you with the shake of the head.

For a second, your heart drops, but then she speaks, perhaps more to herself than to you. “If I send you, too, to your death... but no... perhaps,” she looks up at you, gripping your hand tight with surprising strength for such bony fingers, “if you were already supposed to be dead and yet you still stand before me here... perhaps things will be different for you.”

A pang of fear shoots through you, and you hurry to ask, “what do you mean, I’m supposed to be dead? Did you see something in my future the last time I was here-”

“No, nothing like that.” The fortune teller waves a hand dismissively. “What I mean is that no golem has ever lived past two or three moons, not even the most well made ones I’ve ever seen. And yet, here you are, after so long.”

Something icy cold begins creeping into your heart as you chew on your bottom lip, brows furrowing questioningly. “How exactly does a golem... die?”

The fortune teller exhales, gives you a pitying look. “Well, a golem is a vessel often made of clay or stone, powered by its maker to carry out their wishes.” You nod intently, clinging on to every word. “Golems carry unimaginable amounts of power in their physical forms to animate them even without their master’s conscious effort, which is why only the most powerful of magicians can make them, but their bodies are not meant to house them nor use them.”

Your heart clenches painfully.

“In order to use the magic within them to animate themselves, the golems’ bodies degrade, like how one would break holes into a clay vessel in order to release the water within.” She continues, seemingly unaware of how still you’ve become. “The damage is irreparable. After a while, the body eventually shatters into nothing but dust in a couple of moons or so.”

You pause for a moment, licking your lips, which suddenly feel bone dry. “Ahh... that sounds rather morbid.” You say, nodding slowly. Perhaps that might explain your nosebleeds... and the cracking of your hand. So you were right, you are falling apart and there is no cure; or well, no human cure. You look down at your chest, resting your human hand against your heart gently. What kind of power do you have stored within you that is slowly killing you from the inside?

“I do not know how you came to be, even the sea witch cannot have had this much power to create a being such as you.” The fortune teller says softly, fingertips digging into the table. “But I can try to give you a prophecy, if that is what you so desire.”

Without pomp nor fanfare, she holds out her hands expectantly and you place yours in hers, one flesh and blood and the other carved wood, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. “Not going to take my blood this time?” You try to tease a little, to settle the painful flutter in your belly, but the fortune teller shakes her head, dark eyes searing into yours.

“I have never had a need for it, except to pacify the hearts of others...” She sighs, “No person would believe that I would be able to tell fortunes otherwise.” With that, she falls silent, eyes slipping shut, and you do the same, gripping her hands tightly.

Seconds stretch into moments, and moments into minutes as you wait for something, anything. For a second, you’re almost afraid that the fortune teller has fallen asleep, and are about to tap her on the shoulder when her grip on your hands suddenly tighten near painfully. Eyes flying wide open with shock, you look at her, but before you can ask her what’s wrong, words begin to pour from her opened mouth, even though her lips do not move.

Your heart skips a beat.

“I see darkness... darkness all around me...” The fortune teller breathes and your blood runs cold, throat tightening. “You are bound to another by a promise... and they will come, bearing a gift... a gift to sunder the promise that binds you to this mortal coil...”

A promise?

“No matter the choice you make, all the paths have been set straight, and they lead only to death.” Your breath catches. “There is no other way, your promise is a futile one, and it can only be fulfilled through death. The only future is death... death... death. It comes as the storm approaches... on the horizon of the sea.”

You swallow.

“But take heart at the very end... take... heart, to become weak is to triumph, to die is to live and remember... what... your name... is... and who it is...that... it... calls... to...”

And with that the fortune teller merely slumps over the table in a dead faint, mouth slack as she breathes slowly through her nose. But you simply sit there, silently, heart hammering in your chest as you realise what you’ve just heard.

And only one word replays in your head, like the last lines of a sea shanty that never ends.

Death.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

103 notes · View notes