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maneaterwithtail · 2 years ago

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Visual Journey of Ronaldo as Companion on Jumpchain with an SI helping him reach new heights.

Most of these can be credited to months of work by the talents, economical service, and patience with the inarticulate (me) even across foreign language @rickleone

Who could always use more patrons this holiday season or just cash/Euro.

The last was a take from pixiv by Guillermo Principle or ぐちゅりむ原理主義 and then DALL-E prompt derived from an adult story with creeepy but fascinating visuals.

Starts mostly as per canon albeit 7 years older than last saw. Firmed up, and loaded weapons master style

References and Weapons

Shiva edge, Masamune, A Lange Messer, measures things and makes theremin music, cuts out 'invaders' ala Tenseiga or horse talisman,

His green sword gains Kodama like abilities and is called Soruimaru

Combined crescent apogee, a crescent blade that flies in or out of hand to attack, making up for initial poor swordsmanship or blade to tank situation.

Forgets to charge as to phone- though both from internal energies, primarily magic but can convert any to power held or touched device.

Klaive has a drop bear warspirit and wielding it can grant koala features plus muting and enhancing personal weight using it.

Combined with The Chinese WJQ-308 military shovel which can shikai into Ningishzida, a long braided ficus growing out leaves, that can be blades or as so inclined. either form heals and enhances mind and body with Hamon, Viva-Glitter, potato bola/meteor hammers that grow a sling out snares, calories or other things, can darken and gnarl emitting ,fatigue-poison inducing bioluminescence or leech energy making the darkest, savoriest apples of earth swell with the savor of life.

Shovel's Blade is removable to become infinitely foldable stand devices, that is chairs, music stands, and onward. The shovel is also a dowsing rod and with focus it enhances earth vibe senses

Pair of axes from house of the dead via a gate of imagination, unable to chop or cut things but amazing range of throw. They don't wear or suffer damage and block all firearms fire. Ralph blessed them so they do work in gaming and electronic spaces and can be sent in and out or even on any surface, such as Ronaldo’s skin as a crossed pair tattoo.

Ronaldo is tasked with making them real enough to do damage in real world or more than, in game, has expanded their applicability and effect in digital spaces and can call and send from them to and from such thanks to advancing practice.

Ronaldo has some of Coop's jotnar blood of chaos to solidify the phantom tools but needs to learn how. Collabs with Dr. Marco and Dumbledore to do it.

Wears anklets charms with spurs as much a part of his shoes or other foot wear with silver and black metal orbs-in-a- discus. they can help control friction, changing size and enchanting his soles to be comfortable and refreshed- even rejuvenate and heal - as stand in light not of world on (moonlight, starlight, sunlight, and satellite beams, but not spotlights or firelight or radioactive light unless from meteor)

Has complimentary charms on the wrist, one looking like a fancy man's watch which gives scope readings as adjusted with smartphone but does not tell time, he has a phone for that.

His white to yellowish latex belt with intervening raised pattern of weeping and other ficus leaves throughout with gall-makers prong in a ficus blossom that hitches into the belts tail to make a fig fruit cover buckle worthy of Sam Merlotte's own collection. He did provide for it, as his orphic self, as Ficus Belt, or Dryad Girdle Humbaba, at granting Ronaldo the title of their Cedalion. His role meant to sit on the shoulder of giants to guide, spot, and direct in glee to revelation.

His glasses are polarized and enhanced to protect eyes and highlight living or radiant energy in dark conditions or shield from glare conditions or flare or vision attacks. And he can do cool anime shots and poses too. Which he does.

He can even reshape the frames, hinges, temples, and lenses as if molding putty with his hands. A tap to the nosepiece can zoom and enhance, filter, and take pictures by making noises with his back teeth that appear on a phone or personal data storage he intends. If resizes his glasses to another’s face and places them on their face the item will adjust so the person can see-in-beyond-perfect vision, even rectifying any light eye ailments or conditions2.

The Humbaba Girdle. Can grow out to primarily ficus based growths but can integrate or become other plants related or sampled, along with producing critical pollinating animals, like fig wasps. He can command and communicate to these life forms, though needs to learn to understand their pov to perfect his leadership.

When the belt’s dryadic power is active, while surrounded by greenery, his own Hamon, awareness, reflexes, instincts, and agility are enhanced as if entering a state of unagi wa gichi-gami3.

He wears circles of fine silver charms, including discretes ones about forehead or in roots of his locks and cleft of shoulders and neck. With a secret magic phrase they can transform and connect like a silver scale shibari bind for similar enhancement of precision and agility

This can then grow into a silvery vaguely simian maille suit with a twinned ficus vine tail, making him resemble an arboreal beast, with elements of all creatures he likes.

He often wears a utility harness or kilt with limb enhancer’s extensions, also called digit-tools, tucked in

He can enter high gear mode when excited. His hair widens and grows out, teeth thicken, and his skin flushes red and his frame becomes stouter and primal. His hand feet-form. This mode is called akajagaimo. His body appears more akin to an orangutan or ape with a tuber tail with a stinger-end through which he inflicts or shares his state, though victims are usually more emotionally manic or desperate.

If tail takes root can grow tuber and "Ronaldo fruit4" in target.

Aside from ape body appearance, more swells and fills with special organs his body needs to work for the presentation he chooses. He can grow forms of potato meteor hammers, bola, etc from his joints. May produce vines/roots from his body. He can pop potato eyes that can ocularly function but often grow to tubers about as sensitive as fingers and with all senses in one. Each acts as a buffer or workaround if a sense is overwhelmed, though it is harder to see with 'eyes' extended.

Middle development on chain; he gains a variant of Kevin Greene's Primal powers. He can grant a use of them to living or organic not petrified in full subjects with touch but needs tune them and focus and pour out the slime produced by himself into the target

Stand: Secret Agent Man.

Resembles a camera that upgrades off other cameras and recording devices. Semi independent and bonded. Global range but object, so cannot be dismissed or completely unseen and increased suffering, if it is hurt, he is hurt. If SAM is active and seen by a person he or she will connect them with Ronaldo or at least recognize and think of one with the other.

No obfuscation deceives or blocks the glare of his camera. But when keep secret what so obtained cannot be deceived or misrepresented

Can psychically record events without bias or projection into memory, even reexamine the flash of time as if there. Eventually can share experiences and include non-visual senses. Though Ronaldo knew how to read lips and guess temperature and other such before being initiated into jumpchain.

End state:

Master of Gantz and Adventors tech by himself apart from Jumper's own developments in Gantz

Has a large mecha that with ficus wood "bones" with leaf headhelm, and one eye behind facial opening, with streamers, flags, banners of his flame shirt in the creases of the vehicle's bells and plates. It has Saturn balls for feet,unless standing still, to roll about any ( even a tar, wall, or water) surface, skating as easily as birds sing.

His Masterpiece is the

Arboretum of Primal Essence. A metal clothing tree1. (This Design is borrowed from drone visuals and ideas.) Made to produce biobooster Armor and living latex and Gantz tech or suits and similar devices.

He can design in a personal digital/conceptual space and then quantum fax a platonic or at least ideal weapon to Real World with Gantz and other tech he’s made from personal study and learning and tinkering.

1 Meant to evoke imagination. What is Ronaldo fruit? What means to be injected with it or have grown in you?

1 He moves with the sleekness and awareness and speed and restrictions of an eel in Lake Michigan.

2 Mind he will want them back as he still needs them

3 He and link and guy in the middle are examples of "weapons master style"

4 Canonically we don't know what or where Ronaldo's tattoo is, while pictures to end have possible takes this is where you may get creative!

#Ronaldo Fryman #fanart #rickleone #steven universe #Jumpchain #Gantz #House of the Dead #Wreck-it Ralph #JJBA ripoff #mecha #transformation #Malibu comics #Prime

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lucienposts · 10 months ago

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you were once an imagery who taught me to cuddle your history that interlinks our synonymous past compare to the others, trying to be as one even if it's not.

on january 25th, wearing your favorite lavender sweatshirt in the middle of springfield with lots of purple tulips and a fresh breeze of air that smells like flowers as you walk down the street to drink some coffee. it was a nice morning that can deliver you to cloud nine, plastering your widest smile that could possibly paste it when people around are contagiously chuckling containing a great way of starting their day. cheesecake with nips and sprinkles // chamomile tea with herbal flowers and forest strawberries // old radio prepares to blare retro music // remember this day, honey because it was special how you reminisce every memoir that has been occurred when we were together.

your long natural hair with mermaid curls at the end of it is swaying when we run, hands are clasped tightly together, not to miss any moments to spend our time with pure bliss. i will never forget those mementos even if our hair turns to grey or an accident that could erase some events wouldn't be a barrier to remember you. you were so important that i couldn't think less but to swear, we will dance in our favorite place with the gleaming stars as our audiences. the commitment to one-time happenings is proof of the never-ending passion we grasp. it was longing and filled with fervidness.

your heavenly lilac cosmo, a bedazzling gem, that could blind me when radiation hits. it can allure any men who attempt to watch your irises dancing with glee. untold stories keep flashing back how it expresses you while dealing with a harsh ticking of the clock when the hour arm strikes at five; that was the end of your day outside as you went back to the familiar street to your one-story house.

your fair white skin that is vulnerable even when it softly touch with only a finger, it could make you red like how my feathery kisses could blush your rosy cheeks. a warm cozy feeling invading the entire living room as you lit the fire from the fireplace, and two wine glasses that refilled with branded grape wine as we celebrate our first. it was intimate after letting your head place on my chest, the perfume you wear is hallucinating my system with attar. a pleasant odor that could beat my heart with a loud thud, it hurts like hell but it was a nice sentiment.

your cherry plump lips that can attract and maybe stop every individual's steps just to seek a single glance on your track when sun rays glow onto. aside from the aura that scintillates, a feeling of ardent when i stood upon you, warming your entire body with mine perceiving every sensation of it. what more if we are both inside of your room? tracing the marks i gave after our long session on the bed and sunrise engendering us to continue what we missed last night. your nakedness embraced me and left unspoken words on-air as i knew the tardiness you act today. for a moment, i am happy. the first thing i see in the morning is the girl i almost dream, sketching her angelic face and features not knowing that she was real.

she isn't the girl from fictitious novels i read nor i write every day. she is the girl that sent me high as fuck that towers every skyscraper worldwide. heaven that i want to stay as my home, and with her, i would no longer wishing for more but to put an ellipsis, not a happy ending but to keep our story from rolling. not like those movies that will last for two hours or more. not like those love stories from the famous authors that could last 50 chapters. it is us that created an immortality power to live for centuries so that there wouldn't be the last time to induce.

the ending: on the same date, january 25th, i wish this is the last to scribbled our names in every novelette i published every year, and to forget every piece that attempts to fix it with glue. i just know you weren't my endgame.

a girl from springfield's // lu.cien

#writing #prose #prose poetry #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writing ideas

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bandaigaeru · 3 years ago

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i'll be home for christmas - yang jeongin

→word count: 1k →pairing: jeongin x gn reader →a/n: have this short little xmas thing as my gift to you lol. merry christmas! see you all next year

High school already feels so far away now that you’ve reached the finale of your first semester away at college. The joy that normally comes with Christmas is consumed by the fact that childhood has never felt so distant. No longer do you feel like a child returning home with a joyful heart at the idea of Christmas. Instead, there’s nothing but yearning for childhood to approach you again.

Leaving the train station with a suitcase trailing behind you and a bag hanging from your shoulders, you inhale the cold winter air. It smells like Christmas, the smell of pollution that taints the air mixed with the brew of snow falling gently from the clouds. The weight you drag reminds you of a time when your father would tote your bags around, and you’ve never felt more alone in this vast world.

The streets of Busan are busy, per usual, as everyone rushes to complete gift shopping. It’s Christmas Eve, their last chance.

It’s a miracle you can hail a taxi of your own.

“Home for the holidays?” the driver asks as he takes your suitcase and stuffs it into the trunk.

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling the back door open and slipping inside. The heat blasts from the A/C and dries your eyes out, but at least you’re safe from the nipping breeze outside.

You offer an address to the driver, and he promptly plugs it into the GPS.

The ride is quiet and you use this time to stare out the window, watching as the snowflakes rush to the sidewalk. Part of you wants to ask the man about his plans, but he seems serene with his eyes glued to the road. You imagine a false life for him, hoping that some parts are true. He’s working on Christmas Eve for the same reason everyone else is. A kid at home with big dreams the man wants to help them reach.

The streets become more familiar as you draw closer to ‘home’. You know you’re there when the car brakes in front of a house with white lights lining the roof. The only one in the neighborhood. Dad always thought they were better than the colorful ones, and Mom always nodded in agreement.

As you pay the driver, he grins, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, sir,” you mimic his glee.

You wait and watch the car’s lights fade into the dark night before dragging your things up to the front door. A deep breath invades your lungs as you raise your fist to knock (Mom hates the sound of the doorbell), but a voice interrupts you.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you were coming home for Christmas!”

Your head swivels to the voice. A brunette boy smiles over the wall separating your house and the neighbor’s. His folded arms are resting on the cemented bricks, his chin resting upon them.

“Same for you.” You smile not to match his energy, but because it is an innate requirement.

“You know I have to come home. I have a little brother to amuse, you know?”

Yang Jeongin has a small, high dimple on his cheek. It flares when he talks about his family especially.

“So, how’s college up at Seoul University?” Jeongin tilts his head to get a better look at you.

“It’s good,” you nod, “not easy, that’s for sure.”

Jeongin giggles, “Right. But I’m sure you’re doing fine. You were always super good at all that academic stuff.”

Despite the freezing air biting at your cheeks, you feel warmth when he says this. It starts in your face, and then travels to your stomach.

“I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

“Always have,” he admits. Then, before you can interject, he says, “Go inside. Your parents probably miss you. I’ll catch you later.”

He hops down from the box giving him height to rest on the wall, and you hear him disappear into his house. You think you stood out in the snow for another ten minutes before finally knocking on the door to your home.

Christmas passes like it always does, in an underwhelming fall after the month-long build up. Your parents have gone to some New Year’s party for the day, even though there’s still four days remaining of the year.

The couch provides for a good resting spot for you and the family dog, Lucky, as you rewatch movies from childhood. Funnily enough, you’re not watching it. Neither is Lucky, as she snores loudly on your chest. You stare somewhere beyond the TV, thinking about Yang Jeongin.

He’s a cliche when paired with you. Childhood friends, neighbors nonetheless. Best friends all throughout school, but managed to grow distant when college came around.

There’s a knock on the door that pulls you from the pondering.

You push the sleeping dog off of you and take your time stumbling to the door. When you pull it open, Yang Jeongin’s little brother smiles up at you. You can see the resemblance clearly in the smiles.

He has a letter in his hands, folded neatly in half.

“This is for you,” he sheepishly sticks it out. You take it from his hands, and he quickly bows before running off.

“Dear Y/N,

Thank you for coming home for Christmas. I couldn’t find a way to admit this in person because it’s a little embarrassing, so I’ll say it here: your presence has been a greater present than anything I could ever receive. Don’t forget about me while you’re in college! Remember the cute boy who grew up with you, for he could never forget you.

Love only,

Yang Jeongin”

Peeking your head out of the doorframe, you glance over at the tall wall from which he normally talks to you. Though the boy isn’t there, you can feel him staring at you still.

Laughing, cheeks warm with gratitude, you call out, “I could never forget you, Yang Jeongin. Maybe you should text me more though so I really don’t.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket almost instantly.

Yang Jeongin: Are you free on New Year’s Eve? I have a hunch you could use company.

You feel again a child as you stare down at your phone with a smile, thumbs typing out a “I’m free.”

Winter break just needs to last a little longer.

#yang jeongin imagine #jeongin imagine #stray kids imagine #skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz scenarios #yang jeongin #stray kids jeongin #jeongin x reader #jeongin fluff #jeongin oneshot #jeongin fanfic #bandaigaeru

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thong-in-the-twist · 3 years ago

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Chapter: Gwangju

//Gong Yoo (Kim Shin) x you

Summary: To atone for his sins he is forced to wander the Earth searching for her before it’s too late.

Prologue: Silla Goryeo Joseon Tamna March 1st

It's been three years since I updated this last. Exactly three years and 9 days, and I'm glad to be posting it. God it’s been so long I no longer remember how I used to format my entries. I don’t even remember my tagging system. A word of warning: modern Korean history is heavily marked with suffering and for the purposes of this story I needed "her" to go through... A lot. But there is only one chapter left, so hopefully, we won't be suffering a lot longer.

***

It was obvious to him that she was going to be reborn immediately. It worked like that for centuries, why this time it would have been different? So he started searching for her immediately, anxious. His land was crying, his people were suffering.

Forests were being cut down to fuel the new age, the industrialization age. Instead, the land was being converted into fields: rice, cereals, cotton. Colonizers were laying new roads, tarmac was flowing down the peninsula so similarly to cold mountain streams. All to fuel the new age, all to feed the great Japanese Empire.

Mines on the peninsula were running day and night, long shafts filled with exploited bodies. Names were being changed to Japanese sounding ones, men were forced to cut their hair, celibate Buddhist monks were forced to marry, kids were banned from learning Korean in schools, papers were censored, farmers forced out of their lands, his people were forced to worship Shinto, and to see the Emperor as a god.

Shamanistic rituals were even scarcer than during the reign of the Lee dynasty. People were no longer openly calling for him, but their thoughts thrown into the ether were reaching him. Pleas and begging, prayers and threats, all were filling his mind and heart. The burden was heavy. Not too heavy to carry, but it seemed harder than the sword he was carrying in his heart. It seemed heavier than the last memories of his other life, than the image of red on white stone.

She found her. Young girl in the seaside village, barely 20 kilometers north from the village where she was born as Binna, centuries ago. The village tree was still alive even if the village itself didn’t exist anymore. Kim Shin didn’t know what happened to it after he saw her sacrifice herself back then. Were it pirates, or wars, or famine that drew people out? There was no way of knowing it.

She was four when he found her. Back in Joseon she would have been found just in time, he’d have two years to convince her parents not to give her away. And then 11 years until she had to be wed. Her village was far off the beaten path. It was far from the capital and far from Japanese shores. People were hardened and down-to-earth but it was a tightly knit community. It was as safe as it could have been in that age and time.

Kim Shin spent his days under the Holy Tree, now surrounded by forest. He remembered the village square and colorful ribbons. He remembered tax collectors and their cart. He remembered Binna’s clothes and hair, and sword splitting her throat open.

Kim Shin visited her house by night. He hid in the shadows, not ready to be seen by her nor her parents. He watched her as she slept in the same room as the rest of her family. He watched her wondering what woman she would grow up to be. He hoped that he’d be able to shield her from any hardship that she was destined to face in her life.

While watching her sleep, he was reminiscing about her previous lives. Her bravery, her tenacity, her pride and her selflessness. The lives that were lived and ended for his people, the lives that were ended for him, the ones that were ended because of him.

Kim Shin was restless. He was used to waiting. He learnt to be patient after centuries of waiting and slowly working towards his goal. And yet, he was restless. Sitting by the Holy Tree he was restless and anxious. Her last life was sacrificed for the country. For this land, and for the people. And here he was waiting idly for her to grow up. She was safe.

The Holy Tree was old but strong, with new springs and bright green leaves. It was magnificent even without ribbons and paper talismans. It was safe, far off the beaten path.

Their people were not.

And yet, he was idly waiting for her to grow up and take away his burden, while sitting under the Holy Tree.

While their people were desperately begging for help.

She was safe. And he had time. He had enough time to present her the liberation of their people as a wedding gift.

And thus, Kim Shin was off once more.

Koreans were fighting on the peninsula, yes, but there were fighting abroad as well. Kim Shin supported the Provisional Government of Republic of Korea in Shanghai, and aided students in Japan. When the empire invaded Manchuria, he was there fighting them off. He pleaded and negotiated with Chinese diplomats for them to move against the assailant before it was too late.

But the Central Kingdom waited too long, they were undecided way beyond what was safe. And thus, the Japanese attacked first.

The war that broke out drained the Korean peninsula even more. They were the ones to bear the brunt of feeding and supplying soldiers. And then, when Kim Shin was sure it couldn’t be worse, European war came to their lands, merging with the already raging Sino-Japanese conflict and bringing more players, more arms and more death into the equation. His people were forced into the Japanese army, forced to fight far away from their home – living and dying in China, Indonesia, Philippines.

He went where they were. It wasn’t their fight. They were farmers, artisans, teachers, workers – they weren’t warriors. He was. Kim Shin was back in the field, once more fighting for his homeland. Once more he took upon himself to be the most faithful agent of death. Immortal and determined, with unfamiliar weapon in his hand, but oh so familiar scent of blood, tears and fear clinging to him. The art of war changed through centuries but principles reminded the same.

But now it was harder to understand the purpose. It was harder to face dying foes. Every soul in his wake had hopes, and dreams, and dedication, and destiny – and yet he was invading the realm of the Divine, deciding who was to live and who was to day. What he did was to slaughter.

But he was also fighting for his compatriots, forced to lay their lives for the occupant. He fought to save them and to bring them back to their land. He helped them escape, he cleared camps, he dealt with Japanese officers.

Japanese defeat was what they were hoping for anyway.

It was in Perek that faced his hardest encampment. It was in Perek that among Japanese officers and soldiers, and his people forced into ranks, he found others. It was in Perek that among male voices he heard female pleas.

It was in broad daylight that he marched through the camp, taking in the tents and appraising layouts and main locations. Where to get food, where to get supplies, where were the blind spots. It was in broad daylight that he heard a plea so similar to one he heard centuries ago in the Song Dynasty’s capital. So earnest and so broken plea of death.

After the first one came another, hurried and repeated like a mantra, like a prayer. And another, and another.

And another.

So familiar. So heartbreaking.

Here, so far from his homeland, he heard her begging for death. For an escape.

But she was safe. She was safe back in her village, on the shores of Eastern Seas. She was safe back in her village, so close to the Holy Tree.

And yet, it was her voice, strung thin and wavering, but unmistakably hers.

A taste of bile invaded his throat as he zeroed on a dilapidated building. Better than a shack only in the name, with dark walls and dirty windows barely containing the horrors inside. His surroundings seemed to disappear, sounds of the encampment dying out, the building his focal point.

He took his time. Waiting itself was horrible, pleas constant, it would have been so easy to just end it. End all of it, all of them, all of the oppressors, just raze the camp to the ground. But he was afraid. Afraid of going inside and seeing that was happening, how they lived. It was easy to guess, and hard to understand. Justified rage was clawing his insides, not only for her, but for all of them. It wasn’t human to do, not that the occupant was ever human.

His fear was their prolonged suffering.

He fulfilled every one of their pleas. Every single one. Some wished for death, some wished for death for their oppressors. Some wished for health, some wished to never remember. Some wished for another chance in life, some wished for one last meeting with assailants and sharp object to meet them with. He did it all.

She wanted a knife. Sharp, and easy to conceal. She found it with glee and fervor. She wanted for her doors to be open and for night to be dark. She wished for rain, heavy and obscuring. She wished for that man to fall. To suffer. To know. To fear. To never forget.

Kim Shin watched her as she sneaked out of her room. He watched her back as she sneaked through the building, chastising himself for ever believing she was safe. It wasn’t even 15 years since he saw her last. He watched her as she found her prey. He watched her as she made sure that man would never do the same thing to another woman ever again.

His screams were muffled by a gag she made out of her sad excuse of a blanket. His blood was mixing with the falling rain, that matted her hair to her face. Her skin was ghostly, blush and looked paper-thin.

Once again he watched her as she raised her blade against herself. She was sure and focused, and emanating finally found peace. She was quick and efficient, and he barely had time to catch her before she fell down. She was smiling when her head hit the cradle of his head and her open eyes were staring lifelessly at the rainy clouds.

Kim Shin sat there in the rain, holding her body, obvious to now quiet whimpers coming from the man laying a few steps away from him. Once more her life was filled with suffering. Was her childhood good? How did she grow up? How long was she here?

He didn’t cry – feeling like he did not deserve to. She wasn’t the only one of his people that went through this, and something was telling him that there were countless more suffering now.

Finding her was important, but making sure that the world she was being born into was better became urgent. Kim Shin knew he couldn’t deal with her suffering. All recent lives he witnessed ended in a tragedy. Queen trying to protect freedom, young girl fighting for it, and the one that saw it in death.

She deserved freedom, all of his people did.

And freedom came with pain, tears and even more death. Foreign powers fought over his land, influencing its growth and stagnation once again. His land was sold and divided even after its occupant lost the war. Both red and blue powers abhorred giving Koreans back their land and their freedoms, forcing their ideologies upon them.

And thus the greatest conflict shook the land once more. June 25th, the day when brother went against his brother. Three years. Three years of fights, civil war raging on the peninsula destroying what was left after 35 years of the occupation.

And even that conflict ended because outside powers decided so. Every death, every lost soul – it was all because foreigners decided to settle their differences right there on Korean soil. The wound left by the war was painful and still suppurating. Peninsula was divided into two, one nation was split and the border between them became a wall that separated families and broke people’s spirit.

He saw fourteen hundred years of conflicts and changes, and ups and downs, but the last hundred years were far the worst he had seen. For the first time in his long life he wasn’t sure how to go about finding her. If he even should. Every time he found her, he lost her just as quickly. She suffered so much.

But if he didn’t search for her, he was sure that the Divine would find another way to punish them. Like giving her knowledge of his existence and urging her to wait for him.

By now Divine schemes were somewhat readable. He’d find her where he’d least expect her – where she was supposedly the safest, yet in the biggest danger. People in the south were struggling, famine and corruption was rampant. North was getting help from other communist states and plotting expansion. And he couldn’t find her.

Just like when he found her on Tamna, she wasn’t here. She wasn’t within the borders of both Korean states. And that’s what horrified him. He looked in China, so many of his compatriots lived there. He looked in Japan among those who stayed after occupation. He searched in South East Asia among those who stayed after the second world war. He visited the United States of America, hoping to find her there. And yet, as if the Divine was shielding her from him, he couldn’t find her.

In Germany he saw the Wall. The Berlin Wall dividing one nation into two. The blue state and red state, just like his homeland, was divided. The Wall was fresh and imposing, newly built. A palpable sign of schism. A knife in a wound, cutting it more open with every breath. It wasn’t as protected as the inter-Korean border was but it served as a reminder of similarly painful division.

As Kim Shin walked by the Wall, on the western side of the border, he heard a cautious ask. Barely audible, fleeting.

The person was asking for a haircut. If he wasn’t over fourteen hundred years old, he’d dismiss it as an auditory illusion. What would be a Korean doing behind the Iron Curtain – asking for a haircut?

Kim Shin knew better. Kim Shin knew: she was there.

Finding his way into the USSR was easier than he thought it to be. As a citizen of the communist, neighboring nation, he was more than welcome. He travelled from Korea, surprised by the sheer numbers of Koreans on the USSR's eastern lands. But the closer he got to Europe the fewer they got. By the time he left Moscow, his head was clear and free of usual prayers. It was in Poland that he heard one more plea – a different voice, exactly the same ask.

Children. Who Kim Shin found were children. From 5 years old to 16. War orphans being cared for by people so vastly different from them.

She was among them, one of the oldest kids, happily chatting in weirdly hard language.

It took him quite long to understand why all the kids kept praying for a haircut. Their hair was neatly kept, just like their clothes, their rooms. There was something of military efficiency in the way they were being brought up, and Kim Shin understood that it was due to a few Korean supervisors that came here with kids.

Kids were cared for, but not exactly loved. That’s why they thought so fondly of getting haircuts. Hairdressers would pat and massage their heads – that was an extent of warmth they were getting.

She and the rest of the kids were sent back to Korea a few months later. She drowned in a river when she tried to escape back to her European orphanage for the third time. Yalu River was her undoing, just like those centuries ago cold waters of the sea took her away.

So much death. So much suffering. What for?

As the North's situation was getting worse, the South started fighting for its economy. Authoritarian governments in both Koreas were similar in goals but different in execution, and slowly their fates were changing. South Korea was coming out of poverty, just as North Korea started spiraling into it.

With newly found resources South Koreans were finally able to think and want – and what they wanted was freedom. Freedom through free choice and democracy. Assassination of general Park, southern dictator, seemed like a perfect opportunity – but before democratic movement could raise its momentum it was brutally squashed.

***

“If we all go, they won’t be able to hold him! We need to get him out!”

Every frantic sentence is met with loud approval. You weren’t surprised when they formed a new government without looking back at people. You weren’t surprised when Chun Doohwan took over KCIA while still holding his position in the Korean Army. Of course he would. Even martial law wasn’t a surprise. But a few hours ago you heard that they arrested Kim Daejung.

Kim was an oppositionist. He was fighting for democracy in your country, and what was more important he was from your region. Rumors said that he was being held on charges of instigating demonstrations.

What a bull…

You were there all because you wanted to be there, and wanted better for your country.

“They are closing the university!” The shout could be heard above the other voices. Suddenly the thirty of you fell silent. You focused on the man that shouted it. You knew his face, you might have seen him once or twice in the library.

“What…?”

“Chun declared universities to be dangerous to society!” The roar that follows is deafening. There is no more “inciting”, all of you immediately walk to the university, gathering other students while marching.

The road leading to the main entrance is long, which gives you a perfect view of army vehicles parked in front of it. Soldiers organizing were also visible, moving with purpose or watching you with caution. Your group wasn’t big. Maybe two hundred souls. You weren’t sure what was the plan – but the goal was clear – to show that you wouldn’t take it lying down. They couldn’t take it all. Freedom, Kim Daejung, universities.

You weren’t sure who threw the first stone. It was all a blur. There was shouting, screams and orders, flying stones and falling batons. The students’ group dispersed only to form back, and to scatter once more but this time closer to the Provincial Office.

This time soldiers were wearing riot gear.

“You know well that I am going back out there!”

Your mother's eyes are filled with tension. The same tension pushes her lips into a thin line drawing her wrinkles out. She won’t back down, but neither will your brother and you.

“Mom, it’s what we have to do. They killed Gyeongcheol,” says Chanhwan. He is a high school senior and his goal was to get into your university.

“His poor mother,” whispers your mother as if against herself. That was something she said every time this was mentioned. Soldiers in riot gear killed Kim Gyeongcheol as he was passing by protesters. It infuriated the city and their protest was gathering momentum, but every person counted.

They needed to pay. For Gyeongcheol and for those who were killed yesterday.

What you wouldn’t tell your mother is the fact that you got guns. Yesterday you raided one of the military warehouses. It wasn’t an usual protest anymore, it was an uprising. Chanhwan told you that he heard that folks were talking about liberating Gwangju and making it into a free city. An official request for help was being drafted to be sent to the US Embassy. A country so enamored with freedom would for sure help you.

Freedom.

That’s what you longed for.

A horn outside let you know that your transport was there. Chanhwan was already out the doors, you stalled a second to grab your mother’s hand.

“Believe in us, mom. We will be back, victorious,” you said with emphasis. The world was yours to take and you wouldn’t hesitate. You run outside, not waiting for her to answer, and jump into the waiting taxi.

What an odd vehicle to be driving to a fight.

City was cordoned off and outside communications were cut. It didn’t scare you off. Nothing could, really.

Taxi was slowly rolling down the street, Chanhwan laying low in the driver's seat. He knew that as soon as he raised his head, he’d be dead. You knew that there were forces on the other end of the street aiming at you with their guns, hidden behind covers.

You and Chanhwan’s friend Sunwoo were slowly creeping along the car, using it as a moving shield. You could see a body that you were tasked with retrieving. You hoped the girl was alive. You all knew that not moving after being shot increased your chances of surviving if you couldn’t move on your own.

Suddenly you heard a loud bang and sounds of automatic fire.

“Run!” yelled Chanhwan and you didn’t need to be told twice. With Sunwoo you lurched forward trying to match Chanhwan’s accelerations. You kept your head low as smoke filled the street. Sunwoo was the first to reach the body.

Dead.

Boy opened back doors and together you pushed the lifeless body inside – not caring for decency you jumped inside as Sunwoo closed doors behind you. You heard him get in and Chanhwan was speeding off.

Girl’s hair smelt of flowers.

A helicopter was flying overhead. You’ve never would have guessed that you’d learn how to make Molotov’s cocktail. But there you were pushing a rag into a bottle. Sunwoo was in the field hospital, chances of saving his leg quite high. Which was more than could be said about many of your friends.

Casualties were high, but you weren’t ready to give up. The uprising cost the city too many lives to be so easily abandoned.

How could your government do that? You didn’t know. But you hoped for those soldiers to spend the rest of their lives knowing that they killed their own.

Chanhwan was on the other side of the street, giving you signs. You focused on him and he started slowly counting down with his fingers. As soon as you saw him countdown to zero, you threw your bottle.

There was an explosion and a sudden yell. You didn’t stay put to see the effect, you needed to escape as fast as possible. On your left you could see a group of fifteen or so students running the other way. There were fires and smoke and it could be hard to realize what was happening.

You lost your footing as you realized that Chanhwan was not running parallel to you. It seemed like eternity as you looked back to see him lying on the corner of the street. You could see his dark uniform jacket slowly dampening with even darker liquid.

It wasn’t conscious. Nor your scream, nor your leap.

The first bullet going through your arm was more surprising than painful. Second one caught your leg, tripping you down, the third one pierced through your clavicle as you fell. You saw smoke, and soldiers moving forward with riot shields, and your brother laying on the street, and an abandoned taxi. You saw another group of students running somewhere to your right.

Pavement was hot from the sun as you fell down. It didn’t hurt, or maybe it was so painful that you couldn’t feel it.

You saw a blue butterfly flying away.

***

Kim Shin forced his way into the fighting city. Through fields and through the army, he walked into the fray. No one knew. A village ten kilometers away? No one knew what was happening in the city. There were rumors, but not one could have prepared him for the riots he saw.

He saw students organizing, he saw local militias forming, he saw field hospitals being erected, he saw taxi and bus drivers using their vehicles to help the cause.

Had he done everything he could? No. Was it resignation? Maybe.

How many times had he seen her fighting? Why every time he saw her she was either suffering or leading a good fight. Why was she always selfless, and always right in the center of a turmoil ailing his nation. Just once couldn’t she be selfish and live?

Seeing her protest against authoritarian government barely half a century after she did the same against occupation filled him with unfamiliar annoyance. Rage. Why her. What did she do to be always reincarnated into such circumstances.

Was it even worth pursuing her?

Was it his atonement for not killing his king eons ago, even when she sacrificed herself. Was she destined to be laying her life for a cause while he watched her do it?

Defiance. That was what stopped him from acting. He could have gone on a rampage. Just like when he was a general, fighting with Gaya’s warriors. It wouldn’t have been hard, decimating troops. Those already stationed in the city, and those that would undoubtedly come to reinforce them.

He felt old. He was old. Looking at the fighting city he felt like it wasn’t his fight.

In the city he saw a foreigner. A foreigner with a camera. Documenting what was happening, what atrocities were committed on Gwangju’s streets.

Instead of watching her die once again he decided to protect the foreigner. To make sure that his recordings would be seen by the world.

As Kim Shin protected the foreigner, he didn’t realize that he could no longer hear prayers.

#gong yoo scenarios #gong yoo imagine #kdrama scenarios #kdrama imagine

131 notes · View notes

lils-writes-stuff · 5 years ago

Text

A Thin Line

spencer reid x reader

Best years part 4 | part three | part two | part one

summary: the team takes on a case in California involving home invasions. the reader has a surprise for her when they get back.

warnings: normal criminal minds things, mentions of racism and sexism (are those warnings idk)

A/N: based on season 7 episode 15; this ones cute ngl

“I think you should tell Spencer,” Penelope said turning in her swivel chair to Y/N who was sitting behind her.

“Tell him what, ‘Hey Spence, guess what, this girl who tormented me through my college life has come back to haunt me.’ Yeah, okay,” she said, shaking her head. She took a sip of the coffee in her mug, “And besides, there’s nothing really to tell him, she could just be trying to scare me, she loves to play mind games.”

“Well, you should at least tell him what’s going on, you’ve received two more notes from her since the night that you called me, and it’s been almost a month,” Y/N sighed knowing that Penelope was right. “And you guys have been going out for that long now, so I’m sure he’ll understand if you don’t want to tell him all about your past right away.”

“You’re right,” Y/N said, her finger trailing along the rim of her mug as she thought about when she should tell him.

“And you should also tell Hotch.”

“Tell Hotch? Why would I need to tell him?” Y/N asked looking up at Penelope.

“I think it would just be smart, you know in case something happens,” Penelope responded with a small sigh, remembering back to the whole Emily situation and what happened when she didn’t tell them.

“I’ll tell him if I get another note.”

“Okay, good,” Penelope said, then she smiled and began to get really excited. “So, you have to tell me, how have you and the good doctor been doing?”

Y/N giggled as she watched her friend get excited about her relationship. “It’s been going good, we’ve gotten to know each other a lot more on our dates, the other night we went to this museum, and at first I didn’t think that would be a cool place to go on a date, but then it turned out really romantic,” Y/n smiled as she thought back to the night of the date. Spencer’s hand grasping her’s as they roamed the halls of the museum. Her eyes trained on him as he spoke about the parchments in a case or as he explained in depth about the artifact on the wall.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so adorable!” Penelope exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Have you two kissed yet?”

“No, we haven’t, but I’m not rushing this, I don’t want to rush it.”

“Oh my- that is so mature, look at you, you're all grown up,” Penelope said, taking Y/N’s face in her hands squeezing her cheeks together. “I remember when you first joined the team, your 26-year-old self all antsy and ready to catch some serial killers. Now, look at you! 27 and so grown up I-”

“I’m 28 actually,” Y/N corrected Penelope with a laugh.

“Did we miss your birthday?” Penelope asked with a guilt written face.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it, birthdays are just days,” Y/N said trying to reassure her friend.

“Don’t worry about it? You and Spencer both, he did the same thing awhile back on his birthday,” Penelope said referring back to when Spencer had turned 30. “And they’re not ‘just days’, it’s the day that you were born, they are wonderful days! We need to do something for it, when was it?”

Y/N just shook her head with a laugh before standing, “It was last week, but we really don’t have to do anything.” She tried to explain to the bubbly woman in the chair.

“No, we do, we are going to have dinner together as a family, and you are going to like it,” she stopped her rant when she saw her case alert go off and a text from Hotch. “Right when you get back from this case.”

--------

Y/N walked into the round table room smiling at her co-workers then making eye contact with Spencer. “Hi,” she said with school-girl glee as she took a seat next to him.

“Hi,” he said back, the light blush on his face growing.

“Y/N and Spencer, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-,” JJ began to sing the schoolyard rhyme.

“Shut up,” Y/N said giggling looking at the blonde who just laughed at her.

“Alright let’s get started,” Hotch said, taking his seat Derek and Emily following closely behind him.

“San Bernardino, California,” Penelope began as everyone opened up their tablets with the case file. “Two home invasions in less than a week, only a block apart, exact same M.O… Both houses were burgled, power and phone lines cut, and they broke in through a back window.”

“In each case, the entire family was shot and killed?” Spencer asked, eyebrows raised at the thought.

“Yes, that is right. I present to you the Mitchells and the Lewis family,” Penelope grabbed her remote from beside her, pulling the pictures of the family up on the screen.

“They took out the power and phone so what, they could feel isolated?” Y/N asked.

“The alarm system wouldn’t work and they couldn’t call for help,” Rossi explained the probable reasoning for why the power was cut.

“Most modern alarm systems have a backup generator and a cell phone connection to the security company,” Spencer said wondering why this didn’t happen in this scenario.

“Yeah, but the Mitchells had an older system, and the Lewis’ were behind on their account, so it was inactive,” Penelope explained.

“An assailant was killed in each case?” JJ asked, looking at Penelope next to her.

“Affirmative, but the sheriff hasn’t I.D.’d them yet.”

“So both families were armed, and fought back and shot one of their attackers,” Emily said looking around the table.

“Is that a coincidence or a connection?” Derek asked looking over to Emily.

“What concerns me is the frequency of the kills,” Hotch said looking up from his tablet.

“Only four days apart,” Y/N said looking at the dates.

“Alright, it’s a long flight, we better get going, wheels up in 30.” Everyone stood up and headed out of the room to grab their go-bags.

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

“Brian Mitchell was an avid hunter and Matt Lewis was an Iraq war vet, so it doesn’t surprise me that they both owned guns,” Y/N said looking up from her tablet.

“Last year, southern California’s inland empire ranked fourth in the nation in foreclosure rates. Typically, as the economy falls, the crime rates will rise,” Spencer said.

“Times are tough, desperate people do desperate things,” Rossi said, agreeing with Spencer’s statement.

“Greetings all,” Penelope said as she appeared on the screen. “Your herald bears tidings.”

“What you got, Mama?” Derek asked as he turned to the screen.

“The sheriff I.D.’d both the dead home invaders,” Penelope began to type on her computer pulling up some of the files. “First up is Alex Collison, twenty. Made an impressive list of bad life decisions before he croaked, included but not limited to...possession, a couple of drug charges, a card-carrying member of the Verdugo heights boys.”

“They’re gang members,” JJ realized as she listened to what Penelope was saying.

“Oh, he was, but slow your roll, home-girl,” Penelope said before she told of the next victim. “Because next up is Ronald Underwood, 19. Zero records, unless you want to count some volunteer work. Straight-A student, putting himself through school.”

“Not exactly the home invasion type,” Emily said.

“Both from a poor area of town, grew up a mile apart,” Hotch said while he looked down at the tablet in his hands.

“Hard to actually tell from the crime scene photos of how many assailants there actually were,” Y/N said as she swiped through the photos.

“Well, if it was gang-related, there could be a lot of them,” Emily said looking at Y/N.

“The homes that got invaded were on the other side of town, a predominantly white area full of middle-class families,” JJ explained the demographics.

“Hey, guys,” Penelope said, bringing the attention to her. “The M.E. report just came in, both of them had high levels of oxycodone in their system.”

“That’s strange. Violent crimes like these are normally associated with stimulant drugs,” Spencer said puzzled as to why that was.

“Like meth?” Y/N asked turning her head to look at Spencer next to her.

“Yeah, like meth.”

“Underwood’s as straight as an arrow,” Derek began. “Collison’s a garden-variety gang-banger. I grew up with knuckleheads like that, high-risk break-ins, and oxy, that’s not their M.O.”

“Regardless, we need to get ahead of it. The press has got a community on the verge of panic,” Hotch explained. “JJ and I will coordinate with the sheriff’s office, I want the rest of you at the crime scene.”

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

Y/N walked into the home of the Lewis’, inspecting all the blood on the walls. It almost felt like she could hear them scream for help and she so desperately wanted to go back in time and save them from all this. The shattered family photos and the torn-up house just made her feel so unsettled.

Y/N turned as she had finished with the room she was in and headed out meeting Emily in the hallway.

“You alright?” She asked as she saw Y/N’s sad face.

“Yeah, just family annihilators, they always hit me differently, you know?” She said as they turned and walked down the hall towards the stairs.

“Ballistics confirmed that the rest of the Lewis family was shot with the same 357,” Spencer said as he turned and watched Y/N and Emily walk down the stairs together.

“So if it was a gang, there was only one shooter,” Rossi stated after processing the information he had just received.

“The second and third victims were Trisha Lewis and six months old Blake,” Emily said.

Spencer shook his head at the thought of a six-month-old being killed.

“The injury patterns suggest that Mrs. Lewis tried to shield the baby with her own body,” Y/N said with a sigh trying not to let herself get worked up.

“Matt Lewis was found right here,” Rossi said with his hands pointed to the floor. “Ronald Underwood just over there-” he pointed to the blood spot to his left- “Underwood was shot eleven times in the head and abdomen.”

“But Lewis himself only had a single gunshot wound to the head at almost point-blank range?” Spencer questioned.

“How did someone get that close?” Y/N asked looking between Rossi and Spencer.

“He could’ve been subdued first,” Emily proposed.

“The M.E. didn’t find any signs of a blitz attack or struggle,” responded Spencer.

“Well, it had to be an ambush of some kind,” Derek said as he inspected some of the walls with blood spatter. “Probably when he was confronting Underwood.”

“But that’s almost impossible based on where the body was found,” Spencer said looking over at Derek.

“It’s right in the middle of the room,” Emily said as she looked at the bloodstains.

“It’s too out in the open to surprise somebody,” Y/N said agreeing with Emily.

“Matt Lewis wasn’t shot here,” Rossi said as he pointed to the spot where the body was found.

“No, but someone moved the body to make it look like he was,” Spencer said.

“Forensic countermeasure designed to make us think that these guys died in a gunfight that never occurred,” Derek said as he realized what probably happened.

“Bullet and blood everywhere, too messy for an accurate reconstruction,” Rossi said.

“Okay, so the unsub gets the drop on Matt Lewis,” Y/N said as she pointed to where Matt Lewis was found. “He then kills the rest of the family, and then leaves behind a drugged-up patsy to cover his tracks?”

“This wasn’t a burglary at all. There was a higher purpose here, they’re staging the crime scene as some kind of message,” Spencer said.

“This guy’s trying to make it look like black kids from the hood are killing white families, in white neighborhoods,” Derek said.

“Pretty powerful message,” Emily said.

“No kidding,” Y/N added as she shook her head.

The five finished up in the house and decided to head back to the station

“You good?” Spencer asked her as they walked out of the house, noticing how she was looking a bit upset.

“Yeah, yeah, I just can’t believe what happened in there really, family annihilators you know they just get to me, this one more than the others,” she explained to him.

“Yeah, this one is sad, I get it,” he said as he looked at her. “But we’ll catch him like we always do, and if you’re lucky you’ll get to put the cuffs on him.” The last statement was a hope to make her smile because he loved her smile so much.

It worked.

A smile crept up to Y/N’s face. “I might just do that.”

-----------

Y/N sat in the station the next morning. Head laying on her arms as she looked at the crime board on the wall. Another family had been killed last night, so they had been added to the board.

She stared at the victims of the first two families, they looked so much like hers. She saw herself in the shoes of the young girls, the memories of her childhood overwhelmed her. She lifted her head up and rubbed her face with her hands lightly, not wanting to rub the makeup on her face off.

The feeling of a warm hand on her back made her pull her face out of her hands. She looked beside her and saw Spencer as he sat down after taking his bag off, a coffee in his hand.

“You didn’t bring any for me, I see how it is,” Y/N said with a fake hurt expression on her face as she leaned into the back of her chair.

“Actually-” he pointed to her right side- “I did think of you.”

Her heart fluttered, “You sure know the way to my heart Spence.” She grabbed the large coffee cup and took a sip from it. The warm liquid running down her throat soothing her.

“Hey love birds, we’re about to give the profile,” Derek said leaning into the room they were in. The two stood up and made their way to where the rest of the team was.

“We believe we’re looking for a white male, in his late twenties to early thirties,” Hotch said, beginning the profile.

“Wait, wait, wait,” A deputy said quickly. “I’m sorry, I thought we were looking at black gang-bangers?”

“The unsub has been staging the crime scenes to make it look like black gangs and undocumented immigrants were responsible,” Derek said to the deputy.

“Why would anyone do that?” The deputy asked.

“We think he’s trying to create some racial conflict,” Y/N said hoping that was the best way to answer.

“In 1969, Charles Manson orchestrated the Tate-La Bianca murders, in the hopes of creating a race war between the blacks and whites that he referred to as Helter Skelter,” Spencer explained.

“A name he stole from a Beatles song,” Rossi added, the comment only being funny to the team since they knew that Rossi’s friends with Ringo.

“Members of the Manson Family left watermelon rinds at the scene of the crime and also painted panther paws on the wall in blood in the hopes of convincing authorities that the black panther was responsible,” Spencer continued on his explanation.

“Hate groups like the Aryan Nation believe that race war is not only inevitable but necessary,” Hotch said looking over the see of officers.

“Our unsub may be a member of one of these groups,” Emily added.

“Aryan gangs have a strong presence in prisons, so he may be an ex-con or even possibly related to a convict,” Y/N said.

“We think he may also be some kind of zealot,” Rossi began. “He believes his war is already being fought, and these murders are a mission to him.”

“And like a soldier, he is willing to put himself in harm’s way,” JJ added.

“The unsub may also be vulnerable somehow, weak mind, or even lonely. His cause gives him a sense of power and belonging,” Spencer said giving more depth to who the unsub might be.

“He’s physically fit enough to move dead bodies, so he’s probably young,” Derek said.

“But not too young as to be impulsive,” Y/N added quickly.

“These attacks took planning and focus. So, he’s disciplined,” Rossi said.

“He uses oxycodone to drug his unwilling partners,” Spencer explained.

“He does this without killing them, which shows that he is knowledgeable about dosages,” Y/N said.

“And oxy is expensive, so look at medical care professionals and caregivers, anyone with access to prescription drugs,” Emily said.

“This unsub is dedicated and driven, it makes him especially dangerous. Surrender is not likely part of his strategy,” Hotch said as the profile came to a close.

---------

“Hey Hotch, Y/N,” Derek said as he walked over to the two that were sitting at a desk going over some geographics to help Spencer with his profile. “There’s a mayoral race in town, and there’s a guy named Clark Preston all over the news.”

“Looks like he’s running a close second,” Y/N said as she looked at the tablet in Derek’s hand.

“Yeah, and check this out,” He scrolled down and clicked on the video.

“These vicious home invasions are a sign of the times,” Clark Preston said in the video. “As demographics change, so do crime rates. Now we may not be able to slow the browning of America, but we can sure as hell take our city back. And if you elect me, I’ll lead that charge.”

“The browning of America?” Y/N asked with astonishment.

“That’s a damn near hate speech,” Derek said as he looked at Hotch.

“He’s using the murders to further his campaign and I guess people are rallying behind it,” Hotch said.

“So what if our unsub is nothing like Manson? Manson never got his hands dirty, what if our unsub is more like his followers?” Derek proposed.

“You think he’s being manipulated?” Y/n asked pulling her legs up in the seat she was sitting in.

“Maybe even unintentionally, but either way, rhetoric like this could fuel his fire,” Derek said.

“We should talk to Preston,” Hotch said, nodding to the tablet.

“I already sent a car,” Derek told Hotch.

“Good,” was Hotch’s short response. “Y/N, do you mind talking to him with us, your knowledge in political science might help,” Hotch said turning to the woman in the chair.

“Sure,” she said with a nod.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re here gentleman,” Preston said, not even acknowledging Y/N in the room. “Maybe now someone will stop these savages, what can I do to help.”

Derek looked at Y/N with one raised brow in question, after noticing that the politician in the chair wouldn’t even look at her. She just shook her head while she shrugged her shoulders and listened to what Hotch was saying.

“We were hoping to talk to you about some of your rhetoric,” Hotch asked as he looked at Preston across from him.

“My rhetoric,” Preston said, it wasn’t a question just him repeating what Hotch said hoping he heard him right.

“We believe the recent murders maybe hate crimes,” Derek said walking closer to Preston.

“Some of the things you say, well they maybe be construed as inflammatory,” Y/N said while she moved spots to stand behind Hotch.

“Agent Y/L/N’s referring to some of your recent campaign speeches and the references to the murders,” Hotch explained.

“We believe that whoever’s responsible for these crimes is impressionable and may be responding to the vitriol,” Derek said.

“You think I’m responsible?” Preston asked, turning to look at Derek.

“Nobody said that,” Y/N said crossing her arms. Preston never even looked at her when she spoke.

“If this person is motivated by racist sentiments, then what you are saying publicly may be affecting him,” Hotch explained making Preston turn his attention towards him.

“You’re profilers right?” Preston asked.

“Right,” Hotch responded.

“You study behavior, not actual facts,” Preston’s comment made Y/N sigh. “And then you come up with theories.”

“It’s really, not that simple,” Y/N said as she looked at the man. For the first time, he looked at her, and then he rolled his eyes at her statement.

“I’m sorry, who are you a secretary or something?” The blood in Y/N’s body boiled with rage at the question. She then watched Preston turn to Derek, “I’ll bet you had to work extra hard to get in the bureau, didn’t you? Probably still have to prove yourself on a regular basis. I respect that. I wish there were more like you.” He took small pauses in between each statement.

The man stood up from his chair and began to head towards the door. “I’ll cut back my media appearances, for now. But I suggest you start proving some of those theories of yours. And get some of those hard-working men to arrest those punks doing this.”

The way he said men made Y/N want to punch him so bad that she had to fit the urge to walk over to him and do just that.

“You gentlemen enjoy your day,” Preston then let himself out, once again not acknowledging Y/N.

“We should check out his list of contributors and his staff, it might be somebody in his camp,” Hotch said standing up from his chair.

“We need to check him out, too,” Derek said.

“No kidding,” Y/N said stilled enraged by the man. “Did you see what he was doing? Or more like wasn’t, he wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence and than he dared to ask me if I was a secretary.”

“The guy is no doubt a racist and is also very sexist,” Derek said.

“Oh yeah for sure,” Y/N said as she walked over to Derek by the door.

“Come on Pretty girl, don’t let him get you all riled up,” Derek said to her as they walked out of the room.

“I know, I know, it just makes me angry,” Y/N said as she and Derek walked over to the area where the rest of the team sat.

“What makes you angry?” Spencer asked as she sat down beside her.

“Clark Preston, not only is he a racist, and let that be known when he spoke to Derek, but also he is majorly sexist,” she grabbed a paper cup from the middle of the table and then poured herself some water. “The whole time we were speaking to him, he didn’t even look at me, and the one time he did he rolled his eyes and asked me if i was a secretary.”

“Are you serious?” Emily asked with disbelief.

“That’s ridiculous,” Spencer said while he shook his head.

“Uh-huh, you know Derek if he is a part of this, you know what would make me so happy,” She said as she turned to Derek.

“What’s that?” He asked her.

“If we got to arrest him, but I want to put the cuffs on him, just to let him know that a woman has power over him,” she said with authority.

Derek laughed before agreeing and promising her that if Preston was a part, they would do that.

The team sat scattered at various desks around the station they were at. Y/N stood next to Emily and Spencer as they looked over some maps of the area. Rossi sat at a large desk to left and Derek in a desk behind them towards the right.

“Hey, talk to me, doll face,” Derek said answering his phone to talk to Penelope, everyone’s attention now drawn to Derek and the woman on the phone.

“I got some dirt on your mayoral candidate, Clark Preston,” she spoke.

“He’s a politician, that shouldn’t be hard,” Rossi said as he walked over to be closer.

“Yeah, he’s a real estate lawyer who ran for city council last year and lost,” Penelope explained. “And he’s rich, as in if money was dirt he’d be filthy. He quadrupled his net worth in the last ten years, mostly from real estate.”

“So he managed to thrive despite the area’s economic downturn,” Spencer said in realization.

“What do you mean by mostly?” Y/N asked leaning closer to Derek’s phone so that she could be heard.

“Well, he is on the board of several financial institutions. Hedge funds, pension funds, oh, he likes to shuffle his money around. Even found some offshore accounts of his, I did,” she said giving what other dirt she could find on Preston.

“You only do that if you’re trying to hide it,” Emily said.

“What about his staff and contributors?” Spencer asked the woman on the phone.

“Uh-uh. No, they’re clean,” she said.

“Alright thanks, Garcia,” Derek said before he hung up the phone.“Preston’s a part of this, me and Y/N both think so.”

“Yeah you should have seen him in there,” Y/N said as she turned to Emily.

“He’s sexist, racist, and a little shady, maybe, but a murderer?” Emily asked as she looked between the two.

“It may be just a feeling, but I know he’s in this, we just need to figure out how,” Derek explained.

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

The next morning the team arrived to bad news, as another family was killed earlier that morning. Surprisingly this time, the guy the unsub would have left for the blame got away.

“His names Ramon Gomez, he’s an undocumented immigrant from Mexico City and he’s pretty freaked out,” JJ said as her, Y/N, Derek, Spencer, and Emily stood in front of the room Ramon was in.

“That’s pretty understandable,” Y/N said while she folded her arms over herself.

“Was he able to give a description of the unsub?” Spencer asked as he looked at JJ.

“Uh, just of the vehicle, his English is not that good,” JJ explained. “We put an APB out.”

Emily nodded her head, then turned to walk into the room with Ramon in it. “Hole, mi nombre es Emily Prentiss,” she said to Ramon.

The four others stood outside and watched as she interacted with the man sitting at the table.

“This poor guy,” Y/N said as she looked at the frightened man sitting at the table.

The three beside her hummed in agreement as the continued to watch and somewhat listen to what Emily was saying to Ramon. He pulled his arm out showing scars on his arm. He then got a look of realization on his face as he remembered more.

Emily then thanked him and walked out of the room to the other four.

“He remembers hearing a train and then loud music,” she said as she came to the four standing.

“That’s something, let’s get started,” Y/N said and the five began walking towards the area they had been working in.

“There are approximately two hours between Ramon’s abduction here-” Spencer pointed to one spot on the map- “and his escape here. He crossed the train tracks here. Now, given the time and distance parameters, there’s no way the unsub could have ventured outside this radius.”

“Okay, so he said the train was close, and he heard laughter and loud music,” Emily said.

“I looked at points of interest next to the train tracks and there really isn’t much. There’s a warehouse, a taco stand that would have been closed, and a bar called the drunken dog ” Spencer explained.

“Why stop there? He need a drink?” Rossi asked.

“He doesn’t seem like the drinking type,” JJ said.

“Yeah, he’s not impulsive or sloppy enough,” Y/N said sticking her hands into the back pockets of her pants.

“I live to serve you, sir,” Penelope said as she answered Hotch’s call.

“Garcia, what can you tell us about a bar called The Drunken Dog?” Hotch asked.

“Ooh, I like it already. Let’s see- uh- it’s been around thirty years. It was opened by a warehouse worker named Manny Gresham, upon his death six years ago it was bought by a hedge fund company called First Advantage.”

“Why would a hedge fund company want a bar?” Emily asked.

“Let’s see. Well, they bought it for a song,” Penelope began. “And, poor man, his medical expenses bankrupted him, I guess that’s why-- shut the front door.”

“What is it?” Y/N asked.

“Clark Preston is on the board of First Advantage, which explains why the bar is on a shortlist of local businesses that support Preston for mayor,” Penelope answered.

“Of course it is,” Y/N said as she sat down on the desk behind her.

“Okay we missed something, we need to go back over his staff and contributors again,” Emily said looking at Spencer beside her.

“They all came up clean,” JJ said.

“Garcia, look up DMV records and find every registration in the area that matches the description on the unsub’s vehicle,” Derek said to Penelope over the phone.

“Okay, 79 names and I’m way ahead of you, none of them match anyone Preston’s team-” she stopped. “What the what? Oh. I’m good at my job. Pamela Mills donates monthly to Preston’s campaign. Her son Trevor, his car matches the description, and it’s registered in his name.”

“Got a photo and an address?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, I do. I also have a place of work for Trevor. He is a part-time messenger, I’m sending it now,” Penelope said pressing ‘enter’ on her keyboard aggressively.

“Alright JJ, Morgan, and Prentiss take the workplace, we’ll take the house,” Hotch said dismissing everyone to go off.

---------

“What do you have, Garcia?” Hotch asked as he sped down the road, lights on in case they were stopped.

“Sir, I found the connection between the Mills family and Clark Preston. Ten years ago, the Mills were the victims of a home invasion. Robert Mills, the father, and 10-year-old Julie were killed. Pamela was raped, and now she has a lot of brain damage, that has left her in a near vegetative state,” Penelope said explaining the sad story of the family.

“What about Trevor?” Spencer asked.

“He hid in the closet and when it was over, he called 911,” Penelope answered.

“That’s why he stuffed that boy in the closet,” Hotch said referring to the last family that was killed.

“He was reliving his own victimization.” Y/N said in realization.

“He didn’t do that to the other children he murdered because he didn’t relate to them,” Rossi said.

“Garcia was anybody convicted of the crime?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, a Ronnie Green and Carlos Jackson. Both African American, both serving like in Folsom,” Penelope said before she continued with her story. “And then after the murders, Preston, he financially supported the family almost entirely. “

“So they’re close, he’s known the family for years,” Rossi stated.

“That must be how they’re paying Pamela’s medical expenses,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, it would be really hard to cover with Trevor’s part-time messenger salary,” Y/N added looking to Spencer beside her.

‘Yeah, I mean, it’s a top-flight policy,” Penelope said reading the health care bill.

“So Preston is playing the savior,’ Rossi said.

“And it looks like that monthly donation, that Pamela makes to Preston's campaign, is her disability check,” Penelope added.

“My guess is Trevor authorized that because he feels beholden to Preston,” Rossi said piecing together why that would happen.

“He probably Idolizes him,” Y/N added.

“So Preston is manipulating the Mills family to further his own agenda, he’s behind everything,” Hotch said coming to the conclusion that Preston was part of it all along.

“He took advantage of Trevor in a vulnerable state and made him trust and then brainwashed him,” Y/N said.

“Turned him into a killer,” Spencer added.

“Uh, guys,” Penelope interrupted. “There’s something else, Preston bought the Mills home after the invasions.”

The tires came to a screeching halt as Hotch pulled up to the Mills house. The four hoped out of the car, taking out their guns and walked to the front door.

Hotch pounded on the door, “FBI!”

When no answer came, Hotch pushed the door in and entered the threshold of the house. Y/N stood between Rossi and Spencer as they walked into the house. They then split up and looked around the house, Hotch and Rossi downstairs, Spencer and Y/N upstairs.

Y/N held her gun out in front of her as she entered a small guest room. She made sure the room was clear before walking out and meeting Spencer in the hall.

“You find anything?” She asked while she holstered her gun on her hip.

“Yeah, this note,” Spencer said as he inspected the note in his hand.

“Come on, let’s go find Hotch and Rossi,” She said before they walked downstairs.

“He’s not here,” Y/N said as she walked into the room with Hotch and Rossi. Spencer close behind her. Pamela Mills was seen laying in the bed not moving but looking at the four by her door.

“I found this in his bedroom,” Spencer said holding out the letter he found. “It’s addressed to her,” he said referring to Pamela.

“ ‘The price of peace is sacrifice, and I’m prepared to pay that price, no matter how high. I hope you’ll still love me.’ This is a goodbye letter,” Rossi said after reading the letter.

“Or a suicide note,” Hotch countered.

“He doesn’t profile as suicidal,” Spencer said in a hushed tone not wanting to disturb the woman in the bed.

“No, but he knows this could be his final mission,” Rossi said.

“He may want to go out in a blaze of glory,” Y/N said as she glanced at the woman in the bed.

“It’s all about the election, he’s only got one move left, we need to secure Mayor Wennington, I’ll have the rest of the team find Hilary Ross,” Hotch said pulling out his phone to call Derek.

They headed back out to the car and got an address for Mayor Wennington heading over to his house. Y/N walked up the front door, the three men with her following behind closely.

“Mayor Wennington?” She asked when the door opened and a white-haired man in a loose-fitting tie answered.

“Yes,” he responded.

“Hi, I’m Agent Y/N Y/L/N, this is Agent Hotchner, Rossi, and Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI,” she said introducing the men behind her.

“Is this about those recent murders?” The Mayor asked with concern.

“Yes, sir, we have reason to believe you might be in danger, would you come with us,” she said gesturing to the car in his driveway,

“Yes, of course, let me grab my coat,” he turned around and walked ten steps to a coat rack to grab his jacket before he headed out the door with them.

“Yeah, Morgan,” Hotch said answering his phone while they walked to the SUV.

“We’re on our way to Hilary Ross’ house now, she’s still not answering her phone,” Derek said.

“All right, call local police, he’s not going to go quietly,” Hotch ordered.

“You have Mayor Wennington?”

“Yeah, keep me posted,” Hotch said before hanging up.

----------

The next day, Y/N pulled into Clark Preston’s campaign office parking lot with Rossi ready to arrest him.

“You want to do the honors kid?” Rossi asked Y/N as they exited the vehicle they were in.

“Absolutely,” she said with a smile, her wish from the previous day coming true.

“I hope this is a good enough birthday present,” Rossi said with a smirk looking at Y/N.

“Who told you? Penelope? I thought she would’ve dropped that by now,” she said with a laugh as she opened the door to the office.

The two agents walked back to the room where Preston was sitting.

“Clark Preston you’re under arrest,” Y/N said as she walked over to the man sitting at his desk. She pulled him out of his seat and placed her handcuffs from her pocket on him.

“For what?” He asked defensively.

“For orchestrating the murders of the Mitchells, Lewis’, and others,” Rossi said as he and Y/N began to lead Preston out of his office.

“What proof do you have?” He asked trying to find a way out of the situation.

“Voicemails left by Trevor Mills,” Y/N said shoving him when he stopped walking.

“Voicemail messages? That’s ludicrous, that boy is mentally unstable, always has been,” Preston said.

“Clark Preston you have the right to remain silent,” Y/N said, not only because she had to but because she really didn’t want to hear his pathetic excuses anymore.

“I’m Innocent!” He tried to protest.

“And please feel free to exercise that right,” Rossi said grabbing Preston’s other arm as he tried to move out of Y/N’s grasp.

“Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney, if you can’t afford one, one will be appointed to you,” She continued as Rossi opened the door and led them out.

--------

“Come on, Spence please tell me where we are going,” Y/N asked, her arm linked with Spencer as they walked down the street.

“I can’t do that Y/N, you know that,” he said as he led her further down the road.

“Can you tell me if this has to do with my birthday?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, come on, I told Penelope that we really didn’t have to do anything,” Y/N said as she shook her head.

“Well, I learned that you need to let them have their moment with you, cause they’re the closest thing you’ve got to family here until you have your own,” Spencer explained to her as he looked at her with a smile.

Y/N sighed in defeat, knowing Spencer was right.

“Oh look we’re here, can’t believe you didn’t notice where we were going before,” he said as he turned to Y/N’s favorite dive-bar in the downtown area of D.C. Spencer began to pull her inside but she stopped him before he could walk up the small stairs to go inside.

“Wait- Spencer, before we go in, I have to do something,” she said pulling on his arm making him turn to her.

“What is it?” He asked facing her with a curious look.

She replied by placing her lips on his in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that made both their stomachs do flips. His hands reaching up to grab her face as hers gripped the front of his coat. A year and a half's worth of bottled up feelings were expressed as Y/N deepend the kiss.

“I just really wanted to do that,” she said to him after they pulled apart. A smile came on Spencer’s lips and he pulled her in again for a shorter but just as meaningful kiss.

“I really like you Y/N,” he said face still close to hers.

“I really like you too, Spencer,” she said back with a smile. “Come one let’s go in.”

The happy couple walked into the bar seeing their friends standing in a corner to the left of the door.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Penelope said as she saw Spencer and Y/N walk in.

“Happy Birthday!” They all said.

Y/N blushed as she approached the table, “Thanks, guys.”

The team laughed, drank, and danced till the late hours of the night. Even Hotch laughed and gave Y/N a hug as they all danced to the music. A smile stayed on Y/N’s face the whole night as she danced with all her friends and drank happily.

Spencer watched the woman he was beginning to fall in love with belt the lyrics to a Coldplay song that played through the speakers and dance with Penelope and JJ. Y/N looked over and saw Spencer staring at her at her and walked over to him.

“You know it’s rude to stare,” she said with a giggle.

Spencer laughed, “I wasn’t staring.” The blush on his cheek told Y/N otherwise.

She quickly grabbed his arm and started to pull him onto the dance floor.

“Oh no, I don’t dance really-” he tried to protest but Y/N wasn’t having it.

“You do tonight!”

She brought him to the dance floor Penelope and JJ yelling ‘Hi!’ over the music as they started to dance again. Y/N tried to help Spencer move less awkwardly and he eventually started to get the hang of it. Taking Y/N’s hand in his he spun her around and danced with her. A smile formed on their faces hoping the moment would never end.

tag list (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome @word-scribbless @nintendumbfuck @confused-and-really-hungry @justine-en

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds meme #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan

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bigskydreaming · 3 years ago

Note

I need to catch up on X-Men stuff. I love Tempo from as far back as X-Force #1 in the 90's

I'm probably gonna do a 'here's what you missed on Glee' post about the current state of X-Men stuff for people wanting to catch up or jump on at the House of X/Krakoa soft reboot point, but while there's plenty of good and bad about the current era, I do love the sheer creativity of it all, and like, the raised profiles of soooooo many minor or underrated X-characters from eras past.

What with the whole, y'know, mass resurrection of every mutant character to ever live, literally.

Like, communal living is a big thing on Krakoa and basically any and all 'squads' of mutants, both hero and villain alike, have their own group housing in the Akademos Habitat. The New Mutants all live together in this house called the Sextant, the Academy X kids all have their own place, the classic Hellions have their own place, same with the Gen-X kids, the Acolytes, etc. And the whole MLF live together in Omega House, and so we've seen Heather pretty regularly in the background around there like in stories featuring Wildside and other MLFers (even Thumbelina got a shout-out in SWORD, lmao) and also she's popped up in a few previous SWORD and Marauders issues, as well as being the source of Krakoa's famed whiskey exports, as apparently her time powers aging whiskey and wines to perfection in just a few hours is the secret ingredient behind the 'Port Genosha' vintages, lmao.

But anyway, Heather's part of the new Marauders cast going forward, and they're the book dedicated to mutant rescue and relief efforts.

The new lineup is Kitty (Kate) Pryde as captain and a member of the Quiet Council (Krakoa's ruling council of twelve), and previously the Red Queen of Hellfire, which is like, the economic cornerstone of the Krakoan nation. Up until recently, Kate, Emma and Sebastian all had seats on the Quiet Council and occupied the Red, White and Black thrones of Hellfire, but they gave up their Hellfire seats to focus just on their Council positions, so while Hellfire is expected to play a role in the new Marauders book too, since technically the Marauders are like the official agents of Hellfire's agendas, now the Black Queen is Lourdes Chantel (Sebastian Shaw's old teleporting girlfriend who famously died in the first attack of Sentinels back in the 80s but is now back), the five Stepford Cuckoos all share the White Queen's responsibilities and throne, and Emma's older brother Christian Frost is the new Red Monarch.

Co-leader of the Marauders with Kate is Bishop, who is 'Captain Commander' of Krakoa's forces during war-time, like basically Krakoa has four 'War Captains' who assume leadership positions whenever Krakoa's attacked or invaded, with the Captain Commander being like, the Captain of Captains. The other three Captains with him were at first Cyclops (who was initially the Captain Commander but gave his spot to Bishop recently to focus more on his responsibilities with the X-men), and Magik and Gorgon (the former head of Hydra - yes, mouthing wtf here is valid - but then he died in Otherworld during the X of Swords story event, and he came back different when they resurrected him because dying in Otherworld fucks with your soul and personality).

So Kwannon was named the fourth Captain in his stead. (Kwannon of course being the original Revanche, who got body-swapped with Betsy decades ago. They swapped back so now Betsy is in her original body and going by Captain Britain, and Kwannon is back in her body and using the Psylocke moniker).

Anyway, Kwannon is ALSO on the new Marauders with Bishop, which is kinda interesting that they put two War Captains on the same crew, but I mean, I love them both so not like I care.

And then rounding out the rest of the new crew now that Iceman, Pyro and Storm have all left, is Tempo, Akihiro (Logan's son), Aurora and new character Somnus, with dream manipulation powers.

Look at them, they look so good after kicking Brimstone Love's ass, I'm so proud of them. Sniff.

There's also supposed to be another member joining the team like two issues in, with it not stated yet for sure who it is, but all signs point to the final member of the cast being recently resurrected John Proudstar, the original Thunderbird.

#wednesday spoilers #x-tag

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years ago

Text

I'M LATE I KNOW OKAY I HAVENT BEEN ON MY BEST FOR THE PAST MONTH IM SORRY

Kai handsome man come back to ussssss 😫

Okay, first I gotta apologize for not being activated for a while due to personal problems. But little by little is getting better.

Second, Happy late (supposed) birthday my dear Overhaul amazing Kai Chisaki!

Not so pointless day

You blinked a bit when some rays of the sun rose invaded the room and hitted the slightest the bedsheets and on your face, indicating that it was finally time to get up.

You turned ever so slowly your face to see the man right behind you. Peaceful sleep on his handsome face, one thing that it was rarity due to his late work hours... a smile appeared on your lips at seing your lover so relaxed and you had to really control yourself to just not carress his handsome face or to even kiss him.

You already had plans today. And since you got Pops and most of the subbordinates of the Shie Hassaikai by your side on this idea, there was no way Kai would know about this! And you had to be extremely careful or your boyfriend would end up discovering everthing!... much like last time.

You shifted a bit to ever so slowly left the bed sheets for you to slide your legs out of the bed on the cold floor... but just when you were about to lift up, you had noticed that Kai was with one arm wrapped around your midsection.

Great. Just on the day you just couldn't be on the bed cuddling with him and just couldn't wake him up, he HAD to have a grip on you. Perfect. Just GREAT.

Cursing under your breath you slowly lifted his muscled arm up enough for you to slide on the bed and gently place it back down. You tip toed, still with looking at Kai, and just when you had reached the door of the bathroom you made the mistake of sigh in relief.

"I know what you're pretending to." His low and full of sleep voice manifested from the bed and you immediately cringed.

Curse his light sleep.

"H-Hey!!!" You smiled sheepish even seing that he didn't open his eyes still "Morning hands-"

"Get back on bed. Is early as shit and I don't have work." He mumbled with a hand on his face, groaning when he opened his eyes a bit only to close then again due to the sun light.

You giggled at his words, knowing that only when Kai was tired that he didn't care to let out one or two curse words.

"I would love to, but I've got plans and-"

"Yeah and you're not doing it." He said nonchantly, sending one eyed glare at your direction "Once again, I knwo what you're planning, and that's not happening."

"Wha? What are you talking about?" You felt a drop of cold sweat on the back of your neck, yet you did your best to hide your nervousness from Chisaki.

"Don't play dumb now (Y/n). You and I nnwo what day it is. And you're not doing shit." He growled while getting up on his elbows to fully stare at you from the bed.

"I didn't plan anything!" You lied, lifting your hands up in false defense as he arched one eyebrow at you, clearly not believing your words.

"Of course. Then you wouldn't mind to get back on the bed now?"

"Actually..." you poked your fingers together as you looked everywhere but his amber eyes "I-I.. I promised that I would help Pops on the garden!"

"What?" He arched his eyebrow even more, standing from his bed "No you didn't-"

"Yesterday! I-I promised him this and I couldn't just-" you forced a laugh when he got up and crossed his arms while staring you down, getting just a bit distracted at the show of his muscles "Deny it, right?"

"You're the worst liar I ever laid my eyes on (Y/n)." He nonchalantly spoke as you cringed even more before dead panning.

"Wait, is that a compliment or-" he interrupted you with kiss, shutting you up pretty quickly. His hands travelled down to your waist as he bitted lightly on your bottom lip to allow you to give him a entrance.

You sighed and moaned a bit at his touch and the kiss before he broke apart only to trail hot fervent kisses on your neck to stop right by your ear lobe to whisper huskily.

"I guess that maybe if you want to surprise me on this pointless day, then at least I got to choose what I want." He nibbled a bit on your ear lobe "Dont you agree my angel?"

Just when you were getting on his trap, a knock on the door made him grunt and you pout a bit.

"Master? Pardon me but we have to get out to solve a few things."

"Nemoto..." he growled in your neck and you remembered your plan on a flash, giving your best to not smile in yeargness.

Kai started to glare at the door and straightened his back up "I have sure that it was talked that this day I had a break." He said in annoyance, still holding you close to him.

"I do know of that master, and excuse me for this. But it is something important that can't just be waited." He rolled his eyes at that before looking at you, mentally either cursing poor Nemoto or apologizing to you.

"Go." You smiled warmingly at him before pecking his lips "We can continue this later when you come back." You whispered lovingly at him and mentally yelped in glee at the half smile he gave to you in a minor of seconds before he returned to his serious expression, telling Nemoto to give him a minute.

"Luckily it won't take much time." He muttered while picking his white tie and putting around his neck "Don't mess neither burn the house down while I'm out."

You scoffed playfully while getting up to tie his tie for him, smirking at the serious look he gave to you but knowing how he secretly loved the action.

"Right mister future leader of the yakusa." He growled while rolling his eyes, getting out and grabbing his jacket.

"I will see you in some hours." He said, subsconciously waiting for the three words he never had courage to say to you but secretely craved to hear it.

"Right! Bye!" You waved cutely at him, giggling at his deadpan look and a hint of dissapointment of not hearing an 'I love you'.

Just when Kai got out he nodded at nemoto who greeted him. Sneakily you poked your head out and smiled wide at Nemoto.

"Thank you so much!"

"Is not a problem (Y/n) sama." He bowed a bit "Which hour we have to get back again if you dont mind me asking?"

"I will send you a message or Rappa. Think only you both can take care of distracting him enough?"

"Rappa is an expert. He just doesn't have to die. While I have my methods." He smirked before waving at you politely when he got called out again as you got out of your room with a determined look.

"Is now or never!" You said to yourself just when Kai left the house. Chuckling while making your way to start the whole thing you had planned ever since the start of this month.

"And here I thought that you were joking when you wanted everthing perfect." Kurono muttered while double checking for any dirty on the halls as you got a message for a friend of yours that the cake you ordered was coming and was just to pick outside.

"We're talking about Kai here." You giggled as Hari was quiet for a minute before nodding with a 'fair enough'.

"GeT thE FuCk OuT Of My WaY ClEaNInG ThE FlOOr Is-"

"STOP YELLING AND JUST CLEAN IRINAKA!" Hojo shouted after Joi as he dried the floor right before him.

"I have to admit that I am surprised to see that you got everyone on the Hassaikai to collaborate." Kurono muttered as you both got out and you thanked the delivery man while picking up the box with a huff before thanking Hari for offering to carry it instead.

"I talked with you and Pops first."

"... That explains a lot." He peeked inside the box and whistled "Kai is going to freak out on all of this. You know more than I do that he hates surprises."

"But this one is a good surprise!" You whined while opening the door "How could he hate it?"

"Because it involves his birthday (Y/n)." He said suddenly on a serious tone as be walked along sides you to place the neatly cherry and vanilla cake on the center of the table.

"You do know already he doesn't give a shit neither celebrate it. Heck, it took him even begging Pops once to not celebrate his birthday when he made 16."

"I know." You sighed and looked at the clock "But at least one good memory I want to give it to him when this day comes. Is not fair that on my birthday he buys almost a whole market and on his birthday he says something like 'I just was born'; 'Nothing special happened on this day' or the worst: 'Why celebrate something that is not valid?'" The white haired man couldn't help but chuckle at your imitation of Kai before apologizing at seing your serious face.

"Well, he is not much of someone who celebrate those things."

"He can't complaint it if it isn't something giant!" You exclaimed just when Pops entered and chuckled at your dramatic action.

"I am relieved that my boy got someone like you to take care of him like that (Y/n)." The elder chuckled while you put your arms down with a blush on your face as the asshole in your side snorted.

"So?" He looked around with a serene smile "This was the start of your present for Chisaki. There is more?"

"I actually have two presents for him." You smiled before looking at Kurono "Did you and irinaka were the only ones that got him something asides from me and Pops Kurono-kun?"

"Negative." The man took out one hand of his white hoddie and pointed with his thumb outside "All the eight precepts got him something asides from Rappa."

"Why I am not surprised at this?" You sighed and both men chuckled at your action before Pops grabbed gently on your shoulder.

"Come (Y/n). I want to show you something." You made a surprised sound before Kurono nodded and told you he was going to take care of things while Pops dragged you to his own office.

"Have to say (Y/n), you're a blessing on our lifes." The elder sighed as he made his way to his desk as you looked around in awe.

"Oh! Is nothing!" You smiled at the elder "Kai always say how he doesn't particularly care, but I cam see the bit of... happines when I at least wish him a happy birthday... I guess." You looked at the ground witha shy smile before jerking your head up at hearing the elder footsteps and standing right in front of you with a smile with a coal black box on his hands.

"Seems like you know more of my Chisaki than I do." He opened the box and you widened your eyes with a gasp at seing the jewelry inside.

It was a pair of pigments with the symbols of the ying and yang separated. Both shined at the light of the room and you looked up at Pops with confusion.

"This belonged to me and my wife a long time ago." He looked up at you with a smile "You remind me of her sometimes kid."

He picked up the ying symbol while leaving the box on a table as he put the necklace on you.

"Despite us being japanese. She loved the concept of it, and I bought it. I never actually came to talk about her to Chisaki so I would like this to remain as a secret between us." You nodded a bit hesitantly before he smirked at the sign of you with the neck lace as he grabbed the box.

"The ying yang means two halves which come together to complete wholeness, both the sides are dependent on each other. And as I can tell by looking at you and my... son, you both belong-" he grabbed the yang symbol and hold your necklace, with a 'click', the two pieces were stuck together.

"Together." He showed you before splitting them apart and bringing your hand to his older one to close around the other necklace "Give this to Kai, I have other present for him."

You couldn't even mutter one word of gratitude or any for that matter before your phone buzzed up and you excused yourself to answer it.

"Please tell us we can go back." The man spoked as he watched Rappa dodging another attack of Chisaki on a abandoned alley "The situation here is critic. What happened? Well.." Nemoto took his cellphone out of his ear to make Chisaki's companion to hear the whole mess.

"THEY WERENT EVEN DEALERS YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE CLEAN FREAK!"

"Have on your mind that your movements Rappa are EASY TO PREDICT" In one second the man was overhauled and Nemoto hissed at that before bringing his phone close again.

"Sure we can go? Right, thanks (Y/n) sama."

"What about (Y/n)?" Chisaki muttered darkly while sending a cold glare at Nemoto who flinched a bit.

"Fuck."

"SOMEONE HOLD THIS FUCKER!" Kurono shouted as Hojo and Setsuno had a firm grip on each of Tabe's arms while Irinaka on his tiny form gripped the man's hair, as Tabe himself said the word 'EAT' franquily while trying to reach at the table.

You and Pops had just gotten back and the elder scowled at the attitude of his workers, like they were some kids.

"Enough is enough!" The elder shouted and everyone grew quiet and lowered their heads "How many years any of you have now? 2 to five now?! Due to your current attitude and behaviour I wouldn't be surprised." The elder crossed his arms as everyone on the room looked down in ashame.

You furrowed your eyebrows a bit before an idea popped out. You eargly went to table full of goods and put a good amount to every precept of each of the things you had ordered except the cake.

"Here! You guys can have those while Kai is not back yet!" You offered each one their pieces and giggled when Tabe just swallowed the whole thing... plastic plate and all.

"You're too good for the mafia (Y/n)." Setsuno chuckled as Hojo nodded with a smirk.

"Right right, every one of you out before Chisaki appear eh?" Irinaka slapped his hands when he returned to his normal form as you gave him a quizzical look before he got down to whisper in your ear "I'm sure the boss won't have it many people here despite all that bullshit."

You pouted and still promised everyone that got out to give them a piece of the cake.

"So?" Kurono came by your side "When the man of the party is coming?"

"By any min-" you flinched as Kurono and mimic grabbed their guns when they heard the door being slammed as some shouts were heard.

"I SWEAR TO FUCKING ALL MIGHT HAVE A CHILL YOU FUCKING SOCIOPATH! YOU ALREADY KILLED ME ONCE TODAY!"

"Repeat a hero's name on my house again. Go on. I dare you." You gulped at hearing Kai's tone of voice, full of wrath and disgust as some parts of the wall were overhauled.

Rappa stormed in the room along with Nemoto as they closed the door with a sigh... not caring about the looks they were receiving.

"Package delivered. I want my fifth bucks." Kendo extended his muscular hand to Irinaka who grumbled a bit and handed him the money.

"Is he..?" Kurono pointed at the door as Nemoto glared at Rappa.

"Furious thanks to someone here who decided to comment on (Y/n) sama again."

"YOU WERE THE ONE WHO STARTED-"

"That's it." The elder commented harshly, again silencing the room "Both are dismissed for now, you guys can come back later if you want anything to eat."

"I would let Rappa to starve boss." Mimic commented as Kurono hummed in agreement, ignoring Rappa's swear words.

You tip toed out of the room the moment the two men left the door, leaving them discussing with each other as you searched for Chisaki.

"Kai?" You called out and the said man appeared with a tired and angry expression. You smiled in sympathy while tilting your head as he aproached you "Rough day?"

"Only a nickname compared to what I had to atture." He growled before slidding his gloved hands through his dark brow looks. "Where the hell is those two-"

"Wait wait wait!" You stepped on his front with your hands on his chest "Can I show you something first?" He arched his eyebrow at you, bit still sighed and with a motion of his hand told you to proceed.

"You have to close your eyes." He deadpanned at that before his face scrunched up in realization.

"I swear to god." He muttered with a hand pinching between his eyebrows.

"Please???"

"I lost count of how many times I told you to not do anything!" He spatted while looking at you with a bit of dissapointment and anger.

"Please my capoo?" You put on your puppy eyes and hold your hands together as he glared down at you.

"I despise you." He sighed before closing his eyes, growling when he heard your yelp of glee and sensing you getting behind him.

"Can I touch you?"

"Washed your hands?" He sighed a d cringed a bit when the soft skin of your hands and arms brushed over his shoulders and part of his face not covered with a mask. "If you run me into a wall I swear that I will consider on overhauling you."

"Sure sure!" You giggled and tip toed due to his height to keep your hands close to his eyes and opened with your foot the door before whispering a 'there' on his ear.

He opened his amber eyes and arched a eyebrow at seing the sweet in front of him before he looked at you in suspense and the whole room. "How many years do you think I have?" He asked nonchantly but you rolled your eyes at him.

"No one is 'old enough' to have a little celebration on your birthday!"

"Is a pointless-"

"Not for me." You said in a serious tone and he seemed surprised at that, but his face stayed monotonous "Kai I love you more than anything! Is not a pointless day if a bunch of people care for you." You pointed at a pile of boxes and he arched one eyebrow at that "Those were some gifts that the eight precepts brough."

"Out of order I suppose."

"Geez dude accept already." Kurono said with a smirk before elbowing Kai on the arm, Chisaki immediately screeching at the area with a glare at his childhood friend, muttering a 'dont touch me'. "(Y/n) had all this work for you man." Irinaka muttered while munching on a snack.

Kai's glare turned into a soft gaze as he looked at you. Hesitation still on him, he grabbed one bottle of sake close to him, inspected a bit before popping it out. Scoffing at the cheers that his old man, companions and partner did at catching that he had accept it.

"Is your favorite flavor of cake my capoo!" You pointed at the cake, not seing his fond smile due to his black mask before he punched Irinaka and kurono for laughing at the nickname you gave it to him as the Pops shook his head with a laugh. Kai was at least a bit eased back for real to yours surprise! You could notice that despite his monotonous face, a little bit of happiness was still on his golden eyes that you loved so much.

"So?" You chirped on his side as he poked his generous piece of cake, mask down to his chin only to eat "Whatcha think??"

He only arched one eyebrow at you before doing something you never expected. He poked your nose with the uttensile he was using, you gasped at the action with the residues of cake on your nose before he smirked devilish at you, throwing the utensils away and catching you off guard by handing you a handkerchief and kissing your temple while no one was looking.

"Not so pointless. Happy now brat?" He muttered before getting to grab another uttensiles as you tried to understand what had just happened.

Bonus!

"How thoughtful and cliche no less." He inspected the yang necklace, you were a bit insecure before smilling widely at seing him putting the necklace around his perfect neck.

"That's not the whole thing!" You chirped before jumping out of the bed and going to the bathroom. He arched one eyebrow before widening his eyes at the clothing you were using. Showing all the parts of your body he loved the most...

"Do what you must do my capoo~" you cooed before crawling your way to his lap "Your final gift my love".

"And the only one I wanted to unwrap." He growled before twirling both of you around so he could be on top "Finally my truly desert." He growled close to your ear before... you know. Long night for the both of you ;)

#overhaul x reader #overhaul chisaki kai #overhaul imagine #overhaul scenario #overhaul #chisaki kai x reader #kai chisaki #chisaki kai scenarios #chisaki kai #bnha villains x reader #bnha #my writing #zuffer writings

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playdohmichelangelo · 4 years ago

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metalocalypse x american dad crossover fic wip from a txt file i found on my desktop [1.2k words]

''Dad, why is there a giant, evil-looking truck in front of our house?''

Stan, sitting in the living room armchair, not looking up from the book he just started, which was titled ''How To Look Up From A Book.'', replied:

''Probably just some of my homeboys from the C.I.A dropping by. I wouldn't worry about it, Steve. O-Oh- and the C.I.A. isn't evil! We're the good guys.''

''It doesn't look like a C.I.A. vehicle, dad! It's like a slow-moving castle, out of heavy metal.'' Steve spoke while nervously fiddling with his fingers. ''It's like it's owned by metalheads!''

Stan looked up from his book, his attention caught. ''Metalheads? You mean those long-haired worshippers of the DEVIL? That's not right...''

''Yeah! Like Haile-''

Stan pushed him aside and looked out the window, eyes squinting. There it was- an ominous chunk of black and red, taking up both sides of the street. It looked like a whole building rather than a vehicle.

''Hmm, looks like a blockage.'' Roger commented while snacking on bacon Tuc crackers and getting crumbs everywhere on the floor.

''You might want to put something on, Roger, I think they're here to visit us!'' cried Steve.

''They are not going to invade my kingdom!'' panicked Stan. ''Not one filthy, booted step on my clean American property!''

He ran outside and Steve followed.

''What's going on?'' came from Hailey, who was behind.

''Hayley, do you know what this is about? Why aren't they leaving? You know, *them*?'' Stan gestured at the vehicle in front of them.

''Oh... Oh my God!'' Hailey gasped. ''We won the Dethklok-family sleepover raffle that I signed us up for!''

''You WHAT?''

''Dad, you know what this means? Dad! They're the biggest death metal band in the. Whole. WORLD!'' She squealed with glee.

''Death... Metal? Deathclock? Well, I can't allow this! They are NOT getting anywhere near us. I forbid it!''

''Dad, dad, it's okay- it's...'' She sighed. ''It's five white guys, dad.'' Hailey whispered to Steve. ''But none of them are straight.''

''...And they're famous?''

''Oooh, wait, I know them!'' Steve exclaimed. ''Hailey listens to some of their tracks sometimes when you're not home, like I Ejaculate Fire and-'' Hailey covered his mouth with both her hands. ''Haha, well, it's, um... It's awful that they're spreading so much steam into the athmosphere with the... Mordcar? Dethcycle! I hate them too, like you, dad! I swear. But they're only going to stay for ONE night! Daddy, please? It's a one-in-a-billion chance! We were picked!''

Stan sighed, deeply. ''Just one night. And then they'll leave. And you'll owe me, Hailey. But how are we going to house 5 people? 5 cavemen with long, filthy hair, at that, schreeching about the Devil and... Uhh... Iron..''

''I guess they assumed the fans who signed up would worry about that.'' Steve answered while eyeing the contrast in size between their house and the vehicle.

The Dethcar/Mordcycle entrance doors slid open with the speed of molasses dripping off a spoon, with thick fog creeping outside dramatically, of course, setting quite the scene. Stan stared in awe.

''Pickle, we amsn't suppossed to smoke weeds today!'' cast the whine of one of the silhouettes at the step.

''Sorry, Toki, I ferget we hed a theng today. Jus' ventilating for a moment.''

''It's okej. But look, we's here!''

''Oh sheet, lemme just discard dat real quick-''

The man with the hair that looked like a red octupus dropped his blunt onto the grass, roughly massaged it with his sneaker, and kicked it under the Dethcar. He looked at Stan and grinned mildly apologetically.

As the guy next to him with the catfish whiskers gently facepalmed, more people came out of the car.

''This is it? SO tame. Talk about *regular* jackoffs. Ugh. We could've gotten the apartment of a crackhead, at least that'd be interesting'' scoffed the man whose face could've had murder written on it. He stepped forward and headed towards the front door, pushing Stan out of the way.

''Hey! Don't you touch me with those.. Eugh, those ogre sausages!'' Stan asserted. ''How are you so ugly?'' he added, with genuine confusion.

''Gee, thanks, you suit. Don't you know who I am?''

''I really don't.''

The man with the Murderface seemed disheartened, just for a moment. ''Duh, I'm William Murderface, songwriter and lead of the second most famous band in the world, aka Dethklok, and also the mastermind behind THE most famous band in the world, Planet P-''

''No, he's not.'' came from the living personification of ''death metal''. He stepped right in front of Stan. They were pretty much of the same height and physique, but something about the stranger made him more intimidating than the plain-faced suburban man we know as Stan.

''I guess we'll be staying here tonight. I'm Nathan Explosion. I don't know why I said that, you already knew. Whatever.'' He shrugged, sighed, and stepped inside like the faces of awe of the winning family meant nothing to him.

Another man, who looked like an elf and also a birch tree, just followed, silently. But he did stop for a moment and seemingly checked out Hailey, squinting his eyes and touching his chin like he was comparing products at a food library. He went inside as well like it was nothing. He and Nathan sat on the couch and watched the TV.

''Hold on...'' spoke Nathan. ''This TV doesn't have The Dethklok Minute. The fuck?''

''Dat's ams strange.'' came from the other man, now even more obviously European. ''Oh wells. I don't haves my guitars with mes. Just puts on whatever.''

Nathan, handling the remote, asked ''You cool with... Damn, they have every season of Grey's Anatomy. Wanna see that?''

The other man shrugged. He casually pulled out some sort of toy and started fidgeting with it to busy his hands. Probably plays a lot of guitar...

Stan was appalled, these people, waltzing in... At least the elf took off his shoes. And there's more... The duo from before, they approached them as well.

''They're getting comfortable like it's a party! Wouldn't expect anything less offensive from lost men such as these.'' Stan pouted. ''You there, young man!'' He pointed at the catfish man, who was in the middle of taking off his shoes after realising the kitchen floor might be slippery. ''Huh? Mes?''

''You seem polite.''

''Thank yous! I'ms Toki, Dethklok's... Supporting guitarist!''

He handed out his hand in the shape of one half of a handshake. Stan hesitated, but he accepted it. The man's grip was a lot firmer than Stan expected. ''So, ums... What rooms ams I sleepings in?'' ''There's a spot under Steve's bed.'' Stan suggested, coldly. ''You thought I'd be nice to you, huh? Well, you thought wrong! You're still an enemy!'' ''Enemies? Buts I just gots here-'' ''No protests, son. Now go to your room.'' ''???'' ''...Steve will lead you there. Steve?''

Steve's head perked up. ''Yes?'' ''I need to deal with this one man with long hair hiding a lot of sin at a time. Toki's sleeping under your bed tonight.'' Toki frowned. ''You're parternings me ups with a kid because you thinks of me as a kid?'' Stan crossed his arms. ''Yes.'' Toki cursed under his breath. ''Fines! Let's goes, Steve.'' As he and Steve stepped up, he asked: ''Do yous haves any video gayms?''

''Now, where was I... Wait, where's triangle-hair guy?

[didn’t write past this lol]

#apparently i started this on the first of january which is pretty cool #nonner wrote this #american dad #metalocalypse #fanfic #crossover #i wont lie im kind of having a depressive episode right now

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “Wanky” (NC17)

Summary: An unfortunate find in a secret drawer leads poor Tracy to believe that she's getting a dog for Christmas, and leaves Kurt stuck between a rock and a hard place: does he stick to his guns, or does he traumatize his sweet, innocent daughter for life? (1918 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'learn'.

Read on AO3.

“Hey, guys!" Kurt sings from the front door, brushing snow off the shoulders of his coat before he crosses the threshold. "We’re back!”

"Sorry we took so long," Blaine says, "but we had a heck of a time finding ..."

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” Tracy squeals, leaping into Blaine’s arms the second he comes to a stop in their living room. "Both of you! Thank you so much!"

“Thank us?” He wraps his daughter in a bear hug, confused as all get out but in no way stupid enough to turn down a hug. “Thank us for what? Kurt?”

Kurt shrugs, making a don’t know noise as he sheds his coat and hangs it, returning quickly for a turn in the hug rotation. "Brittany? Santana?" He looks expectantly at the ladies who have been watching their daughter all afternoon. "Do you know what's going on?"

Brittany, hands behind her back, shifts her weight anxiously from foot to foot, while Santana, arms crossed over her chest, looks nearly gleeful. It’s Santana's glee more than Brittany’s anxiety that makes Kurt’s back start to sweat.

“It seems Tracy here was poking around in your naughty bits and found herself a little treat.”

Kurt and Blaine shoot her confused looks, though Kurt’s leans more towards annoyed.

“Can you be any less vague?” Kurt asks.

Santana grins. “No.”

Brittany carefully enters the conversation. “Tracy may have accidentally figured out what you guys are getting her for Christmas.”

"And what are we getting her for Christmas?" Blaine asks.

Brittany swallows hard. "A ... a dog."

Tracy dislodges herself from Blaine's torso and latches on to Kurt’s.

"What?" Kurt says, dumbfounded.

“Didn’t we specifically say no to a dog?” Blaine whispers.

Kurt hugs his daughter tight, stealthily covering her ears with his hand. “We did."

"So how did she come to that conclusion?”

“She found this.” A guilty smile flickers across Brittany’s lips as she brings a hand out from behind her back and shows Kurt something that makes his face turn paper white. He doesn't have to look at his husband to know that Blaine is wearing the same dropped-jaw, mushroom pale expression of horror that he is.

Brittany is handing him a black leather collar with a row of rhinestones across the front.

When Kurt comes to his senses, he reaches for the collar, eager to tuck it out of sight.

Mortifyingly, Tracy intercepts it.

She eyes it reverently. But then she sighs, her expression slipping from overjoyed smile to apologetic frown.

“I’m sorry I snooped in your special drawer.”

“Didn’t we make it perfectly clear that drawer is off-limits?” Blaine asks, crouching to talk to her.

“You did.” Tracy hugs the collar to her chest, afraid the dog she has wanted for so long might be slipping away from her.

“Then why did you look in there?”

“It seems a little birdie told her it’s only off-limits because that's where you hide her presents,” Santana explains, maneuvering her shrinking wife behind the protection of her body. “Poor, impatient Tracy couldn’t resist.”

Kurt glares over Santana’s shoulder at Brittany, who completely disappears behind her wife.

Blaine stands, ruffles his daughter’s hair, then takes his husband by the elbow and gives him a tug in the direction of the kitchen. “Excuse us, Peanut. I need to talk to your Papa alone for a minute.”

“Ok, Daddy.” Tracy releases Kurt and walks glumly towards Santana, sighing significantly as she slips into her arms, still hugging that collar to her chest.

That’s the scene that kills Kurt.

Tracy hugging that collar.

The collar he wears on his and Blaine’s "special" nights out.

The kind where they pretend they don’t know one another, and they flirt in a bar like strangers. Blaine picks him up with a proposition, money exchanges hands, and they spend all night in a room at a no-tell motel with Blaine riding him, pulling his hair hard, calling him his "good little bitch".

Yup. His nine-year-old daughter is hugging that collar.

“Oh my God!” Blaine says the second they're behind closed doors, a hint of amusement in his tone that gives Kurt an urge to flick him on the forehead. “What do we do? What do we do?”

“I hope we’re agreed that she doesn’t deserve a thing if she’s invading our privacy!”

“Yeah … well … hmmm …” Blaine waffles.

Kurt’s eyes go wide. “Blaine!”

“To be honest, Kurt, I don’t know what you have against the family having a dog. Tracy has wanted one forever. It would be a good companion for her. Besides …” He looks down at his hands, twiddles his thumbs “… I … kinda … want one.”

“That’s great!” Kurt snaps, frustrated since he thought they were a unified front on this issue. “But tell me this - who’s going to take care of it? Huh? Who's going to feed it and walk it and clean up after it when it vomits on the floor at three in the morning? I’ll tell you exactly who’s going to do all of that! I will!”

“We can teach her to be responsible! She’s at that age!”

“This isn’t the way things like this are supposed to work! If she wants a dog, she needs to earn it! Not commit a misdemeanor! That proves she’s not mature enough! And if we give in, we'll be perpetuating that behavior!”

“Technically, it’s not her fault. You heard what Santana said.”

“Yeah, well, that only proves someone else is culpable. It doesn’t change the fact that Tracy broke the rules. In fact, if she thought her Christmas presents were in that drawer, that makes things worse!”

“This one indiscretion aside, she deserves a dog! She’s a straight-A student. She keeps her room clean without being told. She helps out with dinner, the laundry, the dusting. And let’s face it, between your trophies, my trophies, and all the other knick-knacks in this house, she deserves a dog for that alone!”

“I am not going to make this decision on the spur of the moment! We need to talk about boundaries, hash out rules!”

“Fair enough."

“Which we will do after the holidays!”

“And what do we do until then?” Blaine asks, his eyes brimming with the same disappointment Tracy’s had. He'd started getting excited when he thought Kurt might cave. Now Kurt's pulling a "we'll see". “She already found the collar. How are you going to explain owning that if we aren’t getting her a dog for Christmas? Which is in about a week, by the way.”

“We’ll be honest with her,” Kurt decides. “We’ll explain, in age-appropriate terms, why we have that collar.”

Blaine jerks back, the fringes of a chuckle tickling his throat. “So … she’s mature enough to know about your collar kink, but not old enough to own a dog?”

“I’ll … cross that bridge when I get to it, all right?” Kurt mumbles, his face turning bright red. "But for now, that's my final decision! End of discussion! Take it or leave it!"

Kurt turns on his heel and heads for the living room. He will not be manipulated into giving in, even if this whole thing did start with a misunderstanding.

He opens the door and spots Tracy rocking in Blaine’s recliner, looking at pictures on Brittany’s phone, while Brittany and Santana sit beside her, making encouraging comments.

Tracy, still hugging that Godforsaken collar, looks like she’s been crying.

Brittany looks positively devastated, as if she didn’t just ruin Tracy’s chance for happiness, but helped her get the dog of her dreams, then ran it over with her car.

Santana leads the conversation, which Kurt assumes is about clothes - one of Tracy’s favorite things to window shop. But as Kurt walks closer, he catches a peek at the screen, and his heart deflates. During his and Blaine’s conversation, Tracy had started a Pinterest board titled ‘My Favorite Dogs in the World’. Brittany and Santana are helping her add to it – teacup poodles, Pomeranians, Chihuahuas, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel ...

'That one's cute,' Kurt thinks when he spots the silky thing. 'That fur would be fun to style. We could do it together! A bright pink bow, maybe a sparkly barrette ...'

The sparkly barrette brings his mind back to his collar, and he gives himself a hard, mental shake.

'No. Don't waver. Stay the course.'

He approaches his daughter slowly, preparing himself for the worst conversation of his life so far.

Kurt swallows hard. “Tracy?”

Tracy looks up at him with watery eyes. “Yes, Papa?”

Her bottom lip wobbles.

Ugh! This is going to be impossible!

“There’s something I need to explain to you … about that collar.”

“Yes?”

Kurt crouches down in front of Tracy, meeting her eye to eye. “You see, sometimes when you buy a collar, it’s for a dog.”

“A-ha …” Tracy says, hopeful ... and mildly confused.

“And sometimes, two people … two grown adults who don’t own a dog ... might buy a collar to …”

Brittany and Santana both gasp when they realize what he’s doing.

Brittany stares like a deer in headlights.

Santana, on the verge of a laughing fit, gets up and leaves the room.

“Yes, Papa?”

“Well, they might buy a collar because …”

“Because …”

"Because ..." Kurt looks at Tracy, silently wishing she'd catch on without him having to say another word. Not catch on to what they use the collar for, but catch on to the fact that no, they will not be getting a dog right now. He looks into her huge, brown eyes, so much like Blaine’s, her hopeful expression dimming with every second of this asinine explanation.

Is he really going to do this?

Is he really going to tell his beloved daughter that she's not getting a dog because that collar she found is one of her fathers’ favorite sex toys? That the last time they used it, Kurt was wearing it, and Blaine was riding him like a bronco, growling obscenities and smacking his ass?

No! He can’t do that!

What responsible parent would!?

When Kurt first found out he was going to be a father, his own father gave him some valuable life advice.

“When you become a parent, you sort of fool yourself into believing that you’re in charge. You're the teacher," his dad had said. "But in reality, parenting will put you on your ass over and over until you realize you know nothing. But you learn. And one of the most important lessons you’ll ever learn is to pick your battles. Because situations will come up that you’ll never dream of, things that you hope to never handle. But, in the end, when you’re debating right and wrong, you have to decide – are you doing what’s best for your child? Or what’s best for you? Because, surprisingly, the two aren’t always the same.”

In short, Kurt has to choose between psychological trauma, pet dog, or sticking to a rule that's rigid simply because bending it would hurt his ego.

When he thinks of it in those terms, the answer is simple.

His father, as always, is right - mostly.

The most important lesson Kurt will learn from this particular situation is that he needs to get a lock on that damned drawer!

Because watching their new pet tromp through the house wearing that collar is going to burn his eyes every day of his life until he dies.

#klaine advent 2020 #klaine advent: learn #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klaine

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sunflowersseemhappy · 4 years ago

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“I will find you.” Asra X Gender Neutral MC (Angst)

Anyone want a part two?

The taste of blood and dirt is fresh on Asra’s lips, he can barely lift his head, can hardly move through the pain coursing through every inch of his body. How long has he laid here? His body betraying him despite his commands to get up, to stand on his feet and do what needs to be done. Grimacing against the ground Asra can feel himself pulled once more toward unconsciousness, he’s been fading in and out of the waking world unwillingly for some time. This one no different as his mind grows hazy, taking him back to the moments just before this pain.

“I’m not saying that barmaid had a crush on you, but don’t you find it the least bit strange that she gave you a beer on the house?” Giving you a sly grin Asra nudges you in the ribs as he walks by your side, his heels kicking up dust into the evening air like smoke caught in a breeze. You contemplate the dusty road winding its way along the bank of a river, trees have taken over the landscape casting shade over the path that leads to the next town over.

“She was just being nice!” You retort, embarrassment crawling through your cheeks “I think…” Asra lets out a bark of light laughter, his smile gazing kindly over your face. His amethyst eyes are twinkling with glee as he takes your hand in his own, you can see the devilish suggestion in his eyes. Letting out a breath you shake your head ruefully, twining your fingers into his, you glance at his white hair. It’s grown longer since your travels began, part of you wonders if he can even see with his hair in his eyes like that.

“We really need to cut your hair back,” raising your hand to his unruly fringe you try to swipe it out of his gorgeous eyes, rolling your own as it falls back to its regular place. Asra gives you a mock wounded look, his acting skills rivalling even Julian’s as he speaks.

“You don’t like it?” Clutching his other hand to his chest Asra gives you a sultry look, his act dissipates into a chuckle as Faust raises her head from his scarf flicking her tongue about and tasting the air. You smile at the snake in greeting but Faust seems preoccupied with trailing her tongue in the air.

“Friends?” The lavender serpent twists her head toward the treeline, winding up Asra’s neck cautiously. Alert you halt abruptly in time with Asra, who squeezes your hand in warning. Your eyes are already scanning the trees, breath quickening. It could be nothing. It could be some kind of animal, but Faust’s senses are too sharp for it to be anything other than what you can guess. There is someone out there, although you try to banish the malicious thoughts that invade your imagination your skin is prickling, and your brain is going haywire. The only thing grounding you is Asra, but even he looks on high alert.

“What do we-” You intake a sharp breath as a knife is pressed to your throat, whipping his head toward you, wide-eyed Asra can only watch as you are hauled back. Your grip on his hand loosening, you are taken away from his grasp a metre or two backwards. Whoever is gripping you smells like river weed and bitter smoke, the smell overwhelming you. Turning your head, you see a glimpse of brown eyes and scraggly hair.

“Nothing. You don’t do nothing.” Growls the man behind you, the blade of the knife is pressed lightly against your throat as Asra watches from his place. Already you can see him thinking through every possible situation, but even you can’t think of one. At least not one where you get out of this alive. Shaking at that possibility you watch as more men – clothed in subtle leathers and shrouded by hoods and masks train weapons on Asra, he doesn’t dare make a move.

“Please, just let them go…” Asra’s voice is shaking, his eyes locked on your own. A silent promise that he’ll get you out of this. “I’ll give you anything, no one has to get hurt.” Two men are closing in on Asra, but he hasn’t noticed, all his attention on you. Wiggling under the brown eyed man’s grasp you whimper as the blade draws blood, the red line trailing down your neck. He only tightens his grip and chuckles darkly at Asra.

“We make the deals here boy.” Although you’re unable to see the man’s face you can feel the smile in his voice as his free hand trails down your shoulder, feeling your body against your will. “This pretty thing should fetch a nice penny on the slave market. After we’re done with them.” You close your eyes flinching under their touch as the man presses against you in front of Asra, fear is racking through your body, but you stand firm. Determined to mask your fear. The display is enough to make Asra’s anger rise.

“You lay a hand on Y/N!” Asra rushes forward but the hands of the two men are already pulling him back and shoving his knees to the to the ground. Although Asra is strong the burly, heavy-set men easily push him down. Suddenly with a screech one rears back from Asra. Faust sinking her little teeth into his hand, coiling around the heavy-set man’s arm like a mouse to snack on. Your moment of triumph dissipates as you watch. Horrified as Faust is swung through the air, clinging tightly to the man as he bashes at her lavender body. Unable to withstand the onslaught of attacks any longer Faust lets go, thrown to the ground she doesn’t get back up.

“Faust!” You almost forget the blade against your throat and struggle to get to the snake, crying out at her tiny form laid prone on the ground. The brown eyed man behind you stilling you with a warning, pleading you reach out with your magic. The ebbing fade of Faust’s life force pulling at your heart. “Please get up Faust!”

“I’ll kill you for that!” Three men are gripping Asra, who struggles futilely against them, his face pressed into the ground as his free arm reaches for the python.

“Get off of him!” You demand, “let him go to her.” You’re ignored watching fearfully as the bitten man snarls in pain and looks at Asra accusingly.

“Faust-” Asra is panting heavily his eyes filled with tears, everything forgotten as he reaches for the snake. Trying in vain to reach Faust, Asra ignores the bitten man approaching his face curled into a sneer.

“Stupid worm! Think you’re tough setting it on me freak?” The bitten man spits on the ground, baring his teeth he cracks his heel down on Asra’s outstretched arm, an audible snap echoing in the clearing. A strangled cry emanates from you as Asra screams in agony, writhing under the three men Asra buries his head against the path stifling his pain. The bitten man openly laughs as his compatriots watch with neutral looks, horrified you watch him kneel and grab a handful of Asra’s white hair. Lifting Asra’s head toward his.

“I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget,” growling in Asra’s face you watch as he slams Asra’s head against the floor. “You. Don’t. Mess. With. Us!”

“No! Stop it!” No longer caring about the knife at your throat, you sob as you watch the man slams Asra’s head against the ground with each word spat from his mouth. Coughing blood Asra groans as his head falls to the ground as the bitten man releases his hair and shoves the three men to get off Asra. A pleased look crosses the bitten man’s face as he stands above Asra.

“Your Y/N is ours now,” with a sense of finality the man kicks Asra in the chest, sending him sprawling to your feet. The man brandishing the blade against you releases you with a laugh as you bare your teeth, choking on your own tears. Falling to your knees your hands brush across Asra’s mud caked hair for a moment, his own blood staining the ground. You feel rough hands go to pull you up, struggling you summon magic to your fingers and feel a spell wash over Asra. Your hands are bound before you can fight back, looking desperately back you are dragged away from Faust and Asra, left laid bloody and bruised on the ground.

It had all happened so quickly, now you were gone and Faust… Steeling himself against the pain Asra raises his head ignoring the blood dripping from his nose and the pounding of his head. The python is still there, lying against the ground still and silent. Asra reaches out with his senses, but the magic sputters out before it can even form, his head too hazy to even think about casting a spell.

“Faust,” his voice cracks, his mouth dryer than a desert. “We have to find Y/N, please get up. Please be alive!” The snake doesn’t move despite his pleas, panting heavily Asra crawls toward Faust pain shooting through his body. He can barely move his arm, but stubborn determination pushes him on and although it feels like a lifetime, he reaches Faust. Gingerly moving to sit up Asra gently scoops Faust up, limply coiled in his hand Asra feels fresh tears gather.

“You were so brave Faust.” Swallowing thickly Asra cuddles the snake to his chest, biting back a sob he looks slowly around. Footprints are scattered everywhere, his blood pooling on the ground from a couple of metres away. Yours is there too, the knife must have dug into your skin enough to make droplets of blood form a trail. “Y/N’s left us a trail Faust; we need to find them. Faust?” Asra’s eyes glance over the lavender serpent still unmoving, hand shaking he lifts her and plants a kiss on her head. A tingle passes over his body and he feels the pain lessen, magic working its way through his lips and along the serpent’s body. He gasps at the familiarity, your magic working into his bones. Looking down at Faust his hope dissipates, whatever spell you used didn’t work on his familiar. Tears rolling down his cheeks he sobs against the serpent hopelessness overtaking him.

“I need you Faust, I beg of you come back. Y/N needs the both of us.”

“Help Y/N?” A soft frail voice punctures Asra’s mind, gasping Asra looks down at Faust slowly lifting her head to gaze into his eyes. Your spell worked… “Find Y/N?”

“Yes,” Asra chokes out, cuddling the snake as best he can, Asra feels the snake’s coils wrap around his wrist and squeeze gently, Faust’s own hug building his confidence. Staggering to his feet Asra follows your blood trail with his eyes, it’s path through the woodlands clear as ink on parchment. He closes his eyes and makes a promise to the wind, hoping somehow, you’ll hear it too.

“I will find you.”

#asra #julian #portia #lucio #muriel #nadia #the arcana #the arcana game #story #prompt #asra x reader #mc #apprentice #angst #faust

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kirishwima · 5 years ago

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I know that Zen has a brother, but since he hates him... what about an AU where Zen has a second sibling whom he does have more appreciation for (even if maybe they haven't talked much since Zen left). This sibling is now MC. How does Zen feel about them dating each of the other love interests? Prefably Yoosung, Jaehee, Saeyoung and Jumin. (If you don't like AU requests please ignore this!)

ohh this is such a cute idea! i can absoloutely imagine Zen being a super protective brother...hmm, for the sake of this headcanon, let’s assume that

a) Zen is MC’s older brother and

b) He has kept in contact with them, albeit not much-they talk through the phone and skype but he hasn’t seen his sibling face to face in years. Lastly

c) Let’s assume MC is now an adult too, maybe a couple years younger than Zen, and lives on their own independant from their and Zen’s family.

So without further ado~ Zen’s reactions to his little sibling dating the RFA!

YOOSUNG:

* Honestly, when Yoosung realizes the person that invaded their chat room is Zen’s sibling, he’s more excited than shocked. They’ll have so much blackmail material on Zen, he figures with glee!

* Well, then he understands the true situation-how difficult it was for Zen and MC to keep in touch after Zen ran away, how Zen’s actually grateful that MC stumbled upon this messenger so he could re-establish his relationship with them.

*Yoosung’s very supportive and friendly, and Zen is happy to see his friend is this invested-although whenever Yoosung compares MC to Rika Zen does get angry-his sibling is kind and gentle too, yes, but they’re not Rika! Why can’t he realize that?!

*Still, when Yoosung goes to the Mint Eye HQ, when he gets hurt all for the sake of protecting MC-when he professes his love to Zen’s sibling, he can’t bring himself to oppose this relationship.

*Although when Yoosung kisses MC in the middle of the party hall in front of everyone-boy, Zen is there in an instant tugging Yoosung away from his little sibling by that blond fluff hair of his, giving him a disapproving glare.

*Jokes aside, from everyone his sibling could’ve ended up with from the RFA...he’s glad it was Yoosung. He trusts his friend, and knows he’ll cherish MC with all his heart.

JAEHEE:

* She’s more than shocked to find out that Zen’s sibling, of all people, is the one that ended up in the RFA chatroom.

* Of course, she’s still very weary of them, but can’t help but ask a myriad of questions about Zen, his childhood, what MC remembers of Zen’s singing and so on and so forth.

* It doesn’t help that in a sense, Zen and MC are similar-sure, they have similar features since they’re related, but more than that some of MC’s mannerisms, the way they text sometimes, there’s little things that make Jaehee go ‘ah, so this really is Zen’s sibling’

* When she begins to fall for MC, she takes a step back from her feelings to try and analyse them-is she attracted to MC as MC, or is this a manifestation of her infatuation with Zen’s career?

* But with every supportive comment and uplifting word MC sends Jaehee’s way, Jaehee realizes that no, this has nothing to do with Zen-she’s in love with MC and their bright infectious energy, and wants them to know that.

* Before deciding to tell MC about her coffee shop dream, before asking MC to move in with her, she first decides to talk to Zen about it; he’s their brother so he’d be the best person to gauge MC’s reaction to it, and honestly, his approval would mean a lot to Jaehee.

*Well, Zen’s honestly more than happy to give the two his blessing-he adores Jaehee and thinks she’s honestly a perfect fit for his little sibling, and from what he sees in the chatroom, he knows MC feels the same way about Jaehee.

* He does become a regular at their coffee shop though, and honestly...he’s happy for the two of them. Genially, honestly happy.

JUMIN:

* Now....now this is tricky.

* When he notices MC getting friendly with Jumin in the chatrooms, and worse, when he sees Jumin reciprocate this friendliness to MC-Zen immediatly calls his sibling and tells them to knock it off.

* Sadly, an arguement ensues, and harsh words are exchanged-MC tells Zen that if he hasn’t tried being a part of their life for so long except for the ocassional phone call, then he doesn’t get a say in who MC talks or flirts with, and Zen tells them that he regrets MC ever finding the RFA chatroom.

* The atmosphere is tense to say the least in the RFA chatroom the following days, but oddly enough-it’s Jumin that manages to calm the siblings down.

* He reminds them of the value of family, and tells them it’s a blessing that they have managed to reunite through this app, even putting his own matters aside that he deals with in his route to help the two make up again. He even says that if him being this friendly with MC is something that genially bothers Zen, he’ll stop, since he’d never want to be the reason a family breaks apart.

* Given all this, Zen finds it hard to stay mad at Jumin-and begrudgingly tells MC that if they want to get closer with Jumin, they can, but that they shouldn’t come crying to him when they find out he’s just a cat-obsessed idiot.

* When MC goes to Jumin’s house and stays with him for a few days, Zen is SHOOKETH-he will not stop calling and texting and threatening Jumin with all sorts of unspeakable acts if he dares hurt or upset his little sibling.

* Jumin is confused at that-how could he ever dare hurt MC? He cherishes them! But telling Zen so only made the white-haired man more furious, much to Jumin’s dismay.

* When Jumin decides he’ll propose to MC at the party, he finds it only right to talk with Zen beforehand, since he can’t really go to their parents straight away-it’s only right he asks for MC’s brother’s blessing in this, isn’t it?

* Well...Zen vehemently refuses. At least, he does, until Jumin sits down with him and seriously explains his intentions towards MC, how he genially loves them and wants to be with them for the rest of his life. Zen is still worried, and tells Jumin that he thinks it’s way too early...but honestly, when has anything Jumin done ever been normal?

* So begrudgingly, Zen nods along, telling Jumin that if he ever dares hurt MC he’ll smite him with his own two hands.

* Jumin merely smirks at that. “If I ever hurt them, I’d smite me myself” he says, and well, that’s good enough for Zen lol

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

*Hmm...when he sees how well MC’s humor matches with Luciel’s, Zen is confused, but he doesn’t really pay much mind to it-so his sibling made a friend in the RFA, that should make him happy right?

*But the longer Seven seems to unfold his true self within the chatroom, the more concerned Zen gets-he fears MC is getting sucked into a situation they might be unable to handle, and if they’re put in danger because of Seven...he doesn’t even want to begin to imagine that.

* When Seven admits that there’s a bomb in the apartment, and that he has to go there himself to fix the security program and protect MC, Zen immediatly calls him, cursing him intently. How dare he put Zen’s sibling in this sort of danger?! Zen vehemently insists Seven should give him the adress to the apartment ASAP so he can go take MC out of there himself, and gets more and more furstrated whenever Seven shuts him down.

* Furstrated and unable to do something of worth, Zen’s stuck calling MC every hour, checking in on them and how they’re doing, even begging them to give him the adress instead of Seven-but his sibling insists they want to trust Seven and his actions, and as much as it breaks Zen’s heart, there’s little he can do about it.

* When Seven admits his truth to the RFA-his real name, Saeyoung, his lost twin brother, and his profession of love towards MC; Zen’s a mess. He’s happy his friend has found the strength to be himself, but to involve Zen’s family in it all...still, he sees in the photo Seven sent how MC is happy standing beside Seven, how they’re confident in their words and their trust in him.

* Zen can’t help but accept this relationship. He’ll never stop being worried, and he’ll watch over the two like a hawk, ready to swoop in if MC is ever put in any danger, but he knows Seven will protect MC with his life if he must, and that, at least, puts Zen’s mind at ease.

-send me mystic messenger headcanons for character reactions!-

#i love over-protective Zen lmao #asks #mystic messenger #mysme #mysme prompts #mysme headcanons #yoosung kim #hyun ryu #mysme zen #jumin han #jaehee kang #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #707 #Anonymous

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artistictiliqua · 5 years ago

Text

crossing a line (1/2)

Wrote another little ficlet for the ESP Dib AU! I mean I’m supposed to be working on DP Spirit AU chapters but I got distracted haha :’D There’s gonna be a second part dw!

Zim Fucks Up: The Musical

<1500 words

ESP Dib AU

ZADE/ZADF

Warnings: blood/injury, language

Illustrated ficlet

Please DO NOT tag as ZAD//R thanks!

ESP DIB AU MASTERPOST

It was supposed to be a simple test.

That’s all; a mere test of the Dib’s incredible, mysterious power which he kept hidden from his father, his peers, and every other creature on Earth’s filthy surface. And this has baffled Zim to no end-- in the Irken Armada, flaunting one’s abilities and skills is commonplace, even considered an expectation in social situations. So to Zim, the mere notion that any creature would keep an advantage such as Dib’s hidden is utterly inconceivable.

It simply doesn’t make any sense, and the Irken is certain that the unknown extent of the Dib’s abilities would drive him mad. Thus, as Zim has always done, he threw his entire being into finding a solution, searching for any opportunity to study the Earth-smeet’s power.

Whether by shooting a spitball at the boy in class, tossing the revolting Skool-food aggressively at Dib, or even throwing rocks at him as he passed, the child managed to either dodge the randomized projectiles or redirect them too quickly for even Zim’s enhanced ocular implants to pick up on. Hell, he even asked Dib directly if he could study his abilities and the filthy brat shrank back in horror before slamming his door shut!

Zim convinced himself that the only way he could ‘coax’ the boy into showcasing his awe-inspiring telekinesis was by putting him in a situation he could not escape without using it.

Creating that situation proved easier than Zim anticipated.

***

“It seems I’ve bested you once again, Dib-stink!” Zim crows triumphantly, baring his teeth in a savage grin, “Oh, the wonderful experiments I have planned-- perhaps I’ll send a piece of you to the Almighty Tallest as a gift,”

Pinned to the moonlit grass by all four of Zim’s gleaming PAK legs, Dib lies flat on his back, chest heaving with exhausted breaths as his hazel eyes grow wide with a terror that borders on animalistic. Zim laughs in a manic sort of way, clouds of condensation puffing into the chilly spring air as he does so.

“N-no, no, no--” Dib stammers pathetically, still refusing to use his telekinesis in favor of kicking at the PAK legs that pin him down.

“Yes, yes, yes!!” Zim howls, “Once I’m satisfied with my experiments, I’ll present you to the Tallest as a gift; I’ll be greatly rewarded for such a gesture, and you’ll be able to travel through space as a tool for the Irken Armada! We both get what we dream of!”

Zim is most certainly bluffing-- he has no intention of harming the Earth-smeet, he’s grown somewhat fond of the smelly little thing-- but the Dib is unaware of this, and the Irken Elite can feel the boy’s heart rate climb steadily as the seconds pass.

The 15-year-old Dib grits his teeth and writhes with renewed vigor at the thought of becoming the guinea pig for an alien race, sweat beading on his skin. As he thrashes about like a fish out of water, slushy muck splashes into the air. Some of this frigid snowmelt splashes high enough to splatter across Zim’s arm, which catches the Invader by surprise and forces an involuntarily hiss from between his teeth. In the half-second where Zim is distracted by his angrily-blistering skin, he staggers back on his faintly-glowing PAK legs, and Dib wriggles free as quickly as a snake and sprints away through the dark spruce trees surrounding them.

With a sour pang of annoyance, Zim hisses a curse word in Irken before bolting after the human boy.

Despite the Elite’s superior speed and agility, Dib somehow manages to swerve so wildly between the frosty trees that Zim only catches flickers of the boy’s movement every few seconds. He’s certain that Dib is using his power to give himself increased speed, and the thought of that makes Zim’s blood boil in irritation.

Inevitably, however, Dib grows tired and sloppy with his movements, and ends up tripping with a yelp when his sneakers skid on some half-melted ice beneath a willow tree. He quickly darts to his feet and keeps running, but the fall costs him enough time for Zim to close the gap and extend a PAK leg.

Zim feels the vibration as Dib’s ankle bangs against the cold metal, and a wicked spark of glee alights in his chest when the teenager cries out in pain and alarm and falls clumsily into the snow.

I’ve got you now, Zim hisses mentally, You’ll have no choice but to fight back.

Zim lets his brilliant red eyes flicker off to the right, where an old fir tree creaks in the crisp breeze. He casts a malicious glance in Dib’s direction before swiping a PAK leg off to the side and effortlessly slicing through the rotting wood. By now, Dib’s scrambled to his feet and looks up with wide eyes just in time to see the old tree bearing down on him.

With a thrill of satisfaction, Zim watches as the Dib’s eyes light up with a faint amber glow and he throws both hands up in the direction of the falling tree. In an instant, it freezes in place, hardly six inches from the boy’s fingertips, and dry needles rain down from the branches to paint the snow a deep green.

Had Zim been paying more attention, perhaps he’d have noticed the way Dib’s skin grows several shades paler and his eyes grow slightly unfocused. As it stands, however, the Irken Elite is too wrapped up in his success to notice such minute details. Instead, he lets out a laugh.

“Finally! I’ve managed to make you use your abilities!!” he exclaims, “Simply incredible!”

Dib’s throat bobs as a shudder passes through his lanky body, and steps out from the tree’s shadow before letting it crash to the ground. He opens his mouth, presumably to let Zim know that something is going terribly wrong, but before he can make a sound, the alien’s already knocking a sizable boulder into the air in Dib’s direction.

Dib forces his aching body to obey, to force his powers to manifest once more, and they do. He redirects the boulder to the side, where it cracks loudly against a tree trunk. Icy sweat runs down his skin, chilling him to the bone, and he tries once more to tell Zim to stop.

He barely manages to stop Zim’s PAK leg as it swings towards him in a wide arc, and Zim still fails to notice the warning signs Dib shows.

That is, right up until Dib’s eyes roll back and the teenager wordlessly collapses in a heap.

Zim shifts his attack just in time to avoid hitting Dib with his PAK leg, and scoffs in annoyance at the boy’s state. “Unbelievable. You’d go so far as to feign unconsciousness to avoid using your abilities? Pathetic.”

However, Dib doesn’t so much as twitch at the Irken’s words. Zim lowers himself to the ground with a scowl, crossing his arms and snapping, “Get up, pig-smelly. I don’t have the patience for your childish games.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Zim pauses, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

“Dib-stink. Get up.”

No response.

“Hey.”

Zim’s crossed arms fall to his sides. A foreboding sense of worry begins to twist and turn in his gut.

“Get up, Dib-stink.”

The worry wraps its disgusting claws even tighter around Zim’s insides, and the Elite walks across the mud and snow to where Dib lies deathly-still on his side. He pauses next to the fallen boy for a moment before shoving him onto his back.

Zim feels his spooch twist with a spike of horrified nausea.

Dib’s chest scarcely rises and falls, and rivulets of crimson blood drip from his nose, mouth, and ears, staining the snow below his head with the damning color. His skin, once a light tan colour, now looks pallid white not unlike that of a corpse. Zim stumbles a few steps away from Dib, before feeling adrenaline burn in his veins.

I’ve killed him. I’ve killed the Earth-smeet.

No, I haven’t. I still have time to revive him.

I should just let the brat die; it’s not as though he’s been anything but a nuisance in my mission to destroy Earth.

But…

What if…

“Ack, damn it all!” Zim snarls icily before extending his PAK legs once more and scooping the limp body of his greatest rival into one of them.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, the angry Irken Elite rockets away in the direction of the Dib’s house.

#ficlet #fanfic #fanart #illustrated fic #illustration #invader zim #iz #invader zim au #iz au #zim #dib membrane #dib #dib iz #hitashit #hitafic #dib esp au

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kitmon · 4 years ago

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Keys Are Under the Mat {3/?}

Llewyn Davis x OC

Summary: Struggling singer/songwriter, Llewyn Davis, has faced the rough and tumble world of the music industry as well as the callous hand of life. When an up-and-coming folk singer makes a trip back home and finds herself at the hands of the battered down couch-surfer, her first thought is to offer him a bit of compassion.

Warnings: Cursing, sexual themes, themes of depression

The magnificent structure stood tall on a street corner within the heart of Greenwich Village. It held a lovely charm of something that’s lived for so long. The red tint of its brick-lined walls having been stained with the countless snow and rainstorms it’s endured but it only reminded those that looked upon it that it was a feat of structural genius plucked from the imagination of architect, Emery Roth. It was one of the reasons, she’d chosen it.

The Devonshire House was home to the wealthy and elite with sizable apartments and little English touches that she found herself enamored with after being surrounded by buildings just like it during her small trip to London in the spring. It was home for now, or at least until she was sent to another state or another country by her manager. But that was something to consider at a later point in time. Now, all she could find herself thinking on was how much she’d enjoy getting out of the powdery streets of New York and into her condo, where chamomile tea lay nestled somewhere in her cupboards waiting for her.

James came around to her door and opened it. He offered his hand for her and she took it, the soft cashmere of her glove fitting nicely into the beaten leather of his own. She took a prudent step onto the crunchy layer of ice that encased the sidewalk, James keeping close watch of her movements. Once she was steady he made his way to the trunk and unlocked it, pulling out her guitar case with ease. She was next to him in an instant, reaching out to take the case, but his hands inched away, keeping it just barely out of her reach.

“James?” She questions, looking up to find the subtle crease in his brow and the attentive sheen in his eyes.

“Let me carry this for you, Dotty,” he insisted, but she saw right through to the bottom of his shallow actions and knew right then that his intentions weren’t all too pure. Any other day she’d let him accompany her on the short trip to her apartment, but now that he was only trying to interfere with her guest, she’d have none of it.

“Oh, I’m sure I can carry it, James,” she persisted, reaching the rest of the way to grip the handle as James let it slip from his fingers, knowing not to fight her on these things. “It’s only a short walk through the lobby.”

His frown reflected his distaste, but he let her do as she pleased. She held a tight grip on her case as she moved to walk towards the front doors, where the misfortunate doorman stood at its side, snow dusting his shoulders and his cap. But before she could take a step, James caught her hand with a soft grip, not enough to really stop her but just enough to let her understand that what he was saying was urgent.

She turned her head down to look at his hold that had traveled further down, now grasping onto her hand. A flurry of puzzlement invading her senses as her sight flitted onto his shaking eyes.

“Stay safe, Dotty.” He pleaded, the poor quiver in his well-built hand bringing her back to the reality of the situation; the effect it had on others. Her eyes softened, and she plopped the guitar case into the snow, reaching for the hand that held hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze with both of her own. She lifted it up towards her before placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. He really is patient with her and she appreciates his sticking by her side. Lord knows how many times she thought he wouldn’t.

“There’s nothing to worry about, James,” she coos, running her thumb over his sharp knuckles that bloomed with the heat at her touch. His chin tucked itself into his chest as his head dropped and his hand planted itself on his hip in exasperation. He let out a brittle chuckle as his head rocked at the absurdity of it all.

“Jesus, Dorothy, you’re—,” his breath lay caught in his throat, not sure of what to say or what to do. His hand splayed over his forehead, trying to reach for the words.

“An idiot?” She offers, a wide grin inching its way up her features. “You can call me an idiot, James, I know that’s what you’re thinking,” she giggles, watching as his face unwound from the tightly woven distress he wore before into a broad smile that twinkled with the lights of the buzzing village around them.

“You’re not an idiot, Dotty,” the smile still present on him but his words were all resolute. “Just... dewy-eyed.”

“You trust too much in others.” His face turned pensive, now matching the solemn words he spoke. “One of these days these people’ll stomp on your fire, they’ll put you out.”

“You worry too much.” She patted the hand that ceased its quivering and was still cradled in her own. She brought her own to his strong chin, caressing it in assurance. The sharp stubble on his chin tickling the pad of her thumb.

She sent him off when the cold nipped at her nose and the snow began to seep into her boots, reminding her of how much warmer it’d be inside. She was sure her company wouldn’t mind the thought of it as he trembled under the umbrellaed visor that loomed over the entrance of the building, grasping for any kind of warmth as he waited on her.

They entered the large and spacious lobby, bringing a gust of chilly night air that swept across the floor and caused a chill to prickle at their skin. The checker-tiled floor was damp with the snow that clung onto travelers' feet even after wiping them at the door. The warmth and the wafting scents of early winter encased them as they stepped through to the elevator; smells of gingerbread and cinnamon gluing themselves to their heavy coats. She remains silent but her eyes shrink when her smile widens to wiggle her fingers at the lady occupying the front desk; Rachel, her name tag boasted. And the older man standing guard at the elevator watched with glee as his favorite resident stepped forward, offering this drear and heady day some sunlight in the form her kindness.

“Good evening, Henri,” she greets sweetly with closed eyes and an acknowledging lilt of her head.

“Good evening, Dotty,” he speaks, the remnants of a French accent lacing his words as his eyes filled with warmth, adoration as if looking at his own daughter.

“How’s Pepper? Poor thing still recovering from her cold?” She chances at small talk as Llewyn occupies her side, hands stuffed inside the eaten-away-at satin pockets of his blazer. He listens in on the conversation between friends as he looked up and around the box. Nothing all too new, similar to the one in the Gorfien’s complex he thinks.

“Oh, yes, she’s doing well,” he reassures, catching Llewyn’s ear as he does. “S’been reading a lot. Just finished a science-fiction novel. Never read one myself but I might give it a try the way she’s been raving ‘bout it.”

“I’ll have to lend you one sometime,” she offers, grasping onto the handle of her case with both hands in front of her as the elevator lets out a resounding ding at reaching her floor.

The dense metal doors slid wide open, showcasing a broad hall, decorated with simple vases holding lovely arrangements of purple hydrangeas, guelder roses, and dahlias all of which complemented the eggshell wash of the walls.

“Tell Pepper I said ‘Hello,’“ she requests, stepping out onto the divine and gleaming hardwood tile, still facing Henri as her steps walked her backward. She gives a final wave goodbye as the doors slid shut and Henri wished her farewell through the fracture between doors.

She spun on her toes to redirect herself forward. The clicks of her chunky heel meeting the tile could be heard against the walls as the two patrons within them remained silent. Llewyn stayed analyzing his surroundings, noting the broadly spaced doors and the high ceilings.

“Pepper is Henri’s wife,” she inserts into the still air, filling Llewyn in on the conversation she could quite easily assume that he was listening in on. “He adores her,” she continues. “Always speaks about how she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Llewyn looks away from the polished doorways to find her rubbing her thumb at the worn handle of the guitar case as she daydreams. His lips parted as if he were going to speak, say something to her but the attempt was shunned when she abruptly stopped at the last door on the hall, setting her baggage down and planting her feet on the blue Persian doormat placed just in front of it.

She fiddles with the ring of keys she pulled out of her— to all appearances—bottomless coat pocket. She stuffed the copper key into the hole once she finds it and opens the door. She steps to the side, her back placed along the hard oak allowing him in before her. He takes a step inside and surveys the flat; it was pristine, all clean colors coating the area, and it was reminiscent of the paintings of heaven he’d seen somewhere before. And he had only stepped foot in the foyer.

The welcoming home of a dog bark reverberated off the walls. Bounding around a sharp turn and nearly slipping on the corner of a rug comes a long-snouted dog, large and gaining speed preparing to jump onto Llewyn. His leap caused the musician to stumble back a few feet holding onto the slim limbs of the pup.

“Oh! No, stop that, Beau!” She scolds, turning from her work of locking the door to assist the dog back onto the floor. She holds him close at her side, patting his snow-white locks to steady him.

“I’m sorry, he gets excited when there’re guests,” she explains as the dog stares up at Llewyn, eyes wide and glossy with a happy-go-lucky grin shaping his mouth as he panted in excitement.

Llewyn looked on before he felt the gentle press and rub on his leg. He peeked toward the floor and found a slender grey and white spotted kitty rubbing her side against the rough material of his slacks. Her light fur decorating his grey-toned pants as she maneuvered.

“You’re not allergic, are you?” She questions with concern, lifting herself up from her kneeling position against the pup and making her way to scoop up the fur fiend in her arms. She held the cat like a mother would hold her newborn child while the animal butted it’s sleek head against her owner’s, begging for her attention as her purrs grew louder.

“I’m sure Penelope wouldn't mind spending some time in my room.” The cat continued to fight for her affection, ramming its head into her cheek as she spoke.

“No, no I’m fine,” he watched her interactions with her pets with a skeptical expression, shaking his head to let her know there was no need for any of that. Her head bobbed in understanding, her eyes gazing toward the floor as she subconsciously scratched at Penelope’s chin, much to the kitten's pleasure.

There was a bout of silence that lingered as she set the feline on the floor to roam. She lifted herself and patted her hands at her wool coat to remove the excess white fur from her gloves. She sighs deeply, her body relaxing. She starts to fiddle with the large buttons on her coat, plucking them through the holes then shimmying out of the thick material.

“If you’d like, there’s food all in the pantry and in the fridge.” She nods her head to the left, down another room in the general direction of the kitchen as she steps toward a coatrack. She hangs it up neatly before moving to her gloves, snatching the fabric off of each finger before pulling off the whole garment and placing them in her coat’s pocket.

He followed the nod of her head, leaning forward and looking off to find an expansive kitchen, bright and clean with rows of cupboards and drawers holding ripe fruits and fresh vegetables and grains.

“I’ll go get the first aid kit.” His eyes were yanked back to her toeing off her boots stabilizing her self on a nearby wall, wiggling her toes under her sheer black nylons once they were free. Her feet padded along the floor as she made her way towards the bathroom.

Llewyn watched her tread off before glancing up and down the walls making his way to the plush looking couch he found once turning the corner of the long corridor. He plops himself onto the perfect seat looking out the Georgian style window it was positioned near and onto the bright city lights flickering as the city thrived.

His head jerked when he felt the gentle landing of Penelope on his thigh. He watched as she let her paws wander over the expanse of his lap, searching for the best spot to rest. His mind initially wishes to pick her up and place her on the floor, but once he sees her settling in a comfortable ball he couldn’t find it to disturb her. Resting the hand that lifted in attempts to push her away now landing on her fur, stroking tenderly. Penelope’s purrs of content could be felt as he lifted his head and continued to watch outside.

The alluring sight and sound weren’t expected on Dorothy’s part as she turned the corner, holding a white package and halting her steps to look on for a moment longer. It was a humorous contrast; a big scruffy man nursing a soft and tender kitten in his lap, looking to be enjoying it nonetheless!

“I think Penny likes you,” she states as she steps toward the couple, bringing Llewyn’s attention to her form as she enters. His hand came to a standstill and Penelope lifted her head see the same sight.

His eyebrows puckered and his eyelids came closer in a squint. “What?”

She stepped forward toward an accompanying ottoman. She lifted its side and dragged it across the rug laying it in front of him and plopping herself on the plump material.

“Penelope,” she clarifies, not looking up at him as she flicks the latches open and rummages through the contents of the kit. “She seems to like you.”

“Oh, right, I guess so.” His eyes drifted from her onto Penelope, meeting the feline’s steel eyes that stared up at him. They silently insisted that he continue to brush her and he did, reaching at her head and traveling to the base of her spine.

Dorothy pulls a damp rag that she’d been holding prior and folds it a few times before offering it to his face, asking for permission to continue. With no hesitance on his side, she proceeds to clean at the tarnished skin. Burning red wounds and purple splotches coated his flesh. Luckily for him, there weren’t all too many and although the seriousness of each varied, there wasn’t a need for stitches. But her mind thought it right to at least clean them up.

“So, are you gonna tell me why you were half dead in an alley, or am I just gonna have to leave that to my imagination?” She jested, a smile pulling its way onto her features. An attempt in her part to lighten the mood.

“I was mugged, just my fucking luck,” he laughed humorlessly, wanting to shake his head but her fingers guided it back to where she could reach.

“Yeah, the guy wasn’t all too happy when he found out there wasn’t much to steal.” Her calculative pats ceased their rhythm when the sigh of a sentence left him. It was a subtle change in motion, hardly enough to notice, but it was there. Her emotions taking control for a split second at the sheer desperation in his voice. A voice so gruff, it must have been the subject of hurt too many times. She could only imagine how much shit could have been kicked in his face and how little anybody else could have cared at the moment. She knows it, she’s felt it.

After cleaning all the free blood and grime on his features she packs the little case up and moves to the kitchen. She placed it on the countertop and turned to pull open the freezer door, the frigid air hitting her as her hand reached in and brought back out an ice tray. She kicked the door closed with her elbow and set the tray on the opposite counter. In a graceful manner, having navigated the kitchen many times, she pulls at a drawer choosing a small dishrag and closing it with a thump. She popped a few cubes from the tray and placed them in the rag, folding it to hold them securely. She walked it back to the living room and leaned down to reach Llewyn’s line of sight. Her hand reached to press it against the bruise over his eye but quit when she realized that he could handle it, there was no need to mother him she figured. She instead opted for offering it in the palm of her hand.

“Here,” she encouraged. Llewyn meeting her eyes and reaching to take the package. Her hand pointed to the discolored mark that had started to swell as she continued. “Leave that on for a while, it’ll still be bruised but it’ll stop the swelling.” He offered a grateful nod, albeit short as he applies the needed pressure holding in the sharp grunt that wanted to escape. Her eyes roved over his beaten build, and she continued to repress the urge to overstep boundaries and coddle him. But her resolve won as she impelled her hands up and off her knees to stand straight and head for her bedroom.

Her bare feet peeked out of her door as she inched it open, revealing herself with dampened hair all ruffled and sticking out from when she tossled it with a towel. She was already snuggled up in striped pajamas that her figure drowned in. The sleeves reached the tips of her fingers and the fabric of the pants pooled at her feet.

After brushing her short locks into place and putting rogue streaks of hair back where they belong, she set the comb haphazardly onto a countertop; it was a common trait that often led to the displacement of many items. She took creeping steps towards the living area to peek inside. The television’s screen was pitch black as he made no use of it and the whole room stood still. There was no record on the turntable and no upturned knobs on the radio, rendering the room silent. He just sat, and stared out the window, twiddling at Penelope’s fur.

She felt intrusive when she stepped into his quiet place, a scoundrel plank of wood creaking when she took a step. Her head lifted to find him staring up at her, offering a sheepish smile as an apology for her trespassing. She stood straight and clasped her hands in front of her, pulling at the sleeve of her sleepwear as she offered the bathroom to him, pointing down the hall to make it clear. He nodded and lifted Penelope out of his lap and set her onto the floor. His frame stalked towards Dorothy as she held his stare, mouth sealed shut as to not make a peep. When he stepped beside her and continued to watch her face, holding his position yet saying nothing, the tension rose. Her head hung, cutting that thickening line, and she smiled to herself, the red racing up her neck and spreading along her flushed cheeks.

He watched her shuffle before walking down the hall.

The guest room she introduced him to was a standard size with a queen-sized bed placed along a wall. It was all furnished and decorated to fit the home, but it held its own touches unique unto itself.

He wasn’t presented this luxury very often, usually taking advantage of Jim and Jean’s raggedy couch or the Gorfien’s slight upgrade of a not-so-raggedy couch. He even offered taking rest on her own but she insisted that there was no need. It was a three-room condo, with a single resident and her pets, all other rooms were left untouched unless she had visitors which wasn’t very frequent. There wasn’t any point in letting the opportunity pass only to have the room collect more dust.

As he stepped inside, she continued to stand at the threshold, watching his eyes scan the room as they ultimately fell onto the bed.

In the bathroom, he pulled his clothes back on, opting to sleep in his tattered t-shirt and his wrinkled slacks. But on the nearly made bedspread lay a brand new shirt and folded just underneath was a pair of flannel pajama pants to keep him warm as she knew the window would let in peeks of air from time to time. She doesn’t say anything about the gesture and neither does he. He only takes it in his hands and feels over the material, holding in his mind the joy that overflows. But he looks at her, shirt still in hand as he thanked her with the dull gleam in his eye.

Her lips upturned slightly and she turned her head to the side, averting his solemn gaze.

Turning to walk away, her hand floating over the door frame as she turned, only tightening slightly when she halts. She curses her awful memory before retracing her steps, placing her back in the middle of the threshold ready to give him some information she left out.

“I’ll be gone early tomorrow, there’s food all in the cupboards so you can help yourself, and if you leave, go ahead and lock the door,” she finishes, her words holding a nonchalance to them, sleep already taking over. He nods his head and turns back to pulling at the tight tuck of the sheet wedged under the corner of the mattress. She gives a nod of the head as well, and once again tries to step away before another memo invaded her action.

“Oh, also, one more thing,” she chirps. “If you need to come back, there’s a spare key under the mat.” It’s a subtle offer, given for unknown intentions on her part. She wasn’t sure why but she enjoyed his company, the thought of coming home to someone other than Beau and Penelope, but he didn’t have to know that.

She leaves, her hand ultimately slipping from the doorframe it had been resting on and falling to her side.

“Hey,” he calls, taking a step to catch her before she was out of war shot. “Thanks, for all of this, it’s really... look, you didn’t have to—“

“I know,” she interrupts with a smile, “but I wanted to.”

She switches off the hall light with a flick and hollers a good night. She wrangles her pets, luring them in with sweet calls as they follow into her room. Beau saunters toward their shared bed, Penelope already cuddled up in the comforter until Beau leaps on as well and shakes her up.

Dorothy watched in amusement as she brought the door in. It closed with a click but her hand lingered on the handle, eyeing it. Her fingers floated over the lock, debating on her next choice, ultimately deciding on switching it with the sharp turn of her wrist. The room was secure and she was safe in that knowledge.

She trudged herself to her little nest, lifting the covers and cozying herself in the company of her pets, surrendering to her exhaustion.

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