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pinkipeachiikeen · 1 year ago

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And The Stars Will Guide Us Home- Chapter 3

A Batfam/BSD crossover series, Dazai x Fem!Reader

Chapter two <------ Chapter three -----> Chapter four

Ranpo was used to staying at the agency until the oddest of hours. He wasn’t unfamiliar to waking up to a dark and deserted office to find out all the others have already called it a day, (they used to attempt to wake him up, but found that to be hazardous to all parties. Junichiro says he almost chomped off his finger, but Ranpo, of course has no recollection of such thing.) but this was the first time it ever felt wrong.

Maybe because from a legal standpoint, this could be classified as ‘breaking and entering’, but Ranpo has never been much for formalities.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as much of a case if Ranpo had any logical reason as to why he’s here, like if he forgot important case files, his phone or his beloved candy. But no. Ranpo doesn’t know why he’s here. As much as he tries to pin something to it, he can’t. He just knows something is wrong.

Something much more than Yoru.

Chapter warnings: Dazai typical double suicide mention

Word count: 7042

Tick

Tock

Tick

Ranpos eyes narrow at the analog clock, eyebrow nearly twitching in irritation

Tick

Tock

Tick

“H-hey Ranpo? Everything good?” Junichiro asks, peeking out from his desk.

Instead of an answer like a normal human, Ranpo barely spares him a glance, along with displeased hmph.

“Um, okay, I guess.” Junichiro mutters.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just upset that Fukuzawa isn’t back yet.” Kunikida shares, eyes unmoved from his computer monitor, click clacking away on a report Dazai was supposed to file a week ago, but left it untouched and is now missing in action. Again.

“He was supposed to be back days ago. Where the hell is he?” he crossed his arms, letting out a grumble that sounded a lot like ‘he was supposed to bring me snacks.’

“Just use your super deduction,” Yosano suggested as she leaned back in her desk chair. “If you’re that pressed about it, super detective.”

“I’m not ‘pressed’, first of all and second its worlds greatest detective” he corrects as he ennonciates the last three words, grabbing a lollipop in his pocket. “Not super. ‘Super’ makes me seem like the protagonist of a shitty cartoon.”

Yosano shrugs. “You sure act like one.”

“What does that mean?!”

The door clicks open to reveal the man of the hour and the head of the agency, Fukuzawa Yukichi. “Good morning, everyone”

The agency residents all responded in kind, all except for Ranpo of course.

“What took you so long? Where were you all this time?” he almost scolded, shoving his unopened lollipop back into his pocket, sounding much like a nagging mother suspicious of her teenage son.

“Like I told you, I was meeting with a colleague in the states.” Fukuzawa said, unbothered (and used to) Ranpos antics

“You also said you would be back on the fifth. Four days ago.” he recalled. “You got some explain’ to do.”

Before Kunikida could chide Ranpo on respecting the president, Fukuzawa surprised them all by agreeing with his temperamental son. “You’re right, Ranpo.” He clears his throat. “May I have everyone’s attention please?'' His firm voice echoed the room, gaining the eyes and ears of the few who weren’t already invested.

“As you may know, I was meeting with a colleague of mine overseas and was supposed to return a few days ago,” his eyes glanced over to Ranpo, who once again looked like a nagging mother, waiting for her son's explanation for staying out too late. “But due to unforeseen events, there were some..complications.”

“What do you mean ‘complications’? Is everything okay?” Kunikida chimed in, report forgotten.

“Yes, everything is fi-”

“Bitch i’m a cow, bitch i’m a cow, bitch im a–”

Everyone stops at the vulgar music coming from the President's office

Crash!

Several murmurs sounding suspiciously like ‘son of a bitch’, ‘i swear to fucking god’ and ‘i’m gonna kill them next time I see them’ leak out of the office.

A moment of silence happens as looks of general confusion are exchanged.

“Is everything alright in there?” Fukuzawa asks.

After a pregnant pause (one of embarrassment everyone rightfully assumes) the voice responds. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, that was an alarm.” she explains before quickly adding “My friends changed it and I uh never got to change it back… or turn the alarm off for that matter.”

“Well, I was just explaining our situation, might as well introduce yourself properly.” Fukuzawa said.

Another pregnant pause. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Uh, well i’d love to, I really would but I um, am not very workplace presentable?”

“The Agency doesn’t have much of a dress code. The only rule to really follow is to wear shoes, which I never thought had to be implemented,” he looks towards Kenji, who scrambles to slide on his sandals. “But here we are.”

“Well I definitely have shoes, but, hm.” She pauses to find the right words. “I would love to meet the lovely members of the Agency while dressed in something more business casual and less…. Hobo chic.”

The president's eyebrows furrow slightly. “Aren’t you wearing my coat?”

“I am, and it’s a wonderful coat!” she replies quickly, sensing her mistake in words.

She sighs, sliding open the office door. “It's just paired with a tank top that is at least three sizes to large from a gas station I never heard of, a pair of jeans held up by a shoestring, and boots that I can guarantee you weren’t supposed to be this color. That paired with the fact that it has been a long 48 hours without a shower in sight, I look like a homeless tweenager you picked off the street.”

“Careful Ranpo, she’s stealing your brand.” Yosano whispered, receiving a nudge from Ranpos elbow in return.

“Given those 48 hours, I assure you, you look fine.” Fukuzawa assure, beckoning her over to him and the others. “Yoru, this is the Detective Agency.”

Yoru gave a polite smile, tucking a greasy wayward strand of hair behind her ear, bringing attention to the eyepatch over her left eye.

A detail in which Ranpo was restraining himself from asking about, given he doesn’t really feel in the mood for another lecture from Fukuzawa about ‘manners’ and ‘respect’.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” She gave a curt bow. “I’ve heard so many things about all of you.”

“All good things I hope.” Kunikida politely replies

Suddenly, the door to the office slams open, revealing a slightly out of breath Dazai. Hand still on the door, hunched over, he pants. “GUYS WHY DIDN”T OF YOU TELL ME THEY FILLED IN THE SINKHOLE BY THE CORNER SHOP?!” he wheezes, gathering enough of his breath to stand up properly. “I just read about a wonderful way to commit-” his brain finally catches up to his mouth after wondering why Kunikida hasn’t scolded him for slamming the door and yelling (again) “Oh the Prez is back!” he cheers, eyes then landing on the woman of the hour, Yoru. His eyes widen, just for a second before oozing into his seductive charm. “Well hello there.” he purrs

Yoru turns to Kunikida. “Let’s just leave it at ‘things’”

Kunikida sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that everyone knows is only reserved for the suicidal manicac they call Dazai. “That’s…. That’s definitely understandable.”

Ranpo raises his eyebrow,

Y’know most people wouldn’t recognise the small things, such as a pause, a stutter or a hitch of a breath. They are written off as insignificant, unimportant. But not to Ranpo. Ranpos knows how to read the silence, especially when it comes to the people he’s surrounded by most.

That's why he notices how Dazai’s eyes widened.

Just for a second he let his mask slip.

Ranpo has known Dazai for a few years now. They aren’t necessarily close by any means, but if Ranpo knows anything about Dazai, it’s that he will do anything to deter others from seeing the real him. He has a perfectly crafted persona he waves around like a shield, repelling others and keeping them at a distance. He’s good at playing pretend, one of the best Ranpo’s ever met, but even the most experienced actors forget their lines and Ranpo has been patiently waiting to see it happen.

He just never expected it to be like this.

His green orbs drifted over to Yoru’s slightly confused expression.

Just who are you?

Dazai lightly graces his hand in Yorus. “I’ve never seen a maiden this fair! Oh Belladonna, would you make me the happiest man alive and-”

“Dazai this is the first and last time i’ll be telling you this, so it would be wise of you to listen up. If you ever ask my daughter to commit a double suicide with you, i will put you on office work for the rest of your days and dock your pay.” Fukuzawa says swiftly, removing Dazais hand from Yoru’s as if it was contaminated with a vicious disease.

“DAUGHTER?” Various detectives say in shock.

“I’m sorry, double what now?” Yoru asks.

“Yes, I was surprised too.” Fukuzawa shares. “I hardly ever thought I'd have children, let alone a grown one living in New Jersey. But nevertheless, it is my absolute pleasure to introduce you to my daughter, Fukuzawa Yoru.”

“Please just call me Yoru, it’s way less confusing.” she states.

“Hey is he okay…?” Atsushi asks, gesturing over to Ranpo, who stood wide-eyed and frozen.

“Yoo-hoo! Is anybody home?” Kenji waves a hand in front of his face.

“I think he’s twitching a little..” Atsushi adds worryingly.

“We broke Ranpo!” Kenji cried.

Yosano waves her hand dismissively. “Just give him a minute.”

“WHAT!” Ranpo snaps, making Kenji recoil back.

“Ope, and there it is…” She murmurs

Well, a man can’t be rational all the time.

“You really expect us to believe this random girl is your daughter? Seriously?”

Fukuzawas eyebrows furrow. “Ranpo…”

“Someone’s jealous…” Yosano whispers in a singsong tone, taking a sip of her drink.

“So you go to America for a “business trip” and come back with a daughter. A daughter. Really?” he crosses his arms. “I didn’t think you were in the business of opening foreign women’s legs!”

Yosano chokes on her drink.

“Ranpo!” Fukuzawa scolds.

Yoru, instead of being offended in any way, burst out into laughter, swiftly apologizing after receiving a look from Fukuzawa. “Sorry.” she apologizes. “That wasn’t funny. Well..” she chuckles. “Maybe a little bit. But that's besides the point. My mother wasn’t foreign… at least I'm pretty sure. I was born and raised here in Japan. She reveals.

“Yeah and you just so happen to be in the same city as my f- as Fukuzawa.” Ranpo retorts as several of the agency members glance to each other, confirming Ranpo’s slip up.

“Uh, no? I moved there years ago?”

“Why?”

Yoru tilts her head in confusion. “Why what?”

“Why did you move from Japan, duh.” Ranpo retorted.

“Because…I… wanted… to?” she answered slowly and confused.

“Ranpo, that’s enough.” Fukuzawa interrupts.

“Do you seriously think this woman is your daughter? This could be a ploy to learn agency secrets!” he whisper yelled, as if Yoru wasn't standing feet away from him.

This time it was Kunikida scolding his name.

“Don’t act like we weren’t all thinking it!” he declared.

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawas loud voice boomed through the agency. A voice powerful enough to even placate Ranpo’s rants and loud claims. “These allegations are not only insulting to my intelligence, but to Yoru as well. You have no idea what she had to go through to get here and you have no right to spout such claims.” Ranpo bites his cheek to hold back a retort. “Apologize this instant.”

“But-”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa warns.

“It’s fine.” Yoru cuts in, placing a hand on Fukuzawas shoulder. “Really.” she assures. “If I was in his spot, I'd be thinking the same thing.” she rubs the back of her neck bashfully. “I don’t blame any of you for being wary of me, you guys are detectives after all. It’s your jobs not to take anything at face value and to be suspicious when need be. Believe me when I say I am not quite convinced this is just a really bad trip or something and I'm going to wake up in my bed back in Jersey. Sleeping peacefully and not in this mess”

The agency members all turn their heads to Ranpo, whose eyes are squinted in judgment, waiting for his verdict.

Ranpo clicks his tongue. “Well if you leave now, who knows? Your bed may still be warm.”

Several agency members groan or shake their heads.

“What?” Ranpo retaliates. “She obviously doesn’t wanna be here anyway! I’m just stating all her options! She left before, because she wanted to, what's stopping her from leaving now?”

“The fact that she would be putting all her loved ones in danger, perhaps.” Fukuzawa states firmly. “It wasn’t an easy feat moving back here, but I promised her we’d welcome her with open arms.” His stone cold eyes glare into Ranpo’s “I wasn’t planning on being made a liar.”

“Well I didn’t think you were planning on being an idiot!” Ranpo shouts. “First, coming home with some random girl claiming to be your daughter all the sudden, then revealing that her presence brings danger? Don’t we deal with enough threats from the Port Mafia? We don’t need to deal with another nuisance disrupting everything!”

“Ranpo, I brought danger to her. Her life was disrupted by me.” Fukuzawa spoke.

Ranpo blinked in confusion. “What?”

Fukuzawa sighed. “Enemies of mine found out I had a daughter and attempted to use her against me. Enemies who have known of her existence for years and have spent just as long tracking her down. It was an unfortunate coincidence that Yoru and I happened to be in the same city, whereas they used it as the time to strike. It was entirely my fault she was kidnapped and put in harm's way. It is the absolute least I can do, bringing her here to Yokohama with me and making sure other enemies of mine don’t try to do the same.” he revealed.

Ranpo looks at his feet, in shame or in anger, he is not quite sure.

“Now I am not a fool, Ranpo. I made sure that Yoru is in fact, my daughter, via numerous tests. Even if she wasn’t it’s still in best interest that I make sure that she is not harmed just because others believe she is. I’m not interested in letting anyone suffer because of me, relation or otherwise. Yoru is here and she is here to stay. End of discussion. If any of you have any non-disrespectful questions you would like to ask, you can do it after she gets settled into the dorms. Her first day is tomorrow, I hope i can rightfully assume you all to show her the ropes.”

Ranpos' head immediately pipes up. “What?! She works here now?”

“Yes, hence why introduced her and why she’s staying in the dorms.” he says blankly.

“B-but we don’t need any more secretaries! The ones we have handle everything on their own!”

“You’re correct, that’s why starting today she’s a detective of the agency, just like you and the others.”

“What?! But she never passed an entrance exam!” he pleads. “And she doesn’t even have an ability! H-how do you expect her to help protect the agency if she can’t protect herself from getting kidnapped!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Yosano retorted.

“That was really mean, Ranpo.” said Junichiro.

“Yeah, and low. Even for you.” Added Dazai, who looked more than ready to chow down on some popcorn and watch the drama unfold.

With pursed lips, Yoru claps her hands. “You know what?” Yoru starts.

“Yoru…” Fukuzawa warns.

“No, I'm really too tired for this. I really am.” she states turning to Ranpo. “It’s Ranpo, right?”

“Duh.” he comments. “This ones a little slow….” he murmurs

She sighs, exhausted. “Look, I don’t know what kind of relationship you and my father have, and frankly? It’s none of my goddamn business.”

His eyes widened.

“I’m not trying to get in the way of that. To be frank, I'm not trying to get into anything. I just wanna mind my business and do my own thing. I’m damn good at that. I’ve been doing my own thing all my life. I've learned to be independent, I never had a choice not to.” she informs. “And none of that changes just because I met Mr Sperm Donor over there.” she points to Fukuzawa, before turning her head and adding a curt “no offense, of course.”

He nods in understanding. “None taken.”

“I don’t suddenly have a need for a father figure, or some daddy daughter relationship. I lost all hope of having a biological traditional family before I lost my first tooth and that hasn’t changed. Yeah it’s pretty cool getting to meet my father after all this time, but that’s about it. It’s pretty cool. I get to ask some questions that I never had answered and I get to learn a few things about me that I didn’t know. In all honesty, I’d rather have lived my whole life without knowing the answer to those questions if it meant my whole life didn’t have to get uprooted like this.” she turns her head once again to Fukuzawa. “Again, this isn’t on you, I am very glad to have met you, I just wish I could’ve done so in literally any other way. I’ve finally felt like I got my shit together, then I'm whisked back here. I don’t know why any of this couldn’t have happened, y’know, when I actually lived here and needed a parent instead of 12 different group homes, but ce la vie, I guess.” she gives an awkward laugh. “Y’know, they told me that you aren’t a real Gothamite until you are kidnapped and or held hostage. I guess I'm a ‘true Gothamite’ now. Too bad I had to leave, huh.”

Ohhhh. Ranpo thought, clicking pieces together, biting his lip to hide his smirk. Gotham huh?

“Anyway as I was saying, and to wrap it all up,” she places a hand on his shoulder. “Just because you have a new sibling, doesn’t mean father loves you any less, m’kay?” she says in an almost sickly sweet tone, giving his shoulder two taps as if she was saying ‘go get ‘em’ to a little kid.

“Y’know when Fukuzawa said you would give me the hardest time I thought it was because you were paranoid or something, not that you had daddy issues.” she said casually, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Out of everyone he told me about, I was most excited to meet you if i’m being honest. He made you out to be this super genius prodigy, but in actuality you are just whiney,” she fixes the strap of her eye patch, “and wrong.”

She starts to walk past him but stops, remembering something. “Oh, well I guess you were right about something.” she says without turning her head. I did let myself get kidnapped. I went quietly with them to protect the people I care about and innocent bystanders. But I did save my fathers life just a few hours later. Pretty good for someone who couldn’t protect themselves, eh?”

Continuing on walking, she only gets a few steps. “One last thing,” she said, turning her head around. “I do have an ability, not that it’s any of your business. But I heard that having one wasn’t needed, isn’t that right?”

Ranpo grinds his teeth.

“Fukuzawa can you point me in the way of a shower? Please and thank you.” she asks.

Fukuzawa nods. “Yes, I'll take you to your dorm. All of them are already occupied, so you will be rooming with Atsushi.”

The weretiger gulped and gave an awkward wave and a sheep ‘hello!’ which Yoru replied in kind.

Facing the detectives, Yoru gives a polite smile. “It was nice to meet all of you, and I look forward to working with each of you.” she said kindly. “Even you, Ranpo.”

“Let’s get going.” Fukuzawa intervenes from the doorway.

“Yeah, just one last thing!” She turns to Ranpo. “Thanks for the candy.” she said with a mischievous wink, plopping a familiar lollipop in her mouth.

Ranpo frantically pats down his jacket and pants pocket searching for his lollipop, because there’s no way she could’ve taken it right? How?

The sounds of Yosano's cackling and Dazai’s ‘ooooooooooh’ muffle the sound of the door closing but Ranpo could still hear Fukuzawa’s tired sigh of defeat.

“I thought I told you to play nice.”

Accompanied by a slightly garbled, “I was nice!” then a popping noise Ranpo knew all too well. The sound of someone taking out their lollipop to speak. His lollipop that should be in his mouth.

“For the most part.”

“Oh my fucking godddd.” Yosano exclaims between choked breaths of laughter. “She is my new favorite co-worker!” She was hunched over, cradling her stomach in one hand and pounding on her desk, shaking and spilling droplets of her drink.

“She read you like a book.” Dazai comments, looking entirely too pleased with this situation.

“I wonder if she actually thinks she’s a cow or if she just really likes them…” Kenji wonders aloud.

“Well, Ranpo, I hope this taught you how to not to treat others.” Kunikida states, ‘fixing his glasses’ (that already sat perfectly aligned on his face) in a way that poorly covered the smug grin on his face. “It was about damn time you learned that lesson.” Then, fully registering what Kenji said, he adds “Kenji, I don’t think…” before just ending the sentence in a sigh.

“She read your ass like a book! Then took your candy!” Yosano cheers, spinning around in her office chair. “She’s my hero.”

Tsking, Ranpo rolls his eyes as he digs into his pocket where his dearly departed lollipop once lied. “Yeah, well she’s not gonna get away with it that easily.” To his surprise, his fingers dance along a smooth glassy surface, rolling it into his hands as he shines it to the light.

A small glass marble, barely the size of his thumbnail, glistened and shined in the light.

“Whoever she really is.”

Maybe because from a legal standpoint, this could be classified as ‘breaking and entering’, but Ranpo has never been much for formalities.

Something much more than Yoru.

Starting with the fact that Fukuzawa had to go Gotham in the first place. The president is no stranger to long out of country business trips, but he at least informs the agency, at least he informs Ranpo, what city he is visiting. Ranpo likes to believe its so that Ranpo can ask for the snacks that are popular in said city, but deep down knows it's because of the respect they have for each other.

‘Respect I'm breaching my sneaking into his office,’ the angel on his shoulder tells him as he slides open the door.

‘No.’ he counters back ‘this needs to be done. For his sake and mine.’

Ranpo turns on a lap, illuminating the tiny office in a dull yellow light. ‘I need to find out why. ’

Several ‘why’s in fact:

Why he hid where he was going?.

No, Ranpo knows that. He hid because Ranpo knows that the only reason he’d be going to Gotham is to see Bruce Wayne. Batman. A colleague he has known long before Ranpo, and a colleague he hasn’t heard from in almost just as long. Fukuzawa has shared that despite his perfectly crafted persona, ‘Bruce isn’t the social type’ and doesn’t bother with idle pleasantries. From everything Ranpo collected about Bruce over the years he can confidently say that Bruce is just a smarter, richer, edgier version of Kunikida from their ideals to their self sacrificing tendencies. Which leads to his second ‘why’.

Why he met with Bruce.

Like Kunikida, Bruce has problems asking for help. It’s obvious from any kind of media you read on him and how he interacts with the other Bats and Birds that he’d rather face an army himself before inconveniencing others, whether it’s for their sake or for his pride. Probably both. So what could be so important that he would have to summon a colleague (who he hasn’t spoken to in over a decade mind you,) from across the globe? What could be important enough to send his only daughter to Japan? Why and how is she important enough to be in the center of everything going on?

Yoru.

Yoru isn’t ‘technically’ a why, but she might as well be with all the question marks she has surrounding her. It would be easier for Ranpo to list all he does know about her, and even then he isn’t completely sure that his observations aren’t just the facade she’s putting up. Hell, he doesn’t even know if the eyepatch she’s wearing has a purpose or is just trying to push a hidden agenda.

Ranpo assumes (90% sure) that she is Batgirl given what he knows about the Birds and Bats, which is quite a lot. The vigilantes of Gotham were another week-long fixation that passed through Ranpo a few years back after uncovering Batman's true identity and prolonging the dopamine high of being right (again, of course.) where he barely left his computer. In the end he was in such a rabbit hole that he was watching videos on how to make a Kryptonite bomb. He isn’t quite sure if he’s not on Batman’s watchlist now, but that’s besides the point. The last time he checked Batgirl was a cheery redhead with bright green eyes and freckles and well… let’s just say Yoru doesn’t quite fit the description. But hey, if they’re following a similar path as the Robin title, more than one person can don the title of Batgirl. If Ranpo is correct, Yoru has been playing the role of Batgirl for eight or so years, about the same time as Bruce publicly adopted another orphan by the name of Y/n Wayne. Ranpo never much bothered to keep up with the whole Wayne/Batman crew after his inital hyperfixation (he grew bored. Why keep looking into something you already know?) but he has a slight feeling if he found one of the rare photos of Y/n Wayne online she would have more than a few similarities with Fukuzawas supposed ‘daughter’

That being said, Yoru, Y/n, whatever her name is, has to have known Fukuzawa beforehand. Their interactions are way too..fluid to have been perfect strangers merely a few days prior. His father figure is way too stiff (for a lack of a better word) to be all buddy buddy with someone he just met, even if she was his biological daughter. They just seemed so in sync. Like they know something nobody else in the room does.

Ranpo just can’t believe he’s the only one who sees it.

It doesn’t take ultra deduction to know when people are full of shit.

KERTHUNK

A searing pain travels through Ranpos toe as he awkwardly hops around holding it, silently cursing Fukuzawas stupid desk and wondering since when was it this close to the freakin’ door?! Mid jump, the great detective nearly trips over some foreign object on the floor and almost shatters the expensive vase Fukuzawa obtained from Hong Kong. So much for being discreet. He sighs as he regains his balance, picking up the object, no objects.

“Fukuzawa’s phone ... .and wallet?” he whispers to himself. I mean that explains why he hasn’t answered any of my calls. He sets them back on the desk, where they most likely laid before his toe was brutally attacked by the desk. Then out of the corner of his eye, he spots a tiny white slip of paper.

No, a photograph. A polaroid, in fact.

Why would Fukuzawa keep a photograph in his wallet?

He picks it up and he can't tell from the texture alone that the photo has been contained in his wallet for a long time now.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps approaching the door and quickly slides the photo into his pocket just as Fukuzawa flickers on the lights.

“Ranpo? What are you doing here?” he asks. “Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep here again.”

“I did not!” he pouts. Besides, that only happened, like, once.”

“It happened multiple times.”

“Okay, but not recently!”

“Last Sunday you called Kunikida to come let you out because you were locked in. It was two in the morning.”

Ranpo muttered something that sounded an awful lot like Damn snitch.

“But if you didn’t fall asleep here then why are you here, Ranpo?” Fukuzawa asks.

“You weren’t answering your phone.” he half lies, picking up and dangling the phone by its corner. “You had me worried.” he says as he gently tosses it to his ‘boss’ who catches it without batting an eye.

“You are perfectly aware I am more than fine taking care of myself.” he retorts.

Ranpo shrugs. “Yeah, I thought so, but….”

Ranpo knows he shouldn’t, but the words boil up on their tongue, hot and searing, spilling out his mouth.

“this little masquerade you have with batgirl is telling me different.”

The room turns icy and cold, and Ranpo can’t dare to look Fukuzawa in the face, so he settles for the space between his head and shoulder.

“Just who is she here to protect?” he asks, each word getting more bold and rapid. “What is she hiding from? Who is she hiding from? Scratch that, what are you-”

“Ranpo.”

Ranpo was instantly silenced as a hush fell over the office.

Ranpo has known Fukuzawa for many many years. Years of ups and downs, joy and hardships, but rarely did Fukuzawa ever use this tone.

Especially with him.

“I’m going to say this once, do you understand?”

Ranpo stands frozen, in disbelief, in shock. This was the voice he used to criminals, to enemies, to Dazai when one of his pranks on kunikida required poison control to vacate and abandon their entire building for a week, but not him. Never him.

“Do. You. Understand?” he asks, slow and clear, but with enough edge to even startle the most hardened soldiers of war.

Unable to speak, Ranpo nods vigorously.

“Drop it.”

Huh? Ranpo thinks.

“Do not investigate this any further. I know it may be hard for you to understand, so I'm putting it in the simplest terms. Drop. It.”

Oh. Ranpo didn’t think he said that out loud.

“This subject is none of your business. Plain and simple.”

“But-” Ranpo whimpers. “H-How am I supposed to just sit here a-and pretend nothing is wrong? Something is clearly happening and you expect me to look the other way?”

“Yes.”

Ranpo bunches his hands into his coat. “How? How do you expect me to do that? I’m a detective! I'm supposed to learn about all these hidden truths and find out all the secrets!”

“This isn’t a game, Ranpo!” he shouts, taking Ranpo aback. Sighing, and rubbing his temples with his calloused hand he relents. “You can’t always ‘save the day’ or be a hero. Sometimes the most heroic thing a person can do is look the other way and keep their mouth shut.” he said, grabbing his key and phone and turning towards the door before pausing. “I know you don’t trust her.” he starts. “And that’s fine. I can’t make you. But I need you to trust in me this time. I think that’s more than fair after all I've trusted in you.” He slides open the door and sighs again. “If you really can’t fight the urge to snoop, I recommend just asking her yourself. She won’t tell you much but maybe it will quell your worries about her.”

“Like Batman? I heard people say he’s the greatest detective.” Ranpo comments, setting up the scene

Yoru just shrug, undisturbed. “Some do.”

“Well what do you think?”

She gives a humorless, awkward laugh. “I don’t really think I know enough to answer that question? Most people in Gotham have never even seen Batman before, let alone interact with him long enough to test his deduction skills.”

Ranpo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you are right. But you would.” he states, slowing down to deliver the blow.

“Wouldn’t you, Batgirl?”

Her eyes widen just for a fraction of a second before going back to their normal state. “Hmm,” she puts her hands in her slightly-too-large leather jacket. “I don’t believe there’s an accurate way to measure intelligence.” she said, continuing to stroll, undisturbed.

Ranpos eyebrows furrow. “Well that wasn’t what I was asking.” he informs. “One can be intelligent without having deductive skills.” he said, picking up his pace to match speed with the woman. He has to say, she does look more like a ‘bat’ today than yesterday. Long leather jacket with broad shoulders (probably a men’s jacket. Well worn on some edges, maybe a gift? Most likely have sentimental value), a black mock turtleneck and ripped jeans with black combat boots to match. The only thing that stands out is her weird choice of jewelry. A shimmering marble-esque belt that catches the light in every step she makes, and a slightly more subtle pendant dangling around her neck with only remnants of shine flaking through when the light hits a certain angle.

“Well in my humble opinion, the best detectives don’t need to go around bragging about their skills.” she shares.

“It's because they don’t have the skills to back it up.” he retorts. “Like I do.”

“Or,” she starts. “Maybe they are just smart enough to not paint a target on their back.” She briefly looks back at him. “You can’t be the world's greatest detective if you’re dead.”

Ranpo furrows his eyebrows. “W-well are we not gonna talk about how I knew-”

“Hey Ranpo, did anyone ever tell you that you are too loud.” she interrupts, silencing his words that passersbys can so easily pick up. She sighs. “Fukuzawa told me that regardless if the others believed him or not, you would be the only person that decided they needed to say something about it.” she shakes her head in displeasure. “Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘loose lips, sink ships?’”

“Was I supposed to?”

She sighs again. “Never mind.” a beat of silence between them passes. “Y’know,” Ranpo looks from the ground to her as she starts. “If you were trying to impress me by finding out our little… ‘family secret’…my brother found out when he was like, nine or so. He has you beauty by quite a bit.”

“I didn’t just find this out, I’ll have you know!” he corrects. “I don’t live in Gotham and never had the need to do anything with that info! I’ve been sitting on it for years!”

Her pace comes to a halt, making him almost run into her. “And what do you plan on doing with that information?” she asks, solemnly and almost cold.

Damn. She might not be biologically related to Batman, but she’s definitely her fathers daughter. Ranpo would hate to be on the other side of an interrogation from either of them and is very glad he is on the side of the straight and narrow.

“I’m going to continue to sit on it.” he almost whimpers, like a dog scolded after chewing up the rug. “My throne of secrets it’s quite comfortable, actually.”

Yoru chuckles, dark energy fading around her like it was never there. “Good.”

“Good?” he repeats, confused as she picks her pace up once again.

“Yup.”

“You aren’t gonna question me or anything? Just a ‘good’’?

She gives a quick laugh. “Even though you do definitely talk too much, I think you know when to keep your mouth shut when it matters.” she admits. ‘Besides, Fukuzawa trusts you, and I can tell he has a lot of respect for you, so.” she shrugs. “Not much I could really do but say ‘good.”

“Huh.” Ranpo slides his hands into his pockets. “I guess we are in the same boat then, aren't we?”

“Yeah.” she agrees. “I guess we are.”

A pregnant pause settles in, not quite uncomfortable like before, but one on the balancing line of comradery and understanding. Hm. This must’ve been what Fukuzawa meant. Ranpo thinks.

But, of course Ranpo can’t leave it at that. No, he still has questions.

“So, uh..” Ranpo starts. “Why exactly are you here?’” Yoru tilts her head in confusion. “I just mean, you seemed to have a pretty good thing going on in Gotham, and from what you said the other day you didn’t quite like living in Japan. If that wasn’t made up as well.” he says, matter of factly with no malice.

“Shouldn’t you know that, Mr Super Detective?” she retorts, just as calm.

Ranpo sighs. “Fukuzawa said it was none of my business.”

She chuckles. “Well he wasn’t wrong.”

“But..” he continues. “He said if I absolutely felt the desperate urge to know, I should just ask you.”

She gives him a look, one which Ranpo has deduced means ‘seriously, come on’ after the many times it's been given to him, most often by his coworkers. “And he thinks I would tell you anything worth knowing?’

“Nope.” he says, popping the P.

She smiles and shakes her head. “Honestly, I'm surprised you aren’t just looking into it behind his back.” she shrugs. “Given what I heard about you, it shouldn't necessarily be hard for you.”

He pauses his steps, making Yoru step back a few. “Let’s just say I knew the time when it’s ‘acceptable’ to push his buttons and when it’s uh.. Generally not preferred.” he admits.

“You’re scared to disobey him, aren’t ‘cha.”

“Yes, very much so.” he says, continuing on. “Are you gonna answer my question or no?” he changes the subject.

“Well..” she ponders, debating her words. “Precaution, I guess.”

“That tells me absolutely nothing.”

She laughs, a real genuine laugh. “That’s kinda the point.”

Ranpo does his best to show a generally displeased face.

She sighs. “A group of very skilled individuals have bounded together to claim something they feel like they are entitled to, and will stop at very little to get it.”

“Sounds very American.” he replies.

“Well you aren’t wrong there.” she agrees. “Several of these members are high players in the west, whether that be in the stock market or on the FBI’s most wanted. We have crossed paths with several of their members, either directly or indirectly and even put some of them away before. They are not to be taken lightly as individuals, who knows what power they have collectively.”

“What does that have to do with us then?” he asks, not quite sure if he means ‘us’ as the ADA or as Japan itself. “Why do we have to deal with your dirty laundry? It sounds like a you guys problem.”

“You act like we aren’t seven people working from the equivilant of a basement.” she sighs.

“A basement funded by a billionare and equiped with state of the art technology.” he retorts.

“With absoulutely no responsability to be doing what we do, by the way.” she shares. “We do this because we care.”

“Yeah and i’m sure the repressed trauma and a hero complex built from guilt or loss have nothing to do with it.” he states, hitting the crosswalk button

she pauses, obviously caught off guard, (finally) “We all have our problems, Kirby-boy.” she said before crossing the street with the herde of other pedestrians

“Wha-” Ranpo stutters. “What does that even mean?!” he whines, struggling to catch up with his new coworker in the sea of people

“Ask the twinkies you swallowed whole!”

“Are you sure you can get there by yourself?”

Ranpo sighs. “It’s a one way train and i’m being picked up at the station. I don’t need you to sit with me like a little kid.”

He can tell she’s biting her tongue when she just responds with a “okay.” then she dives her hand into the bag, pulling out a pen and paper.

“What are you doing?” he asks as she scribbles something down.

“Here.” she says as she hands him the paper.He looks at it to find a string of numbers.

“I’ll probably regret it, but just in case you have more questions I can’t answer.”

“Thanks.” he says curtly, giving a quick goodbye before making his way onto the train.

Ranpo finds himself an open seat and settles down, waiting for the train the train to pass the station and blur all the passerbys waiting for their or saying goodbye to their loved ones. Then, when everyone is settled and their focus is away from the oddly dressed detective, he pulls out the polaroid he kept in his pocket since that night in the office.

He runs his fingers down the browned, crippled edges, processing a memory from moments past.

Yoru’s past, to be exact.

The photo presents two near identical young girls cuddled up together in a bed, sleeping peacefully. One lays protected by the other, arms and legs wrapped around in almost a shielding position, while the other laid more stiff, arms decorated by various wires, but still clearly leaning into her sisters loving embrace. Ranpo coudn’t help but feel a wave of perversion looking at this photo, from the lens of himself, the viewer and from the lens of the photographer, who in neat red handwriting wrote ‘Angels’ above their heads, and their names underneath them ‘Kanako and Kazumi’. Quickly flipping it over and out of his eyesight, he sees that the photo is dated just about fourteen years ago.

As old and as creased as the photo is, Ranpo can’t deny that the little girl, one of the little girls is Yoru. Given the state of ‘Kazumi’ he can only assume that Kanako grew up to be the women he just spoke with minutes before.

Shaking his head and swallowing the lump of bile coming up his throat, his shoves the picture deep into his pocket, fighting his urge to burn it.

Fukuzawa was right.

He really should’ve minded his business.

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If you couldn’t tell, i’m really trying to push my Yosano and Ranpo sibling agenda. They may not be siblings by blood, but sure will clown each other like they are

If you have any questions or comments (I love comments <3 the make me more motivated to write!!!) don't hesitate to let me know!

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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sterek-ao3feed-archive · 10 months ago

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You Have Me - Sterek FanFic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53276536 by WriterAttHeart Stiles is having nightmares again. The nightmare of his mother, of the Nogitsune, of all of the deaths he has suffered. He hides it well. But not well enough to hide from the sourwolf alpha Words: 7042, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 9 of Sterek One Shot Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Jackson Whittemore Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Helpful Derek Hale, Caring Derek Hale, Slightly Creepy but in a cute way Derek Hale, Derek Hale is a Softie, Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Mates, True Mates, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, De-Aged Derek Hale, Re-aged Derek Hale, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has a Crush on Derek Hale, True Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Pack Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Observant Derek Hale read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/53276536

#Sterek #Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale #Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski #IFTTT #ao3feed #ao3feed Sterek #fanfic

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ao3feed-jaytim · 1 year ago

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Memories of Us

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48277255 by BeautyInTheLibrary Tim came down the hall, peeking into the living room and went back to his someone breaking in theory because the man facing the window as he shut it was, first of all, built as fuck. Secondly, he was wearing some weird full head red helmet. Oh, and did Tim mention the guns strapped to some impressive thighs. Wait, what? No, guns, focus, shit, he was going die, just great. The man did something to the back of the helmet and it unlatched so he could pull it off and he shook his head and ran a hand through his helmet hair, turning at the waist and their eyes locked. Shit. Like…if he had to go, at least he’d see something beautiful before he did, why was this dangerous man so pretty? Alright thoughts, you need to calm down on that, that guy is packing heat. Tim thought that maybe this sort of reaction explained why Dick thought he shouldn’t be on his own, clearly he had no self-preservation. --- JayTim Week 2023 Day Five: Amnesia Tim wakes up, can't remember a single thing about himself or the people around him and decides the best thing to do? Tell no one. Words: 7042, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 5 of JayTim Week 2023 Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Red Robin (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Leslie Thompkins Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: JayTim Week, JayTim Week 2023, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Romance, Humor, Fluff, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim pretends that he is okay read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48277255

#IFTTT #Ao3feed #Jaytim #DC

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moonchild-things · 2 years ago

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Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Third Day

Summary: Shōyō Hinata loves volleyball! There is no doubt that all he really thinks about is volleyball. His sister, however, isn’t the same way. Sakura is ready to start her first year of high school at Karasuno with her twin brother and doesn’t really want to do anything, unlike Shōyō. Though she can’t help it when she gets dragged into the antics of the volleyball club.

Word Count: 7042

Blog Masterlist | Red Herring Masterlist | Last Chapter | Next Chapter

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WAKING UP IN THE HINATA HOUSEHOLD WAS a much quieter affair than normal. Shōyō wasn’t as energetic when he had woken up and barely spoke a word to his family. Not even his little sister, Natsu, had really said anything when she watched her older siblings leave for school. She obviously could feel the downtrodden mood and didn’t know how to make him feel better.

Sakura didn’t want to bother Shōyō by asking him if he was all right. She knew that he wasn’t. From the way that his brown eyes were misty and his lips always seemed to quiver, as if he was a hair away from busting out into tears, there was no way he was okay. Their bike ride was quiet besides their breathing as they trekked up and down the mountain. All the while, Sakura was thinking about how she tried her best last night to make him feel okay. She had comforted him all last night, not even reprimanding him for staying up later than usual.

She’s always been there to comfort him for everything, every loss, every injury, every issue. So she did the same as normal ever since the end of the game. She kept close to him, didn’t say much, let him vent to her when he felt like it, and didn’t leave him by himself. Shōyō doesn’t usually like being by himself whenever he’s sad. Sakura has helped him through a loss before, being the one game that he had during middle school. He had wanted to be close to her since he’s a very physical person, which usually meant hugging her lots to make him feel better. Sakura may not like hugs all that much, but if it made her brother feel better she’d endure his hugs no matter how long it took to make him feel better. Though she couldn't make him feel completely better. He still lost. There's no changing that.

Though today it seemed like he was completely out of it, so Sakura was just going to leave him be for a while. He could usually bounce back pretty quickly when he was upset. Not this time, however. Perhaps he needed to just be alone for a bit. So when they put their bikes away, she bid him a hug goodbye and headed off to her own class.

She went about her day like normal. She talked with Yachi about it all and she was sad to hear about Karasuno’s loss in the tournament. Through stuttered words and a few apologies sprinkled in there, Yachi told Sakura that if she wanted to take her mind off of it then Yachi would help her out somehow.

It was a bit confusing though. Why would Sakura need to take her mind off of it? Sakura wasn’t the one who played or was completely emotionally attached to the game. Plus, she basically assumed that this would happen. The only thing that would probably be affecting her would be how Shōyō was upset. She hates seeing her brother sad or frustrated to this point, so that’s the only issue that she could see for her.

She still appreciated the gesture from her newest friend. Maybe she’ll take her up on that offer at some point, who knows. It’s not like I’m upset about the game, Sakura lied to herself, I had a strong feeling that this would happen. She was upset but kept it to herself. After all, it would be a bit selfish of her to express how sad she was when her brother and his team were the ones really hurting.

A part of her was shaken after the game. Terribly so. During the game against Aoba Johsai she had started to grow hopeful for Karasuno. They had fought back against their opponent that Sakura actually thought she’d get to see them win it. She was so swept up in the emotions of the situation that he logical side of thinking was completely abandoned.

She shouldn’t have let that happen since she’s basically lived her life by expecting failure to avoid heartache. At least, for the last few years she’s grown accustomed to having that sentiment. It kept her from being hurt. This time it just didn’t work completely. While it wasn’t her team, or her accomplishment, so she isn’t allowed to be emotional about it like her brother. So she pushed it aside and went about her day as easily as she could. Perhaps she was a bit more snippy and cold towards people today, but that didn’t matter. Everyone assumed she was like that anyway, so what harm is there in being a bit more quiet than usual. It’s not like anyone would care that she was rattled or that she was affected by this at all.

---

It was a somber morning for all of the third years. Which was to be expected after yesterday's game. Due to this, some questions started to arise between them all. The most important being whether they would continue to stay on the team after this moment. They were the seniors and they had to think about what their futures will be like after this year. Should they decide to focus more on their future, or stick with the team? After such a bad defeat the other day, leaving the team might have been on their minds.

The third-years gathered together during break time on a stairway landing. Endo munched on an apple as he looked between his friends who looked beyond conflicted. He certainly didn’t like seeing those types of expressions, but it was unavoidable. Hell, even he probably had his mask fall from time to time to show his near matching look. As much as he wanted to act like he was unaffected by the loss against Oikawa and his team, Endo couldn’t completely lie. It bothered him in a way that he never knew could. Losses in volleyball didn’t feel all that bad to him in the past. However, it was probably because this game was personal to him that it felt all that much worse.

Daichi gazed out of the window with a deeply conflicted expression on his face, “I think it’s best that we back out here.”

Asahi gasped, “Huh?” The three other teens looked to their captain in shock. After all, they didn’t think Daichi out of all people would offer up the idea of leaving the team.

“I wanted all of us third-years to be able to compete in the spring tournament, so I wanted us to hang in there until then and go to Tokyo to fight. But…” Daichi pauses for a moment, thinking about their younger teammates. “After watching the first and second-years, I think it might be better to hand the club over to them. Their futures are so full of promise, that it might be better to let them start as mainstays of a new team. That way, the team will-”

“Daichi,” Suga cut him off, “do you really mean that? It’s true that, as captain, you’re responsible for thinking about the team. But I don’t think you need to completely remove yourself. If you’ve already made your decision, I won’t object, but if that’s not the case, then at least see things through to the end.” He took a deep breath and continued on, “As I already said, I’m staying. If the first and second-years asked me to leave, then I’ll think about it. And I’m staying even if you, Endo and Asahi leave.”

Asahi jumped in, “I already said I’d stay yesterday!”

“Me too, I wouldn’t leave my friends hanging.” Endo said while continuing to chomp on his apple. If his friends weren’t leaving, then neither would he. After all, what else would he do with his time if he didn’t spend time with his friends at the volleyball club?

“I’m not planning on going to college.” Asahi explained, “If the first and second-years asked me to leave, I’d feel really bad.”

“I… Of course I want to keep playing.” Daichi exclaimed, “I want to keep playing volleyball with you guys!”

The three other boys shared a small glance before smiling at their captain. So it didn’t seem like they were going to be breaking up this team any time soon. They still had to prove themselves to everyone else that they can win the tournament and even go on to nationals!

Endo swung his arm around his friend, “That’s good, it’d be awkward if you said you wanted to leave.” Daichi just shook his head at the blond but continued to smile. Hopefully things will start to get better from here. Though they’ll have to work hard for it, and they would more than gladly rise to the challenge.`

When her break time came around, Sakura thought that it would be a good idea to find her brother. Just so she could check up on him a little bit. She can imagine that he hasn’t been paying attention in class and mulling over yesterday. Though it isn’t that surprising that he wouldn’t be paying attention, just this time it was for a not so good reason. So she started her trek down the hall towards her brother’s class.

Sakura walked into the other classroom, already scouring for the sight of her brother. Though she saw that he wasn’t in his seat, nor sitting with his friends. She approached the one boy that she knows is friends with him and tilted her head, “Hey.”

“Oh, Hinata-chan!” The boy greeted with a kind smile, “how are you?”

“Good.” She hummed in reply, “where’s Shōyō?”

The boy didn’t even blink that much at the question since whenever she did come in here she was always looking for her brother. “Oh, he said he was going to the bathroom.”

Sighing Sakura nodded her head, “Okay. Thanks.” She then left and went searching for him. However, she was certain that he hadn’t gone into the bathrooms and hid or anything. He probably was taking his frustrations out with volleyball, like normal. So she started looking for him in the usual spots he likes to practice in. As she came up on the last spot to check, she ended up finding yet another brooding teen. He seemed to have just found Shōyō as well, and turned to walk away. Only he ended up running into the tangerine’s doppelganger. The doppelganger stared at him for a long moment before greeting him with a subtle nod of her head, “Kageyama.”

He nodded back slightly, “Hn.”

Sakura sighed, “Do you know where my brother is?”

He jabbed his thumb behind him, “over there.”

She leaned around him to see her brother depressingly tossing his volleyball up in the air. It really was quite a sad sight. “I would think you’d be practicing with him.” She said with a quirk of her eyebrow, “You guys never seem to stop doing that.”

The boy huffed, “Can’t we have one day off?”

“A day off?” Sakura nearly laughed at the idea, since she would never think the King would take even one day off of volleyball. “Since when do you of all people have a day off from volleyball?”

“Since now.”

Sakura could see that through his little brooding expression that Kageyama was more than hurt by the game yesterday. Sure, he’s not as expressive when it comes to his emotions like her brother, but she could still see that even the King was upset. She sighed heavily and pursed her lips. “Look, you guys did good. Beating Aoba Johsai was seemingly impossible but you held strong against them.”

He clenched his fists at his sides, “It wasn’t enough.”

“Even if it wasn’t, why did you expect it to be more? You knew who you were up against.” Sakura furrowed her eyebrows, “I understand wanting to be hopeful, but you don’t want to be too optimistic about impossible odds.” Even she would think that Kageyama would be somewhat expecting this outcome. She would never say that she and Kageyama are similar in anyway, but she at least theorized that he had a modicum of pessimism in him when it came to his games.

Kageyama stared down at her with a frown, “Is that what you told your brother? That he wasn’t going to win.”

Sakura shook her head, seeing that he was twisting what she meant. “I told him not to expect it. If it happened, it would have been a miracle. Though the odds were stacked against you all.”

“So you told him that nothing was worth it, his effort was for nothing if he was going to lose, huh? That’s pretty shitty.”

“I didn’t exactly say that. I only said he should expect disappointment.” She explained simply, “He’s too optimistic, about everything. You of all people know that. Even things that are far too out of reach. I’ve learned to expect loss and failure, so that way I’m not let down that far.” Sakura got a far-off look in her chocolate eyes as she continued, “He builds himself up so far… and I hate seeing him fall. I don’t want him hurt the same way I was. He can’t end up like me, ever. I don’t want him to face the hardships I did at my lowest points. Had I known that I could end up at rock bottom, then perhaps I could have felt differently about myself.”

When she had first started her journey in photography, she felt so elated. Not only had she found something to differentiate herself from Shoyo, but it was something that she thoroughly enjoyed. She kept her camera by her side at all times because it made her feel different and special. Though to have her photograph then ridiculed the moment she tried to share it with others, hurt her so much. She didn’t expect it to happen. Sakura had just always gotten so much praise for her work and been separated from her brother that she could have never thought of going back to the person she had been. She was optimistic at the time. Perhaps too optimistic.

Sato was the biggest perpetrator of putting her down, practically bullying her for the remainder of her junior high experience. Thanks to his influence, the entire yearbook club had decided that everything she did was trash. She kept it from Shōyō, from everyone for that matter. Sakura didn’t see a point in worrying them with something like that. Looking back, she maybe should have said something, but it’s too late now. Besides, it wasn’t anything too bad. The harsh, mean, and unwarranted insults towards her work never came to her unless she tried to show people her work. So she kept her hobby to herself after that. It wasn’t until she was brought into a new environment that she tried to be a bit more outgoing once again. Thankfully this time it worked out favorably for her and wasn't an unpleasant experience again.

Back in junior high, had she factored in the possibility of others not liking her work or putting it down in some way, then she might have been a different person today. She knows now that what Sato had done to her in junior high was most likely done out of spite. He wanted to put her down just for the sake of it. This year in high school has proven that to her. His jealousy was palpable back then, Sakura just ignored it at the time due to wanting to be civil with him. Now having positive reinforcement from people other than her family has given her some confidence back. However, she’s learned to have a pessimistic outlook on things, just in case things don’t end up favorably. It's better to expect a bad outcome than think that things will go well when they end terribly.

She shook her head out of those thoughts, “I’ve learned my own lessons in the past. I’ve faced too much disappointment to the point where I should expect nothing else. I want Shōyō to have faith in his ability to play, but I also don’t want him to be delusional to the point where he can’t see the facts.” Sakura swallowed thickly, “He’s the twin who should be happy and successful. I’m just here to support him from the shadows.”

It was silent between them for a bit. They stared at one another, the two sized each other up at that moment. Sakura was watching him with annoyance now that she had been wacked by him, she had half the mind to retaliate against him. Who did he think he was doing that to her? She’s not her brother! Kageyama was staring at her in a new light with his blueberry eyes. He knew that Sakura valued her brother’s happiness over her own. He’s seen her put Shōyō before herself, even if it meant being put in annoying or uncomfortable situations. It was more than just her valuing her brother’s happiness over her own, Kageyama realized. He may have thought that she was just there to only support her brother because she had no other dimensions to her personality. Though he’s seeing now that it was more complicated than that.

Kageyama could see that Sakura didn’t see herself as successful in almost any way. Whatever she had experienced before had destroyed her self-esteem to the point where she couldn't see herself succeeding in anything. So instead she put her effort into supporting Shōyō in hopes that he would. It was something that Kageyama wouldn’t talk to her about since it was a bit too heavy of a topic and also they don’t know each other enough for him to bring it up. Either way, that way of thinking is just stupid!

“I was wrong,” Kageyama muttered to himself, causing Sakura’s eyebrows to furrow. Sure, she knows he’s wrong about a lot of things but for him to just admit it is weird. Though her thoughts were broken as she was smacked on the top of the head. “You are like your brother. You’re both idiots!” He shouted at her as she whined at the sudden pain. As Sakura nursed her now bruised head and glared up at him, Kageyama scowled at her, “No one should expect failure, you’re just setting yourself up to lose. You can’t just predict how something is going to happen!”

Sakura almost felt like a little kid being scolded by a parent. Which is strange with Kageyama being the one to tell her off. Most of the time it was him being told off by someone, never the other way around.

“Maybe not,” Sakura grumbled, “but I like being a realist. I look at facts and logic and it was a fact that Aoba Johsai had the advantage going into that match.”

Kageyama clicked his tongue in annoyance. In a way she is right, Oikawa’s team does have a bit of an edge over Karasuno thanks to certain things. However, to go into a game expecting them to lose is just absurd in his mind. If he were to go into a game thinking that it would be impossible to win, then he certainly wouldn’t have won any. Playing volleyball, or sports in general, isn’t just a game about physicality or strategy but also mentality. He must have the outlook and optimism to believe that he will win his games.

“If you go into every game expecting to lose, you will lose.” He stated simply, “maybe you should have a little optimism when it comes to your brother, to his team, and believe that we’ll win.” Sakura didn’t appreciate the feeling of being told off. Honestly, she’s usually the one doing it to people. Though he has to question if he’s right or not… The conflicted expression that now spread across Sakura’s face told Kageyama that he had gotten to her just a bit. He then started to walk off, leaving her to her own thoughts, “See you.”

Sakura watched him go with pursed lips, she didn’t like the way he had left her contemplating this. In her own little existential crisis in a sense. She glanced back around the corner to see her brother continuing to toss the ball high into the air. He was too lost in his own thoughts at the moment, and Sakura needed to rethink some things. So she changed her mind, and stalked off elsewhere to think things over.

---

It was stuffy in the room that Takeda had called all of the third-years to. Endo wasn’t sure if it was because they all knew what he wanted to talk to them about or there was far too much dust in this room. It was probably both, since he’s certain no one’s cleaned out this place in a while. His allergies were going to start acting up if he sat in this room for too long. The table in front of him seemed quite interesting as he stared at it instead of looking at his teacher in front of him.

The five third-years all sat in front of Takeda in silence for a moment longer before their teacher cleared his throat. “If you guys try too hard and end up hurting yourselves badly enough to affect your futures, but still want to play, we will probably stop you. There are times where it’s not best to act based on how you’re feeling.” Endo shifted uncomfortably in his metal chair, silently wishing that he could leave this talk at this very moment. “However, if you’re able to keep challenging yourselves, there are choices. That’s what I think. Of course, I’m not saying that scoring poorly on an exam is nothing. To overcome difficulties, you need effort, endurance, and sacrifices. The hours you’re putting into the club are hours others are putting into studying and securing their futures, which will give them an obvious lead over you. You all might end up regretting that.” He gave each student a look, expressing just how important this was for them. “Please choose wisely. Choose the path that you will not regret in five, or even ten, years.”

Endo stared down at his hands in compilation. Their teacher had a point about them needing to focus on their future. After all, even if they as third-years were good players, none of them really had the aspiration of playing sports as a career after they graduate. So why would they continue now after a huge loss when they could try and set a successful future into motion.

Though for him, he didn’t see a point. Yes, he wished to go to college. For what? He isn’t entirely sure just yet. However, no matter what it is, his father will dictate it for him. That was their deal. Endo got to have some semblance of control over his life for junior high and high school. Though once he graduated from high school, his father would decide what was best for him. Since to Hidake, his son didn’t seem capable of deciding what his life should be like, or how to go about it. More or less thinking of Endo as an idiot, unable to make big decisions for himself. At least that’s how Endo sees it.

So after some last parting words about making the right choices and thinking of their future despite what they might want in this moment, Takeda dismissed the teens. The five shuffled out of the room, slightly more conflicted for the time being after being reminded of what they had to think about. They walked with each other, not saying anything to each other as they were in their own thoughts. Eventually they ended up heading outside with the afternoon sun beaming down on them and the pleasant smell of blossoms wafting around them.

The blond cleared his throat, “I’ve made my decision. No one can change it otherwise.” Everyone looked at him to hear what he had to say. After all, they rarely ever got to hear about what Endo was thinking about. He usually kept things like this to himself. Asahi was really the only one who may have an idea of what Endo thinks. Endo took a deep breath, “My life after school has already been decided for me. So I'll decide this part of my life for myself, and I’ll keep playing.” As if he’d let this be taken away from him like most other things in his life. “If Takeda-sensei has changed your mind, then I’ll respect that, but I wanna stay.”

Asahi gave his best friend a large smile, “I’ll stick with you, no matter what, Joji.” It warmed Endo’s chest to see him like this. Especially if it was Asahi devoting to be by his side. Well, not his side, just the team. Yea, Asahi was saying he’d stay with the team, not just Endo.

“Look at you, actually wanting to play volleyball!” Suga laughed as he smacked Endo on the shoulder harshly. “Oikawa must really annoy you, huh?”

Endo chuckled, “He can be a pain in the ass, that’s for sure.” At this time, Endo still doesn’t know if he likes volleyball itself. He can say that he’s decent at it, and can hold his own in a game. However, he enjoys playing with his friends more than the sport itself. Though after yesterday something felt different. He wouldn’t say that he was suddenly inspired to become the best volleyball player in Japan or anything, but there was something. Maybe it was just revenge creeping in, wanting to win against Oikawa after that loss. Who’s to say? Not Endo. At least not yet.

---

School was over now, and every student was either rushing their way home to finally relax or heading to their club. Sakura was doing neither. She does have a club meeting today, but she has to find Shōyō as soon as she can. Sakura has spent most of this day without her brother, and while in the beginning it was to give him space to brood over yesterday's game, she has to check on him now. She should have done it earlier, but she got… distracted by Kageyama.

She searched for a while, and eventually found him by himself, staring at his volleyball. The depression on his face hurt Sakura’s heart so much. No matter how much time had passed, she was still going to be upset to see her brother like this. He sat on the ground in the courtyard, not really paying attention to all that much around him. Obviously stuck in his own thoughts, and even from her spot, Sakura could tell he was just about close to tears.

Slowly, she approached him and silently sat down next to him. He didn't really acknowledge her presence besides glancing at her arrival. They were silent for some time. Neither wanted to speak for sometime. Whether that’s because they didn’t know what to say, or that they wanted to talk about it is not exactly clear.

"You know if I'm being honest,” Sakura started breaking the silence between them, “I never thought you guys would make it as far as you did."

"Huh?" Shōyō grunted in surprise as he turned to her. How could she just outright say that? Doesn’t she see he’s upset!?

"There were a lot of obstacles for you guys to overcome.” She started to explain, “And I had thought that there was no way you guys would get over them, but you proved me wrong. You improved yourselves, evolved after every practice to become better players. Through sheer will, optimism, and luck, you guys got close to your goal."

Shōyō scowled, "Close isn't good enough."

Sakura paused at the echoed words that she had heard earlier from Kageyama. She sighed, "You still have the inter-high, boke. After these few games, Karasuno has proved themselves not to be as weak as they were before. Now people will consider you all a contender for number one. They see you as a threat. Which means you will face even more obstacles… ones that I know you can get over."

Her brother gasped at her words as his brown eyes widened, "You sound optimistic." There were times that he has heard her be hopeful and optimistic, but that felt like so long ago. Honestly, Shōyō didn’t know exactly what changed her outlook on things into how she is now. However, he found it more than refreshing for her to be like this once again.

"Yeah, don't get used to it.” Sakura clicked her tongue as her cheeks started to turn a light pink. Honestly, why did he have to point that out? Now she’s embarrassed! She shook her head with a huff, “I'm just saying, you guys somehow exceeded the expectations of everyone, what harm is there in thinking that you can do it again. Look, losing is... not just a bad thing."

Shōyō tilted his head, "It isn’t?" How is losing anything other than a bad thing?

She shrugged her shoulders, "Losing gives us the drive to push ourselves harder. We make sure that we do our best to win the next one. Without losing we wouldn't cherish a win as we should. It feels terrible, I know. But losing gives the feeling of winning value." Shōyō has suffered quite a few losses in his time on a volleyball team. Surprisingly, Sakura has tried to see them in a positive light. Instead of believing it to be a setback, she wanted to see it as something to improve from and to help her brother. She more than often kept that to herself, though now seemed like a good time to bring it to light. After all, he’s never suffered this devastating of a loss.

Shōyō thought over her words for a moment. Perhaps he saw it like that to an extent, but he never thought he’d hear something like that from Sakura. Then again, it’s a bit of a logical way to look at it. He shook his head slowly, “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“Stop being a downer.” Sakura paused and blinked in surprise of herself, “Wow, never thought I would be saying that to you. So stop pouting.”

Shōyō just pouted even more, "I'm not pouting."

"You are," Sakura chuckled.

Soon enough the two dissolved into small bouts of laughter before becoming silent again. They said what they needed to for the time being. They’d more than likely talk more about it when they went home. However, for now they got what they needed out in the open. Besides, they both had to go to their respective clubs. While they didn’t totally want to part ways, duty called for them. So being the good big brother he is, Shōyō walked Sakura to her club room before sprinting back to the gym.

---

Planning for the next gallery was a bit easier than it was before. Sakura wasn’t as anxious about this one as she was about the first. They had to decide on a topic at the moment, so they were having a bit of a discussion about what to do. There weren’t any holidays really coming up, so a holiday theme was out of question. Plus they wanted to be more original and more thought provoking than having a one-dimensional theme. They had a little while to figure it out, so it wasn’t that much to worry about. Though Sakura kept the decision making to the other members. She was still contemplating what Kageyama had discussed with her earlier.

What he had said had been stewing within her the rest of the day. She thought over his words thoroughly and believed that he had some truth to what he had said. Sakura was at least going to admit that she could possibly be wrong or misguided about her pessimism and optimism outlook. However, she does still think that there is some merit to her thinking. Just after the conversation it… made her question her thinking a bit.

Was he right about her outlook on the game being wrong? She supposed that in a way it could be perceived as such. However, she wasn’t just outright believing that the game was over right from the start. She just believed that when looking at who was stacked against who, the odds were always favoring one team for another. Besides, watching the game yesterday had even shaken her initial belief that Karasuno had little to no way of standing against Seijoh.

Add in the fact that she had talked with Shōyō about it and did her best to cheer him up, her mind was starting to change. It’s not like she was suddenly going to become optimistic and think that Karasuno can go all the way. Having a healthy dose of skepticism and pessimism about certain situations is a good idea.

Though the advice that she gave him about thinking a loss could be turned into a good thing stuck with her. Deep down, she thought about the idea some time ago, just never thought that it could be put into action. If anything, she just hoped it was true, since she didn’t completely believe in it. Just because she hasn’t had to witness Shōyō lose so badly. Which meant it was more than a good time to try it out.

Shimada then appeared suddenly in front of Sakura and plopped onto the desk her underclassman was sitting at. A large smile was plastered on the club president's face as she pinned her kohai with an inquisitive look. “You seem deep in thought, Saku-chan!” Ever since Sakura had come into the club room, she seemed distracted. Shimada noticed that her brother was there to drop her off before rushing off, so she wondered what he was there for. After all, the male Hinata never seems to come around here.

“I sort of am,” Sakura commented, now seeing that her senpai was not going to leave her alone. She brushed her hand through her hair, “Just thinking about the game yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about that.” Shimada hummed, “The boys did really well though! From what I heard the team they played is super good.” Sure, she didn’t know much about volleyball, but she did know the results of the game. The volleyball team isn’t talked about that much around school since other teams take the spotlight a bit more for their tournaments. Then again it wouldn’t matter if the boy’s volleyball team were the number one in the prefecture, Shimada still would know nothing about the sport.

Sakura shrugged her shoulders, “Seijoh’s one of the best teams in the prefecture.”

“I guess they didn’t take it that well.” From the frown on Sakura’s face, Shimada knew that was a bit of an understatement. “What about your brother? How’s he doing?”

“He’s upset, as to be expected…” She sighed heavily while her brother’s depressed expression haunted her for a moment. Sakura stared down at her hands on the desk as she nervously fiddled with them. “I really wish that they won.”

Shimada nodded her head, “I mean, I would too, imagine what photos you could have gotten of their win!” She gushed as her imagination took over the amazing photos that Sakura could take in that scenario. Though once she saw the unamused stare from the other girl, Shimada calmed down and appeared sheepish, “ahem, sorry.”

Sakura shook her head at her friend’s behavior. There are definitely times where she thinks that Shimada is crazy. There are quite a few moments like that. Though she focused back on what she was feeling about the game, “I honestly thought they were gonna win after all that work. They tried their best. Shōyō especially, I know he put everything he could into it.” A soft little smile then graced her face, “I’m so proud of him.” Sakura is always proud of her brother, basically no matter what he does. However, this time it was much stronger than usual. Maybe it was because she was extremely sympathetic towards him and his loss, maybe it was just because he’s her brother. Either way, the effort that she knows he put into it for so long just made her admire him so much more.

Shimada had to hold herself back from jumping the adorable girl in a tight hug. Her eyes were sparkling as she started fangirling at how adorable her kohai is. “You’re such a sweet sister!”

Sakura huffed while hiding her pink cheeks, “you’re annoying.”

The president eventually calmed herself down before saying, “Well, I don’t know all that much about volleyball, but I’m sure they can do better next time!”

“I hope.” That’s all she can do right now. She’ll gain some hope and optimism for the next tournament coming up. Sure, she’ll keep her own healthy level of pessimism and keep her brother down to earth, but maybe now she can see there’s nothing wrong with reaching for the impossible.

Shimada gave Sakura a meaningful, hopeful expression, “Support your brother, boost up his morale, keep the other boys in check. I know you’re really good at that.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Shimada displayed her pearly white teeth in a large smile, “I usually am!” That totally didn’t just stroke her ego.

Their white-haired vice-president then walked past the desk and casually commented, “No you’re not.”

“Gah, Aiko!”

---

After their talk with Takeda and a small conversation between them, the third-years had rushed to the club room to get ready. However, they were certainly going to be late at this point. Even if practice was technically off for today, there was no doubt in everyone’s mind that the entire team was going to show up.

“Crap, hurry.” Suga called out to the others running behind him.

Endo huffed, “Yeah, we are.” He was going to get tired once they started practice, why did he have to tire himself out now by running across school to get to the gym!

Just as they thought, they were late, the last ones into the gym while everyone else was already there. Tanaka jumped at them once they got into the gym with a vicious smile, “You’re late!”

Suga huffed and puffed as he caught his breath, but couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. He declared to the team, “Let’s go to the spring tournament!”

“All right!” They cheered before they started to set themselves up for practice. It’s safe to say that the team's morale was quite high at this moment. The boys all worked together to get the net set up, the balls out and started some drills. It was quite the sight for Ukai to come into the gym and see. After all, he wasn’t sure if any of them would actually show up.

“Thank you!” The boys all greeted their coach who stared at them in disbelief.

Ukai smiled in amazement, “You guys are in good spirits.”

They all then lined up in front of him as Daichi shouted out, “Please continue to coach us!”

The boys all bowed, “Please!”

From a bit further away, Sakura smiled as she watched the coach enter the gym to a more than overzealous team. Her own club had just ended and she was walking out with them right now. As she walked over to where she left her bike, she couldn’t help herself but glance into the gym through the open door to see what the shouting was all about. It was quite the exciting scene to see for her. No one seemed upset any longer about yesterday, if anything they seemed more determined.

“Saku-chan!” She turned at the shout of her name and found that her own club was waiting for her. They all waited for her expectantly as Shimada was waving her over, “Come on, we’re all going to get food!”

“Yeah, sure.” She grabbed her bike and started to walk off towards them. So Sakura left, for the first time in a while, she was journeying off on her own, away from her brother. Perhaps this was for the best. Both Hinata twins seemed to have carved a spot for themselves at Karasuno. While it wasn’t surprising for Shōyō to do that, it was for Sakura to find that niche place for her. As the wind blew, cheers continued to come from in the gym, and Sakura trotted over to her group of club members, a lone snowtail butterfly settled itself on a random flower.

A little while later, Ukai called for the team to have a break so he could talk over a few things with them. After all, they needed to discuss yesterday's game. “We lost in a match that decided our superiority or inferiority.” Ukai said to the group as they sat on the gym floor. “Seijoh was strong and we fell to them. That is our reality right now. As for today’s finals for the Inter-High… The winner was Shiratorizawa.” That shocked everyone. After all, Aoba Johsai is such a strong team… and Shiratorizawa beat them?! That must make Shiaratorizawa extremely scary!

“Seijoh…” Shōyō’s eyes started to widden.

Kageyama’s eyes were just as wide, “...lost?”

Ukai continued on, “There are teams stronger than Seijoh, even in our prefecture. That just means we have to get stronger. I’m pretty sure you know what our next goal is, but… It’s the spring tournament. For the third-years who will be participating, it will be their last battle.” He then turned to focus on Daichi, “Well, then let’s have the captain pump us all up.”

Daichi stood up with his back facing his team as he started, “It’s the stage that Karasuno has been to just once in the past… Tokyo. The Orange Court.” He then turned to face them with a determined expression on his face. “We’re going to go there one more time!”

“All right!” It would mean intense practice, long nights, and sore muscles, but the team were certainly going to put in the work now. A fire was lit under all of them, and that fire wasn’t going to go out until they made it to nationals!

---

Blog Masterlist | Red Herring Masterlist | Last Chapter | Next Chapter

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archtroop · 8 months ago

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@mifletset

There was a rogue soldier who did it, and was trialed and relieved of duty. It was not IDF policy.

It was literally videos of angry soldiers pushing HAMAS bodies around after the onslaught of the 7th, and cursing*, or expressing glee at fighting and putting down HAMAS combatants later on during fights.

It is also noteworthy the only source of the story in Haaretz, which is the most far left news media outlet in Israel, but if it was worse than it sounds, other news media would have picked up on it aswell.

Here is the link, but it in Hebrew and paywalled, so.

https://www.haaretz.co.il/news/security/2024-02-04/ty-article/.premium/0000018d-7042-dd6e-a98d-f462d6a00000

*People don't realize that, there were piles upon piles of dead terrorists after IDF and other weapons carrying personnel in Israel made clear of the Kibbutzim and cities along the border with Gaza after the 7th and 8th.

Whole units were tasked with just sifting through the carnage to find Israelis and bring them to burial.

The HAMAS corpses were piled aside with tractors.

Yes, and don't @ me about disrespect, this is exactly how you should treat literal Nazis who come to kill you.

I have zero sympathy for HAMAS operatives and their ilk who breached the border to murder, maim, torture and rape and burn. Zero.

Eventually the Telegram channel was shut and the source was relieved of duty, for it was "against regulations, anti democratic and did not follow IDF policy and Purity of Arms code of coduct" and other reasons.

So, if anyone here wants to make a point that soldiers in am army can present bad behavior, be my guest, there are 200 armies to choose from.

OP seeks to paint IDF as inclusively bad (tm). That's the whole story. The fact it was shut down, reprimanded, and acknowledged, means, IDF takes seriously such violations, and treats them accordingly.

You have zero ground to say the same about say, HAMAS.

The whole objective of this post is to shift focus and make IDF look exceptionally worse. This is thw same when Israel vlbrough the sexual crimes perpetrated by HAMAS on the 7th allegations to the UN, the HAMAS supporters immediately jumped up with "IDF does this too!" allegations, to shift focus and minimize the importance and impact of Israeli allegations against HAMAS.

There is no symmetry here, and there never will be. OP, just like the UN case I mentioned here, are trying to paint a false sense of symmetry. But there is just none to speak of: HAMAS raped as A POLICY. Allegations of sexual assault of Palestinians by IDF are so scarce and barely hild water, and the 2-3 cases that did turned out to be true, the soldiers were trialed and relieved of duty.

OP seeks to paint IDF as worse than HAMAS on the counts of footage of atrocities. That's the bottom line.

And unless you are a denier of facts, you know EXACTLY what type of footage rolled over social media on the 7th.

#false equivalence #no symmetry #HAMAS waifus propoganda #shifting focus

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hypothetical-karma · 1 year ago

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NaNoWriMo Day 5

Got 2170 words today, finished chapter 2 and 3. Still did not catch up to the daily required amount, but I am on track to. Currently at 7042 words.

#nanowrimo #nano 2023 #national novel writing month #writng #god complex

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lovesmcfashion · 1 year ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW LONG OFF THE SHOULDER SLEEVELESS A-LINE DRESS EMBROIDERED WITH LACE AC 7042.

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horsesarecreatures · 1 year ago

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Examples of agricultural exceptionalism in the US that prove the agriculture industry is grossly underregulated compared to others:

Animal Cruelty

The most significant federal law protecting animals is the Animal Welfare Act. It protects animals used in research and dogs/cats commercially bred for pets or labs, but does not apply to animals raised for food or its production.

The Humane Methods of Slaughter Act dictates that slaughter be carried out using humane methods. However, poultry is excluded from this law, and poultry accounts for the majority of slaughtered land animals. The HMSA is also only applicable to slaughterhouses under federal meat inspection. It doesn't apply to state inspected slaughterhouses.

The Twenty-Eight Hour Law mandates that after 28 hours of travel, livestock should be unloaded for rest. However, there are exceptions. It isn't applicable to vehicles in which the animals have food, water, space, and an opportunity to rest. The person who has custody of the animals can also request that they be trailered for up to 36 hours without rest.

All states have anti-animal cruelty statues, but again many of these only apply to pets, not farm animals.

Some states like Nevada also exclude in their anti-cruelty statutes "...established methods of animal husbandry, including... transportation of livestock or farm animals." Oregon's anti-cruelty law also doesn't apply to "treatment of livestock being transported by an owner or common carrier." States that do include transportation in their anti-cruelty laws have on average have a fine of only $500.

Exemptions from Labor Laws

Agricultural employees are exempted from parts of both the Fair Labor Standards Act and the National Labor Relations Act.

Agricultural employees are exempted from FSLA overtime pay in that they don't have to be paid time-and-a-half for working over 40 hours a week.

Any employer in agriculture who didn't utilize more than 500 man days of agricultural labor in any quarter of the preceding calendar year is exempt from minimum wage and overtime provisions of the FLSA for the present year.

The NLRA doesn't cover agricultural employees because the definition of employee used by congress has led to their exclusion. Farmworkers therefore can't organize and are commonly abused and marginalized.

Ag Gag Laws

Several states have enacted laws that limit access to agricultural facilities and prohibit the distribution of photos and images attained there. Today 6 states have ag gag laws. Many have been challenged as violating Freedom of Speech.

After Iowa enacted a law prohibiting obtaining access to farms under false pretenses, Utah then created a new crime called "agricultural operation interference" which prohibits any recording without the owner's consent.

In 2012, Missouri made it illegal for a farm animal professional to fail to turn in recordings of animal abuse to authorities within 24 hours. On its face it sounds like a good thing, but what it actually does is prevent thorough long-term investigations because the owner of the farm will then know they're being reported, stop whatever they're doing, and claim any abuse caught on camera was just a one time act. Note that no US jurisdictions have criminalized the failure to report any other crime, even murder.

Idaho Code section 18-7042(1)(c), which has since been struck down in federal court for violating the First & Fourteenth Amendments of the US Constitution, criminalized obtaining employment with the intent to cause economic harm or injury to a facility, and also applied employees who obtained employment in good faith but then witnessed and wished to report wrongdoing.

Anti-Terrorism Laws:

The Animal Enterprise Protection Act was passed in 1992 and criminalized any "physical disruption" to an animal enterprise. The term has been interpreted broadly enough to potentially apply to whistleblowers. It has already been used to prosecute animal rights activists from the group Shac-7 who opposed animal testing. They were said to have violated the AEPA because their website "was a conspiracy to harm a business involved in an animal enterprise."

In 2006, the AEPA was amended through the Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act, and made it illegal for anyone with "the purpose of damaging or interfering with" an animal enterprise from causing the loss of "any real or personal property" of the enterprise. The law applies to those who cause any property loss, including loss of profits, to an animal-related business. Therefore, an activist distributing undercover footage could be charged as a terrorist.

Furthermore, many states such as Idaho have laws that allow practices as long as they are "customary," "normal," "common," or "accepted." Of course, what practices are customary are decided by the farmers. The more widely used a cruel practice is (think throwing chicks into grinders, castration with anesthesia, culling through suffocation, etc), the more likely it is to be exempt.

Lack of Environmental Regulation

The Clean Water Act does not regulate many concentrated animal feeding operations and most other farms, which are major sources of point and non-point source water pollution.

Under the Clean Air Act, the EPA can regulate greenhouse gas emissions from CAFOS, but the emissions thresholds are so high that that only the largest emitters must obtain permits. Most livestock producers don't qualify.

There are no mandatory regulations that target greenhouse gases specifically from livestock. The USDA does have programs to pay farmers to implement conservation efforts to mitigate environmental harms like erosion, but only 5% of agricultural lands currently use them.

Congress has also prevented the EPA from using its funds to implement a "cow tax" requiring livestock produces to acquire a permit for GHG pollution. It has also banned the EPA from enacting mandatory GHG reporting for farms.

Subsidies

Between 1997 & 2005, government subsidies to chicken, pork, beef, & corn producers were $26.5 billion, benefiting mostly large farms while costing the taxpayers billions and leaving smaller farms unable to compete.

The US Farm Bill of 2002 subsidized farms even more by giving investors up to $450,000 in federal money for working on animal waste treatment practices.

Distortion of Trespass Laws

Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation (SLAPP) are when baseless lawsuits are used to intimidate and silence opponents. Ex: In Wyoming ranchers filed a trespass suit against the Western Watershed Project after the nonprofit exposed the levels of E. Coli present in waterways next to several ranches. The WWP denied trespassing, but nevertheless, the Wyoming Legislature then passed WYO. STAT. ANN. section 6-3-414(g) which dictates that, "Resource data collected on private land in violation of this section in the possession of any governmental entity as defined by W.S. 1-39-103(a)(i) shall be expunged by the entity from all files and data bases, and it shall not be considered in determining any agency action."

Source:

Most of this is quoted or paraphrased from Big-AG Exceptionalism: Ending the Special Protection of the Agricultural Industry by Sonia Weil. chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://drexel.edu/~/media/Files/law/law%20review/v10-1/183%20-%20Weil%20FINAL%202-27.ashx

*Note that this article is from 2017. I have not had the time to shepardize all the laws and cases in it, so there's a possibility that some laws mentioned may have changed or been repealed.

People love to call veganism ‘privileged,’ while conveniently ignoring the fact that the only reason animal products are even close to being accessible for the average consumer is because they’re factory farmed, slaughtered and packed by grossly underpaid labourers working in dangerous conditions, and then massively subsidised by all of our taxes.

#agriculture #factory farming #animal agriculture

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peachyteabuck · 3 years ago

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the plum tree blossoms even in winter / kate bishop x reader

↪ summary: three years ago you tried to buy your freedom. when you come up short, you have no choice but to fold yourself back into kate bishop’s life.

commissioned by @domromanoff

↪ pairing: kate bishop x reader

↪ words: 7042

↪ trigger warnings: piss play, dark au, mob au, cnc, touches of maria hill x reader and carol danvers x reader, free use, pet play (puppy; collar; pet beds; etc), degradation, daddy title, mentions of free use

Red.

The number on your screen bleeds the same color as your scraped knuckles, same as the sweater your mom bought you two years ago that’s nearly threadbare now. Fucking red. You read this book once about how red is meant to symbolize wealth and sex – now all it means is that you’re royally fucked. You could probably handle a regular fucking (you’d been doing that for a long time), but the royal part of it is signaling your demise. It’s not like you thought you’d end up here, you tried everything possible not to.

But no. Of course this is how it works out, a measly hundred dollars short of an amount of money previously thought insurmountable. Mount Everest had nothing on how much you needed to get. It’d be easier to petition the IMF to clear your debt as this point.

Fuck it. You’re not going to make her find you, not going to let her jump you in some shitty bar two blocks from home. If this is your last act, might as well take command of the narrative. Phone in hand, arms wrapped around your body to trap what little heat is generated from the sweater, you make your way downtown.

The way to the club is familiar – the way one is able to find their childhood home even when if it been burned to the ground and they’ve been dropped across the country. It was sunset when you got your bank statement, it’s nearly pitch black when you knock on the unmarked door, your hand carefully avoiding the thick globs of grime. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, a woman wearing all black with an earpiece opens the door.

Valkyrie seems surprised to see you, her eyes widening just a little before she paints the bored, detached expression she was always sporting back onto her features. “What’s the password?”

Even in your distressed state, you have to roll your eyes. “Val, we both know the code is randomly generated every morning, and we both know I don’t know what it is.”

She shrugs. “You know the rules. Either give the password or get the fuck out.”

All you can do is sigh, and fight the urge to muscle past her. “Look, Val. I just really need to see Kate.”

The use of the boss’s first name has her stunned, even if she doesn’t show it. No one calls her Kate – not even her. She shuts the door in front of you, and despite the thick metal, you can hear her speaking into the intercom system. A pause – presumably Kate or one of the guards assigned to her inner circle replying – then another few muffled sentences. Another pause. Then the door opens once more.

Val looks…shocked. That’s the only way to put it. She looks shocked. It’s hard to surprise Valkyrie, she didn’t get her nickname because she spooked easy. Once you saw her roundhouse kick someone’s teeth in because they looked at her funny. It’s a sign she knows why you’re there, why you’re back for the first time in years. “She’s expecting you. You know where to go.”

You give her a curt nod, pushing past her only to be immediately enveloped into the pulsing beat of some shitty remix of a pop song that was perfectly fine before being put in a blender. It probably all sounded the same when one was coked out, though. Rich people, not the super-rich, but still pretty rich, dance and grind to words you can’t decipher. Lights flash different colors interspersed with black on their own beat. It was enough to make you nauseous if you hadn’t spent at least two years watching the sweaty bodies do the same thing every night of the week.

The good thing about drunk people is that they’re easily moved, too preoccupied with finding someone to grind on. You would probably stand out in anywhere else with your giant sweater and leggings and worn sneakers, but no one here saw anything but tits and ass and bulge. If you had none of them, they let you pass with ease. As you make your way to the second floor, a few servers and dancers up in cages look at you with the same surprise that Val did before (though much less concealed).

Yeah, you want to tell them. I didn’t think I’d be back either.

Kate’s office is tucked away in the back, artfully concealed. Anyone who didn’t know better merely saw a giant mirror reflecting the debauchery most were preoccupied with. You, though, knew that behind the central panel was the woman who ran the city when no one was looking.

Natasha’s the one parked in front of the door tonight. All she does is raise an eyebrow before letting you in (Val definitely told her, and everyone else, that you were back) to walk down a short hallway before reaching the actual entrance into the office. Kate was just as dramatic as she was paranoid. A simple code you knew like you knew your first phone number is punched into the keypad with shaky fingers – the vibrations either because of the beat that feels faint compared to what it was down in the heart of the club, or the lack of food, or the fear. Truly it could be all three, but you didn’t really have time before you’re entering a place you thought you’d never see again.

Just inside both the left and right are two women, deceptively skinny and dressed in all black. To the left, in a dog bed that you remember buying, is a one-eyed golden retriever who stands up as soon as you see him.

The dog – Lucky, you remember, because how could you forget – is deceivingly cute. Kate found him when he was a puppy with an eye infection that led to him now only having one of them, and he's never left her side since. She tells the story often, choosing to leave out that she found him after shooting a man in his home in front of his wife (he had groped one of her dancers; Kate was very possessive and didn’t like others touching what she had already branded as hers).

He remembers you, though. Even though it’s been years, and you’ve changed everything about your appearance possible without paying for surgery. He nuzzles into your hand, asking for scratches behind the ear. The guards say nothing, and for a moment – just a few, fleeting moments – it’s as if you’re back right where you started. Back in the living room-sized office with ceiling-high bookshelves filled with expensive books and knick-knacks. The two-way mirror you saw previously is located behind where Kate sits, in front of the desk being two chairs. You sit in neither, choosing to thread your fingers through Lucky’s long, silky fur, leeching off of his body warmth and holding him close. For a moment, it’s calm, it’s nice, and you can forget about the world around you.

You can forget, that is, until a voice you’d hoped you’d never hear again interrupts your quiet time “alone” with a dog you’d helped name.

“You know, I was hoping you’d be back.”

Your heart drops into your feet at the sound of her voice, deeper than you remember, but still all too familiar. Despite all the practicing you’d done in the mirror before you came over, you can’t find it in yourself to dig out some quip or sarcastic response. All you can do is hunch your shoulders ever so slightly and turn around to face her. “Kate.”

It’s all you can say.

“That’s all you can say?” she says with a small scoff. “Three years and all you can say is ‘Kate?’” She steps towards you, hands in the pockets of the deep purple pantsuit she owns multiples of. “Thought you’d have a little more rolling around in that pretty little head of yours.”

You did, is the worst part. You do have essays worth of things you want to say to her – to her stupid bodyguards who have definitely seen you naked, whether because Kate liked to fuck you wherever she pleased or because she had a picture of your tits in her wallet and an even larger one of her ass in her home office. The brand – the one she designed herself – is visible on your left cheek in as high a quality as one can buy.

But you stay quiet. Because you’re in the red, and when one’s drowning in red, one isn’t allowed to speak.

You watch as Kate takes her place at her massive desk. It’s black, got at least five different secret compartments, and is about the size of a twin bed. She had it custom made a few months before you met her, it finally being delivered the day of your third date. You had christened it by sitting on her face; similar to what had happened when the equally black chair was delivered the next day (when she had made you squirt for the first time).

Memories flash before your eyes. Just the good ones, though. The bad ones – you’re certain – will come later.

She doesn’t speak until she’s fully seated, legs crossed, and chair leaned back. “Now, sweetheart, why are you here?”

Kate knows, she’s just a fucking dick. At one point you liked that about her. Now, though, you’d rather chew glass (a thing you’ve watched Kate make someone do). “I don’t-“ you struggle to get the words out. Kate just watches, eyebrows raised and head leaned forward to indicate she’s listening. “I don’t have the money to pay you back.”

One of her guards (Carol, you’re guessing, even though her shoulder-length locks are now trimmed to her ears with a high undercut) lets out a snort. Maria, the one who hasn’t changed a bit since you last saw her, barely suppresses a sinister smile.

Kate merely blinks. “Sorry, what was that?”

God if you could kill her. “I don’t have the money to pay you back, I don’t have the money to pay anyone back.”

The woman in front of you just scoffs, moving to stand before stepping in front of her desk to lean on it. She doesn’t cross her arms over her chest, doesn’t make a move to comfort you. Just stands there, in her giant black boots and her custom suit and her shiny black hair. It takes a minute for her to speak, every second of silence more painful than the last.

“I’m having a little trouble remembering, actually…” she pretends to think. “What were the terms of our agreement again?”

You gulp, fighting back tears already. “I had three years to pay you thirty thousand dollars.”

She cocks her head. “And what were you paying thirty thousand dollars for?”

A few one break free, streaking down your face. “My freedom.”

“And how much do I normally require for freedom?”

Even more tears fall down your face, you wipe them from your jaw and chin before speaking. “Three hundred thousand.”

Kate steps closer to you, each clause punctuated by her boot hitting the floor. “So let me get this straight.”

Step.

“I offer your freedom at a ninety percent discount.”

Step.

“I give you two more years than usual to pay it back.”

Step.

“I let you loose, giving you all the chances in the world to earn that money.”

Step. She now stands in front of you, her presence deeply imposing.

“And you still can’t pay it back?”

You feel like an elementary-aged child being chastised by a teacher with nothing to lose. All you can do – just like the time you spilled milk on your school uniform on picture day – is stare at the ground and avoid eye contact and wait for it to be over. No begging, no pleading, just you and the knowledge you’re a total failure.

Kate uses a single crooked finger to force your chin up until your gaze meets hers. “C’mon baby, I’m a woman of many talents but I’m not a mind reader.”

You exhale a shaky breath. “And I still cannot pay you back.”

“There we go,” she says with enough cheer that it makes goosebumps crawl up your spines. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Yes it was. You know that too. But once again, you’re silent.

“Well, in that case, I guess you don’t get your freedom, do you, sweetheart?” Kate says with a smirk.

It’s hard to suppress the hiccups that are trying their hardest to force you to their knees. You shake your head weakly, unable to do much besides that.

Kate walks back to her desk, and even though you don’t watch her, you know from the sound it’s the compartment under the third drawer to the right. It’s for the most precious things, like the golden gun Kate bought for show or the passports of her three least used aliases.

Immediately, your eyes screw shut. You’re not sure it’s happening until you’re shrouded in darkness, waiting for the heavy feeling against your neck.

The think, purple collar is clicked on as easily as the time it fell from its place, the nameplate, bell, and tracking keychain jingling together like a fucked-up wind chime. It’s a sound you’re so familiar with your pussy immediately begins to pulse in a way you haven’t felt since you left. There are a lot of things you can say about Kate; you can’t say she was a bad lay. You also can’t say she’s not incredibly possessive, or that she loves change. The way she tugs at it, your sunken skin leaving more room than usual, says she’s just as upset as you predicted. It’s hard to tell whether it’s anger or sadness or merely her upset someone tried to defy her. She’s not one to take a dethroning lightly; hubris is just as punishable here as it was in ancient Greece or Rome.

It's scary (though even that word doesn’t truly encapsulate the dread that floods your system), how familiar it is to you. How your body immediately looks to the floor to make sure it’s clean enough to crawl on, to see if you’re the bed Kate has custom made for you is in the right spot. It’s empty, and you kick yourself when disappointment settles in your gut.

“Oh,” Kate realizes, turning to Carol and gesturing out of the room. “Danvers, go get the bed. It should be in storage – you know the place.”

Carol just gives a curt nod, moving in a direct, militant fashion that would have bodybuilders jumping out of her path. The thing is, you like Carol. When Kate would play with you in meetings, the guard would tease you just as Kate would.

Your owner has her biggest dildo stuffed inside of your aching pussy. You’re clothed in only a cropped sweater, the cold air of the office sending goosebumps up your skin. You were told not to move, but you know you’re also dripping down the cock and onto the woman below you. Kate is directing her security team to a possible threat that was reported by one of her informants at the NYPD, making sure her club’s patrons wouldn’t be blown to bits while..well, on blow.

But you’re sensitive from a whole day of edging, clit swollen and hot to the touch. It’s like your brain has turned to mush, put through a food processor until all that was left was a nearly-opaque juice. Any sort of self-control had been washed away by it leaking out of your ears, so between Natasha’s direct, complicated orders are your light, desperate whimpers.

Natasha’s talking to someone across the table from Carol when she leans closer to you, a wicked smile painted on her face. “You’re such a pathetic little puppy, aren’t you?”

Your owner holds you close, her arm wrapped around your waist making it so you can’t get far. But still, you can whine a little higher in your throat, push just a little farther – seeking out the woman’s warm body and embrace. All you can is nod, thread your eyebrows together, and open your eyes as wide as you can in an attempt to buy a crumb of sympathy. Carol doesn’t give it, but she does trail her hand over your quivering thighs, ghosting them over your leaking cunt.

“You’re cute,” she huffs a small, low laugh. “Maybe one day your big ole’ Daddy can let me fuck that little pussy of yours.”

You let out a deep moan that has Kate shoving three fingers into your mouth to muffle the sound, your lips instinctually wrapping around them to take them deeper down your throat.

You snap out of your vivid memory as Carol returns, dropping the bed in the spot next to Lucky’s. It’s hard not to feel relief when you see she doesn’t have bowls in her hands – one of Kate’s harsh punishments you remember all too well. In your state, you can barely stand. If you tried to get on all four and eat out of a large dog bowl, you’re sure your body would collapse in on itself.

Kate eyes the bed to make sure it’s in the correct place before turning to you. “Just as it’s supposed to be,” she says with a smile – one that’s so genuine it makes you ache. She likes this, and you hurt her when you left. Probably sent her into a tailspin when you parted ways three years ago; a violent rage that likely destroyed at least one priceless artifact and created a mess so large more than one of the maids from her mansion had to be transported in. That’s one of the parts that is most fucked up about it to you. It’s not just that she owned you, that she kept you as a pet and away from the outside world; it’s that she loved you. It’s that she cared about you; it’s that she didn’t just keep you like some common housecat, it’s that you were like a prized pedigree show animal with the papers to prove it. You sometimes half-expected her to put some ridiculous fancy name on your collar instead of your own in homage to the actual organizations you’d come to loathe.

You were an investment, a show-thing. Surely the girls on poles and making drinks at the lower level of the bar were the same, sure. But it’s as if you held some golden ticket for her that you never lived up to, never actually provided. A shorted stock. A worthless family heirloom said to have been passed down. A disappointment.

All you can do is stand there, in the center of the room, between two black velvet chairs, under the eyes of the three people there and anyone else unfortunate enough to walk in. The collar can’t be seen from behind, barely from the side…but under Kate Bishop’s gaze, you might as well have her name tattooed across your tits.

It's a few moments of bliss in Kate’s eyes before she speaks again.

“You cold, sweetheart?” she looks at your worn clothes, notices the shiver that occasionally shocks through your system (those aren’t from the chilly air she keeps pumped into the room, but she’d never let you say that out loud).

All you can do is nod, body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane now. God you know Kate is enjoying this. “Y-yes.”

Kate tuts, rolling her eyes. “Wonder how long it took you to realize how little you can take care of yourself without my help. Can’t even imagine what it was like for you in the dead of winter.”

You stare at the ground, following her footsteps from sound alone as she hunts through one of the drawers located at the bottom of the bookshelf to your left. It’s hard to suppress the memories of the New York winter, spent either in shelters or hookup’s places or in crowded apartments the few times you could afford rent. When Kate returns, she holds a large sweatshirt you know is hers, fuzzy socks, and new, more comfortable leggings. She remembers you’re not a fan of sweatpants. Even as your heart thumps in your chest, choose not to mention that as you mumble out a “thank you.”

Easily as riding a bike, you conform to rules you know Kate hasn’t relaxed since you left. You strip, ignoring the heavy gazes of all three women. There’s no underwear (something you expected), but it feels like the clothes were fluffed in a dryer before your arrival. It’s hard to think about what you don’t have when you’re warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks.

When you stand back up straight you regain eye contact with Kate, who gives a single nod of approval. “Go lay down, puppy. You’ve had a very exhausting night.”

With all that you’ve been through, you’re happy to finally lay down and try and get some sleep. You go to walk behind Kate’s desk and see Lucky on the other side of the desk, within eyeshot of anyone who walks in. As you curl up, it hits you like a ton of bricks:

You’re both pets. Lucky can leave when he wants, though. You can’t.

Lucky bastard.

The fucked up part is that this is the most comfortable place you’ve slept in three years. The bed is heated and plush, filled with extra stuffing. There’s a blanket attached to it, in case you get even colder. It’s comfortable, in a way that makes you feel gross.

But…it’s hard to deny how nice it is to not have to worry anymore. Kate does a lot for you and despite the price, it’s nice to think about whether you’re going to eat tonight, or whether where you sleep will be warm, or if your clothes will be cut up by stupid roommates you don’t trust. In any other situation, you’re sure the thought would be freeing, but here it feels like another collar layered over the one you already have.

“Wait, not yet,” she suddenly says, reaching into a desk drawer to pull out a single-use water bottle that’s…bigger than what you’re used to seeing. She twists the cap off before leaning down and holding it out to you. “Drink this. I can’t have you passing out on dehydration under my watch.”

It's then that you realize that you hadn’t really eaten or had anything to drink (let alone water and not poorly made cocktails left by customers at shitty bars) in days. You’re close enough to don’t even have to crawl, just sit up and angle your head to make sure not a drop falls down your chin.

It doesn’t take long for you to empty it – even if it it tastes stale in a way you can’t perfectly describe, the water has definitely been in the plastic for awhile – Kate tossing the bottle into a trash can before cooing at you. “Such a good girl,” she says, cradling your chin and rubbing her thumb over your cheek. “Go lay down, you need your rest now.”

You think about fighting with her for a second, but why would you? You’re exhausted, your body aches, the bed signs to you like a siren.

So you do all you can do: sleep. Try and rest before it all gets too much again. Wordlessly, you curl up under the attached blanket and let the world go dark.

You wake up about an hour later to the sound of Kate angrily flipping through a stack of papers as she mutters something about a faulty contract still being a contract nonetheless, and the feeling of having to pee.

It's intense, too. Sometimes you can ignore the signals your body flashes across your body, but with the sudden comforts of your situation it seems as if your tolerance has plummeted.

Kate’s frustration never lets up, never leaving you a perfect second to interject. Eventually you holding your legs together isn’t stopping it anymore, and you have to interrupt her. “C-can I use the b-bathroom, please?”

The women who guard the door keep their arms at their sides, both of them raising a single eyebrow at the same time. They don’t need to say it, you know there’s no way you’re getting out of here.

“Aw, need to go to the bathroom, sweetheart?” Kate mock-asks, jutting her bottom lip out in a similar fake pout. She doesn’t look up, though, doesn’t waste her time moving her eyes from the cash in front of her. When you don’t reply immediately, she finally looks down at you.

You remember her rules about speaking when spoken to, forcing a response from deep in her chest. “Y-yes. I have to pee.”

Kate still doesn’t look at you, but huffs out a laugh. “Well, darling, normally I’d let Maria escort you to the bathroom-“ You knew Kate had a private bathroom only accessible by tipping a thick anthology of W.H. Auden poetry that needed no escort. “But given your betrayal, I’m not sure you’ve earned that right yet.”

Fuck. You’re not even sure you’re able to beg. Everything inside of you is going towards not ruining the nice bed. “P-please, I have to g-go.”

Kate just stares at you with a blank stare, papers still in her hand in the same position they were in when you interrupted you. “Either you go here, or you hold it until we go home.”

The prospect of going back to Kate’s mansion almost makes you nauseous, but when you look at the clock, you notice it’s passed right after midnight. Kate normally doesn’t leave until two.

You swallow what little spite is in your mouth, looking down at the floor. Well…you think to yourself. This is just going to happen, isn’t it?

Thankfully, you’re allowed to stare at the floor as you let yourself…go. Slowly but surely the hot wetness of your piss falls down your clothes legs, soon pooling at your knees. It doesn’t touch your socks, by some miracle.

But when Kate tuts and hooks a finger under your chin to bring your eyes to hers, you know it’s even worse than you thought it would be. All you get is a “poor baby,” before she’s beckoning Maria over. The dark-haired woman clips you on your back away from the spill with an efficiency you’ve only seen when she’s being used as Natasha’s enforcer, stripping you of your dripping leggings while leaving the thick socks. She wipes you down with a towel seemingly pulled from thin air, the abrasive material making you wince when it’s swiped over your center.

But she doesn’t let up, not until you and the floor are equally dry. You’re a dog at a show, stuck frozen on all fours waiting for a release word. Maria is equally silent, even if her gaze is heavy and bores into you. She’s done this before – she’s seen you in much more compromising positions – and yet this feels…worse, somehow. You hang your head in shame even as she pulls away.

“Good to know you can still follow direction,” is all Kate says to you before returning to her work. Cowering in shame, you go back to the bed where you were before, now missing pants and a little bit of pride. Once again, though, there’s nothing you can do besides sleep or stay away and stare at the floor. You try the second option for a long time, watching Kate’s boots against the ground and listening to her do whatever it is she does. The flipping of paper, the signing of documents, the telling one of her guards to get her something to eat or drink. Occasionally someone will come in and talk to her with voices you don’t recognize. One of the meetings is about the type of gin they’re buying for the bar, the other is whether they should burn bodies or cut them up and scatter them across the state. It's after that last one that you try to go to sleep again.

The sound of Natasha’s voice is what wakes you up again.

“Bishop,” she doesn’t acknowledge anyone else in the room except her boss. “It’s time to go.”

Kate stops whatever it is she’s doing, looking to the leader of her security team. “I will be down in thirty. Please have my car waiting for me when we come down.”

The “we” makes your heart skip a beat.

As Natasha leaves, Kate turns to the guards posted inside her office. “Stand outside,” she commands.

The two guards do as they’re told without question, remaining on their respective sides now on the other side of the entrance. As soon the heavy, metal door shuts, Kate is hooking her hands up under your collar once just as she did earlier that day and slamming you onto the desk so that your ass grazes against the seam of Kate’s pants. You barely fight back a moan, careening against the hard cock you can feel straining against the fabric. You’re not sure when she started packing that day, but you can’t help but feel thankful as you imagine it inside you.

With one hand on the back of your neck, Kate pushes your top above your midsection to grab at your butt. “Still such a good ass,” she murmurs. “Almost makes up for everything you did.”

You’re wet – you know you are, and Kate knows you know you are, too – but she still slowly inserts a single finger. She pulls it out and holds it against the low light, smirking.

“Such a fucking whore…I guess some things never change, do they?”

You don’t respond, can’t respond, because just then Kate is re-entering your dripping pussy with three fingers. Your resistance turns to naught as she begins to fuck in and out of you, pinning you down so that all you can do is take it.

“F-fuck,” your moans are broken by each thrust, the sounds of her fucking into your dripping pussy filling the room. You’re grateful you’re alone with you, just the thought of Carol and Maria watching and degrading you with Kate sends you so far into your own subspace that you’re surprised your knees haven’t given out.

Kate speaks when the word more just barely begins to form itself on your lips.

“You abandoned me,” she seethes, forcing a fourth finger inside of you. “I treated you better than anyone else ever has and you fucking abandoned me.”

Her teeth are grit, anger palpable in the air. You can taste it – the metallic – every time you gasp out a moan, your hands crawling at the desk to see if the hard wood would break way to something you could cling to. It doesn’t happen, though, you’re not strong enough to break through reinforced wood. Shame.

“You don’t even have something to say for yourself?” The thrusts of Kate’s hands increase in their fervor, a pace that makes you certain you’ll be aching for the next few days. She’s never been one to pull punches, and that instinct doesn’t go away when the matter concerns you. “Fucking whore, you wouldn’t know loyalty if it slapped you in the face.”

She stops, suddenly, a groan escaping your throat as you find yourself struggling to accommodate her. You almost don’t notice her other hand snaking around your body to grab at your throat. It doesn’t take much for her to use it as leverage to pull you flush against her body. All you can do is scream when she slaps at your tits, leaving angry marks that will be equally as tender as your cunt.

Kate laughs with every wince. “See?” When you don’t respond, she withdraws her hand from your pussy and uses it to grab at your chin, pulling even closer so she can slot her face in the crook of your neck. With one hand pinching at your nipples, the other keeps you in place. You can smell yourself, your chin wet with yourself. “Answer me, you fucking slut. You’re mine, and you’ll do as you’re fucking told.”

You struggle to find the words, your body still as your mind rattles around in your skull. In the end, you say all you’ve wanted to say since you left. “I’m sorry.”

Kate stops for a moment, just a moment – and then growls. “For what?” She slams you back down onto the best, the two lamps on either side rattling with the force. The slips back inside you, four fingers, and you welcome it. “Tell me what you’re apologizing for!”

You struggle against the lack of oxygen and the rock in your throat and the truth that threatens to break free.

Kate just bares her teeth, a snarl low in her throat. “Fucking say it.”

If a dam were to break right now, flooding the city, it would be overtaken by the outpour of cries and apologies that flow from your lips. “F-for leaving you! I’m sorry for leaving you, for asking to be alone, for abandoning you so soon!”

Kate’s lips curl into a smile, and she sinks her teeth into the side of your neck. You’re hoping she won’t draw blood – but even if there are no deep wounds you know what she’s doing. She doesn’t want to leave you in pain, she wants to claim you. The bruise is high enough that you can’t cover it with a shirt or even a hoodie; regardless of your hiding capabilities it will ache and pulse under the protection of what you wear. As she makes smaller ones, too, you’re sure it will hurt when you turn your head and you’re sure Kate will push aside whatever hides it to that she knows…even if she isn’t directly looking at, she knows you know that you’re hers.

Her voice is kept low as she speaks low into your ear. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Her anger turns to a sweet so sickening it’s hard for you to admit that it makes you wetter - both sides of her and the flip between them.

You shake your head. “N-no Daddy. It wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

She moves her head to the other side of your neck and leaves another equally large, painful hickey. She smiles as you cry out in pain once more, it growing as she pulls away to whisper in your ear. “Then I guess you can come, puppy, why don’t you make a big old mess that I can make Maria clean up tonight. When I come in tomorrow to the floor and see it cleaned, I want to remember how fucking cute you looked when I made you fall apart so easily.”

Your moans are loud enough to shake the glass vase on the closest bookshelf to you. The hand keeping you in place drops to your swollen, desperate clit. The pads of two fingers make large circles around the most sensitive part of you. They’re wet quickly, the smooth feeling like silk against you. There’s something deep inside of you – something heavy, something growing. An explosion under something rarely stays an under for very long; you’re the dock and the pleasure are the waves. You can see them, crashing under you but you just can’t grab it. You buck your hips back feverishly, with no rhyme or rhythm to your movements. This is the end of the symphony, the final key change, the crescendo that you’re not sure can get louder but you still hope it does.

When you come, you think it’s so loud you’ll burst an eardrum. Just like at the end of a show, your blood sings and electricity cackles in your muscles. You’re floating, you’re above the rest of the world, you’re walking on air. Everything here is good – everything here is bright – everything can only be even better.

It succeeds the same way it came in, in waves. In ebbs and lows that fade before coming back ever so much, showing you what it was and what it could be. A preview, a small sample, a taste of what could be.

As it whisps away, the singing in your ears turns into the sounds of your panting. Your pupils are blown out, body wrapped in a light that feels sweet, somehow. You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the wood under you cool to the touch. Kate’s words are muffled, but when your breathing evens out she’s telling you how good you did, how much she loves you.

And then you remember, you remember what happened the last time you saw her:

You’re laying in Kate’s circular bed, silk sheets making you feel like you’re floating on air. Everything, in this moment, is good. And you’re about to ruin it.

Kate’s in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. You can see her from where you are on the bed, watching her in a cropped loose shirt and sweatpants low on her hips. There are indents on her thighs from where the strap was, her letting you rest after hours of fucking you slow. She doesn’t do that often, so when she does, you like to savor it.

You also worry it may be the last time she ever fucks you like that.

When she comes back to the bedroom, Kate knows something is wrong. She doesn’t have to ask if you’re okay, she knows you’ll tell her when you’re comfortable.

That times sooner than you would like – you’ve been planning this for days, and you know that if you don’t do it now…you never will.

“I want to leave,” you tell her. She sits on the side of the best closest to you, making it easy for you to see her face fall. She doesn’t move, waiting for you to continue. “I want to buy my freedom.”

Kate doesn’t talk for a long time, her gaze a spotlight you’re sure could blind you. A few false starts happen, too, her mouth opening ever so slightly before closing once more. You’re sure hours have gone by before she finally speaks. “Are you sure?”

You don’t hesitate, you can’t. “I’m sure.”

Kate once more falls silent. “Okay. Get dressed, then. We can talk about the terms of your release downstairs.”

She leaves immediately, whisking herself downstairs to her home office. It’s similar to her office at the club, all dark wood and filled with books and trinkets. There’s a bed for Lucky (who’s currently in the kitchen begging Kate’s personal chef for scraps) and one for you, a mini-fridge, and secret compartments everywhere. It’s slightly homier, though, with a flatscreen television across from her desk so she can watch the news or games while she works. You even have your own heated blanket that you can wrap yourself in on cold nights. New York winters are brutal, but Kate’s insistence that “warm air breeds laziness” is even worse.

You dress yourself in the soft grey shorts you were wearing earlier and a large, well-worn sweatshirt Kate discarded when she came home at three that morning. It’s still thick even after years of wear, and smells just like Kate’s favorite deodorant. You didn’t know it then, but it would soon become the most painful thing you had to leave behind when you left. Everything hurt when you shut the door behind you, walking off without money or support or even an idea of where to go.

But that sweatshirt, the scents of your respective body wash and sweat and deodorant and perform mixing together in their own unique way…the reminder of Kate’s dedication sometimes able to be used for good, that not all that she does leads to pain…that hurt to leave. You’d have traded anything else you were able to pack in your backpack and duffel bag for that fucking sweatshirt.

Even when the A/C went out at one of your shitty apartments and the New York summer air made you gag…you wished you had it with you. It was your trophy, your prize for cracking down Kate’s defenses and getting to a place where she could be vulnerable. She told you a lot, on those nights you’ve never even dreamed of experiencing. About her parents, how she got that nickname she doesn’t want you to know about. How she got where she was, how she stayed there. How she met all the women in security.

Every time you had one of those late-night talks, where you ate ice cream from the carton while Kate stood against the fridge and you sat on a bar stool…all of those happened with one of you wear that sweatshirt.

The memory sends a strong shiver down your spine. Kate notices it, but doesn’t comment. She just gets you dressed in new sweats - enough that no one who doesn’t know you doesn’t comment on anything that could spark rumors that are too big. Being underdressed is one thing, not being dressed at all…that’s entirely another one.

“Let’s go, baby,” she murmurs in your ear. “We’ve got a whole lot of catching up to do.”

You stay close to her as she walks through the club, navigating it with an expertise that comes from walking the same route every day of the past ten or so years. Your gaze remains on the ground, only looking up when you realize you’ve stepped outside and need to step into one of the bulky, black cars that Kate loves. She has a whole fleet of them, and sometimes you would spot them around the city when you couldn’t afford public transport. Sometimes you thought they were watching you, but when life never got any easier, you refused to believe she would watch without positive intervention. It was easier to believe she didn’t care about you at all than to consider she’d saw your plight and done nothing.

There, in the backseat, folded so that the logo of some shitty bar that’s barely faded is front and center, is the sweatshirt. The sweatshirt. When you look back to Kate in shock, she just smirks.

“Told you you’d be back, baby,” she says with a knowing smile.

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x you #kate bishop/reader #lukis does commissions #lukis writes stuff #kate bishop x yn

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whywishesarehorses · 6 months ago

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5439, 7047, 7042, 7453, and 7483 are all up again for the May 2024 auction!

BLM Mustangs for Sale - Bruneau Facility Geldings

These horses are part of the March 2024 auction.

NOTE: the height dates on these horses are mostly older, meaning they have grown a lot.

4 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (6166)

4 YEAR OLD SORREL GELDING HORSE (6168) 13.2hh

5 YEAR OLD BLACK GELDING HORSE (6214) 14.2hh

3 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7047) 13.2hh

4 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7119) 14hh

4 YEAR OLD BROWN GELDING HORSE (7185) 13.2hh

4 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7229) 13.2hh

4 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7255) 14hh

2 YEAR OLD SORREL GELDING HORSE (7402) 13.2hh

2 YEAR OLD ROANRED GELDING HORSE (7408) 13.1hh

14hh2 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7453)

2 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7469) 13.3hh

2 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7471) 13.3hh

2 YEAR OLD WHITE GELDING HORSE (7477) 13.2hh

2 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7483) 13.3hh

2 YEAR OLD BUCKSKIN GELDING HORSE (7493) 13.3hh

2 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7494) 13.3hh

2 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (7498) 13.3hh

#horse for sale

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ao3feed-crimeboys · 3 years ago

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Atomic

by Endlessly_Searching

“I got something on my face or some shit.” Tommy bit out at Wilbur, cutting Philza off with little care. He’d be lucky to get beaten by him right in front of Sam because then they’d finally fucking leave.

For a second he expected Wilbur not to respond, but then his eyes widened like he realized what he’d been doing before it was back to a blank stare. “Your face is all fucked up.” He said simply.

“Wilbur.” Philza hissed, and Tommy could see from the corner of his eye as Techno rapidly brought the book back up to his face.

or,

Tommy is a notorious foster kid no one is sure what to do with. When Phil signs up to foster again, he wasn’t prepared for a kid to be dropped off on his doorstep so soon, one with that extensive of a record to his name. Techno and Wilbur do their best to be good (foster) brothers, but Tommy is a bit different than what they expected.

And Tommy just wants a break, but can't seem to catch one with the weird ass family he's being fostered by, and somewhere along the way begrudgingly starts to care.

Words: 7042, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Dream SMP - Fandom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, other people from dsmp are in here as well

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Foster Family Sleepy Bois Inc, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sleepy Bois Inc-centric, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Protective Sleepy Bois Inc, Hurt/Comfort, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Older Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Found Family, Touch-Starved TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, No Romance, this shit gets sappy and emotional, there are injuries, Wholesome, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Adoption

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/38695536

#IFTTT #ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt

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valentinafm · 3 years ago

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( cis woman / she/her ) i thought i saw CINDY KIMBERLY walking down 5th avenue, but it was just VALENTINA PEREZ. you know, the TWENTY-TWO year old CAFÉ OWNER . they seemed to be feeling CONCERNED about the book announcement, it might be because they ARE expected to be featured in it. i’ve heard they are COMPASSIONATE and can also be IMPULSIVE, but the best way to describe them is LIPSTICK STAINS ON WINE GLASSES, THE SMELL OF RAIN IN THE AIR, BARE FEET IN THE MORNINGS, UNANSWERED TEXTS

hello angels ! i’m cara, i go by she/her and i currently reside in the gmt+1 timezone. underneath the cut you’ll find some more information about valentina and some wc’s. she’s a new muse i came up with after a wild fever dream, so bare with me while i’m trying to figure her out asjhdsk ! give this sucker a like if you’d like to plot and i’ll smoothly slide into your im’s or message me on discord your local wine drunk bitch#7042

S T A T S

FULL NAME: valentina perez ( née lucía perez )

NICKNAMES: val, vale

FACE CLAIM: cindy kimberly

AGE: twenty-two

DATE OF BIRTH: april 25th, 1999

ZODIAC SIGN: taurus

GENDER + PRONOUNS: cisfemale, she/her

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single

OCCUPATION: owner of a small café

LOOSELY INSPIRED BY: serena van der woodsen ( gossip girl ), mia thermopolis ( the princess diaries ), peyton sawyer ( one tree hill )

B A C K S T O R Y

valentina was born as lucía perez on the beautiful island of ibiza in the mediterrean sea - her mother, aulia perez, a receptionist at one of the many luxurious five stars hotels, her father, ricardo montesinos de cardona, the king of a small, but very rich, country that technically belongs to spain, but has it’s own ruler.

growing up, she had no idea that she was a “bastard child”. her parents had a quiet arrangement of monthly checks that would make sure the affair and her existence wouldn’t ever see the light of day and be known to the public.

safe to say she had a rather normal childhood - maybe some of her clothes were a little more expensive than the ones of her friends, but it had never been a big deal to her. she had never questioned her mother’s rather large income considering she was just working as a receptionist - half time now ever since lucía had been born. most of the money went into vacations that they took during school holidays, awakening lucía’s love for travelling and her free-spirited mind.

obviously, the daddy question was brought up at some point and continued to be brought up throughout the years - her mom’s answer always the same: “he was vacationing at the hotel i work at. he travels the world, so he really doesn’t have any time to get back to ibiza at the moment.” once lucía was older, the answer slightly changed into “i don’t know where he is, i don’t even have his phone number. but you and i are better off without him anyway.”

tw cancer, tw parental death !

at the age of 16 her mother got diagnosed with a severe kind of breast cancer. even though they tried every treatment possible, she passed away six months later, not only destroying lucía mentally, but also leaving her as an orphan, basically.

two days after the funeral, a black car with tinted windows showed up at her aunt’s house that she was currently staying at, requesting her to come with them to see her dad.

needless to say it completely blew her mind when she met him for the first time and she found out about her true heritage. even though he hadn’t been present in her life for sixteen years which had caused some daddy issues, it didn’t take them long to hit it off, many of her own character traits coming from him.

still, living at the palace made her feel uncomfortable. not because she didn’t get along with her half-siblings or anything. it just wasn’t her world.

shortly before her eighteenth birthday, her father announced to legitimize her, making her a princess, another heir to run for the crown if anything should happen to any of her older siblings.

a press conference was held the next day where she was introduced to the whole world as lucía montesinos de cardona, his daughter. questions about why he was only showing her now or how long he had known of her, how she personally felt to suddenly become a royal overwhelmed the young woman. lucía packed up her bags in the middle of the night and fled, ending up in nyc - a city she had always dreamed to live in.

two months after her eighteenth birthday and 600 missed calls from her dad later, after trying to hold her head above water with waitress jobs, she finally accepted the call. explaining the whole situation to him now that she was far away and some time had passed.

her father was surprisingly very understanding. and even though she refused to tell him about her whereabouts or anything else, she woke up to a large sum of money in her bank account the next day. but needless to say her running away caused a strain on their just freshly built relationship.

still, the checks keep on coming monthly ( just like they had to her mom ) and once she had turned twenty-one, she decided to purchase a small café in the village ( think some cozy parisian café in the corner of a street with baked goods and v good coffee ).

she decided to legally change her first name to valentina and take on her mother’s maiden name again to have a fresh start in the city and close the chapter of her past.

and even though she owns an apartment on the upper west side with a nice view of the central park now, and her bank account is full, money really isn’t something she cares about or identifies herself with. the source of it a well kept secret, just like her true identity.

tldr; basically found out she’s royal when she was sixteen, a “princess” who doesn’t wanna be one and doesn’t want anyone to know about it. she prefers to live a normal life and keeps her wealth and status a secret.

5 P O S I T I V E T R A I T S

compassionate

free-spirited

charming

loyal

outgoing

5 N E G A T I V E T R A I T S

impulsive

impatient

blunt

gullible

stubborn

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S

ride or die: the blair to her serena, the peyton to her brooke, basically any tv best friendship you can imagine. they met when valentina first got to nyc ( maybe drunkenly in the restroom of a bar complimenting each other’s outfits, maybe in central park both reading the same book, etc. ). valentina confides to them, cries to them, talks about anything and everything with them. they’re also the only person she met in nyc who knows about her “ royal status “.

first true love: her first year in nyc was everything but easy, but they made her feel a happiness she’d never felt before, she’d never been so in love, making her forget all the struggles she was dealing with. innocent, but she never told them her back story. still, they were her safe haven, her home. and even though they eventually outgrew each other with growing older and finding themselves, realizing that things just didn’t work out, she’ll always hold them dear to her heart.

a regular customer: they come in every single day to get their coffee at her place, usually finding valentina basically already waiting for them. maybe they flirt, maybe they’ve hooked up once, maybe they’re just talking about the weather and wishing each other a nice day once the coffee order is done.

squad: a group of people who are just really close and do lots of stupid shit together

ex- summer fling: they met on spanish soil while she was living there and they were vacationing. hooked up a few times, but they both knew nothing serious would come out of it. they know her as lucía and not as valentina

exes who ended on bad terms: two years into living in nyc, valentina struggled with a long lasting wave of sadness while she was with them, the pain of her mother’s passing catching up with her. she’s constantly pushed them away, even though they were completely supportive and there for her, but she closed herself off. she hurt them. there are still things that need to be said, probably still lingering feelings.

enemies with benefits: valentina and this person cannot stand each other, for whatever reason. however, there’s always flirty banter hidden beneath their conversations, which seamlessly transfers into the bedroom.

friends, roommates, customers, aquaintances, hook-ups, etc.

#newyorkfm.intro #tw cancer #tw parental death #hello and welcome to the shit show that is this intro asjhds

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