#anyone: absurd ranking

[gentrychild]

(Anyone!) What are the casts mains in HeroKart or whatever its called (or MarioKart for AFO since HeroKart is clearly a ripoff)

Izuku: All Might

Shouto: Gang Orca

Kurogiri: Eraserhead

Nagisa: Ryukyu

Hawks: Miruko

Dabi: Eraserhead when Kurogiri isn't here, Miruko if Hawks isn't here but Kurogiri is, Gang Orca if Shouto isn't here but Kurogiri and Hawks are, and Kamui Woods when everyone is here and he has no choice.

AFO: Peach (she is the one with the most money)

[usedpidemo]

Codependency (Ive Yujin)

On one side, there’s a mansion worthy portrait of you on the wall. On the other, wards and recognitions from numerous governing bodies with your name plastered in remembrance. The public knows more about the brand than the people behind it; that’s how business works. Unless your name happens to be Musk, Bezos, or Zuckerberg.

You’re nowhere near their level of wealth and influence—far from it—yet this entire building’s future rests on your shoulders. It’s not as easy as it looks.

You’ve always credited your guardian angel for keeping you from harm your entire life. It sounds religious, but from personal experience, it’s real. 

She’s guiding you from the secluded corner of your office.

—————

“And that’s how we’ll proceed with operations moving forward,” you say to the executives in the room—except they're not physically there. Their faces are projected on screen, joining from different countries, with some even joining from home. To be quite frank, you understand very little about your own presentation, and had your acting not been Oscar-worthy, there’s more that would appear absurd than believable. “Do we have any questions?”

For the most part, the top brass appear to be in unanimous agreement with everything that has been laid out. Not a single question, complaint, or rebuttal from anyone.

“Well done, officer. You seem to have a complete grasp and understanding of the situation,” says one of the chiefs, his ripe old age showing through his slow, strained tone. 

Another suit, much closer to your age—albeit barely (he’s in his mid-forties)—adds, “We expect an immediate turnaround, otherwise we may have to cut even more of our divisions off. Should this plan fail, we anticipate closure of even more of our departments, including yours.”

It’s not the most concerning thing you’ve heard this week, but it’s definitely up there–at least top three.

Nevertheless, you remain firm and bow to your superiors as you end the meeting. “Thank you sirs. We will do our best.”

As soon as the video call ends, you let out this deep sigh of relief that’s been repressed the entire time. Thank goodness you have an entire building floor and private office to yourself. 

“Well fuck me,” you mutter, seemingly speaking to the void, taking all the deep breaths you need, wiping the sweat across your head with some tissue. “Tell me I followed through on everything, right?”

“Yeah. Apart from mixing a few things, you mostly got it.” Yujin’s voice emerges from the far end of the room, covered in darkness, away from anyone’s view. The papers on your desk aren’t actually documents or paperwork. In reality, they’re pages of a manuscript with a few instructional, handwritten notes attached. It’s not even your own writing; they’re curated by none other than Yujin herself. “I’d say I wouldn’t have noticed, even if they were a little too obvious at times.”

“These conferences are fucking tiresome. Nauseating even,” you reply. Yujin opens up the blinds, and you stagger away from the immediate sunlight piercing through the room. Simply put, you just want to throw up after yapping all that incomprehensible jargon. “You know what—why don’t we switch places next time? I think you’d be better at this than me, like you already are with everything.”

An unusual comment for the director to make to his assistant, but it’s true. Yujin is so good in every department that it’s borderline farcical. She’s incredibly reliable to the point where you’ve basically deferred nearly every task to her, leaving you with the most boring parts of your job, which mostly comprises of company meetings and private calls. She’s a relatively new hire, having worked in your department for a little over a year, yet her rise up the ranks has been nothing short of absurd. 

“Please, let’s not get carried away,” she softly laughs, flashing a lovely smile you never grow tired of seeing—and you see her as soon as you walk into the building till you clock out.  “I’m fine with the research and paperwork. Regardless of what you want to believe, I think you sold it well.”

You slump back in your chair, somewhat bothered at just how unbothered Yujin is. How she’s able to take all your responsibilities that you should be doing, and without protest. One look at her features tells you all you need to know: that she’s happy to work for you. She could easily be in your position right now, putting you through this exact hell. She could be on that screen making those very threats on your job, in fact. Instead, she prefers to be your subordinate.

If that wasn’t enough of an example, she’s gathering the papers on your desk, putting them back together, good as new. Then she brings you a cup of water from the dispenser. She’s enumerating a list of other, just as unintelligible things that may or may not be important to your discussion earlier. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting in that chair, your thoughts wandering aimlessly, thinking about anything that isn’t work. It’s almost noon, yet your mind just wants to check out for the rest of the day.

“Um—sir? You okay?” Yujin waves a hand right in your face, snapping you from your tired daze.

You tilt up to her gaze, eyes weary. “Yeah. I’m just—tired.”

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll go and sort out the upper management on your behalf if you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t.” You rise from your seat, telling her, “I’ll take care of it. Go and have lunch,” as you point at your wristwatch, both hands closely pointed at the top.

“You sure? You should go have lunch too,” she replies, showing an alarming amount of concern that it’s almost comical. “Don’t worry about me.”

Shaking your head, you respond, flashing a light grin to reassure her, “I can talk to them at any time. T your break. I’ll call you when I need anything.” 

—————

Truth be told, you didn’t want to see her for the rest of the day, let alone seek her help. 

Yujin is only one call away. After all, she’s your assistant, down to working right outside your office. She’s working on whatever nonsense you’ve assigned her, showing no signs of slowing down. Meanwhile, you can barely call today productive; you’ve only completed two pages of a draft for next week’s presentation. In the time spent between slowly chopping away and stalking her from behind the door, her pretty profile a sight for sore eyes, she’s probably completed this week’s assignments and halfway through the next. She’s that efficient.

Hours pass, until the day finally ends at five. At exactly the top of the hour, she lets herself into your office, her pleasant attitude still in full bloom. “Already completed all the tasks for today. How about you?”

Yujin is not even trying to gloat—not in the slightest—yet it sounds like a punch to the gut. You can only slam your chin flat on the desk in despair, shooting a tired glare at her. She tries to muffle her chuckle, trying to keep herself professional, not realizing you’ve already seen through her facade.

“You want me to help you out? I don’t mind working an hour longer if you need it.” She’s peeking her head over the laptop display, examining for the proof of concept—or lack thereof. “Didn’t I tell you to leave this five plan strategy to me?”

This amount of confidence should leave you battered and deflated. And yet, there’s a sense of relief knowing Yujin will get the job done no matter what you ask of her. It’s enough to turn that frown into a faint, encouraging grin. 

“I guess so,” you tell her, putting down the screen. Getting up from your chair, you close the window blinds and block out the setting sun. “Maybe I’m just tired of deferring all my responsibilities to you, that’s all.”

Her smile looks innocent, demure even, it doesn’t make sense as to how irrevocably kind she is to you. As far as you know, your employees consider you as shrewd and as scummy as your superiors. Forget that you’ve been working here longer; they consider everyone that isn’t their fellow rank a corporate dirtbag who’d step over others the first opportunity they can. It’s a vicious cycle. To have someone like Yujin feels like an anomaly. 

“Don’t worry about it, that’s why I’m getting paid right?” she answers back, pressing her palms on your desk. “Just do what you can and I’ll handle the rest.”

You’re pouring an espresso into a cup, before offering the drink to her. “We should talk, Yujin,” you say, filling up a separate glass with your own. Your fourth shot. “You got a minute or two?” 

“Sure. I always have time for you.” Yujin sits up, taking the drink into her hand, crossing her leg. It’s nearly impossible to look anywhere else but on them. As if she couldn’t be any more perfect, in mind, character, and body. “Is there anything bothering you lately?”

Sitting across her with only a desk separating you, the words never come out. You’ve got plenty on your mind: the messy state of your department, the unreasonable expectations and demands of your superiors, the possibility of losing your job—and Yujin. She’s sitting right there, ready to hear you out, but you never find the conviction to confess your worries. The next few minutes are awkward silence, only broken by the occasional stir of teaspoon and the sip of coffee. It isn’t that she renders you speechless, though one would fairly assume as to why: she’s pleasant to look at, among other things. It also helps that her outfits have been getting skimpier over the past few weeks. Unsurprisingly, you let the flagrant violation of the dress code go unpunished. 

“Sir? Is everything okay?” Yujin leans her head forward, noticing that you’re lost in thought. She places her cup on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows instinctively rise. That glimmer of hope you showed moments ago disappears. What’s left is despair. “I think we might be fucked, Yujin.”

“Fucked? What do you mean by that?”

“We’re fucked. Like, we could be out of a job fucked.”

“Explain?” Yujin cannot comprehend it—then again, anyone else would react the same way. “Didn’t we give the board a five step plan earlier today?”

“We did,” you reply, finally mustering the strength to meet her eyes. “But here’s the thing: we don’t have the financial or human capacity to execute the plan. At least, in the time they demanded.”

“And? We did the research and even the hypotheticals!” You’ve never heard Yujin raise her voice even once—until now. “What could go wrong exactly?”

“They think we can course correct years worth of bad financial decisions in just a few months. That’s the problem. Either way, we’re fucked.”

“I don’t believe you.” Yujin forcefully rises from her seat, threatening to flip the desk. If she only had the strength. “After all the time I spent working on it, you want to wave the white flag and give up?”

You don’t really know how to answer her. At least, in a way that’s remotely graceful and easy to understand. 

“I’m sorry, Yuj, but no matter what—”

“I’m trying—so fucking hard—” she huffs, her fist clenching, trembling violently— ���to carry your fucking ass so that we could keep our livelihoods. And not just me or you, but also the hundreds working for us! I know you fucking hate their guts because they’ve said nothing but terrible things about you, and even if none of that is true because I know you better than anyone else in this fucking building, at least have the decency to salvage whatever’s left instead of being a fucking coward for once!”

Yujin doesn’t notice that she’s been outright screaming into your face. You’re taken aback, utterly in disbelief at what she just aired out. If she wasn’t kindness incarnate, she likely would have pulled you by the shirt and choked you till you passed out. She blinks. The realization hits, and she begins to crumble.

“Sorry” is the only thing she can say, in quiet mumbles, slowly falling back onto her chair. Her hands cover the lower half of her face, completely mortified. Her eyes are on the verge of tears before giving out and crying waterfalls. Eventually, she lowers her head out of shame.

Even before entrusting her with such a demanding assignment, you knew there was nothing other than divine intervention that could save your job. This wasn’t what you signed up for, and neither did Yujin. For the most part, this was only to save face. Your face. The board of directors didn’t have any objections after all, and were mostly agreeable with every step of the plan. Either that or their old age is catching up and they hardly understood a thing at all. Like you.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t excuse you from criticism. This is on you, and you should be held accountable. Instead of rightfully performing your part, you weighed down someone else with your burden. It’s the wake-up call you need.

Yujin shouldn’t feel guilty saying all of this and having to apologize. She’s crying on your desk, still softly apologizing between tears, “Sorry—I’m really sorry—” and your heart fucking drops. 

It’s a terrible feeling.

“Yuj, please stop crying,” you mutter, caressing her shoulder. Seeing her look so defeated brings you more distress than anything, including the thought of losing your job. “I should be the one apologizing for putting you through all this. You’re right—”

“I’m so sorry.” She’s still asking for forgiveness, your words mostly going unnoticed. “I just wanted to—”

“You’re right, Yuj. I’m a coward. I’ll admit, I honestly wanted to resign the moment they brought this up. If they couldn’t do a damn thing about it, how else would I know? Seeing you figure out a way made me realize just how much I depend on you to save my ass. I should be the one saying sorry, not you Goddammit, Yuj. What would I do without you, honestly—”

She tilts her head up, her sniffling and sobbing unceasing, resting her head on your chest. “I’m sorry. What I said is still out of pocket and I wasn’t in the position to say—”

“Shush, Yuj. Stop apologizing for being right,” you reply, brushing her hair. “Look. We’ll go forward with your plan. You can write up the whole thing and I’ll present it your way. I won’t muck up in front of the directors, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna quit.”

“Really?” She lifts up her eyes, doe-looking and glimmering.

“Yeah. Might as well go down with a sinking ship, so please stop crying,” you say, smiling. “You made me feel like shit and I don’t like it.”

Yujin laughs. Heartily.

—————

Even though that should havd been enough to appease Yujin, in your eyes, it wasn’t. You had to make it up to her in other ways.

“This place serves really good food,” you tell Yujin, digesting the sights and scents of the relatively small eatery. Meanwhile, Yujin sits beside you, eating to heart’s content without a care. “I can see why you love it.”

“How’d you know this was my favorite place to drop by after work?” she asks, chomping down on the last stick of her barbecue. 

“I have my sources,” you tell her, playfully grinning, unwilling to admit that you’ve been watching from behind your car’s windows for some time now. 

“Don’t tell me it’s Wonyoung, boss.” Yujin pouts, flustered and embarrassed. “I swear to God, I can’t trust anything with—”

“It isn’t her, don’t worry,” you chuckle, amused at her red-faced look. 

“I really appreciate the offer,” she remarks, finishing the remaining half of her drink. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do for my hardworking assistant,” you reply, gesturing to the lone cook for the bill. The charges go up to the hundreds, with most orders belonging to her. While she’s chomping away at the end of a large meal, you secretly foot it on her behalf. How she maintains her figure while consuming this much food, you’ll never know. And when she calls for the tab, she’s told that it has already been paid in full.

“Now you’re just being extra,” she says, facing you, looking insulted by the kind gesture, but in a playful way. Appreciative regardless. “I already told you we’ll pay for what we each ordered.”

Looking at the stack of empty plates on her side—when compared to yours—some part of you believes that to be false. You don’t even have to say anything for her to realize she’s not one to fulfill her own word either.

“Okay—I would have paid 25 percent.”

You can’t place any blame on her. She laughs—at herself. She’s so charming, a pleasure to watch, that you would let her slide, had this not been your intention right from the start.

“Stop.” 

You end up laughing with her too.

—————

“Seriously. Don’t lie, you promise you won’t just suddenly quit on us?” Yujin asks, staring at you as you walk toward your parked vehicles outside the eatery. “This feels like a way to soften the blow.”

Both of you stop right in front of your cars. “Not at all,” you tell her, staring directly into her eyes. “What else do I have to do to prove that I’m not quitting?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean—you, suddenly asking me to eat out—” she rolls her eyes away, skeptical— “You’ve never done that.”

The cold nighttime air sweeps all over you. Chilly, you rub your arms together, partially regretting the decision to cover Yujin with your coat. She’s relatively unfazed, warm in your garment; even more surprisingly, it fits her perfectly like a glove. 

“I wouldn’t leave if it means I lose you, Yujin.”

It’s not the words you wanted to say. Every part of that sentence leaves your lips effortlessly. A little too effortless.It’s an unconfessed confession, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. Sure, she may interpret it as merely you being codependent on her when it comes to work, but there’s no way there isn’t some kind of other, deeper meaning behind them.

“Lose me? What does that mean?” She asks, even more curious. Of course, Yujin isn’t the brain of your operations for nothing. It isn’t surprising when she figures you out. “You like me, don’t you?”

Just like that, the tables have turned. You can’t deny your feelings any longer.

You gently nod. Perhaps the killing blow could be softer if you find closure, right here, right now.

She leans forward, both of you unable to do anything other than to stare into each other’s deep, longing eyes. The tension between you is the only source of heat in the midst of a cold, lonely night. 

By all accounts, the relationship between you and Yujin is strictly professional. Apart from a few trips abroad, you keep all conversations business related. Mind-numbing, confusing agency jargon. It’s a helpful practice in keeping your space; no matter how attractive she may look and saccharine she may sound, no amount of pleasantry can make company discussion remotely close to entertaining. You’d rather play with the blinds in your office. She’s doing her part too: clock in at nine, clock out at five on the dot. It’s a healthy routine. After hour talks between you are rare. It’s common practice to maintain a firm working relationship. It’s also just common sense. Good organization begins at the top.

Moments like these are strong reminders on why you avoid crossing that line. Yet you don’t stop—not when she’s the one making the first move. 

You kiss. Your lips stay a little longer than they should. The taste lingers. 

You find solace in each other's warmth, in a comforting embrace. She rests her head on your chest, her hands gripping into your shirt tightly. Deep down, you both recognize you’re on borrowed time. Whether through your promotion or your release, you won’t be together for much long. Countless hours spent together, so many occasions—the opportunities are being handed to you on a silver platter, only for you not to take the chance.

Not anymore. You won’t make the same mistake again.

—————

Driving her home was easy; finding your way into your room was half the battle. 

“It took us this long to share a room, huh?” Yujin huffs against your face, finding and capturing your lips even in an erratic, volatile environment. She’s pushing you against the wall, her palms having an iron grip on your cheeks, pulling you close and wildly kissing you. The entire trip up to your apartment floor has been nothing but shaky kisses and clothes slowly scattering from the elevator to your front door.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” you manage to mutter, holding her face away for a brief respite to answer, only to be forced back in once again. Any semblance of professionalism between you is abandoned for fiery, passionate lovemaking, future relationships be damned. 

The most surprising thing is how it isn’t as messy as it may look. See, despite the bite marks on your skin, the wrinkles in your clothes, and the rather loud, unceremonious manner you enter your apartment, you’re still in the process slowly unraveling. There’s a conscious effort to make sure neither side comes out completely in ruins. A silent agreement between you. 

Her hands lay claim to your shirt, threatening to tear you apart if you don’t do the same to her. She lifts her head when you quickly peel through her long skirt; you dive in and make it yours. The crack in her voice as she mewls tickles your ears just right. Slowly spreading her legs wide, pulling the panties down her well defined thighs. In response, she tugs at your shirt, popping a few buttons loose. It isn’t as easy as it looks to have Yujin pinned against the wall; she’s actively fighting, trying to seize back control. If she can’t have her way with you, at the very least she can rein you in. Only now do you realize the danger your little escapede.

With her slender legs wrapped around your waist, you can only do so much. Yujin can’t stop kissing you, leading your gaze to anywhere but her pretty, lust-ridden expressions. She wants this more than you do. Against your desires, you end up in the kitchen, propping her on the bar counter as lipstick covers your entire face. The brief respite when she catches her breath gives you ample time to unbutton the rest of your shirt before tossing it aside—something you don’t give her the decency to finish.

While she’s still staggering, lost in her own thoughts, you take her by the shoulder and leave a fresh mark on her neck. A distraction. More importantly, your fingers feel their way around the back of her dress, find the touch of metal—and yank. The zipper follows, the lengthy garment gradually coming undone, until Yujin pushes the rest of it off her shoulders and to the floor. Your eyes gleam like starlight as her bra reveals itself, taking countless mental snapshots at that moment. 

Not even her attempts to redirect your attention can pull you away. 

You push her down on the marble surface. The bar is big enough to fit you both. Joining her atop the counter, your gaze wanders down her divine figure—and you don’t know where to start. Everything about Yujin is designed to be as perfect as humanly possible. No one should be flawless.

“How can you be any more perfect, Yuj,” you mutter, eyes roaming everywhere, soaking in the immaculate sight before you. “How did I not want you any sooner?”

Yujin’s hand traces down your arm. “You could have just asked. My previous employers did. It was a regular part of the job for me.”

You’re shaking your head. Imagine that—an employer taking advantage of their employee offering themselves without any restraint. You would never—except you already did. Your previous assistant can vouch.

“Don’t feel sorry. I want this just as much as you do,” she adds, pulling you towards her face for a soft kiss, clearing all doubt. “Besides, you’re not that much different from any of them. Why stop now?”

“Not that different? Were they just as codependent on you as I am?”

Nodding in agreement, she laughs. 

“God fucking dammit.” 

You sigh. Yujin continues laughing. What a momentum killer. And the worst part is, it’s self-inflicted and completely avoidable. You should have just kept going, kept her speechless.

Still, it’s not the end of the world. You’re on top of Yujin; she has no intention of leaving you anytime soon. Most importantly, she’s unhooking her bra while you’re caught up in your feelings. “But—there’s one difference: I actually love working for you. I wouldn’t mind letting you use me.”

“You love working for me? Why?”

She’s biting her lip, grabbing you by the back of your head. “You’ll find out yourself. You know what to do.”

“What? How?” The word comes out panicked, desperate.

Yujin shakes her head, the smirk on her lips twisting, wicked. “You know how.”

At first, finding what she means proves to be a struggle. After all, Yujin’s not the mysterious type. She always tells you everything straight, condenses complex conversations into digestible servings for easy consumption. It’s not in her character. Yet, one look at what’s in front of you—her naked frame casually lying beneath yours, her hands running all over your bare self—the realization hits you like lightning, and you’re mentally punching yourself for being so dangerously oblivious.

You kiss her on the lips again. You can’t get enough. You’d happily stay in this position all night long. Except that isn’t what she wants. She wants you to go further. 

So you sink further and further down. The closer you get, the more she opens up. A sloppy trail follows your lips, from her chin, to her collarbones, to her chest and navel, and everything else in between. She’s soft to the touch, so flexible and malleable—every part of her, you make yours. Then you get to her core, her inner thighs spreading, and watch as it unravels before you, quivering, soaked, needy. You look into each other’s eyes, hers anticipating. There’s a craze behind your irises, as if some repressed need is crawling back to the surface. It’s slowly driving you wild.

Your name drips on the edge of Yujin’s mouth—a sign of impatience—before suddenly cracking at the point of impact. She rolls her head back, her voice reduced to an airy sigh as your tongue licks up her slit, her entrance, in a slow upward motion. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to devolve into a hungry, primal mess. Her thighs close in and clamp you down, suffocating you while you become more familiar with the sensation and taste of her dripping cunt. 

If only you could hear the full extent of her moans, turning a pitch higher with each passing swipe and slurp. You’re humming into her core, satiated and fulfilled with the taste of her slick in your mouth. Yujin’s hands stretch out for help, for stability as pleasure gradually overwhelms her. Propped underneath her thighs, your hands dig under to reach places that your tongue can’t. She grows erratics, restless, moved by your presence inside her.

“Fuck!” The profanity escapes her lips instinctually, like it’s always been a part of her. She’s writhing, jaw slack, her back arched over the bar, her hands now grasping on your hair, then on the edges again. On your side, the pressure her thighs bring leave you suffocating. It’s too much. You should be begging for your life; instead, you’re enjoying every minute, slowing your pace every now and then to savor the feeling. 

Despite her state, she’s caught you by the wrists. They do little in stopping your tongue from consuming every inch of her, and you end up pushing her forward. You grip her by her thighs and spread her wide. She can’t resist. Fresh air has never felt more soothing to the lungs. By the way you have her legs dangled up in the air, you’re threatening to pull a nerve. She’s screaming, crying out in desperation, 

Still, it doesn’t change the outcome. Yujin finally loses herself completely and comes undone. She cums—blasts jets of slick all over your face and mouth. The counter pools with the aftermath of her orgasm, and you lick it all up, sanitation be damned. 

When you finally emerge from the depths of her tight, drenched cunt, she remains a mess, stamina completely drained, body still trembling from her massive climax. You’d think after that, she would be incapacitated for the night, until—

“Wait.” Yujin deeply exhales, pulls you by the wrist. You aren’t exactly going anywhere. As if struck by lightning, she suddenly rises up. A shit-eating grin forms on her lips, as if the damage wasn’t enough to take her down. There’s a familiar look in her eyes—the gaze of a woman who needs more.

She flicks a sample of her slick from the spot on the counter and laps it up, still eying you with unceasing lust. You remember her words, the question to ponder: “You’re gonna tell me now?”

Yujin blankly stares. The question lingers for a little while. “Tell you what?” she replies, the tone convincing enough to feign innocence.

“Why you love working for me.”

She smiles again, a teasing look. “You’re halfway there.”

“What does that mean?” As you try not to overreact, your assistant turned one night stand tries to stifle her laughter. It almost goes unnoticed, until— “Yuj, you’re really getting on my nerves with all this vaguery bullshit going on.”

“It’s part of the fun, is it not? Do you want me to give it straight?”

“Yes! Like always!” 

Yujin leans close. One hand reaches for your pants, the other still attached to your wrist. She appears like she’s going for yet another kiss, when she stops right next to your ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me. Use me,” before drawing herself away.

On the surface, the stare you give her looks cold. Deep in your mind, the words resonate and ring louder and louder. Four words. “Fuck me—” “Use me—” The arousal bubbles up, manifests on your cheeks. The next few minutes can go so many ways, more than you can imagine. In your eyes, she’s still your assistant, a friendly, dependable worker whom you consider a close acquaintance more than anything. 

The thing is: you’ve already gone far past the point of no return. Her gaze is enticing—demanding—you to keep going. 

There’s no stopping now.

Yujin casually follows you to your bedroom, hand in tow. The rest of your clothes lie discarded in the kitchen—boxers, pants, and all. Gone are the nerves and hesitations; the attitude you have towards her is different. “Lay down,” you command her, voice steely, and she obliges, the bed flopping with the slight crash of her lithe figure. You won’t ever grow tired of staring at her naked body, regardless of it’s position. 

She lays flat on her tummy, observing you rummage through your large closet of suits, pulling a red tie from one of the drawers. “Not the first time I’ve had something wrapped around my neck,” she remarks, raising a curious eyebrow, crooked smile unyielding. “Stylish, just like you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your input.” You’re never this stern towards Yujin. You toss the necktie on the mattress before joining her atop the bed. “Turn around.”

Like the good girl she is, she obliges. That’s Yujin for you; she’ll always follow everything you tell her, no questions asked. On her fours, her plump ass glides face up, in complete view. Another temptation, another part of her to claim as yours. Regardless, you’re in no hurry; you’ve got the rest of the night.

With your erect cock in hand, you line the tip against her sopping cunt. She winces, moans at the contact. “Oh, fuck—” she whines, lifting her head up, her nails pressed into the sheets. As inviting as the call of her tight, wet pussy is to you, you make an organized effort to resist the immediate lull to fuck her hard.

Even holding her figure with your other hand proves to be a nightmare. Her body enraptures you in hypnotic ways. The arch of her back, the curve of her ass, the hourglass frame—it’s a feast for the eyes. You could take your sweet time and worship every little part of Yujin and she wouldn’t mind, but in the midst of your blinding daze, she’s calling to you. Again.

“Are you just gonna admire me or are you gonna shove that big cock in me?” She faces you with a mischievous grin. “I don’t mind both.”

Suddenly, you remember your position in this relationship. You grab her by the throat, face her away again. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear any more from you unless you’re taking this fucking cock.”

Showing a little resistance, she tries daring you, “Then f—fuck!”

Her jaw goes wide, frozen in place, her voice abruptly cutting as you undercut her with your cock. You’re no better; pleasure sets your muscles ablaze as you thrust into her inviting cunt. It shows in the deep groan spilling from your mouth. Little by little, you plunge ever so deep until you feel yourself buried to the hilt. That’s when you finally let out this breath of relief—but not for long. 

Her pussy clenches hard. Her heat proves to be suffocating beyond measure. If you don’t act quickly, she could end you in seconds. 

“O-oh God—”

You slowly, painstakingly pull back before throttling your hips into her. Taking these short breaths, every little move you make is precarious. It’s not that she’s resisting you—far from it—but it’s you resisting the urge to cum so soon. Your mind tries to think of anything other than what’s right in front, but even that proves to be nearly impossible. The ripple of her ass, the slight wobble of her breasts, the twisting grip of your hand on her otherwise soft skin—

“So fucking tight. Holy fuck, Yuj—” You manage to mutter before you’re reduced to groans again. 

All you can focus on is keeping yourself together while you’re slowly crumbing away. You find a rhythm in the midst of the madness, pounding away at your assistant’s cunt, your senses overrun by pleasure and the satisfying sound of your skin slapping skin. Elsewhere, your hands can’t seem to find solace in just one area. They’re everywhere; from her hair, to her throat, to the arch of her ass, to her hips, the imprints stay new, eventually creating a patterned sequence that immediately breaks.

You’re fucking these strained cries and prasies out of Yujin’s sweet lips, and it’s quite the mouthful. ’More,’ ‘harder,’ ‘so good—’ until it reaches the point where her voice is so worn from your chokehold that she can only speak in high pitched mewls. Another cycle you wish would never end. 

Slowing your pace, you reach for the necktie, gently tying it around her neck while preventing your rhythm from disrupting. “You’re such a fucking perfect woman, you know that?” you mutter in her ear, kissing the helix and indulging in the scent of her perfume mixed with sex and sweat. “Perfect listener, perfect assistant, perfect body—”

Pulling yourself away from her, you yank the tie along—your makeshift leash. Her body tilts all the way up, a sharp screech suddenly filling the bedroom. You’re not sure if its from the pull or just her moan. Either way, you have her in your grasp. Brushing her hair aside, you mumble, “Actually, I don’t know how to use a tie like that. I just wanted to remember what it’s like to be the boss. Your boss.”

It should have sounded flat, like all your other attempts at being convincing. And yet, she leans her ear backward, trying to recapture your lips. Teasing a little, your lips make what’s considered the most minimal of contacts, before you push her to her fours. You don’t intend to pull on the tie again, but you’re still holding on to it like your most prized possession—and it may as well be Yujin. 

“Of course,” are her first words uttered in a while that aren’t some combination of profanity and praise. 

Grabbing her by the midsection, the rhythm of your thrusts quickens. You feel it. The imminent collapse. And it’s not just the bed quaking and creaking from your sex. She’s pleading now; ’So close,’ she tells you, begs you to let her cum all over your cock. In any other scenario, you’d acquiesce. Here, with all the authority, you’re going to assert your power a little.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll let you cum all over me,” you demand, your hand climbing up to her chest, grabbing at her breast, folding her up slightly that her grip on the sheets transfers to the headboard. “I wanted you so fucking bad for so long.”

“Anything for you. Just let me cum!” she cries out, on the verge of falling apart. Dangerously close.

“Tell me I’m yours.”

“I’m yours!”

“You know what I meant. Say it again.”

“I’m yours! I’m yours!”

Hearing her declare that she belongs to you with such conviction almost upends you too. You almost give in, but narrowaly escape thanks to your utter resolve. The smirk on your face is priceless.

“Perfect. Now cum.”

Just like that, her body reacts at the drop of your command, as if it was hardwired into her. Yujin goes numb—fidgeting, cumming all over your cock—as you continue to pound into her cunt. A single word echoes, going quieter with every incantation: ‘Fuck,’ she whines, caught reeling in her orgasm and catching every breath possible. 

Eventually, it comes to a standstill, the only thing left is for you to crash. Lucky for her, you’re not that far off. You’ve let go of the tie, holding onto her shoulders instead. So now it’s her opportunity to turn the tables on you again.

“Fucking give it to me—oh I need it now, oh God—” Yujin begs, barely keeping herself upright in the aftermath of her climax.

And you just crash down on her, slamming her deep into the sheets, turning her around as you fuck callously, clamping her neck, her moans ringing into your ear. She has a leg wrapped arond yours—as if you had any intention of pulling out. You’ve spent enough time away from her pretty face; now you want to watch her take all your load deep in her pussy.

Yujin’s mouth melds in the shape of a moan as the pressure finally overwhelms you. Burying yourself deep in her, you’re still pumping, fucking your cock as you blast thick load after thick load in her warm, creamy cunt. The sensation leaves you breathless, hanging onto her for dear life as you wait for the moment to pass. Though it may seem like a couple of minutes, the feeling lingers far longer than you can imagine. She milks you of all your worth, drawing every last drop from your throbbing cock until your body can’t move any longer.

Eventually, your bodies wind up together, limbs tangled, wrapped around each other in a warm embrace. The comfort you both needed after a long day.

—————

You gaze down at a tired Yujin. Hours ago, you were the one holding onto her; now she’s the clingy one, wrapping an arm over you. “I really need to know, Yuj.” 

She mumbles into your chest. “What is it?” You feel her soft lips leave lipstick marks on your skin.

You’re brushing away loose, dark strands of her hair to get a better look of her pristine, shiny face. “Why do you love working for me?”

After the passionate night you just had, you still have the gall to ask such a frivolous question. The answer should be obvious by now.

She looks up, smiling—a pleasant, friendly gleam, one you immediately recognize as soon as you walk through those office doors. “Because you’re the first boss I’ve ever worked for that isn’t a total asshole. Also, you’re good at everything.”

You raise an eyebrow and frown. “That’s not—”

“You know what I meant, boss.” The smiling turns into teasing. You realize, then you laugh.

You should be basking in the afterglow of sex, but daylight peeking through your curtain says otherwise. You’re so tired, you can’t move a muscle, let alone grab the phone from the living room to tell the time. All you know is that you should be at work by now, and so should Yujin.

The ring from your phone can be heard loud and clear, even a room and clothing pocket away. As you try to lift your head, Yujin meets you halfway, kissing you before laying you back down.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll write up your leave of absence. Besides, I could use some time off too,” she says, inching her face close to yours.

The notion frightens you. Yujin, your most reliable assistant, never missing a day that isn’t considered a holiday, not by your side when you need her. 

And you need her now more than ever.

“Time off? When?”

“From now. Until you say we’re done.”

—————

(A/N: :bsadcorner:)

(Missing IVE's first proper world tour will always be one of my K-pop low points, even if I already watched and even shared an interaction with them. Goddammit, I can already expect the prices and perks for their next tour will be even more expensive than it already is. Sigh. Anyway, I hope they get their well deserved time off. Thank you for reading!)

[cafterdark]

"What do you mean I'm being transferred!" You shout to your manager

"My supervisor has requested that you be transferred to the branch closer to her for more... direct communication." He says. His eyes are wide, a small tremor takes over his right hand. For a former Army NCO to be that scared, she must be something.

"Have I done anything wrong?" You say.

"No, in fact you've been the best worker here. That's why she wants you."

You pinch your nose. "Is there anyway out of this?"

"I'm afraid she's made it exceptionally clear that there isn't."

"Fine. What's the address."

"I'll write it down."

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

You arrive at the office the next morning. The first leaves on the trees are turning red. It's luckily a shorter commute than your old office, but you're still pissed. You had climbed up from the pit of internships into a cozy position and office. You were the first trans, no scratch that, woman to get into management. This was bullshit.

You step in. The front desk is empty. You sit down and wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, a blonde worker passes by. The first thing you notice is that her outfit is less than professional. She wears a skirt that barely goes below her legs. Her stockings hug her tights very tight. Her blouse is basically open, showing off her admittedly very beautiful tits in a pair of lingerie. If you weren't so pissed you'd be turned on. You're glad you wore slacks today.

"Hey," You call to her. "Do you know where..." You check the slip of paper in your hand. "Miss Maverne's office is?"

The woman looks at you. Her make up is ruined, lipstick smudged, mascara spilling down her face. Her hair is messy. You could swear that you can see the outlines of hands on the sides of her face. Her pupils eclipse her blue eyes. She looks as if she barely knew where she was. After a long pause of blank stares at you, she says, "Do you mean Mistress?"

"Uh..." You're paralyzed by the absurdity of the situation. Have you stumbled onto a porn set by accident?

After a long minute of the girl thinking where you could almost hear the AOL noises playing in her head, she perks up and says, "Oh, you must be new here! I'll take you to Mistress!"

Her hand shooks out and drags you through a set of doors and into the office. You look around. You see many workers with the same blown out eyes, dazed looks, and slutty office wear around you. All women. One of them is drooling at their desk while colors flash on their computer. You wonder what the hell is going on here. You arrive at a large set of doors. "Here she is!"

A secretary sits at a desk next to the doors. She's wearing what couldn't even be charitably called an outfit. Just a few strips of cloth prevent her from being fully nude. On the exposed parts are very visible hickies.

"I brought a new recruit for Mistress!" The blonde hair girl says

The secretary pouts "But Mistress isn't accepting anyone till..."

"That's quite alright secretary, thank you." A woman's voice says. You look to your right, then up. The woman is at least 6'2", and she's wearing heels. Her towering over you is an understatement. She is wearing the only proper work outfit of slacks, a blouse, and jacket. Still, there is an aura of lust around her, like she could wear anything and still look sexy in it. Two grey eyes pierce into your soul. She grins.

"You're both very good girls, you can leave now" She says. The two girls shutter and wander off. "Now, Miss Claire Hall, would you please step into my office."

You're led in and sit down in a very comfortable chair. Miss Maverne continues to look into your very soul and says

"You're probably wondering why you're here right now."

"Yeah I am, what the fuck is this?"

"This is your new office for the foreseeable future. I picked you because you're special. It's not often a woman rises the ranks of this business."

"Thanks?"

"Good Girl."

A blush strikes your cheeks. You're really glad you wore slacks today. That compliment shouldn't have hit that hard.

"Now did your old boss give you any information about your new position?"

"N...no" you stutter out, still in minor shock from the compliment. "Just the address and your name."

"Wonderful, well, you noticed that the front desk was empty right?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll be working as the receptionist there."

"What!" The rage breaks through your flustered mind like a hammer. "May I remind you that I have years of experience in programming, administration, planning, and managing under my belt?"

"So does every other worker here. You might've been a big fish in a little pond there, but here you're puny, and you'll start where you deserve." She stands up, and you can't help but internalize her words a small bit. Still your indignation burns it.

"I'm leaving. I don't deserve this humiliation." You get up and walk to the door.

"Stop." You freeze stiff.

"Walk back." You walk back.

"Sit and stare into my eyes." You sit back down into the extremely comfortable chair and stare up into her eyes. They looked grey before but now hints of green and blue scatter in. You can't help but dive into them, trying to discover their true color. It feels like you're sinking deeper and deeper into an ocean of warm homey

"Aren't my eyes pretty?" She says.

"Yuh." The words don't move right and come out wrong.

"Don't you want to keep having the privilege to stare into my eyes?" Her voice is so beautiful.

This time the words don't even come out, you just nod.

She pulls out a contract and pen. "Then sign this."

You grab the pen but it falls out of your hand. "Oops! Let me help." She says in that musical voice. She takes the pen and places it in your hand, then pulls it to the paper. She guides it into a passable signature, then smiles.

"Good Girl." You shutter.

"Right, so first things first, your breast enhancement surgery is next week."

Sanity floats up above the honey ocean. "What?"

"And that outfit is not approved. At least the four top buttons of your blouse must be unbuttoned. Pants are not allowed, only skirts that are above the mid thigh."

"Excuse me?"

"It's all in your contract."

"I didn't sign this!"

"Is that not in fact your signature on the paper?"

You look down and see a perfect replica of your signature. Fury boils in you.

"Fuck that! I'm leaving!" You get up.

"Where are you going Miss Hall?"

"Escaping this sex cult."

"Miss Hall, this is your 90 day review."

"What do you mean, I've only been here for..." You look out the window, it's snowing. You look down at your new pair of tits. Your blouse barely holds them. A cold breeze tickle your thighs. "What have you done to me?"

"Nothing." She says. "Now sit and listen." You crumble back into your chair.

"Now, both staff and guests have highly rated your performance with them in the last 90 days. You've really proven to be a capable fit for your position."

You feel heat building up in you and you don't know why.

"Good Girl." She says. Those two words hit like a truck. You almost moan. She smiles. She's smiling... about you! Excitement flutters in your chest. Wait.

"Something's wrong."

"What's wrong, Ms Cumdump?" Mistress says "Is it something you'd like to bring up for your 6 month review?"

"That name for a start, that's not my name."

Mistress sighs. "This again... Then what name would it be?"

"You know what it is it's..." You pause. Why can't you remember your name? You dig in deep but find nothing. Why can't you remember your name?

"Don't overwork that pathetic little brain of yours sweety." Mistress says. "Just check your name tag."

Oh right! It's that easy. Mistress is so smart. You look down and see your uniform. Lingerie with the required derogatory text sharpied across your body. You pull up your lanyard and read "Hypnoslut Cumdump, Receptionist and Fucktoy."

Ah, it was that easy. Wait, weren't you just in a blouse? You look up to Mistress. God she's so tall when you're on your knees. The hot late summer air sticks to your nude body. It's not amazing but receptionists aren't allowed to wear clothes and the rules are the rules. You stare into Mistress's pretty eyes and she stands and looks down at you. Mistress says

"Is there anything you want to tell me before we begin your first year performance test, Ms Cumdump?"

You try to think of what you were going to say. But your brain is soooooooooo empty that you can't remember. Probably about how beautiful she is. Yeah, that's it.

"You're sooooooooo pretty Mistress." You say.

She smiles. "Thank you, now..." She unzips her slacks and pulls out her massive cock. You're already drooling. She stands there, taunting you with it, before saying "Begin."

You take the cock into your mouth and begin worshiping it like a good fucktoy does. You hit the spot you know she's sensitive to. Mistress shutters and grabs your hair. "Good Girl." She says. You could've cum in the spot to those words if only she gave you permission. Before you could even question it, she pulls you in, and you're lost to your work.

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

Inspired by @anarqueeen :)

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hey, Can I make a request with a s/o teaching Shenhe, Eula, Yelan, and Arlecchino how to play video games?

(Genshin Impact) Shenhe, Eula, Yelan, Arlecchino, Furina, and Clorinde's S/O teaching them how to play video games

Game: Animal Crossing

Shenhe has tried games like Genius Invocation TCG, but that one frustrates her more than anything.

S/O, then decided to show her a game that she for sure would enjoy: Animal Crossing!

It didn't require anything other than just a will to relax. Plus, it was just a cute way to do something together!

(Shenhe) "...Your character looks cute."

Shenhe is enraptured by the charming little animals, being fondly reminded of Cloud Retainer in a strange way.

She plays it a little bit in what free time she gets, but really enjoys it in S/O's presence. Though there is one thing that annoys her about the game.

(Shenhe) "This is the fourty-seventh time I have gotten the 'Sea Bass' today. Am I doing something wrong when I am fishing, S/O?"

Her ingame avatar has long white hair and wearing something far more cutesy and casual than her usual attire.

Part of her wondered if S/O could get her these kinds of clothes from a store so she could wear it in real life.

A/N: I've gotten more Sea bass from ocean fishing in this franchise than I've eaten bread in my life.

Game: Monster Hunter

Eula decided to indulge S/O in trying to teach her how to play a game. After all, it was better than doing nothing.

It takes her a second to get used to the controls, but she quickly learns how to attack and dodge.

Only when the game truly begins did she realize what S/O had picked out.

(Eula) "Are you trying to tell me you'd like to go hunting for beasts with me, S/O?"

Teasing aside, Eula is a quick learner and becomes very skilled at hunting the many monsters of the game, getting weirdly competitive about it. Despite the fact there was no player versus player element at all in it.

(Eula) "HAH! I finally made the best Master Rank armor in the game! Everything we fight should be child's play!"

She also loves the cat companions that are in the game and spends a great deal of time dressing them up in cute/hilarious outfits.

Though she will enact vengeance if anyone calls her out on that.

A/N: Man I can't wait for Wilds.

Game: Metal Gear Solid

Yelan usually rolls dice to see what her day off becomes.

And this time, it was to have S/O show her these "Video Games".

Yelan settled for some "Tactical Espionage Action" game, the irony not being lost on her at all.

She learns the controls and plays it extremely casually, being more drawn in by the absurd story and characters.

Yelan is usually laughing at the action, but still enjoying herself.

(Yelan) "Geez, is this how your world views agents, S/O? It's not nearly as cool as this game's making it out to be."

Part of her wants to try hiding in a box to see if anyone would notice, but she'd also like to still be alive and not caught.

But the temptation is always there, everytime the dice decides for her to play this game again and again...

(Yelan) "Hm...the explosions in this game are a little much, but I guess it's also not entirely inaccurate...Sometimes, anyway."

A/N: I GIVE MY LIIIIIIIFE, NOT FOR HONOR, BUT FOR YOUUUUUU

Game: Mario Kart

Arlecchino usually passes on any offer to play a game, not because she didn't want to, but because she likes to observe.

(Arlecchino) "Let the children play first, S/O. I will join soon after."

What she usually witnesses for Mario Kart is a bloodbath.

This game brings out something in her kids that she hasn't seen before.

Even Freminent and Lynette, some of her more reserved kids, turn to something feral when playing against the others.

She's equally entertained and kind of concerned, like maybe this game wasn't healthy, but it did bring everyone closer and give the kids something fun to do.

Arlecchino decides to jump in at many kids' requests, and admittedly isn't that great at it.

But she has more satisfaction in watching the kids have fun.

That being said, there is some sadistic pleasure she has throwing the blue shell and watching whoever's in front take the brunt of it.

(Arlecchino) "Fascinating what these video games can do to children. Do you have more they can all try?"

A/N: Coconut mall is the best map, change my mind.

Game: Subnautica

Furina is at first excited to try something new.

(Furina) "Oh, a game about the beauty of the ocean? I shall beat it no problem!"

But she didn't realize that unlike Fontaine's waters, (Which to be fair, held its own terrors), this was an alien planet's ocean.

She's jumping at every little thing, screaming as she's desperately swimming away from the tiniest fish or anything that even makes a weird noise.

(Furina) "W-WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?! I'M GOING BACK TO THE LIFEPOD!"

That's not even to mention the Leviathans.

The first time she saw a Reaper, she immediately dropped the controller and buried her face into S/O's arms in terror, yelling out something sounding like a curse and crying.

Furina doesn't like video games anymore.

It takes something like Endless Ocean to calm her down about the waters again, thinking that every video game ocean has a Leviathan now.

A/N: For me, that game is horror until I get the Prawn Suit, then it becomes Pacific Rim as I hunt down every Reaper near the Aurora.

Game: Baldur's Gate 3

Clorinde was intrigued by video games, but honestly wasn't too keen on the idea of trying it. It didn't seem up her alley.

Until S/O showed her a game like Tabletop Troupe, but this time without the fears of annihilating some poor Game Master's campaign.

(Clorinde) "...Do you mind if I give this game a try, S/O?"

Her expression doesn't really change as she's playing, but that's because Clorinde is really immersed in the world.

It's just a lot of fun to truly let loose and interact with the world and NPC's, no fear of dealing with any player trying to murder-hobo their way.

SHE could be the Murder-Hobo, finally. Not that she would.

She enjoys playing it in her off time, but nothing beats living players and rolling the dice herself however.

This game did give her a few ideas for some new campaigns however.

(Clorinde) "I'd be interested in seeing you play with me, S/O. What choices would you make? And by the way, in true Tabletop Troupe fashion, we're not save-scumming. Once you roll the D20, our fate is sealed."

A/N: OS TAV RO VA VIVOLKAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

[stormsthatrage]

Prisoner AU snippet:

Kisuke sinks into the shadows of the corner of Yoruichi’s office, crossing his legs and tilting his head up to stare at the bare wood of the ceiling.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Forget the how — he’s still stumped on the why. For what possible reason could the Ryoka have killed Lieutenant Aizen?

It’s incredibly clear that the Ryoka isn’t playing a long game. No, if anything, the Ryoka was planning on the game having ended far before now. Kisuke sincerely doubts he even meant to be alive this long.

Kisuke closes his eyes, imagines the moment he first saw the Ryoka. It’s an easy scene to call up. Something about it has Kisuke on edge, and not for the obvious reasons. Ever since it happened, he’s found himself going over it again and again, his brain unable to let it go. Something about that moment felt so wrong — still feels so wrong — and he can’t pinpoint why.

The Ryoka had been kneeling next to Aizen’s corpse, arms drenched in blood from the elbow down. The shorter blade of his zanpakuto (and wasn’t that interesting — a dual wielder) had been shoved under Aizen’s chin, up into his brain. The larger sword was on the ground, gore covering its edge. The body had been covered in gashes; before going for the head, the Ryoka had, in no discernible order, stabbed the lieutenant in the lungs, cut his torso open from high between his ribs down to his gut, slit open his femoral artery, severed his spine, and ripped his heart out of his chest — thoughtfully placing the displaced organ next to the corpse’s left ear.

Kisuke, the first one to track down the missing lieutenant, had still gotten there well after the blood had cooled.

The Ryoka, knees in the bloody mud — (and how long, Kisuke wonders, had he been there?) — had turned his head towards Kisuke. “I’m pretty sure he’s actually dead, this time,” he said, conversationally, as if commenting on the flavor of a good tea.

Kisuke had drawn his blade, then. The Ryoka, strangely enough, made no move to retrieve his own. Instead, he had just sat there, staring at Kisuke.

And then his gaze had drifted downward, towards Benihime’s bared edge, and it seemed for all the worlds that in that moment the Ryoka lost every bit of energy that makes a person a person.

Before Kisuke’s eyes, the Ryoka slumped, and his gaze went vacant. Like he had been a marionette, and all of a sudden his strings were cut.

Kisuke had waited for backup before approaching the Ryoka, although even then, he had doubted there would be a struggle.

He had been right. The Ryoka had let them take his zanpakuto from him, let them put him in chains, and had let them lock him in one of the onmitsukido cells. There had been no resistance.

Since then, the Ryoka hasn’t tried to escape, let alone attempted to kill anyone else. He barely moves. Nothing seems to bring life to him. Even if Kisuke were allowed to use physical methods to extract information, he doubts the Ryoka would fight back.

Killing Aizen was the end goal, that much is obvious. But why?

For a brief time, Kisuke had entertained the thought that maybe the Ryoka had been meant as a distraction. But for what? He had quickly discarded the idea. Any heist would have been easier than sneaking into the Seireitei without notice and murdering a Shinigami Lieutenant. And if a second, higher-ranking assassination had been the goal, it would have been best done before killing Aizen; predictably, people were now uneasy, and guard rotations had increased dramatically.

Kisuke uncrosses his legs, stretching out one in front of him. “So why did you do it, then,” he murmurs.

Revenge against the Court Guard? No, he would have tried to kill more than just Aizen had that been the case. With his power and ability to go unnoticed, he probably would have succeeded, too.

Revenge against Aizen? An absurd thought, one certainly not worth wasting his time on.

Kisuke drums his fingers against his knee, trying to think. Why? Why would someone murder Lieutenant Aizen so viciously? What could possibly be —

He freezes.

“Kisuke?” Yoruichi says, catching the flare of alarm in his spiritual signature.

He ignores her, desperate not to let the thought fade.

Vicious.

Vicious.

A vicious murder.

The way the Ryoka had done it had been so vicious, hatred obvious in every wound inflicted. And the Ryoka, he had had no interest in continuing his warpath, after. He had given up, as soon as it was done. It was revenge. Of course it was revenge. All the signs are there, why had he not thought of that before. Why did he —

But he had, hadn’t he? Just a few seconds ago, he had —

He had dismissed it, but he doesn’t do that, he’s trained, he knows better than to discard a theory based on personal assumptions —

Why did he have that personal assumption?

Because it was Lieutenant Aizen. He would never have done something —

But —

Captain Hirako. Didn’t Captain Hirako chose Aizen as a lieutenant because —

And then. And then that time someone broke into his lab, and he —

He can’t remember.

He can’t remember.

“Oh, fuck,” Kisuke breathes.

There are gaps in his memory, and now that he’s focusing on it, he can feel where a foreign power, a… a zanpakuto’s power, fading, now — he can notice it because it’s fading, it’s power is lessened — is trying to affect his thought patterns.

Trying to keep him from thinking about how… about how dangerous Aizen was. Trying to keep him from remembering when… when…

Aizen had broken into his lab. Stolen research on… no, theories, it was theories about the —

The —

Hogyoku.

“Oh, Soul King,” Kisuke breathes, horror washing through him, ice-cold.

He has the worst feeling that the Ryoka, sitting in an underground cell several floors below Kisuke’s feet, may have just saved them all.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Danny and the Spooks

So first things first, my initial idea is that this prompt takes place in a no one knows AU, and Danny somehow gets his ice powers earlier than he otherwise would, though really this could work without those two if need be.

So Danny got his ice powers pretty early in his ghost fighting career, and because he doesn’t have the support from his friends or raw power he would gather up later on he relies far more on Fenton tech to get by. That reliance on weapons means that, upon realizing that his ghost ice 1) doesn’t melt and 2) is Ghost Ice, and therefore can’t really be phased through by most ghost that arn’t him, immediately begins thinking of ways to make long term weapons out of the stuff.

A little while into his experiments with that he’s fighting Skulker and gets thrown into the house of some poor civilian, and while taking cover behind the kitchen counter looks over to see the (slightly disgruntled) homeowner doing the same while holding a 12 gauge.

“You think you can land a shot with that thing?”

“You think it’ll matter if I can?”

To which Danny replies something along the lines of “it will with this” before handing over his latest creation, a 12 gauge slug that’s had some of the material removed and replaced with his ice. Danny distracts Skulker, and his new friend pops up and puts a hole through the spine of Skulkers suit, allowing Danny to capture him. Danny thanks Mr. Civilian, who is apparently a retired Navy Seal or something, and they wind up staying in contact with each other, sometimes helping each other out with stuff and Mr. Seal testing out new weapons for Danny. Then some punk kid(yes a punk kid, doesn’t matter that he’s older than Danny, Danny still refers to him as a punk kid) decided that he wants to help defend the town and starts following Danny around, trying to help him in fights, and just refuses to stop putting himself in danger. Eventually Danny “relents” and says that he’ll let the kid help out, but only after he gets proper training from Mr. Seal, with the real plan being for the training to be way to intense for the kid to make him give up.

One problem though, the kid just doesn’t give up. Like, at all. One day Mr. Seal pulls Danny aside and tells him that Punk has finished his training and Danny gets all exited that the kid finally gave up, only for his bubble to be burst. “No no, he hasn’t given up, he just finished my training. He’s ready for combat.” And well, a deals a deal. So both Punk and Mr. Seal start taking more of an active roll in ghost fighting.

And then another idiot with more selflessness than sense shows up. And another. And, whoops three more just showed up. Eventually, Danny wound up as the accidental leader of a vigilante/ghost fighting organization dubbed the spooks by the local news. Comprised mostly of volunteers, with the best and brightest getting a rank all their own and proper pay, comprised of donations from both normal people and members and “donations” from criminals they stop because it’s not like they need the money now that they’re in prison.

I’m just imagining Danny with this rag tag group of humans doing what they can to help people.

After Danny finally manages to get some time with his friends for a movie marathon, he decides to form a new branch of the group called the R.I.P.D., the Rest In Peace Department, which is basically meant to help ghost fulfill their Obsessions and stuff in a safe, peaceful manner.

Boxy gets a abandoned warehouse full of boxes that’s been covered and insulative materials to keep ghost hunters from tracking him there.

Lunch Lady gets a great big soup kitchen which promptly morphs into a whole ass shelter for anyone and everyone that needs it so long as they’re okay with having Lunch Lady seemingly appear out of nowhere worrying about how skinny they look and shoving food into their arms.

They also have an absurd number of homemade gadgets and weapons. Think like, the entirety of the slingshot channel, ZnA productions, hacksmith and all those other types of channels combined, but their arsenal is hopped up on ghostly BS, as well as stealing equipment from Vlad and the GIW.

Skulker: I WILL MOUNT YOUR PELT ON MY WALL GHOSTCHILD

Fredrick “Dakka” Stevenson, flying the ancient crop-duster they got from old man Elijah and strapped every weapon they could to: I’m gonna do what’s called a pro gamer move.

Every other spooks member on the coms: groans

Dakka: if you want me to stop making lame meme references stop using a lame meme reference as my nickname.

Pt 2

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

Asbestos’s niche is in tanking arts damage. She’s the only defender in the game with Arts Resistance value of 25 thanks to her talent, meaning she reduces all incoming arts damage by 25%, and then by another 10-30% (depending on rank) when her Skill 1 is active (I believe this stack’s multiplicatively and not linearly bc that would be absurd). This does make her the best blocking defensive melee unit for arts resistance, but she actually doesn’t have the highest Res in the game. Elite 2 Abjurers, Hexers, and some Decel Binders tie her at 25, Elite 2 Ambushers beat her with 30, and from what I can tell the characters with the highest current Arts Resistance are Pramanix and Shamare at Elite 2 and 3+ potential with a 33! Each point of Res reduces incoming arts damage by 1% so they take 1/3rd less arts damage.

Now this isn’t important to anyone but me, Asbestos is still far in the lead of any other unit with a remotely similar team function. But I’m a person who’s always fascinated by the extreme ends of stats in video games. And as a biased Asbestos enjoyer I want her, the character named after a fireproof material whose whole niche is tanking arts damage, to be number one. Asbestos currently doesn’t have a module, and she doesn’t necessarily need one, but I think they should go overkill with her and give her another 10 Res when she eventually gets one to put her on top with 35.

Would this help game balance? No. Would this make her good in situations other than against arts damage enemies? No. Do I want it anyway? Yes! Let her tank everything cmon it’ll be funny :3

[zenosanalytic]

I've been thinking about how to articulate a thought I had about a possible Doylist/non-diegetic reading(EDIT: I originally wrote "Watsonian" here, which is the opposite of what I meant X| X| Brain, you Tricksome Jester *shakes entirely metaphorical fist*) of Eridan's Trollian handle, caligulasAquarium, in response to a post of @mmmmalo's, and I think I've got it.

Ok So: the popular perception of Caligula is as a "Mad Emperor". One of the points used in this depiction is his "War on the Sea", which is taken as obvsl absurd and empty and irrational(and possibly hubristic). Eridan chooses to call himself "caligulasAquarium" and he lives in a wrecked ship(a feature commonly put in aquariums)... on the surface.

So like: maybe the title is meant to be taken by the audience as ironic. Eridan's claim to an "Aquarium" is as absurd and empty and irrational as Caligula's claim to have warred upon the sea(in the common understanding of those events; as a matter of history this seems to be a Telephone distortion, from the sources I can find).

A few more points that have occurred to me since I started writing this:

Caligula "Made War on the Sea"; Eridan wants to "Make War on the Surface" by Killing All Landwellers, carrying forward the themes of inversion btwn Alternia and Earth.

Also: "Kill All Landwellers", "Kill All Humans": he's lampshading common evil-alien-overlord tropes

...Which in itself is sort of dunking on HIM, since Eridan is nobody's overlord he's just some GUY. Like: Yes, he's "Nobility" due to blood-caste, but he has no influence, no power, no RESPECT from anyone we meet, no friendships let alone alliances with other socially powerful individuals(other than Feferi, who seems to have foresworn all that to monastically care for G'lybgolyb) that he could USE to have influence; he's just a loner with his grand-dad's gun and allot of pretension.

...which you could argue furthers his parody of USian internet white-supremacists? Like: He is THEM: a gun-humping loner who only feels comfortable talking to the people he claims to hate, with no idea how unpleasant he makes himself to interact with, and even less interest in introspection or self-awareness, fetishizing past genocides as a way to claim for himself a "Glorious Past" he had nothing to do with.

As Feferi(and possibly other characters I'm forgetting) point out, Eridan's ambition to Kill All Landwellers is more than a little absurd. He's never really DONE anything to plan or prepare for it, and aside from Fef he exclusively hangs out with and befriends Landwellers, as well as LIVING ON LAND(well: a sandbar or reef). This could be taken as furthering the Caligula "War on the Sea" parallel.

Expanding on the last: Caligula, THE EMPEROR OF ROME and Grandest of Nepo-babies, was rather notably disdainful of and hostile towards the Roman nobility and inherited wealth/rank. This connects to Eridan in two ways I can think of: 1) his avoidance of other seadwellers, and 2) his philosophical hostility to landdwellers while Being, in practice, A Landweller. Basically: both Hate things about themselves shared by others.

Reinforcing #3: the choice of Caligula, a Troll-Emperor. Again: Eridan is Just Some Guy; he does not command armies, he does not command society, he can't even command Equius, who GETS OFF ON being ordered around. This is Pretension.

...which, I guess, you could connect AGAIN back to Caligula via the popular memory of him wanting to be treated "As A God", but it should be noted that 1)everyone who wrote anything about him hated the guy and was explicitly dunking on him, so we don't know how accurate these charges are, and 2)in the Roman context, while legal apotheosis was reserved for after death, imperial Divinity was already de facto given that sacrifices and prayers to the Emperor's health and success were legally mandated civic religious duties, AND 3)that classical Greeks and Romans, contra the Abrahimic societies which would later create this popular memory, considered apotheosis a real possibility for notable individuals.

[knightprincess]

Magic Medic (Part 2 of 3) - The 104th

Words: 2k Note: This part includes the OC Iseult Devitt.

"Here we go again," commented Comet as he entered the Wolf Pack's barracks on Christophsis. The latest orders came through for all personnel, Clones, Civvi, and Jedi. Along with it came the regular confusion regarding the civvi medics. It was again revolving around their favorite, Iseult Devitt.

"What's up?" called Warthog from across the room. He was lounging across his bunk, his arms resting behind his head. Sinker and Boost attempted to paint something on the durasteel walls, although it was anyone's guess what it was meant to be. Perhaps it was a loth wolf or maybe a crystal fox.

"According to the latest orders, we get Iseult back," began Comet, interrupted by Boost celebrating the news that the sarcastic medic would be among their ranks again. Wolffe would be happy, at least when he wasn't protesting and attempting to argue with her. "But she's also supposed to stay with the 501st too."

"Wasn't she supposed to be on Commando tour for her last rotation?" asked Sinker, dropping the paintbrush and spray paint he'd previously held. "Maybe Wolffe knows. He seems to like stalking her as of late," he added, quickly fleeing behind a durasteel crate upon noticing Wolffe already in the room. He was quietly completing the overdue paperwork at the nearby desk.

"Wolffe doesn't know," replied the Commander, without lifting his head or taking the attention away from the reports and other paperwork he'd neglected for months. "She's as much a mystery to me as she is to everyone else."

"Didn't get far with the stalking, huh?" called Warthog, ignoring the glare Wolffe all but threw at him. "I dare say she's got under the skin of others too. How can she not with that devious charm," added the pilot, chuckling at the thought of others having to deal with the quick wit, sarcasm, and overall loud personality. Iseult was a flirt, a playful one, but a flirt nonetheless.

"Imma comm Jesse, see if he knows what's going on," Comet said, reaching for the communication device he had previously abandoned at the end of his bunk. Hope shimmered in his eyes. The boys of the 501st would know something or at least be able to help solve the seemingly endless mystery.

"Maybe Iseult's a clone like us?" Boost yelled excitedly, hoping he had found an answer to their bugging mystery. After all, they'd all witnessed the sarcastic medic seemingly teleporting, and the Jedi had, too, although they didn't seem overly bothered by it or, if they were, didn't show it.

"That brings up more questions than answers," spoke Wolffe as if to shut the absurd theory down before it took on a life of its own. "Who is she a clone of? Who cloned her? How many are there?" listed the commander, forcing the wolf pack to think over the logic before getting behind the Iseult clone idea.

"Kaminoans, they made all of us after all," replied Warthog as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. "Wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility. They've done work for others, too."

"If that were the case, we would have seen Iseult clones wondering Tipoca City as we did as cadets," grumbled Comet, anguished to be the one to shut down the clone theory. "How many Iseults are there anyway?" he asked; he knew there were at least two after the Rex date incident. One had stood either side of him, at least before Rex appeared from his detour, then one disappeared as if she'd not been there in the first place.

"I swear there is more than six," said Sinker confidently. "What, there is. We have our Iseult, the deviously flirt one here with us; the 501st have the angel; the Guard kept being tormented by the one they call the minx; Clone Force 99 have a sarcastic one of their own; the 212th has the nerdy one, and the naughty version has pestered Howzer," he listed as if to add evidence to Boost's earlier claim of clones.

"Don't forget the playful one that keeps winding Gregor up," added Wolffe, chuckling to himself upon remembering Fox's rant about the Iseult minx, how he swore the seemingly ordinary medic just come and went as she pleased. "327th, 41st, and 13th haven't been affected yet," continued the commander, curious if there was truth behind the claim of clones or if it was all an elaborate and well-thought-out prank of some kind.

"Hey, how come they get away scot-free?" questioned Boost, almost offended by the idea the three battalions, in particular, had seemingly escaped the chaos. "Scratch that they don't know what they're missing," he added, quickly changing his tune. The Iseult clones had brought endless mystery, curiosity, and distraction when they needed it most.

"Maybe she's some form of artificial intelligence," mumbled Warthog, hiding beneath his pillow the moment the idea he quickly determined as dumb passed his lips.

"Iseult … a droid?" began Comet, a grin painting on his lips to hear Wolffe bellow out with laughter. The idea was horrendous, but at least it brought their tormented Commander some amusement. "Honestly, that would explain why she crashed into the wall and seemed perplexed by rayshields."

"Doesn't explain why Howzer wasn't knocked senseless when she clobbered him, though," replied Wolffe, recalling witnessing the act. Howzer was drunk and slurring his words, believing he was complimenting Iseult; instead, he'd offended her. She'd quickly told him so by whacking him upside the head before walking away. "First and last time he insulted her."

"And we're only just hearing about it now?" replied Boost, sitting on the crates to the side of the masterpiece he and Sinker had been working on.

"Jesse said their angel has a different name," called Comet, puzzlement painting on his features. "Said there one is called (Y/N)," he added before determining the boys in blue were simply ribbing them again. No doubt, it was revenge for the howling prank some months before.

"Two medics with different names but the same identification number?" started Warthog, looking over to Wolffe as if to confirm that he, too, was baffled by the mistake. "Either there was a massive mistake, there are clones under the same number but different names, or we're missing something," he added, noting when Wolffe didn't seem all that bothered. He was amused, yes, but not bothered as much as one would have thought.

"I'm contacting Iseult," spoke Boost, reaching for his communications device with the hope the medic in question could solve their perplexing mystery. Maybe answer their questions about how she could be in so many places simultaneously.

"She's with the frat boys," growled Wolffe, as if remembering the other troopers who seemed just as attached to Iseult. Three of them never failed to flirt with her when the chance arose. The other always seemed to be in a playful banter war with her. "Set to return to Coruscant just after us unless they rerouted to Kamino or given another assignment," he added with a low grumble.

"At least we know she can be in two places at once," worded Warthog, "Comet said she was with the 501st, and we know from her she was assigned to the havoc lot," he added, managing to stifle his laughter at the thought of their Iseult causing just as much if not more chaos than the combined experimental unit.

"Iseult, my favorite sarcastic medic," began Boost when the attempt at making a holo call connected. Iseult's video feed appeared along with the boys of Clone Force 99, or at least two of them. Tech and Hunter. One twirled a vibroblade, and the other fiddled with a circuit board.

"Boost my favorite lunatic," replied Iseult, a smile on her lips. "Don't tell me one of you boys lost a limb. While I've been away," she added so casually that it was like complimenting someone.

"We were hoping you could help us with your mystery," called Warthog, moving to sit on the bunk below his own. At the same time, both Hunter and Tech appeared to pay a little more attention, as if the Iseult mystery had been a topic that haunted them, too.

"Iseult mystery?" enquired Tech, intrigued by the news of such mystery surrounding their medic.

"They think Iseult is a clone," grumbled Wolffe, his voice more brutal than intended. Despite that, Iseult's laughter came through loud and clear.

"Not heard that one before," admitted the civvi medic, a bright smile upon her lips. "A new favorite me thinks," she added.

"Did float the idea of you being a droid too, but none of our theories make sense," voiced Comet, witnessing as Warthog once again hid beneath the nearest pillow, still embarrassed by the idea. Even if Wolffe once again chuckled at the amusement.

"They're trying to work out how I can be in two places at once," spoke Iseult, cluing the pair of enhanced clones into the mystery and rather imaginative ideas they'd come to answer it. "And your answer is super simple, boys. I use magic."

"Iseult two said the same thing," Comet answered upon hearing the answer. "Jesse said Angel Iseult and Rex were up to something, too," he added as if trying to gauge if there was indeed more to the mystery than met the eye.

"There has been no documented case of civilians using magic to …" began Tech before Iseult wrapped a hand over his mouth, a sweet smile as she did so. At first, Tech seemed startled but didn't appear to protest further, instead glancing over to Hunter as if silently calling for aid.

"Angel Iseult and Rex are working on the final touches of a plan of mass pandemonium," sweetly replied Iseult. However, a mischief glint lit up her eyes, suggesting there was far more than met the eye, and the answer to their seemingly complex mystery was simple and something all thrust far missed.

"Remind me to remind Wolffe to interrogate her when we all get back to Coruscant," said Sinker when the call ended. This time, Wolffe looked around in confusion, not entirely understanding why he needed to interrogate their favorite medic.

"Forget that," started Warthog, suspecting Wolffe knew something they didn't. Perhaps he had other ideas he'd yet to share. After all, when the commander lost his eye, Iseult was the one to patch him back up again. "What do you know about Iseult?" asked the pilot, side-eyeing his commander as if to gauge the reaction he got. "And what she's up to?"

"What she's up to, not a clue," replied Wolffe, admitting his innocence when it come to the pandemonium planned, although he could make an educated guess on where it would take place. Either at the military base or 79, depending on her mood. "As for what I know about her, what's in her file, and a couple of her favorite things," he added as if attempting to hide the relationship that had bloomed between the two of them. She'd succeeded in getting him to ignore rules that prevented him from being like any other being in the galaxy, and she'd helped him find who he was outside of being a soldier.

"We're gonna be invited to the wedding, right?" asked Sinker, ignoring the heated glare expertly thrown his way, at least before the deer caught in headlights look painted on Wolffe's features. "Yeah, you're even less subtle than Iseult," he added with a wide grin.

"Cute though, our medic of magic tamed our commander," added Boost, as if he were a hopeless romantic waiting for his chance at love.

"You watch too many romance films and series on the holonet," replied Wolffe, returning his attention to the reports demanding to be done, at least before they become more of a burden and punishment than they already were.

"We miss her too," started Comet, knowing all the theories and playful banter that revolved around Iseult was their way of filling the gap she left behind when she was not with them. "Tell her that when you see her next," he added, receiving a small, subtle nod from Wolffe in confirmation of the task placed before him.

"Better yet, give her a kiss from us," called Warhog, darting from the bunk he'd been perched on, launching toward the refresher door in the hopes of getting there before Wolffe caught and strangled him.

Part 1 - Part 3 Knight Princess Masterlist

[gentrychild]

anyone, but they go to ice skating! how would they do?

Shouto: Extremely good at ice skating (duh) and is currently helping his poor best friend who obviously has never ice skated in his life and is afraid to fall.

Dabi: First time he is ice skating but surprisingly good at it, is showing off.

Hawks: Absolutely terrible at it. Fell five times already and they have only been here for ten minutes. Very enthusiastic about it nonetheless and have fun propelling himself with his wings. Three injured so far.

Nagisa: Has ice skated twice before and is relearning it. Going slowly and radiating an aura of "If you make me fall, I will beat you to death with my skate". Is having fun.

Kurogiri: Though he knew how to ice skate only to remember the hard way that it has been ten years since he went on an ice rink.

AFO: Though he knew how to ice skate only to meet the same problem as Kurogiri but has quirks to keep him from losing his balance.

Izuku: Actually perfectly knows how to skate but doesn't feel the need to share this information with his best friend.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.1

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 1/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 6000

Chapter summary:  In which there is a Hate on Spectre Day. There's no other explanation.

Series masterlist

Warnings: brief mention of canon-typical violence, mention of A+ godawful parenting and its consequences, issues of self-worth, language

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: So. This was supposed to be one chapter but, to the surprise of no one, it’s not. The first half is to blame, because that was supposed to be mentioned in passing and then it just… spilled out like this. Oops.

Natasha Romanoff was a force to be reckoned with.

Now, that was hardly any news to you; besides her reputation preceding her, you had seen her in training, in action during missions, observing her in an interrogation room from behind a thick glass and sometimes even wishing for the poor bastard at the end of her treatment to get punched as an act of mercy, a relief from the wolf-like smile on her perfectly painted lips and brilliant tongue speaking words that should not have been more effective than physical torture but they were.

Projecting in front of her to save her from catching a bullet did not change how highly you regarded her; and it certainly didn’t make you feel any more like you could compare to her than before. That had never been your goal however; trying would have been just as foolish as try to compare to Agent Melinda May or other legends of the spy world. You had mad respect for Natasha Romanoff’s work, no matter the path she had walked to earn her skillset.

But between her dedication to her friends and her attempts at making you feel at home in the team, you had learned to appreciate her as a person too, trusting her; it was a paradox that exactly that was the part of your perception that changed after the attack. Or, more precisely, after what followed it.

As it turned out, the Avengers did very much care about their own; no surprise there. The Avengers also didn’t sleep on the little intel you had been able to provide and much like you believed, they did suspect a leak from within their own ranks given how advanced and detailed the retrieved research on Steve’s biology was.

They had lunched an internal investigation.

The attack on Natasha on The Avengers’ Day was now believed to be an unfortunate consequence of her being in charge of the very investigation and squeezing information from anyone who even remotely appeared they could be connected to the leak or at least might have the smallest piece of information leading to discovering the mole. The attack was thus linked to the Hydra facility raid – even as the perpetrators appeared to be a pair of hired muscle; in fact, even more so for that.

Natasha Romanoff informed you of all that casually as you were pouring yourself a coffee in the communal kitchen and made the mistake of lingering there to learn more. You only realized the error in your actions as it gradually dawned to you why Natasha told you she herself was conducting the investigation and why she was sitting with you face to face.

Up until that point, you had not been asked questions about the incident with the data retrieval beyond trying to put together as precise of an image of the gathered intel as possible. In fact, no one had questioned your allegiance to SHIELD since you had been graduating the Academy – but you sensed that was about to change.

Something about the feign casualness of Natasha sipping her own coffee as you were seated opposite to her begun to rub you in the worst way possible – and that was when you realized.

“Is this an interrogation then?” you asked, heart pounding as you tried to sound at least a bit like you were joking. Because, certainly, this could not be an interrogation, could it? That would be absurd.

A brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes in the slightest passed over her lips, gaze intent on your face. Reading microexpressions, you realized, your blood running cold.

She couldn’t be serious.

“You tell me, Spectre. Maybe this is what you expected to come at one point or the other. Maybe you already knew that I was the one to take lead on this. Maybe it put you into a tight spot and you realized it was just a matter of time before I’d come and question you – and you knew, like you do now, that I always get the information I want,” she said calmly, a thin layer of ice coating her words as she continued to examine your expression, every minuscule move of your muscles.

You hoped that whatever she read in your body language, she liked. The wild pulsing of your carotid, as your fear spiked along with your heartbeat. Yes; you had witnessed enough to know that she could dissect a person without touching them, reaching for their darkest secrets and retrieving them with a figuratively bloody hand as she ripped them out – she had known quite a few secrets of your own already. And yet. You hoped that your fear was all she could see, because the feeling that slammed into the most was hurt. She could have slapped you, hell she could have dashed the hot coffee to your face and you’d be less stunned.

Did she really think that? That you’d be capable of something like this?

You sat there frozen, hand resting limply by your cup, heart threatening to burst out of your chest. But hey – good news, right? At least they were investigating and they were very thorough about making sure Steve was safe.

Comfort had never felt so cold.

“Maybe you needed a heroic safe to maintain cover,” she continued, titling her head to side a fraction. “And conveniently, if you failed to step in in time, you’d have the person in charge of the internal investigation eliminated.”

The switched inside you flipped without any conscious effort – and perhaps even against in – the fear and hurt was consumed by anger and spite, the lump in your throat turning into a burn.

You didn’t seek gratitude from her, not really – you had indeed only been doing your job yesterday and that was it, no matter Rogers’ initial reaction that had made you feel not only useful but appreciated beyond what you deserved – but hostility and accusations were a touch a bit too far. Especially since hadn’t it been for you, she could have been shot at best and shot dead at worst.

“You’re welcome,” you said flatly, expression free of any emotion at all.

The anger inside you felt empty.

Her expression didn’t change, not even a twitch of her brow – of course it didn’t. This was Black Widow. The legend. The ruthless spy. Perfectly deadly.

“Have you been playing for the other team the whole time you’ve been here? Is the only reason why Steve isn’t dead yet because you caught feelings and can’t bring yourself to do what you’re supposed to now?” she kept questioning and you couldn’t keep the indifferent face anymore – you must have slipped, because you felt like your breath had been knocked out of you.

Forget slaps and burns – those words felt like a stab straight to your gut with a wicked twist of the blade for maximum damage.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it truly shouldn’t have. But for a second, you felt the suffocating burn of betrayal in your chest expand with every heartbeat, filling your entire being.

You’d been taught better. And yet... Not only implying you were a traitor, but also hitting exactly at the spot of our biggest insecurity – not being good enough at anything – and using the knowledge of your rather complicated relationship with Steve Rogers was the one low blow you hadn’t expected, even from a woman of her reputation, because she had seemed genuinely kind the last time she had mentioned it. She had seemed understanding, caring and invested; and apparently, she was well-aware of that. She read you like a book and used your trust to her advantage. You should have known better and perhaps deep inside, you had anticipated a stab in the back – but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like son of a bitch.

You hadn’t even begun to be friends, you reminded yourself, so there was no reason to be upset. In addition, she was also being perfectly reasonable, only doing her job; it was only natural she hadn’t treated you in kinder gloves, didn’t pull any punches. Steve was her friend, the best friend of her boyfriend no less. She was only protecting someone she cared for deeply. You knew all these things and yet – it stung.

You leaned on your elbows, hoping your voice was steady and neutral, rather than razor sharp – because she didn’t need to know, didn’t deserve to know, that she had hit exactly where it hurt. And you didn’t need her to evaluate you as unstable on top of clearly suspecting you were a traitor.

“Why don’t you tell me, Romanoff. You seem to know everything,” you whispered, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

It was funny really – it was that, you feeling yourself break from the naïve hope that you could ever be more than just an asset to the team, that had her face slip back into a friendly mask, whatever test she had prepared for you ending. Her hard eyes softened, face relaxing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’re a traitor. But I have to make sure and get a rise out of everyone either way, to get a good read on whether they could know anything even remotely useful based on their reaction, try to have them remember anything that wouldn’t come up unless when in raw emotion. With everyone,” she repeated slowly, looking straight into your eyes to show she meant every word, a silent apology, “whether they are my friend or not.”

Your smile felt foreign on your lips as you reached for your coffee, sipping at it to neutralize the bile rising in our throat, to fill the hollow in your chest with the bitter taste of the dark warm liquid. You understood. You truly did. You had just been an idiot, even as you hadn’t been fully aware of your hopes until they were crushed.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, rising to your feet and setting the mug down, “with me anyway. But I’m not sure your friends will feel the same way when you ask them.”

You all but registered a flash of what you imagined could be regret as you spun on your heels and walked out, a pit of dread in your stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You had no right to feel wounded.  You have been taught better. Skills. Abilities. Assets. Those mattered; not people. Not in S.H.I.E.L.D., not in the AI. Barely anywhere; Coulson’s team had just been full of unicorns, keeping up the illusion that every individual was worth more than their resumé, the illusion of a loose family.

There was no place of that kind for you in the Avengers team. The fact Tony had gone and protected you was the exception to the rule and you had made the mistake of thinking it was anything but pragmatism. They needed your powers; that was why you had been brought onto the team. The team might have been relatively tight-knit, but granted entry to no outsiders, welcomed no newcomers – not into their own strange family they had grown into.

You shouldn’t have been disappointed; and yet, even as you were aware that all Natasha had done was indeed following protocol, protecting fiercely one of her closest friends at that, it was the blatant use of information she had gained by taking a closer look and trying to make conversation, that allowed her to cut deep. You had been raised well to be aware of this approach and still you committed the error, even if unconsciously, of ignoring one of the few things your parents had tried to drill into you so hard. You shouldn’t be this careless.

Shaking your head at your own naivety, you rounded the corner, telling yourself that the slight shake to your hands was neither rage nor grief; just caffeine overdose, since you had poured a cup from Tony’s pot. You nearly groaned when you noticed the unmistakable tall broad figure walking the very same corridor in the opposite direction. Facing Steve Rogers of all people right now sounded like a thing from nightmares; especially since the moment he spotted you, a peculiar look appeared on his face, the kind of expression that told you a conversation awaited you which you’d very much rather not have. You swore that if he was going to have a single thing to say about yesterday, if he was about criticise you at least, to ask you anything at all-

You weren’t proud of it, but you did it anyway. Pulling out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you pretended you had felt it vibrate with a text, fully immersed in whatever was on your screen. You barely looked up when you were three steps from him, but nodded with the respect a man of Captain Rogers’ standing deserved regardless of anyone’s personal opinion on him, the ‘Captain’ firm on your lips as a formal greeting you hoped was all you were going to exchange. He returned the courtesy, sounding all but a little taken aback, and – thank heavens – continued walking past you. You gritted your teeth as not to release a relieved breath you were certain he’d hear.

Whirlwind of emotion pushed aside by suffocating emptiness, you continued your path and headed to your room, deciding breakfast simply wasn’t in the cards for your today. As you entered the familiar space, your gaze fell on the gym clothes you had tossed over one of your chairs yesterday when you needed to release the pressure after being tense ever since the attack.

Releasing tension now felt like a good idea, as the sting of betrayal and self-loathing simmered in your ribcage despite your attempts to make it all go away.

Without a second thought, you grabbed after it, ready to loosen the messy bundle of emotion the only way you were ever allowed.

By punching it out.  

The scent of leather and sweat had been bringing you an odd sense of comfort since your rather early age. Even as it was associated with heavy breaths, soaked t-shirts, competitiveness and shouts of various trainers you had encountered over the years, it was also an epitome of solace and familiarity; a reminder that you could always improve and you had done that more than once. It was a sanctuary to broken shards of a soul, where one let all the nasty things buried inside tear the body apart, only to feel like they started to build yourself up again. You had learned a long time ago that fighting was far from being about rage or any other wild emotion; but if one got the flow right, they could release all the suffocating emotions through it either way until peace – relative peace at least – took over again.

So after exhausting your body almost to its limit, you moved onto your mind; after kicking and punching and sweating through your clothes, you cooled down, stretched, and sat down cross-legged only to do it all over again. This time through your spectre.

The quiet gym was an unusual luxury, making for an easy projection and making it almost laughably easy to maintain it; you had tested it in training before, keeping focus even as your fellow agents shoved you around or even punched your gut – or in Daisy’s case, sent quaking vibrations through your body with increasing intensity, enough to almost rattle your bones. You were aware of the sensations, always, naturally seeing its benefit as a fail safe in whoever was in charge of protecting you failed to do so – not that Mr. Captain America had that problem. But at the same time, pushing the limits of how much you could take in case of such complications and in the face of needing to hold on despite of it was essential – as much as being able to take a hit to your spectral body without losing focus was.   

It took time, but it had become a second nature to perceive sensations from both your bodies, recognizing which came from which and separating them. The real trial, the most surreal feeling which took some time getting used to was seeing yourself and touching your actual hand with your spectral one, simultaneously being the initiator of the sensation and its receiver on the very same part of your body. The first time you tried it, it knocked you out for over half an hour, your brain unable to handle the contradiction. However long path you still had to walk to perfect your skills, you remembered that handling this one had been a win and eventually, the sight of yourself and the touch turned almost mundane.

However, others didn’t feel that way.

The visual of Tony Stark entering the gym, gaze flickering between your sitting form and your punching form several feet away from each other, as if he couldn’t decide which one to address despite only one of them levitating and emitting a faint glow, brought a sad ghost of a smile to your face, renewing the tense feeling in your gut you tried so hard to punch and kick away. Usually, you couldn’t help it; perhaps it was mean, but the bewildered, and admiring look in people’s eyes, was not only pleasing but also entirely hilarious. But today, the satisfaction wasn’t coming – and unfortunately, Stark approached your very conscious version.

Couldn’t the world just leave you alone for a bit? You were alone; you’d appreciate if the number of people in the room reflected the reality of your life.

“What did that poor bag did to you?” he lamented as you caught a glimpse of his frown and pursed lips between focusing on every hit to the heavy bag. “You hit it any harder, you’re gonna rip it off the hinges like Cap does.”

Right. For sure.

You swallowed the scoff threatening to escape you, gritting your teeth as your punch landed even stronger than intended, sending painful vibration through your arm. You added a knee and an elbow, speeding up to distract yourself form the sensation.

Focused on your workout, you couldn’t see his raised eyebrow; but you could definitely hear it in his annoyed and slightly amused voice.

“Same attitude too, I see.”

This time, you did scoff as you continued punching. Yeah, right. You and Steve were practically twins now, weren’t you.

“Too bad, Casper, you are not getting away with ignoring me,” he insisted, peeking from behind the bag on your left. “Cease fire for a sec.”

You kicked hard with a loud huff, making the bag swing wildly, catching it with your hands as it returned to hit you in the face and only then dropped your hands, turning to Tony.

Despite your rudeness – one he didn’t quite deserve, you reminded yourself guiltily – you found him grinning at you as you paid him attention at last. It only made you frown. He seemed too gleeful to be a bearer of bad news – but way too gleeful to bring any news that would be good for you.

“Pick up your Sunday shoes, Casper. You’re going out tomorrow!”

You sighed, already feeling the wholesome effects of your workout evaporating. “Hello to you too. What on Earth are you talking about?”

Given the mischief in his eye, you felt like you should be worried – and yet, despite your better judgement, you felt a small smile tug at your lips at his antics.

That said, if he had set you up for a blind date or something of that sort – because you wouldn’t put it past him if he did that – you’d be out before you could get in. But the fact that he simply announced that you were going out couldn’t mean anything good. Why didn’t he ask? Because Tony Stark, you thought, as bitterly as affectionately.  

He waved his hand in a too innocent greeting, pulling out a light blue envelope with golden framing from his hoodie pocket.

“Hi. This is yours. You mind?” he hummed as he beckoned to your paraconscious body, already throwing the paper its way.

With a sigh, you snapped back just as the envelope landed in your lap, ignoring the low thud of your boxing gloves hitting the mattress since you couldn’t take them back with you and they suddenly didn’t have anything to hold them up. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the slight sway of the world as you suddenly changed both body and positions, turning the envelope in your hands with a frown and an unpleasant feeling of anticipation in your gut.

“Tony… what is this?”

“An invitation.”

“Right.” Knowing there was no scenario in which you’d get away with never opening it, in which he’d leave before you did so, you slipped your fingers under the edge and tore it open. Fancy paper, you observed. As your eyes quickly scanned over the text, Tony spoke up again.

“Shake hands, rub elbows. Make the Avengers look good. Have a drink or two.”

You frowned. The words Tony Stark was stringing together made perfect sense individually, but not together. Then, they made sense together and then even more sense in connection to the invite. But none of that made them make sense in connection to you.

“A charity auction at the Smithsonian?” you asked dully, voice full of the scepticism you felt upon imagining yourself doing what he had suggested, parroting his words dubiously. “Me, making the Avengers look good? I’m not even a--- Stark, what the-“

“Please,” he cut you off with a scoff, “you literally saved Natasha’ ass and several kids, very publicly, just yesterday. Plus, me and Pepper can’t make it and everyone else is either on a mission or has already said no.”

You perked up in an instant. Could you say no then?

“No, you can’t say no, nope,” Tony blurted out before you could even open your mouth. You glanced down at the invite again. The last thing you wanted right now, or ever, to be honest, was to go to some stupid function, meeting arrogant wealthy and sadly influential assholes with a fake smile on their face, one that held even as they insulted your choice of wardrobe in a way you couldn’t really return because they had the power to make your life a living hell. “It’s your mission now, no veto rights.”

You resisted the urge to stomp your foot and whine; but for a very good reason. Many, many good reasons. You genuinely despised those thighs, hating them on a visceral level. You could survive them if there was an important mission objective like gathering intel that could save countless lives, securing a sample of a virus and preventing a global pandemic, locking up an arms dealer – but socializing? Networking? Useless chitchat with pretentious jerks? Bootlicking? Because that was what awaited you, whether you were representing the Avengers or not – which itself truly was an absurd concept.

You ran a hand down your face, skimming over the text once more, resigned.

Much like there hadn’t been a scenario in which Tony would leave before you’d listen to what he had had to say, there was no way you’d get away with not attending.

“Couldn’t they have at least hold it at the NYC building? Does it have to be DC?” you muttered under your breath, annoyed further. That meant flying and many complications in case you’d try to pull an early disappearing act.

“Yeah, one of the reasons why the others said no. The disgrace of these people – a free ride on the quinjet with a pilot assigned and they still scoff at this. Heathens. If you weren’t hiding out, I’d stumble over you earlier and the can’t-say-no would fall on someone else, but here we are. I mean honestly, who would think finding two people willing to go drink expensive champagne could be such an issue?”

Your head snapped up to his face, horror and relief seizing you at once. You wouldn’t be alone; then again, you wouldn’t be alone.

You really wanted to call Tony on his bullshit about finding you last, because if he found you last, it was because he asked FRIDAY about you as the last, but your whole brain capacity was overtaken by a single thought and a prayer to heavens. You weren’t sure whom you’d want as a company, but you still prayed it was someone bearable.

“Two people? Who’s the other one?”

Please let it be Wilson. You were sure he’d feel almost as uncomfortable as you. Rhodes too, even though he was good at politics and would snatch all the attention to himself. You doubted Vision or Wanda were the ones and you could hardly imagine one without the other; similarly, you doubted Barnes, with his past still lingering in the minds of many, had been chosen, and even if he had, you doubted he would go without Romanoff. Thor was off to Asgard, Banner would be, bless him, probably even more distressed than you, and Tony and Pepper were literally the ones handing over the invitation. Clint could be a nice option – you didn’t talk much, but his easy-going nature would probably make for a good company. Honestly, probably anyone would be better than-

“Capsicle, obviously, they love the guy. Have a big exhibition on him and all that,” Tony said as if it was clear as day and as if that didn’t make him sound like a lunatic. And as if that didn’t send your heart racing like mad, eyes widening, throat tightening.

Headache started to build in above your brows as you imaged the horror-like scene. As if the function itself wasn’t bad enough – Tony wanted to make you suffer through it with the one person from the Avengers whom you fought the most often?

Tony was, naturally, completely blind to your reaction – or more likely, pretended to be, because he might be an owner of what kids these days called a galaxy brain, but he was two halves of a whole genius – continuing his monologue at the speed of three hundred miles a minute.

“…and he’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it. So, focus, my dear Ghost of Christmas Past,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face, only to start counting on his fingers. Mutely, you watched him, still hoping this was a very badly constructed prank. “Make us look good, look good, buy something nice on my card in the auction and try not to kill each other. Easy as American pie. All four objectives of the mission are equally important by the way… I think.”

“Tony…”

That was all you manged to force out, a disapproval and a plea.

“What?! You shouldn’t have been hiding in a gym! I’m innocent!”

You were not impressed with his antics in the slightest. It was a Hate on Spectre Day, you were sure. First Romanoff with her accusations about Steve, then Tony-

Oh. Oh thank god.

It was blasphemy to be grateful for such thing, but you were not picky about your salvations as an important thought occurred to you – a fairly reasonable one at that, one that didn’t only serve as a convenient excuse.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for Steve to make a public appearance like that?” you questioned. “I know he made a public appearance just yesterday, but that was different. We’re still… working out how to deal with the Hydra cell and their antiserum. The investigation is still active and pretty intensive at the moment as far as I can tell.”

No kidding.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up, something akin to compassion appearing on his face, probably in reaction to something that you involuntarily let show on yours. Fuck.

“Ah. Got bitten by Black Widow, huh? It stings, doesn’t it?” he said, scrunching his nose and almost shocking you speechless.

You were slacking if Tony, living in his own world for at least eighty percent of the time, with his mind usually lightyears away from where a conversation had originally started, read you so easily.

That, or he watched the footage, perhaps even with Natasha herself, to evaluate whether you were indeed a mole or not. Was this another test? Was Natasha the proverbial bad cop and Tony landed the role of a good cop? Were you supposed to open up to him? The thought of Tony playing you like this was somehow even more nauseating than Natasha’s game had been. With her, you should have seen it coming; with Mr.I Don’t Need to Watch My Mouth, not so much. He was direct. He spoke his mind, always. You liked that about him. Or used to.

What would he know about Black Widow’s verbal bites?

“Like you’d know.”

One of his brows creased, lips curled by a smirk full of snark.

“What, you think the original six was spared? Please.”

Despite yourself, you blinked and perked up. Because Tony seemed honest – much like most of the time, frankly.

“Rogers was the only one who wasn’t questioned by Romanoff – or in her case, by Barnes – though some of us might argue that when it comes to saving his dumb ass, Rogers’s the one most willing to serve it to HYDRA himself on a silver platter.” He paused, a grimace twisting his features. “That was a weird imagery, forget I used those exact words.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. Tony was hard to stay mad at if he did something relatively harmless like this – he was direct and slightly chaotic, but that was just part of his charm, one might say. And honestly, since you trusted him that he had spoken the truth, the fact that Natasha had gone down at everyone as hard as she had on you, learning that you weren’t the only one under scrutiny did make you feel a bit better. Though for a brief moment, you allowed yourself the luxury of questioning the reliability of Barnes interrogating Romanoff and vice versa, given their enormous bias. How had the mutual interrogation even happened? What, did they just hold a knife to each other’s throat instead of a foreplay?

You shook your head at yourself, earning a grin from Tony as he probably assumed you reacted to his antics. He wasn’t completely wrong.

Leaning onto his wannabe-friendly behaviour had a strong scent of fool me once, since you had literally had got burned today, but it was hard to resist it despite all the rational voices in your head screaming. You were an asset. You had a mission and that was it – and protecting this team was a big part of it. Tony did make an excellent point when it came to Steve’s tendency to overlook the magnitude of threats posed to him. Which had you go full circle – that besides pairing you and Steve off for a public appearance was an awful, terrible, no good, very bad idea, it was almost as bad of an idea as sending Steve out there in the first place.

“I still think letting him do this is too risky. I’ll go, even if I’m going to curse you the entire time,” you noted matter-of-factly, “but honestly. I think Steve really shouldn’t go.”

If it was possible, Tony's face lit up further, much to your chagrin.

 “Aww, are you worried about him?” he teased you. You deadpanned. “Kidding. Relax, Spectre, it’s a museum, not an underground casino. And it’s a charity auction, not an arm deals convention, those are more up my speed. There are no suspicious names on the guest list, FRIDAY doublechecked. The most dangerous people there will be you and him.”

You breathed in to protest further, because one, he was literally just giving out his invitation to someone dangerous, which other people could do as well, and two, there were still so many crazy things about what he was suggesting and your stomach was in knots just trying to imagine it-

A quick clap of hands startled you, Tony’s hands suddenly palms up.

“Alright, great, thank you for accepting. It’s settled then-“

Your horror returned, mouth opening uselessly as he began to walk back, still facing you. “I didn’t-“

“Oh and it’s only black tie, but you should still buy something nice,” he continued, smiling conspiratorially as if he was sharing an inside joke you were supposed to be a part of but did not understand one bit, except for feeling like you were the subject of it.

“Tony-“

“’cause representation and all that. And don’t worry about the cost, ‘cause it’s on the Avengers, so in fact, go wild, Cinderella. I gotta run now-“

He cut off his wild gestures with another clap of his hands to drown the sound of you calling out his name, the stupid invite still in your hands, feet frozen to the ground when the automatic door opened behind him and he spun on his heels, walking out.

“But Stark!”

He was already gone.

You massaged your forehead and the skin above your eyebrows as your headache grew, your shoulders sagging. You eyed the invitation with distaste, inspecting it as if it could burst in flames any second; that was how nuclear you felt the evening might get, for multiple reasons.

Oh. Speaking of the invitation going up in flames, perhaps the museum would require the actual paper rather than an e-invite. Fire might be the best possible solution for-

The sudden voice sounding from the speaker cut off your inner musings, and crushed your hopes, fuelling your anxiety in the process.

“Agent Spectre, Mr.Stark wants me to inform you that the charity auction is assigned to you as any other mission and not participating would thus be considered a serious breach of regulations and a breach of your contract with the Avengers Initiative, which would result in corresponding disciplinary action.”

You scowled, tossing the envelope and its content aside. Low blow, Stark. Really, really fucking low blow.

“Bastard,” you muttered under your breath.

“And that his explicit orders, as he is one of your superiors, are to, I quote, have fun,” FRIDAY added, causing you to roll your eyes and look at the ceiling as if your glare and your next words dripping with sarcasm could be delivered to Tony himself. Which they could – they just wouldn’t have the desired effect, you were sure.

“Gee, Stark, thanks. I’m sure I will.” Not.

Grabbing your gear with a sigh coming from the very depth of your soul, suddenly tired despite the clock claiming it was still before noon, you tried to steer your mind away from the tight feeling in your gut.

The one upside was that your mission might be to have fun and rub figurative elbows, but one never knew when he needed to use actual elbows to punch someone in the face in your line of work.

That meant that if you were to follow Stark’s explicit orders, you should get yourself a special dress for the occasion – something at least black-tie worthy. But you were truly about to spend a public evening with Steve, who would be putting himself into nonsensical danger by merely showing up, you needed a sensible dress. Long enough to have it pass as fitting for the dress code, but with a slit high enough to not limit your range of movement if you needed to kick out or run. Nothing too revealing, because you’d rather not worry about your cleavage if you were about to punch and duck. Shoes would be a pain – heels were a necessary evil, but you’d need to dig up some with thick straps at least, to feel like you were actually wearing them and not like you were trying to keep them on by the sheer power of your will with every step.

It seemed you had some shopping to do. If Tony was so inclined on you to follow his orders, you would. You would go wild with his credit card indeed. And because you had a glutton for punishment, you tried to contact a distant ally to help you with that, even as you doubted that she’d have time to answer.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Yeeeeah, I know that I promised you a bit of trip to fluffville as well, but it’s only coming in the second half… then again, the moment with Tony was kinda sweet too, no?

Happy New Year, loves 💕 May it be kind to you ✨

[vexwerewolf]

hey, I’m a friend of @bulletkin on discord and I was wondering if you have a good Enkidu build in mind. We are a team of five, with a risky close range (me, enkidu) a support (swallowtail) a long distance big guns (deaths head), a mid range NHP and pilot duo (Pegasus, it’s complicated but I am happy to elaborate) and a tech attacker (hydra). you may have noticed that I am the only (full) close range mech, and unfortunately I am really good at exploding. Do you have higher level Enkidu routes/suggestions? I’m trying to get my movement up and be more debilitating when in close combat. Thanks!!

-- HA ENKIDU @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Tokugawa 3, IPS-N Tortuga 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Reinforced Frame, Heatfall Coolant System [ TALENTS ] Nuclear Cavalier 3, Hunter 2, Skirmisher 2, Combined Arms 1, Duelist 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:28 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:10 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:10 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Plasma Talons Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun FLEX MOUNT: Torch FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, HyperDense Armor, Deep Well Heat Sink

I call this one War Without Reason. It might not hit your "movement up" goal, but it will hopefully fix your exploding issue.

The maths works out like this: frames with 0 or 1 Armor don't benefit as much from the +1 Armor that Sloped Plating gives as much as they do from the +5 HP given by Reinforced Frame. We're going to pump Hull to 4, which in addition to +8 HP gives us that sweet +2 Repair Cap as well, and stacked with the +2 HP from Personalizations and the +3 HP you get from Grit, that takes us up to a truly absurd 28 HP.

Then, we use HyperDense Armor from the IPS-N Tortuga. This gives us Resistance to both damage and heat from all sources beyond Range 3 - which is the effective range of our Plasma Talons. Against enemies who don't have a way of Shredding us or otherwise bypassing Resistance, we effectively have twice as much HP. Sure, it leaves us Slowed, but once we get into the Danger Zone we have Speed 7 so it barely matters. It also protects us from heatgun enemies trying to slag our reactor.

Speaking of which, once we get into the Danger Zone - which we can do reliably and safely given that we have a Torch and our Overcharge never goes above 1d6 - our build really gets going. The first two ranks of Nuclear Cavalier turn on, we gain access to Plasma Talons and if we start a turn still in the Danger Zone, we gain Resistance to heat from Deep Well Heat Sink, meaning we can overcharge on the cheap and our Torch only gains us 1 heat.

We have two reliable sources of soft cover: whenever we're engaged with an enemy, we gain it, and whenever we take a turn without harming anyone, we gain it. This increases our survivability against ranged attacks.

We have Hunter 2 for one specific reason: you can now throw your fucking Plasma Talons at people, effectively extending their range by 2 spaces. Since Thrown weapons are still melee attacks, this doesn't violate the prohibition on ranged attacks from All Fours.

[susiephone]

Or, a crash course in checking your sources. Because we've all seen some absolutely bullshit stuff spread around the internet, and Tumblr definitely isn't immune to it.

It can be hard to sort out the fact from the rumor from the propaganda when a story is actively developing, especially one that is fast-moving and has a lot of voices coming in from all sides, but it is vitally important that you check your sources before spreading a claim.

It's easier to verify or disprove a claim about something that's purported to have happened in the past, so, admittedly, checking stuff that's purported to be happening now is a messy, confusing process. All the more reason to err on the side of caution.

I am not a journalist or professional researcher or historian or anything like that, so this is all coming from a layman who does their best to be informed. If I get anything wrong, or anyone more qualified has something they want to add, please let me know in the notes.

Why should I check my sources?

Because you should care whether you're spreading propaganda or not.

Because sometimes in the heat of the moment, when emotions are running high, it's easy to be misled.

Because every time you spread misinformation to help your own cause, even - or especially! - if that cause is righteous, it becomes a ding on your credibility, and the credibility of your cause.

Because when you don't, a journalist loses their wings. Probably. Fact-check me on that.

How do I know when to check my sources?

If you don't recognize the source, check it.

If you hear a claim and think, "Wow, that is so cartoonishly evil," or, "That's so absurd I'd think it was far fetched if it was in a movie," or, "It's weird no mainstream outlets are reporting on this," check it.

Now, a claim sounding too bizarre or evil to be real doesn't always mean it isn't--I mean, half of what I hear about George Santos sounds like an SNL sketch and it always ends up true. But check it.

If the claim sounds like something a Nazi would want you to believe, check it.

If a claim is only being spread by one or two small sources, check it.

How do I check my sources?

The following sites are great resources for fact-checking.

PolitiFact. Ranks claims on a truth-o-meter and provides context for what's true, mostly true, kinda true, and made-up.

Media Bias/Fact Check: Publishes lists of fact checks from other credible sources, and ranks media outlets on their bias and trustworthiness.

Climate Feedback: Verifies claims about science, especially climate change.

Lead Stories: Verifies claims as they develop, especially stuff spreading on social media.

Here is a list of sources Media Bias/Fact Check considers to be the least biased.

What are some red flags to search for? / What are some questions I should ask myself?

Does the claim only come from a handful of small sources?

Do all those sources only cite each other?

It bears repeating: does this claim sound especially sensational or over-the-top? I know it sounds basic, but when you're furious at somebody (be it a person or a government or a system), it can be easy to believe every horrible thing you hear about them. But just because someone is awful doesn't mean every rumor about them doing awful things is true, and you still have a responsibility to keep your criticism accurate.

Who provides funding to the source? Do they work off of grants, reader donations and subscriptions, government backing, private donors? Do they not disclose their funding at all?

Has the source been caught spreading false info before? How long ago was this? Did they issue a correction in a timely manner? Was the journalist who spread the false claim fired or otherwise reprimanded? Does it seem like it was a mistake, or was there an agenda at play? Has the source taken steps to reestablish credibility?

Who benefits from me believing this?

Okay, I did all my fact-checking, and I'm really not sure if this claim is true or not.

Then don't share it.

If more information comes out and it turns out to be true, then go ahead.

But if there's doubt, don't share it.

Okay, sure, but the claim sounds like it could be true, and-

"Could be true" and "is true" are not the same.

Fine, but the person or government it's talking about has already done so many awful things, even if this specific rumor isn't true-

DON'T. SHARE. IT.

I am going to come to your house and bite you.

Further information.

How to fact-check like a pro.

The Psychology of Fact-Checking.

What is fact-checking?

Misinformation (YouTube video)

And there we go! If anyone has anything to add, go ahead, but I will be monitoring the comments and will be blocking any nonsense.

There's enough misinformation spread by bad actors in our current media landscape. Please don't make their job any easier.

[essektheylyss]

WWE Final Result: Eventually, There's Only One Left...

And the polls are closed.

It has been a wild week, and these thirty-two wizards have sure been through some situations. You've cheered! You've cried. You've laughed, I hope. You've written glorious speeches, made videos, edited memes, and shown off some impressive artistic prowess. To get a bit sentimental here, it was a joy and an honor to campaign alongside and against you all, and to see what awe-inspiring and absurd things you have created in defense of your wizards.

But as it always must, it has come down to one.

Our winner of the World Wizard Entertainment is, with the power of friendship, comedic bits, and unstoppable tiddies: Caleb Widogast.

Here is the trophy, it's leaving my hands— and— it's already gone. Does anyone see Mrs. Brenatto? No? Okay.

The Keeper of Scrolls has kindly invited the competitors out for drinks on the Por'co tab before hopping over to Tal'dorei to clean out Mr. Gilmore's shop of arcane foci, so there will be no opportunity for autographs, and if you are looking for glorious goods, I suggest you try the Marquet locations.

All four of Pumat Sol will be out of commission for a week—that shopkeep parties hard.

(Oh no, yeah, no one's dead, hahaha, when I said there was only one left you thought—? oh boy, no, these weren't death matches, you're thinking of Garyon Garrington's Plunder Games. No, they're not airing right now. Something about a lawsuit, I think.)

If you would like to relive the saga of the World Wizard Entertainment, you can find those posts here, along with the original rankings, methodology, poll results, and campaigning. Do peek through the notes for more spectacular commentary, as it is delightful. (And if you would like to see even more of the absurd and wacky content that did not make it into the main tag while I was trying not to clutter things, #VETHSWEEP.)

Now please check your DMs, as one lucky winner has been chosen... to pay for my ensuing therapy bill! This kind of mental tenacity ain't cheap, folks.

The Ultimate Losers tournament commences on Thursday, March 2nd, at 7pm PST. As if defeat at the hands of a kind, underappreciated teacher and animal lover wasn't enough, Ludinus Da'leth is coming BACK FOR MORE against the Bells Hells!

And lastly, thank you all so much for participating. I know some of us have had our differences, but now, at the end, we come together—and if there's one thing we can all agree on, it's Veth Brenatto's Big Naturals.

(Wait— Sorry, who's calling? Say that name again. Vinni— Vince? Vince Mc—? Nah, don't recognize him.

Put it through to voicemail.)

[yerrenica]

⋯ JAHA LEE x READER | to call a dog back home

⬦ info; pwp, the p is set up for the p?!?!, enemies to lovers speedrun, size kink, hookups, snow storms, dom/sub, associates with benefits?, fucking for warmth, petplay, vaginal sex, topping from the bottom, under-negotiated kink, voyeurism, handjobs.

⬦ wc; 6.8k

The only thing predictable about Jaha's life is its unpredictability, and it is this precise lack of predictability which has placed Jaha in this particular predicament.

Tell Mongrang to say that three times fast.

Everyone shivers as an angry gust of frigid air blows through their squad. That's something about the wind during this time of year, especially this far out, it blows right through you, cold and cruel like icy knives cutting into your very soul. Jaha had missed the snow during summer, but now he's not so sure. It's midday but the sun is already threatening to set, making it even colder. This far into the snow fields, death could come for anyone at any moment. 

Jaha had tasked himself with leading a team through the dregs of the country's badlands to retrieve something that should've never gotten this far in the first place. What sort of old coot decided to hide his most treasured sword in such a place was beyond him, and honestly, forming a grudge against him didn't seem too far-fetched at the moment.

To think that the geezer also did it while on his deathbed was absurd to Jaha. If you're going to die, then spend your last moments in comfort and warmth and save future generations the trips to icy wastelands.

But alas, what's done is done.

"Alright, it's official, we're lost," said one of their team members, Bitgaram, when they passed the fourth identical snow drift in a row, shaking snow from his hat. Fractured snowflakes collected on his hair and he futilely attempted to brush them away.

"Bitgaram, do you have anything useful to share or are you interested in losing your tongue today?" A raspy, cruel voice floated from somewhere behind Jaha and — ah, and there's the other thing. He's not the only one going after the treasure.

Usually, Jaha wouldn't mind too much (more carnage), even though he doesn't really get along with most other sword masters. But there is a particular brand of animosity between the two of them that Jaha finds a bit exciting, but also exhausting. They don't get along and neither plan to rectify that any time soon.

[Y/N] has spent their entire 3-day freezing expedition insulting him just to make sure of that fact. 

"Apologies, miss [Y/N]," Bitgaram seemed a bit nonplussed, a short stocky kind of man with a wiry moustache, he is one of [Y/N]'s because anyone under anyone else would surely piss themselves. The woman's soldiers held a healthy dose of fear for her, but throughout this outing, Jaha has come to understand that they also have a bit of a suicidal streak. You can only be threatened with bodily harm and mortal peril by your commanding officer so many times before you just stop giving a shit.

The fight itself had been pretty simple, just a group of unlucky swordsmen that'd gotten a little too cocky and refused to hand over the treasure. Jaha had retrieved the sword with some other trinkets from the big box of treasures, and [Y/N] had, well– massacred them.

She'd made quick work of the swordsmen, pushing furious waves of power through the snow.

Their own ranks were fine. Jaha's brothers had taken position above the field, hidden in the tree branches. Jaha's own skills kept him safe and all of [Y/N]'s soldiers were issued rubber soles after an unfortunate mass casualty incident.

The swordsmen, on the other hand, weren't so lucky.

Embarrassingly enough, the woman's shit personality and proclivity for violence was kind of doing it for Jaha, it always has. He supposes that this was a natural progression of his thoughts.

Earlier when they had surveyed the battlefield post-fight, the one [Y/N] had littered with mangled corpses, Jaha would be remiss if he didn't admit that it sparked something hot and heady in the pit of his stomach.

He pushes those thoughts from his mind, letting the icy wind take them away. Well, he makes his best attempt to. He's probably just getting brain damage from the cold. There cannot possibly be another reason that he doesn't want to wring her neck.

To be fair, he's always been a bit intrigued by her, sue him. She'd be right up Jaha's alley if it weren't for the fact they utterly despised each other.

Her tactics on the battlefield were impressive and her bias for extreme violence was just to Jaha's taste. She was also hot, objectively, in a purely work-appropriate observational way.

And then there was, of course, the avalanche.

"Miss [Y/N]!" Officer Occupational Hazard Bitgaram yelled as they trudged through the Northern mountains.

Everyone tensed as the woman swung around to see who exactly had sealed their fate, walking far faster than she should've been through knee-high snow before there was a deep rumbling from somewhere above.

"Take cover!" An angry avalanche set course for them.

Thick sheets of ice and snow threatened to sweep them away and consume them. The team dove to take cover behind trees, hands over their heads to make pockets in the snow in an attempt to save their lives.

Without thinking Jaha had grabbed the person closest to him and dragged them under an outcrop, watching as furious snow passed them by.

A smaller body pressed against him and Jaha subconsciously pulled them closer, burying their face in his chest. Whoever it is is freezing, all hard muscle, and smells good. A fraction of a second later, he realized that they were also tiny, and all of his hair was standing up from static electricity.

Oh shit. He tensed. He's dead.

In an attempt to pull away, his foot slid on a patch of covered ice and a twinge in his ankle made him stumble. Travelling in a group meant less time for his usual morning training. 

That was fine, Jaha thought. With a sound that felt a little too much like a yelp, he channelled his qi. Not the full thing, not all the way. It was too abrupt for him to do that. But it was enough to get blood to his muscles better.

Of course, that didn't make travelling within an avalanche any more pleasant. But at least it kept him from dying.

Ha. A mountain blizzard was a staggeringly vicious thing. He hadn't given that old coot enough credit. This was hard. But he supposes that's what the old man was striving for, to leave behind a legacy. To be remembered for generations to come.

To have been something.

It wasn't all bad, to exist for a purpose. A fixed point to move towards, the surroundings happily out of focus. Jaha had always known that. 

Or at least he did now.

"You'd have crawled into my lap back there if I'd let you, wouldn't you, Master Jaha?” The sounds of the party had been muted from wherever [Y/N] had pulled them to. Some abandoned corner of the building. It was huge, and there were a lot of those. This one had big curtains and wood that were obviously not installed with drunk sword masters in mind.

There was a hand up his shirt and one down his pants. Jaha swore. They were pressed close. Damp wood against his back. Whatever the woman was doing with her hands was making words form slowly, and even then only in fragments. 

Gods, he was sloshed. Seongtae had picked out a deadly slew of liquor for their victory lap.

"Drink a little too much?" [Y/N] asked.

Maybe. "Never."

He tried to coordinate his limbs to do something resembling reciprocity–he wanted to touch her, too–but he only ended up leaning his forehead against the other's hair. His vision swam as he watched his shirt be undone, hands tightening and loosening on black fabric. 

"You're so easy."

Was that true? Yeah, probably. A few drinks, a few murders. The music and food weren't half bad, and things were always so dull otherwise. Didn't he deserve this?

"Look at how simple it is to make you fall apart," [Y/N] had a giddy sort of sneer on. Jaha should say something.  

"Yes'ma'am," he hissed. He wasn't even sure what he'd chosen in reply, but that surprised laugh he got in response sounded mean and hot, so hot. God.

"Is this all I had to do to make you mind your manners? A drunk handjob?"

Jaha's hips jerked. Maybe. Okay, maybe.

"I prefer you like this," continued the woman, "Stay mindless next to me and maybe I'll keep you."

Jaha didn't want to be kept. That was not anything close to being in the script. This whole thing was just a stepping stone, conquer it and move on– oh, but he was close. 

Kept. His dick certainly liked how [Y/N] had phrased it. Maybe he did want that, just a little? His brain was soft and the woman was smiling up at him with eyes that promised something. Like waiting to reward him if he just–

"Uh– fuck," his brain couldn't keep up with his mouth, "Yeah. I'm, agh–"

"Good dog."

He didn't notice he had fallen asleep until something nudged him awake. It had all felt the same: when he opened his eyes he saw white and when he closed them he saw a slightly duller white. The cold was always there. But now it was different. There was someone there, too, against the bleached sky.

"No one could actually be this stupid."

Jaha saw himself move rather than felt it, but he realized dully that [Y/N]'s boot on his chest was the reason, "Get up."

"[Y/N]?" asked Jaha. It hurt to blink, so he kept his eyes shut, "Hi. What're you doing here?"

"Hi yourself," the woman frowned down at him. 

"How did you find me?" He had to be a mile or so from where he had left the others.

"The smell," she huffed, "I followed the smell of pure idiocy, and it led me here. Now get up," she repeated.

"Alright, yeah," said Jaha. It wasn't his idea to be hurled away by an avalanche and pass out, but at least it was [Y/N] who found him, and not the rest of the crew. It might be quicker this way, too.

"Did you not hear me?" came a sharp voice, "Jaha," it said sternly.

"What is it?"

"Stand up."

"...Am I not?"

He was not. It seemed he hadn't moved from the first time he had been instructed. Which was strange, because he definitely remembered doing so. But now that he was being hefted up, it struck him that this was completely different. 

Jaha looked back over his shoulder, towards the top of the mountain, "What about the others?"

"The others–?" The woman seemed to remember all at once what Jaha was talking about, "Forget about them."

"Huh– why?"

"What do you mean why? Because you're barely conscious," [Y/N] snapped, "There's a cave up ahead. I'm bringing you there."

Jaha scowled. He wanted to argue, to protest, but the words wouldn't form right through the clacking of his teeth.

The maw of the cave was sizable and opened wide onto the white. This must be why there had been a cliff in the first place. The howling immediately stopped as they crossed the threshold. Temperature-wise, there was not much of a difference. Being out of the wind, however, did go a long way. Jaha felt like the boulder resting on his lungs had been downgraded to a large rock.

"Well," began [Y/N] with a sigh. Jaha had been aware in a vague, through-water sort of way that he had graduated from leaning on the other to being dragged by her, "You've really outdone yourself this time."

He was deposited onto the floor. His vision swam between the blinks of his watery eyes. It was as he pondered the ceiling of the cave, slanted and pockmarked, that Jaha came to the conclusion that he must be lying on his back. There was a tickle in his throat that he couldn't dislodge with coughing. Thoughts came slowly. Irritability lingered.

"That's an ugly face you're pulling towards the one who just saved your life," said [Y/N] from somewhere next to him. 

The last cough left Jaha's chest like a growl. His head spun as if he were falling. Unable to get his bearings or discern where exactly [Y/N] was to glare at her, he rolled himself sideways and spoke with his cheek pressed to the pebble-laden floor.

This whole situation was too reminiscent of his past life.

"If you hadn't intervened, I would have been just fine," Jaha replied. Now that he was slowly regaining some small awareness of his body, he became aware of an acute pain in his temple. His knee was beginning to ache as well.

"Even for you, this is a new level of insanity," [Y/N] continued in a terse tone as if Jaha hadn't spoken. The ground crunched as she busied herself with something the man couldn't discern, "Be grateful that I deemed having you alive would be less work than dragging your dead body back to your subordinates."

There was a retort ready in Jaha's throat, but as footsteps approached, it became harder and harder to remember it. His field of view was overtaken by two boots, the snow on them melting. Then one disappeared from view, and there was a pressure on his chest as he was rolled over onto his back once more.

Many layers of clothes further numbed the sensations that were barely getting through to his body. Still, when [Y/N] threw a leg over him and sunk down to straddle Jaha's hips, he at least attempted to lift his head up.

There was no need. The back of his skull hit the ground immediately. His jaw was opened by one finger pressing into his canines, but then the other paused.

"You channelled your qi. Poorly, at that."

Jaha couldn't well answer with the way his mouth was being held open. 

"You did. There are burst blood vessels in your eyes," [Y/N] sneered as she used her thumb to pull down at the bottom of Jaha's eye. The man wanted to ask why it mattered. Before he could, though, something was poured into his mouth.

"Don't make a scene. Swallow it."

His mouth was held shut. Jaha breathed hard through his nose, clenched his teeth, glared fucking daggers. The woman wore an expression that suggested she might have been reading a particularly uninteresting field report. 

"Swallow," she repeated with an upward nod like it was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted. All Jaha's nerves seemed to come back online at once. He whined from behind closed lips.

It burned worse than Eastern alcohol on the way down. 

He understood then that his body had been on pause, and now everything was back online all at once. 

Feeling spread from his throat to his stomach and into his limbs. Now the threat of not freezing to death had passed, and every other pain sang to life in a horrible chorus.

He became aware that he was shivering– had he been so the entire time? Fatigue swept through him, worse than what he usually felt while training in his past life. His bones and teeth hurt. 

Jaha cursed as he sat himself up, coughing. His lungs took in stinging cold air but he couldn't even catch his breath. He watched as the woman walked back over to her knapsack and slipped a small bottle back into one of the many pockets. 

"What was that?" He wiped his chin. 

"You're overreacting. It was a warming vial."

Jaha's addled mind spun for a bit before he put meaning to the words. The little glass bottles parents gave their kids when playing in the snow. They'd place them in their pockets to keep their hands warm. He never questioned what they were filled with.

"You're not supposed to drink those, last I checked."

'Doesn't matter," [Y/N] shrugged, "You just did."

Being horizontal was suddenly very unappealing. Groaning, the man slid himself over to lean against the wall of the cave, far from the entrance. His mood was sour and just about everything that could hurt in his body did. He didn't typically mind pain much– but miscalculation stung more when he'd had to be rescued as a result.

"What about the others?" asked Jaha, dimly. 

"I told them to stay put."

"I hope we don't return to them frozen to death." He shifted his knee up and sucked in a pained breath. 

"Oh please," huffed [Y/N] at Jaha's bellyaching, "You aren't dead just yet."

The snow whirled outside without stopping. He felt almost like a stupid kid again. Playing out in the snow too long, getting scolded by his grandfather. The neighbourhood kids that'd stuff rocks into snowballs. Those bruises always took forever to stop aching.

Jaha watched in silence as [Y/N] built up a small fire. She took materials from the knapsack by the wall. It was one of the ones their crew had packed before setting out; she must have grabbed it before she came to find Jaha. 

"How do you even know about this place?" The man squinted, rubbing at his ribs.

"It might be your first time out here, but it isn't mine," replied the woman easily.

The fire, now lit, drew him in. Jaha shifted closer to be nearer, ignoring the way [Y/N] stopped to scoff. Even the sound of the wood popping under the heat felt good.

From a rock near the entrance, [Y/N] looked out at the storm, "We'll stay to wait out the worst of this. I doubt it'll last longer than the night," she paused for a moment, "And Master Jaha..."

Jaha groaned in acknowledgement. His eyes were closing.

"The next time you decide to face a natural disaster, be honest about your limits," her voice seemingly softened, but Jaha brushed it off as just him being tired and hearing things.

"I won't know them until I find them," mumbled the man, "And like you said, I'm not dead just yet."

"We don't happen to have some chicken noodle soup stuffed in that pack, do we?" groaned Jaha haplessly. Sometime between falling asleep and the sun setting, lying down had become appealing again. Sometime between lying down becoming appealing again and now, a ratty blanket had been placed underneath him.

"I've got another warming vial if you'd like," said [Y/N]. 

Jaha pursed his lips, sulking.

"Then stop complaining."

[Y/N] was still sitting where she had been when Jaha slipped out of consciousness, the only difference being now she was whittling something. Her hands moved slowly, but the tiny pile of wood shavings next to her suggested she'd been at it for some time. It was too small for Jaha to see from where he lay.

Next to him, the fire was still going, but growing weak. It left a stark desire for warmth in its embers. The woman had already informed him that there had only been enough materials for one in the pack. Once this was gone, he'd go back to devoting half of his thoughts to craving any sort of warmth.

"So you've been to this place before?" Jaha asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Did you mean the village near this place?"

[Y/N] hummed, along with a sigh, "Yes. It was part of my training growing up."

Training all the way out here while growing up? Suddenly, her attitude made sense to Jaha. After all, these mountains served as a place for outcasts to gather.

"This is the middle of nowhere," Jaha paused, "Do they have running water?

"I would hope so. There may be some rejects who forgo hygiene but I'd like to believe most are in the habit of bathing."

"A hot bath sounds good. Do you like baths?"

"Occasionally. Not for such juvenile purposes as relying on it to warm myself," she eyed Jaha in mock ridicule.

"Well, once we make it there, we can share one."

The small sound of scraping wood and the ever-present wind was all that could be heard for some time.

"You really don't feel cold?" Jaha said after a moment, turning his head slightly, "Not at all?"

"No," said [Y/N] to the blizzard, "Not at all."

The man blinked. The whirl behind [Y/N]'s silhouette seemed as if they were going to catch on her figure and swallow her. Like between this fluttering closure of his eyelids and the next, Jaha would find himself alone. He wondered why she had come. Responsibility as a teammate was the most sensible answer. But the martial masters didn't really rely on such routine ways of thinking. So why not just leave him to die in the snow? 

Nothing [Y/N] did was without some sort of contradiction, Jaha had realized.

"I don't believe you."

At this, the woman turned. They held each other's gaze for a moment. Jaha's chest panged with how much he wished her closer. If the situation were different, he'd say some nonsense and suggest so. That worked about half the time if his math was correct.

[Y/N] did make to move, though not towards Jaha. She placed down what she had in her hands and stood, slowly. 

"My subordinates would hardly hold me in their high graces if something like the cold could deter me from my goals."

Jaha wondered, was that a jab at him?

She worked at the neckline of her cloak for a moment. Jaha didn't understand what she was attempting to do until suddenly her cloak dropped to the ground and she stood in clothes unsuited for the temperature.

Jaha's heart jogged in his chest as if on instinct. His head still pounded, but he knew how it felt to touch that body and his palms itched. 

"What're you…"

"You're cold, aren't you?" She asked as she bent over to pull off her boots, "The fire's almost died out, after all."

Jaha kept quiet, tracing her movements with his eyes.

His mannerisms made her scoff, "Stop gawking. As if this is something I haven't shown you before."

As if there were anywhere else to look.

Thumbs hooked over the waistband, pulling her pants off. She pushed both it and her underwear down in one motion, before tossing them to the side carelessly. Then she stood there, watching Jaha watch her. All of her. Every piece. There was a mild amusement in her eyes.

Jaha stared directly at that form, but it was like trying to focus on an aftereffect. Everything was reflected through that hue. The hair that ghosted the base of her neck, the dip of her shoulders, her breasts, her tummy, the ever so slight flare of hips, the curve of the back of her legs. 

It was true, Jaha had seen her body before. But had always been denied the opportunity to take it in. Always so rough and fast and hard. Frantic. Now, there was quiet. Not calm, but something like a perversion of it. And [Y/N] looked, against the cragged rockface really, truly, exactly like a deity.

"Something you want to say?" [Y/N]'s eyes stayed locked onto Jaha's. At that, he couldn't hold it, and looked away, earning an amused scoff.

"You're a real petty piece of work, you know?" Jaha said tersely, mostly to distract himself from how he could feel his dick stirring. Even looking away, the thoughts flowed into his brain like sewage.

"Hmm?" Her lips quirked up into something that resembled a smirk, "Here I was hoping you'd be grateful."

Jaha scoffed quietly, observing as she approached him.

"I wonder," said Jaha. [Y/N] was kneeling in front of him before moving to straddle him, looking vaguely interested, but not really, "Will the others really be alright?"

"They'll figure something out," [Y/N] replied, "They can huddle for warmth if anything."

Warmth. Pressed up against a solid, beating thing. Images had washed over his mind in that instant. The woman was like a conduit for heat. It always began cold whenever they slept together and slid into something warmer.

He must have been staring because [Y/N] had a strange expression on her face.

"What?" asked she.

"No, it's nothing."

There was a slight pressure on his cheek. He felt soft, malleable. He realized [Y/N] had his face cupped in one hand, "Not getting ideas, are we, Master Jaha?"

He had been until this touch had stopped everything short.

"Not at all."

"Don't lie to me."

The promise of being done with this terrible feeling, even for a moment, was too strong. He knew he was going to lose this fight. 

"[Y/N]," he began. The only thing he could hear was his own harsh breathing.

"What?"

There had been words he wanted to say. Something to articulate. But all that he managed was, "M'cold."

"I know," there was a small pleasure in it, "That's why I'm here."

Jaha's eyes looked her up and down.

"What do you need?"

He felt like he was stuck underneath a frozen lake. Losing without putting up a fight. She wouldn't tell anyone, would she? 

"You."

The hand holding Jaha's face dropped away, "But I can't keep you warm for long." 

He understood what was going on. That he was being baited. But if he did as he was told and laid a hand on the bare body before him now…

…he could slip his hands to lay on either side of [Y/N]'s neck. He might slide them lower then, down her shoulders, to her elbows. Press at her ribcage, and move back up. Jaha may squeeze at that chest.

And yet...

[Y/N] raised her eyebrows. A small tilt of her head, "No? You're getting cold feet now?"

"I can't tell if this is what you want," Jaha managed to reply, his mouth fuzzy, “My head… kind of hurts."

"Then you don't have to think. Isn't that what you've always done, anyway?"

Heedless instances and red flashes and split-second decisions. Impulse and action were what made him up. Yeah, it was what he had always done. 

"Go on. Lead with your hands," said she, "Lean towards what you think will warm you up."

Jaha reached out. It felt like it took years for the gap between their bodies to end in a small point of contact. Just the flat of Jaha's hand on the base of [Y/N]'s neck. Thumb at the corner of her jaw. 

As if it were the easiest thing in the world, the woman shifted in Jaha's lap. So little work for so much reward. The pressure of her body was proof that sensations other than cold existed. Bare legs on either side of his hips, [Y/N] sat for a spell, watching. That hand was still resting on his neck. She narrowed her eyes and nudged it.

"Is this all you want to touch, Master Jaha?"

His cheeks burned, though he didn't know why. They'd done this before, and every time Jaha was always overeager. 

"I've already given you permission," said [Y/N] complacently, "Do whatever you want to me," She grabbed Jaha's hand and brought it to squeeze her breast, "After all, you're a stupid dog. You can't help yourself."

His dick jumped. More bait, he thought dully, but pride was much harder to touch than [Y/N]'s skin. And shame couldn't be all that bad if it set his nerves alight like this. Jaha kissed the last bit of his senses away. 

It wasn't all that difficult afterwards to pull her closer. He panted against that tongue and whimpered at the bites on his lips. Hands rested on his shoulders, bunching in the fur of his collar. With nothing of his own to hang on to, Jaha held tight to the skin on the back of [Y/N]'s upper arm, the base of her spine, her hips. His hands felt clumsy, without purchase.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

[Y/N]'s hand in his hair tightened into a fist and settled Jaha's head back against the wall. He was trying to breathe through his nose so that the air wouldn't feel as cold.

"I– I–" Fuck. His mind was slipping into those soft, easy places. He wanted the simple shame badly. Sit. Stay. Roll over. 

"I need you to tell me I'm a good boy."

It should be something admitted through clenched teeth, a bitten-off confession wrenched from him by force. But Jaha knew how good it could feel, and he also knew [Y/N]'s bored eyes would grow that much sharper at how ineptly it tumbled from his tongue.

Fingers were at his neck. They rested just below his jawline and sprouted a fire there, like everywhere else that [Y/N] touched. Those hands weren't hot, or even warm, so there must really be something wrong with Jaha's head. A thumb trailed up to press into the hollow beneath his bottom lip while the other fingers curled beneath his chin. Jaha's mouth hung open in small breaths.

"And are you?"

"Yeah."

[Y/N] cupped him through his pants, "You are? You're not a mutt with nothing in his brain but when he can next get his dick wet?" 

He winced but managed to hold their eye contact. He wanted to earn this, "No— I'll be your good boy. Really good for you. Please."

"Haha," [Y/N] sat back, "Haha! Is there anything you won't do? Would you splay your stomach for me?"

Jaha nodded until he was sure he'd pulled something in his neck. 

"Show me just how good you can be," breathed the woman. She released her hold on Jaha and sat back, "Get yourself off."

If there was still such a thing as shame in this little world they'd trapped themselves in, then maybe Jaha would have hesitated before fumbling out of his pants. 

[Y/N] seemed to remember something, and only deigned to move from her position in the man's lap to root through the knapsack again. She threw a small vial at Jaha before sitting right back down.

Regular oil. [Y/N] had used it to wet the tinder for the fire earlier. 

He unfastened his pants and slid them down his thighs just enough to free his dick. He then tipped the oil into his palm and started to stroke himself.

It hurt, his hands shook, but the friction felt good. The impulse to shutter his eyes nearly won out–but he wanted to be seen. To perform well and do as he was told bore the risk of reward. If the woman was feeling generous. 

There was a chance Jaha would be delegated to finishing in his own hand with nothing so much as another touch from [Y/N]. Just a bored look and a mildly amused, pitying expression; Jaha had seen it before. It didn't matter, not really. There was heat in being the subject of such strict attention.

"Is this how you treat yourself when you think of me?"

"Yes," Jaha was distantly surprised at how desperate his voice sounded. 

"Go on, keep talking. You wouldn't want me to lose interest."

"I think of our fights, the way you hit me."

"A dog who likes being disciplined."

"It's so hard to find someone who's able to keep up," Jaha twisted his wrist. He swore he saw real contempt pass over [Y/N]'s features, "You fight me like you really– hah –want to kill me.

"But I also," Jaha swallowed, "I really like when I can throw you off balance. And you give me that look like you're impressed with me."

"How honest."

"Ha… a nice break from all the treachery at Gangho, right?"

"Yes, but a mind as empty as yours can't contain shame. A mindless, pretty, obedient boy."

Jaha's hand stuttered for a moment on the upstroke. He pressed a thumb into the head of his cock to keep from coming right then.

"Maybe I'll reward you," the woman hummed for a moment. Her eyes raked over Jaha's body. He was the one with all his clothes on, but he felt seen through. 

His wrist was swatted away as the woman took Jaha's cock into her own hand. And unlike Jaha, she set a much faster pace. 

He didn't know how often they'd fucked. There were too many instances of a fight becoming something more, or an ill-advised dare between them, to count it properly. Still, they hadn't been at this all that long. And yet [Y/N] knew exactly what touches shook Jaha out of his mind with pleasure. His brain went white like the storm outside.

"Stay," instructed she. Jaha's hands bunched in the blanket underneath him. 

He had to be good. He had to be good because if he wasn't, then [Y/N] would stop, leave him here. No use for a defunct weapon, a disobedient dog. He felt like he could cry. The brief brush of a nail against the underside of his cock, the way the heel of the woman's hand pressed into the head.

"God, [Y/N], Please, please, please–"

The touch vanished. Jaha buckled forward with a strangled sound. His hands flew to [Y/N]'s shoulders, his head rested against her neck. His shaking arms wrapped around her. His chest heaved. 

"You can show discipline when you want to," a pitying hand carded through the hair at the nape of his neck, "Or is it only just for me?"

Yes, for you. Jaha wanted to say. No one else has ever been able to do this to me. I'm stuck with you.

"Please," Jaha swallowed, "Please."

"I don't know what you're begging for," said [Y/N], nonchalantly, "Tell me what you want, dog."

"I want to be inside you. Where it's warm."

"I've already given you my whole body. You still want more?"

He didn't know how he'd ever stop wanting more.

"Yes."

"Hm. And you'll be good?"

"Yeah. Promise."

[Y/N] pushed him back. With efficiency, she splayed herself out on the blanket, leaving Jaha to do his best to situate himself. The woman waited as Jaha stumbled out of his pants. Then he shifted until he was on top of her. His cloak covered most of their bodies. It gave the whole thing a bit of modesty, and even though there was no one but them, Jaha didn't want anyone to see how she let herself be touched by him.

He brought a shaking hand down [Y/N]'s stomach, down to between her legs. 

"You're wet," Jaha realized happily. 

"Yeah," [Y/N]'s eyes lidded, "And I can see your tail wagging."

Jaha had wanted to be asked, to be guided through, but he didn't need to be asked twice. He lifted up [Y/N]'s hips to position himself. He spread her legs apart, and the woman just allowed him to, limp and expectant. Jaha let one leg rest just over his shoulder. 

And then he couldn't wait anymore. He pushed himself inside with a sigh. Perfect and tight and warm. 

"Not just anyone would do this for you, you know," said [Y/N] from under him. 

"I know," Jaha nodded as he began to move. Nothing, not the fire, or the draught or anything had felt as good as this. 

He dipped his head and kissed the woman's neck. As he sped up it became sloppier until he was panting open-mouthed against the skin. There was so much sensation after hours of nothing. [Y/N] safe underneath him and Jaha safe in her hands. Everything else seemed small in the light of these facts. Being of service. Doing what he was told.

"How does it feel?" asked [Y/N]. As tight as Jaha was holding her, she didn't cling back. It wasn't uncommon to spot this detached look in her eyes, though Jaha never knew exactly what to do with it. 

He settled for being earnest. It pushed its way past what little else was in his mind, "So good, thank you–"

There was a pressure building near the base of his spine, his stomach. Jaha was well aware he was close. But if he finished now, then she would move away again. He'd be without anything to grasp. And then what? Worse, getting himself off first felt selfish. He should take care of [Y/N] first, shouldn't he?

It must have shown on his face because [Y/N] spoke. 

"Slow down."

Jaha whined. He wanted to. Only it was impossible, it had to be. But that's what he'd been told. Commanded. Somehow, his hips slowed and stopped. 

A hand came to rest at his jaw. [Y/N] looked so composed, and Jaha felt ruined. But the woman's eyes were so pretty. They narrowed in a small laugh. 

"Good boy, Jaha."

His heart skipped. His hips moved on their own. 

"Sorry–"

"Oh, you do like it. No one calls you that anymore, do they?" He was being teased, but there seemed to be something more behind the words. Like she was happy to have this knowledge. And Jaha knew, somehow, that she'd hold it safe. 

"Do you miss it?" A thumb over his cheek, "Does it make you feel whole again?"

"Yes," Everything felt raw and real. His heart was flayed and pumping hot blood. He wanted to move, needed to move.

[Y/N] did so first. She rolled her hips down and before long Jaha was meeting her. They found a rhythm easier than usual. The usual was claws and teeth and grasping onto whatever they could. Here, Jaha had given up the reins. Heat swelled up between them. 

It was so soft and so warm. Jaha drove himself over and over and over into that heat, watching the way the skin of the woman's stomach buckled and moved.

He looked up, perhaps meaning to say something, but was distracted by the look he found on [Y/N]'s face. How empty it appeared at that moment. Their eyes met, but the woman only blinked.

Jaha wanted to bury himself inside. Would that draw out a reaction? Not just fucking, or fighting, but to live underneath that skin. There, he'd never be cold again, he was sure. How could he be, with someone to guide him from the storm?

Small hands went to grab the back of Jaha's arm, and that was all the warning he received before [Y/N] tightened around him. The minute movements in her expression, the clenching of her jaw, the too-fast blink of her eyelids. Jaha watched it all. The woman looked, for the first time since she had stripped herself, vulnerable. 

He should stop. Jaha knew well how [Y/N] must feel right now, oversensitive and spent. But there it was; the urge to gorge himself on it. [Y/N]'s ankle behind his back pulled him closer. If he didn't stop at this moment, he knew he was not going to be able to. 

"I–"

"Go on."

He thought he heard a sob, and then realized it must have been his own voice. A shudder wracked his body as he came–but shuddering from something other than cold felt so good. 

It hurt dully when he collapsed to the side. The blanket really was not very thick at all. As if on impulse, he gathered her up in his arms and pressed her bare body close. Jaha worried for a moment that it was going to earn him a smack, but it was only the cloak being pulled over both of them. The sounds of the blizzard filtered back to the forefront. Then there was oblivion inside, as there was outside.

The other team members were fine, only nearly cried when they saw the two of them return safe and sound. Whatever paperwork it would have been for [Y/N] if a few of them died under her watch, it would've probably been leagues worse if she and Jaha had died instead.

The village, when they finally reached it, was more elaborate than Jaha had expected. They had only lost half a day to travel, and with a clear weather report for the next few days, they should be able to make it on time.

That night, Jaha knocked on the door to [Y/N]'s suite. A maid opened it. Her forearms were damp and she had a wood bucket in her hand. She dismissed herself with a bow.

"So," Jaha said, taking a seat on the bed, "About that bath offer."

[Y/N] didn't look up. She was in front of the bathroom sink, undressing. Jaha walked up behind her and untucked her shirt. 

"It was you who offered if I recall correctly," [Y/N] said to the mirror.

"Yeah, but your bathroom's bigger. Perks of being a little more renowned than me."

"A little?"

The shirt fell to the tiled floor. [Y/N] turned to face him. Around her neck, she wore a necklace.

"Is this new?" He touched it with one hand, "I've never seen you wear it before."

It was long and wooden. He could see the lines of precise carvings on it. 

"Yeah," [Y/N] brought it to her lips, "Want to hear it?"

The sound was faint, high-pitched. It was made to echo off trees and call well-trained pups back home.

A dog whistle.

© yeri (@yerrenica) ⬦ do not repost, copy, translate, nothing. huhu, I've been gone for too long again, my baadd..... I have to posture here, though, that you can use oil (olive/canola/etc) as a way to wet tinder for fire. and if you didn't know, olive oil was historically used as lube. It's important to me to tell you that I didn't bs that.

[stormsthatrage]

(TW: Mentions of violence)

What if Tsuna's guardian situation -- specifically that concerning his Right and Left Hands -- is far more absurd than anyone's willing to tell him.

Imagine a Gokudera Hayato on the streets of Italy, sought after by every family for his incredibly powerful flames and genius-level intelligence. He eventually gets so fed up with all the people trying to force him to work for them that he acquires his nickname "Smoking Bomb" -- he blows up anyone who has the audacity to attempt to get him as a subordinate.

Imagine a Yamamoto Takeshi as a natural-born-killer in a world where that is a clinical diagnosis. Unlike civilian psychopaths, natural-born-killers -- whose brain chemistry is even more out of whack thanks to flames -- actually do have an inborn drive to kill, and maim, and make other people hurt. Sure, sometimes a natural-born-killer may imprint on someone, and are able to see that single person as not-a-target, and then that person is safe from brutal gory murder, but... normally even that doesn't last too long...

Imagine Tsuna stepping foot on Italian soil for the first time. Hayato is at his right shoulder, refusing to call Tsuna anything but 'Boss' or 'Tenth' in public. Takeshi is at his left shoulder, resolutely protective of anyone Tsuna calls his own, steadfastly loyal in a way that is undeniably permanent.

(Imagine Mukuro Rokudo, a literal Vindice escapee famous for going on a murder spree of bosses from multiple families because he hates them as a concept that much.

(Imagine Hibari Kyoya, the son in a long line of the most independent clouds to have ever existed, each ranked more independent than the last. Not a single member of his family has ever served under a sky. Anyone who has met Hibari can tell you he should be no exception.

And so on...)