#but there are some things that he will still take for granted

[nonbinary-octopus]

I don't recall if it was under the readmores of this version of the thread, or on a different version, but I recall someone saying that each invader must win the battle to gain entry

so

Imagine that a terrifying being has come to conquer earth, and has brought his vast army.

He stops at the doorway in space and calls out for the challenge. He is a clever strategist, and has been studying past battles.

Phantom appears, and gives him the rulebook. The invader flips through it like he's already familiar with the rules, and declares that he is ready.

The battle table appears, an ethereal thing made of starlight and green ghostly energy made solid. The two combatants take their seats, and the battle begins.

Everyone on earth is hopeful but stressed, because their strange protector hasn't lost yet, but any time could be the first. So it's a very tense couple of days as they battle. (there are rules about breaks, if it goes on long enough. They meet each day at a certain time, and battle until another certain time or until both agree to take a break, and then they go away to rest until the next day.)

Finally, after nearly a week of drawn out card battling, the worst outcome occurs: the invader ekes out a victory.

The door to earth opens.

The invader strides through, triumphant. He has defeated earth's greatest protector, and now he shall conquer the earth itself! Come, minions!

His army attempts to follow him. Attempts, because as the front line approaches, the door swings closed again of its own accord.

Phantom, who has not yet left, stands beside the closed door holding another copy of the rulebook.

"Do you too wish to challenge me?"

The invader demands an explanation. He does not like the one he recieves.

"You have been granted entry," Phantom tells him, eyes glittering dangerously with the power of many suns. "You, alone."

"Challenge him," the invader growls at his second in command, who does. Phantom gives the Second the rulebook.

"You have as long as you need to study the rules," Phantom tells the Second. "We shall recess for seven days hence. After that, whenever you are ready, we shall begin."

The second begins to read the rulebook.

The invader had not accounted for any of his subordinates needing to know the rules. He had not instructed them in strategy, not even his second in command.

Under other circumstances, he would simply command their actions, and they would obey without question. Such obedience is a trait he specifically cultivated in his soldiers.

However.

Among the many rules, is that the combatant must win on their own merit. Seeking or accepting outside guidance during the battle is an immediate disqualifier.

Phantom turns to the invader, and steps through the shimmering wall of the barrier to join him on the earthly side. "To be clear," he says, ever so calmly. "You have been granted passage through the doorway. You have not been granted safe passage to the surface of the earth, nor have you been granted protection from those wishing to defend it." He gestures back at the design on the floor on the outer side of the door, a protective sigil which prevents anyone inside it from entering into any combat other than the one taking place on the battle table. "By passing through the door, you have exited the diplomacy zone. You may fight others, but they may also fight you. I may also fight you."

His eyes glint with starlight as he says it, and the invader thinks of how formidable a foe he had been at the card table, how powerful a being he must be to have created this barrier.

The invader considers his second, still in the introduction of the rulebook. He considers the heroes of earth. He considers the small but intimidating figure before him. He considers the size of his army. He does some math.

And then he goes home.

DP x DC: The Most Dangerous Card Game

Ok so Danny has essentially claimed earth as his. And he is fully aware that there are constant threats to the planet. Now he can’t stop a threat that originates on earth (that’s something he’ll leave to the Justice league) but he can do something about outside threats. Doing some research on ancient spells, rituals, and artifacts, he cast a world wide barrier on the planet to protect it from hostile threats so they cannot enter. This will prevent another Pariah Dark incident. However, barriers like this come at a price. You see, there are two ways to make a barrier. Either make one powered up by your own energy and power (which would be constantly draining) or set up a barrier with rules. The way magic works is that nothing can be absolutely indestructible. It must have a weakness. The most powerful barriers weren’t the ones reinforced with layer after layer of protective charms and buffed up with power. Those could eventually be destroyed either by being overpowered, wearing them down, or by cutting off the original power source. No, the most powerful barriers were the ones with a deliberate weakness. A barrier indestructible except for one spot. A cage that can only be opened from the outside. Or that can only be passed with a key or by solving a riddle. So Danny chooses this type of barrier and does the necessary ritual and pours in enough power to make it. And he adds his condition for anyone to enter. 

Now the Justice league? Find out about the barrier when Trigon attempts to attack, they were preparing after he threatened what he would do once he got to earth. How he would destroy them. The Justice league tried to take the fight to him first but were utterly destroyed, so they retreated home to tend to their injuries, and fortify earth for one. Last. Stand. Only when Trigon makes his big entrance…he’s stopped.

The Justice league watch in awe as this thin see-through barrier with beautiful green swirls and speckled white lights like stars apears blocking Trigon and his army’s advance. The barrier looks so thin and fragile yet no matter how hard the warlord hits, none of his attacks can get through and neither can he damage said barrier. That’s when Constantine and Zatanna recognizes what this barrier is. Something only a powerful entity could create. For a moment, the league is filled with hope that Trigon can’t get through yet Constantine also explains that it’s not impenetrable. And clearly Trigon knows this too for he calls out a challenge. 

And that’s when, in a flash of light, a tiny glowing teenager appears. He looked absolutly minuscule compared to Trigon and yet practically glowed with power (this isn’t a King Danny AU though).

And that is when the conditions for passing the barrier are revealed. And the Justice realize that the only thing stopping Trigon and his army from decimating earth. The only way he can get through….is by beating this glowing teenager in a card game. 

Not just any card game though. The most convoluted game Sam, Danny, and Tucker invented themselves. It’s like the infinite realms version of magic the gathering, combined with Pokémon, and chess. And Danny is the master. So sit down Trigon and let’s play.

(The most intense card game of the Justice league’s life).

After Danny wins, this happens a few more times with outer word beings and possibly even demons attempting to invade earth, yet none have been able to beat the mysterious teenager in a card game. Constantine might even take a crack at it and try to figure out how to play. He’s really bad though. Every time this happens, the Justice league worry that this might be the time the teenager looses. Yet every time, he wins (even if only barely). 

Meanwhile, Danny, Sam, and Tucker have gotten addicted to the game and play it almost daily. Some teachers might seem them playing the game are are like ‘awww how cute’ not realizing this game is literally saving the world. Jazz is just happy they aren’t spending as much time on their screens playing Doomed.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

[11:35pm]

a/n; WAKE UP VIKTOR NATION !! VIKTOR ARCANE SEASON 2 REAL. god i love him. let's not talk about how i have a thing for hands. this has been on my mind lately.

[reader is implied to be some type of gone whoops] [spoilers for arcane season 2]

you loved his hands. they were a little bony, slender. it was perfectly his hands. it was so him.

you knew you had a thing for his hands. he knew you had a thing for him. you drew on his hands whenever the opportunity rose.

you drew anything that came to mind. your favorite was when you hand drawn his own bones as closely accurate as you could. maybe a little morbid considering the circumstances he was in but he still liked it.

besides drawing on his hands, you often kissed them. each finger was appreciated. every scar, every rough patch. it was all loved. he thought it was really endearing in a way that you loved such a part of the body. in your words, it was a "underrated, underappreciated" part of the body that people take for granted.

maybe you were right in that matter. without it, he wouldn't be able to write down the silly love letter he wrote to you back a few years ago. without his hands, he wouldn't be able to discover hextech with jayce. there was a lot he wouldn't be able to do without his hands.

without his hands, he wouldn't be able to bring salvation to the poor shimmer'd souls in the undercity.

but when he looks at his new hands.. these dark purple wrinkled infected with shimmer and hexcore hands.. he wonders.

would you still like these hands?

[maybank5]

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞

pairing ⤜ yn x jj

summary ⤜ a happy future fic, because we need some healing; jj on the beach with his family reflecting on his life.

a/n ⤜ how are we doing fam? me? not so well. this has been the hardest fictional moment that's ever hit me. i'm choosing to believe our boy is still off somewhere and gonna have the best, most fulfilled and loving future. sending hugs and love to each of you!!

song inspo ⤜ no song inspo for this one; but i did have 'nights in white satin' on repeat as i wrote

The sun is setting over the horizon, sinking down into the ocean and melting into streams of gold and orange against the shimmering water. JJ Maybank perches on his surf board for a moment, admiring it. He's never considered himself to be the most religious of people. Sure, he attended Sunday school as a kid, knows the bible stories decently enough; and yeah, there's times when he catches himself praying. Like the time John B got into that nasty accident, or when his son was born. There'd been complications, things had been touch and go for a moment. JJ had pressed his head against the glossy white wall of the hospital waiting area, hoping to God that things would be okay, as John B and Sarah rubbed his back comfortingly.

The one time JJ didn't pray might have been the one time he should. He'd been stabbed, by his son of a bitch father. Not Luke, the "real one" though JJ found it almost funny how he preferred to think of Luke fuckin' Maybank as his actual father. At least Luke had never tried to stab him. But that was beside the point; JJ had been stabbed, and things were not looking good. John B had felt for a pulse and had felt nothing. JJ can still remember the feeling of floating away, like riding a wave to the horizon. He hadn't prayed then. Instead, he'd made peace with his fate. He'd lived a pretty damn full life in 20 years, and if this was the end of it, so be it. At least on the other side, no one would be trying to hurt him, right? That sounded mighty nice to him. So he'd closed his eyes and let himself drift off towards that horizon.

Only instead, he'd woken up in a hospital, still very much alive. His best friends at his side. Pope and Kiara barely left his side, and John B had practically crawled into the bed with him to hold him in his arms until a nurse had yelled at him. JJ doesn't remember feeling such love until that moment. And that was when it all changed. He'd been given a second chance, and an opportunity to see just how loved and valued he is. He was never going to squander it or take it for granted again.

The sun is sinking lower, the water in front of him glittering in gold. JJ pushes his wet hair back off his forehead to admire it. Years ago he'd have just shrugged it off. Sunsets were a dime a dozen. Not anymore though. Now JJ takes the moment to sit and watch and appreciate.

He glances back to the shore, where his wife and baby are playing in the sand. Harley John Maybank's (it'd be a cold day in hell if JJ ever took the name of that man) new favorite thing was trying to rush to the water, his mom and dad hot on his heels. JJ could tell already that Harley was going to be a handful, and he couldn't fucking wait.

The waves were rising higher. It'd make for a sick surf tonight. JJ bites his lip, turns and paddles back to the shore. Some priorities rank higher than waves.

He tucks his board under his arm and hurries over to where the two of you are building a sandcastle with Harley's little castle-shaped buckets.

"Hey, baby," you glance up at your husband, reaching out and touching his cheek with his hand, always little assurances like that to make sure he's real, "Not surfing?"

"Nah," JJ shakes some water from his head, "Much rather'd build sand castles with this little one," he ruffles Harley's head of blonde hair, glistening in the sunlight.

You can't help but smile as he sinks down into the damp sand to help Harley stuff sand into his buckets. Moments like these is when it truly hits you, just how blessed you are.

JJ gently helps Harley, his eyes so soft and full of love and devotion. Harley John is his utmost pride and joy. He's always been soft with you, but the gentleness in which he treats your son is beyond anything you could imagine.

JJ packs the sand into the bucket with the back of a little plastic shovel. He wonders if maybe there was a time he'd done this as a boy, but shakes the thought from his head. It doesn't matter. He can do it now. He can do it with Harley.

"Sarah called earlier," your voice pulls JJ from his thoughts, "She and John B are going to have Baby Jackson christened. John B is supposed to ask you to be the godfather tomorrow, but Sarah couldn't wait to tell me. You know the two of them, it's not a church thing or anything. Just The Pogues and the ocean."

"Sounds nice," JJ says, wrapping his arms around Harley and pulling him softly onto his lap.

JJ reaches for your hand, pulling you to him as well. He presses a kiss the back of your hand, holding your hand and running his thumb over your knuckles. Nothing ever feels one hundred percent real unless JJ can feel it, touch it, revel in it. He tosses his head back as the evening breeze licks through his hair.

And in that moment, JJ can't help but stop and say thank you.

Because JJ Maybank lives every day in paradise.

[muzansfangs]

Can you do a Bloody Mary with Choso from jjk with a breeding kink ice cube 🥹

if you could tag me that would be amazing, my @ is hauntedchoso but I’m asking on my main blog on anon since that one is a side blog 😅

I still don’t like you.

Starring: Choso Kamo x f!reader; mention to Yuji Itadori, Ryomen Sukuna, Hiromi Higuruma;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, choking, hate sex, vaginal sex, degradation kink, overstimulation, breeding kink, creamipie, enemies to undefined relationship, face slapping, canonic fight but in a domestic scenario, post Shibuya with some narrative alterations;

Plot: Choso Kamo, Yuji’s older brother, never got along with you. He claimed you were nothing but a nuisance. On the other hand, you never really trusted him. You never believed in his sudden redemption arc and it was clear to see in the way you never desisted from insinuating he was plotting something devious. When Yuji needed a place to sleep while moving to his new flat, you did not expect for his ‘brother’ to step into your house too. When you found yourself alone with Choso, things degenerated.

Drink chosen: BLOODY MARY (hate sex, choking, vaginal sex, degradation kink, overstimulation);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You were more than glad to put Yuji up for a week. He was caught up in the middle of moving from his old flat to a larger one and he needed a place to sleep and leave his belongings in, while he settled down in his new home. It was not located far away from your apartment, hence his ultimate choice to knock on your door and ask for hospitality. You had heard one of the main reasons behind his decison to opt for a more comfortable and spacious house was the unexpected presence of his brother Choso in his life, however you did not calculate the possibility to find said man standing on your front door with a luggage at his feet and an annoyed expression plastered on his perpetually impassive face.

Swallowing your pride and biting your tongue not to cause a commotion, you had let him in and agreed to let your enemy reside in your living room until him and his younger brother could finally move to their new flat. For the first three days, things worked out, somehow. It was well-known you detested Choso with a passion. You never really trusted him, since you had been the one who had fought him alongside Yuji back then. You vividly remembered the hatred in his eyes, how hellbent to kill your friend he was, only to show up later on and claiming he wanted to help out and protect his ‘brother’.

He was too shady in your opinion and you had suggested more than once to kill him off. Honestly, you had even declared that Ryomen Sukuna was a better company than him. Daily altercations and brutal fights got so frequent and gory that the ever so noble Hiromi Higuruma had set up the rule of not letting you two casually meet, or work together for a couple of months. It helped, strangely.

Nevertheless, watching Choso occupy your treasured spot on the couch, flicking channels dispassionately, you felt bile go up your throat. Your favorite show was about to air and you had no intention to waste your chance to watch it live.

“Move” you started flatly, arms crossed against your torso.

Choso arched a dark eyebrow, tilting his head to the side to look back at the screen. He was downright ignoring you, fingers tapping onto the armrest steadily, whilst he pretended you did not exist. The audacity he had to disrespect you in your own house blinded you.

You blocked his view on the screen, eyes clouded over in sheer indignation “Are you suddenly deaf? Move your ass and give me the remote” you tried again and, albeit your tone was still modulated to take a polite edge, he could tell you were gradually losing your self-control. Typical of you.

He averted his eyes from the small glimpse of the tv your frame granted a view of “Did you say something?”.

“Choso” you coldly stated, taking a single step towards him. You knew he was testing your patience. It had always appeared to you that guy loved watching you get riled up. Considering Yuji had left for a mission, you had no qualms about vomiting your unbridled odium for the rascal taking over your tv.

As a response, he leaned forward, droopy eyes eyeing you bumptiously “Is the german shepherd upset? What is it, Yuji hasn’t patted your head on his way out?”.

Your eye twitched “Did you just imply I’m a dog?”.

“Did I? Actually, you’re not very obedient. But maybe we could test it out. Tell me, is it true dogs bring back the objects humans throw away?” Choso asked you, cocking his head to the side, hand curled around the plastic remote while he seemed so deep in thought, as if he was mulling something over.

You blinked at his provocation, his words leaving little space for you to actually forgive his ignorance and let it slide. If he had a roof over his head, it was because you had kindly allowed him to stay. You still hated his guts and, honestly, all you were waiting for was for him to screw up, make a false step, betray Yuji or another sorcerer so that you could finally murder him without remorse. However, for the sake of your mental health and to respect your friends’s will, you were making progresses in burying the hatchet. Too bad he did not appreciate it.

You turned your back at him, contemplating the possibility to lock yourself in your bedroom until Yuji was back. Actually, though, you did not even make it to the corridor that the remote smashed against the wall at your left. Batteries skimming over the floor, you watched the device completely shattered into smithereens before your eyes. It took you a moment to put the pieces together and realize he had indeed tossed the remote at you, probably hoping to strike you. This was, without the shadow of a doubt, an invitation to throw hands. And who were you to refuse?

“Come on, doggy, bring it back now” Choso taunted you, arms opening in a welcoming gesture as he stood up from the couch.

The moment you locked eyes with him, Choso knew you were not going to be the bigger person and merely report his shenanigans to Yuji. This was your chance to put him in his place and that is exactly what you did, when you teleported yourself back in front of him and stomped your foot over his crotch.

Choso grunted, eyes narrowing as he clutched his hands over his groin in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. After a few seconds, he had his hand wrapped around your neck and his forehead was pressed against yours to lock you down in a deadly grip stealing the air out of your lungs. The assault caused you to stumble and topple over the coffee table behind you, flapping your arms around to shove him off of you now that you were squashed onto the floor by his weight.

You truly tried your best to push him off of you, but his compact build was crashing you and, consequentially, your movements were restricted. His face was close, his minty breath wafting over you visage sent frissons down your spine and you felt repulsed by your own instict. Choso was handsome, to be completely honest. You hated his guts and prayed night and day for him to combust inexplicably before your eyes. Yet, this bastard was absolutely your type. The punk guy you would throw your panties at during a concert, the perfect match for a messy hook up in the back of a bar.

How ironic was it that you were having such thought right when he had you pinned underneath him?

Huffing in distress, you wrapped your legs around his waist, hellbent to flip you over but yiu failed and surprisingly Choso only pressed himself closer to you. Your clothed pelvis made contact with his crotch, a slight gasp leaving his lips as he applied more pressure on your windpipe. He was getting hard.

“You sick pervert…” you taunted him, despite your current position and blatant disadvantage.

His jaw tensed, hand leaving your throat, only deliver a slap on your right cheek more meant to mock you than actually hurt you. Factually, it aroused you. Even if you were not going to admit it to yourself, he rubbed it on your face “Me, huh? Tell me why your leggins are soaking my pants then, you slut”.

Mortification took you over for a few seconds, before you reached your hand up to grab a fist full of his hair, your lively eyes clouded over in a mix of rage and desire to take your immensurable anger on him. Probably, you were both acting like feral animals. Nor you, neither him relied on rationaly and intellect. This was a matter of power and, for once, you reeled at the thought of baring your fangs and howling like a beast.

“Maybe I had only fingered myself in my bedroom, it’s clearly not for you. — you cooed, a malicious smirk curving your glossy lips as you pulled at his chestnut brown strands to emphasize your words — Don’t tell me you were getting hard thinking it was for you? How pathetic, Choso… Humping me like a dog, feeding yourself a sweet little lie to boost your ego, damn… Look at you” you sneered, watching his face contort in discomfort for your cruel grip on his hair and utter intollerance for the demeaning words you were throwing at his face. If you itched to humiliate him, then he was going to pay you back with an equal treatment.

“What a slut… — Choso rasped out, glowering down at you with homicidal rage flickering in his dark eyes — You fingered yourself like a dog in heat, huh? No one to breed that pussy, all alone, except for the unsolicited company of the man you wish to see in a coffin. Let’s do something about that attitude of yours, huh? Honestly, I was waiting for us to be alone again” he hissed, before pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

Your eyes initially grew round in bewilderment, especially when he began to scramble his hands down your body to search for the waistband of your leggins. Yet, you could not turn down such a chance to make hin whimper, to show him you could withstand anything, while he could not. You kissed him back confidently, your teeth nipping at his bottom lip heedless of his groan of pain.

This was until he yanked your pants down your legs, your slippers knocked away in the process of stripping you naked. With your legs finally free again, you attempted once again to flip you over, but Choso grasped your ankles and pinned you down roughly.

“No, don’t even think about it” he warned you coldly, raising on his knees to get rid of his own clothes.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, eyes trailing down his chiseled pectorals and abs, mentally cursing him for how handsome he was. You could not confess you wished you could ran your tongue on every dip and hard muscle of his body though. You still liked to tell yourself he thought you were just agreeing because you were horny, not because you liked him.

“Instead of mentally fucking yourself on my cock, take off this poor excuse of an underwear you’re wearing” he caught you red-handed. Your cheeks heated up in shame and you scoffed indignantly at him, complying to his request without further ado for the sake of your throbbing need. And his one, apparently, pulsating before your clouded over eyes. Straight as a ramroad, leaking precum on the tip. A drop timidly peeked on the edge, running down the underside of his member.

You acted before mulling over your option and you lounged towards him in a split second. Choso arched an eyebrow, fingers threading through your hair inelegantly as he lolled his head back to suppress a groan bubbling up deep within his chest. Your tongue eagerly lapped at the veiny underside of his cock, tracing the curve up until you collected that salty drop to swallow down before his eyes. You circled the tip, half-lidded gaze peering up at him, expecting him to push you forwards to make you suck him off properly. But instead he shoved you back down on the floor, rolling onto your stomach and spreading your arses to grant himself a good view of your glistening intimacy.

On your hands and knees, you glanced at him from above your shoulder “What the fuck are you doing?”.

Choso did not even spare you a look, instead giving your pussy a slap to send jolts of electricity cursing through your body. You cried out in need, earning a pleased hum from the bastard behind you “You are not worthy to suck my cock. — he replied, lining his shaft to your opening to collect some juices and facilitate his entrace — But I’ll surely pump so full of my cum you’ll soon have to tell Hiromi who made you pregnant” he commented bitterly, before pushing past your folds with a satisfied grunt.

The strained moan you emitted, mortified you. His girth was absurdly perfect for you. Each thrust, each time he rolled his hips against yours you trembled. His words had made color drain from your face, but you soon found yourself arching your back to give him an even better access.

Choso watched in glee your ass jiggle with each thrust he gave you. One of his hand reached down and slided to the upfront of your neck, fingers deftly latching around it as he pulled you up against his broad chest. Your back pressed against his abs, clammy bodies, breathy moans, you felt like two animals. He kissed your neck ferociously, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he attempted to reach his end into you.

Choso needed to stain you. The idea of you, so petty and standoffish, walking around with his seed leaking in your panties when you talked to your friend made him increadibly eager to ruin you. On the other hand, you were too lost into the pressure coiling in your lower abdomen to think straight. His breath-play, his relentless pace and the dull track of pain you felt when he occasionally hit your cervix made you see the stars and the whole galaxy expanding infinitely in the limitless ocean of space. You wished he fucked you less good than this, because there was honestly no way in Hell you were going to forget the pleasure you were experiencing for years to come.

Almost reading your mind, Choso huffed “What is it, bitch? Are you scared from that from this day on you won’t be able to look me in the eyes without remembering how loud I have made you scream today?” he flaunted, as you shot him a glacial glare through your lashes and tears.

You tightened around him, his other hand travelling over your stomach and holding you close to his body “Don’t flatter yourself over a hook up! I still don’t like you” you fired back, matching his tempo to spare the time and doubling the sensation of your walls and his dick continuously brushing together in the overwhelmingly impressive bliss.

When you thought of Choso, you did not think he was a virgin. He had good looks, he was shady enough for some pretty and shallow girl to fall at his feet and give him the regular dose of endorphins a man needed not to spend the night with blue balls. Despite that, you were firmly convinced he was not much experienced, especially in terms of seeking and finding all the sweet spots that could bring tears of ecstasy in a woman’s eyes.

Choso bristled, mouth close to your ear, as he pounded into you with a renewed vigour “Is that so? Then you better not wallow in the false hope that I have outdone myself for you. — he rasped out, shoving you face down again, you cheek making a harsh impact with the floorboard — This is how I fuck. It’s standard, nothing special” he spluttered, his thrusts gradually but surely getting sloppier. Regrettably, though, they were still hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

You gawked, screwing your eyes shut and banging your fist onto the floor in defeat. You were about to reach your climax and your snarky attitude had apparently left your body. Blank mind, your body twitched, until you milked him up and basked in the only good thing Choso Kamo had ever done for you.

He cussed when your spongy walls sucked him in, his seed painting your inner walls white as he made sure to push back in the excessive amount leaking out of you. The damage was done. But no one was a victor, judging by the disheveled hair and bruises on your bodies. Spent, you two recovered from your irresponsible stunt in silence, laying spent and drained in the floor of your living room. The tv casted lights in the dimly illuminated room, setting off your naked curves and his sharp features.

Not only you were a mess, but you also had to clean up the floor from the sweat and fluids staining in, representing the last evidence of the deplorable mishap recently happened. Yuji could not know about this. No one was entitled to have a word about what you two had done. Nor you, neither Choso offered the agreement of not talking about this anymore and to anyone, but sharing a knowing look with him, you realized he was back to make good use of his brain.

Standing up on your wobbly legs, you collected your clothes and gestured to a mop on the balcony “Clean yourself up and wipe away that mess, asshole” you croaked out, heading towards your bedroom in a frenzy.

“Do it yourself, whore”.

You smiled. This was the Choso Kamo you knew.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I have finally finished this fic, help!Since it is also one of the requests I have received when I hosted my event, my joy for having crossed it out of the list is doubled. Let me know what you think about this. As per usual, likes, comments and re-blogs are greatly appreciated!

Love,

Luce

TAGS: @axesfordays @jenntlegarden @cyder-puff @wet-cedar @pin-k-ink @bakugosgirl01 @hauntedchoso @makingtimemine @dangertits97

[crushpunky]

rafe returns to kook!reader

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

!!! obx4 spoilers below !!!

Y/n scrolled her phone aimlessly, gnawing her thumbnail as she perused headlines for any sort of hint at where Rafe could possibly be. It had been nearly a month of wondering if he was even alive, the only thing giving her hope were the random, cryptic text messages she had received from him every few days… except that they stopped a week ago. Their relationship was never easy, the two of them so close it almost felt like the line between friends and something more was blurred, but no matter what, they always talked to each other. She had tried talking to Rose or Wheezie to see if they had any idea of what could be going on with him or Sarah, the both of them apparently gone on some sort of wild goose chase, but they simply brushed any of y/n’s questions or concerns off.

With a sigh, y/n turned her phone off and tossed it to the side of her bed. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart and thoughts when she was suddenly pulled out of her spiral by a knock at the door. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, her parents were both out at a dinner, and it was nearly midnight…

“Y/n?” A shout from the front door caused her heart to flip. Y/n clamored out of her bed, nearly falling down the stairs at the familiar voice. Once she reached the door, her shaky hands fumbled with the lock before flinging the door open. There, on her porch, his hair a bit longer than she had remembered, but his eyes still the same stormy blue, was Rafe. Y/n let out a sob before throwing herself at him, nearly knocking him off the porch as she hugged him tightly. Her fingers curled into his shirt, burying her face into his chest as she cried, all the anxiety and fear she had been holding evaporating the moment she saw him.

“I’m so sorry.” Rafe said, pressing his face into the top of y/n’s head, his voice cracking. Y/n pulled away, her hands grabbing the sides of his face as tears continued to stream down her face. His skin was tanner and a bruise lingered on one of his cheekbones, but he was still the same boy she had fallen in love with so long ago. Standing in front of her. Alive.

“I– I thought you were dead,” y/n sobbed, her hands soothing down his shoulders but her gaze never leaving his. Rafe shook his head, his bottom lip trembling slightly as he rested his palms on y/n’s cheeks.

“There was so much going on and—” Rafe rambled.

“Why didn’t you call? Or– or text?” Y/n said, her breathing ragged with the conflicting emotions running through her. He was here, and he was alive, but why hadn’t he called? Why had he forgotten about her?

“I tried, y/n, I tried but it was too risky.” Rafe said, his thumb running along the highs of y/n’s cheekbones.

“Bullshit ‘it was too risky’!” Y/n gripped onto Rafe’s shoulders. “I was worried sick, Rafe, I didn’t know where you were or what was going on or—-”

Y/n was cut off when Rafe wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly into his chest. Y/n eyes widened for a moment before she relaxed, snaking her arms around her. She could feel him trembling under her touch, melting into her for a second until he pulled back once more.

“Y/n, I– I fucked up,” Rafe panted. “I… I’ve treated you like shit, always hurting you and getting high and hooking up with girls and taking my anger out on you and taking you for granted… Being away from you for so long made me realize that none of that other shit matters, a’ight? What matters is you and I’m sorry I was too fucking young and naive and stupid to notice that.”

Rafe’s words hung thickly in the air, y/n’s mind swirling. She had watched him grow from a boy to a young man, but now, in front of her, filled with such genuine, raw emotion was the man she always knew he was capable of being.

“Please… please say something.” Rafe swallowed harshly, his hands resting gently on y/n’s shoulders.

“I… what happened? What changed?” Y/n whispered. What had finally clicked? Changed? Allowed him to see what she and everyone else in his life had been trying to get him to see his entire life?

“I, uh… I talked to Sarah.” Rafe said, chewing on his lip. Y/n quirked her brow. Y/n had known the Camerons for as long as she could remember and was well aware of Sarah and Rafe’s troubled relationship. After Ward’s death, she was more than certain the two of them would never speak to each other again.

“Sarah?” Y/n said. “You talked to Sarah?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said lowly.

“She was with you?” Y/n stammered. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine…” Rafe trailed off, his jaw clenching slightly as he avoided y/n’s eyes for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n asked, furrowing her brows.

“She’s, um… she’s pregnant.” Rafe whispered. Y/n hands dropped from where they rested on Rafe’s arms, her mouth falling agape. Sarah, the same girl she and Rafe had grown up with, was pregnant? As in, was going to be a mother?

“Oh my god…” Y/n said, attempting to blink back some of the shock. “I need to see her– I need to talk to her. We need to–”

“Y/n…” Rade sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“What? Why not? I thought…” Y/n shook her head, her eyes scanning over Rafe’s jittery disposition.

“She, uh— her friends— shit.” Rafe groaned, closing his eyes as took in a deep breath. Y/n waited, soothing her hands down his arms gently.

“JJ, he, uh… he didn’t make it.” Rafe finally said, opening his eyes once more.

“H-he didn’t make it, what do you mean?” Y/n stammered. Sure, she wasn’t close to JJ, but still. He was important to Sarah, he was so young…

“He… he was killed.” Rafe said lowly, nodding to himself. Y/n took in a harsh breath, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair. Y/n looked back up, Rafe’s face filled with so much turmoil, so much loss, so much… hurt.

“Rafe, I’m… I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I had no idea.” Y/n whispered.

“Don’t— don’t feel bad for me. Lord knows I don’t fucking deserve it.” Rafe said with a small chuckle.

“Rafe, you’ve… done things, but… you’ve also been through so much; your dad, your mom, your sister…” Y/n said, Rafe’s eyes meeting her own, wide and watery.

“You… you’re trying to be a different person— you are a different person. You need to give yourself some grace.” Y/n finished, her hands moving to rest on the sides of Rafe’s face. Tears streamed slowly down his cheeks, the evidence of years and years of hiding all the pain he felt.

“Thank you, y/n. For everything.” Rafe whispered. Y/n smiled gently, raising up on her toes to press a kiss to Rafe’s cheek.

“Thank you, Rafe.” Y/n said.

“For what?” Rafe asked, a small smile spreading across his lips.

“For being my best friend.” Y/n said.

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 2 - Next

"Those were the words of the former captain of the Tulpar ship, owned by Pony Express, Grant Curly, who miraculously was the only survivor even in his condition after going through a series of murders on the ship, completely vulnerable, by the same person who caused the crash, his co-pilot Jimmy-"

You turned off the television while they were broadcasting Curly's testimony on all channels.

"I'll go buy a few things" you mentioned, getting up from your seat and putting on a jacket to go out. "Wanna come with me?"

Curly turned to look at you curiously, thinking you were going to leave him there on his own until you returned, or that you would take him without asking to keep him close.

Curly: "Please"

He sighed and you took his chair to start pushing him to the store.

They could notice the looks of the people passing by, all recognizing the man, but none able to approach him to ask a question.

"Do you like peas? Lin told me that you could eat without any problem as long as your pieces are small." 

Curly: "I have no problem with the food... I just don't like sweets."

"Okay"

You nodded, adding things to the cart, checking the prices, and thinking about what you could cook.

He stood gazing into the distance at the chocolate aisle, remembering the boxes of chocolates he used to buy for Linda, sighing at the thought that those days were in the past.

He found it strange to think that she was already over 50, while he remained at the age of 34, now being cared for by the younger sister of the woman who had once been his fiancée, who must now be around 32.

Curly: "Your birthday... It was a few months ago, right? I remember Linda used to say that she liked spring because it was when you were born."

"...No, my birthday hasn't happened yet, there's still some time left. But I don't really celebrate it, I just treat myself and that's it."

You shrugged even while looking at the products on the shelves.

Having everything you needed, you went to the cash registers to pay. The woman had seen Curly on television and gave him a discount as if he were some kind of veteran or senior.

That didn't please the man very much.

You stopped halfway back to his home, the streets were no longer so busy, after all, you had left a bit late after all.

"Would you like to feel something different?"

You asked him while firmly holding the wheelchair, there was a slight slope on that street, the man immediately turned to look at you, you looked excited to do something, like a child about to pull a prank.

Curly: "Sure?..." he said without being very convinced

And he let out a scream when you climbed onto the chair's wheel tubes and let the slope of the street make you go down, he could only hear a mix of his screams and your laughter as you went down.

He feared crashing into something or flying off, he didn't want to experience more pain, but the chair kept moving even after the descent was over. Curly was grateful for the good quality of the chair, and that it didn't fall apart when you got on it too. He was able to breathe easy when they stopped after a few seconds.

"And we arrived! Much faster, right?"

You patted his shoulder, ready to get off and push him inside the house, the man could feel the rapid beating of his heart at that moment.

Curly: "Do you do things like this often?" he asked, trying to have a conversation to calm down.

"Didn't you feel more alive?"

He fell silent as he thought about your question, while they descended, the only thing he could feel was his heart racing, the wind on his face, and he heard your laughter close to him, but at no moment was there sadness, remorse, or any of those emotions he constantly felt.

Just adrenaline.

Curly: "You could say that... yes..."

You put the groceries in their place and left out only what you were going to use, you ended up making some fried rice with chicken, egg, onion, and peas.

You could see how the man struggled to use his prosthesis to hold his utensils and eat, everything falling onto the table several times.

You moved your chair closer to him, making him look at you.

"Do you want to keep trying or would you prefer that I help you?"

Curly: "I give up for today..." was his only response, sighing.

You took food on your fork and brought it to his face, he opened his mouth and finally managed to take a bite, enjoying the taste of that simple food, he had missed homemade meals after so much time eating the provisions on the ship and then the bland hospital food.

"And? How is it?"

Curly: "Delicious," he replied, opening his mouth, hoping you would give him more.

You couldn't help but compare it to a baby bird begging for food, but you held back your laughter to keep feeding it.

Curly: "Mm.. So, when is your birthday?"

It was a very bad idea to talk to his implant while eating, causing him to start coughing as he choked on the food. 

"Well... It's exactly in 5 weeks," you smiled, making him raise his arms and you patted his back.

He was surprised at how quickly he was able to stop coughing when you did that, you immediately handed him a glass of water.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to get a cloth to clean the food scraps off the table."

You mentioned standing up to go to the kitchen.

While you were away, he kept trying to eat on his own, managing to get a small amount of rice on his fork and being able to eat that.

While he chewed, he kept watching out the window; that orange and reddish color appearing in the trees was tinting the whole place.

Her birthday... It's in autumn...

[frost-queen]

A dance of fencing (Reader x Benedict Bridgerton)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer @slythetic , @p0nycurtis

Summary: Benedict takes up fencing, not knowing who his opponent is as he remains quiet. Each time he is defeated by his partner. During the balls a girl keeps following him and trying to make something clear. With his mind still on winning a match, he makes a deal to buy his partner a drink if he wins. If only he knew his opponent was the girl who kept trying to hint it at him during balls.

Benedict hurried towards the door as it caught Violet’s attention. Making her stop mid-way, gawking at her son. – “Uhm Benedict… where are you going?” – She wanted to know. Benedict stopped, moving a bit back. – “Out.” – he replied as if it was the most casual thing. – “Now, it is almost calling hour.” – Violet responded.

“I… I have other obligations.” – Benedict answered already checking the clock in the hallway. – “But your sister…” – Violet reminded him again. – “Will be fine without me, she has plenty of hawks circling around her.” – he called out heading for the door.

Before Violet could scold him, he had left. Calling over one of the carriages. Violet sighed loud, entering the drawing room to wait for any suitors to announce themselves to Francesca. Benedict hopped into the carriage as it rode off.

The carriage stopped in front of a mansion. White stone walls with pillars on each side. A man was standing outside having a smoke. Not even trying to hide it. His eyes focused on Benedict when he got out. – “I’ll be damned Bridgerton is that you?”  - the man called out, dropping his cigarette on the ground.

Sniffing it out with his heel before coming over. Benedict looked surprised at the acquaintance when he neared. – “John Fidleton is that you?” – he asked. John shook his hand firm with a pat on against his shoulder. – “Here for fencing too?” – John wanted to know, leading him closer to the mansion.

Benedict chuckled out a laugh with a shrug. John laughed patting him hard on the back.  – “A man of many talents.” – John joked leading him inside the mansion. – “To be honest I just needed an escape from the house.” – Benedict teased with a smirk. John laughed loud patting him even harder on his back.

Benedict nearly stumbled forwards, coughing as the air felt being punched out of his lungs. – “You were always the funny one.” – John teased with a poke in his cheek. Benedict chuckled softly, rubbing his cheek. John leaded him to the training room. A grant ballroom now occupied with other obligations then dance. Many men were already suited up and warming up.

John slapped Benedict hard on his back. – “Get yourself ready.” – he shoved Benedict towards a door. Benedict left the room to change. With the helmet under his arm, he returned. He observed and watched some already parring. The sound of their fencing foil clattering against each other.

The instructor entered as everyone lined up. The instructor paused to give Benedict a quick bored glance. – “You new?” – he asked making Benedict nod, adding a bow afterwards. The instructor motioned with his head for him to join the line. Benedict hurried over, coming to stand beside John.

The instructor clapped his hands together after his speech, making everyone form a pair. Benedict turned to look at John to partner up, but John had already left to meet another chap. Laughing loud. It made Benedict look uncomfortable around as he didn’t knew anyone else. The instructor clapped loud, calling for his attention.

He then pointed at a person fully suited up. Benedict bowed to his instructor, making his way over. He approached you, holding his hand out to you. – “Benedict Bridgerton, at your service.” – he introduced himself. You stared down at his hand. As a reply you bowed, not shaking his hand. Benedict cleared his throat a bit ashamed, bowing afterwards.

“I look forward to fence with you.” – he started loosening up his shoulder. You tapped with your fencing foil on the helmet under his arm. – “Oh right.” – Benedict answered, moving the helmet up. – “You aren’t much of a talker are you?” – he questioned as you turned round to take your stand. Benedict put his helmet on, taking a stand as well.

If only he knew. You breathed loud into the helmet taking a moment to compose yourself. Waiting for Benedict to make the first move. Benedict launched forwards as you easily blocked his attack with a swift swing of your fencing foil. One hand behind your back as you needed to use little effort for it. With your fencing foil, you touched his chest with the tip of it.

Benedict looking with surprise down at his chest. You removed the fencing foil from him, taking a step back again. Benedict taking a stand once more. Again he set his foot forwards, launching at you. Turning just a quarter, you let your fencing foil block his. Letting it swing round to unbalance him.

Benedict tensed his jaw, regaining his balance and attacking once more. His efforts were little as your agility and speed blocked his strike before it could come even near you. The tip of your fencing foil again touching his chest.

Benedict groaned loud as you took another stand. You let your gaze go down to his feet, seeing his footwork wasn’t steady. Knowing he was about to strike, you deflected his strike. Making your fencing foil circle around his till it got flung out of his hands. Up in the air, Benedict watched with grand eyes.

You shoved him back with your fencing foil as he stumbled to the ground. With your free hand, you caught his fencing foil taking a deep bow at him. Benedict groaned loud at his defeat. Benedict got back up as you offered him his fencing foil.

He took it annoyed barely giving you a glance. He took another stand. With each defeat, the urge of overthrowing you grew. Giving up, he took of his helmet and went back to the changing rooms. Not even throwing you a glance over his shoulder.

Benedict rubbed his neck to ease his muscles making Anthony glance at him. Benedict cleared his throat, lowering his hand. – “Has he been handling you roughly again?” – Anthony questioned. Benedict sighed loud. – “Now I regret ever telling you.” – he mumbled out. Anthony came to face him, grabbing him by his vest.

“You better land that win on this gentleman for the sake of our family name.” – Anthony told him firmly. – “It’s just practice.” – Benedict replied with a roll of his eyes. Anthony dusted off Benedict’s shoulders. – “No excuse, I just know he is laughing in your face.” – Anthony finished looking suspiciously over his shoulder.

Benedict pushed his brother’s hands off him. – “Actually he hasn’t been taunting. Just quiet.” – Benedict reassured him that his opponent wasn’t mocking him at all. Rather always remaining calm and not giving him much interaction.

“Beside the point.” – Anthony muttered out, bringing up a polite smile when some ladies walked past them. Kate appeared leaning her arm on Anthony’s shoulder. – “Are you taunting your brothers again?” – she asked her husband with a mischievous scowl. – “Wha… no!” – Anthony answered making Kate smile.

Benedict bowed his head to her as she scrunched her nose with a smile in return to him. Kate kept shushing her husband, pulling him away from Benedict. Throwing him a wink over her shoulder as she led him away. Alone, Benedict took a deep exhale.

Getting in motion, he needed a drink. Brushing past ladies and lords to reach the beverages. He got handed a lemonade, turning around to watch the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach. Coming to stand at his side.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” – you said with a curtsy. Benedict nearly chocked on his drink, sputtering in his glass. Lemonade splashing up in his face. Lowering his glass, he wiped his face clean. Standing face to face with a girl. Hands folded in front of her, a dazzle in her eyes. – “I uhm… yes Eloise!” – he called out making an escape for it.

Out of sight, he exhaled loud, undoing his tie a bit around his neck. Puffing loud as he had avoided another eager girl. You blinked surprised at his departure. Taking your glass of lemonade, you went after him. You noticed him standing alone as it made you hum thoughtfully. Hinting he had been deliberately avoiding you.

Knowing you couldn’t face him head on, you decided to sneak up on him to join his side. Slowly you shuffled closer to him from the side. Trying to make it as casual as ever that you were sneaking up to him.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” – you repeated to get his attention. He turned his head with a loud and visible sigh. He already started to get in motion as you wouldn’t let him leave so easily. – “Mr. Bridgerton!” – you called out heading after him. – “Just go back to your mama!” – Benedict responded looking over his shoulder.

Too occupied with him, you nearly bumped into someone. You spun around, avoiding him ending in fencing stand. Looking up, you just had to see if he had seen it. Benedict’s eyes were still on you, but quickly looked away once he saw you had managed it. Brushing you off, you watched him leave. You hoped it would’ve been a perfect hint for him to connect that you were his fencing partner.

Sighing loud, you turned the other direction. No more attempts. Benedict returned to his siblings, needing to shake the feeling off. – “Those debutants keep getting eagerly each year.” – he complained to Eloise. She snorted loud. – “Poor you.” – she teased with pouted lips. It made Benedict give her a little shove. Colin laughing loud.

Benedict entered the mansion once more, heading for the gardens. A match outdoors due to the good weather. Bowing his head to John further up ahead. He then walked straight up to his fencing partner. You pointed with your fencing foil at his helmet to put it on.

Benedict held his finger up to you. – “How about a deal first?” – he asked teasingly. You gestured for him to continue. – “If I land a win, you’ll have to reveal yourself. Show me who you are and I’ll buy you a drink on top of that.” – Benedict proposed.

“What do you say, deal?” – he wanted to know, opening his hands all smug. You nodded accepting his offer. Benedict smiled putting his helmet on. Each taking a stand to begin. No matter what he did, he kept being hit by you. Losing in every way. Making him groan time and time again, but he was persistent.

Benedict kept practising with Anthony in the yard at home. Anthony yelling at him to keep an eye on his footwork. Whatever the cost, he wanted to win the deal. Days past with practices and balls. At practise he kept losing and at each ball, he kept being followed by a lady out of so many.

It started to irritate him as he disliked debutants and their eager mama’s. He started to portray his frustrations into his fencing. Anthony directing him to channel it more clearer. Frustration’s couldn’t cloud his judgement. Day in and out, he practised with Anthony and kept losing to his opponent at fencing classes. Hoping he would lance a win soon enough. Eager to know the gentleman that was outstanding in fencing.

Anthony had given Benedict a pep talk in the morning. Now entering the mansion once more, he wasn’t sure what the outcome would be, but was eager to keep trying. He came facing you once more with a bow. You curled up a smile from behind your helmet. Benedict waited for you to do anything first as it made you quirk your eyebrow up.

You made your way at him as he deflected it. Trying to tap your chest for a point. You spun around with ease, striking at him. Benedict let his fencing foil clash with yours. Coming nearly face to face. Panting loud in his helmet as he narrowed his eyes to try and see any features through the helmet. You shoved him back as he stumbled.

He regained his balance, blocking another strike of you. Glancing down, you noticed his footwork had improved. He was getting better, just how you liked it. You always like a challenge as most of the other’s wouldn’t want to fence with you anymore because they always lost. Benedict was persistent, wanting to win from you.

You noticed the slightest slip-up with him, striking him down. He looked down at the tip on his chest, sighing loud. – “Again!” – he called out coming in position again. Benedict and you kept fencing even when everyone else had given up and returned home.

The instructor asked if you wanted to leave as well. Benedict wouldn’t asking if they could stay a bit longer. Sure that he would land his win today. The instructor accepted, retiring to his study. Now you had the entire ballroom for your own. For fencing was a dance in her own style. – “Again.” – Benedict repeated getting up once more.

You nodded, taking a stand once more. Your fencing foils clashed opposite from each other. Benedict and you nose to nose. Both panting loud in the helmet. Benedict moved his hand up to push the fencing foils upwards. It made you stumble a bit backwards as Benedict struck.

You immediately blocked it out of breath. Moving back as he went forwards. He tried to aim for your chest as you deflected his touch. He kept coming at you as you were impressed by his dedication. Dancing back and forth with him. Benedict struck at you as you deflected it.

He quickly repositioned his hand, to hit your chest while you weren’t looking. A hard touch on your chest, made you widen your eyes. Looking down at your chest to see his tip clear on your chest. Benedict’s eyes widened as well. His scream of joy echoing into the ballroom as he sunk to his knees in victory.

You had to give it to him, clapping. Benedict removed his helmet, panting loud. – “I think we have a deal good sir.” – he said with a smirk. You nodded offering him your fencing foil as he took it. Taking a step back to watch with eagerness who the gentleman was that he had been fencing with for months now.

You exhaled deep as you brought your hands up to your helmet. Unsure how he would react. A deal was a deal so you weren’t going to chicken out of it. Slowly you removed your helmet as Benedict’s eyes widened seeing gentle lips. He dropped the fencing coils, clattering to the ground at the sight of a girl. Not just any girl, but the girl he had been brushing off at every ball.

“How about that drink?” -  you said with a teasing smile. Benedict was speechless. Utterly speechless that his opponent had been a girl this entire time. It made you a bit shy as he wasn’t responding. He was normally always so full with words and now he couldn’t even utter one.

“A lemonade is just fine.” – you replied to cut the silence, knowing he used to think you were a man. He couldn’t give you any alcohol so a lemonade would be just fine. – “Or should I return to my mama?” -  Benedict apologized before taking his leave. Letting your shoulders slouch, you felt like you had just lost your fencing partner. Unsure if you could ever come back.

You didn’t come to the next fencing practise. Just not feeling it. Yet dismissing a ball was out of the question for your parents. Now you stood by the windows looking bored. Bored with the people, you turned around to look outside. Pulling your nose up at the sudden presence at your side.

Turning your head, you were surprised to see that it was Benedict. – “As promised.” – he said offering you a glass of lemonade. You looked down at the glass, hesitant to accept it. – “I… I didn’t catch your name the other day.” – he asked as you took the glass from him. – “Well you never staid to hear it.” – you responded looking away to take a sip.

Benedict chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. He was still waiting for an answer with eagerness. – “Y/n Y/l/n.” – you answered making him curl up a smile. – “I didn’t see you at fencing practise, miss Y/n.” – he continued to conversate with you. – “Oh, I didn’t know you were looking for me.” – you replied.

Benedict plucked the drink from you, handing it to a man not far from him. – “How about a dance miss Y/n?” – he asked offering you his hand. You kept staring at his hand wanting him to sweat just that little extra. Benedict moved his head closer to you. Almost cheek to cheek to whisper in your ear.

“It’s like fencing.” – he whispered to you. It made you bashful at how close he was. Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. – “I suppose I can grant you one dance.” – you replied unbothered, laying your hand in his. Benedict smiled all giddy, guiding you towards the dancers. Letting go of your hand as you came standing in front of him.

“Does this require a deal as well?” – you teased him looking all smug. The music began as Benedict took you by your waist, pulling you up to his chest. – “Only your attention.” – he responded. – “I can do that.” – you answered with a smirk. Benedict touched your chin with his knuckles before leading you into the dance.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[morganas-pendragons]

Twilight | Elrond Peredhel

You guys asked for an Elrond piece, so here's another one! This one will go into the drabbles on my masterlist. I haven't had much inspiration for fics for him (that means if you do, drop that into my inbox PLEASE)

prompt: elrond/you and twilight

tag: @thesolarangel @celebrimbormylove @ladyoflindon @pentaghasm

***

For all the things you have known him as over the years, you have never associated Elrond with darkness. He is the living embodiment of kindness incarnate, wrapped within the confines of an elven body that's also just a little bit too human for his own comfort. The light shines from the very heart of him. It is what makes him so alluring. So... beautiful.

Kind as summer, they say.

''What are we doing out here, my love?"

Where Elrond is kindness and light, you are gentleness and beauty personified. Gil-Galad has said for quite some time now that the two of you are the perfect complement for one another. You have endured the darkest of times, the deepest of grief, the heaviest of guilt and shame.

Yet here you are. Hand in hand, standing on the cliffs of Imladris above the wildflower fields as twilight peaks just over the trees on the other side of the river.

"I thought we could bask in the coming twilight together. Just us. Away from our responsibilities," Elrond teases. Your brow arches slightly to convey your disbelief as he grasps your hands and drags you down the hill toward the wildflowers. He has been so invested in rebuilding within the weeks following the Fall of Eregion that the two of you have scarcely seen each other, seeking the other out in the dead of night when sleep alludes you. "Just us. I miss us."

You smile and run your thumb along the back of his hand as the pair of you come to a stop. The twilight bleeds into the skies above you, casting red and purple shadows across the flowers as you take his hand into your own and lead the other to anchor against your waist.

Something lightens in him then: Something that he's been carrying for far too long that Elrond has been unwilling to let anyone else bear but him alone.

"We are eternal, Elrond. All that is us is eternal. The love we have shared across these years is eternal." You whisper. Your voice carries in the silence of the valley around you as you inch closer and press your toes into the dirt to be able to kiss him. Elrond tilts his head, lips parting of their own accord as he deepens your kiss and curls his tongue around your own. You don't know who is making those little, broken sounds of desperation and desire. It's probably both of you. You pull away first, grinning at him as he runs his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks.

"You believe me one that you could tolerate for all eternity, my dear?"

You would altercate and bleed at the very hands of the Valar themselves if it meant you would be granted the rest of your life to spend with Elrond Half-Elven.

"I would."

You hum softly as Elrond leans in, nuzzling your temple with his nose before he whispers in your ear, "Marry me then."

Gil-Galad stands vigil at the crest of the hill, idly twisting VIlya on his finger as he watches you leap into Elrond's arms, joyous laughter echoing across the fields as the pair of you stumble among the wildflowers.

"It was as I said, Celebrimbor," The High King murmurs quietly to himself. He can almost feel the presence of his dearest friend still lingering at his side if he focuses hard enough. "All we had to do was wait."

[nostalgebraist]

Interesting stuff. Some reactions:

I don't disagree with any of the points above. Yes, the mere fact that a source text is old does not, in itself, justify the use of archaism in the target language.

And yes, cross-cultural categories like "epic" are lossy abstractions over more specific, non-identical literary forms belonging to specific cultural and linguistic traditions.

There are established conventions for "epics in English." (Whether translated or original, with influence running in both directions between "what the most celebrated English-original epics are like" and "what the most celebrated English translations of Homer et al are like.") But we shouldn't demand that every translation of a so-called "epic" follow these conventions.

----

Still, I stand by my claim in OP (even if it was imprecisely expressed), that there's an appropriately epic quality to the Warner&Warner translation that is lacking in Davis.

This isn't about the (now-)archaic features of Warner&Warner. You could modernize their diction – and untangle their sometimes convoluted, old-timey syntax – without destroying the quality I'm talking about.

The quality is something more like... I want to call it an "elevated tone."

Not "elevated" as in "high-flown and erudite," but as in "setting the material apart from mundane present-day life." As in "creating an atmosphere of uncommon greatness (in every sense of the word)."

Evincing an appropriate reverence for your material, when it's the kind of thing that is written about because it's revered.

Handling that weighty material with appropriate care. Appreciating its heft, and its significance. Not speaking too lightly of it, or too casually, as through the first king who ever ruled were just some guy like you and me, and nothing more.

----

What I find remarkable about Davis is that he not only lacks this quality, but seems to be striving for its opposite.

His prose is "less elevated" than I'd expect for epic poetry, but that understates the situation. Even by the standards of ordinary prose narration in English, it's oddly pedestrian, flat, tuneless.

@argumate said in another reblog that it feels like a plot summary, and indeed that is a thought I had many times while reading Davis' Shahnameh. It's a shapeless collection of facts, related in a bored-sounding tone and piled up into long mind-numbing paragraphs. Nothing feels singled out as significant; there is no build-up and release of tension; there is just the one fact and then the next.

Consider for instance:

It was he who first taught men about the preparation of food and clothing, which were new in the world at that time.

The meaning here is basically the same as in Warner&Warner, who have this as:

And under him the arts of life began, For food and dress were in their infancy.

But the tone is worlds apart.

This is the beginning of the world, when even the things you and I take for granted did not fully exist yet. Warner&Warner's language drives home the weird extremity of this gap. Even such basic things are "food and dress" were new, then; the "arts of life" really had not existed, before, and were only now being established from scratch. Whoa!

Davis' version evokes none of this eerie distance. He conveys the same information, but he doesn't do anything with it. It just sits there.

Among other things, this leads Davis into an awkward redundancy here: if you've already told me that "it was he who first taught men about the preparation of food and clothing," you really don't need to explain that these "were new in the world at that time." Like, thanks, man, but I could have figured that out myself – it's a direct logical implication of what you've already said!

Davis might have rendered this bit non-superfluous by giving it something to do in the passage, in a literary sense if not an expository one. But, since exposition is the only thing Davis' prose ever does, any element without a unique expository purpose of its own is just left sitting there, seeming pointless.

In this case – as often with Davis – it dangles awkwardly at the end of a sentence, bringing that sentence to a limp and underwhelming conclusion. And, as he often does, Davis expresses it in a specific, inappropriately casual register that has a weird sort of "edutainment" vibe. Like this is a "fun fact," a "did-you-know?", a random piece of trivia.

While I'm slagging off Davis' style, I also want to take a moment to gripe about his choice of the phrase "world sovereignty" in the very first sentence. It feels like a microcosm of Davis's problems.

This is not merely modern-sounding language – it's language that specifically evokes (to me, anyway) a modern understanding of rulers and politics. It sounds like something you'd expect to find in an academic poli-sci paper, like some specialized and precise term invented to draw fine distinctions between all the different sorts of power and kingship that are conceivable. This fine-grained way of thinking is exactly wrong for the primeval period being narrated, when even food and drink were in their infancy, and there was no need to draw careful distinctions between different sorts of rule because rule itself was only just now coming into being.

Again, the literal meaning is not too far from W&W, who in this case write "power among mankind." But "power among mankind" lacks the spurious precision of "world sovereignty." It's broad, primal, simple, direct; it is a phrase one can imagine people really using in the very first days of civilization. Kingship, "sovereignty": these were new, and still unfamiliar. But power is a more basic idea, with much older roots.

----

What is Ferdowsi's style like, in the original?

Obviously I can't say firsthand. But here are some typical characterizations (my emphasis):

Ferdowsī’s poetic genius in creating a lofty, dynamic epic language that is brief but to the point and free from complexity greatly contributes to the strength of his style. (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

[Describing some early translations and their constrast w/ the original] The verse in iambic pentameter [in Champion's trans.] is heavy and laden with archaic diction. Reasonably accurate, it lacks the quick pace, vivacity or pathos, as well as the simplicity, of the original Persian. [...] Atkinson’s translation, like the earlier one by Champion, lacks the epic thrust of the original. (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Direct, unadorned, rapid, full of life and emotion, simultaneously "lofty" and "free from complexity."

This doesn't much like either Davis or W&W, frankly.

But W&W, for all their fustiness, at least capture some of the "loftiness" and the human intensity suggested by these descriptions. Davis doesn't manage that, and in fact does not manage to do right by any single one of the qualities indicated above. He's got all the "quick pace" and "vivacity" of a templated regulatory compliance report.

----

A last complicating factor re: archaism.

According to Brittanica:

The Persians regard Ferdowsī as the greatest of their poets. Down through the centuries they have continued to read and to listen to recitations from his masterwork, the Shāh-nāmeh. Though written some 1,000 years ago, this work is as intelligible to the average modern Iranian as the King James Version of the Bible is to a modern English speaker.

So, even if the language wasn't archaic at the time of composition, there is a whole tradition of later and later readers encountering it in the original, and experiencing it as archaic – and perhaps interestingly and beautifully archaic, like the KJV is for many English speakers today.

The KJV – or indeed Shakespeare, with whom Ferdowsi has some things in common.

Like Shakespeare, Ferdowsi is renowned not just as a great writer, but as a great shaper of the very language in which he wrote.

Wikipedia claims (though annoyingly without attribution) that

Some experts [who?] believe the main reason the Modern Persian language today is more or less the same language as that of Ferdowsi's time over 1000 years ago is due to the very existence of works like the Shahnameh, which have had lasting and profound cultural and linguistic influence. In other words, the Shahnameh itself has become one of the main pillars of the modern Persian language. Studying Ferdowsi's masterpiece also became a requirement for achieving mastery of the Persian language by subsequent Persian poets, as evidenced by numerous references to the Shahnameh in their works.

which strongly resembles the way people often talk about Shakespeare's influence on the evolution of English: a single genius creates a celebrated exemplar of literature in his language, exerting a dramatic influence on all later literary culture in that language; meanwhile the undimmed cultural prominence of his work across multiple centuries exerts a kind of frictional drag on the evolution of the language itself.

Which is to say: not every English translation of this guy needs to feel archaic in a KJV/Shakespeare kind of way. But if there were no such translations, we would be missing something real about the work in its cultural context.

I feel like I've had the same experience several times now: someone does a new translation of a non-English literary classic, and all the critics praise it to the moon, so I go and try to read it, and it's turns out it's just . . . bad? Like, really bad? And weirdly bad?

A while back, I wrote about the case of Pevear and Volokhonsky. Here's another example, which I encountered while doing background research for my novel Almost Nowhere.

----

One of my novel's major characters is a literary translator, famous for his rendition of the Persian epic poem Shahnameh ("Book of Kings").

To help me write this character, I tried to read the Shahnameh myself. I started out – where else? – with the translation that seemed to be the gold standard, and which was certainly the most critically lauded.

Namely, the 2006 translation by Dick Davis, in prose with occasional shifts into verse.

Here's how the Shahnameh begins, in Davis' translation:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty? No one has any knowledge of those first days, unless he has heard tales passed down from father to son. This is what those tales tell: The first man to be king, and to establish the ceremonies associated with the crown and throne, was Kayumars. When he became lord of the world, he lived first in the mountains, where he established his throne, and he and his people dressed in leopard skins. It was he who first taught men about the preparation of food and clothing, which were new in the world at that time. Seated on his throne, as splendid as the sun, he reigned for thirty years. He was like a tall cypress tree topped by the full moon, and the royal farr shone from him. All the animals of the world, wild and tame alike, reverently paid homage to him, bowing down before his throne, and their obedience increased his glory and good fortune.

And here is the same opening, in the 1905 translation by Arthur and Edmond Warner (which I only discovered much later in the process of writing Almost Nowhere):

What saith the rustic bard? Who first designed To gain the crown of power among mankind? Who placed the diadem upon his brow? The record of those days hath perished now Unless one, having borne in memory Tales told by sire to son, declare to thee Who was the first to use the royal style And stood the head of all the mighty file. He who compiled the ancient legendary, And tales of paladins, saith Gaiúmart Invented crown and throne, and was a Sháh. This order, Grace, and lustre came to earth When Sol was dominant in Aries And shone so brightly that the world grew young. Its lord was Gaiúmart, who dwelt at first Upon a mountain; thence his throne and fortune Rose. He and all his troop wore leopard-skins, And under him the arts of life began, For food and dress were in their infancy. He reigned o'er all the earth for thirty years, In goodness like a sun upon the throne, And as a full moon o'er a lofty cypress So shone he from the seat of king of kings. The cattle and the divers beasts of prey Grew tame before him; men stood not erect Before his throne but bent, as though in prayer, Awed by the splendour of his high estate, And thence received their Faith.

Now, I can't speak at all about the source text. I have no idea how faithful or unfaithful these two translations are, and in what ways, in which places.

Still, though. I mean like, come on.

This is an epic poem about ancient kings and larger-than-life heroes.

This is a national epic, half myth and half history, narrating the proud folkloric lineage claimed by a real-world empire.

There is a way that such things are supposed to sound, in English. And it sure as hell isn't this:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty?

Excuse me? That's your opening line? I thought I was reading a poem, here, not taking a fucking AP World Literature exam!

----

Postscript

Some of the critical praise for the Davis translation, quoted on the back cover of my copy (emphasis mine):

"A poet himself, Davis brings to his translation a nuanced awareness of Ferdowsi's subtle rhythms and cadences. His "Shahnameh" is rendered in an exquisite blend of poetry and prose, with none of the antiquated flourishes that so often mar translations of epic poetry." (Reza Aslan, The New York Times Book Review) "Thanks to Davis's magnificent translation, Ferdowsi and the Shahnameh live again in English.” (Michael Dirda, Washington Post) "A magnificent accomplishment . . . [Davis’s translation] is not only the fullest representation of Ferdowsi’s masterpiece in English but the best." (The New York Sun)

[strangelysamantha]

leverage ☆

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

warnings: kidnapping, violence, mention of drugs, swearing, rude comments, guns, abuse, threats.

summary: when barry doesn’t get his money from rafe, he goes to the next best thing. you.

a/n: thought about this randomly haha. i hope you enjoy and if you do, please like and comment! :) requests are open and even if you don’t have a request, you can always ask a question or tell a funny joke instead. <3

master list is pinned.

——————————————————————————

“if you don’t give me the money, your ass is gonna be sorry.” barry stared at rafe while he ran his hands through his hair. “i promise. i’ll get you the money, man. i just need some time.” barry laughs, “you better or this won’t be pretty.” barry hesitated before continuing, “and, i mean you don’t have a lot of time. i'd say a week max.” rafe nodded, understanding. “alright. i’ll get it, don’t worry.” barry laughs, “i’m not worried, trust me on that.” he smirked before walking inside his trailer. rafe hopped on his motorcycle, speeding away. his mind running as he thought of ways to come up with twenty grand. he only had a week, and he was definitely stressing out.

rafe didn’t inform you about his entanglement with barry. perhaps if he had brought it up, you wouldn’t be where you were currently. you were working, just going on about your day. a customer had asked you to walk them to your car. it was an elderly woman; you couldn’t deny her some assistance. you smile, “of course! which car is yours?” you asked, heading towards the parking lot.

in retrospect you should have concluded how abnormal it was for an elderly woman to have parked so far away in such a dark car. she laughed once you approached the car, and that was when a rock was smashed against your skull. then a sack was thrown over your head. rope contained your hands, forcing them against your back, burning from the fiction of the rope rubbing together.

you stopped fighting, realizing it was useless, and whoever was kidnapping you would only become more agitated and aggressive. you were pushed into what felt like a backseat, a needle inserted into your arm, making you unconscious.

the next time you wake up, it’s in an unfamiliar room. it’s dark, and humid. you try and lift your arms but realize they were still held together firmly, with rope behind your back. as well as your wrists, your ankles were tied together too. you tried to speak, and surprisingly your voice, despite being hoarse, was able to make noise. “hello?” you called out.

barry walks in, a gun in his hand. “oh wakey wakey sunshine.” your face twists with confusion

. “i- what? why? why am i tied up? what’s going on?” you bombard him with questions he never answers. “that boyfriend of yours… he’s not going to be so happy now, is he? he’s short, 20 grant short, and because he can’t pay me, i’m gonna take the next valuable thing he has. that’s you.” you close your eyes, inhaling deeply. you didn’t want to freak out and spiral. “he’s not my boyfriend. i mean what the fuck barry?” you stared up at him. “oh, oh shit. you actually aren’t rafe's girlfriend?” you roll your eyes. “no. he doesnt want to date me.” you frown at your own confession. barry looks at you with sympathy. it didn’t last though, now he was overwhelmed because the leverage he thought he had wasn’t even leverage. “shit… man.”

rafe on the other hand, was terrified. while rafe wasn’t your boyfriend, he definitely liked you the most out of all of his friends. he concluded that he loves you, but he’s been too scared to make any moves. that wasn’t what terrified him though, what was currently nagging at rafe was the fact that you hadn’t met with him. the two of you had a daily schedule that included you stopping by his house after work.

with you not stopping by his house, on top of you not answering his texts. he began to feel worried. rafe's phone dinged indicating he got a message, and he practically sprinted to the phone. he saw a message from barry, it was a video. he hesitated before opening it. his eyes widened in horror as the video he was watching was of you. a gun pressed against your temple while you were tied up in a chair.

he tightened his grip around his phone, his jaw clenched, and chest heavy. he examines the video playing in front of him, inspecting it to see if he recognizes the background. rafe’s heart hurts as he has to rewatch you fear for your life due to his mistakes. he unfortunately didn't recognize the background.

he didn’t have time to play games, he immediately responded to barry. he shot back a text, asking why the fuck he had you, and where he was. barry immediately responded, do you have the money? rafe groaned, his hands on his head as he paced around his living room. his heart was stinging at the thought of the situation he had put you in. he should have saw this coming, should have noticed that you were the thing barry could ruin.

you stared at barry, tears welling in your eyes. he frowned at your condition, "poor girl, i'm sorry you're in the middle of this, but i'm not letting rafe get away with robbing me." you gasp for air, "please don't kill me." he sighed, bending down in front of your chair, he moved your hair out of your face. "i'm not going to hurt you sweetheart. i know its dramatic, but you won't be harmed," he smirks to himself, "how about you help me?" your face contorts into confusion, "how?" you look away. "how much does rafe care about you?" you sigh, unsure of how to respond. "tell me or there will be issues. i said i wouldn't kill you, but that's only if you cooperate with me."

"he said before that he loves me, he wants us to date, but when i asked him, he told me he had bigger stuff on his plate. he wouldn't have time for me. after that, it became weird..." your voice trails off, he hums in response. "i see, so he loves you, but he's worried he'll corrupt you." you nod slightly. "you're the only girl in his life, yeah?" you shrug, "yeah, but even then, he won't date me." this causes a smirk to hang on barry's lips. "what if we got back at him? he dragged you along, and he stole my money. what if we worked together?" the thought of backstabbing rafe made you nauseous. barry could tell you were reluctant. "do it or i will make sure he'll never be able to find you again, you'll be deep in the ocean with no chance of being discovered." his words terrified you, "okay, okay. just tell me what to do." he hands you your phone. "you're gonna call him. tell him you're okay. say that i let you go, out of the kindness of my heart." you nod sheepishly. dialing his number, rafe immediately picks up.

"are you okay? what's going on?" you sigh, "i'm okay, he let me go." your words shock rafe, he's silent. "i don't know, he just let me go out of the kindness of his heart. i'm okay." he's relieved, but he's aware that he still had a lot of cash he needed before he could make it right. "can we meet?" he asks. you look up at barry and he shakes his head no. "uh maybe in a bit. i'm a little shaken up. i want to shower and have some time y'know?" you explain. "i understand, just call me whenever you're ready, okay?" you smile softly, "of course, goodbye." you hang up, barry claps. "very good performance, i even believed it."

"what's your plan?" he grins happy you asked. "you're gonna be my girlfriend. you're gonna stay here with me, help me bag up the drugs, count cash, and when rafe decides to return the money, he'll see you here with me. we will kiss or whatever, and you're going to tell him that you saw the good in me. that you fell so hard at my words. rafe will realize he waited too long." while the idea of this was supposed to upset you, the thought of rafe seeing what he was missing out on, gave you a sort of edge. you thought that maybe you can come out of this with rafe announcing his love for you. "okay. will you drive me to mine? i want to change out of my greasy work clothes." he grins grabbing his keys, "of course baby." you narrowed your eyes at him, "just because were pretending to date doesn't mean you have to call me cute names." he chuckles, "we need to practice that way its convincing."

you sigh realizing how deep of a mess you were actually in. it made you feel better knowing that you weren't actually trying to do anything. you had to do this, barry had put your life on the line. if you didn't obey his every order, you could find yourself tied back up in a chair. "okay. how will we make this convincing?" he chuckles, "itll be easy. we're gonna get you cleaned up, then i'm going to have rafe meet me here. he'll see you working for me and man he'll get so angry."

you nod, and he unties you from the chair. he leads you to his motorcycle, speeding off to your house. upon arrival, he allows you to go inside to change. “i’m coming with. no time for any games.” you scoff but head inside. he follows you to your room, you hop into the shower. barry looks around your room. seeing your decor, jewelry; and photos of you and friends. he quirks a small smile, barry was very impressed by himself. he figured this was probably his best idea yet. once out of the shower you change into shorts and a shirt. you hesitate when you saw your reflection in the mirror. you were terrified of what might happen.

“so, we need to wait a few days, make it seem like it has time to naturally develop, yknow?” you nod, “yeah that makes sense.” he holds his hand out. “i’m gonna need your phone.” you roll your eyes, “why?” he tsks, coming into your personal space. “because i don’t trust you.” he snatches your phone from you, drafting out a text for rafe. going to need some time, today was a lot. i’m sorry. he smiles, satisfied with the text, he sends it. your heart swells again, fear crowding your senses. “pack a bag.” you nod following his instructions.

“okay good.” he picks up your bag, “we’re going back to mine, i need some help.” you cowardly follow him out of your own house, getting back onto his motorcycle. your head was swarming, but you tried to clear it as best as you could. you arrived back at barry’s trailer, heading inside, he sets you up with a scale to help him measure out his drugs. you sigh but start to fill the baggies. “good, you work on this for a bit and i’ll be back later.” he speeds away, and you continue the task.

shortly after, you hear a motorcycle approaching. assuming it’s barry you don’t move, continuing so he doesn’t yell at you. after four loud bangs, you can hear rafe on the other side of the door. you nervously glance around. unfortunately, barry had your phone. despite how badly you wanted to open the door, you knew barry would freak out on you. rafe looks around his hands on his head. “yo i got your money, c'mon man.” barry pulls up, seeing rafe.

“what was that?” rafe suddenly turns around. “i have your cash.” barry, impressed by how quickly rafe managed to get the money, eagerly smirked. “alright come in, we gotta count it.” rafe shakes his head but follows inside. at first, he doesn’t notice you, already used to barry having guest over. barry plops the heavy bag onto the floor, pulling out the stacks of cash. “ooh this shit is nice.” rafe chuckles, “i follow through on my deals, so we good?” he looked over, realizing who was actually messing with his drugs. “what the fuck is she doing here?” you struggle to make eye contact with rafe, your heart hurting. “you told me he let you go?” you look down, staying silent. barry intervenes, “well girls like men who are up front about how they feel…” he chuckles darkly, “wait too long to express it and then you’ll lose em’. ain’t that right pretty girl?” you look up at barry, his eyes locked on yours. “yes that’s right.” rafe could feel his anger boiling over him. he couldn’t believe it. “you really like this fucking loser?” you stop weighing the drugs, finally managing to meet his gaze.

“she’s perfectly content with me country club.” rafe's hands form into a fist. “nah this isn’t right.” he walks closer to you, bending down. he gets onto your level. he stares at barry. “i need to hear it from her.” you swallow a deep gulp, rafe being close to you now. “tell me,” you glance between the two men in front of you. fear settling over you, unsure of what to do. on one hand you weren’t sure if barry was still intent on doing the jealousy gig, but you knew rafe was vulnerable and you couldn’t hurt his feelings.

looking at barry, he mouths a “tell him.” you nod, “look i know it’s really sudden rafe. and i’m really sorry…” your words sting his heart, and his face falls. he doesn’t say anything. “he is just really funny. and he’s sweet to me.” rafe chuckles, unable to control his venomous anger. “yeah and i wasn’t fucking sweet to you? i did everything for you.” you roll your eyes, getting into character. “you LIE. you were the reason i got kidnapped. you don’t tell me how you feel, but i’m just supposed to wait around until YOU feel like the timing is right?” his eyes zoned in on you, he looked you up and down, noticing the powder on your fingers.

he was stuck, he knew something was off. you’d never willingly mess around with drugs, and you definitely wouldn’t be slumming it with barry of all people. “what’s he got you into?” disgust forms on his face, he looks between the two of you, scoffing. you have nothing else to say, so you look at barry. he nods in approval, and you have to hold in a sigh of relief. “see? i keep her tamed.” your face twisted in confusion in a slight second, and rafe caught on. “are you done counting yet? or do you need me to do it for you?” barry laughs, “it’s all here. your debt is paid.” barry places the money back into the bag, “are we done here?” rafe looks at you one more time, “yeah we’re done here.”

without a second of hesitation, he leaves the trailer. his hands cover his face, trying to steady his breathing. he couldn’t fight the anger that was creeping in.

back in barry’s trailer, he’s laughing mischievously. “that went perfect.” you frown, “am i done?” he sighs, “what, are you not having any fun?” you look around, “no, i just am tired. i worked all day and i just want to go to bed. in my bed.” he thinks for a moment. “fine, i’ll take you to yours. get some beauty sleep, but you’re stuck with me for awhile. rafe was on an ego trip regardless. he needs this.” you smile. “thank you.” you grab your bag, and head outside. you see rafe standing against his bike. you glance at him frowning. you wish he could drive you back home.

at your house, barry allows you to have your phone back on the one condition; you wouldn’t rat out the plan to rafe. you agreed, thankful to be able to rest alone. today had been so exhausting. you change into pajamas, hopping into bed. you look at your phone, seeing the numerous missed texts and calls from rafe. you frown, you felt so lost.

after a few minutes of lying in bed, you hear the doorbell ring. you didn’t want to answer it, but you were the only one home at the moment. you head downstairs, opening the door. rafe stands before you, “can we talk?” you move out of the way and invite him inside. “yeah, of course.” he follows you up to your room. you sit on your bed, and he’s pacing your room back and forth.

“do you actually like barry?” you stand up grabbing him, and he settles down. “no, not at all. he told me i had to do this to get back at you or he’d kill me.” rafe stares directly into your eyes, he grabs your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. he pulls away gently, “i really love you.” he squeezes you tightly; “when i thought he got you… i wanted to kill him.” you place your hand on his cheek. “it hurt me so bad but i didn’t know what else to do.” he frowns at you, “it’s not your fault, i don’t blame you at all.” you pull him into a hug, and he squeezes you firmly, worried to lose you.

“he said we have to keep it going for a week or so.” rafe nods understandingly, “okay. are you willing to do that?” you look down, but he places a hand on your chin to make you look up at him again. “are you comfortable with that?” you close your eyes taking a deep breath, “no, but i have to be.” he groans, “this is all my fault. i’m so sorry.” you sit on the bed, and he joins you. “we’ll get through this. one week and then i’m all yours.” he places his hand on your thigh, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “i’ll be here to protect you.” you kiss him again, “that’s the only motivation i need rafe.” he grins. “if it gets too bad, i’ll fuck some shit up for you.” you nod, “thank you rafe.”

[marcelloshdz]

saturday night surprise

summary: after a long week of hardly getting to see each other, you surprise marcello at snl. requested by anonymous.

coming home to an empty house, particularly after a rough day, was always the worst ending. and it was your least favorite part about being in a relationship with someone who’s work schedule was so different than yours. 

this week was an exceptionally busy week for marcello. starting the previous sunday, leading into an off week from snl, he had a few stand up shows in new york and surrounding areas. he was gone for a couple of days, then was back in the city for other promotional stuff; guest spots on a few talk shows, filming commercials, and other things. by the time that was all said and done, it was monday again, and he was getting ready to go back to 30 rock to start working on the next snl episode back. 

it was hard finding time to spend with each other, because you were busy with work too. granted your job didn’t take you all over the place, you still had long work days, that sometimes lasted you anywhere from 10 to 12 hours. most nights, you just wanted to come home to your boyfriend and lounge on the couch with junk food and tv shows. but with his increasing popularity, he was spread thin. 

“how was your day?” marcello asked to you over facetime. he was taking a break between sketch rehearsals to eat and to take some time to talk with you.

“okay. work was busy, so it went by pretty fast. i’m just exhausted.” you let out a loud sigh. “i just wish you were here so we could spend the night together. you know i always sleep better when you’re with me.”

“i know, baby. i’m sorry. i wish i was home too, but there have been a ton of rewrites and rehearsals have been taking extra long this week. at least tomorrow is show day, and ill be back with you on sunday. i still hate that you’re gonna miss the show.” he pouted. 

“me too. i just have a lot of work i have to finished before monday.” you sighed. “but sunday, we’re both free, and will have a true day of rest.”

“finally. i’ve missed you.” he sighed. 

“i’ve missed you too.” you and marcello talked for a little while longer before he had to get back to rehearsal. you shared your good nights and i love yous, and hung up. you finished your dinner before moving to your bed. 

the next night was saturday, and you and marcello had the briefest of exchanges before you went your separate ways for the day. you had some errands to tend to, and you knew he’d be gone to work by the time you were finished. upon your return home, you got started on the projects and paperwork you needed to finish for your job, returned some emails and sat through a couple meetings. as you were wrapping up, you checked the time and saw that it was getting close to 11:30. 

deciding you didn’t want to sit home alone all night, you got ready and headed out to 30 rock. you arrived at the nbc studios, and went in. luckily, you were on marcello’s guest list, and they let you in and led you upstairs. you successfully evaded other snl cast members, writers, and producers, and followed the motion into the audience before the show started.

you took your seat on the lower level, at the end of the row. the crew was bustling around as they were getting ready for the show to start. the stage was finally set for the cold open, and the show began. 

the first couple of sketches went by, and you’d been laughing the whole time. as the show went on, the sets changed, and the casts changed in and out of costumes, you’d successfully made it through half the show without being noticed. 

you watched as marcello took the stage, getting ready for the next sketch. he was standing with a couple other cast members when he turned in your direction. you watched as his eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on you. you watched as the widest smile spread across his face, and the lightest tinge of pink flushed to his cheeks. he shot you a wink before the show came back from commercial. 

you laughed throughout the entire sketch, and marcello kept shooting glances in your direction just to make sure you were enjoying it. once it ended, marcello walked off the stage, into the crowd, and took your hand in his, pulling you up from your chair. he led you through winding hallways before returning back to quick change area.

once you were well hidden away from the cast and crew, marcello took your face in his hands and pressed a hard kiss to your lips. 

“what are you doing here?! i thought you couldn’t get away from work?” he asked, out of breath when he separated his lips from yours. 

“i finished early, and i missed you too much to spend another night without you.” you said, kissing him again. 

“i’m so happy you’re here.” he said softly, smiling at you.

“me too.”

marcello wrapped his arm around your shoulder and led you back to his dressing room. the show was almost over, and he wasn’t in the last sketch, you the two of you hung out and watched the end of the episode until he had to be back onstage for goodnights. afterwards, once it was time to leave, the two of you headed home, blissfully anticipating finally getting to spend the night together. once you got back home, you both began to wind down and get ready for bed.

you were laying down in bed, watching marcello move around the room until he finally joined you under the covers. he quickly came to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and peppering your skin with kisses, starting on your arm, trailing up to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, then finally meeting your lips.

“i love you.” he said softly, resting his forehead.

“i love you.” you repeated. you shared another kiss before finally turning the lights out and going to bed. the two of you slept better than you had in weeks, knowing that you didn’t have to get up the next morning, and could finally just be with each other.

[tinfoil-jones]

For Your Own Good: Intermission

Askbox? Open

If you don't know what this post is about, "For Your Own Good" or tagged as "Early Amnesia AU" on tumblr is a dialogue-only Gravity Falls fanfiction I've been working on that kinda-sorta follows a Mystery Trio -esque timeline, where Ford doesn't build the portal. To sum it up, the whole fanfiction boils down to:

Researcher Ford: I told you I never wanted to see you again.

Mullet Stan: Dude, I don't know who you are or WTF you're talking about right now, but I'm leaving this town and never coming back. You are never seeing me again after this. I'm probably going to forget you in like five minutes.

Researcher Ford:

Researcher Ford: *immediately kidnaps him*

You can consider chapters 1-10 to be Act 1 of the fanfic, and I’m taking a break for at least a week, most likely longer. The chapters so far were already written out in advance, and so was a huge reveal, but I still need to tie things together.

Here’s some authors notes/extra stuff about it, some of it might have already been put in the AO3 before or after notes. These are in no particular order:

This takes place 10 years after Ford and Stan were separated, currently they are both 27 about to be 28. Fiddleford is slightly older than them, being in his early 30s.

Ford is unironically the only person who finds Stan’s really dumb jokes funny.

Ford is the one who displays the most behaviours that would be seen from Mabel and Dipper decades later. Like Dipper, he views washing clothes as a waste of time, and like Mabel he ate an entire tube of toothpaste (granted, it was on accident)

While Ford is the more likely of the two to display traits that later present in Mabel and Dipper, it still happens with Stan as well. Stan has a similar nervous-chewing habit that Dipper displays in the OG series, but his only comes out when he’s particularly anxious. In this case, it was because he had nicotine cravings.

The 'That motherfucker is ugly' line that Stan used on Ford can be considered extra ironic because of how much the Stan Twins look like their dad.

Bill Cipher was originally supposed to speak in Times New Bastard (which is Times New Roman except every 7th letter is jarringly sans serif, a meme from tumblr), but AO3 and tumblr don’t let you change the font.

Stan goes out of his way to avoid using Ford and Fiddlefords given names- but this isn’t because he doesn’t know what they are. In the few times he has used their names, it was a sign that he was being sincere.

If you want to wonder whether or not Fiddleford likes Stan back, consider the fact that he could have walked away at any point, and either washed his hands of the whole thing, or just outright reported Stanford to the authorities. 

Bill is more like Discord from MLP - he’s just chaotic, often to the detriment of others, but he isn’t outright malicious (anymore), and he’s too busy SIMPING to cause any real harm. Basically, Bill is Fords patron for studying weirdness - he helps Ford in his research, but the cost that Ford pays is that Bill is able to possess him when he sleeps, and has unlimited access to his brain.

If Ford knew Rick Sanchez, why didn’t Rick see how similar Stan looked and put 2-and-2 together? Easy; Rick didn’t give a single shit about Ford, so he never committed his face or name to memory. Ford himself only remembered Rick because Rick was such a massive, egotistical asshole. If anything, Rick would think Ford is the lesser version of Stan.

Chapter 10 was the first concrete proof that the Stan we’ve been following likely is Stanley Pines and not some similar conman named Stan Malone. The last time Ford saw Stan would have either been when they were teens, so other than Stans commercials for his failed products there’s no way Ford would know what an adult Stan would even look like, and he’d have to use himself as a reference.

Stan has given some insight on his Thalassophobia (fear of the ocean / large bodies of water). In Chapter 10, he told Ford a number of things he escaped, including the trunk of a sinking car, and cement shoes. Cement shoes are either when you tie someone to a cinder block and throw them into a body of water, or when you literally incase their feet in cement, wait for it to dry, and then toss them into a body of water, so they’ll drown. Presumably, these are still things that would have happened to him even if he didn't lose his memories, so why would it give him a fear of the ocean now? Stan Pines in the OG still had a lot of positive memories associated with the ocean - he grew up on the coast, and had a lot of his hopes and dreams tied to the ocean. But without his childhood memories, he has no positive associations with it, only memories of times he almost drowned. 

Ford himself is not a touchy guy. The reason he hugs Stan even though it isn’t reciprocated is because from his perspective, this is his twin brother who is in pain and has been suffering all by himself for a long time. And Stan - at least how Ford remembers him - had a very touch-based love language. Fords doing it because he thinks it’d comfort him.

Stan seems pretty calm and chill for someone who’s been kidnapped by a ‘stranger’. This isn’t because he’s an overall chill guy because of amnesia, no he’s super pissed and the second he knows he’s free he will let them know that with his words, and incredible violence. He’s remaining calm because he’s been imprisoned and kidnapped enough times to know that pitching a fit or lashing out at his captors won’t do him any favours.

Fiddleford is still married to Emma-May and they do have Tate. But it's one of those lavender marriages (they're both gay and mutually bearding each other)

[livingdeadmlm]

Slight Age Gap with Daisuke 7/31

Pronouns: The reader refers to themself as a man once, and the Daisuke treats the reader as male mentally. 

Physical Sex: not described

How far are things going? He is jerking off, and it implies he asks for a sexual favor after the fic ends

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of shitty porn tropes, Daisuke pictures while jerking off, slight age gap dramatize for the kink of the day. Reader is meant to be 24-26 and daisuke is meant to be 20-22 (yeah not that big comapred to the people doing 40+ dating 20 on this hellsite but whateva)

Outline: Daisuke has been lacking free time, especially with his slightly older coworker, so he takes whatever chance he gets for some relief

What inspired me to write how I did: Nothing!

Other: there is very little content fanfic wise for the fandom, so as I do, I join a month late with something half as good as what has been already posted, lol. But if you like this and want more my requests are always open!!!

You shouldn't fuck your coworkers; it's very frowned upon. Not only can it cause unnecessary work drama, it can negatively affect productivity. The two people could start fighting, or production slows down in favor of sneaking off. It was so looked down upon that Pony Express had a whole section in their training videos discouraging it. Even though Daisuke was an intern, he had to watch every video, granted very loosely. But what he did remember was the videos said nothing about jerking off to your coworkers. 

With the others walking in and out semi-frequently when they needed your assistance to fix something, it was hard to catch some alone time, especially with you.

As Daisuke lay comfortably on his bed, the soft glow from his small handheld game illuminated his face, twisted in focus. The rhythmic clicks and cheerful beeps signaled each successful move he made. As you entered the room, the air was filled with the faint scent of soap and shampoo, letting him know you had just finished a shower without looking. 

With droplets of water still clinging to your hair, you stepped over to your side of the room, your skin slightly dewy. As you kicked off your slippers and searched through your bags, you looked much more relaxed as Daisuke glanced over.

A cartoony sound of a crash echoed from the console as the intern was momentarily distracted and couldn't help but gaze at your bent-over figure. The colorful screen on the console flickered as the game over scene flashed. The intern's eyes widened as he tried to groan to cover up the fact that he lost because he was staring at your ass.

"Do you still want to borrow a blanket, Daisuke? I have an extra. These wool blankets make your skin feel awful in the long run." your voice gently broke the silence as you turned with the black blanket folded in your hands. Subconsciously, Daisuke rubbed his hands against the itchy wool before nodding. 

You smiled, walking over to his bed and letting the blanket unfold in your hands. "Here, I'll tuck you in!" yanking off the hospital-esque wool blanket and replacing it with the plush black one you had packed. The blanket covered Daisuke completely as your hands tucked him in snugly. He couldn't help but laugh as you made a big show, tucking him in so tight. Your hands slipped under his body to make sure he was fully tucked in. Having your hands touch him so much made him a bit shy.

Laughter filled the air as you shared a sweet moment, your fingers gently resting on Daisuke's chest after giving it a firm pat. Unbeknownst to you, his heart raced wildly at the unexpected warmth of your touch. Your giggles quickly stopped as the door swung open, revealing curly. 

"(Name), the light in my washroom went out. Would you be able to come and change the bulb? Jimmy keeps trying, but it's not turning on." Curlies's face was sheepish at the request, especially since it was so close to bedtime. 

"Of course, caption," You did a small salute; Daisuke internally cursed at Curly for interrupting one of the few moments of touch you two have had. "Just had to tuck in the intern; can't have him sneaking off and causing trouble!" your hand grazed his hair as you stepped away from the bed, following a chuckling Curly out of the room. As you stepped out of the room, he caught your words. 'No, I'm kidding, he's a very good boy.'

Daisuke cast his gaze downward, taking in your words as he stared at his body swathed in the soft, tightly wrapped blanket. A familiar scent wafted through the air, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. It was a delightful combination of your body wash intertwined with the freshness of what he presumed was your laundry soap, a subtle, clean aroma. Beneath it all, he caught the unmistakable, soothing essence of you—something uniquely personal that lingered in the fabric.

As he began to unwind himself from the cocoon of warmth, he carefully shifted his position, rolling onto his side with his back turned towards the door. The smooth texture of the blanket brushed against his skin, and he instinctively pressed his face into it, inhaling deeply. Each breath brought him closer to that unreachable sense of comfort and safety as he reveled in the intimate sensations of the fabric against his cheek. Daisukes hand traveled down. He wore a loose pair of sleep shorts, making slipping his hands into his boxers easy.

He always had the vague idea he was gay or desired men in some way, especially during and after high school. Even now, 3 years later, he didn't think about it. Didn't think about it as his hand took firm hold of his dick. Didn't think about it as he held the blanket closer to his nose. He didn't think about it as all he could imagine was you. He didn’t think about it, as your words echoed in Daisuke's mind. Imagining you on top of him, pulling off his clothes, and while you wouldn't be his first kiss, you would be his first brush with non-awkward sexual contact. Daisuke covered his mouth as a whine ripped through his throat at the quick pace he set for himself. The fleece blanket you had brought from home filled his senses with your smell.

He didn't have much time or could make much noise, as the door was still cracked open. He could hear the muffled talking and ignored it instead of focusing on crossing the finish line. Thinking of your bent-over figure and the times you'd press against him trying to squeeze by in electrical. Your head would be close to his when you'd help him with a level.

A light, muffled, wet noise started as his cock began to drool. His lack of experience led him to imagine whatever scenarios he had seen in shitty pornos. Being a couple of years younger, he couldn't help but think of ones with more of a… power dynamic.

You in a button-up shirt with the first three undone tight slacks on pressing him against a blackboard in an empty lecture hall, his own tiny, poor quality plaid skirt, that he didn't have time to make sense of if he was supposed to be a college student, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Bending him over a desk, pushing up his black a-line skirt, and tearing his black nylon stockings as his thin-framed glasses mushed against the desk. As papers were scattered all over the floor around the desk. With a huff, Daisuke changed his laying position to lay on his back. His hand didn’t falter, but he was so close he could feel the slight tingle in his stomach start.

Handcuffed as you slide a baton up his orange jumpsuit-covered thigh, calling him a naughty boy. He couldn't help the slight whine that slipped as his legs shook with each pass of his hand. Now, picturing you taking advantage of his often spread-out position on the oversized couch in the main lobby. Your uniform is in its usual half-undone state as you slot yourself between his legs, ‘you’ve been such a good boy, Daisuke; how about a reward, huh? What do you want me to do?’ Deep eyes gazed into his own as his breath stuck in his throat. Your hands caressing his thighs, your head resting against his boner made very clear from his jeans.

Reaching the edge, eyes squinting and half-dyed blond hair splayed across the pillow, he finally spilled over his hand. The hot liquid coated the back of his palm as he huffed, the reality of his desperation not hitting him yet. He panted as he heard your thumping footsteps making their way back to the room. Grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, each employee was provided with a tissue. Daisuke cleaned off his hand and shoved the tissue under his pillow.

“Well, it's time to turn in, don’t you think? “ Daisuke quickly uncovered his face from the blanket. “Hey- are you okay? You’re all red!” You rushed over, placing a hand against his forehead, which, as you thought, was burning up.

“No! I’m okay. I just passed out for a second and had a, um, nightmare.” You sighed in relief, your hand remaining on Daisuke's forehead.

“It’s your first time on the Tulpar, and I get it. I would always have nightmares my first year as well.” You coughed awkwardly, taking your hand off his forehead.

“Sorry if it feels like I ever baby you, Daisuke; you coming on at the very last minute, and having never done this before, I feel a bit protective over your first experience here.” Your voice was somber, and while work was work, it made you sad to witness someone just a couple of years your junior facing the possibility of being tethered to this job for a long time as you have been

Daisukes throat was dry. The major shift in mood was hard to grasp as he squeaked out a thank you. You smiled softly. “I have to remember you are just three years younger and are just as much of a man as I am, and if you need my help, you know you can ask!” Daisuke squirmed at how he twisted your words for his dirty mind.

“I could teach you some handyman work when Swansea gets off your back a bit. I've been doing it for years, and sharing my craft would be fun to hang out!” You mumbled about being grateful for someone your age here, as everyone else was almost 10+ years older. Daisuke said a resounding yes to your offer. With a big grin, you stood up and shut the door, and the light in the room was flicked off as you wished Daisuke a good night.

“I think there is something I need help with (Name).”

[healdeals]

Sometimes I think about how much Mettaton (specifically in Undertale) and Spamton are foils to each other and it drives me perhaps a bit insane.

Like... Mettaton had the drive to go see the light of day on the surface, to be with humans and be a savior to monsterkind, and was willing to kill a kid to get there. He wanted to be more than a simple snail farmer and had Alphys there to help him build a new body. He, whether intended or not, abandoned family & friends to live out his dream.

Spamton is also more than willing to kill to get to see the light, he wants to be more than a darkner in a dark world, and abandons his friends to be [big] without them, relying only on the help of some strange benefactor until he also is abandoned.

They both can be self absorbed, their visages plastered around all the stuff they own (or owned). They can be inconsiderate of others. They have dreams of being big stars. There is no subtext with MTT figuring out his identity and his transitioning; its all plain to see. While it's more subtle for Spam, there are themes of self identity with him, too.

I think the biggest difference in their personalities is that Mettaton can be a lot more humble. Despite Burgerpants' treatment and taking Alphys for granted, a lot of the monsters in the MTT hotel do speak fondly of him, especially if he dies and you go back through the hotel afterward. He doesn't resist talking to Napstablook when they call in, even though he probably feels guilty for leaving them behind for whatever reason he did. He clearly still loves his cousin, and does appreciate his friendship with Alphys.

Meanwhile Spamton lies to himself about being better off without the Addisons. Deep down he doesn't mean it, but coming to terms with the reality of his feelings? Naw. He's probably had to use this tough guy persona to shield himself from criticism in his big shot days and now doesn't know how to take the mask off without it hurting. There's a lot of denial in his small body, not helped by the years of scraping by in back alleys after his fall.

Though, if the roles were reversed, would things have played out differently? Mettaton has the benefit of well-meaning people around him and luck. Its through shuffling around the trash zone that he met someone who could make his dream body come true, and who ALSO had ties to the king of the Underground. Spamton has... fairweather friends? We don't know for sure how close he was to the Addisons, or how much he thinks of his relationship with Swatch in his grander days, or how benevolent the person on the phone really was.

Yes, there was desperation to get to the surface for MTT, but he didn't have to deal with the mind-breaking information of how radically different and free the light world is when you live a deterministic existence. He didn't have to deal with seeing a soul as a blinding beacon within a kid's body. I doubt Metta wouldn't be overly obsessed with the light world, nor doubt Spamton wouldn't be content with his place in life, if they swapped shoes.

It's also so WILD that they don't know each other in the DR universe, but Mettaton had a profound impact on Spamton just by making his a little art file. He unknowingly is the one who gives this spam email a glimpse into world above, and possibly a piece of his own hopes and dreams as well. I wonder if later the DR Mettaton, too, will be affected in some way by Spamton.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 2 (Evan Buckley x Reader) (Eventual Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1

A/N: This is such a niche story and I am desperate for validation, please tell me if you enjoyed reading! Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: descriptions of gun violence, mental health issues/suicide ideation (nothing overly graphic IMO)

Unlike some people who work in this building, you know how to take orders. So, instead of dragging your feet and prolonging the inevitable, you go to Bobby’s office the second you get back from the call. Hen tries to say something to you, but you’re so focused on having this conversation behind you that you ignore her. 

Despite the door being cracked open, you knock a few times. 

“Come in,”  Bobby says. 

You step in. He looks up. 

“Ah,” he remarks as if it’s a surprise to see you. “You can close the door behind you.” 

You close the door and lean against it. 

“Have a seat,” Bobby instructs as he files through some random papers. 

You let out a sigh. You were hoping to be in and out, but Bobby clearly has other ideas. Still, you do as you’re told. 

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened with Buck.”

As if you’d be in here for anything else. 

“Are you gonna write me up?” You ask instinctually. You’ve never been formally disciplined, so the question is gnawing at you. 

“Buck wants me to.”

You snort. “Buck wants a lot of things; most children do.”

“You’re a year younger than him,” Bobby points out. 

It’s true—Buck is 26, and you’re 25. But in this context especially, age is just a number. You’re a 25-year-old advanced practice paramedic with 3 years of experience who acts their age. Buck is a 26-year-old firefighter in his probationary period who acts like a frat boy.

“Are you going to write me up?” You repeat. 

Bobby gives you a look, then sighs with a crooked smile. “No. But if you do anything like that again, you’ll be hearing from me and Sergeant Grant.” 

“Fair enough,” you cede. 

There are a few silent beats in the conversation. This is why Bobby made you sit—he has more to say. 

“Why does he bother you so much?” Bobby asks.

“Literally everything I told him: he’s wreckless and he’s gonna get someone killed if he doesn’t change.” 

“So why not teach him to do better, to be better?”

“Trust me, Cap, I’ve tried,” you chuckle. “I mean, even earlier today, I taught him how to clear an obstruction in a neonatal airway. And honestly? For a few minutes, when he was running down the stairs with that baby in his arms, I thought, ‘Hey, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.’ And then he yells at Sergeant Grant, and he proves me wrong. Again.” 

“I’m talking to him and Sergeant Grant about how everything went down,” Bobby says. 

“I’m not telling you that to get him in trouble, I just…” You take a deep breath through your nose and let it out as a sigh. “It felt like no one was holding him accountable. And I’ve tried playing nice, and I’ve tried teaching him, and he still had the nerve to pretend that he can play god. And I just… lost it, and thought that maybe if I treat him like a man would, he would finally listen to me.”

Bobby nods, taking in everything you’ve said.  

“You think I don’t hold him accountable?” He eventually asks. 

You let out another sigh. “If Buck worked under any other LAFD Captain, they would have canned his ass about three months ago.”

“But is that the right thing to do?” Bobby counters. “This job is tough, and it isn’t something that can be taught overnight. Buck has potential—he could be an invaluable asset some day.”

“Is firing him the right call? Honestly, Bobby, I have no idea,” you admit. “But if people have to get hurt in order for Buck to be good at his job, then it isn’t worth the price.” 

Bobby ended up firing Buck a few days later. It wasn’t for what happened with Sergeant Grant; it was because, apparently, Bobby caught him having sex with some girl on a roof. He used one of the fire trucks to drive there. The moron didn’t realize they have GPS trackers. You got all of this information in a text from Hen. 

You turn the corner to the locker room, planning to put away your keys and wallet before starting your shift like you always do. You didn’t expect to see Buck sitting on the bench in front of the lockers. 

You plan on opening your locker, throwing your stuff in it, and leaving before Buck can say anything. The second you lift the lever, though, Buck turns his head towards you. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you definitely aren‘t going to break the silence. 

“So you heard, huh?” Buck says. 

You close your locker and spin the lock to scramble it. “Yeah, I did.” 

“Aren’t you going to say anything else?” 

“Tough break. Sorry, man,” you say with a shrug. You turn on your heel to leave.

“That’s it?” Buck says with a laugh. “A few days ago, you were slamming me against an ambulance, and now… nothing? Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘I told you so’?”

Buck doesn’t even work at the 118 anymore, and he still has a way of getting under your skin. You close your eyes, hoping you can gain some composure before you say anything.

“I’m sorry for pushing you; that was unprofessional,” you say and make your second attempt at leaving.

“But that’s all you're sorry for,” Buck says, rising to his feet. 

You turn around and eye him from head to toe. His chest isn’t puffed out in that hypermasculine way it normally is. Buck shifts his weight between feet, and when the pressure of your stare becomes too much, he breaks eye contact. 

“It’s like Sergeant Grant said: I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” you eventually reply.

“Then say it: you’re happy to see me go.”

Jesus Christ, he can be such a baby. 

“Okay, fine, you wanna go there?” you retort, taking a step forward. “You wanna know the worst thing about you, Buck?” 

He just looks at you. 

“You. You’re the worst thing about you. Because you could’ve been good. You’ve got decent skills, and you have heart, but you have no discipline. You can’t take orders, and you can’t look at a woman for more than thirty seconds without having sex with her. You’re a 16-year-old boy trapped in a 26-year-old man’s body, and ever since you started, you haven’t done anything to change it. You get in your own way and are too busy flirting or running your mouth to even realize it.”

You take another step towards him to ensure he hears what you’re about to say. “You could’ve been good. And I hope that shit haunts you. Because maybe, it’ll finally make you grow up.”

You start to make your exit again but linger in the doorway. You turn back around; there’s one more thing you want to say.

“I’m not happy to see you go, Evan. In fact, I was really hoping you would prove me wrong.”

And with that, you’re gone. 

You and Hen go out on a ‘shortness of breath’ call that ends up being a STEMI — a heart attack. You get him to the nearest hospital in five minutes, and if they can get him to the cath lab, he has a really good shot at surviving it. The patient’s wife hugs both you and Hen, thanking the two of you for doing such a wonderful job. You savor the feeling; most calls don’t end this way. 

When you pull into the station, there’s an engine missing. At first, you think it’s no big deal: the boys are probably out on a fire call. Then you see Bobby standing where the engine’s supposed to be.

“What’s going on, Cap?” Hen asks as she closes the door to the rig. 

“There’s an engine missing.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you chuckle. 

“There were reports of a residential break-in on Lambert Street in Winnetka,” Bobby continues. 

“Damn,” Hen whistles. 

You both heard something about that over the scanner on your drive back to the station; there was a suspected hostage, a young girl. Last you heard, the subject was trying to flee by motorcycle. 

“All of the 118 firemen are accounted for,” Bobby concludes.

You and Hen share a look. Who has a track record of borrowing engines without permission?

The truck pulls up and slowly backs into the garage. You catch a glimpse of the driver in one of the rearview mirrors. 

“Pretty Boy,” you say simply. 

Buck steps out of the truck, still wearing the jeans and long-sleeved grey shirt you last saw him in. “I know what this looks like.”

“Looks like you took the engine out in your street clothes,” Bobby says as he approaches the younger man. 

“I didn't really have time to change,” Buck counters. He doesn’t say it in his normal cocky tone, though. Frankly, he looks nervous. 

“Athena Grant called me, wanted to tell me what an asset you are.” Bobby continues. “Told her she was half right.”

Buck frowns. “Are you giving me another chance?” 

“You’ve used all your chances; so have I,” Bobby says, “because somehow I have failed to communicate to you how lucky we are to do what we do.”

Bobby starts to walk away, but Buck isn’t letting him get away that easy. 

“You're wrong, Bobby. I absolutely do get what a privilege it is to serve here,” Buck says, “and you know what? You were right to fire me.”

That makes Bobby stop dead in his tracks.

“I was a punk,” Buck continues, “still am one. But I'm a punk who understands what he lost. Just… needed you to know that.”

“I hope you mean that. Now go get dressed.” 

Buck stands cluelessly for a second, then turns to you and Hen. “I think I’m not fired.” 

“Your shift’s not over yet,” Hen points out. 

You go to follow her, but Buck stops you by calling your name. 

“I just wanted to tell you, uh…” Buck says, wringing his hands together. “I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

Normally, words like that coming out of his mouth would set your skin on fire. Between the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, though, something in your gut tells you to hear him out. 

“Yeah?” You ask simply, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“Some day, I’ll be good,” he says, “but until then, I’ll be better.”

Buck extends a hand for you to shake. It’s the most chivalrous thing you’ve seen him do since you met him. You look at his hand, then at his eyes. There isn’t a trace of humor in his gaze. You take his hand and shake it. 

“I look forward to seeing it.”

Your first call of the shift is to an amusement park where one of the rides malfunctioned. A rider was thrown from the ride as it was moving, and it sounds like he’ll be DOA. When the operator deployed the emergency breaks, though, it meant the rest of the train stopped at the top of a loop, which one rider is now dangling out of. 

Buck is the first to volunteer to climb the ladder and harness the passenger. You’re not surprised. He’s grown a lot in the last few weeks, but he still jumps at every exciting opportunity, no matter how dangerous it may be. Maybe that’s just how Buck is. 

“Hey, he’s asking about his friend,” Buck radios once he’s at the top. 

“Chimney, how’s the kid on the ground?” Bobby radios. 

You look up and shake your head. 

“We lost him,” Chim radios back. 

“All right, I don't need the people up there seeing that. So, do me a favor... He survived, right? Get him on a gurney. You know the drill,” Bobby instructs.

“Copy that,” Chim replies. 

Once you and Chimney get him on the gurney and out of everyone’s sight, you look up at Buck. 

“Come on,” Chimney mutters encouragingly. “Come on, Buck.” 

After a painfully long minute, you see the man’s grasp on the rollercoaster falter. Then, you watch him let go. You close your eyes before you see him hit the ground, but the sound will echo off of your eardrums for a while. 

You go the rest of the night without seeing Buck; you don’t share another call, and when you’re not out in the field, you’re asleep in the bunks. It’ll probably kill you in the long run, but these days, you learn to sleep whenever and wherever you can. 

When you wake up for morning report and breakfast, Buck is already sitting at the table. You wipe the sleep out of your eyes and get a cup of coffee before sitting across from him. 

Bobby was nice enough to make breakfast; he knows how hard these calls are. No matter how many you get, it’ll never get easier. 

Bobby sets a plate in front of Buck. 

“I’m not hungry,” he says almost instantaneously. 

“This is America, Buckaroo,” Chim replies as he sets some silverware on the table. “Eating has nothing to do with being hungry.

“Man, I was right there. You know, all he had to do was reach up and grab my hand,” Buck says instead.

“People do funny things at times like that,” you offer, sipping your drink. “ Sometimes they just freeze up.”

“I’ve never lost anyone before,” Buck says quietly. He looks up at you. “Does it get any easier?” 

Bobby answers for you. “No.” 

“Look, people die, and that’s part of the gig, right?” Chim says as he sits next to you. “See, your problem is, you're looking at every job like it's a long-term relationship. They're one-night stands, man. In that moment, they mean everything to you, but once the morning comes... it's on to the next one.”

“How silly of me to think you’d say something productive,” you roll your eyes.

Chim furrows his brows. “What?”

“You’re such a man,” you say to Chim, then turn to Buck. “Look, dude, we all go through it, and you just have to figure out a way to deal with it,.” You pause. “You know why we wear these uniforms?”

“Sex appeal?” Chim answers, which earns him a quick kick to the shin from you. 

“So people can easily identify us,” Buck responds. 

“That’s true, but… I don’t know, I like to think it’s because when we take it off, we can leave it all behind us. Right now, you’re firefighter Buckley, but when your shift is over, you’re Buck. It just… symbolizes letting go, I guess.”

“I see his face every time I close my eyes,” Buck says. “Does that happen to you?” 

“It’ll pass,” you promise. 

“And if it doesn’t?”

You stare at Buck for a moment. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who mouthed off to a police Sergeant mere weeks ago. 

“Then you talk someone,” you eventually say. “A friend, a therapist, a bartender… you find a way to let it out, and then you let it go.”

 

Once again, you don’t see Buck for hours. You heard on the scanner that the 118 responded to several rescue calls, none requiring an RA unit. You spent the rest of your shift bouncing from call to call and ER to ER, seeing everything from stab wounds to childbirth. It’s shifts like this that remind you why you do what you do. It’s chaotic, stressful, and bloody, but it is fun. After a certain point, you don’t even have to use your brain; the adrenaline in your veins kicks your brain into autopilot, and your pounding heart is just along for the ride. 

You step into the communal locker room, completely exhausted. You still have to change, and considering everything you’ve witnessed, you should probably shower too. Most of all, you want to go home and crawl into your bed. 

Buck is sitting on the bench in the locker room, similar to how he was a few weeks ago after he was ‘fired.’ Just like you, he’s still wearing his uniform. His head is bowed between his shoulders as his elbows rest on his knees. This time, his head doesn’t perk up when you open your locker. 

“I heard you used The Manuever today,” you spark the conversation. “Nice save.”

Buck finally looks up and then chuckles quietly. “Yeah, if only I could’ve done that a few days ago.” 

You take a seat next to him. “Still thinking about Devon, huh?” 

“I’m trying not to, I just…” Buck says, then cuts himself off as he shakes his head. 

“It’s easier said than done,” you conclude. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” you agree. 

Both of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments. You open your mouth a few times only to close it. You don’t want to tell this story; you hate even thinking about it. But if you’re going to sit here and tell Buck that he has to let things go, you have to do the same. It’s only fair. 

“The first person I lost… her name was Katherine Vanec. She was 17 years old, wearing a University of Washington shirt, white shorts, and black Converse High Tops. We got a call from her mother, who was at work when she started getting strange texts from Katherine. It was supposed to be a welfare check, and when the cops got there, they found her locked in her bedroom. When fire and rescue broke down the door, she had a .22 caliber revolver pressed to her temple.”

“Jesus,” Buck mutters. 

“Katherine had a history of Borderline Personality Disorder and suicidal ideation. She figured out that her high school sweetheart had been cheating on her for almost a year. They made plans together, I guess — they were gonna go to the same school, find a place off-campus to live together. He pulled the rug right out from under her, and she couldn’t take it.”

“So what happened?”

You smile sadly. “By the time we arrived, a negotiator had been talking to her for almost ten minutes. They thought she was in a good spot that all she had to do was put the gun down, and we would swoop in and 5150 her.”

“Involuntary admission,” Buck says. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “That didn’t happen. When the negotiator asked her to set the gun down, she lost it. She kept talking about how every time before, she chickened out, and she couldn’t let that happen again. She turned the gun on us.”

“Suicide by cop.”

You nod as a few tears well in your eyes. Even all these years later, that case haunts you. “Her finger wasn’t near the trigger; she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She just didn’t want to be alive anymore, and she couldn’t think of another way out. I can still hear the sound of the bullets tearing through her.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Buck asks softly. 

You wipe at your eyes and clear your throat. “Let it out and let it go,” you answer, then nudge his shoulder with yours. “Your turn.” 

Buck smiles; the expression is bittersweet. “I keep replaying what happened. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something else I could’ve done. Maybe I could have grabbed his arm, or maybe there’s something I could’ve said differently.”

“Or maybe, no matter what you did, it was always going to end that way,” you suggest quietly. “Maybe he felt the same way Katherine did—like he had no other way out. We can try to rescue people, but we can’t make them want to be alive. Some people just don’t want to be saved, Buck.” 

“That really sucks.”

You laugh. “Yeah, it does. I guess that’s why we have each other; it makes it suck a little less.” 

“‘Each other’ as in you and me?” Buck asks in a lighthearted tone. 

You roll your eyes, but secretly, you’re thankful for the change of pace. “‘Each other’ as in the 118, which technically includes you and me.” 

“Sounds like a copout.” 

You laugh and clap a hand on Buck’s shoulder before standing. “Have a good night, Buck.”

You make it to the doorway before he says your name. You look back at him. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

You bite your lip, but it isn’t enough to conceal your smile. “Anytime.” 

[dcdreamblog]

I hope this isn't being to personal for living people area, I'm not asking for a deep dive into her life or anything. If you're a fan of Superman(who isn't besides supervillains, right?) you're going to be familiar with Lois Lane's work. Well, I was looking at some stuff about the All-Star Squadron and noticed the name of one of the lesser known Squad members, The Jester real name Chuck Lane. Are they at all related? It'd be so cool if the woman who helped introduce the world to superheroes had a mystery man in her family history

Not only am I a superhero historian, I also went to college in Metropolis and still get the Daily Planet delivered. I know who Lois Lane is. She's not the kind of public figure one is capable of ignoring once aware of her and her contributions not only within the field of public liaison for the first and greatest hero of his generation but in general as a seeker of truth and a gadfly in the halls of power speak for themselves.

Chuck Lane AKA The Jester was a mystery man of a more obscure kind, though he had connections to the Freedom Fighters sub group within the All Star Squadron, having worked with them before the war.

(A newspaper photo of the Jester breaking up a fascist attempt to rob a benefit for war orphans within the British Empire)

As for your theory that their shared Lane name might give them some kind of relationship. I'm going to say no for the pure fact that Chuck Lane's personal life is a 15 car pile up of batshit that I would love to share with you now.

The Lane family of Chuck's birth were rather affluent Northeast WASP types, their point of pride being their claim to descent from Walter DeLane, supposed the court jester of King Arthur (Arthurian scholars, both literary and historical, cannot agree on a single thing ABOUT DeLane so I am leaving that serpent where I found it unless someone forces me otherwise)

Revealing this to Chuck upon his graduation from police academy, they also revealed the bigger bombshell. That they were members of a secret society known as The Arcadians, who had attempted to "guide" America into the role of global superpower since the Revolutionary Age. Including pushing American into intervention in WWII to accelerate its discovery of the atomic bomb.

After the war, Chuck rose to a position of authority within the Arcadians but often clashes with its antidemocratic ideals. It wasn't until the death of Chuck's son and daughter in law by Arcadian decree that Chuck turned against them totally, raising his orphaned grandson to take on his role as The Jester.

(Charles Lane II upon attacking an Arcadian ball and holding the crowd at gunpoint)

While they DID succeed in bringing down the Arcadians in a suicide attack that cost the elder Lane his life, it seems Lane II had made plans beyond those of his grandfather, attempting the use of mystical artifacts to absorb and co-opt the power of Uncle Sam to grant himself dominion of the United States. In a battle that cost the life of Andre Twist, the fourth Firebrand, he was defeated and taken into custody where he was eventually sentenced to death by a jury of his peers.

All of this foolishness (no pun intended) leaves the Jester Lanes with more than a bit of a mixed legacy. While the elder Lane did indeed fight against fascists and villains in his day, and eventually give his life to stop the Arcadians. His tacit capitulation to their oligarchic ideals after the war for years, only to become personally invested in destroying them after the death of his son calls his motivations into question and his desire for revenge and failure to fully reject the Arcadian worldview turned his grandson into a reactionary monster.