#he doesn’t want to fix his life. he wants to ensure that it isn’t possible for his or any other lives to become like that.

[kim-dokja-hate-blog]

thinkin abt how no matter what llyod, it won’t change what happened in his world. no matter how many debts he settles, his parents still died from theirs. no matter how many pets he cherishes, he���ll never get his old dog back. no matter how much safety he instills in his workers, he won’t be able to save the workers of corrupt bosses who cut too many corners. no matter how many tragedies he prevents, the tragedies of where he’s from march on, ensuring that no matter how much he wants to help as kim suho, he will never be able to do what he does as llyod frontera.

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 09

In the Eye of the Storm

I call her trouble

She knows exactly what she's doing to me

- ( The song of the chapter is " Trouble" by Camylio)

The rain pounds against the windshield, the rhythmic sound blending with the low hum of the engine as he grips the steering wheel tighter. His eyes remain fixed on the road, but his mind is far from focused on the drive. Instead, it’s tangled in thoughts of her.

Why her?

Why can't this girl stay the fuck out of his life?

And now she is living rent-free in his fucking head as well. Nonstop.

The wipers swipe furiously, clearing the glass for just a moment before the downpour obscures it again, just like his thoughts of her. No matter how many times he tries to push her out of his mind, she keeps coming back, unsettling him in ways he can’t control.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

He isn’t supposed to feel anything.

Not toward her.

He has built walls around himself for a reason and has mastered the art of indifference. Nobody knows what he had to do to stand in a place where he looked at her and felt nothing.

But there she is.

Back again in his life with a bang.

The girl is a chaos. Whenever she is in his life, she brings nothing but carnage.

Khushi Sen Gupta.

The bane of his existence.

She will be the ruin of him, he can feel it in his bones.

Just like she ruined him 18 years ago.

But this time, she's back to ruin him in a different way. And he’s not sure which one is more dangerous, the little girl who shattered his world then and turned his life upside down or the woman standing before him with fire in her eyes now.

Her fiery Hazel eyes flash through his mind.

Fuck!

He bangs his hand on the steering wheel hard, triggering several sensors all at once.

Anger doesn't suit him. He has meticulously controlled it all these years, sealing the cracks, ensuring that no emotion slips through, not anger, not fear, not pain..... not anything.

Yet, she's already found a way of slipping through the cracks, getting under his skin. She is like a splinter lodged deep inside.

Irritating, persistent.

And impossible to ignore.

One moment, he convinces himself she doesn’t matter, that she is just another complication he can manage. And yet, in the next breath, his mind will drift to her. Those defiant eyes, how the green around her iris seems to flare up like it's caught on fire, whenever she seethes with rage. The way her skin flushes, the way her voice quivers with anger or softens in the next moment. And then, there are her lips and the way she bites them.

Damn it. The girl is fucking haunting. She has been in his mind like a spell since the night she held a knife to his back.

He met plenty of beautiful women in his life, women with perfect bodies, perfect hair, perfect skin. Supermodels, movie stars.....yet they all seem to fade away when it comes to her.

What is it that made him so fixated on her?

It isn’t like she is new to him. He's seen her before, knew what she looked like. So what has changed?

He shouldn't pretend like he doesn't know what has changed. He knows, damn it.

Then, again. Why her?

He should not fucking care. She should be just another casualty, another collateral damage. He presses harder on the gas, the car slicing through the rain-soaked streets.

It’s not possible that he can’t throw away the thought of a certain girl from his head. Arnav Singh Raizada can't be affected by anyone, especially not by her.

It is infuriating, maddening, to be so consumed by someone he wants nothing to do with. The rain falls harder, and he drives faster as if somehow, speeding through the storm will drown out the storm within him. But it doesn’t. He knows it never will.

But one thing he is sure of -- Khushi Sen Gupta is the most dangerous creature he has ever encountered. A chaos wrapped in a red saree, dancing in the rain, and she’s back again to wreak havoc once again. A storm he thought he'd survived, only to find it returning fiercer, more dangerous than ever.

And this time, she might destroy him for good.

Fuck!

He storms into his office, his secret office, where he conducts his other interests. Water drips from his soaked clothes. His hair is a chaotic mess from running his fingers through it.

He shrugs off his drenched blazer, tossing it onto the leather couch, not bothering to glance at the door as it clicks shut behind him.

Sheetal is already inside, sitting on his desk, waiting for him. She raises her eyebrow at his appearance but quickly masks it with a sultry smile. “Rough day?” she purrs, leaning back slightly, her eyes roaming over his dishevelled figure.

He barely acknowledges her as he sits down behind the desk, rubbing his temple. But before he can settle into his chair, she moves swiftly, sliding off the desk and onto his lap in one fluid motion.

"Arnav, you’re soaked," she says as she places a hand on his chest, fingers trailing the wet fabric of his shirt.

"So am I." Her lips curl into a smile.

For a moment, he doesn’t react, his gaze distant, staring past her as if she isn’t even there as he loosens his tie. Then, slowly, his eyes lock onto hers.

"Is Mr. Rathore's dick not keeping you satisfied? If you need another one up your ass, I can arrange that. But don't play this kind of stunt on me." His voice drops down an octave. "Now. Get. Off. Me."

She pouts, sliding off his lap and settling into the chair across from him, "You are no fun."

"Why are you here?" His tone cuts through her playful act.

She bites her lip, flashing him a coy smile, the same tactics she always uses when she wants something. It might work on Mr.Rathore, but not on him.

"Umm...Listen, it's been four years. I want out. How long do I have to keep playing this part?"

"You get me what I want and you are free to go."

"Didn't I get you enough intel already? Didn't I tell you about the deal? ......and the thing with the Serpent wouldn't have been possible if it wasn't for me?"

"It's not time yet."

"I don't fucking care!!!" Her voice shakes as she clutches her head.

What the....! Why's she so dramatic today? She wants drama, he can be equally dramatic. Also today is not a good day . Not for him.

"Don't you just look pretty with all your body parts intact, Sheetal? Or what's his name again, Aarav, right?" He says turning his laptop on. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the trembling of her hands. Her eyes widen at the mention of this name. "Do you have a short-term memory? Do I need to remind you all of these... every two months? About what will happen if you don't do what I say?"

"You know that old hag loves me. I can ruin your life in a second if I just open my mouth."

He chuckles, barely glancing up from his screen, "It's funny that you think you can use this against me." He just shakes his head, typing away a pending email to one of his business partners. "By the way, I thought you already opened your mouth for him."

"You...."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk...." his voice sounds icy. "Think twice before cursing the man who holds your son's life in his hand."

Her eyes gloss over as she looks away. "I haven't seen my son properly in last four years....because you have him captive...."

"I don't have him captive. You know it very well. If you want an increase in the visiting hours. You can just say so...Stop these theatrics."

"Death would be much better than this. Why don't you just kill me?" she whispers looking out of the window.

Now, she is taking it too far. Exactly when she knows he won't kill her.

"That's, my dear, would be a waste. And, why would I do that? You've been so good to me. Besides, it'd be a shame to lose such a pretty face."

She has wasted enough of his time. She needs to go. He has other matters to take care of. "And, just so we're clear, If ..You...Ever..Open Your mouth for anything other than his dick. I won't kill you..umm..no....I will just kill your son. And...I will let you live. "

Her face pales as horror spreads across her features.

He smirks, "I am kidding,..... sort of."

"You are a monster."

"Tell me something I don't know," he sighs. "We had an agreement, Sheetal, didn't we? As long as you keep your end of the deal, I'll keep mine. So why are we here tonight, threatening each other?"

She just sits there pensively looking outside the window. "Go home before I change my mind." His tone is final.

The click of her heels fades as she leaves, the sound grating on his nerves. He leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing.

Sheetal has been testing his patience far too often lately. He doesn’t have the habit of repeating himself, and her constant mood swings are starting to wear him thin.

He taps his fingers against the desk, considering. Is it time to get rid of her?  Not yet. No, he needs her for just a little while longer. Mr. Rathore is no fool, removing her too soon would raise suspicions and he can't afford that right now. Timing is everything.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Soon. Just a little longer, and she’ll be discarded like the pawn she always was.

He first met Sheetal at one of their fashion shows, amidst the glitz and glamour of the Fashion Line Group. A supermodel with legs that seemed to stretch on forever, a sultry smile that could weaken even the most resolute of men. She glided through the room like she owned it, a confidence so sharp that it cut through any sense of modesty. She drew attention effortlessly like a magnet, the kind of woman who didn’t have to try to be noticed.

Even Mr. Rathore, known for his stoic indifference, couldn't take his eyes off her despite his age. So much so that he started pursuing her and they started seeing each other secretly.

With her natural charm, that smooth, flirtatious voice, and a manipulation technique so precise it was almost art, Sheetal knew how to make a man fall for her. She knew how to get what she wanted, and she always made sure she did. She had an insatiable desire for luxury, money, comfort and a strong will to do whatever required to achieve that.

Arnav had seen through her from the start. To others, she was a vision, a desirable conquest. To him, she was a weapon, one he could wield as he saw fit.

So, he offered her a deal, one million a year, for her to do whatever he said, and to his delight, she accepted. But there was one condition, he had to ensure her son’s safety. So, Arnav had Aarav moved to a safe house, somewhere she could only visit with proper planning.

And that’s when the real game began. The key lay in knowing how to place her in the right spot. With meticulous planning, he positioned her in Mr. Jha’s orbit to see if he was taken by her beauty like others or not. Mr. Jha was, to put it more accurately, absolutely taken by her. So, Arnav ensures she’s close enough to Mr.Jha to gain his trust, to become indispensable.

She played her part perfectly, whispering into Mr.Jha's ear about how she could work for him by warming Mr.Rathore's bed. Mr.Jha liked that idea very much, didn't he?

After that, she kept throwing her web at Mr.Rathore and he got tangled in it more and more. And soon they started living together. That part was surprisingly easy. Guess, he was lonely after his wife's death. Then again, since when had he been so faithful to his marriage?

Mr. Jha thought she was working for him, spying on Mr. Rathore from within and feeding him valuable information directly from the eagle’s den. What Mr.Jha didn’t know was that the one pulling the strings all along was someone else altogether.

Sheetal wasn’t anyone’s puppet but his.

Every move she made, every bit of intel she whispered into Mr. Jha’s ear was orchestrated by him. It was all part of the plan. His plan.

He wonders what’s gotten into her lately. He can tell she’s been enjoying the attention from these powerful men, relishing the control, the taste of power that came with having them in the palm of her hand. But recently for few weeks, her behavior is off... unpredictable. She's also got him in a very bad time. He needs to talk to her and figure out what's really going on.

Honestly, Sheetal has been very useful to him. Extracting words from Mr. Rathore is no simple task. The man is a fucking vault, tightly shut. Yet, somehow, she's managed to coax the secret out of him. It just took four long years.

Recently, they had a breakthrough, and she just got him the greatest intel of all. The deal Mr.Rathore made with the other families, the leverage he holds over them. The leverage he holds over him to an extent.

It's a brilliant deal, he has to admit. Ruthless, calculated, and perfectly executed, exactly the kind of move he would have made. That’s what he got from Mr.Rathore. No sentiment, no weakness. Just power plays and leverage. It’s a game where only the heartless survive and Mr.Rathore understands that well.

But one thing very peculiar yet commendable about these cold-blooded gangsters is that they might kill your offsprings, but they do love their offsprings to the death. After all, family comes before everything else.

Huh! Anyway.

Armed with those intels, plans were perfectly executed. Mission was accomplished. But a little complication with her fiery hazel eyes and sassy words entered his life. And she didn't enter empty-handed, she entered with knives.

Plans had to be scrapped and remodelled. Old chess pieces had to be removed and replaced with new ones.

It was time to get rid of Mr.Rathore's childhood friend slash bodyguard, Mohan Rajjani and set someone from Arnav’s arsenal in Rajjani’s place.

About A Week Ago

He asked Rajjani to meet him in the cafeteria of Rathore Industries. It's a place devoid of CCTV, perfect for the occasion. They’re supposed to go over the security details for Mr. Rathore's upcoming visit to Russia. They were trying to do business with the Russian mob, the Bratva, for some time.

In the secluded corner, Arnav sat on the couch with his back against the wall, two steaming cups of coffee in front of him.

One for him, one for Rajjani.

Mr. Rajjani loved coffee.

Double espresso, extra shot, no sugar with full cream milk--hot, not streamed.

Rajjani finally arrived, a solid presence and a no-nonsense attitude that had served him well over the years. Even in his older years, there’s an unmistakable fierceness in him. He made his way over, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution. Arnav gestured for him to take a seat.

“Mr.Raizada,” he greets, his tone friendly yet wary.

Arnav slide the coffee cup across the table. His eyes narrowed as he appraised the older man seated rigidly across from him.

"The coffee's for you."

"Oh, thanks."

Nodding his head, Rajjani took a careful sip from the cup.

Arnav’s eyes fixed on his own cup as he slowly tore the sachet of sugar. He picked up a spoon from the saucer in front of him and started to stir his coffee, leisurely, taking his time. His voice was dangerously calm as he asked, "Is the coffee up to your liking, Mr. Rajjani?"

"Surprisingly yes, the canteen boy finally learned."

Arnav simply nodded and leaned back, placing one ankle over his knee. He continued drinking his coffee while scrolling through his phone. He stayed silent, just sipping his coffee and watching Rajjani from the corner of his eyes. That was always his go-to move. People underestimated how powerful silence could be, especially when they couldn’t stand the weight of it. Humans had a tendency to fill the gaps, and he knew how to use that against them. It was psychological torture, a game he’d mastered over the years.

The silence was thick between them. When it became unbearable Rajjani shifted, casting a glance at Arnav.

"Why don't we talk in front of Mr. Rathore? He is alone in his office."

"I just want to talk to you alone."

Rajjani hesitated for a moment and Arnav could see the wheels turning in his mind. Years in this business had sharpened Rajjani's instincts for trouble, a survival skill he had mastered. Just as he began to rise from his seat, Arnav decided to interrupt.

"I didn’t give you permission to leave, Mr. Rajjani." Arnav said as he looked up.

Rajjani's eyes hardened as his suspicion was confirmed. "I don’t take orders from anyone except Mr. Rathore."

Arnav pursed his lips, measuring Rajjani with his eyes."You will....from me."

Rajjani scoffed, "Do you think I give a damn, boy? I grew up with your father. I don’t fear you."

Arnav paused, lowering his cup to the table. "Yet."

He looked at Rajjani’s coffee cup. It was empty.

Indicating Rajjani’s cup with his eyebrows, he continued, "You know the coffee you just enjoyed so much? It's poisoned. An extremely rare blend of toxin, very hard to acquire and very expensive,... but I collected it especially for occasions like this."

Rajjani’s smirk faded as his face paled, his fingers twitching involuntarily towards the cup.

"But that's beside the point," Arnav added with a casual wave of his hand. "Just one drop or two... and I’d give you about five....umm, no..maybe ten minutes at best.....Soon you will start to sweat and your heart will begin to race...and then it’ll feel like it’s about to burst....Unless, of course, you get the antidote, which just so happens to be in my pocket."

The color drained from Rajjani’s face.

"What is that? Am I smelling fear?" Arnav’s smile widened, as he crossed his arms, his head tilting to the side. "I just fucking love the smell of fear.... Don't you?"

Rajjani tugged on his collar, sweat beading on his forehead.

"You don't have a lot of time, Mr.Rajjani . I suggest you start to cooperate." Arnav said looking at his watch.

Rajjani exhaled sharply, "What do you want?"

"You know, this is why I like you. You really know how to value others' time." Arnav drawled out casually. "Now tell me about the girls."

"What girls? I don’t know anything about any girls!" Rajjani stammered.

"You know, Mr. Rajjani, I don’t like people who lie to my face." Arnav stated as he leaned forward. "Mr. Rathore has a safe house in Lucknow for all the girls, doesn’t he?"

Rajjani’s silence was answer enough.

"So you know about the girls, huh? What I want to know is..., " Arnav picked up a napkin and offered it to Rajjani. "..... about the one growing in the shade of the serpent. Who is she?"

Rajjani hesitated, before finally speaking, his voice wavered. "She’s the real deal, I see." Rajjani gulped then continued, "The raven. She’s the daughter of the raven...... you know all too well about the raven, don’t you Arnav?"

Arnav could feel his face hardened, but he kept his emotions in check. "He wasn’t married. Mistress?"

Rajjani smirked weakly, trying to regain some composure. "More of a lover. He was the lover boy of the group. Loved that girl probably most of his life. But couldn’t marry her because of your father. Such a great friend he was."

Arnav clenched his jaw, "What happened to the mother?"

Rajjani’s gaze dropped to the floor. "She died. I don’t know how. After her death, he brought the girl to your house."

Yes, he knew all about how the girl was brought to their house. Need no reminder of that.

Rajjani's breath came in short, panicked gasps. "I’ve told you everything I know. Now give me the antidote."

"There’s no antidote."

The old man’s face contorted in shock and rage. "You lied! You have no ethics."

Arnav smirked, "I never said I have."

"Mr. Rathore will know about this."

Arnav unlocked his phone, typing a message to his manager, his tone is almost conversational. "You’re dying of a heart attack, Mr. Rajjani. No one will find a trace of the poison in your body in the next fifteen minutes."

"Mr. Rathore will suspect something." A weak voice rasped out.

Arnav’s smile widened, "Really? Do you honestly think Mr. Rathore will suspect me?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Rajjani’s eyes filled with despair as his body betrayed him. He leaned forward, clutching his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. With the last of his strength, he spat out, "You will rot in hell, Arnav."

Arnav straightened and stood up, "See you there in a couple of years," he said, buttoning his coat. "Make it ready for me, and be prepared to kneel at my feet."

His tone dropped to a deadly whisper as he turned to leave, leaving Rajjani's lifeless body slumped on the table. "I was born to rule, Mr. Rajjani. I will die to rule as well."

His phone pings, bringing him back to the moment. His eyes flicker to the screen.

"ALERT: Unauthorized Access Detected!"

What the hell!!

TheSwallow?!?

"Oh, little bird," he muttered under his breath, "What have you done?"

A dangerous glint flickers in his eyes as he feels the thrill running down his body.

The beauty of a trump card is that it’s played when no one expects it. It’s not about power, it’s about timing.

And this little bird.

She is his.

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I got a bit lost in Arnav's POV this time. His mind is a can of worms I was hesitant to open! This chapter is pivotal, filled with crucial hints, and now I’m scared, all you brilliant readers might figure it out too soon. Let me know your thoughts and theories in the comments!

Lots of love!!!

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@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @msbhagirathi @herelivesahobbit @titaliya @shiyaravi

[nickeverdeen]

Heeyy sweetie <3

I saw you were doing matchups, and i thought that was so fking nice and wanted to try too. I wanted to try with Arcane and Umbrella Academy.

My name's Meli, and I'm pansexual without any preference. I'm an introvert, and most of the time quiet unless I really trust someone. I had some trust issues, so, it does take me a lot to trust someone. I'm creative (or at least that I a been told), the mother like friend, and an overthinker. Most of the times I wear headphones because I have social anxiety and tend to get overwhelmed with loud noises very easily. I am very sarcastic and have a dark sense of humour and I curse a lot in Spanish (that's my first language,) and English. I'm also a people pleaser, and I just put everyone above me not matter what. I'm an observer and a very empathetic person. Most of the times, i match the other person's emotions without noticing, or if I not e they aren't feeling okay, I do try to make them feel better with subtle things (or at least I try to)

I love to write and read. I have many hobbies, like playing guitar, drawing, painting, sewing and cooking, among other stuffs. I mostly read thriller but I end up reading about everything tbh. I LOVE true crime, and that's why I ended up watching everytime I end up in YouTube.

I hate conflict (mostly angry yelling) loud noises (I said that before, but well), and people who just don't care about other people's emotions.

Feel free to not do this and take your time <3 I'm so sorry if any of this doesn't make sense, my English kinda sucks tbh.

PS: I’m absolutely loving the petname for me

——————————

Your Arcane match is…

Viktor

Viktor would appreciate your quiet nature and find comfort in your presence

You’d both enjoy sitting in comfortable silence while working on your respective projects

He’d be fascinated by your creativity, often asking for your input on his inventions or sharing ideas with you, knowing that your perspective would add depth to his work

Viktor would understand your trust issues and never rush you

He’d be patient, allowing you to open up at your own pace, and when you finally do, he’d cherish that trust deeply

He’d find your dark sense of humor refreshing, often joining in with his own dry wit

Your shared sarcasm would create an unspoken bond between you two

Viktor would be very mindful of your social anxiety and sensitivity to loud noises, ensuring that your environment is as calm and quiet as possible when you’re together

Your ability to empathize with others would resonate with Viktor, who often carries the weight of the world on his shoulders

He’d find solace in your understanding and support

As an observer, you’d notice the subtle ways Viktor cares for others, even when he doesn’t say much

You both would enjoy late-night discussions about science, philosophy, and the intricacies of the human mind, often losing track of time in your conversations

Viktor would appreciate the subtle ways you try to make him feel better, like bringing him a cup of tea when he’s stressed or offering a gentle touch when words aren’t enough

Your love for reading and writing would match well with Viktor’s intellectual nature

Viktor isn’t one for grand displays of affection, but he’d show his care for you in small, meaningful ways—like fixing your headphones when they break or leaving you notes in your native language

Viktor would be intrigued by your love for true crime, occasionally joining you in watching documentaries or discussing interesting cases

Viktor would gently encourage you to prioritize your own needs, reminding you that it’s okay to put yourself first sometimes, even if it’s hard for you to do so

He’d be a steady, supportive presence in your life, always there to listen or offer advice when you’re feeling overwhelmed or anxious

Viktor would surprise you with small, handmade gifts that show how much he values your creativity and the unique bond you share

Your The Umbrella Academy match is…

Five Hargreeves

Five would absolutely love your sarcasm and dark humor

The two of you would engage in quick-witted banter that would leave everyone else around you struggling to keep up

Despite his tough exterior, Five would be incredibly protective of you, especially when he realizes how much you put others above yourself

He’d be the first to step in if someone tries to take advantage of your people-pleasing nature

Five would be drawn to your intelligence and creativity, often seeking your opinion on complex matters

Five understands what it’s like to have trust issues, and he’d be patient with you, giving you the time and space you need to feel comfortable around him

Five would appreciate your quiet nature, often just sitting in silence with you, finding peace in the moments where neither of you feels the need to fill the space with words

Your shared dark humor would lead to inside jokes that only the two of you understand, often leaving others puzzled or slightly alarmed by your conversations

Though Five doesn’t always show it, he’s deeply empathetic

He’d notice when you’re matching his emotions and would appreciate your efforts to make him feel better, even if he doesn’t always say it outright

Five would respect your need for personal space and quiet, never pushing you to engage more than you’re comfortable with

He’d also ensure that your time together is never too overwhelming

Five would be intrigued by your love for true crime and thrillers, often joining you in binge-watching documentaries or discussing the psychology behind criminal behavior

Five isn’t big on traditional romance, but he’d show his affection in subtle ways, like making sure you have your favorite snack or fixing something in your house without asking

You both would bond over your love for books, often exchanging recommendations and discussing your favorite plots or character developments

When you’re feeling down, Five would use his sarcasm to lift your spirits, knowing exactly how to make you smile with a well-timed, snarky comment

Five would deeply respect your ability to observe and understand others, recognizing how valuable that skill is, especially in tense situations

Five would be there for you during moments of social anxiety, quietly offering his presence as a grounding force, never making you feel pressured to interact more than you want to

The two of you would have dark comedy nights where you watch the most twisted movies and shows, laughing at the absurdity while enjoying each other’s company

———————

Tag List: @callsignwidow

[taylor-tut-fics]

i uploaded this fic the other day but the formatting was off so rather than fixing it, i panicked and deleted it. so here it is again! another camp camp fic. enjoy and also if you have more requests i Desperately Need Them(TM) or i'll be left alone with my thoughts 😰

It’s one of the hottest days of the year, and they’ve been out of electricity for three days. The campers are cranky. Gwen is cranky. Cracks are even beginning to show in David’s patience. They were meant to watch a movie indoors to combat the heat, but they’ve been forced to find a last minute activity that doesn’t involve running around outside, so they’d settled on painting. So far, it’s been a wildly unpopular choice, pleasing only Dolph. Everyone else is antsy and bored to tears. Ordinarily, he’d go to any lengths to ensure they were having the best time possible, but he’s lost the energy. 

It comes on suddenly in the middle of painting. At first, it’s just a headache. A minor inconvenience, really. He probably hasn’t drank enough water today for how hot it is. Understandable. His main focus has been keeping the campers hydrated, after all, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility that he’s neglected himself. 

Next, he starts to feel shaky and weak. He’s willing to chalk that up to dehydration, too, so he grabs a water bottle from the cooler and downs half of it, ignoring how it makes his stomach churn. 

When he feels achy, he blames yesterday’s hike. Lightheadedness, he blames on the heat. It’s only when he starts shivering with chills that he finally accepts it. Something is wrong. He’s gone from normal to feeling like he’s been hit by the bus (again) in the span of half an hour. This isn’t just a little overexertion. And with the way his head is starting to spin, if he doesn’t go lie down in bed now, he’s going to end up lying down against his will somewhere much less desirable. 

“Hey, Gwen,” David calls, dragging his aching body across the mess hall to her. At the mention of her name, she looks up. “Hey. I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden.” She scans him up and down with a grimace. He’s pale and sweaty, with a distinct red flush to his cheeks. 

“Yeah, you don’t look so good, either. What’s wrong?” 

“Not so sure. I’m just really tired and everything hurts.” The shivering is obviously concerning without even having to mention it. She reaches out to place her hand to his forehead. 

“Hm. A little warm maybe, but nothing crazy. Sounds like you’re getting sick.” 

“Maybe. I think I want to go lie down for a while. Can you handle the kids?” 

She seems a little stunned that he’d ask, and she doesn’t react the way he’d hoped she would. Rather than appreciating that he’s never asked for a day off in the entire time they’ve known each other, even working through colds and injuries, her eyes turn pleading. 

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” she begs. “They’re monsters.” David glances around the horrible room and if he were only a tad more cynical, he’d have to agree. 

“But Gwen, I—”

“Please, David. I’ll owe you so hard.” He sighs. There’s no way he can ignore a genuine plea for help from his CBFL, so he forces a smile. 

“Sure. I’ll stick around.” 

“You’re sure?” she asks, hoping that her tone doesn’t portray the fact that she hopes he’ll say yes. It’s courtesy, not concern.

“Positive. I’ll just head to bed a little early tonight.” He massages a temple with his thumb. “Preston is painting a backdrop on the wall. I’ll be right back.” 

He dashes off to deal with that while Gwen tries her very best just to ensure no one kills each other. Tensions are high, but she doubts that will be a suitable plea in a murder trial. 

Another two hours finds the craft supplies put away, the paintings left to dry outside in the sun, and David feeling more miserable than he thinks he has in his entire life. Rather than helping with lunch, he plops down at his usual table without grabbing anything to eat. The thought of food makes his stomach churn. He’s still shivering despite that the cabin must be 85 degrees or more. 

As soon as Gwen notices David sitting at the table, trembling with his eyes shut, something in her softens. She makes her way to him as soon as the campers have her food, foregoing her own tray. 

“David,” she calls, nudging him by the shoulder. “You alive?” He nods, but doesn’t force any pep into it. “How are you feeling?” 

His only reply is a groan, not even bothering to open his eyes. 

“Damn it.” The hand that rests upon his forehead is cool. “You’re burning up. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.” 

“I wanted to,” he reassures, even if it’s a mumbled lie. 

“You need to go to bed. I’ll handle them for the night.”

“Are you sure? What about the kids?” 

“They’ll be fine. Mostly. Probably.” He doesn’t find the joke funny and she can tell immediately. “We’ll be fine. You can’t possibly take much more of this.” 

Despite his reservations, he has to admit that she’s right. He’s already had a few near-faints today, and he’s not looking forward to another. All he needs is an evening to sleep this off and he’ll be fine. He tries to keep that in mind and ignore the guilt that arises as he exits the mess hall and heads back toward the cabin. 

He sleeps until Gwen comes to check on him before dinner bearing flu medicine and a thermometer. The opening of the door startles him from sleep. He doesn’t remember drifting off. 

“How’re you feeling?” she asks before handing him the thermometer. He makes a noncommittal “so-so” gesture with his hand. Can’t be good. That combined with the reading of 102℉ tell them both that they’re in for a rough next few days.

“It’s so hot in here. Will you be okay?” 

“Sure,” he replies. “Honestly, I haven’t even noticed.” 

“Still having chills?” 

He nods. His temperature is too high already, and he’s still shivering. The worst is yet to come. 

“I’ll come check on you in a little while. Stay in bed. Text me if you start dying.” He agrees to do so even knowing that it would take a whole lot to pull her away from the kids when she’s the only one on duty.

She’s dreading this. The idea of telling the campers that she’s running the camp alone for the next day or so is like strapping a steak to her chest and entering a lion’s den. Assured destruction. However, they’re going to notice some time or another, so she might as well get it over with. 

“Alright, campers, listen up,” she announces as soon as everyone is sitting down with their lunch, “David went to bed early. He’s not feeling so good. We’re going to have a free play evening, if you all promise to leave me alone. David does like three people’s worth of work around here and now I have to do it all by myself. If we can keep from killing anyone or burning the camp down until he gets back, we can have an ice cream party. Capiche?” 

There’s a general murmur while the children weigh the merits of arson versus ice cream, but ultimately decide in favor of the party. Fewer cops, more chocolate. 

Max is the only one who thinks that it might not be worth it. His own reward assessment comes up in favor of torturing Gwen. He can always dip into the dregs of the candy supply that wasn’t confiscated, but messing with the counselors? Irreplaceable.  

Gwen needs a list to tell her everything David does in a day, one that was given to him by Campbell and which he memorized years ago. She watches him go through it every day, but by now he speeds through it so fast that she barely even registers most of the tasks on it. They make sense, she supposes, but she’s not used to them. Not to mention the fact that she doesn’t care.

After she’s already put away the painting supplies and cleaned up the mess hall, she begins to work on washing dishes from lunch. Periodically, she checks on the children just to ensure they all have roughly the same number of digits this morning. She’s got one earbud in and is listening to a smutty audiobook. Honestly, it’s a little soothing. Normally, these are her least favorite activities because she hates touching wet food, but now, it’s giving her a welcome reprieve from the squealing and hollering outside as the campers play Humans vs. Zombies with water guns. She hasn’t even realized that a few hours have passed when David bursts into the mess hall, his eyes frantic and feverish, while she’s setting up for dinner. Gwen immediately rushes to his side. 

“David? I told you to stay in bed.”

“But the fire,” he argues. 

“Fire?” 

She practically runs out the door with the extinguisher in hand only to find the camp very much as it’s always been. When she walks back inside, he’s pacing, wringing his hands together anxiously. He walks in large, lazy, dizzy circles around the mess hall. He looks up when she returns, a desperate plea clear across his face. 

“Did you put it out?” 

“David, there’s nothing there. I think you had a fever dream.” 

He shakes his head. “Max,” he argues. “Max isn’t here.” 

“He’s getting ready for bed with the other campers.” She reaches out and places her palm across his forehead, then frowns. “Woah. You're really burning up. You need to take something and go back to bed.” 

“We need to find him.” She argues again that he’s fine, but David is having none of it. “He’s all alone.” His eyes are filled with tears that don’t spill over. 

“David, don’t—”

“Please. We have to find him. It’s not safe.” 

Though reluctant to leave him alone, it seems as though the only thing that’s going to alleviate his panic enough to get him to take another dose of fever reducers  is to show him that everything is okay. “Fine. I’ll go get him if it means you’ll calm down.” 

She tells him not to move while she tracks Max down. He’s about to head into his cabin when she stops him. 

“I need to borrow you,” she says. Max rolls his eyes, 

“No. Anything else?” 

“I mean it. David’s freaking out in the mess hall and isn’t going to stop until he sees you.” Max frowns. 

“What do you mean, ‘freaking out?’ I thought you said he was sick in bed.”

“Come see for yourself.” Citing the fact that it’ll be fun to see him in a state, he follows. When she opens the door for him, David comes rushing to his side. 

“Max,” he breathes, dropping to his knees. His eyes are glassy, either from illness or from tears. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

“Woah,” he manages, caught off guard by how markedly less fun this is than he’d anticipated. He looks awful. Likely feels awful. And he’s outright distressed. Max has never wanted this no matter how much he says he does. David’s hands are worryingly hot as he lays them on his shoulders, and this close, he can feel heat pouring off of him. “Well, I’m alive, so is this over? Can I leave?” 

“What happened? Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not,” he snaps. “You just had a nightmare. Everything’s fine.” 

“But I—I saw you.” A tear spills over onto his cheek and he wipes it away swiftly before replacing his hands on Max’s shoulders. He swats him away and wiggles out of his grip.

“Jesus, he’s acting crazy. How sick is he?” 

“I need to take his temperature but he’s too worked up. He’s going to make it worse.” 

“I’m so sorry, I let you—I didn’t—and you could have been hurt and I—” He trails off in a shuddering breath. 

“David,” Max says slowly. “You’ve gotta calm the fuck down. Nothing happened. You’re out of your mind.” 

It appears as though he doesn’t even hear him. None of his reassurances are registering judging by the quickening of his breath, but he’s losing steam quickly. His head droops forward but he catches himself. Max inches back toward him. He’s not even trying to maintain an image of nonchalance anymore. This is scaring him. 

“David?” 

That’s all he has time for before David slumps forward. Max has to push against his shoulders to keep him from hitting the ground face first.

“Holy shit,” Gwen exclaims as she drags him under his arms to get him to lie flat on his back. It seems as though he’d only lost consciousness for a second or two. “David, hey. Look at me.” 

“The kids,” he says, his tone thin and watery. He’s still near tears. He’s still breathing in shallow, stuttering breaths that don’t quite reach the bottoms of his lungs. If he keeps this up, he’s going to faint again. 

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” she says, her tone soft and gentle. “You need to breathe slowly.” 

“I’m fine, I just—” a quick breath, “need to,” another breath, “find them,” a breath and a breath and a breath, loud and frantic and fast. 

“Should I go get the other campers? Or, like, an ambulance?” 

“He’s a little delirious. He’s not going to come out of it until I get the fever down.” She places his hand on her chest so he can feel her breathing as well as hear it while she tries to soothe him. It helps marginally. He’s no longer hyperventilating, but he certainly doesn’t calm down. 

“Thanks for helping, Max. You don’t have to stay.”  Instead of immediately turning tail and running, Max shifts from foot to foot.

“Is he, like… okay? Because he seems like he’s not okay.” 

“I’m going to see if I can get him to take some flu medicine.” It’s not a definitive answer and that’s by careful design. She doesn’t want to break his fragile trust by promising things are going to be fine and then carting David off to the hospital in an hour if she can’t get his temperature down. Even Gwen knows better than to do that to Max. 

“Do you need help?”

The offer is tentative and awkward, but earnest. Max is worried and trying. 

“Actually, could you sit with him for a minute and make sure he doesn’t try to run off while I go get some things?” 

Max nods. 

“Great.Thanks.  I’ll be right back.” His attention switches back to David as soon as the door slams behind her. He can’t believe things have gotten so bad so fast. He seemed totally normal when they’d started painting after breakfast. Sure, he looked bad when he’d gone to lie down, pale and sweaty, but it was nothing like this. He’s not sure what this is, but it doesn’t seem safe. Max has been sick before. He’s even seen David sick before. Only once over the years, but he hadn’t detached from reality about it. Whatever this is, it’s not normal. 

David tries to push himself to his feet only to be kicked in the shin hard enough to stop him. “Owie!” he exclaims. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” 

“But the campers.” 

“How many times do we have to tell you everyone is fine? It was a bad dream. Stop being a freak.” Max has a feeling that if he could stand up right now, that he would run off looking for the others. It’s almost worse to see him so still, given how worked up he is. A single tear streams down David’s cheek and while Max is pretty sure he won’t remember any of this tomorrow, it still makes him feel like shit. “Hey, stop doing that. Gwen’s gonna be back any second with medicine. You’ll feel better after you take it.” 

“Everything feels so fuzzy. And hot.” Max shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. He’s normally so confident, so decisive. But he’s way out of his league with this, and it’s scaring him.  

“It’s gonna be fine. You’re just really sick. Relax.” Just as he’s running out of things to say in response to David’s feverish ramblings, she reappears in the doorway with the first aid kit. Max never thought there would be a day when he was glad to see her. 

“How is he?” she asks rhetorically. She can clearly see he’s a wreck. She removes a thermometer from the bag and hands it to him. Apparently he’s at least a little lucid, because he places it in his mouth without complaint. In two minutes, it beeps, and Gwen grimaces at the 104 degree reading. This is bad. It’s so, so bad. She needs an adult to handle this, preferably one with an MD and a lot of patience. 

“Take these,” she commands as she sets two small pills in his hand. He does as she says, chasing them with an offered water bottle. “Good. Drink as much as you can.”

“You put out the fire?” 

“There’s no fire,” she says reassuringly, her hand stroking his in an attempt to ground him. “Breathe.” David does, for the first time since he’s sprinted out of his tent, breathe deeply and slowly. She offers words of encouragement and never steals her hand away. 

“Are you sure he shouldn’t be in the hospital?” Max asks. She sighs. 

“Maybe, but this place doesn’t give us health insurance. I want to try to fix it here before I ruin his life with medical bills.” 

God, that’s so unfair, Max thinks. Just another reason to hate this stupid place.

“What if he doesn’t get better?” 

“David,” she dodges, “do you think you could do me a favor?”

His eyes snap open and he nods desperately. “Anything.” 

“I need to get you in a cool shower. It’s not gonna be pleasant, but you’ll feel a lot better after. Do you think you can walk that far?” 

This time, his affirmative is hesitant, more like he’s agreeing for her sake than that he’s actually considering the question. Whether that’s true or not, it’s good enough for Gwen. She sends Max off to start the water running and meets him, supporting David and guiding him where he needs to go because while he’s got his feet firmly beneath him, he’s still loopy as fuck. She doesn’t even let him try to shower by himself, instead opting to guide him into the stream and sitting him down on the floor, fully clothed. The only thing she bothers with is taking his phone out of hit pocket. 

“You don’t have to stay, Max,” she reminds him. “You should go to bed.” He knows she’s right, but he can’t bring himself to leave, not with the severity of what’s happening here. There’s no way that she can handle this on her own. She’s going to get him killed, and then she’ll be in charge. God help them, then.  

She shields David’s eyes with a cupped hand, feeling the heat radiating there. She hopes that this will help. He stays under the stream for what feels like a lifetime, but is really probably about 15 minutes or so. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, staring down at his drenched clothes and running a hang through sopping hair. Gwen reaches for a towel and hands it to him, and he’s at least coherent enough to know what to do with it. He rubs the towel over his head to dry his hair. “Why am I in the shower?” He looks down. “In my clothes?” 

“What do you remember?” 

He thinks for a long moment. “Woah. It’s all a bit hazy. I think I had a bad dream?” 

She nods, relieved that he’s finally able to call it that. “You ran out of the cabin raving that the camp was on fire. Your fever spiked and you got a little out of your mind.” He looks devastated, embarrassed. 

“I’m so sorry.” It’s then that he notices Max standing a little ways away, watching the scene without being a part of it. “Max? What are you doing up?”

Of course he noticed before he could quietly slip away without being seen. 

“You were freaked out that I was dead. Gwen made me prove I’m not.” She smirks. 

“That was over an hour ago.” 

He kicks his foot against the dirt and David doesn’t make him say he’s worried, admit that he cares. Instead, he groans as he hauls himself to his feet, wavering for a moment before Gwen can steady him. 

“I think I’m going to go change into something dry.” His teeth are chattering from the tepid water. 

“Nuh-uh. Not until your temperature comes back below 103.” She hands the thermometer over and they wait a long two minutes before it beeps. She takes it before he can even look. “103.2,” she says unhappily. “I can live with that. It’s still really high, though.” 

“I’m really fine to just go to bed. I don’t want to keep anyone up.” 

“I’m not taking my eyes off you,” she says. She plans on sleeping on the couch so that if he wants to leave the counselor’s cabin, he’ll have to go through her first. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Max—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interjects, “I’ll go to bed, too.” 

“Thanks for helping,” Gwen says. “I owe you one.” Before he can open his mouth, she glares. “Within reason.” 

“Fine. Goodnight.” 

“Max,” David calls. He doesn’t turn around. “Thanks.” He acts like he doesn’t hear it even though they all know he did. 

Gwen turns her attention to getting David standing once more. With the fever down, he seems steadier on his feet, but still a little wobbly. She makes a mental note to make him drink a bottle of water before he goes to sleep. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He forces a smile. “Not great,” he admits, “but better.” She doubts he really remembers those delirious moments, but better is something. The walk back to the cabin is much easier than the walk to the showers. She sits right outside the door as he changes into dry sweatpants and a t-shirt. Funny, she thinks. He’s always slept in his uniform, if he sleeps at all. She’s not sure she’s ever even seen him out of uniform. He looks sick: flushed but no longer worryingly so and pale but no longer toeing death’s door. 

“Here,” she says, handing over a Gatorade and a banana. “Drink half of it and eat what you can.” He doesn’t even open the granola bar, but he does sip the Gatorade while they watch Bob Ross, though his eyes haven’t been open in a while.

“You’re going to be so tired tomorrow. I’m sorry.” 

“Eh, I’m always tired. I’ll just let the kids free play. I told them if they’re good, they can have an ice cream party.” 

“Good idea.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry about—”

“Don’t do that.”

“--about all the trouble—”

“David,” she curtails. “Don’t start. It’s not like it was your fault.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” He places his hand atop hers, and she doesn’t pull away. “And thanks for taking care of me.” 

“Of course.” She leans in and places her head on his hot shoulder. She really is exhausted, and the next few days are only going to be worse. “I think it’s time for bed.” 

“Yeah.” But instead, they just fall asleep like together like that on the couch. 

[ciaossu-imagines]

Can I request Cloak from ultimate Spider-Man having to deal with a child reader who had been separated from their family during a villain attack and the reader hiding under his cloak and clings to him and it turns out it’s fury’s kid and cloak has been assigned to watch them because reader asked for him specifically because he protected them and now wears a blanket like a cloak and nova or one of the others tease him about having a tiny version of him((I can just see nova teasing him and is this request okay?))

Of course you can request this! This doesn’t break any of the blog’s rules, so it’s a perfectly okay request, don’t worry about it my dear �� Thank you so much for sending in a request for what’s a rather underloved fandom on this blog! It makes me really happy to see. This is my first time writing for Cloak, but I do hope you’ll enjoy!

Cloak honestly does have some misgivings about the heroism stuff. He struggles to always know what to do, and his own learned distrust of the world makes him wary of jumping into situations and helping complete strangers. It’s something he works really hard to fix and improve on, especially with the influence of his fellow Heroes, so he’s definitely a real force of good but a more cautious and wary one who isn’t likely to jump straight into the thick of things.

That being said, because of his own rough upbringing, the fact that he’s a runaway kid, and he knows how hard and terrifying childhood can be, he’s really got a huge soft spot for children and other teens his age. That soft spot remains no matter how old he gets, for anyone wondering. The second he does see a child in danger, that typical mistrust and all those misgivings of his fly away from his mind and he truly acts on complete impulse. His body almost moves on its own before his brain catches up because he needs to save that child in danger. It’s not just that he wants to, there is a piece of his soul and his brain that needs to save as many children as he can, needs to ensure they have all these wonderful opportunities to keep living, to find and keep happiness.

Needless to say, the second he sees that child in danger during a villain attack, he’s on it. He hyper-focuses on them and ensures they don’t get harmed any more than they were when he first saw them, even if it means his own body suffers because of it. He fully steps up and he would definitely be a hero to the child in question, because that child would not only see their savior but would also see the soft side of Cloak that really only Tandy gets to see.

The only thing I disagree with at all in this scenario is the kid hiding under Tyrone’s cloak, solely because, when fighting, Cloak’s actual cloak is part of his portal to the Darkforce Dimension (at least, I’m very much assuming it is based on Marvel mythology, which Ultimate Spider-Man borrowed heavily from in different bits and pieces, though each character is its own unique portrayal in the universe of the show). It’s part of his field of darkness, and people within Cloak’s darkness feel numbing cold and see absolutely horrifying visions of their own worst fears and nightmares. Any long periods of exposure to Cloak’s darkness results in the person’s life force starting to slowly drain away and unless Cloak releases them from the portal, they really do die. Like Cloak’s power is insane and dangerous and that’s something he struggles with.

The possibility he’d risk exposing a child to any of that is absolutely zero, but because they are in the middle of a villain fight, Cloak needs to be able to use that Darkforce Dimension and his field of darkness, which is generally used with his cloak as a focal point. I see him more consistently always making sure that the kid is hiding behind his legs, with Cloak being this kid’s human shield and constantly being aware of where the child is and soothing their panic with assurances that he’s going to get the kid out of this, everything will be fine, just leave it to him and those kind of things. Again, kids bring out Tyrone’s hidden inner softie.

Of course, Tyrone’s ecstatic that he saved the kid and he’s kind of touched by how thankful the kid is to him. Like, the very second that kid is telling him how awesome Cloak is and how he’s this kid’s new favourite superhero, Tyrone gets all tongue-tied and he’s definitely huddling a bit deeper into his cloak to hide how badly he’s blushing, though he definitely does try to play it cool.

When the kid is taken away to find his guardian’s, Cloak really thinks that is the last he’ll see of the kid. The whole thing really does do something to his heart and makes him feel really damn good to be honest, and even his teammate’s teasing him about the kid’s loud amazement of Cloak’s powers and declarations of how cool he is won’t really get to him as much as they normally would, though he still snarks back. Just not to the normal extent that he would.

So, imagine Cloak’s surprise, a bit later, to find himself being assigned a new mission. He’s initially a little disappointed at being assigned a protection mission because that’s not really something he enjoys as much. Protection missions, yeah he’s good at them, he’s suited for them, but they tend to be boring. But when it turns out that he’s assigned to protect the kid?

Cloak is honestly thrown right for a fucking loop. He never expected to see the kid again and he’s really happy that he’s getting that chance but there’s utter confusion about it all too. When he learns all the details and sees that the kid has started copying his style and is still declaring that they want to be just like Cloak, he’s having no second thoughts about the mission. Again, Tyrone adores kids. While he’s struggling to really know what to say to the kid, he’s happy to let the little one chatter on and on, and he tries to control some of his more snarky and rude nature when around the child.

His teammates definitely take advantage of this to tease him about his newly found mini-me. Tandy’s having a ball with it all, both to tease her best friend and because she does kind of find this really cute. Nova, Peter, and Flash are all right up there among people who are loving the opportunity to good-naturedly rib Cloak about all this.

It’s just a cute idea I have but at some point, I really do see Cloak searching out and using his own earnings to buy his new ‘sidekick’, as the kid will loudly declare themselves a few times, their own version of a cloak, as close to his own as he could find.

[lightningandfireinmybones]

okay but valaena agreeing to marry dalton because it would bring her mom an advantage as the CEO. and her whole family doesn’t want her to do it because they know she’s doing it out of duty and not love. she hears that aemond is coming back from his 4 year long business trip and insists on getting married before he arrives because she knows one look at him and she’ll be ready to marry him instead. so when aemond comes he finds valaena as a wife and he’s ready to strangle dalton for touching his woman with such boldness. he doesn’t care if they’re legally wed she still belongs to him. but alicent tells aemond that he has no choice but to wed cassandra baratheon. his immediate response is no that he would never do that but then his mother tells him it’s vital to secure her, helaena and daeron’s life because with the support of the baratheons daemon won’t harm them much. and aemond thinks it’s the perfect way to make valaena jealous too so he’s like “okay i’ll do it.” during their reception party aemond and valaena look at each other with so much jealousy. both wed to people who are not each other. and dalton and valaena are actually good friends unlike cassandra and aemond because let’s face it aemond doesn’t do friends. valaena so desperate to stop thinking about aemond that she drags dalton to a bathroom and let’s him fuck her and it’s good because at least he has his hand on her throat though not choking her like she loves, he’s whispering things into her hear but not as filthy as she likes, he’s giving her scars but it’s not as good and all she can think about is her uncle. she even says “please kepus mark me” in valyrian. finally they come out of the bathroom and it’s obvious that dalton’s fucked her and she doesn’t want people to know that because only with aemond can she show people she’s been well fucked. only with aemond she doesn’t care if people see her sex hair, ripped clothes and tear tracks with anyone else she needs to hide it. and she goes to the room next the bathroom to fix her appearance and as she switches on the light she sees aemond. sitting on a chair looking majestic and like a predator. she knows he’s been waiting for her. he doesn’t move just looks at her up and down and says, “enjoy that did you? calling out for me while your husband was still in you? asking him to mark you while calling him uncle?.” and as he comes closer she puts her hands up to stop him and says, “you have a wife & i have a husband aemond. we can’t. this is madness” and he doesn’t care that they are married to other people it doesn’t stop him from fucking her in the most violent way possible that would leave her sore for days. ensure that dalton can’t touch her while he arranges for divorce papers because he is not allowing his rightful wife to be anyone else’s.

Excuse me hello I’m stuck on the image of aemond waiting in the room next listening to them fuck, lounging like a predator

And he would know that Valaena would be left wanting, he could hear her moaning for him, just getting angrier and angrier as he hears her fake it while desperately calling out for kepus to hurt her in Valyrian

He would be so casual, both arms on the armrests, one foot casually resting on his knee, looking like a creature from both her nightmares and her dreams, tapping his fingers and staring at her like he can see through her

She really doesn’t want to cheat on Dalton but aemond is on her and it’s so good and exactly what she remembers as being what she need

It’s violent and animalistic and after he makes her cum in his fingers he makes her lick them clean, around the wedding ring to another woman

And she’s marked head to toe and dizzy and unable to think outside of him by the end, so aemond just takes care of her, tucking her in and pressing a kiss to her forehead and promising he’ll take care of it

Jury is out on whether taking care of it means killing Dalton or not but she’s too cockdrunk to do anything but go to sleep and hope aemond isn’t in jail by the end

[withsunlight]

blood has never fazed her all that much ---------- at least not in the small doses of skinned elbows or knees or the occasional nosebleed she’d dealt with growing up with two older brothers who liked to roughhouse ( the same older brothers who had to deal with a little sister just as eager to get herself dirty ... or risk those same occasional nosebleeds ). but this … what she sees when he shifts his arm before she can make contact with it is well above any cut or scrape or trickle of blood tickling her top lip after a good bop to her nose.

christopher would tell her on occasion about coming across cases like these after his night shifts at new york presbyterian, but his stories always somehow came colored differently; enthusiasm and wonder ( and probably, a good dose of adrenaline and caffeine that had helped ensure he made it through to the other side of his shift ) skewed blood - red a little more rose - colored. for him it was a part of who he was, what he saw himself doing for the rest of his life. they were simply cases, somehow made faceless ( either by necessity or ambivalence, she’d never been able to pinpoint one over the other in their time together ). but this isn’t one of her ex’s emergency room stories at eight am while she hovered over a cup of tea hoping he’d spare her the gory details. the blood, all this blood isn’t secondhand news. it’s familiar. in a relative sense. it’s familiar in the way all this blood has a face. a face she’s become rather fond of. a face, she notes briefly with a wide - eyed glance before long hair attempts to hide him from her completely, seems to be focused far more on her in this moment than his side.

the explanation comes slowly; quietly --- ‘i got shot.’ — almost in the same vein as someone attempting to find the softest way to deliver something upsetting matter - of - factly … but not quite. ( she wishes she’d learned to be a better listener to all those stories over morning tea; that she’d figured out a way to become as numb and normal about them as the good doctor had been in telling them. but she can’t. she’s feeling just about everything but numb, if that’s even possible. ) she gently pushes up her sleeve as he continues, eyes fixed on his side with a furrowed brow while her lower lip becomes fodder for the point of a tooth. business ... contracts ... opting out with a bullet ... one answer knocked down only for a half - dozen more to pop back up to take it’s place. ( but those are for later, she scolds herself with a sharp inhale of breath for even attempting to pull on that thread. because there’s going to be a later. it’s not the conversation she wants to be having right now anyway. ) he offers up something about how it looks, but her focus remains on getting him out of his own way just so she can feel see for herself just how worse worse can be.

she hears him say her name, but her fingertips catch his sweater before he can speak again; warm - wet knit attempting ( and failing ) to prepare her for the shock when they reach his side.

she doesn’t mean to gasp. she really doesn’t. and it isn’t about the frayed sweater, or torn skin, or the blood he’s been trying to control.

it’s rage, hot and red … warmth flush on her face and like pin pricks along the back of her neck. it’s a sadness she can’t quite place … thick and tight in her throat and unwilling to budge. it’s a fear of ----------- not the wound, not that the assailant might come back through that door to take a second shot at terminating that contract esmé had mentioned prior. it’s a fear of her turning tail and walking out the door and leaving him like this. she manages a swallow finally, but the feeling of his grief hasn’t budged ( and neither has her hand; her palm runs slick over it, knowing her hand must be just as red as his are now ).

“esmé,“ there isn’t much more to her voice than there has been to his, but she manages to get his name out without it wavering. ”listen to me,“ her head cants enough for her to see him again ( as best she can as her vision becomes increasingly blurred ), the expression on his face holding a bit more context for her now. she won’t tell him just how she knows ----- while she’s got an eye for catching character in a person’s face through a camera lens, she’s not so good as to gleam her newfound understanding from a glance or two. or ten.

“i’m not going anywhere. i'm here. i'm staying.” unless of course, it’s the both of them heading to the hospital. but based on the kit he’s got scattered across the top of table, there were never any intentions of his leaving to seek treatment to begin with. which means, there’s only one thing she can truly ask of him now. “let me help you.”

He didn't quite process pain the same way. His brain certainly understood that the impact wound, the torn flesh and muscle, the broken and severed blood vessels weren't right. He certainly knew that his nerves were on fire and ringing warning signs up to his brain. Proclamations of this is not right and look how you've destroyed us returning back the answer of so bleed. He'd be sore in the weeks to come while everything mended itself and more, mentally where he'd be stewing over the sour meeting and how it had turned so crimson in the first place. But pain did not register. It dulled itself into something more familiar, churned into the factory of his mind and let the machine gears of his cranium return that it would be answered in rage.

Rage.

Something so perfectly familiar. His first language - damndable and so easy to turn wicked and destructive. He allowed it to make so many decisions in his short, young life and not once did he mewl about what rage had wrought. A broken heart. But she had made that rage, not him. She had ignited that fire.

Emmy was not the same.

Before her now he did not feel that withering anger, the hot flames did not lick the sides of his face and turn the tops of his ears a fiery red. Sitting, perched, atop the bar stool where he was taller though he bowed over himself in that paused - frozen state of tending to his wound not unlike a throne, he did not feel quite so large. Her worry (and whatever else that crossed her delicate features in that time) made him shrink. He felt not like a man of substantial height and musculature ... he felt like a child.

James Everhart had the ability to freeze his blood when he lectured. Esmé could remember a time where he'd broken his smallest finger on his right hand and James' indifference was as harsh as if he'd been struck. This expression that had captured the bow of Emmy's lips was so foreign to him. It was enough to steal the ragged breath from him, and it left in a whisper that came out as a rasp for all of the effort of holding his breath ... which he hadn't even realized he'd been doing.

Let me see.

She hadn't bolted. She hadn't fled and slammed the door behind her, leaving a mess of his bloody rivulets and this strange but familiar feeling that blossomed in his chest. He blamed it entirely on the angry hole in his side, which he let his arm move away at her gesture but snagged the hem of his black sweater as he did. Why wasn't she running?

Fury gave way to curiosity and where Esmé perhaps should have allowed himself to focus on the bullet hole he instead watched Emilia. For her expression. For the tenseness in her shoulders. For how her body language might change subtly here or there to give way where words would not allow. He watched the pieces of effortlessly wavy hair untuck from behind her ear and fall over the crest of her cheek. He watched the way her own gem-green eyes took in the sight. He watched the shape of her lips when she asked how.

Ah yes, how.

Laundromat owners did not get shot. He didn't look roughed-up enough to lie about a mugging. He could attempt to deny the truth that his two worlds were colliding in real time right before his eyes but Esmé Everhart chose to believe that he wasn't much of a fool. This was a supernova, the death of a star, a bang so bright and brilliant and hot that it was undeniable and furious. When he finally blinked he felt the gears in his mind churn. He licked the dryness from his lips and found his voice - still a rasp from lack of use, from shouting earlier (cursing really).

"I got shot."

Obviously. He paused for a moment, let the words string together.

He wondered if she could hear the whir of parts inside, mechanical bits guttering for the damage done.

"Someone ... decided they did not want to do business with me any longer. They chose to leave the contract violently."

Most did. He studied her expression harder, let himself shake out a sigh, licked at his lips once more.

"It's ... it's worse than it looks." He hoped. It didn't feel too terribly, as far as gunshot wounds were concerned. And he had a few of those for comparison.

"Emilia."

[blzzrdstryr]

How do you think some of the yans (whoever you prefer to write for or have good ideas) would react to an infertile darling? Childe would definitely be the most pissed off about it, he's still not gonnq let you go tho.

Please ignore if this makes you uncomfortable! thank you in advance

Okay, I am going to group them and write short explanations:

Frustrated and lets you know this: Childe, Diluc

Childe loves kids, and wants to have some of his own. The moment he learns that you’re infertile, a rare flicker of genuine hurt flashes on his face - it’s incredibly hard to get under his skin and the knowledge that he won’t fulfill his rose colored fantasy does exactly that. He will get pouty and unusually quiet after that, fuming at you, before switching back to his cheery persona. You may not have kids of your own, but there's still plenty of opportunities - you both adopt, Childe can ask Dottore for some help, and he happens to have enough money to try every treatment possible. Childe prefers to view your infertility as a direct challenge to him.

Diluc is a weird one,because while he wants to father your children, he also made a lot of enemies, enemies that will target you and his children. Once he learns that you’re infertile, he will also grow disappointed - a small part of him cherished the idea of him and you looking after your children as they play around amone the grape vines. Diluc will try to appear supportive of you, yet you just can feel his frustration, he sucks at hiding his feelings.

Frustrated but doesn’t show it: Kaeya, Thoma

Kaeya isn’t personally hurt by your infertility, but the title of Khaenri’ah’s last hope does place a special burden on him and he needs to ensure that the Khaenri’ah line continues. Before meeting you he was content having a child with someone else, yet after his infatuation kicks in he gets fond of the idea of being a father to your kids. He won’t react in any way after you tell him the news, because it’s not about him.

Thoma would also love to have family with you - he’s happy just imagining your shared life and he’s content with either being a stay at home househusband or the breadwinner of the family. He will also get upset when he learns this, but he won’t show it because he doesn’t want you to get upset and you two can always adopt.

Indifferent: Albedo, Dainsleif, Xiao, Zhongli

Albedo, despite his very special views on birth and creation, isn’t phased by the revelation. There are many ways to fix this problem, as he is a master alchemist.

Dainsleif doesn’t have time nor energy to think about kids. His nation has fallen, abyss order is growing in power and Celestia might do something again. On the contrary, he’s a little relieved that he won’t accidentally bring anyone into this unjust, tumultuous world.

Xiao and Zhongli also didn’t plan children - they’re too old and burdened by responsibility. Xiao is a guardian yaksha, Zhongli even after his retirement still feels the urge to protect Liyue. They’re too old and jaded for kids.

[bajisbabe]

[author’s note] I rewrote this post THREE times...

# DON’T KNOW WHY I STILL TRY, SHE WONDERS WHY

“I don’t trust nobody, not even her.”

they accidentally hit you | Yandere!Mikey, Ran, Wakasa

warnings: accidental violence, brief mention of actual violence, implied kidnap, yandere, Mikey kicking reader, Ran hitting reader, Wakasa kicking reader.

anon said: “Request for a Yandere ran, Mickey and Wakasa where they accidentally hit you? Like they accidentally slap or kicked u too hard for any reason”

song: trust nobody, love nobody the same by sagun (feat. shiloh dynasty)

— is probably beating tf out of someone who thought they could get between you two; maybe someone who came to rescue you or tried to help you escape.

— he is about to end them with that legendary kick of his, but his foot catches your jaw because you thought it would be a great idea to jump in front of whoever Mikey is beefing with in a pathetic attempt to save their miserable life.

— and Mikey is able to slow the kick just enough so that you don’t get the full force, but you still get hit as it was far too late for him to stop when you suddenly jump in front of him like that.

— and you go flying.

— like you’re literally knocked off of your fucking feet.

— and he watches your body crumple on the floor as you land.

— you let out a lil’ yelp as you hit the ground.

— suddenly, he forgets all about the loser he’s beaten bloody and runs over to check on you.

— he kneels over you, tugging your limp body into his lap.

— he smooths back your hair, rubbing his thumbs over your temples as he softly calls your name.

— and when you don’t respond, he gets panicked and begins calling your name louder and louder until you answer with a groggy, “what?”

— he gets so angry at himself that he has to take it out on something, or rather someone.

— so he moves as though he is going to go back to kicking ass, but you weakly tug at his wrist and beg him not to.

— and he sees how weak and vulnerable you are at the moment, and how you’re begging him so sweetly for someone else’s life.

— he hesitates, but in the end, he gives up and leaves that person alone. even though he has already given them the beating of a lifetime.

— and he does his best to help you get somewhere safe where you can be treated without alerting the authorities of course.

— he feels really guilty about it and keeps apologizing.

— and if you ask him not to go after that person again, in this moment, when the guilt is eating him alive, he won’t.

— but only if you ask him now, while he still feels like shit about how things ended up.

— he’s not as smart as people give him credit for.

— he really is quite a brute.

— he swings on kids with bricks and batons in parking lots for fun.

— he is most likely testing out his new weapon, whatever it may be.

— maybe a brand new shiny, steel bat that’s sole purpose is to beat in the faces of anyone who tries to take you away from him.

— he had it custom made to ensure that it’s got the right weight to it.

— and he is just swinging it about when you happen to pop up out of nowhere.

— maybe you had heard all the swooshing and just wanted to see what was up.

— but you happen to come too close and Ran doesn’t even see you, having way too much fun testing out his new weapon.

— and Ran is just swinging, swinging, swinging.

— and then he turns and you’re right fucking there. but it’s too late to stop it.

— luckily enough for you, he is able to lift his hand just enough so that his fist hits you rather than the bat.

— but it still hurts.

— you’re not necessarily knocked off your feet, but you get hit and become dizzy.

— your legs give out and you fall to your knees, cheek aching.

— he immediately collapses to kneel in front of you, hands hovering in front of you.

— he’s too afraid to touch you. he thinks he might hurt you again.

— “sorry.” he blurts, mouth dry.

— this means a lot because Ran never apologizes.

— but he feels so fucking sorry.

— your eyes are glossy, your lower lip pulled between your teeth as you fight back tears.

— I don’t blame you. I KNOW that shit hurt 🤕

— “I’m sorry,” he blurts again. “Can I—is it okay if I—uhm, what do you want me to…?”

— He can’t figure out what to do or how to help you.

— he feels like shit, and he thinks you’re gonna hate him even more now.

— you just sniffle, taking a deep breath as you blink back tears.

— “can I… Is it okay if I…?” His hands jolt as though he’s trying to stop himself from touching you.

— he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to see you scared, or see you flinch.

— and you don’t really have much of a choice because he might have broken something in your face and you need some kind of help, so you take him up on his unsaid offer.

— you nod softly, swallowing a sob as your cheek aches painfully.

— he slowly tugs you into his arms, soothing his large hands over your back.

— he cups your face gently in his hands and tilts your face to get a better look.

— your eyes are stinging as he asks you where exactly it hurts.

— “Sorry,” he murmurs again. “I’ll get Rindou to check on you,” he says. “He’s good with medical shit.”

— actually thinks you look rather nice when crying but won’t mention it because he can read the room.

— coddles you and calls you all kinds of nicknames.

— “baby, I’m sorry.” / “it won’t happen again, sweetheart.” / “I didn’t mean to, honey.”

— sits there while Rindou patches you up, holding your hand (if you let him) and telling you that you’re doing so good whenever you clutch his hand hard or when you squeeze your eyes shut in pain.

— promises to buy you whatever you want to fix it.

— even if you insist that you don’t want anything, he’ll still get you something.

— probably still tells you that he’s sorry under his breath.

— he is so pressed about the situation that he doesn’t even use the shiny, steel bat he bought.

— it’s expensive and custom made, and he’s not gonna use it at all solely because he almost hit you with it.

— he thought you were someone else.

— when he heard someone creeping out of the hideout, he assumed it was an outsider who stumbled across the place and was trying to escape.

— and his reflexes are fast.

— so without thinking, he clocks you upside the head from behind.

— he most likely noticed that it was you he was about to hit but by then, it was too late to stop.

— but he doesn’t even try to hold back or slow the punch at all.

— he lets you take it full force.

— you are quite literally knocked off your fucking feet.

— and when you hit the ground, you’re gasping for air because you’re winded thanks to the impact of the fall.

— and he just peers over you, watching you with that resting bitch face of his.

— he doesn’t even apologize.

— he quietly asks you where you were going, knowing damn well you can’t respond because you cannot breathe.

— and he doesn’t help either.

— he just watches you sputter for air.

— your ribs could be broken.

— and if you get upset and scream about how he could have hurt you, he’ll just shrug and say that he pulled the kick so that you wouldn’t get hurt as bad.

— liar. 😔

— if you need any kind of patching up, he will help.

— but he will probably have something backhanded to say about how if you didn’t try to escape then this wouldn’t have happened.

— is a lil’ insensitive.

— your body is probably sore and aching and he doesn’t even care.

— might purposefully run his hands over the place where he knows it’ll hurt most just to watch your pretty face contort with subtle pain.

— might even take his fingers and dig them into the sensitive skin that suffered from the impact just to see if you’ll yell or cry.

— he finds you interesting and wants to see you make as many expressions as possible.

— expressions of pain are not excluded.

— would be a lil’ hurt if you flinched away from him after the whole ordeal.

— but he isn’t stupid, he could understand why you’d fear him. he just can’t find it in himself to care.

— not that he would intentionally hurt you.

— but if it happens, if happens 🤷🏾‍♀️

— might feel guilty if you show that you’re genuinely upset.

— if you want him to stop poking and prodding at your bruises, you’re gonna have to cry.

— he might go easy on you then, but that’s a might, not a will.

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin Assists the Jedi Council While On Medical Leave

AU brainstormed primarily by @atagotiak, @gelpenss, and myself.

Basically, a fix-it based in Anakin getting a peek into the daily life on the Council early, and accidentally Figuring Some Shit Out along the way, mostly because Palps Fucks Up.

So, Anakin gets injured in a way that limits him to Coruscant for a few weeks. He can still walk and talk, but he can't fight. The specific injury doesn't matter, just this:

Anakin runs errands on behalf of the council and sits in on meetings to take minutes as a "you're on medical leave but we need all hands on deck, congrats you get to be the secretary until we can send you on stabbing missions again" thing.

Also, there just aren't a whole lot of people with Anakin's clearance level. They had to send out Stass Allie to handle the mission that was originally next on Anakin's roster, and Anakin's the most convenient person to substitute into her position.

He's not super happy about this but he can more or less understand the point of it. Given that he gets antsy about needing to fight almost immediately, he can acknowledge the worth of having something useful to do, if only as the person who's writing down who says what and making sure everyone has the right file on hand.

(Besides, Obi-Wan jokes in a way that Anakin thinks might be encouraging, this is good practice if Anakin ever wants to be on the High Council himself!)

(This is a very helpful conversation.)

BASICALLY, Anakin is resigned to this but agrees because "Usually we have Master Allie handle this but we need her running that mission that was originally set for the 501st, so you get to fill in for her until you can switch back. Think of it as training for eventual mastery or admin or--listen, we're just really stretched thin."

Here's the key thing, though: Anakin isn't supposed to leave the Temple, for medical reasons, so Palpatine doesn't know Anakin is sitting in on Council meetings. They haven't met up since Anakin's last surgery, and because [muffled hand-wave reason] he didn't find out another way, like Anakin comming him or the Council giving him the heads-up about the change in attendance.

It's fine. He's just taking notes and doing preparatory research, he has the clearance, the Chancellor likes him anyway. Hell, they'd have had someone's Padawan doing this, before the war increased the necessary clearance levels. They'll toss in a quick message in the brief they send to Palps that he never reads anyway, and that's really all they need to do. Skywalker's getting some rounded experience and this way the medics won't be freaking out about him stressing his heart after getting electrocuted by trying to spar too early.

Palpatine doesn't talk directly to the Council, he just sends a recording the first time Anakin is there. It's a bit weird, but nothing goes wrong. Anakin's off-screen from whatever device they use to send a response, since he's not technically a member, just assisting for a bit on the part of Master Allie's duties that he's actually allowed to touch (and not the bits that are getting added to Mace, Plo, and Shaak's stuff).

The first four or so meetings are like that. Anakin starts having a bit of sympathy for the Council as he sees how many things they want to do that are hampered by the need for Senatorial approval, things that he would also want to do and didn't think required this much red tape.

About a week in, still mostly recordings with Anakin just sitting on the side playing paralegal, the wheel of fortune turns a few pegs.

Palpatine hands over a an order on the range of injury that a soldier should be treated for, "to ensure that republic resources aren't being wasted on clones that, while expensive, would actually be cheaper to replace than repair."

Oh, he dresses it up in prettier language than that. Anakin doesn't process it as such first.

The Chancellor manages to couch his phrasing in "prioritizing resources for taxpaying republic citizens and employees of the GAR," which... well.

The natborn commissioned officers pay taxes. The Jedi are employees. The clones are neither, because they're slaves.

Probably he frames it as the employees thing, very much the kinda language that sounds halfway ok unless you’re fluent in political bullshit.

And Anakin is really confused at first about why the council is upset by the order because, okay, he would PREFER to be able to use medical supplies on refugees when possible, but he understands prioritizing the soldiers?

He just looks up, totally lost, when someone groans and goes, "That's the third time this year, is he trying to get us all killed?"

And it vibes as such a genuine, aggrieved, sad reaction that Anakin is completely blindsided because it's not the sarcastic, petty resentment he kind of expected? It's just... desperate depression.

And someone gently has to explain that this is the third time they've had resources restricted to only GAR employees and that it's a polite way of saying "prioritize natborn officers, stop wasting resources on clones, we can replace them easier."

Or maybe he doesn't ask, because he's just there to take notes, not argue, and he can see the masters drawing up a response that amounts to "We would like to remind you that our soldiers do not fall into that classification, and to limit their access to our medical supplies is liable to cause a loss of life that we find unreasonably high. Please see the annotations attached to adjust wording so that the clones may receive the same level of care."

Anakin's internally just like "Yeah, that's phrased nice and addresses the main problem, Palpatine will obviously agree and change it!"

And then he comes in the next day and the response comes in and it's just dripping condescension about considering the clones actual people.

"This is why we can't use the bacta tanks on clones anymore, just the patches. We could use them at first, we had a few of the CCs get through fatal injuries with them, but they cut that off and said we could only use the tanks on Jedi and non-clone officers a few months ago. The Banking Clans keep tightening their belts on the army, and the Chancellor insists we put citizens first, and the clones aren't citizens. We've been arguing back as much as we can, but he keeps going on about the economy and we can't... we just can't, Skywalker. We're trying to save as many of our men as we can, but..."

Something like "Allocation of resources reiterated, the Kaminoans have assured the senate that the Jedi are far from exhausting the resources ordered."

And Anakin's like. He can't blame the council for lying about Palpatine's past or future actions. He just saw Palpatine's actions. Those actions were to order people under his control to throw away lives he saw as replaceable commodities.

These are his friends' lives.

His soldiers are being thrown away by a man in a tower that he trusted.

And then that man has the gall to suggest it's the council's fault.

Palpatine is good at what he does, especially in public, he dresses it up in flowery language and everything, but Anakin's just like "Those are my FRIENDS and also this is??? How slavers talked about their property on Tatooine???? FRIENDPATINE, WHAT THE FUCK."

Anakin can be passive aggressive sometimes as well as outright aggressive. So if he brings up the guidelines and why they make him upset in general terms, and Palpatine says something about how he’s sad the council doesn’t care about the clones...

Anakin, internally, having just watched the council scramble to save as many clones as possible within the guidelines that Palps handed down: Uh-huh.

(Anakin is just the gay horror teeth gif from queer eye.)

Just. “Yeah, funny you say that, Palpatine! Because as I remember, you told the council not to waste more resources than necessary while Mace Windu was arguing to expand the treatment range!”

Palps doesn't even have time to salvage the situation or attack Anakin because Anakin just bulldoze rants for fifteen minutes and then storms out.

Anakin... maybe does a little treason and gets a copy of the orders so he can ask Padme "Hey, can you explain the politics of this?" and doesn't tell her who wrote it so she isn't biased (he tells her that this is why he's not sharing the author's/speaker's name), and just lets Padme pick apart all the 'this is a nice way of saying they don't view the clones as people' details.

Alternately, someone on the Council sees Anakin dithering and manages to get him to admit that he's not great at political language and wants to ask someone to help him understand the full implications. The person--Mace? let's go with Mace--is aware that Anakin is on good terms with Senator Amidala, if not necessarily aware of the depth of said relationship. Mace points out that he's probably going to be seeing her soon just because he usually does and, as a Senator, she can get easy access to these sessions since they're not about specific missions, just allocation of resources, etc. It's not an optimal solution, but she's got a bit more free time than anyone else Anakin knows with the clearance levels, like Order members that are actively involved in the war effort.

Anakin dithers and panics and Mace, trying to be helpful, tells him that plenty of Jedi have made friends among the Senate over the years, didn't you know Qui-Gon Jinn was a personal friend of Former Chancellor Valorum?

At any rate, Anakin goes to Padme and asks her to explain it to him, because she knows how to phrase things so he gets it.

Anakin has to have her pause and he goes outside and destroys some things halfway through.

(Anakin maybe thinks back to the times Padmé or Obi-Wan were really obviously frustrated and when he asked, they said stuff like “I can’t stand Palpatine rn, sorry Anakin I know he’s important to you and you don’t want to talk about politics, let’s just talk about something else.”)

(Obi-Wan: I don’t trust Palpatine Anakin: you just don’t like politicians in general Obi-Wan: yes that is also true)

(Obi-Wan does like Bail and Padme but he does also talk a bit about how politicians generally aren’t to be trusted.)

[godstrayed]

Billy doesn’t have the same foresight Steve has it seems. There is just something about getting suspended in the immediate–unable to see past that, not fully realizing he’s going to run back into the wall of his problems.

He’s so easily stuck in the mud of his thoughts that he doesn’t think about how one second he was reluctant to touch Steve ever again in his life and another second he wants to help knowing only then his thoughts were going to ease up some—unable to put to words why it even matters because Billy has said and done so much to get this damn thing out of his head. Billy doesn’t think about how waiting for worrying later isn’t going to make Steve suddenly not aware or have an inkling of what Billy was feelin’ ‘cause he’s certainly not discreet with anything that he feels. How his thoughts aren’t entirely protected if Steve can puzzle it all out or find Billy’s signals. He hates the idea of that–wanting to remain unknown, veiled with his secrets and able to play it all off as something far cooler and indifferent than it is. 

The heightened colors just make Billy sick. Unfortunately, they’re a reminder of his precarious situation. Harsh, blunt, and unwelcomed. A ready promise of something that could ruin everything–a point of no return, something he can’t fully back pedal away from.

Billy waits expectantly for Steve’s answer. Had it been a robbery gone wrong? A freak accident on the staircase? Something worse? Something minor that just looked ugly? It hadn’t been anything Billy had suspected—a nightmare. He doesn’t really think he can make fun of Steve for that. After so many nightmarish dreams of his own (both when he was conscious and unconscious, living somewhat the same reality) he doesn’t think it’s funny. It’s just sad. 

Okay with touching Steve?——part of his dilemma was not thinkin’ it through fully. He’s already here already suffering the consequences for it. What would be the harm? He wanted to. He’d probably make a goddamn good nurse if it ever came down to it. He had been fixing himself up for as long as he could remember. At least he could ensure the other got his foot semi-properly looked at since he wasn’t sure how good or not 6 would be at it. (Another excuse to touch him.) Billy’s lips wet uneasily but he shakes his head, bending down and patting his leg to gesture for the other to give him his foot. It was fine. Just a little color. 

But it wasn’t just a little color when Billy’s fingers wrap around Steve’s ankle to bring his foot further, thwarting his plans of going out by potentially getting blood on him–getting that bright slap in the face, like a lightbulb about to go out because it’s shining so bright. His fingers linger there for a second as he tries to adjust to it, free hand pushing open the first aid kit when he thinks he has a wrap on himself.

“What was your nightmare about?” 

There is a bit of strategic planning to his questions. He won’t have to answer any himself and can focus on something else than his own mind and worries. The red is so red–plucking the tweezers to try to get the glass out as quickly as possible. It reminds him of when he was just a boy playing operation with his mom before things got really bad–or they could have already been bad and he hadn’t noticed yet–doing his best to keep his steady and win the game. Only this wasn’t a game. “Probably gonna hurt,” he warns, finding the most obvious and easiest shard of glass in his foot and pulling it swiftly, ignoring the uncomfortable tinge of his own discomfort ‘cause he’s causing the pain.

ㅤBilly could save whatever he wanted to catastrophize for later, if it made him feel better, but the fact of the matter was that he didn't hide his emotions from Steve on the other end of that connection at all and that really meant that it didn't matter if he freaked out right then or hours after the fact. Steve would know, just like he knew that the bruises they both (he assumed) wore had hurt like a bitch initially and he figured they were still sore on the other, since they'd turned into just painted on marks for him. It also meant that he knew right then and there how Billy was feeling, just like Billy was picking up his anxiety and fear, even if it was leaking out and he was trying to inject himself with more calm. He was trying, but it was taking time.

ㅤThe explanation about the car made enough sense, he guessed, though he looked at Billy a little lingeringly at the additional information about not wanting his neighbors to see it, like he was trying to figure him out. He was, actually, and specifically he was trying to put the emotions he was feeling from that connection to the words he was hearing, and he was getting an idea as to what the issue was there. It wasn't surprising at all, but Billy's end was... confusing. There was fear, shame, those were expected, but he thought maybe there was something else, too.

ㅤHe held his tongue on it for now, just settling to make whatever this was easier even as his own attention was just utterly stuck on the brightness of the colors thanks to the unexpected touch from Billy. The red of his own blood wasn't his favorite part, since that was a little more alarming in full color, but he liked the blue in Billy's eyes and the blonde in his hair, and even the neutral colors of his mom's decorating were brighter and less boring. Still utterly lacking in personality, but there was a little more to look at now. A small part of him wished they could do this more often, just without the nightmare and the blood.

ㅤIt wasn't that small of a part, and it also wished Billy didn't hate him.

ㅤDid Billy hate him, though? He was there, wasn't he? Steve still didn't understand that part, but Billy had certainly looked and felt worried, like he might care. He seemed tired, as well, and it was surprising how many of his emotions weren't anger. There always seemed to be heat, but Billy had a lot going on in his head, Steve was guessing. His own calm was starting to slowly slide back in with his focus on Billy, like he could distract his own turmoil with the other's, though he flinched just a little when he was accused of not answering the question. He did not miss that Billy hadn't answered his. There was a thought to lying or just not giving him an answer at all, but he sucked in a deep breath and decided fuck it.

ㅤ"Nightmare. Bad one. Must've hit the glass as I woke up, but I was going for the light," he said, tone firm and a tilt to his head like he was waiting for Billy to make fun of him or say something mean as he watched him. If he took the opening, Steve would just deal with his anxiety and bleeding foot himself, so it was honestly just better to get it out of the way early, especially since he wasn't even sure Hargrove would be up for playing nurse. "Are you okay with touching me to do this or do you want me to just do it?"

[redrobin-detective]

Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached. 

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control. 

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule. 

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown. 

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments. 

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand. 

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents. 

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture. 

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

[ghostofanovelwriter]

(1)

Phillip starts by hiding David’s hat.

It seemed like the obvious first step. All he has to do is grab it from the closet before the guests arrive and toss it in the trunk along with David. He ignores Brandon’s impressed expression as he fixes the tablecloth.

“Good thinking,” he tells him.

“I’m just covering all of our tracks,” he mumbled, leaving the conversation there.

But come later that evening, much to his dismay, Rupert’s suspicions do not cease. Phillip tries not to slip up like before, but even back in prep school, Rupert always knew how to hit the right nerve when he wanted information from someone. Like a bomb-sniffing dog, he stalked around him and Brandon as if waiting for one of them to slip up and admit they were hiding something.

“Strange that David’s so late tonight, isn’t it?” Rupert said in an offhand manner. But Phillip could feel him eyeing him, watching him for any reaction. Could it really be possible he can smell a guilty conscience? If anyone could, it’d be Rupert. “Even if he isn’t the most punctual fellow, you’d think he’d be on time when he knows his father and fiancee would be here.”

“Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?” Phillip replied. He shouldn’t have drunk so much; the hand holding his glass trembled slightly. “He and Janet weren’t even engaged yet.”

Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, and at once, Phillip had realized his mistake. Past tense. He had referred to David in the past tense. Fuck. Clearing his throat, he mumbled a quick excuse about checking on dessert and left the room, though he was sure Rupert was still watching him.

All it took was that one little slip-up, and Phillip was right back to being his paranoid, anxious self. He kept clamming up during conversations while Rupert was nearby, so he resigned himself to playing the piano, trying to calm his nerves.

“Stop looking so tense,” Brandon whispered into his ear as he played. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat off Phillip’s brow. “You’re sweating up a storm. People will start to notice. Everything’s going splendidly, no need to worry.”

Not stopping his playing, Phillip glanced up at Rupert, who looked away, acting as though he wasn’t just watching him and Brandon conspire. “He’s onto us,” Phillip whispered back. “I just know he is.”

He didn’t have to say his name for Brandon to understand. “All the more reason to act like everything’s normal.” Brandon gave him one final squeeze on the shoulder before rejoining the guests.

***

A gunshot and a bleeding hand later, Phillip was slumped on the piano bench, cursing God for making it come to this.

Brandon and Rupert were still arguing. Well, more like Brandon was pleading to Rupert with that crazed look in his eye and stuttering away while Rupert stood there, the look of dread spreading across his face aimed at his former prized pupil. It didn’t matter anymore. It all sounds like garbled nonsense to Phillip, anyhow.

He buries his face in his arm, resting on the piano.

“Did you think you were God, Brandon?” Rupert’s voice trembled throughout the apartment as Phillip mouthed along, hearing it all before. “Is that what you thought when you choked the life from him? Is that what you thought when you served food from his grave?”

He knew this monologue like gospel now. It reels in his mind like a broken record.

“What are you doing?” Brandon demanded as Phillip whispered the words to himself.

“It's not what I'm doing, Brandon. It's what society is going to do…” Rupert said solemnly. “What that will be, I don’t know. But I can guess, and I can help...You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

Phillip squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to come. Gunshots.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(2)

He begins ensuring Rupert doesn’t get a chance to leave anything behind.

“Don’t forget your cigarette case!” Phillip called out right before his old housemaster stepped out the door.

Phillip won’t give him the excuse to come back.

“Hm?” Rupert took a second to check his pockets, finding them missing a certain item. “Oh! Yes, thank you, Phillip. I’ll forget my own head next.”

He took the cigarette case from the outstretched hand and left. Phillip stared at the door for a few moments until he was sure he could no longer hear footsteps on the other side.

This time, it will work. After so many attempts, tonight practically felt rehearsed. Everything went smoothly—Phillip kept his calm and left no clues for Rupert to pick up on. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

So why did he still feel so anxious?

Brandon, as always, couldn’t stop smiling. “ ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ ” he said sarcastically as they headed to the living room. He gave a mocking bow. “‘Good night.’ ‘Good night.’ ‘It’s been charming.’ Phillip, this party really deserves to go down in history!”

Phillip silently poured the two of them drinks. Maybe the alcohol will get rid of this pit in his stomach.

“Well?” Brandon said, spreading out on the couch. “Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t care about the party,” Phillip said darkly as he carried Brandon’s glass to him. He downed his own drink in one go. “I’ll only be happy once we’re down at your mother’s farm.”

Brandon eyed him as he was already back at the drinks tray, pouring another glass. “Determined to get drunk, aren’t you?”

I am drunk. Phillip stopped himself before he could say those words. He had said them so often that it had become a habit, but he realized these words weren’t true. He had barely had a drink that night, determined to keep a clear mind until Rupert was out of the apartment. “I’m celebrating,” he said flatly.

“You really ought to lighten up, Philip,” Brandon said, standing up from the couch and walking up behind him. “Nobody suspected a thing.” He whispered that last part in his ear, cautious of Mrs. Wilson in the other room. “In just a few hours, we’ll be home free.”

Phillip couldn’t stand it anymore. He twirled around and hugged Brandon tightly, burying his face into his shoulder. Brandon grunted in surprise but didn’t push him away.

“Phillip? What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of his back.

He almost couldn’t bear to say anything, just wanting to relish in this moment. “Let’s disappear,” Phillip said, raising his head to face Brandon. “Just the two of us. We can leave tonight like we planned. We just don’t have to come back.”

Brandon furrowed his brow, taken aback by his partner’s behavior. He glanced at the door to make sure Mrs. Wilson wasn’t nearby. “Lower your voice,” he said in a hushed tone. “What are you talking about? Of course, we can’t do that. It makes no sense. They’ll suspect us right away.”

“But Brandon—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Mrs. Wilson walked into the room, and they had to pull apart so she wouldn’t catch them hugging. After that, it was the same routine. They greeted Mrs. Wilson out the door, finally getting the apartment to themselves so they could start to clean up their crime properly.

“You know Phillip, I’ve been thinking,” Brandon said after hanging up the phone from calling the garage. “We deserve a real holiday after this is all over.” He was clearly trying to appease Phillip after his freakout from earlier. He said nothing as he walked over to the windows to draw the curtains.

“Where would you like to go? Of course, I think we really should come back here for a few days first. Otherwise, it might look a little—”

“What was that?” Phillip said, interrupting him. Through the window, he saw something flash at the bottom of the building on the sidewalk. His heart started to race. It couldn’t be…

“What was what?” Brandon said, peering out to see for himself. “Honestly, Phillip. Tell me what’s going —”

The phone rang. Phillip’s insides froze.

***

It was a ruse. He knew it was. There was Rupert on the other line, claiming to have left behind a lighter despite Phillip double-checking the apartment before the guests had left. He was lying, trying to find an excuse to return to the flat. Which meant only one thing: he knew .

“Look around, Brandon! Do you see any lighter anywhere?” Phillip half-yelled, waving his arms around. “He’s caught on! He’s lying; Rupert’s not the type to leave behind anything! Just say it isn’t here. Call him out!”

“And how will that make us look?” Brandon hissed back. “We’d practically be telling him something’s up if we don’t let him in.”

Phillip groaned. Why? Why is it that someone as brilliant as Brandon had to be so blinded whenever Rupert was in the picture? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

“Rupert? Come on up."

***

“—Well, that's all we've done, Rupert. That's all Phillip and I have done!” Brandon exclaimed. “He and I have lived what you and I have talked! I knew you'd understand because you have to, don't you see? You have to!”

Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the suffering of all men.

Is that why it’s so painful to watch Brandon speak to Rupert with that hopeful glint in his eye? Hope that his mentor may forgive him, even understand them for their actions?

Phillip eyed the gun in Rupert’s hands, wondering if there was any chance of catching him by surprise and taking the weapon back for himself. The possibility was weak, considering Rupert had a couple of years of military experience on him, but he was grasping at the straws.

But before Phillip could even consider pouncing on him, Rupert was already saying those cursed words.

“You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

Rupert fired a total of three bullets, and the room went eerily still as chaos was breaking out just on the street below. There they stood, in the same position as always, playing their respective parts.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(3)

The table-setting. That’s where it all started. To hell with Brandon and his so-called “masterpiece.” It’s always one step too far.

“Oh, come on, Brandon. Let’s just stay in the dining room,” Phillip insisted, grabbing the candlesticks from his hands. “It’s just not practical. Mrs. Wilson will throw a fit if she sees we touched her table setting.”

“So? It’s not her party,” said Brandon, giving him a cheeky smile. “Besides, this way, no one will try and open it.”

“You’re making more trouble than what it’s worth,” Phillip argued. He jutted his lip in that way he knows makes him look upset and makes Brandon go soft on him. “Please, Brandon… it would make me feel better.”

Brandon shifted his jaw in thought. After a moment, he let out a deep exhale. “Oh, all right,” he sighed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “If you’re going to make such a fuss over it.”

Relief flooded Phillip’s chest as they returned the candlesticks to the dining room.

***

“‘The Mistletoe Bough,’ it’s called. Have you heard of it?”

This is not how it’s supposed to go. Rupert is the one who brings up the ‘Mistletoe Bough,’ not Brandon. And Rupert only brings it up because they dined in the living room, which isn’t the case now. The trunk is in the other room, out of their sight, so why is Brandon bringing up ghost stories from their school days?

“Oh, not this again,” Rupert said, chuckling lightheartedly. They all sit around the dining table in the middle of eating. “One was always turning up in the bedtime stories he told in prep school. That one in particular is your favorite, isn’t it?”

Phillip already knew the answer. He gritted his teeth. Of course, he should’ve seen this coming. It’s been this way since school. Brandon always has to show off how much more clever he is than the others. And if he can’t show off his masterpiece in the living room, he might as well brag about it in the dining room. All evening long, he keeps making one brazen remark after another, each hinting closer at where David could possibly be. And Brandon was being bolder, too, now, all because Phillip suggested a different location for dinner. Not even different, the same!

Brandon gave his devilish smile. “But, of course,” he said, answering Rupert’s question. “I mean, it’s just so macabre, isn’t it? Just the thing for a young boy to enjoy at night.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me,” Janet chimed in curiously. “What’s the ‘Mistletoe Bough?’”

“It’s this story,” Brandon explained.

“It’s unimportant,” said Phillip, interrupting before he could say more. He should’ve realized sooner. Rupert may be observant, yes, but what need is there for that when Brandon is so eager to give away the entire ruse himself? Even when it comes to murder, all Brandon can think about is impressing his mentor. “It’s childish.”

“Oh goody, that’s my favorite kind,” Mrs. Atwater said. “Go on, dear. Tell us the story.”

“Well, it’s about this lovely young woman—”

“Brandon!” Phillip interjected.

“She was a bride-to-be,” Mr. Kentley suddenly continued as he fixed his glasses. No one seemed to notice Phillip’s small outburst. Nobody except Brandon and Rupert that is. “On her wedding day, she playfully hid herself in a chest. Unfortunately, it had a spring lock. Fifty years later, they found her skeleton.”

The sound of shattered glass captured everyone’s attention. Phillip looked down at his hand— once again, he had accidentally snapped his glass into two.

“Oh, dear. Your glass!” Mrs. Atwater exclaimed. “You’ve hurt yourself, boy. Your hand’s bleeding!”

Phillip held his hand tenderly, keeping it away so the blood wouldn’t stain the tablecloth. “It’s just a cut, that’s all,” he assured, glad for the change in subject.

“What on earth happened?” Brandon said, frowning deeply. He never liked seeing Phillip hurt. Not in the usual way. He always acted like it was a personal offense whenever any sort of injury burdened Phillip’s body.

Especially with his hands. He always gave special attention to Phillip’s hands.

“Your hands are your livelihood,” Brandon had told him once in bed. He pressed a gentle kiss on the tips of his fingers. “They’re what makes you special. We need to make sure to keep them safe.”

“Nothing,” Phillip lied, avoiding eye contact. Mr. Kentley, who was sitting next to him, offered his handkerchief, which he took. “Thank you. The glass was cracked, and it broke, that’s all.”

“We’ll go to the bathroom,” Brandon announced, standing up from his seat. “We keep the bandages there. Come on, Phillip.”

“It’s really fine,” Phillip mumbled but allowed himself to be dragged into the bathroom that was attached to their bedroom.

Brandon dug around the cupboard to find the first aid kit as Phillip took a seat on the toilet lid. “Honestly, and you call yourself a grown man,” Brandon complained as he turned on the faucet. Gently, he directed Phillip’s hand to the sink, wincing alongside him as the warm stream of water cleaned his cut.

“I’m sorry.”

“You really should be more careful,” Brandon nagged, drying off his hand with a hand towel. He took out one of the plasters from the kit and began tenderly applying it to the palm of Phillip’s injured hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Why did you have to go and tell that story?” Phillip said, feeling the frustration bubble up again. Brandon raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that what this is all about?” He let out a giddy laugh. “Please, Phillip! As if anybody could piece together what I was referring to! Now it just looks like you’ve made a big deal out of nothing.”

“Maybe not. But all those comments you’ve been making, too. It’s like you want us to get caught!” Phillip could still picture Rupert’s stare, peering deep into the truths of his soul.

“You don’t need to worry; I won’t let that happen,” Brandon said, cupping his cheek. “Just a couple more hours. Then we’ll be on our way to Mother’s farm. Don’t you see, Phillip? It’s going all according to plan!”

Phillip gazed up at him, saying nothing.

***

It all goes according to plan. But maybe that’s the problem. The party goes on, David never appears, and everyone leaves worried. Living room or dining room, Rupert will always get suspicious. It doesn’t matter how many hats Phillip hides or cigarette cases he picks up, Rupert will always find a way back, or Brandon always lets him.

And it always ends up in the same place.

If only he could cover his ears, but that still wouldn’t stop Rupert’s insufferable voice ringing in his ears.

“You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(4)

“Please, Brandon, just pretend we’re not home!”

Phillip pleaded with him. Begged. Shook him by the shoulders with desperation in his voice. He didn’t care anymore about how pathetic he sounded. He just wanted it all to be over. At this point, Phillip’s lost count of how many times he’s failed, but he’ll continue to try until he and Brandon are finally free from this nightmare.

“With all these lights on?” Brandon said, sounding exasperated with him. “Answer it, Phillip.”

“I don’t want to,” he said, shaking his head. “You and I both know it’s not the garage man or Mrs. Wilson. Just this once, ignore it .”

“What’s going on with you? You’re not normally like this.”

“I’m not normally a murderer either!”

“You’re behaving like a child,” Brandon huffed.

Phillip shook his head. He just didn’t get it. It always goes downhill once that doorbell rings. Once they let Rupert back into the apartment. He ruins everything. If only he weren’t in the picture, they could be free.

“Look at the time,” Phillip said, trying his best to reason as doorbell rang for the umpteenth time. “It’s late. Whoever it is, they’ll understand.”

“Use your head,” Brandon chastised, stacking the books back on the trunk. “How will that look on us when the police start investigating in a couple of days? Our alibis will mean squat just because of that one window of time somebody couldn’t reach us!”

Brandon began making his way to the phone, and in a last ditch attempt, Phillip grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back, pressing their lips together.

Just forget about Rupert , Phillip thought to himself as he locked himself in a desperate kiss with the man he loves. He held Brandon’s sleeves tightly in his fists as he felt a hand bury itself in his hair. You don’t need him. You have us now.

If only they could stay like this forever, and let the rest of the world fade away. He let Brandon lick into his mouth for a few moments before beginning to drag his teeth along his jaw and down his neck. Brandon held him close by the waist so Phillip took this as a chance to place his thigh in between his legs and roll his hips, iinciting Brandon to groan.

“That’s enough,” he said suddenly, breaking the kiss and pulling away, breathless. His lips were a bright pink and his clothes a little ruffled and Phillip could only assume he looked the same. “You’re playing mean, now, Phillip. And now we’ve made our person wait.”

Brandon fixed himself as quickly and neatly as possible and gestured for Phillip to do the same as he went to the phone.

“Brandon, wait—” It was too late.

***

Phillip couldn’t tell who he was angrier at. Rupert, for having to be the condescending egoist that can’t mind his own business and always acting all high-and-mighty each time he turns the two of them to the police. Or Brandon, who’s as equally haughty and always has to show off his games to Rupert, which every time, without fail, becomes their ultimate downfall.

“You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

At this point, dying would be a bliss.

Three shots fire.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(5)

He hid the gun from Brandon.

Not because he thought it was too dangerous. Not because it would’ve stopped Rupert from figuring it out. But because he decided it was about time to take matters into his own hands.

He’s had enough. This time, he would finish the job himself.

Phillip aimed the gun at Rupert. He would kill him tonight; he was sure of it. All those times before, he had hesitated, partly out of drunkenness and mainly out of fear for his own mortality, but tonight, he was sober as a priest and had nothing left to lose anymore. Did he ever? His hands have been tainted from the very beginning.

Rupert was holding his hands in the air. The sight was so ridiculous it almost made Phillip want to laugh aloud. Imagine, the Rupert Cadell at his mercy. Oh, how the tables turn.

“Now, Phillip,” Rupert said calmly as if the gun aimed at him didn’t affect him. His voice was steady, no more different than when he would chastise a student for sneaking around after curfew. “I hope you’ve thought this through.”

“Of course, he hasn’t. Rupert, Phillip just isn’t in his right state of mind right now,” Brandon said hurriedly. For the first time, he looked unsure of himself. He looked to Phillip and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing? You’ll get yourself killed, Phillip. Just hand that over and—”

“Oh, shut it!” Phillip snapped, jerking the gun, causing both Rupert and Brandon to clamp their mouths closed. “Both of you! For once in your lives, just shut it!” He glared at Rupert with menace in his eyes.

“This is all your fault. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you!”

Now the realization was clear. The very thing Phillip should’ve done at the beginning to prevent it all from going down: from the start, they had chosen the wrong victim. David didn’t deserve to die, Rupert did. He was the root of all their problems.

His words still didn’t seem to faze Rupert. “I’m sorry you think that way.” His voice was soft but was like a grating instrument inside Phillip’s skull. “But there’s nothing I did that could’ve lead you to try something like this—”

This time, Phillip really did laugh. He laughed harder than he had all night. All of these nights. Brandon and Rupert stared at him as if he had lost his minds. Maybe he had.

“Nothing you did,” Phillip said with a cruel scoff. “They may not hang men for crimes like yours, Rupert, but that doesn’t make you any less guilty than Brandon and I!”

“Phillip!” Brandon snapped. “Watch your mouth!”

“I won’t!” Phillip shot back. “I’ve had my fill of it! I’ve watched my tongue for too long now and nobody ever listens! Not even you, Brandon. Well, not this time!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rupert begin to open his mouth.

No. He wouldn’t let him get the last word in like he always did. Using that silver tongue of his to always get what he wanted. As if reading his mind, Brandon immediately tried to step in.

“Phillip, no—” He pulled the trigger.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Three shots fired. Only this time, they hit a target. And finally, there was quiet.

Brandon stumbled backwards, collapsing on the chair, looking horrified at what Phillip had done. Rupert’s blood had already begun to pool on the floor and Phillip had never seen such a serene expression on his old housemaster’s face.

In that moment, he understood what Brandon had meant when he had asked how he felt when they killed David earlier that even. What he said about feeling tremendously exhilarated.

Of course they’ll be caught this time. He won’t try to disguise that. But, oh, to be caught on his own terms for once. That was its own form of freedom.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(+1)

“Inmate no. 9305, you may enter.”

They led Phillip into the room, smaller and cleaner than he expected. Brighter lights too.

The chains around his wrist which he had gotten used to had never felt heavier to drag than during that short distance from the door to the chair.

It was chilly. He still wasn’t used to the shaved haircut they had given him just hours prior. Phillip barely recognized himself in the large mirror that covered the wall in front of him as they strapped him down. He suspected that it was one-way, meaning there was probably a crowd of people watching him on the other side. A part of him wished to see them if only to be able to make eye contact with another human being rather than his own reflection. Even the guards in the room with him wouldn’t meet him in the eye. The only sounds in the room was the uncomfortable shuffling of feet as they prepared him.

It had been a longtime since he had felt the company of another human being. They had executed Brandon just a couple months ago. Though, it hardly mattered—they had been kept in separate prisons since their convictions. If there was any sort of comfort he could take from this, at least he could die knowing he would be reunited with his love soon.

Phillip thought he would’ve cried. He thought he would’ve screamed or struggled. Anything. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, anymore. All that mattered was lost now.

As the final touch, they put a blindfold over his eyes. A kindness he was grateful for, since it meant his final view didn’t have to be staring at that gaunt face of his that had once been so naive but happy.

Phillip could still move his fingers, so he began tapping against the arm of his chair. And perhaps out of memory or out of instinct, he begins playing Mouvement Perpétuel No 1. by Francis Poulenc. More than fresh food or soft linens, the one thing he missed the most since imprisonment was his piano. Even if it wasn’t real, it brought him a little comfort.

But in the end, old habits still died hard and human nature always prevails. Phillip’s mind reeled as though it hadn’t been turning to mush sitting in a cell all day. He thought about that day. That evening. That party. Could it have gone differently? Could he have saved them both? It was like time had stood still for him since that day, and he was still in that living room. Reliving those fleeting moments over and over again, trapping himself in his own version of purgatory.

However, eventually, different questions took over Phillip’s mind. Questions about his impending fate. Would it hurt? Would it be quick? Would they even give him a warning?

He did not have to ponder for long, because just a couple moment after the guards had properly made their way out the room, he felt it.

In a split second, there was only silence. Phillip did not even hear his screams echoing in the room.

***

Outside the room, the warden looks at his watch to check the time.

Phillip Morgan, age 32, executed by the electric chair on January 28, 1960, for the murder of David Kentley. Time of death: 12:01 am.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rope (1948) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Phillip Morgan/Brandon Shaw Characters: Phillip Morgan, Brandon Shaw, Rupert Cadell Additional Tags: Groundhog Day, timeloop, bleak ending, Phillip tries to be assertive and fails, electric chair, POV Phillip, Purgatory, Flashbacks, 5+1 Things Summary:

Over and over again, Phillip relives that fateful day with no escape. Or 5 times Phillip tries to save him and Brandon, and the one time he didn’t.

Hello. New to the fandom so I decided to write a little thing instead of studying. Enjoy!

[reidyoulikeabook]

Personal Google

4 times Spencer knows the answer, and the 1 time he doesn’t.

Summary: Spencer is your own personal Google. He always knows the answer to anything you ask him.

Warnings: Pining, slow burn-ish (?), reader and Spencer are both idiots who aren’t acknowledging their feelings for each other. Some mentions of a case and case-typical violence. No references to the gender of the reader!

Word count: 2k (this ran away from me)

A/N: Part two to this is here!

Requests: open!!

“Hey Spence?” You call, barely looking up from your phone as you scroll through Twitter, “What’s a hedgefund?”

“Are you reading about the GameStop stock?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

He clears his throat, and you look up at him, “Okay. A hedgefund is a way for accredited investors to invest in a way that minimises the risk to their own assets. Without getting too complicated, because it can get really convoluted, it’s basically just a way for rich people to get richer a lot of the time because a prerequisite for investing in the majority is having a high net income or a high net worth to begin with.”  

You smile, “So basically rich people are getting screwed?”

“Something like that.”

“Good,” You respond, putting your phone away.

You swear you hear a little laugh escape his mouth as he turns back to the computer at his desk.

***

You’re sat on the jet, in your usual seat next to him, when everything starts to go pear-shaped. It jolts a little, sending you knocking into his side. You grimace.

“It’s just a little turbulence,” Hotch says, “Probably because of the storm coming from the East. We should be landing soon.”

Rationally, you realise there’s nothing to be afraid of. But it’s easier said than done to keep rational when the plane’s rattling like a pack of smarties and your head is bashing against Spencer’s bony shoulder every five seconds.

He senses your unease, tentatively reaching across to take hold of your hand. His instinct is to supply statistics about plane crashes but something in him tells him you won’t respond too well if he tells you the odds of getting in a small plane crash are higher than a regular commercial flight but still lower than the chances of being involved in a motor vehicle accident. Instead, he chooses a different tactic.

“It’ll be alright, we’ve been in the air for two hours and,” He squints at his watch, “Forty-three minutes. This flight’s two hours fifty-eight tops.”

You nod, “Hey Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember this morning when you were telling me about the French dancing plague and we got interrupted by the call about the case?”

You don’t have to say anything more, he immediately launches into a spiel about France in 1615: the death of crops, how the people felt they were being spited by God, the whole thing. He gestures wildly with his free hand, but the hand that lies atop of yours doesn’t budge an inch. You rub small circles on it with your thumb, which goes unacknowledged. Privately, you’re a little disappointed. Privately, he’s afraid you’ll stop if he points it out.

***

It’s been a long and fruitless day. The local PD had been worse than useless, they were so reluctant to accept that anybody from their town could possibly have been responsible for what was going on that it felt like a constant battle to get anything done. You’d been out interviewing possible witnesses from the local bar. Well, trying to, you would have been a lot more successful if the Sheriff hadn’t constantly been under your feet, undermining your questions and generally resulting in making you look like an idiot.

Hotch had chewed him out in the end, relinquishing you from interview duty to help Spencer with the geographical profile back at the station. He’s scribbling away on the map while you slump in the chair, a little defeated.

“Hey Spence?”

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not taking his eyes off the section he’s just crossed out.

“How come you’re ruling out that side of town?”

He flips the whiteboard pen in his hands, returning its cap before turning around to you, “A lot of the area over there is industrial. I’ve been combing through to get a closer look, but it doesn’t look like our unsub would have the kind of privacy he needs. There are a lot of factories, granted, but they’re pretty much all occupied. He’s meticulous, I don’t think he’d take the risk of working in an environment where he couldn’t control anything and risking getting himself caught. And from what we know about him he certainly isn’t affluent enough to rent property on that side of town. Rent is almost three times as expensive there,” he gestures with his hands, tapping the lid of the pen on the area he means, “I think he’s more likely to be from the northmost part of town.”

You smile, “I don’t know how you do that.”

He opens his mouth to respond before seeing the softness in your eyes, realising you’re not asking for an explanation. You’re giving him a compliment. His chest feels a little warm.

***

You can’t sleep that night, despite how exhausting your day has been. You’d think the physical and mental exhertion would knock you out but instead you’re sat on your bed, idly flipping through TV channels. Not much is on except some old NCIS re-runs, and oddly enough you don’t feel like watching a crime show.

You could text Spencer. The thought appears in your head of its own accord, without your consent.

You could though.

10:12pm - You

You’d think after a day like today I’d be able to get some rest

10:13pm - Spencer

You can’t sleep?

10:13pm - You

No, sorry, I didn’t think you’d be asleep

10:14pm - Spencer

I can’t sleep either, don’t worry. Do you want to come over to my room? I have a documentary about Pearl Harbour I was going to watch

10:14pm - Spencer

Or we could do something else. Not sure if Pearl Harbour is more fun for you than struggling to fall asleep

10:15pm - You

A Pearl Harbour documentary sounds great

Thankfully you’d had the forethought to bring nice sleeping attire rather than your old ratty ones. You’d learnt your lesson before, when your presence had been required in the middle of the night and you’d had to scramble down to team meetings in pyjama bottoms that had a hole in the right thigh.

You take a quick look at yourself in the mirror, some anxiety fluttering in your stomach for some reason.

It’s odd. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been over to Spencer’s room for crying out loud, I mean he’s the person you’re closest to on the team and your best friend and your private yearning for him is mostly   inconsequential. Mostly. Except you fix your hair and smooth down your top a little anyway.

He’s only three doors down and it’s easy enough to slip quietly into his room. He sits on the bed, two glasses of water resting on the bedside table, his laptop resting by his knees. He’s illuminated by the bedside lamp next to him, and his hair looks fluffy as hell. No doubt from him running his own hands through it in frustration today. He smiles at you, patting the space next to him.

You pad across and join him, “Hey Spence.”

“Hi.”

His laptop isn’t particularly loud, and the screen isn’t very big, so you end up sat quite close to him. The laptop rests on his lap. You hesitate before nuzzling in against him, feeling how his breath catches in his chest as your head rests against his on the bedframe.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He answers, a small content smile playing on his lips, “Yeah this is okay.”

***

You’re not sure when or how you fell asleep but you wake up with a start to the sound of pounding on the door. And you’re not in your own bed. You briefly acknowledge the warmth next to you before it’s gone, Spencer leaping out of bed to answer the door.

“We’ve been-” Emily stands in the doorway, the bedroom lamp that you must have neglected to turn off allowing her to catch a glimpse of your dazed face, “Reid, why is ____ in your room?”

Spencer opens his mouth, flustered and unsure of what to say, floundering between looking at you both for a moment before  Emily rescues him. The digital clock obnoxiously blinks the time: 2:18am.

“Okay we’re definitely talking about this later but there’s another body, Hotch wants us all down at the station in 15.”

It occurs to you, as you rush embarassed from Spencer’s room, apologising to him at least five times on your way out, that the only thing standing between you and a million questions about your personal life is the focus on an unsub who you’ll hopefully catch today. You shrug your clothes over your head, replacing them with fresh ones and pulling on your shoes. The jet home is going to be fun.

—-

You were right to be hopeful about today. The unsub is tracked down and arrested by the time night comes around. His arrest is clean, no hostages and no shots fired. Really, in your line of work, it was the best possible outcome.

Hotch made the call that you’d spend another night here, since there was paperwork that’d need to be taken care of in the morning and some final loose ends that required wrapping up. You suspected some small part of it was because J.J wanted to ensure you made nice and left things on good terms with the local PD before you left, since there’d been a lot of headbutting throughout the case. Spencer had also been completely right about the geographical profile, the unsub had been working and killing from a rundown ramshackle house in the northmost suburb.

Speaking of Spencer, you’d barely acknowledged each other since this morning. Sure, you’d shared rooms together before, even beds when the occasion had called for it, but you’d never been so intimate before.

Maybe it was best for you both if you just ignored the whole thing entirely, carried on as normal. Yeah. Yeah that’s what you’d do.

You worried about the meaning of anything you said being lost over text so you headed to his room, knocking on his door. It brought a small smile to your face to think how you’d been on the other side of it the last time someone knocked.

He opens it, just slightly, before relaxing when he sees it’s you, “Hey.”

“Hi,” You step past him into the room, watching him close the door and take a step towards you.

He waits for you to speak.

“So. We never finished that documentary.”

He laughs, soft, “We didn’t.”

“Do you want to finish it now?”

“Uh…”  He visibly pauses and you feel a small twinge in your chest. Maybe you’d made him uncomfortable, maybe you’d misread the whole thing, maybe you’d...

He interrupts your self-deprecating runaway train of thoughts with a simple, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you settle down to watch the film, his laptop situated firmly in the middle of the bed this time, you feel the gulf between you. Empty space where his leg rested against yours yesterday. Still, that was what he wanted, right? His own space. Not to talk about it.

You don’t notice because you’re watching the documentary, but Spencer has to stop himself from reaching his arm out for you when he stretches. You didn’t want to talk about it, obviously. Meaning you probably wished it hadn’t happened. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest at that thought, the hollow feeling it left. Thankfully it wasn’t too long before you spoke again.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this historically accurate?”

And explaining the nuances of Japanese-American history is much easier for him.

[tainted-wine]

Caring For Your Hormonally-Charged Bird

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

(I didn’t mean for this to turn into a monster with over 7k words, but I finally finished it. This is based off of my mutant headcanons and also takes some inspiration from user kazooli’s awesome thirst posts about Hawks. Happy Springtime, everyone!)

Edit: Now there’s a Part 2!

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

The songs of lovestruck birds rang across the streets. Freshly bloomed cherry blossoms rained petals down onto the pavement. Butterflies and bees hovered around the flourishing flowers. It was undoubtedly a beautiful day. Too bad you had to spend it in an office with an oncoming headache. A familiar voice spoke behind you.

“Wow, look at that. I don’t know what’s more gorgeous; the scenery outside or the lady staring at it.”

Hawks’s charm doesn’t affect you when he has pissed you off so many times in such a short span.

You’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working for the Hero Public Safety Commission for several years, from supporting public events to endless desk work. The pay was generous and life was overall more comfortable. All you had to do to stay on their good side was comply with every demand, ignore the condescending tones of the bigwigs, and turn a blind eye whenever you witnessed the occasional sketchy practice.

When they offered you a job as the personal handler of one of the top heroes of Japan, you almost fainted. You have always been a fan of Hawks. Fast, handsome, charismatic, he may not have the godly strength of All Might, yet he still felt just as flawless. You’ve been helping and guiding the winged young man since last summer and learned that he’s even more than what you imagined. He wasn’t just good-looking, he wasn’t just a sweet-talker…

He was also a fucking nightmare to work with.

You turned around to see said man ogling you a bit more than you were used to, his trademark crooked smile on his face, but you ignored that and went straight to business. “Your carelessness is trending again for the third time this week, Hawks.”

He drew a sharp breath in an exaggerated gasp. “Again? Oh, what could they possibly be on my ass for this time? Was I smacking on chicken wings too loudly in public? Did they catch the moment I almost flew into that crystal-clear window?”

You whipped out your phone, already prepared to show him a news page with a rather shocking photo. A man with an elegant and sleek appearance was beaten and bruised, his dazzling peacock tail fanned out behind him. The attacker was none other than Hawks, who was gripping the other man by the collar, his wings fully spread out with several sharpened feathers floating around his victim as an unnecessary precaution. It was a very aggressive display.

‘HAWKS LAYS SMACKDOWN ON PERVERTED PEACOCK’ was the headline.

“This is beyond excessive force. You could have just as easily restrained him with your quirk.” You scolded, fixing him with the steely authoritarian stare that you’ve been working on.

Hawks flinched, but you couldn’t tell if he was just playing with you or not. “Ma’am! I was simply defending the girl’s honor! She was very clearly uncomfortable and besides, wouldn’t flashing his tail like that be considered indecent exposure?” Yeah, that tone told you that he was clearly not intimidated.

“No, and even if it did, indecency and harassment wouldn’t excuse such a violent subduing. Furthermore,” you gestured at his threatening wing display in the photo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were demonstrating similar behavior.”

He simply shrugged. “Just showing him who the bigger bird is around here.”

Your eye twitched. “For God’s sake, Hawks, you’re not an animal. Part of my job is ensuring that you maintain a friendly image that will keep the public at ease. This is not friendly. Shall I go through some of the comments for examples?” You scrolled down and cleared your throat in preparation. “Anyone else put off by how violent Hawks looks here? I didn’t know he had it in him to beat someone down like that. He’s usually all about being quick and efficient.” You scrolled down to the next one. “What’s the deal with Hawks? I was there and it was like watching a cockfight.” You clicked on a reply to that particular comment. “I know, right? I always wanted to meet Hawks in person, but after that, I was honestly too scared to-”

“Hold on, babe, I know you’re cherry-picking here,” Hawks, the little bastard, had taken out his own phone while listening to your reading. “Because those are nothing like my personal faves that I found on my Tweeter page.” You watched with silent frustration as his eyes scanned his phone until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here we go. ‘Oh my GAWD, that look, those spread wings, he looks like such a beast!” He had raised the pitch of his voice for a mock feminine tone. “Leave it to Hawks to make all of us women feel safe. That pervert deserves to lose a few more teeth.’ Oh, and here’s the winner right here. ‘Just as I always expected, that hunk of a bird knows how to dominate. I can just imagine him towering over me, giving that same look while I take his big fat-”

“Hawks.”

He paused, but his shit-eating grin didn’t fade when he noticed your head being held in one of your hands. You hoped he didn’t notice that you were trying to hide the red that crept into your cheeks.

“…cock.”

You groaned loudly enough to most definitely be heard outside of the office. There truly were days when he would cut you some slack and be easy to deal with, but he has become downright unbearable for the past few weeks. His teasing has increased ten fold, yet he’s also been keeping his distance from you for whatever reason. It had taken you a while to notice, but he was normally more than happy to get in your face and ruin your professional act, but now, even when you’re the one trying to approach, he would casually step back to prevent the gap between you from closing.

And then it hit you.

Shit, it shouldn’t have taken you this long to connect the dots. You had even noticed how his wings appeared to be a shade brighter for the past few days, but dismissed it as a trick of the light. No, he had grown in his spring plumage.

“Uh, babe? You still there? Did the ‘C’ word break you?” Watching you stare into space was getting him a little concerned.

“You’re rutting,” was your simple reply.

Hawks’s face flashed into something more serious for a split second before giving a ‘tsk’ and looking away. “Took you long enough,” he scoffed. “Surprised the Commission hasn’t fired you for letting me go wild for so long. They must not have any replacements available right now.”

“Watch it,” you ordered. You pondered for a moment before asking, “Have you not been taking your hormonal medication? I know that you’ve been prescribed some for this time of year.”

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, as if he was the one who should be feeling annoyed right now. Bitch, please. “Sometimes,” he muttered.

“Sometimes? They don’t work if you only take them sometimes, Hawks. I know you’re a busy hero, but you can put some effort into keeping track of your dosage.”

“Look,” it was the first time you’ve seen a genuine scowl on his face, the expression taking you back. “I just really hate that stuff, okay? They sap all of my energy and I put on a few extra pounds.”

You shook your head at his complaints. “Is that really worse than what you’re dealing with right now?”

“Yes. I’d rather be a horndog than a slug that doesn’t even have the will to move. It wouldn’t even be so bad if I could just sleep around every now and then, but that’s more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t wanna make your job that miserable.” He eyed you up and down for a minute, while you tried not to shy away from his piercing gaze. “Or I could find just one loyal partner that will help me scratch the itch?”

You stepped back, your heart racing at the unspoken request. “E-excuse me?” you stuttered.

Hawks raised his hands harmlessly. “Hey now, it’s just a suggestion. I’m pretty into you, you’re obviously into me, this could work out pretty well.”

An array of emotions were flowing through you, but you were more upset than anything else. “And what exactly makes you think I’ve been ‘into you’, as you’ve said?” Denial. You’re pretty sure that’s what this is. You know that you’ve been attracted to him since before you even met, but you weren’t going to let this overgrown brat have his way.

His sudden burst of laughter startled you. “You’re kidding, right? I still remember that look you had the first time we were in this room together, and it wasn’t the innocent ‘I wanna support my favorite hero’ look,” He was willingly approaching you for the first time in what felt like forever, every step sounding like thunder to your ears. “It was a ‘bend me over the desk and fuck me’ look.”

You were the one stepping back this time. You wanted to remind him not to use such foul language, to berate him for making such vulgar claims, but your voice was caught in your throat.

“We’d be doing each other a favor, right?” he continued, wings slowly expanding. “Keeping me in top shape is part of your job, isn’t it? I promise you that I’m gonna feel a lot better after this.”

You bumped into his desk, leaning back slightly as he finally closed the distance. His wings draped around each side of you, filling your peripheral vision with pure red. His face was only inches away from yours as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“You’ve been smelling so damn good lately. Been afraid that I just might pounce you if I get too close.”

A thickly gloved hand reached out and cupped your face with such a surprising amount of tenderness, you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel bare. You were so entranced by his lustful gaze that you couldn’t find it in you to resist as he leaned in, feeling his hot breath as his lips drew closer to yours.

The door busted open accompanied by a shout. “Hawks sir! Your help has been requested at-OH!”

A genuine growl rumbles through Hawks’s throat and damn, that makes you tremble. By the time he turns toward the stumbling sidekick, he was already back to his cool and friendly self.

“Don’t stop on my account, buddy,” he beamed the younger man with an unwavering smile. “What’s the request?”

———

The next day, you tried very hard to pretend that little office incident never happened. You were not going to let something so unprofessional ever happen again. That was a promise.

Hawks, on the other hand, was being a persistent bastard. You were determined to win this battle. If he wanted the urges to go away so badly, then he can take his damn medication like he always has, not use your lack of authority and experience as an excuse to rebel. The only reason you haven’t informed the Commission about this is because you know that your head will be on the chopping block as well as Hawks’s. You will most definitely be in some shit once they realize that you can’t keep their most prized possession in check.

And to be fair, as the week went on, you really were wondering if you were cut out for this job. With his wings getting more vibrant, his advances becoming more frequent, and his feral rivalry against other men growing more severe, Hawks has officially become too unruly for you to handle, and you’re the goddamned handler. You couldn’t lose this job! What if they terminated you completely and you couldn’t get another position from the Commission?

You paced back and forth in the empty office. Hawks was late this morning, leaving you alone with your endless worries. He may act lazy, but he was never actually late for his meet ups. Looks like you’ll have to call him and pray that nothing serious has happened.

You jumped when your phone vibrated before you even reached into your pocket. Ah, looks like Hawks reached out before you did. You held your phone up, prepared to answer, and froze.

It wasn’t Hawks. It was the deputy, the very man that was kind enough to give you this job. He hasn’t called you since your first few days here to help get you started. With your progress, you doubt he was calling to give you a raise.

Well, as much as you wanted to throw the phone out of the window and find an appropriate place to bury yourself, you didn’t make it this far by cowering from these guys. Taking a deep breath, you picked up and greeted the man on the other side with a steady voice. “Good morning, Deputy.”

He addressed you with the same bored and unimpressed tone that you hear from every member in this cursed organization. Jeez, if you keep working here long enough, are you going to eventually sound as soulless as them? “I assume you are aware of Hawks’s current condition?” he asked.

Dammit. “My apologies, sir. I know that I have been neglectful of Hawks’s health and his behavior during this time. I have been doing my best t-”

“That isn’t the issue I am talking about, but thank you for confirming that you have indeed failed in keeping Hawks’s unsavory habits under control.” You flinched. Way to rat yourself out. “Hawks had managed to find and subdue the troublesome villain Libido.”

“Ah, of course. I have been informed of that, sir.” Libido was a cunning little criminal that has been causing trouble all over the city of Fukuoka. His ‘Love Breath’ quirk gave him the ability to exhale fumes with powerful aphrodisiacal qualities. The guy even made his own gas bombs, releasing them among unsuspecting crowds in the public. He was less of a villain and more of just a chaos-loving hoodlum that was too slippery for his own good.

The deputy carried on. “One of the sidekicks has told us that Hawks was exposed to his quirk.”

Oh. Oh dear. That’s some strong stuff to be subjected to.

“We have ordered Hawks to go home immediately and wait patiently instead of heading to a hospital. We will be sending treatment his way.”

Some of the tension left your body. “That’s good to know, sir. May I ask what kind of treatment he will be taking? I know I haven’t convinced you yet, but I want to do anything I can for his well being.” You hesitantly asked. Please, oh please let me make up for everything that has been happening.

You heard a faint chuckle from the other end. “That’s very good to know, because the treatment is you.”

You’re glad he couldn’t see the confusion on your face. “I’m sorry, sir. Are you saying I’ll be the one to doctor him? I’ll need to know what medicine he needs and how much rest he’ll be expected to-”

“Do you know how people affected by aphrodisiac quirks are normally treated?” he interrupted you for the second time. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer before continuing. “Given your questions, I’m assuming that you don’t. We can indeed offer drugs to weaken the effects, but Hawks will still be in great distress and will take a long time to recover, especially since he’s neglected to take his hormone medication with the help of an incompetent handler.” Ugh, you get it already. You screwed up. “But the quickest and most efficient remedy is, without a doubt, sexual contact and allowing the quirk to run its course. That is what we expect you to provide for him.”

What.

You took a full minute to collect your thoughts and ensure that you heard everything correctly. The deputy waited patiently. How kind of him. Once you gathered yourself, you conjured the most constructive response you could think of.

“Huh?”

An overly loud sigh sounded in your ear. Hey, it’s his fault for dropping this bomb of a request on you. “We can’t have the number two hero out of action for too long. The alternative is to strap him to a bed and sedate him for an uncertain amount of time. His rut has enhanced the quirk’s effects; this may even strengthen his arousal for the rest of the season.”

Your face paled. That sounds ten times worse than the way Hawks was already acting. “So, if I were to…be with him,” you blushed at the very thought. “That would provide the best relief?”

“That is the gist of it. You told me you would do anything for Hawks’s well being. Can I hold you to that?”

Your pounding heart was almost drowning out his voice. You didn’t mean to corner yourself like this. “O-of course. I’ll see what I can, um, do.” This discussion was getting uncomfortable.

“I didn’t expect you to be so hesitant. You’re a loyal fan of his, aren’t you? You should be thrilled. Few fangirls get this opportunity.” He laughed at his own joke. You sure as hell weren’t laughing with him.

“Yeah, of course, sir,” you grumbled. “I suppose I shouldn’t leave Hawks alone for too long. I’ll be on my way soon.”

“Excellent,” he said. “You’ll need to take some precautions, of course. Here’s what you need to keep in mind…”

———

You walked out of the local pharmacy, cradling the pills tightly to your chest like some sort of security blanket. The deputy’s advice echoed in your head.

“It’s best that you take contraceptives. Hawks’s mind will be clouded with feral cravings, such as the urge to breed. He is not going to accept condoms.”

You tossed the pills onto the passenger seat in your car.

“Again, Hawks is suffering from both the magnified effects of Libido’s quirk and his annual rut. It’s possible that he will not be of sound mind. If things get out of hand, you have the right to protect yourself.” the deputy paused for a moment. “Just try not to leave any marks on him, if you can. Hawks must look presentable at all times.”

Well, you did have a stun gun that you thankfully never had to use, and hopefully it will stay that way.

The deputy’s help made you way more anxious than before. Were you about to have sex with a horny man, or tame a dangerous beast? You still didn’t know what to make of this predicament.

You take your phone and select Hawks’s number. It’s probably best not to surprise him at his door. Hopefully he wasn’t too riled up and ignores your call.

The phone rings once, then twice, then you hear…whimpers? Shit, was it getting that bad?

“Hawks? Are you there?” you asked calmly.

“Babe.” Goodness, his voice was rough. He sounds like he just ran across the country. “Oh thank God. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

“Wha—no.” This was a mistake. You really weren’t prepared for such levels of horniness. He just blurted that out like it was nothing! “Look, um, I heard your urges are becoming too much to handle. I’m heading on over there to…help you.”

For a while you just heard what sounded like breathless laughs and weeping. Hearing him in such a fragile state had you genuinely concerned. “Y’serious? We’re-ah-we’re gonna fuck?” He was panting heavily between words.

Heat was gathering in your face. “Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Get over here-fuck-so I can stuff you, babe. You’re gonna be mine. Oh I can’t wait to fucking have you.” This sounded like a goddamned porno and you couldn’t handle it. There was a strange sound in the background as he rambled, something like wet smacks. You kept hearing it in sync with his grunts and…

Oh.

“Just hang in there, alright?” You said quickly, wanting to end this call right now. “I’m coming.”

“Well, I’m not. My hand’s really not doin’ it for me. Gotta be inside you, babe. Gotta cum in that tight-“

You hung up.

You banged your head against the steering wheel harder than intended, but at least the pain got your mind off of…whatever all of that was. You can’t believe you just heard your favorite hero breathlessly talking about how he wants to bang you while jerking off. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this mortified, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the tingle between your legs.

Hawks, one of the top heroes of Japan, the heartthrob of the generation, was lusting for you. It had you both excited and on edge. You remember the deputy’s comment.

“You’re a loyal fan of his, aren’t you? You should be thrilled. Few fangirls get this opportunity.”

You probably would indeed be thrilled if the circumstances were less dire. Your fantasies normally involved something simpler and more romantic, not saving him from his own sex-hazed mind. You still weren’t sure what you were walking into, and that was admittedly a different kind of excitement.

There was no time to waste with the state Hawks was in. Calming your nerves, you started your car and began taking the route to his place.

———

Here you are, at the doorstep of Hawks’s house. His place was surprisingly humble for a top hero, it made this encounter just a little less nerve-wracking. Pressing a finger to the buzzer, you waited anxiously, rocking back and forth on your heels. You really hope he’ll be dressed decently when he answers the door.

Your heart skips once you hear a click and the doorknob twists. It feels like it takes an eternity for the door to open and reveal…nobody.

Instead, you were greeted by a small flock of feathers suspended in the air. They slowly floated a distance away from you before stopping, as if they were waiting for something. You cautiously stepped inside, some of the feathers closing the door behind you. You don’t know what type of welcome you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The feathers guided you, drifting up a flight of stairs and into a room with its door hanging open. You can hear harsh breathing inside, reigniting your fear. “Hawks?” You hesistantly called out without getting any closer.

A cracking voice cried out your name. “Help me. It fucking hurts. I’m so hot. Make it stop.” He sounded like he was crying. The desperate pleas prompted you to mask your fears for the umpteenth time and approach the room, taking in the sight of the man that has been waiting for you.

Hawks was naked, not to your surprise, but still to your absolute horror. He sat on his bed, skin glistening with sweat and a deep blush spreading throughout his upper body, making him look more feverish than aroused. His chest heaved with the irregular breaths that left his hanging mouth. His hair was even more unruly as usual, some of his locks sticking to his damp face. Your eyes locked onto his, pupils dilated and looking right through you.

He looked awful.

You came closer, trying your best not to stare at the very swollen and throbbing member between his legs. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, stopping right in front of him. “I didn’t think it would get this bad. I-I want to help. Just tell me what to do.”

He was on his feet the moment you finished, nude body just inches away from yours, but you kept your feet planted where they were. As his large wings slowly opened and enclosed around you, you noticed how brilliantly hued his feathers have become, practically glowing a vivid scarlet. It was captivating.

Two clammy hands came up to hold your face, the same hands he was furiously pleasuring himself with just a moment ago holy shit, and his mouth was on yours before you could even react. You gasped in shock of it all, allowing his tongue to slip past your lips. It was less of a kiss and more of just him hungrily ravaging every inch of your mouth, your own tongue wrestling with his to keep him away from the back of your throat. One of his arms lowered to wrap around your waist and pull you flush against his bare form, making you yelp when you felt his erection pressing against you. Hawks’s dick was on you.

You were too overwhelmed by his restless mouth and his DICK to notice the stray feathers hovering over you. A tug and a loud rip made you jolt. Hawks held you still, the sound of expensive fabric tearing making you flinch as your skin was slowly being exposed. The feathers were shredding your clothes.

You pulled away from his suffocating mouth just enough to take a breath and attempt to speak. “Hawks! Wha—” only for him to smother you once again.

“Don’t move,” he uttered between kisses. “Don’t want to cut you.”

With a few more slashes, your cherished suit was now scattered on the carpet in tatters, revealing your body to him, but the feathers weren’t done. The floating blades carefully slid under your panties and bra. You stood completely still, Hawks kissing you with less aggression in an attempt to soothe you as the feathers sliced through the last of your clothes. You were now just as bare as him. He simply held you tightly, face rubbing against yours with the occasional lick against your heated skin. Your eyes were closed shut, unable to process his frantic tongue, his surrounding body that felt like fire, his cock that was now pressed to your stomach you were going to drop dead holy shit.

“Smell so good. Tastes so good.” he groaned, still sounding short of breath. His mouth went down to your neck, sucking at it hungrily and giving the occasional nip, forcing a faint moan out of you. He continued his descent and reached your breasts, molding them roughly and attacking your nipples with hard sucks. Despite the rough treatment, a tight heat was building up in your abdomen, your hands cradling his head as he explored you. He ventured lower, now on his knees with his face right at your womanly mound.

Your heart was pounding when he leaned in, his nose lightly touching you as he drew in a long breath and giving a pleased sighed. His nose pressed in further and poked at your glistening pussy, your thighs clenching in surprise while he happily took in your scent. Fuck, he was really just kneeling between your legs and smelling you. You were ready to protest and tell him that this was getting too embarrassing before something wet and hot slid against your folds, replacing your planned words with a yelp.

Hawks apparently approved of your taste, strong hands grasping the back of your thighs as he brought you in closer to fully devour you. Your cries were impossible to hold in while he lapped at you, mind becoming too clouded with pleasure to stay modest. He moaned loudly into you, the erotic sound vibrating against you, tongue fondling every inch of your folds before his lips closed around them, sucking greedily and almost making your knees collapse. You were getting close, grasping onto his head in a desperate attempt to stay balanced, his mouth now assaulting your sensitive bud. Your blissful whimpers joined the filthy sounds of his feasting when your orgasm washed over you like throbbing magma. Once your legs lost the last of their strength, Hawks set you down gently on the floor, still licking your sensitive lips.

“Ah, Hawks…too much…” You whined weakly.

He got the message and pulled away to immediately climb over you, giving you a clear view of his face glistening with your juices. Bright wings were fully spread out once more; it feels like you were about to be taken by an angel, the most savage angel you could ever imagine.

He came down for a sloppy kiss, spreading your own womanly nectar all over your lips. “Hope you’re nice and ready now. Ready to take everything I’ve got.” He mumbled against your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile and feel grateful that even in such a frenzied state, he was still kind enough not to jump you the moment you were within sight.

You brought a hand up to caress the side of his face, watching his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into your touch like the needy animal that he was at the moment. His body was still unnaturally hot and he was still breathing harshly. It’s time to finally give this poor man some relief.

“Go ahead, Hawks. I’m all yours.” You were indeed ready for everything he has.

Hawks said no more, gripping himself and aiming right for your opening. The moment his head was pushing past your lips, he thrust forward, filling you completely and knocking the wind out of you.

You honestly thought he came right then and there with the totally profane howl that left him. “Fuck…!” he choked, looking on the verge of tears. Despite the seemingly paralyzing pleasure, he wasted no time in moving, his pace quickening at an alarming rate. Your pussy was still sensitive from his wonderful licking, his dick currently sending painfully powerful shocks that you just weren’t ready for, and yet heat began to pool within your core for a second time. Your arms were wrapped around his sweaty form, nails biting into his skin and forcing rugged grunts out of his throat.

The wet slaps of your bodies rang throughout the room, your limbs quivering as he pumped into you faster, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, full and prepared to pour every drop of its contents into your womb. Hawks had buried his head into the crook of your neck, letting you feel every breathless moan right against your ear.

All you could do was hold on and take the increasingly rough pounding. His rhythm was sloppy from the start, but the thrusts were becoming even more irregular as a sign that he was already reaching his peak. Not surprising, given the state that he’s been in all day. One well-aimed thrust hits your sweet spot, making you moan loudly against him.

The sound eggs him on, driving his hips at a bruising pace and fuck it feels so good it hurts. Your eyes shut tightly as another orgasm breaks free, your feminine walls clamping around Hawks, squeezing his own climax out of him. You gasped at the powerful throbs of his cock as it shot out stream after stream of cum inside you. The purely animalistic growl that rumbled through him had you shaking in the best way while you watched his wings twitch and flap, hitting you with a light gust.

After an impressive amount of spurts, Hawks collapsed on top of you. He was heavy, but having his weight on you like this was pretty nice. You rubbed soothing circles around his back, listening to the rather inhuman cooing sounds he made in response.

You just had sex with Hawks, your favorite hero and the very man you were paid to look after. Oh man, how badly have you screwed up your relationship? Not that you two had much of a bond in the first place, but now things will most certainly get even more awkward.

A twitch inside you interrupted your thoughts. What the hell? Hawks’s breathing was accelerating again as he suddenly lifted his weight off of you, and that’s when you realized even though he came, he was still hard.

With newfound energy, he pushed your thighs towards your chest and rammed into you before you could even register what was happening. His new angle had you seeing stars with each thrust, hitting you even deeper than before. The sensation was dizzying, your overstimulated body beginning to throb all over. Hawks had the most obscene expression on his face, glazed eyes watching your tits bounce while his mouth hung open, drool trailing down his chin. You didn’t know such a look existed outside of adult videos, and having it aimed at you was enhancing your stinging pleasure.

Looking down granted you the view of his drenched dick pushing into you, each slam of his hips rocking you into the carpet, which honestly burned like ouch. Thankfully Hawks was reaching his tipping point once again, his hips moving at a bruising pace before one final smack. You were spoiled with another wonderful image of his head thrown back as a choked moan escaped him, another round of cum shooting into you.

He finally slid out of you as he sat back to catch his breath, wings limply dropping to his sides. Finally. You didn’t know how much more your womanhood could take. The strain of moving your legs made you wince. Did he have to pin you so roughly?

Hawks watched silently as you pushed yourself up. You felt behind your back and…dammit, you really did bruise back there. Maybe you should go find a mirror; hopefully it didn’t look too bad. You noticed that Mr. Horny Wings continued to just stare, pupils still enlarged and his dick was still hard what the fuck. He suddenly shifted onto all fours and crawled behind you. The light brush of fingers over your blemished skin made you shiver. They weren’t big enough to be that painful, but you still hissed when he applied a little too much pressure, making him pull away.

“Sorry.” His voice was still raspy as he apologized.

You shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Could’ve been wor—AH!”

Hawks shoved you forward, manhandling you until you were properly on your hands and knees. Fuck, your entire lower body was starting to ache, and here he was, ready to go another round. The head of his still-swollen dick was already pressing at your entrance. Grasping your hips, he pushed past your puffy lips and re-entered your heat. You bit your bottom lip and took the limitless strength in his hips, his balls sometimes smacking right into your clit and bringing you closer to your next climax.

His pace slowed down briefly in order to lower himself and suck at your bruises. “Nnngh, fuck, Hawks!” The combined pain and pleasure had your insides burning. He moaned and panted into your back, kissing up to your neck and sucking there as well. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso, pressing your body against his in an intimate embrace as he plunged into you more deeply.

It was impossible to not moan after each stroke. His face rested on your shoulder, and you reached behind to bury a hand in his hair. Shit, this was all getting so intimate. He was holding you and was so close, you could feel the ripple of his muscles as he caressed every inch of your inner walls. Your third burst of pleasure had you quivering against him as he continued to chase his own orgasm, stars appearing in your vision with each thrust. Hawks sank his teeth into your neck before bottoming out and releasing more cum inside you.

Both of you were lost in your sensual spasms before you collapsed. Hawks didn’t lay on you completely this time, his sweat-soaked form crouched over you, close enough to still be inside of you…

And rock hard.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

You stayed as you were, your face down and your ass up, as you felt him humping away at you again. You could barely whimper as your tender pussy took another pounding. Christ, why wasn’t he getting tired? If the quirk was getting any closer to wearing off, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

It wasn’t long before he came again, grunting with each hard buck as he filled you with his apparently endless supply of cum. Was he done? Please be done. You turned your head just enough to check the state of his erection.

Nope.

Hawks had enough mercy to carry you to his much more comfortable bed before continuing. He took you again.

And again

And again.

You were positively ruined, no more strength left in your body as he repeatedly claimed you with fervor. Whenever it appeared you were getting uncomfortable in a certain position, he would simply switch things up before carrying on. Despite how utterly exhausted and raw you felt, your orgasms kept coming, every surge of pleasure clouding your mind more and more.

You had lost track of time. Was this his fifteenth go? seventeenth? Keeping count was becoming a drag. It didn’t help that Hawks was in too much of a trance to even speak, giving you nothing but moans and growls. At least he didn’t sound on the verge of tears anymore, so maybe he was making progress.

Another orgasm was approaching; could your tired body even handle it? You were laying on the edge of the bed as Hawks stood and fucked you. Even through all of the overwhelming passion, you never got tired of staring at his wings, the dazzling red never failing to mesmerize you. They fluttered rapidly as the tension in your core spilled over, your mouth opening in a silent scream and a blackness closing in on you with every blink.

Your body was finished.

———

Everything hurts.

That’s the first thing you noticed when you woke up and made the mistake of stretching. Your arms and legs ached, a sharp pain shot through your back whenever you shifted, and between your legs…well, the throb down there didn’t at all feel pleasurable anymore.

Still, you fought the pain to sit up and examine yourself. Your nether regions were surprisingly clean, almost as if someone had already taken care of it. With all of the cum Hawks pumped into you, it should frankly be an awful mess down there.

Speaking of, where was the guy?

“Hey.”

Oh, there he was leaning in the door frame. He had obviously tidied up, no longer a flushed and sweaty wreck, and was now sporting a pair of loose pants and a tee. You had never seen him looking so casual. It was probably a privilege very few had, and knowing that ignited something in your chest.

He glanced around before looking back at you. “You alright?”

Realizing you were just gawking at him and haven’t said anything yet, you coughed to ensure your voice was still clear and functioning. “I’m fine.”

He snickered. It was a sound you were used to whenever he knew he had the upper-hand in some way, but something about it felt softer this time. “I just fucked you into high heaven for a whole day.” He could’ve acknowledged it in a less shameless manner, dammit. “I just wanna know if you’re alright. You look pretty stiff.”

A jolt shot through your lower back in perfect timing with his statement, making you flinch. “Yeah, I’m—I’m pretty sore. Very sore,” you admitted.

“Ah,” He stood up straight. “I’ll go get some, uh, pain relief. Be right back.” And with that, he was out of your sight.

You waited patiently for his return, actually observing his bedroom for the first time. It was surprisingly bare, the room of someone who didn’t spend much time at home. There was a window that you didn’t notice and holy shit he was right. It was nighttime; you spent the entire day in Hawks’s bedroom. The fangirl in you was squealing in delight. You told her to shut the hell up.

The man returned with a glass of water in one hand, a pill in the other, and a set of clothes draped across his arm. “Here,” he handed the water and medicine over before sitting beside you on the bed. You gulped down the capsule, sputtering a bit as the cold water flowed down your dry throat. “I’ve got some clothes that might fit you well enough. Sorry about your suit. I’ll give you some money for a new one.”

He’s never sounded so wooden before and you couldn’t stand it. You let out your best good-hearted laugh as you took the offered clothes. “Stop that, Hawks. You sound as bland as your bosses right now,” you joked.

He laughed along with you. “Heh, sorry babe. Just worried that I came on a little too strong at the beginning there.”

You simply hummed in response. His clothes were so warm and smelled like him. Despite being surrounded by his strong scent for hours, you still welcomed it.

“So…looks like you’re feeling better.” You took in his appearance again now that he was closer. There was still a tinge of red in his face, but he seemed overall back to his usual relaxed self.

“Oh yeah, much better. The feeling’s still there, honestly,” he saw your eyes widen and instantly blurted out, “Just barely! I can ignore it and think clearly just fine now.” A boyish smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’ve got a hero. You really saved me back there.”

A ridiculous snort left you after hearing such praise. “Is that all it takes to be the great Hawks’s hero? I’m flattered.”

“Hey, I’m serious,” He looked you square in the face, and you couldn’t look away from his sincere expression. “It’s never been that bad before. Not gonna lie, I’m embarrassed you saw me like that. That was worse than all of my teenage ruts combined. Damn villain’s quirk really messed me up, felt like I was going fucking rabid. I don’t know what state I’d be in if it weren’t for you.”

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to respond to his gratitude. “You’re welcome,” was all you could say. “You don’t need to feel bad about it. It’s…” You looked down at your feet. “It’s not like I didn’t like it. It was very draining, honestly lost track of time at a certain point, but it, uh, it was an experience.”

Hawks nodded in response. “Sure was. Never thought I’d rail a girl so hard and for so long that she’d pass out. I’m impressed with myself.”

“Hawks.”

He hung his head in mock shame. “My apologies, ma’am! I completely forgot that such vulgar language isn’t tolerated around you.” And there’s the infuriating grin that you were beginning to miss.

Both of you were laughing, slowly melting away the tension and stress that filled the room since morning. This…this was nice.

“So, you probably still don’t feel all that great, sooo…” Hawks rubbed at the back of his neck. “You wanna stay for dinner? Already ordered a chicken pizza with some wings.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows. “Taking me to dinner after the sex?”

“Hey now, you know me. ‘The hero who’s too fast for his own good.’ Sometimes I miss a step or two.” He winked before getting up to leave. “You just lay there and rest, and go pee already. Don’t need an infection on top of everything else you’re going through. I already cleaned up the horrifying scene between your legs.”

You shuddered at the crude comment before falling backwards onto the poor mattress that had endured so much today.

Tomorrow, it will be back to professionalism. Back to pretending that you’re Hawks’s superior. Back to sucking up to the Commission. You’re going to cherish every minute of tonight, enjoying the company of Keigo Takami, not Hawks.

A shout echoed from downstairs. “The bathroom’s still empty, babe! Get your ass in there and pee!”

[torasame]

BSD Beast Theory:

“This is the only world where he lives and writes novels.”

Why exactly is this the case? Of course, mathematically speaking, this statement would be improbable. Maybe the narrative is just overlooking the sequence of possibilities present in alternate realities - but that may not be the case. There’s an importance in the emphasis Dazai puts on the fact that it’s the only world where Oda lives and writes novels. There are multiple realities where Oda is alive - but not ones where he can pursue his dream.

How can this be? Of course, I obviously can’t detail every possible reality in a Dr Strange-esque fashion, but I might not have to considering that the confines of the available possibilities remain in the parameters of Dazai’s own reality. Remember, the Novel only works if the narrative written in it makes cohesive storyline (something pointedly contradictory to life itself. Then again, it is a Novel, after all). This limitation means we’re (thankfully) limited to the world and circumstances Dazai is aware of. Think of it like a deck of cards, in a sense. You can’t change the values in the deck but you can shuffle them around to turn the cards in your favour. Simply put, Dazai cannot rewrite the past or touch things nor can he just overwrite Mimic’s existence, for example. As the manga puts it “you can’t just write ‘all of humanity dies’” because you need to be able to construct a comprehensive-enough plot to reach that sort of conclusion. Even then, it’d be close to impossible because you’d have to account for details out of your control.

In this case, Dazai can’t just say “Mimic does not exist.” Think about it, if you took the 4 of spades out of the deck, you wouldn’t only lack a set of 4s, but you would also lack a 4 in a set of ace to king. You’d ultimately be lacking a card and of course, reality isn’t a game of “go-fish.” This means the only option Dazai has is to counter the events of canon.

Mori’s overarching plan of pressuring the government with Mimic is what ultimately leads to Oda’s death alongside Gide’s insistence on Oda being the only person who could kill him. There’s no doubt Mori is aware of Gide’s ability and he may understand Gide’s sentiments to a slight degree. This is evident in how Mori seems to know that Oda doesn’t want to be rescued, despite initially agreeing to Dazai’s request. Mori understands that Mimic has probably done something to shift Oda’s resolve and sees this as an opportune way to irradiate the organization. You can see that the PM does send gunmen to aid Oda, but in the end, he and Gide are the last ones standing. In Mori’s eyes and in regard to the state the PM was in at the time, there may have been no other way to eliminate Gide. 

But what other measures are present to prevent this whole ordeal? A number of possibilities can be considered of course - but we know of the only plausible one that held out: Dazai’s rise to power as the PM boss. Think about it, anyone could have tried to overthrow Mori but the question lies in their competence and willingness to. With this criteria, we can understand how Beast managed to act as the only effective countermeasure in the aspect of saving Oda.

So we’ve managed to replace Mori. Woo hoo Dazai is the mafia boss and can probably cut Oda some slack and yet, that reality wouldn’t suffice.

Whatever. Maybe we can overlook certain aspects of canon and say that Oda and Dazai manage to leave the PM together with the help of Ango. We can say Dazai becomes the boss and deserts soon after coming into power. But of course, that still wouldn’t be plausible since it comes into conflict with Soseki’s three-fold plan. Dazai couldn’t just leave the mafia unattended and there isn’t anyone else fit to run in the position other than him or Mori. 

Even if there is a world where both Oda and Dazai could live together - one major hindrance remains in the form of Dazai himself.

The truth of the matter is something Oda points out himself: “There is nothing in this world that can fill the emptiness inside you.”

In other words: There is no world where Dazai does not wish to die.

Something important to remember is that Oda is not Dazai’s ultimate means of salvation - Oda is not Dazai’s reason to live. I’ll apologize to fellow odazai enjoyers because of that - but if you look at it realistically and in the context of the story, you’ll find that the statement isn’t too far off.

In any reality they have a relationship together, Dazai puts Oda’s dream at risk with the inevitably of his suicide. His death would traumatize Oda to a degree we’ve already witnessed with the death of the kids. The inevitability of his death, in turn, would mean that Oda may be able to live in that world but will never be able to pursue his dream.

Through Beast, Dazai positions himself in the seat that prevents Oda’s death by external means and preserves Oda’s dream by their lack of affiliation. Dazai puts himself in a position where Oda thinks nothing of him - a position where Oda can go on with life even in the event of his death. He pulls an Itachi, to put it simply.

In short, Beast is Dazai’s meticulously crafted design created to safeguard both Oda’s life and his dream, seeing as they are both inexplicably intertwined.

In this fixed deck of cards, they’re both destined to be dealt bad hands. At least in this way, Dazai manages to ensure that this doesn't have to be the case for Oda. 

Honestly, I came to this epiphany while brainstorming for a fic. I’m just humbled by how intricately woven the plot is and at the same time, I’m sitting here realizing Asagiri-sensei had laid out a  statement that I have (hopefully) managed to prove as though it were a math problem.

Is this meant to hinder anyone (including myself) from imagining a reality where odazai can both live in relative harmony? Of course not. It probably wouldn’t have even with that intention in mind. I’m pretty sure this may already be common knowledge but it probably wouldn’t hurt to compile my thoughts. It’s just some random shot in the dark, by no means comprehensive, and the aftermath of exploring the “universe conspires against us” concept. Overall, not much to it and of course it’s “just a theory, a film theory” or well, anime theory in this case.

And that’s about it. Good on you for making it through the ramble. There’s no cool ending to this amalgamation but you can imagine a pat on the back or whatever helps. Anyway, thanks for making it through this TedTalk.