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londonskies · 4 years ago

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DON’T SAY THE S WORD!!

https://images.app.goo.gl/JKKNVtwZNGAVVwzB9

In which Corpse has a secret girlfriend and his insomnia is driving them both up the wall, putting precious Sykkuno in danger because he said the word “Sleep”.

Hi! This is just a once in a blue moon, feel good, fluff fic cause I have commitment issues on my writing lol.

Yes, my writing style is long winded, I’m really sorry, but I hope you enjoy it!

credits to u/balderdash_lee on reddit

Corpse had not slept for close to 50 hours by the time that they had started their latest month prior pre-planned plasmophobia session with Rae, Sykkunno and Toast, but it was like he was hyped up on sugar for the last hour or so and Y/n was really beginning to get worried.

This was a tattletale sign of the huge crash her boyfriend was about to go through, and yet the stubborn man just would not step away from his computer.

She had tried everything, from luring him with pizza (to which he had snatched a few slices and had just retreated to his gaming room once more) to telling him that there was a fire in the kitchen (to which he replied was virtually impossible given how meticulous Y/n was in the kitchen) to faking an injury (which corpse called bullshit on without even looking at her).

It was getting really frustrating and she knew for a fact that the longer her boyfriend was going to wait this out, the worse he was going to feel.

And the worse he was going to act.

He would never hurt anyone, ever. The man was the definition of a soft boi beyond his brain meltingly amazing voice. But when he was beyond bone dead tired like he was right now, he had the tendency to act mean, and the only person who had the capability of calming him down in the middle of the pandemic was Y/n, and she would have to hijack his stream.

The stream that was filled with hundreds of thousands of people who didn’t even know that their precious Corpse was in a relationship with anyone.

Would she have the chance to mute him before he went on his tired, angry, borderline crazy monologue? She would try, but probably not.

Y/n had to bring out the big guns.

Rae and Toast were pretty easy people to conspire with and were almost always down to do pranks and other shit that Y/n came up with, and always, always down to do whatever it took to get Corpse to take care of himself.

Sykkuno though, bless him, the cutest, most clueless person Y/n had ever met.

He was always very concerned for Corpse’s health but was the worst at going incognito. So Rae and Toast were the ones who used their code word (lights out) and had always been the ones who had the role of making sure Sykkuno knew what to do.

“Aaaaaaaaaaanddd, lights out baby!” Rae screamed as she made her way past Sykkuno at the entrance of the house they were in at the moment, but Sykkuno, the precious little boy that he is, just watched Rae with a bewildered face, getting even more confused when Toast made his way past him as well, whispering “Lights out.” and moving back to the truck in the game.

From inside, Corpse’s character was busy laughing at a joke he made about a picture in the wall and had not noticed the other two missing. He did notice though, when Sykkuno appeared near him to ask him what was up before convulsing and dropping to the floor.

Corpse’s laugh was noticeably more manic now, getting a lot more high pitched and erratic. For a second, Sykkuno laughed with him, then when Corpse’s went on for too long, suddenly looked confused on his stream, turning to face the general vicinity he Corpse’s character was.

So he spoke through their always open discord chat. “Uhh, Corpse? You okay there buddy?”

The stubborn man just kept laughing, Y/n increasingly getting concerned as she watched all 4 player’s streams on different devices one room over. Rae and Toast were chatting about the pills in the truck, so as to not alarm Corpse of the lowkey distraction they were doing to finish the game easy (aka getting at least 3 of them killed), and then giving excuses to stop streaming and giving Y/n a chance to haul his ass to bed.

Sykkuno on the other hand, was now (against all plans spoken about prior) continuing to talk to Corpse.

“Corpse?” the timid man spoke once more, finally reaching the ever more manic Corpse.

All of a sudden, an eerie silence fell around the two of them, settling for a few seconds before getting filled by a flat “Yea?” from Corpse.

Y/n could almost hear the sentence that Sy would reply to that, and at that moment, she knew, they were fucked.

With a quick “Fuckin shite” to both Rae and Toast’s chat, Y/n bounded over to Corpse’s office, hearing tail end of the question that was about to make Corpse’s brain go kaboom.

“You sound tired man, maybe you should sleep for a bit?”

She knew he only meant good. Sykkuno was just one of those guys that would never want to hurt anyone. She knew it, Corpse knew it, everyone knew it.

But her secret boyfriend was sleep deprived and going batshit crazy because of it, and currently, his trigger word was the word Sleep.

Y/n would give poor Sy a viking funeral if she can’t stop this.

“I am not tire-” Corpse was pretty intimidating when he wanted to be, and I knew that that low voice of his would scare every single hitman in a 1000 mile radius when used in a booming, angry way. And the way his voice was escalating was sure to end in said booming, angry way.

Y/n sprinted into his recording room, only partially wincing at the horridly loud bang the door made when she wrenched it open to fling herself at her boyfriend. The world seemed to slow as she soared through the air, uncaring if she knocked things out of the way.

Gotta make sure their baby Sy would never be at that end of Corpse’s fury.

She partially landed on his lap, torso hanging off the side. It hurt as her ribs made contact on the armrest of his computer chair, but it stopped his tirade with a surprised “Ooof!” and knocked him away from his PC.

“Honey!! Don’t yell at Sy!”

“Y/n???”

Oh shit.

Of course Sykkuno had to yell out her name during a stream. She had bet Toast 200 dollars that Sy would be the one to drop her name, and it was high time she cashed in.

Y/n fixed herself on Corpse’s lap, shoving his headphones off of him and forcing him into a hug. Of course he protested, but eventually relaxed in her grip, muttering about how his eyes and wrists hurt now but he promised to play with the OTV peeps and his insomnia hit him too hard these past few days.

“Baby,” he whispered hoarsely, his grip tightening on her as well. It only took a moment for Y/n to realize that her boyfriend was shaking, trying not to fall apart. “It hurts.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, putting a kiss on the top of his head as he relaxed even more. They had to move to a more comfortable space soon or else Corpse would fall asleep here and she would have to move him (which at 5 feet, is not very easy.) but he was relaxing and Y/n couldn’t make herself distract him from that.

“I know babe, it’s okay. We’ll breathe through it. You can do it, I know you can.” Corpse would never fess up to crying, but the growing patch of tears on her sweater was evidence of the amount of pain that he was experiencing.

His dedication was amazing, but a lot of the time he sacrificed his health for it. So as much as she didn’t want to hold him back, sometimes she really just had to step in and meddle to save him from himself.

They stayed like that for a while, Y/n occasionally having to coach him through his breathing, but overall, they were doing fine.

Y/n smiled into his hair when he finally stopped shaking. “That’s it babe, you’re doing amazing.” she whispered, moving to get off his lap. She wasn’t the lightest person despite her shortness, her curves never letting her be skinny, so she was sure that her sitting on his lap was making his legs go numb. Corpse, on the other hand, only held on tighter, basically turning into a koala at this point.

“Corpse, Honey, your legs are gonna go numb, babe.” she giggled. She tried to put him at arm’s length, but her apparently octopus boyfriend had planned to never let her go.

“No.” he mumbled, pressing his face ever tighter into her sweater, making her giggle, in turn, making him smile.

Eventually, he detached his face from her sweater and peeked up at his girlfriend, the visual of his tousled hair, pout, one sparkling eye and the other now only partially covered by his falling eyepatch, but both with smudged eyeliner and mirth, made her melt. “Don’t go, please?” Y/n giggled at him. “I’m not gonna leave babe, I just gotta get off your lap before I make your legs undergo hypoxia.”

“I’d let them cut off my legs if it meant having you here forever.” if she hadn’t already fallen in love with this man, she would say that this was the moment that she fell in love with him. But falling in love with him over and over again was probably something that she would never stop doing, even if Corpse ever decided to not love her back one day.

They were jolted out of their happy little bubble when they heard a loud screech coming from his headphones making a sound more akin to blasting speakers than headphones, which had apparently fallen just beside them on the table instead of the floor like Y/n anticipated. “STOP YOUR LOVING AND GO TO SLEEP CORPSE!” Rae screeched, making the both of them laugh out loud, but one look at his screen stopped them at their tracks.

Corpse was miraculously still alive in game, Rae’s character moving back and forth in front of his.

Rae… was streaming, right?

Oh shit numero dos.

One look at the chat showed that they had just outed themselves. The sappy couple making everyone watching go absolutely bonkers at the chat.

“WHO IS THAT?” -ijustlovemakingsounds

“HONEY???? BABE?????” - corpseybae

“WHAT IS HAPPENING??” -randomuser

“IS CORPSE OKAY?” -ShinigamiEyes

“CORPSE??” -corpsekkuno28

“BABY?????” -honestlywtf

“HE’S SO SWEET OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!!!” -cutiepiecorpsey

“WAIT WAIT WAIT IS HE OKAY????” -omgilovehim

“WHO THE HECK??” -wifeyyyycorpse

Both parties were staring wide eyed at the screens. Even with slow mode on, the chat was going a hundred miles per hour and all they were seeing were screaming chats in all caps zooming up.

For a second Y/n just kept staring quietly, and then the first giggle escaped her and soon, both of them were a giggling pile of sweaters and limbs on Corpse’s computer chair, not even trying to stop their antics. Rae screamed another “YOU’RE BOTH CUTE AND WE ALL KNOW IT STOP AND SLEEP!!”

The laughter seemed endless.

It was the sound of Y/n’s phone ringing from the other room that finally got her up from the warm confines of Corpse’s lap. But before she left, she was going to make sure that Corpse was not just going to continue streaming in her absence.

“Sooo….” Y/n turned them over so that she was facing the screen and not him, talking directly into the mic as she scrambled for the headphones she had shoved off of his head. “Yes Corpse Husband has a Corpse wife and she’s now taking him back to their coffins because the hubby is a stubborn piece of shit and has not slept in more than 50 hours.”

The casual information drop made the chat go even crazier, people now freaking out about her, trying to find out who she was, what she did, when and where they met, stuff like that. “I’ll see what I can do to answer your questions, you simps. But I gotta knock him out for now, and I promise you won’t be left hanging.”

She felt him wrap his arms around her waist once more, feeling him press his face tightly against her back. “Baby,” he started to say, but Y/n cut him off with a few pats to wherever she could reach behind her.

“Sorry, but the jackass is now cut off from the mic and shall be cut off until he sleeps, so I shall be the one to say, good day to you sirs and madams, he shall see you on the next one! Bye!!!!”

Then a pause, and a quietly frustrated “Hun, how do you turn it off??”

The chat was flooded with variations of “She’s so cute!!” and as tempted as he was to keep it going for a bit, he knew that it would upset and worry his adorable girlfriend to do so.

So from his vantage point, he just mumbled a quick “Bye!” before cutting off stream. Normally, he would stay and read superchats and see how many new members he had gained, but this time, his tiny, but determined girlfriend was dead set on getting him to chill his ass out.

And he let you.

He watched as you dragged him off to bed, tucking him in all the fluffy blankets you’d gotten for his comfort, smiled as you eagerly burrowed yourself under the fluff with him, sighed contentedly as your warmth surrounded him as you cuddled into him.

He basked in your presence as he held you back just as tight, feeling you plant a kiss in his hair and smile as he relaxed ever more. From across the room, the mirror reflected the image of the two of you, touching the deepest recesses of the soul he would never claim to have.

And as he drifted off, he watched as you glowed in the streaks of the fading afternoon sun, peeking through their heavy curtains, he thought:

What more was there to ask for?

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago

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Into The Unknown, Part 5

First

Tim finished up pretty quickly.

After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.

He ended up getting Damian three toys:

A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).

A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.

And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.

When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.

Then he got a couple of books on parenting.

He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.

… she was taking forever.

He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.

… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.

Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.

Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.

He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.

Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.

He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.

Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.

“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.

She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”

He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”

She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”

“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”

They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.

“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.

Tim hesitated.

“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”

Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.

He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.

Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.

“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”

He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.

She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.

“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”

She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.

“What are you even doing?”

He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”

She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.

Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?

A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.

“You exist in this world, right?”

He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.

“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”

Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”

“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”

“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”

She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”

“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”

He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”

“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”

He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”

She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.

Speaking of helping their children...

She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.

Tim managed to get in.

He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.

She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.

“What was the password?”

He grumbled under his breath.

This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Totally is.”

He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.

“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”

“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.

Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”

“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.

She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”

“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”

She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”

She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.

Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.

Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.

Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.

“Told you he would love it.”

“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”

“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”

He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”

The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.

Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.

“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”

She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”

He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.

… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.

He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.

Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.

Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.

~~~~~

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#into the unknown #maribat #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #timari #timmari #shutterbug #timinette

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kareofbears · 4 years ago

Text

desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He’s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, “There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”

#fic tag #akiryu #pegoryu #fanfic #writing #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #mine #desperate as that sounds #and yeah man thats a jon bellion song #fic

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roughentumble · 3 years ago

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oh!!! in case anyone was wondering, i did finish that AU that was half-formed as i was falling asleep last night. i dont think anything ever came of it haha-- its basically just misao. not so much in the "little girl gets sexually assaulted and brutally murdered at school" sense, but more like an overarcing "some people enter a haunted building and are locked inside, forced to learn its violent secrets" sort of thing. the ghost-- the "misao"-- in this equation is geralt. he's been missing for a long time, and when they find the house and physically see him as an apparition, that's confirmation on what's become of him.

he's twisted, and violent, and his features look... wrong. innocent people who'd wandered into the house long before any of geralt's friends found it, all lay dead beneath the floorboards. but it is, despite everything, very clearly him.

jaskier is the one who agrees to stay with him(the "aki", if you know the true ending of misao), to abate his loneliness. despite everyone's pleas, he steps forward into geralt's arms, and then the two of them vanish.

it's a bright, sunny day outside. birds chirp. the front door hangs open on its hinges... and jaskier and geralt are gone. their remaining friends take a moment to huddle together and mourn...

and then, miraculously, a few moments later, out of nothing falls geralt and jaskier.

now, what they'd learned along the way, somehow or another, is that the reason geralt is such a strong and dangerous apparition despite not actually being dead that long is because he didnt die normally. he was trying to reason with a mage, it had come to blows, and in his dying moments the mage had been angry. vengeful. "if im to die here, you'll be trapped here too. alone." sort of thing. those feelings, a giant explosion of magic, and the next thing geralt knows he's trapped. not just within the four walls of the building, but he fades in an out, in a sort of... pocket dimension. time passes differently in there, he's been trapped for longer than a few months, or a handful of years, and it's broken him on top of amplifying whatever power he'd have as a specter.

but the two key factors are that he was never actually dead-dead despite what everyone thought, and when jaskier agreed to stay he was no longer actually alone, breaking one of the stipulations of the mage's dying curse.

its obvious, though, despite the brief amount of real time passed, neither is alright. even jaskier shrinks back from the light, clings to geralt wordlessly. it's been far longer for them. (let's say a year for simplicity's sake, but you can make up whatever amount of time works to you.)

that's basically the conclusion, then the epilogue is them healing. jaskier gets better, mostly, but geralt's problems are life-long. it takes a LOT of help, and healing, and magic, to get him anywhere near functioning, and he can't return to the Path. he has a panic attack if he's alone in a room for too long, and he and jaskier are codependant, completely attached at the hip.

to my mind they probably take up residence in oxenfurt. jaskier is offered a position teaching, and even though it's a LOT of people(which is hard for geralt to handle) it's safer than life on the road, and they never have to be apart for any particular reason. geralt sits in with him for his lectures, finds himself comforted by jaskier's voice. no more excitement, or contracts, or daring adventures, but they manage to carve out a life for themselves that's happy enough, make peace with the more painful parts of their past.

im not sure how to make a story of it, or even if i'd want to make a story of it, but it was fun to think about. and you can definitely feel my aversion to major character death, lmao, it'd honestly be simpler to just have them both die, but i do think there's something appealing(for lack of a better word) about there being something so terrible that even the famous white wolf cant come back from it. the isolation was too much, and no matter how much he heals, geralt cant be who he was, but he can become someone who's happy where he is.

of course, there is the supernatural problem-- if you make "passage of time in the void" a direct 1-to-1 to some regular unit of time, then geralt very quickly becomes trapped and tortured with solitude for an unreasonable and frankly goofy amount of time(see dean winchester getting tortured for decades. its not a comprehensible amount of time. that's not a thing a person can endure.) you can either lean into that, and give it the feel of A Ghost Story(numbers arent as important as a proper atmosphere in this case), or you leave the numbers intentionally vague so it doesnt get goofy.

now, you could make an argument for any match-up you like-- instead of jaskier choosing to walk beside him and follow him as he always has, it's yennefer in a clever play on "you've condemned yourself to me". now she's condemning herself to him. or perhaps eskel, two drops of water, it's always been the two of them, and now it will always be just the two of them. lambert, who knows loss and loneliness and agony and decides he cant leave geralt to that fate, even if its reckless to jump into the abyss with him. regis, who's lived a long life and decides the best way to end it is in comforting an old friend. any manner of ship(or gen) works perfectly well-- i choose jaskier because i'm a one trick pony, but i'd honestly read any of these other matches, it all depends on what an author wants to write. and if anyone for some reason feels inspired by my spiel, feel free to write it, as long as you send me a link to the finished product! (and perhaps credit me for inspo? thats not required tho it'd just be nice.)

#i cant imagine why anyone would be. but if you are i admire your ability to turn straw into gold! lol #witcher tag #ogc tag #anyway this is the thought that was plaguing me.#i imagine ghost!geralt does a lot of flickering in & out of existance repeating the words /lonely lonely so lonely/ in a dull lifeless voice #drags people to their death maybe a little out of rage but mostly out of a desire to make someone stay #then gets even more distraught when they ''leave'' (read: die)#not fully aware of what he's doing or how he's hurting people.#of course once he's healed enough to comprehend what's happened and what he's done he really carries that weight with him.

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

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What’s wrong? (Tj Hammond) (Pt.1)

Characters: Bi!TJ Hammond x Asian!Female!Reader

Summary: You're an overseas worker and is in a relationship with TJ, but people can't seem to accept the differences between you both even by financially and background wise.

Warning: Kisses. Public making out. Mention of threesome but no lemon. Lmao. HOT, SEXY GIF'S which can make your phone fly. No angst yet. Annoying racist journalist. Mention of doing the birds and the bees but it wasn't written. Heehee!

Words: 4000+ (IT'S LONG AF. 😂 There’s a part 2 which will be posted soon if ya want?)

A/N: I always tend to write long ass oneshots for TJ Hammond. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? Because maybe I'm the only one enjoying this? Lmao. GO BE CRAZY WITH YOUR FEEDBACKS, TATER TOTS! IT’S TIME FOR SOME ASIAN FEMALE READERS!

Disclaimer: GIF'S and pictures used are not mine. Only the edits are and the oneshot of course. 😉 Credits to the owners of the GIFS.

"They're not gonna accept me, Teej." Your heart sank from the moment those words came out of your lips, it was like a curse that made your heart feel heavier with every beat. Those were just the mere, honest truth that was inevitable to come out.

You didn't want to beat behind the bush. From the moment TJ asked you to be his partner for the engagement party that was soon to happen for Douglas and Annie, the anxiety crept up your heart, jumping towards your head that made you speak the honest truth.

You knew deep down that your ethnicity and your background was making it difficult for you, for the both of you and for everyone.

TJ immediately sensed the disheartened change in your voice as he was mindlessly trying to help chop the vegetables needed, standing in front of the kitchen island. On the other hand, you were preparing the beef for the Stir fried noodles you opted to make, in request to the whiny Hammond boy living in yours and his apartment.

You felt gentle arms snake around your waist and instantly you knew whose arms were that from. Tj leaned down, his head beside yours as he adjusted to your five foot one height. You felt his lip on your cheek, peppering soft kisses till he reached your ear. "Am I hearing you right? Was that a whine I heard? As far as I know, I'm the whiny boyfriend here," Tj whispered and chuckled, feeling his hot breath fanning against your ear made you quietly gush in his arms.

"Thomas! Stop, You know I got the tickles there!"

Tj felt the need to be playful, in account to your saddened state. He continued blowing at your ear, "Oh, so now I'm only Thomas to you?" Chuckles and giggles rang around your apartment. Joyful laughters that was perfect to record and watch at any time of the day. Tj haven't been that happy since his recent breakup. From a political fool who he thought had loved him, but end up abusing and using the love he has been giving in the end.

Despite of his crestfallen, past relationship, you suddenly came along. He was utterly depressed and went back to being a druggie. After months have passed of being clean, the addiction came along after the heartbreak. Yet, it was stopped once again from the moment you came along. Basically, you were the rainbow after his rain and he ought to see the light from you forever glowing.

"Hey, hey," Tj pulled you away from your wandering, negative thoughts. Never forgetting to give your head a kiss, feeling the warmth spreading all over your body, "You gotta stop being a pessimist," He cocked his head, an eyebrow rising as he collected his thoughts, "Just..relax, everything's going to be fine I swear,"

You turned the gas range off, sighing and whipping around once you did, meeting a very soft, sweet looking Hammond boy whose eyes were the prettiest out of all the blues out there. Your lip was now in between your teeth, biting the flesh from overthinking what was bound to happen soon. "You always say that, and I'd rather expect the worst, Teej because you're in a relationship with me."

"What's wrong being in a relationship with you? I don't find anything wrong about it," He sassily shrugged, caressing your hip with his thumbs in utmost tenderness, "Anne's Asian, from a different ethnicity but they don't get to say their complaints or problems about it, Y/N."

You bit your lip harder, eyebrows furrowing from thinking too deep, "Anne's from a wealthy family, Tj. And I'm...I'm..from trash,"

"Which I was lucky to find because I have rummaged a diamond in the dumps," He chuckled, his laugh sounding angelic to you. You fought off a smile, the anxiety was still swallowing you whole, making everything more complicated for you. "It's not funny, you're just making my anxiety worse,"

Tj had to put more effort in distracting you, and so he tried harder. "Come on, Baby. Lighten up, nothing's gonna happen, it's going to be a boring day for us because the party was probably a way to bring those stormtroopers all together," He licked his lips, looking at you straight in the eyes with such shine that could make your heart go all putty. "Just be my plus one, be the good girl you are while we suffer this together, Deal?"

"I dunno, Teej. What do I get in return upon agreeing to this so called...deal of yours?" You purred, tracing the outline of his pectorials bulging out of his tight black shirt. A lopsided smile on your lips.

"Hmm," Tj playfully hummed, his head falling till he reached your ear, never forgetting to give it a tender bite, "Maybe some steamy shower with me, I suppose?" The naughty Hammond boy suggested with a tiny chuckle, his voice dropping an octave lower, even with a suggestive tone that reached down inside your pantaloons, making you squirm in his grasp. "That is..if you're up to it?"

"But--how about the food--" You stammered, finding it hard to say no.

"We could always start with the dessert first, Love." and you certainly didn't object after that.

✧˖*✧˖*✧˖*✧˖*✧˖*

Tons of people with class that were worth a million dollars came lounging in. Small talks, and fake hi's were their main objective. Wealthy, power hunger crocodiles seem to sound appropriate for their understandable behaviors. Other people appeared to enjoy communicating with anyone whom they can see as wealthy and famous, making them look like a total gold digger or a social climber who likes to be friends with people whom are high-class.

Everything that was happening around you was making you shake your head in animosity. Another set of anxiety creeping you in. How did you even end up in Tj's home when everybody had given you the stink eye, jealous, thirsty women scanning your appearance and history from head to foot if that was even possible.

They were probably wondering how Tj was in a relationship with a substandard woman like you who lived in the eastern part of the world. Well, Sexuality-wise..They were certainly stunned to see the former first son gay icon renegade turned miraculously bisexual, acting all touchy-feely and having thoughts inside their judgemental minds as to why he kept staring at you, looking all lovestruck and whipped.

"Y/N!!! Sweetheart!" You jumped from the huge, beige couch as you lounged beside your boyfriend. A half empty Martini in hand. You could see Margareth, Tj's grandmother marching your way. Her hips swaying with her heels. Her smile never fading once she saw how you still kept your relationship with her complicated grand son, Thomas.

"Tj's keeping you all to himself! This kid can be selfish when he wants to," Margareth complained, her voice shaky and senile but a little bit too hyper for her age. She never forgot to playfully smack her grand son's head, "Aw! Nana!" Tj complained with a sweet smile drawn on his face. A smile that Margareth remembered when he was still a child back in the white house.

Finally, she thought. It was time she got her grand son back.

"Hey, Nana!" You chimed, a huge grin plastered on your face. Truthfully delighted to see somebody whom gave your heart that warm, familiar feeling. Margareth grabbed you in a hug once you stood up to hug her. Yet, you were too slow to be first. "Y/N," She murmured as she cut the hug. Staring right back at you with a sweet smile while she reached for your face. "I'm really happy you keep my grand son in check and completely elated like who he was back then," Nana muttered, taking glances back at Tj who was busy chatting with one of Elaine's friend.

"Please, don't leave him like how that asshole did, Y/N. I don't know what he'll do next when you do, sweetheart."

"I don't plan to, Nana." You gave a crooked smile, adding a giggle on the end. Your words repeating inside your mind like a mantra. Did you really not thought about that? Margareth smiled, lightly tapping your right cheek with a laugh. "Good," She grabbed another Margarita from one of the waiters who were strolling around, promptly sipping on it. "You're perfect for this family,"

You fit in the family. But, that was in Nana's humble perspective. What about Dougie? Elaine? Especially Bud's point of view? Do they accept you though?

The party went on. It wasn't late yet, though as the time went on, more familiar people came in and began to join in the party. As an awkward human being, you stood on the middle of the floor. All alone sipping on your second Martini. Tj asked you to give him a minute because he had to talk to someone and probably get something in God knows where. You immediately gave your approval, giving him a sweet, innocent, tiny kiss on the lips before practically shoving him away before it took much more than you intended to.

Loud chatters can be heard, controversial topics that reached your ear made you want to raise a brow because of their judgemental thoughts that should be kept locked inside their poisonous minds. 'You sure they ain't putting up an act to cover Tj's real sexuality?' 'I bet he's using her,' 'Or probably it's the other way around, girl.'

'She seems like a lonely bitch,'

You crossed your arms against your chest, the anger bubbling up till it reached your head. Giving you a minor, temporary headache. In your peripheral vision, you could see Tj from the bar, talking to Nana and her circle of friends, with a precious smile on his gorgeous face. It was all glitters and rainbows in his part.

On the other hand, yours were full of shit. You cussed inside the back of your mind. The thick-faced women giggled and they were quite close to you. They probably intended to let you hear their conversation, to stir you up and mess with your temper. Especially that journalists and reporters were around, waiting for something to happen so they could add it in their drafts.

You ignored them the best you can. Nonetheless, there was always one person who'll irk you and even try to stir up the kindness in you that could change into rage. You sipped on your cocktail drink while staring at the piano in curiosity. Does Tj know how to play? You mindlessly thought inside your mind. Oh, you were about to know and ask him about it. There was a lingering warm presence behind you, and you instantly smiled from ear to ear. Speak of the devil..

However, to your surprise a woman with blue eyes stood tall in front of you. Appearing to have this sense of pride that she was one successful woman. You could tell from head to toe and it made you feel so tiny and unworthy that you were welcomed to join in the party.

"Will you be so kind to answer these questions that I have for you? Ms..??" The lady humbly asked, an innocent smile that hid behind a wicked scheme she had in mind. You couldn't even believe her. How can she ask for an interview from a person whom she doesn't know his/her name?

What a fool indeed.

"Y/N." You kept a short answer, a tight smile on show as you sighed out loud which made the reporter raise a brow from your dissatisfaction. How dare you act annoyed when you should feel delighted to be interviewed even though you were one substandard woman whom Thomas Hammond obviously made his worst mistake. The woman thought through her fake smile planted on her thick, injected lips.

"So, let's start off with something simpler, Y/N." She paused, acting all modest with the fakest smile you have ever seen. "Tj's??"

If she wanted to appear stupid, then it was best to say the stupidest answers as well. You breathed in deep breaths. Take it with your big girl panties. You can do this. You can. "Supportive wife?" You spoke as a matter of fact. Snorting a little when you saw her jaw tighten.

The brunette woman couldn't help but snicker, sneaking a tiny roll of her eyes. "I don't see a ring," She snapped, laughing to herself and eyeing you from head to toe. "Or a collar?" She smirked when you kept your hands on your sides, fists completely tight, trying hard not to make a scene. No. Never stoop down to her level, Y/N.

"Hmm," She fixed the lapels of her black blazer, "Obviously, you're the girlfriend. I'm not an idiot, Ms. Y/N."

Your nerves was seriously ticking like a time bomb that was ready to explode. "Really? You seem to be a much bigger idiot than me when you asked for my name, but the truth is..I know you knew who I was," You breathed out harshly, not wanting to start and send off rude remarks that could have endless rebuttals. "If I'm an idiot then why do I own a big advertising company..Unlike you," Miss reporter held her head high with her tall height, eyeing you from head to toe again like it was her nasty habit. "I don't work at any Ching-chong restaurants that spits rice, noodles or kimchi's,"

Well, that made you face palm.

"Do you have any more racist comments that could honestly move me? Because that comment sucks so bad," You held a finger under your eye, trying to wipe away imaginary tears. "Cry me a river, woman."

Tj laughed a boisterous one from what grandma Mercedith just said. She was one of Nana's bestest friend and a sweetheart indeed. Margareth noticed that Y/N wasn't with her grandson, and so she questioned.

"Tj, where's Y/N?"

The latter smiled, those smiles that held teeth and was too picturesque not to ogle at. Nana couldn't help but lift her lips too. "Oh, over there." Tj gestured behind him, towards where the party was, never looking back. Margareth glanced where he was pointing to and saw that Y/N is being interrogated by the infamous reporter slash journalist slash owner of an almost bankrupt advertising company who had no good thing to do but make false hypothesis about every issue especially when it was about the Hammond family.

"Tj," Nana started, sounding disturbed. "If I were you, I won't go leaving Y/N in a place full of sharks wanting to munch on a bait," She pointed towards where Y/N and Rosalie Sparks where. They seem to be exchanging heated conversations because she could see how Y/N was keeping herself together. "The Sasquash is on the move, honey."

"What?" Tj turned their backs away from them. A stern frown appeared to be on show for the folks to see. Finally acknowledging what his Nana has been saying and there they were. His girlfriend and an annoying woman who was planning to offend and get something out of his girlfriend. What was new?

"How's it feel to be unaccepted in the Hammond family? Especially that we know Bud doesn't take a liking on you because of how incompetent you are and how pitiable your family is," Rosalie Spark's chatted like what she was saying are compliments that was meant to fill the heart. Though, it was filling it with dread and anger. "Rich people deserve to only be with rich people too," She clucked on her wine glass with her fancy gold ring, grinning in the process. "While the peasants deserve to stay in the dumps,"

You zipped your mouth. Never stoop down. Never. Silence is the best way to talk back because you knew you were educated, matured and old enough to know how immature she was acting.

"I'm honestly disgusted by Tj Hammond's tastes are in women," She continued, more like talking to herself because you weren't speaking. "Or he's probably just confused for the second time and is actually really..reallyyy into men," The bitch exaggerated.

"Because if I'm in a relationship with you or--" She held her mouth, supressing a giggle that made you want to throw a glass at her. "--to be unluckily sleeping with you, I'll just be gay for all my life, Y/N."

You could feel your eyes turning hotter as each second pass by. God, you were such a pathetic baby. Why had you even agreed to go the party? Obviously because Tj begged you to come with him.

Not a second has passed by when you felt a warm presence snake beside you, and it took you long enough to realize that it was finally your Tj by the looks of his black dress shirt and all black attire. An arm moved around you, clutching onto your waist and Tj felt you were shaking. Probably from anger because that's just who you are.

You'd rather stay quiet despite of how people attack you, you'd rather be kind to rude people than to offend them back and that's how Tj knew you were one of a kind. A special one.

Before you knew it, your heart skipped a beat from the moment he held your jaw with his hand. Ushering your face to look at him, and with one dip of his head he had you enthralled in his spell that could calm you down in the sweetest way. Tj kissed you, right in front of that annoying journalist to probably irritate the heck out of her. He locked your lips with his, teasingly lunging the tip of his tongue inside your parted lips as he closed his eyes. Acknowledging the effect you could only give to him.

You couldn't help but envelope your arms around his figure as you kiss him deep, biting on his lower lip that made you both smirk from how she was certainly already uncomfortable. Physical contact makes people feel awkward. Tj preed his eyes open, seeing the woman with a pathetic aggravated face that made him chuckle as you both kiss.

Oh, she wasn't going anywhere is she?

Tj gave her a grin, never forgetting to give your lip a tender bite that made your insides go mushy and another sweet kiss that made your heart twerk. He was yours and yours alone. Only yours.

"Tiger twat," Tj answered so smoothly with that hot smolder as he looked deep into your eyes. Completely enticed by your spirit with an innocent smile written on his face that wasn't too innocent in your line of vision. You could see the grin and irk threatening to be shown on his beautiful features. Here, you thought he was calling you a tiger twat when it was actually sent to the reporter slash journalist who looked guilty because she seemed to be entirely shook.

"Isn't that your nickname in DC?" He finally gave attention to the tall, angry Sasquash who happened to rudely interview you.

"News spread so fast, Rosalie."

Your loving boyfriend grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her pride and dignity shatter like fragile chinawares. "What's it like to have teeth down there?"

"Your girlfriend's a bitch," Her ego was wavering yet that didn't stop her from trying to have the last laugh. Rosalie hardly bit the insides of her cheeks, remembering the awful night when the famous Tj Hammond who was out and wasted in his club and miraculously happened to reject her amazing, stunning self.

Oh, did she had a petty little crush on him so that was why she was acting so hostile towards you.

"No," Tj shook his head, a wicked grin threatening to come out and a lot of nasty sentences that could get her to crumble. "You're the bitchest out of all the bitch, Rosalie." He chuckled, his arm retreating from your waist as you saw him took a step forward till he reached her ear, bending down to whisper whatever he needed to.

"Don't come attacking my woman when you're still salty about that night," Tj harshly whispered on her ear, his voice turning an octave lower but definitely more harsh, breath hot and fanning, making her toes curl with want and hunger. "I remembered it so well," He chuckled, a sinister one. "I remembered how you were trying to get in my pants, yet my gay self didn't happen to find you attractive nor worth to fuck for a threesome,"

"Besides, I wouldn't want my dick to get chewed by that dry, loose, wrinkly, smelly twat, Sparks."

And just like that, she huffed and was in the verge of crying her frustrations out once she stomped her foot as she retreated. Making Tj form a wide smile that could make your insides turn a twist. What did he say that made the woman act like a bratty crybaby?

"Thomas," You started, seeing Tj walk back to you, enveloping his arms around your waist, leaning down to give you another peck on the lips but you were quick to maneuver your head, making him chase your lips with his. "Thomas," You repeated more sternly but quietly this time. He looked like he was a little smashed. Was he? you hoped he hadn't sniffed anything that could dissapoint you. "Nobody has the right to talk to you like that," He shockingly spat out in aggravation, looking deep in thought as he gorgeously stared into your eyes.

"What did you say to her?"

He shook his head, licking his lips as he whispered. "Nothing. It's not important, Sugar." His eyes was now trained on your lips, looking like he wanted to devour it all night. You couldn't help but smile. "Are you drunk?"

Your Tj drank in all of your beautiful features. Seeming to be mesmerized by your soul. "No, I'm not. I promise," He took a breather, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "I just love you too much. I can't stand them treating you that way,"

"Now, kiss me." He hastily puckered, dipping his head down for the third time and you were quick to adorably cover his mouth like the conservative person you are. "Tj, we're in the middle of--"

Tj didn't hide the roll of his eyes, showing you how much of a kill joy you were. "Do you think I give a damn?" He spoke against your palms, sounding muffled. "Y/NNNNNN,"

You internally rolled your eyes. He was such a baby. Your big baby. "Fine,"

He kissed your palms, planting a loud kissy sound that made people glance your way, his eyes turning adorable crescent moons once you dropped your palms off his lips. "I love youuuu," Tj puckered for the fourth time before grabbing your face in his hands. Kissing the daylights out of you in the middle of an engagement party. Apparently, it was Dougie and Anne's party yet it seemed like you were both having the engagement.

SCREAM OUT FEEDBACKS IF YA WANT A PART 2 OF THIS ONE SHOT BECAUSE THIS HASSSS A SECOND PART TO IT!!!!

XOXO, TATA

#tj hammond x you #tj hammond x reader #Tj Hammond #political animals #sebastian stan x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan imagines #Bucky Barnes #thomas james hammond #tj hammond x asian reader #asian reader #tatasworks #seb-owns-these-tatas #tatasmasterlist #sebastian x reader #seb owns these tatas #sebastian stan imagine #tj hammond imagine

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imlostinsantacarla · 5 years ago

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Dating Alistair Would Include:

(I really liked writing this. My perception on Alistair has totally changed and he literally needs all of the love in the whole entire world, okay? I think he deffo needs more love in this fandom. Idk usually I don’t make my would include’s so soft, but he just provokes it in me haha! Enjoy reading and thanks so much to the person who requested this! - Admin Kat 🌙❣)

- Let’s be honest here, you’re the ONLY being that he really loves and enjoys the company of. You’re the only one that he actually tolerates.

- He totally makes jokes all the time about how he only tolerates you, but if he was being truthful (which he isn’t used to having to voice to others unless it’s totally pessimistic) he doesn’t just tolerate you, but loves you immensely and values your opinions, companionship, thoughts, feelings, etc.

- Boi respects you ™

- You’ve become an expert on soothing his paranoia and pessimism with your calmness and steady nature. It took a very long time, but he’s a lot better since you’ve basically become the whole light of his existence holy shit i’m sobbing

- You always understand him and the reason behind why he is the way that he is. You never judge him for it which earns you extra brownie points from him.

- Alistair melts at your touch, your voice- just basically you alright?

- At first he tried to avoid you entirely when he found out you were his mate. He had a whole plan in his head that he was just meant to spend the entirety of eternity wallowing away in a dark cave, never to be within anyone’s company (the only exception when he must feed).

- lol, then your beautiful/handsome ass came along and ruined his entire plans ™ and I swear he was mad as hell at first. Yet the energy to resist the mate pull was far too tiring for him and he gave up, very indignant to begin with.

- He confides all of his fears, hopes, dreams, etc. in you and trusts you to keep them secret. And you do so because you’re loyal to him and only him.

- You both being on the run constantly, though you manage to miraculously persuade him to stay places for much more than a couple of months at a time.

- Honestly, your heart breaks when he opens up about his back story.

- “Well, I’m not leaving so get used to it.”

- He often seems cold and aloof but he shows his love for you in more subtle ways that speak volumes to you. Can you blame him after what he’s been through?

- Saying “I love you” tends to be your job. He prefers to show you that he loves you through actions. But he does say it on rare occasions.

- When you look at him you can see his loving gaze SCREAMS I LOVE YOU MADLY AND IRREVOCABLY OKAY?

- He’s so intensely protective of you, especially when you both appear at the Cullen’s house to be witnesses for Renesmee. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything harm you. He’d never forgive himself okay?

- Is angsty™ 25/7.

- Boi get’s jealous and sulky FAST.

- Gives you the silent treatment but can’t stay mad at you for long.

- He’s a total sucker for your puppy eyes. You get pretty much anything you want, with exceptions.

- Very romantic behind closed doors and isn’t a big fan of PDA. He believes that others don’t have the right to see such intimacy, as it’s reserved for just the pair of you.

- Arguments only happen when you go against his ways of being or when he lays down the law about not being reckless because he’s so paranoid of losing you. These arguments can last for years and Alistair is very stubborn.

- He has a fascination with skimming his fingertips lightly over your skin. The shiver that erupts from your being is delicious to him and he can’t help but smugly simper in response.

- Alistair loves to plant kisses on your bare shoulders, the rear of your neck, forehead, hands, knuckles, just all over okay? He lavishes you in his love behind closed doors.

- You love running your fingers through his hair. At first he would flinch at your contact - and sometimes he does when he’s in such deep thought - but he’s learnt to lean and melt into your touch. Now he cannot go without it.

- Everyone always commenting on how you’ve brought a better side out of him. He doesn’t necessarily socialize a whole ton, but he’ll be present in a room full of vampires for more than two minutes. So it’s progress.

- You’re respectful of him also, never attempting to change him. You love him for who he is and that’s all that matters really.

- You’re very protective of him. Probably would kill the whole damn Volturi or anyone who came near him and caused him any discomfort.

- I think that it’s a genuine compliment when others grin at you about how Alistair isn’t always wallowing in the dark attic any more, talking to spiders and all.

- Alistair always has his eyes on you. If you ever manage to be out of his sight, he genuinely grows intensely panicked. I think that he’d definitely have separation anxiety when you both are apart. He uses his tracking ability to find you.

- Will envelope you in a bone crushing hug, which startles everyone because he’s always so reserved in front of them with you. You’d literally just gone hunting with Bella because you’re curious about her diet for Christ sake!

- Totally see him as being the little spoon when you both cuddle. He’s got to be held and he’s just a spoiled brat for it.

- Always jokes about how you’re such a brat because you always get what you want.

- I think you both comically bicker a lot, but it usually turns playful and lighthearted. He’s never like that with anyone else.

- You never get jealous tbh. He never shows interest in anyone else other than you; it’s only when others show interest in him that makes you start throwing hands.

- Running your hands through one another’s hair. Y’all m e l t !

- Soft love!

- Alistair isn’t very experienced in the bedroom so you often take the reigns.

- You both prefer to make long sensual love, as opposed to an exhilarating quickie. It’s more meaningful that way to you both.

- Besides, he worships you nonstop and vice versa.

- But let’s be honest, he’s a tease without meaning to be.

- Get’s a thrill out of when you end up begging for him.

- You just literally get him off okay?

- Alistair literally drags you away from staying with the Cullens. He knows what the Volturi is capable of and will not allow you to succumb to being murdered by them or discovered by them either.

- You both softly tease one another.

- His s m i r k is to die for okay? He knows what it does to you!

- Definitely having the mainstream diet of a vampire. He’s not a fan of the vegetarianism.

- Mumbling tender sweet nothings.

- “I love you more than you may ever know, my love.”

- “You are the light of my eternal life.”

- “There’s no questioning what I would do for you, love.”

- He’s sappy asf okay? You love it.

- “Don’t leave.”

- “I’m never going anywhere.”

- “Promise me you’ll be here forever.”

- “I promise, my love.”

- Romantic as hell but not in the typical modern sense.

- Definitely old school and wants to be married before y’all do the frick frack.

- You’re so fascinated about everything with him, especially his gift.

- He’s so breath taken by you that sometimes he just cannot focus on anything else. Your gift is remarkable and sometimes he feels inferior to you, but you assure him that his gift is just as wonderfully useful and brilliant.

- Supporting one another through thick and thin. He honestly needs someone like you.

- My heart IM SCREAMINING

If you enjoyed, please like, reblog and follow for more! ❣

Where I found the gif/gif credit: ❣

#alistair #request #alistair imagines #imagine #imagines #twilight #twilight saga #twilight imagines #twilight saga imagines #twilight alistair imagines #twilight alisitair would includes #twilight saga alistair #twilight saga alistair imagines #twilight saga alistair would includes #hope you enjoy hun #admin kat

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your-high-lady · 6 years ago

Text

Revenge(Throne Of Glass Fanfiction)

I would recommend reading the following AN because though it may be long, it will probably answer quite a few of your questions.

AN: Hello. This one-shot is very graphic and I would not recommend reading it if you're not in a very wretched mood and wanting to kill someone. I've written a very detailed and very explicit version of a part of Kingdom of Ash that Sarah J Mass chose to write about very briefly. That wasn't enough for me so I added to what she wrote.

I started writing this one-shot about 3-4 months ago when I was angry and probably losing my mind because right now there is not a single reason that I can think of that would've caused me to even think about writing this let alone writing it at all, other than that one of the screws in my brain had come loose and seriously damaged another part. But anyways.

No, I'm not a sociopath and don't take psychiatrist help, though after reading through my one-shot a few times while editing has made me wonder whether I should seek help from a shrink because what I've written honestly scares me too. Me, the writer. This stuff came from my mind. Like, WTF! What is wrong with me!? But still. I want you to read it, of course at your own risk. I'm not forcing you to read this in any sense, but I would really appreciate a review or two giving me some feedback on my writing, and maybe a couple more assuring me that my writing is not as insane as I think it is.

I don't know what else to say except that I am sane. I am not mentally or physically disturbed in any way that could've caused the following to come out. I just... I don't know. I just don't know. There's just something about the way my mind is wired that I decided to write this and then post it on FanFiction.

It just occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the writing isn't as graphic as I think it is. If that if the case, please ignore all of the above.

Thank you, have a great day.

Disclaimer: I, in no world or sense, own the TOG world or its characters. Sarah J Mass very spectacularly imagined all of it and put it into seven wonderful books for us to read, and I'm very grateful for that. The first part, which is in italics is basically a copy paste of the part in Kingdom of Ash where Rowan asks Gavriel to heal Cairn. The part starting from the non-italics to the beginning of the actual torture is a loose summary of what Sarah J Mass wrote before Rowan actually began. After that is all mine. That's where my work starts: When he starts hurting Cairn. Everything before that is not my words. They're SJM's words put into a different form, or at least the non-italics are. Please know that, and don't come for me saying I copy-pasted her work and took credit for it. I gave her credit, just now, in the past few sentences.

If you have any other questions or worries, feel free to contact me however you like.

Ok, this is actually getting really long. I'm gonna stop.

Rowan didn’t know where to look first.

At the wolf and Fae male sprawled on the floor.

Or at the iron coffin across the tent.

The iron box they’d locked her in.

Had to reinforce it seemed, from the sloppy welding on the thick slabs atop it.

The box was so small. So narrow.

The smell of her blood, her fear, saturated the tent. Emanated from the box.

A metal table lay nearby.

And beneath it…

Rowan took in the three unlit braziers set beneath it, the chain anchors at the head and foot off the table.

Rowan turned his head to look Gavriel who was healing Fenrys, in his wolf form. And beside him, he lay. “Heal him,” Rowan said with lethal softness. The Lion looked up to find Rowan’s gaze not on Fenrys but instead on Cairn. Chunks of flesh had been torn from his body and a lump was forming on his temple. It was the blow that had knocked him out. A blow that had been inflicted by Fenrys. Right before he collapsed himself. But not from his wounds, instead of from… Rowan started. What had happened here, what has been so terrible that the wolf had done the impossible to spare Aelin from enduring it? Though Gavriel’s eyes were wary, Rowan pointed at Cairn again, “Heal him.” There wasn’t much time left. Not for what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.

Drawers had been pulled out. Polished tools glinted inside. A pouch of them had also been set on a piece of black velvet beside the metal table.

Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror.

His Fireheart.

Gavriel’s magic shone golden as it settled over Cairn.

Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid out, the ones in the draw. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected one: a thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer’s tool, meant for small incisions. Rowan turned to look at Cairn as unconsciousness gave way. By the time, Cairn was fully awake, Rowan had him chained to the metal table. Cairn beheld Rowan, as he stood over him with the tool in his tattooed hand, others laid out beside him. He began thrashing, but the iron chains binding him held. Then he saw the frozen rage in Rowan’s eyes. He understood what he intended to do with that sharp knife. A dark stain spread across the front of Cairn’s pants. Once Gavriel was out, Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.

Rowan started at the bottom. He twisted and broke the bones in Cairn’s ankles, giving himself easy access to the bottom of his feet. Though Cairn tried to keep his mouth shut, the pain was too much. And so he screamed. He shrieked loud enough that Rowan’s ears ringed with it. But despite that, he savoured Cairn’s screams as he first peeled off the skin at his toe pads. Slowly, mercilessly. Then his heels. And then the arch of his foot. Through the ringing, Rowan thought about her. About Aelin. What had she gone through? How had Cairn tortured her these past months? Had she screamed like Cairn was now? More?

He looked up to see Cairn’s face. It was streaked with tears. His nose was running, face pale. It wasn’t enough. No amount of pain Rowan inflicted on him would be enough to challenge what Aelin must’ve gone through. Maybe, Rowan thought, I should lock him in the iron coffin. Take away his air. Make him feel what my wife felt. Later, Rowan. Later.

He moved on to Cairn's lower leg, letting his blood drip, drip, drip on to the floor. He picked up a slightly bigger knife. It was equally sharp if not more, as the last one. Rowan put it against Cairn’s shin and carefully made a horizontal cut, starting about an inch below his knee and ending at his ankle. Then the other leg. The screams grew louder, wilder. A haze had entered Rowan’s mind and only one thing, one word was able to get through it: Revenge.

The lone word burned within him, with each heartbeat, with each intake of breath.

Revengerevengerevenge

It was all he could think about. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt Cairn. He wanted to destroy his body, then his mind. He wanted to kill him. And he didn’t care about himself, about how he might feel regretful—or even disgusted with himself—when he finished, even though he doubted he would ever regret this. Cairn deserved everything he got. Every scream, every nightmare, every time he felt even a shred of pain or fear. He deserved it all. And so that is why he asked softly, “Cairn.” The shrieking halted. “Why am I hurting you? Do you know?”

"Because you're a sociopath, that's why." Cairn spat, panting.

Rowan turned his head to look at Cairn… and smelt more urine. “Wrong answer.” He moved so that he was closer to Cairn’s left thigh. Put the knife’s tip against it, right in the middle. He knew, one hard plunge down and he would crush right through the bone. Cairn wouldn’t be able to walk then. But then again, he wasn’t able to right now either what with the chains and his unfortunate injuries. Eh. Let’s do it anyway. And down went Rowan’s knife. He heard the crack of the bone. He felt the splinters graze the knife. He felt the rage in himself when he turned the knife making a full circle. He relished the shrieks that emanated from Cairn’s throat. Miraculously, Cairn was still alive and conscious. Rowan planned to change that. But first, he had to tell Cairn the right answer. “The right answer to my question, Cairn, is because you hurt my mate. You tortured her. You mistreated her. You laughed at her. You did all that and more. And now, I’m going to make you pay for it.” And with those words, he took the knife out of Cairn’s leg and jabbed it into the other. Harder. He heard the point of the knife clang against the metal table under Cairn. The screaming was getting hoarse. But that wasn’t what Rowan wanted.

Rowan took the knife out. Looked at the dark red blood staining the blade, tilting his head to the side, contemplating. His bright green eyes turned to look at Cairn’s blue ones. Turned back to Cairn’s bleeding leg. Rowan put his finger into the small hole his knife had made. He angled skin back and made a short horizontal slit, tucking his knife into the small flap. He moved his eyes to see Cairn looking at what his fingers were doing. Cairn began to tremble. He saw in Cairn’s eye fear and anticipation of what was to come. The agony he knew would come. Rowan didn’t give him enough time to mentally prepare before he yanked. As if he were no more than a butcher pulling off the skin of his dead prey. He watched as Cairn’s body arched in pain, as his mouth opened in agony and gurgling noises came out. They sort of sounded like stop! stop! Rowan processed them as to keep going! keep going!. So he did.

“Ahhhh!” Cairn’s voice was getting hoarse with each howl. It wasn’t enough for Rowan though. He wanted Cairn to lose his voice. Then he wanted Cairn to regain his voice, so that Cairn could scream even louder and then lose his voice again. But he was going pale now. Rowan took the knife out of Cairn’s skin and ripped back the skin above so that he had two flaps off skin opening up and down his leg. He, then, did the same torture to the other leg, just much faster. Cairn already knew what was going to happen. There was no pleasure in dragging it out twice. By the time Rowan finished, he had been pulled to oblivion. Rowan stared at Cairn’s face. It was toned with muscle. Sharp and angled. It would be a pretty one, if not for the permanent arrogant smirk on his face, even in oblivion. Rowan had had enough of staring at his rutting face.

Rowan moved his hands so that they hovered over Cairn’s bleeding legs, and healed him. And slowly, Cairn came back to conscious, groaning because though Rowan had healed him enough that he was no longer unconscious, he still had the injuries. And they still hurt very much.

Rowan moved his eyes to look at Cairn’s sharp face. There was a smirk on his face. “Feeling arrogant, are we?” Rowan asked Cairn.

His smirk grew, “No matter how much you torture me, you’ll never be able to forget that you”, he lifted his head, jerking his chin at Rowan, “failed her.” Rowan flinched. “That’s what hurts, doesn’t it. You think hurting me will make you feel better. And it might. But you’ll still always ponder over it, what I might’ve done to her. Did I rape her? Did I cut her? Did I burn her? Did I drown her? No one knows… but, wait. Aelin would know. I know. But you don’t. I’m not going to tell you. And I don’t think the bitch”—Rowan slapped Cairn for that, causing a spray of blood to come out of his mouth—“wants to relive those memories either. They’re pretty brutal if I remember correctly.” Cairn shrugged as if accepting the fact that no one was going to say anything. But Rowan hadn’t decided anything yet. Half his mind was demanding he torture the information out of Cairn, but the other was saying that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Hearing about what Aelin went through would kill him. He believed that side. And anyway, it didn’t make a difference, whether he knew what happened to her or not, it would be equally painful. Either way, Cairn wasn’t going to see the sunset today.

Picking up the smallest and sharpest knife Rowan had in his arsenal, he slit Cairn’s shirt in half. Turning and playing with the knife, Rowan said, “I don’t know what you did to her, Cairn, but I can still label you. Murderer, sadist, torturer, abuser. There’re so many words. Which one should I use? Tell me. What word do you want me to use.” Cairn’s nostrils flared with anger but he didn’t say anything. Rowan sighed. “You speak when I don’t want you to but lose your tongue when I want you to talk? How inconvenient. I guess I’ll just have to choose the word for you.” He took a few seconds to himself before he told Cairn, “I can’t decide, Cairn,” he huffed, amused. “I suppose we could use more than one word. Let’s start with… coward? Is that okay with you?” Cairn just glared, nostrils flaring. Rowan gave him a small smile, before putting his knife point against Cairn’s skin. And so he began, once again. Coward, sadist, betrayer. He carved out all these names and more, some of the more ancient words in the Old Language, on to Cairn’s torso, all the while savouring his screams. They were worse than before, and soon Cairn’s voice was hoarse and he was struggling to get his voice out. But Rowan didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He needed to keep going. He needed to give himself this. He couldn’t have avoided Maeve taking her away on that beach, all those months ago. He didn’t even know what was happening until she was taken away, and he saw that blood-soaked shirt staining the sand red. Aelin didn’t tell him anything and Rowan couldn’t help but hate her for that. For taking herself away from him. For taking away the greatest honour of protecting and keeping his queen safe. She took that away from him, and he hated her for that. But more than he hated her, he loved her. He loved her more than anything in this world and he could bring himself to forgive her but only because he had the opportunity to maim and kill the man who hurt his wife. His mate. His reason for breathing. Because there was no reason to live if she was not breathing alongside him. To whatever end. They had said that to each other many times before. To whatever end. That included death. If she died, Rowan would happily follow along, with her.

But Aelin was alive. She had escaped. His Fireheart had braved everything and escaped. She would be okay now. Rowan would be able to take care of her. But he needed to kill Cairn first. He needed closure. And so he only stopped with the carving when there was just one small spot left above his hip, where the skin was not split and bubbling with blood. The rest of his torso was just a slab of ruined flesh and blood. Just like Aelin’s must’ve been after the whipping she got in her first month off Endovier, and on the beach at Maeve’s orders. But that spot. He would come back to that spot. Later. He had to do some other things first.

As Rowan put the knife down, Cairn’s shrieking died down too as he once again was pulled into oblivion. He made sure Cairn’s wounds had started clotting and that he wouldn’t die of blood loss, before going to a small bucket full of water and washing the blood off his hands. His clothes were splattered with blood, too. He would have to throw them away because of the staining that was sure to happen.

Taking his hands out of the water, Rowan looked at them. His fingernails and fingers were also stained red with blood. They would be stained for at least a day or two before the blood came completely off. He was used to this. After all the wars he’d been to and come back from, he’d gotten used to it. He’d gotten used to the sticky feeling of it before he could wash the blood off. He’d gotten used to the metal stench of blood and the feeling of the phantom blood that never seemed to get off his hands. Instead, it just seemed to cake on even more with each war he returned from. He’d never really cared for any of these things before he met Aelin. Blood was blood—something to be washed off and forgotten about. He hadn’t cared about the blood or who it might’ve belonged to. He still didn’t, especially if it had the black colour and reek of Valg blood. He wanted his hands coated in Valg blood. But this wasn’t Valg blood staining his fingers. This was red blood, Fae blood. Cairn’s blood. And still, he didn’t want to wash it off completely. He wanted the reminder. He wanted the reminder of the pain he’d inflicted on Cairn. He wanted to remember the feeling of his flesh squishing under his fingers and hands, and the feeling of his hands being icky and sticky with blood. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He was distantly aware that his thoughts were not right, and that if anyone heard what he was thinking they would call him a psychotic killer who very badly needs some help, but he couldn’t care less about them. Cairn had hurt her. And Cairn would pay for it now. It was as simple as that.

Drying his hands, he walked back over to Cairn. His face was contorted in pain, leaving little space for the usual arrogant smirk. Not one to waste any time, Rowan moved his hands over Cairn’s body and gave him a little energy boost, still leaving the pain there and wounds open. Once Cairn was relatively awake and aware of his surroundings, Rowan picked up a medium-sized knife. Inspecting it, he said to Cairn, “Cairn, doing good? I hope you’re okay. I want to be alive for the rest of this. I want you to feel it. I want you to experience the pain you put my wife through. You deserve to feel it, for what you did to her and I’m sure countless other people, too. You enjoy it, don’t you? You enjoy their pain, their screams, their tears. Well, I enjoy yours, only yours…And I guess other people who hurt my Aelin and our court, too. You, who put my wife through misery. You, who made her cry. You, who took her away from me.” Rowan was getting tired of talking, so he put the knife at Cairn’s shoulder and just started peeling the skin of his upper arm, moving it around here and there to get to the more hidden-from-him spots. Cairn didn’t scream this time. Instead, he just moaned and groaned in pain, which was expected at this point after all the pain he’d already been through. His body and mind had probably entered a place where he was accepting the pain rather than trying to fight it, which was completely fine with Rowan as long as he could keep hurting Cairn. He kept speaking over Cairn’s groaning, “You did so much, Cairn. Do you remember when I was trying to train you? You were so difficult. You wouldn’t listen, always got into fights with the others. Why? Why did you always need to keep fighting?” He moved down to Cairn’s forearm. “Why do you enjoy it? Isn’t it sickening to you? Have you ever puked after torturing someone? Do you have any conscience at all?” Cairn didn’t reply, so Rowan just moved on to Cairn’s other arm, and before long, Cairn was once again pulled back into his mind, but not before Rowan cut off both of his arms. That procured a shriek from Cairn’s throat, which made Rowan smile in the sweetest delight. He drank a glass of water, swallowing the minor disgust at his own thoughts. He walked over to the small fireplace on the side of the tent and lit a small fire. Then picked up the first knife he’d used and put it beside Cairn’s head, freeing his hands so that he could bring Cairn’s back to consciousness one last time. While Cairn was blinking away the last dregs of unawareness, Rowan said, “I have nothing to say to you, except that your whole life, everything you did, led to this point. You and your actions are why I’m here standing here, holding this knife. You hurt her and now I will kill you.” Cairn trembled as Rowan picked up the small knife used for precise incisions. “Please, please. Make it quick.” Cairn begged in a small squeaking voice. Rowan slowly shook his head, bringing his mouth close to Cairn’s ear. “You don’t deserve it.” Coming back up, Rowan brought the knife down to Cairn’s crotch. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you keep your manhood after what you did to my wife, did you?” And with those words, Rowan castrated Cairn. His mouth widened in horrified terror. Rowan imagined that he was so much in pain that he couldn’t even get his voice out to express the pain he was going through. It was so painful he couldn’t even scream. His hands presumably come up to hold his crotch but he couldn’t because of the iron holding him down. After he’d carved out impotent on to the small spot he’d reserved before, he moved to Cairn’s forehead. Starting just above his bushy brown brows, Rowan dug his knife into the skin and peeled it back until half of Cairn’s scalp was just hanging off the table edge. Rowan didn’t blink an eye at the bits of brain spilling out, as he went to the other brow and did the exact same thing. During all this, he also very reluctantly healed Cairn just enough so that he wouldn’t die of blood loss or suffocation or any of the shit, as Rowan basically destroyed Cairn’s mind, physically and mentally. He moved on to the cheeks, peeling the skin of then the nose and ears, also slicing the skin away and then cutting the body part of altogether. Then he took his knife and jabbed them into each of Cairn’s eyes. He screamed at. Loud and clear, his voice rang through the tent. Soon Cairn’s once permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face was not a permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face. Instead, it was a slab of meat, blood, squishy shit, and just overall, waste. No one would be able to tell who he was, anymore. No one would see that arrogant smirk again. Aelin, though she would most likely see him in her nightmares for years to come, will never again be tormented by him and his face in reality.

Before Cairn could die out on him, Rowan peeled the skin off Cairn’s neck, before picking up his axe and slamming it down. Cairn’s head fell and vulgarly rolled around the tent floor before Rowan picked it up and threw the head into the fire that he’d kept going with his magic. He watched it burn for a couple of minutes before going to the rest of the body. He cut it up into smaller pieces before throwing those into the fire too. His nose prickled at the scent of burning flesh but he kept watching. He wanted to make sure that not a single piece of that male lived. He wanted to make sure that was Aelin safe, or at at least as safe as she could be at the moment. Ten minutes later, the fire was finally starting to die down, leaving the ashes of Cairn scattered on the floor.

Cairn. He was dead. Good riddance, was all Rowan thought before he exited out of the tent, his magic blowing the scent of the burnt flesh away from the tents.

In the chaos of Aelin’s escape, Rowan was easily able to walk out of the camp without attracting any attention. He had only taken a few steps away from the camp entrance gates before he ran. And ran and ran and ran. When he was sure no one could see him, he stopped and just let it all out. He had been feeling sick at himself and his actions the whole time he’d hurt Cairn. But he’d kept it buried deep in his soul. He knew it was important that he give himself that closure. He’d needed to hurt the person who hurt his mate. It gave him a little solace that her tormentor hadn’t died an easy death. He’s experienced pain first, then died. He’d needed to give himself that satisfaction. And so he gave it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be sick. And so he vomited. Everything he’d eaten in the past couple days spilled out of his mouth. And when it was over, he gagged dryly. It was his way of physically getting it all out. All the anger and hopelessness he’d felt in the past few months—it all came out and he was glad of it. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to puke anymore he stood up, took his hawk form and flew around until he found her scent. Her normal scent of jasmine and lemon verbena was laced with fear and blood and misery but there was also a slight undertone of happiness and pride which Rowan guessed was because of her escape. Of course, she would be happy and proud of herself. She’d been through so much and come back alive and aware of her surroundings if not completely pleasant. But they could work on that. Together. Together they would heal.

AN: Well that was quite the journey. Yes, I’m still sane. I hope you are too, and I also hope that you liked my one-shot. Let me know if there are any other ideas you might have and would like for me to write about, and remember to leave a review. I always find those quite nice and interesting to read. Thank you. And have an amazing day.

#rowan #cairn #tog #ToG FanFic #aelin #prince rowan #rowan whitethorn #Cairn's an ass #tog fanfiction

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guylty · 6 years ago

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Apart from Michele lobbying for this film in the wake of the horror of Hannibal, I wouldn’t have considered 2014 disaster flick Into The Storm for a rewatch, had ITS not been on Irish free TV at the end of January. That already preempts my verdict to some degree. You see, I don’t think that it is what we call “ganz großes Kino” in German [great cinema]. To stay with the metaphor, it’s probably more along the lines of “ganz großes Damentennis” [great women’s tennis]. Ok, those are in-jokes for those who can speak German. Very bad form, Guylty, very bad! What it means is: ITS is not a triumph of early 21st century cinema. And this is why:

Recap

It’s an ordinary day in Silverton, Ohio, where single-parent assistant principal Gary Fuller herds his teenage sons Trey and Donnie to school. Trey is documenting the day with his camcorder; Donnie, the elder of the two, is pissed off with his dad. Daddy Gary at the same time is distracted by the preparations for the afternoon’s graduation ceremony. Meanwhile, a motley crew of ‘storm chasers’ have come into the area because they expect a strong hurricane to landfall. And it does – but it’s the mother of all hurricanes, a monster storm that wreaks havoc in Silverton, scatters the graduation, and, worst of all, traps Donnie Fuller together with love interest Kaitlyn in a disused mill where they nearly drown – if it hadn’t been for Daddy Fuller, the quirky brother, and some unexpected help from the storm chasers. But all’s well that ends well: daddy comes to rescue, the youngsters are saved at the last minute, the nasty career-storm chaser gets his comeuppance but simultaneously redeems himself, and the Fuller lads are one happy family again.

youtube

So, we’ve got the ingredients for a regular summer blockbuster here: (natural) disaster with opportunity for big time CAD, vaguely topical issue (global warming), family dynamics (dad vs son), small little love story (Donnie & Kat, Gary & meteorologist Allison), nasty slave-driving boss getting what he deserves, single-parent mother separated from her child because of work, two country-bumpkin eejits for light relief, major, nail-biting drama and a happy ending. Maybe some of what is wrong with the film is already visible in that list: There is too much in it, and it doesn’t *quite* know what it wants to be. It takes on too many things, and instead of just being content with being a two-dimensional, silly disaster movie along the lines of Sharknado, it wants to take itself seriously, attempting “issues” in order to attract viewers. The strength of disaster movies is usually the special effects or the computer design of the catastrophe. So why obscure that silly fun with serious issues? Global warming as the cause of intense weather phenomena? Of course, we know that. But do I look to a summer movie to learn more about the effects of climate change? Eh, no! Just as much as I don’t want to get into a subtle subplot about single-parent issues and the strains of having to separate from your child in order to earn money. Just get on the with the disaster, throw around a few 10-ton-trucks and jumbo jets, and I’ll be happy.

Not sure where this gif comes from – credit to the maker

In that sense, the strongest scenes in the movie are the action/disaster sequences. When Gary runs across the street after his car is inadvertently crashed, and a pick-up truck smashes into the pavement about ten feet beside him, then that is great (disaster) cinema. Armitage clinging on to a car door for dear life – and to save met lady Allison from being sucked up into the tornado: predictable but essential ingredient to a disaster movie. And bonus: wet bum shot. Of Armitage! Not the woman! *That* would be sexist! A whole group of helpless humans, huddling in a massive drain for shelter against the storm, being thrown around by mother nature – great both in terms of providing scale as well as giving more opportunity for heroics. But all that sentimental crap about Allison not being with her daughter, Gary and Donnie’s relationship being strained, and Pete the storm chaser pressuring his underlings into risking their lives – unnecessary and not believable.

Cardboard Cut-outs

Not least because the characters are mere cardboard cut-outs, stereotypes, and as such just a cheap trick to offer a quick n easy way to identify or engage with one of the characters. Yet I found it strangely difficult to get invested because the characters were just too stereotypical: The hard-working father who is trying his best to bring up his sons; elder son has an issue with dad being over-protective. Young son OTOH is happy-go-lucky popular kid. Met lady has small daughter who lives with grandparents because mum has to travel for work: I should’ve latched on to these people immediately because I share one massive characteristic with them – I am a parent. (Happy mother’s day, btw.) But that one facet in a person is not enough for me to connect and engage with a character. I understand that ITS is a film that is basically telling a story in real time. So there is no opportunity for massive insights or for character set-up. Or maybe there would’ve been if the film had concentrated on fewer characters. Apart from Pete the head storm chaser, did we need Allison and the other storm chasing crew? We certainly didn’t need the town eejits, and we probably could also have done without the burgeoning love story between Donnie and Kaitlyn. If Gary Fuller was the main character, then the film should’ve focussed on him – and his heroics. That would’ve done the trick.

As for Armitage in the film: No complaints as such. His performance is solid – as it always is. You can sort of tell that this is basically his first time playing an American character. The accent doesn’t sit well with him – it just doesn’t sound right imo: When he speaks, his whole voice changes. It’s deeper in tone, and not as melodious as usual. Which is a pity, because his voice (and his vocal talents) are always an asset to any show. Otherwise he gets away with portraying the great looking, fit and healthy athletic All American dad, right down to those beautifully regular white and shiny front teeth. I do buy his act as a dad – in fact more so than his act as the vice principal of a small town high school. The man just is too gorgeous for such an existence. Casting fail *grins*.

The effects in the film work well – once you suspend your disbelief, everything is possible, and the fire tornado or the monster hurricane that bounces jumbo jets around as if they were matchbox toys, look reasonably real. The climactic storm scene – with Pete’s (literal) comeuppance – OTOH is designed straight from baroque altar pieces (see right). Towering clouds fading into white… You almost expect the eye of providence to pop up on top of the screen. And so sickly sweet with its bright clouds and shining light and predictable that it spoils the otherwise hair-raising disaster porn.

For me, the greatest regret of the film is that its concept obviously changed at some point. The initial idea of basing the majority of the film on “found footage” – was actually a great idea, both in terms of aesthetics as well as story telling. But that concept eventually is thrown out of the window even though little brother Trey, who executes the concept at the beginning of the film by shooting a ‘time capsule project’, continues to carry the camera with him. From the middle of the film found footage is not happening anymore – which makes the film strangely asymmetrical. One wonders whether the film was significantly reshot after screen testing? There definitely were reshoots, as can be seen as early as the first scene of the film when Gary’s hair is definitely shorter than a scene later…

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Miraculous hair growth. Well, RA has mentioned before that he has won prizes for growing his beard faster than anyone else… Looks as if the Armitagean follicles are stuff of legend and miracle!

Final verdict

Unfortunately, the second time ‘round, the film doesn’t improve. When I watched it in the cinema – summer evening, teenage son with me, bag of pop corn at the ready – it really did what it set out to do: It was a meaningless summer flick, more aimed at the boys than the girls, easily whiling away 89 minutes with lots of rain, thunder, assorted farm equipment flying through the air and the occasional jumbo jet twirling across the airport concourse. Four and a half years later, the film hasn’t exactly become a cult classic. And it’s easy to see why: It’s neither excruciatingly bad, nor exquisitely good. Maybe the audience wants to see even more extreme effects – or the opposite is true and in light of global warming the audience *doesn’t* want to be reminded of the havoc that the climate can play with us. And without any particularly exciting human interest story in the film, ITS has been laid to rest in the mid-week movie graveyard. That’s not what Richard Armitage deserves – who gives his best as he always does. Maybe all it was for him, was an elaborate screen test. He certainly comes across well. And at least he has ticked another genre off his list.

What about you? What do you think about the film? Comment below or write a post on your blog and link back to me so we can discuss!

PS: April is coming! And we need a new re-watch. Suggestions?

Re-Watching Into The Storm – Not Much of a Twist Apart from Michele lobbying for this film in the wake of the horror of Hannibal, I wouldn’t have considered 2014 disaster flick…

#gary fuller #into the storm #Richard Armitage

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iwritethat · 7 years ago

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UnreQUITed - Part 2

Request: Would you be willing to write a part two of "UnreQUITed"? If you're not too busy with other requests? I'd greatly appreciate it, thank you so much!

Could you please do a part two to unreQUITed? It was so good! ❤️

Part 2 requests in general tbh

A/N: Here it is and I doubt it’s what you all were expecting... 😭

>>>>——————————>

~ Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~

Disappearing was probably the best decision you'd ever made, you'd returned to your roots - the heartless nature that made you once again assassin material. Although, you were not exactly in that line of work since you'd sworn off of killing for Dick Grayson long ago.

It wasn't that bad, with the amount of money you earn from gathering intel and obtaining certain items for your previous wealthy clientele, it was easy to maintain a luxurious lifestyle whilst on the run.

As expected, it would soon come to an end with the passing months but never did you imagine you'd be working a weapons merchant when it happened.

In your defence, you were there to retrieve the priceless stolen pistol of your client, one that had diamond encrusted detailing, used silver bullets and was the colour of silky ivory. As a result of its unique beauty, said arms dealer kept it on his person as a display of power - you were basically his right hand/resident charmer.

The meeting was interrupted when a set of crimson arrows soared through the air striking down his men with miraculous precision - however, due to your amplified reflexes you effortlessly caught the one targeting your heart. Not that you had one anymore.

Since the place was being raided anyway, you gave a tired sigh when knocking out your boss, his body falling to unconsciousness on the cold tile of the office whilst you apprehended the pistol. Just then, a henchmen flung through the door followed by his attacker who appeared to be wearing a red - oh no.

"(Y-y/n)?! You're alright and here?! Fuck I missed you!" This was weird, Jason immediately disarmed and embraced your confused form. The gesture was loving and kind, one that showed he truly did care and you almost felt guilty for not bidding adios to him personally.

"I- Jay I didn't..."

"And Hell nice suit/dress."

"Haha, do I look good?"

"You always look good. What are you doing here anyway - and why are you stealing my thunder?" The Red Hood crossed his arms expectantly, waiting for your answer.

"Ah, I'm working." A simple but honest statement on your part.

"Working - please tell me it's nothing bad I should worry about and fight you over? Also, that why you taking his gun?"

"Wow, don't you trust me Jason? I know I've been gone a while but I used to be your go to if I wasn't with your brother. Anyways, gotta go." You claimed, edging around him rather smoothly before disappearing into the night.

You weren't stupid, he was probably tracking you now because Jason hated losing people and he'd be damned if he let you vanish again. So later that night you sat casually atop a rooftop overlooking your city of the week in normal attire simply awaiting his arrival and moping about your awkward client. Your confederate had been travelling and now the new drop off point was freaking Gotham - it could be worse, it could be Blüdhaven.

A fleck of shimmering ambers filled your peripheral vision and displayed a smiling Kori and dangling Roy.

"(Y/n)! It's been so long dear friend."

"Wait?! This is (Y/n)?! The lackey that caught my arrow - damn Dick used to talk about you all the time. I can see why Jason mentioned you on a few occasions too." Roy cockily saluted in greeting once marvelling at who your actually were.

"Yeah yeah Harper you finally met (Y/n) (L/n), good for you. You knew I was coming huh?" Jason's voice mocked from behind you, accompanying his heavy footsteps.

"What a guess, I'm glad you've learnt something in my absence. Now how can I help you Outlaws?" Your response was sarcastic but playful.

"Actually I wanted you to join us, my answer is yes albeit late."

You clicked your tongue, and shook your head dismissively. "You didn't need me then Jason, so you don't need me now. Besides I'm better off on my own, if I run with you and Dick finds out we'll both be in trouble - only unlike you I can't be around him."

"At least come back to Gotham with me and catch up a bit? You didn't only leave your beloved Dickiebird behind y'know." Jason’s words were kind of a low blow but suited to the man they originated from.

"Okay, I owe you that." You punched the cocky anti hero in the shoulder and you had a meeting there anyway, 20% extra pay due to the change in location of your client.

~~~

Gotham City. It was strange being back to be honest and you had no intention of sticking around once you'd hit the drop off. The first thing on your checklist, as soon as you'd split from the Outlaws upon arrival, was meeting your client and returning his expensive lost artefact meanwhile attaining a large sum in your bank account. However, it seemed as one door closes, many more open thanks to the contacts your client has on hand. You weren’t the only renegade he knew and it seemed this job was most likely a set up judging by your clients chosen company.

"Ah, it's been a while (Y/n) (L/n)." That voice, it sent shivers down your spine, it was unmistakeable - one whose orders you mindlessly obliged by for many years until Dick saved you.

"It has. And I'd prefer it to be longer, good ridence." You didn't even bother turning to face him, hand waving in dismissal.

"What would your little birdie think of that behaviour? In fact I've heard you aren't fighting together anymore - what's a Nightwing without his heart hm? Now if you comply again, we won't have to find out will we?" The arrogant figure knew he'd struck a nerve as soon as you'd froze at the mention of a repressed ally. He had your high class skills hostage now, because even if you didn't love him, how could you let anyone lay a finger on Dick Grayson?

~~~

Clad in civilian attire, you propped yourself against the wall, a majority of your weight leaning on your back and foot kicked up on the bricks. Jason Todd emerged from the take away joint soon after, tossing a paper bag in your direction that shattered your dwelling on that recent but haunting memory. You gave him a questioning look once peering inside.

"How'd you know my favourite order?"

"Dick knew, I found out from him."

"Does he know?! That I'm here in Gotham? With you?"

"Nah, give me some credit doll."

"Don't call me that, anyway how've you been?" You began a nostalgic conversation, old memories and past experiences retold like a towns fable that kept you occupied until your food was tossed.

A melodious laugh escaped your lips, recalling one of your adventures.

"Miami was the best, this lovely woman tried- oh nooo..." As well as your speech, your body short circuited too when taking in the glimpse of raven hair and blue eyes, you'd have been fine if it wasn't so recognisable.

Jason suspiciously gazed in your line of sight and mentally facepalmed, he should've known that the Gods or Demons would've tried to bring you together again. Thankfully, Dick's attention was solely focused on Damian and before he could process what was happening you'd dragged Jason into the nearest alley and pinned him to the wall with a hand covering his mouth. Jason cocked a brow, removing your hand with a 'seriously?' look crossing his features but alas, your eyes were trained on his brother.

"Hey, relax. Focus on me instead or better yet getting out of this?"

"He's right there. I could go straight up and say hi, tell him that I've missed him... I could do that."

“I know, and in the interest of that promise you forced on me, the keeping you un-lovestruck one, you better forgive me for this.” The vigilante ensured your presence by wrapping his arms around your waist, closing the distance between you which now had your full attention since you couldn’t get away.

“Restraining me? Guess I should be thanking you huh.” You sighed hopelessly, cursing at Cupid for ever concocting his dysfunctional theory of love.

“Todd, thought we saw you run.” Damian called, his tone doubling as a warning. Of course the Wayne recognised you and wanted nothing more than to welcome you home but knew how you felt about Dick. It was best to leave matters for now instead attempting to delay his eldest sibling.

Internally you were freaking out, but you knew the youngest well enough to understand the hidden meaning - he was giving you time. He intentionally made an appearance before Dick could catch Jason, you didn’t have long but hopefully the shadowy uneven lighting of the alleyway would aid your concealment.

Hearing the fast approaching footsteps, you turned away from the alley entrance desperately praying that he wouldn’t recognise the back of your head as you shifted further into Jason’s touch. However, Jason was the quick thinking one, moving to capture your lips with his own, at first you were surprised but melted into it - people avoid PDA, it should encourage them to leave sooner.

“Damian, you could’ve waited you know. Huh hey I knew it was you Jay, and your partner...?” Dick Grayson, oh boy he was still amazing.

You clenched Jason’s leather jacket, palms sweating from the mere ripples of the lost tone as you pulled away from him. You’d hoped you’d forget his kind voice, the way it gently tugged at your heartstrings in a charming manner that always sped up your heartbeat, the way it sounded like a melody and was capable of reanimating the past memories you’d spent hearing it, how well it fitted into your life and fuelled your heart. As much as your love begged you, you couldn’t look at him and show your face or else he’d know instantaneously.

“Thanks for interrupting, whatcha want?” Jason casually stated, running a hand almost gingerly down your side.

“это личные дела, моя любовь. [[These are private matters my love.]]” Now the Russian accent was perfection and the language was fluent, convincing enough to be believable as you’d only learnt it in your absence meaning it was one less thing Dick could link to your identity. You certainly knew Richard could understand Russian, Jason too so when you felt him uncharacteristically melt, muscles relaxing and heart rate increasing upon hearing your last two words maybe he misheard?

“I’ll catch up with you both later but I’m on business right now.” Jason carefully informed them, sending a wink to his brothers signifying it was vigilante related and that was enough for them. With nods and goodbyes they were gone.

“My love? (Y/n), you learnt Russian?!” Jason asked breathlessly once they’d disappeared, however instead of being met with your usual blissful smile you were briskly removing sparkling tears.

You took a step back, trying to focus on anything else - a flare of disappointment sparked within you, you’d wholeheartedly believed you were over the mesmerising acrobat but that was easier to argue when not in his drawing presence as you’d recently learnt. Jason could only give you a sympathetic look as you built up your walls again, apparently weaker than you thought.

“They probably thought I was a Russian drug lord.” You forced laughter and a smug smile as the situation was amusing, but barely managing it through your silent sobs over Grayson.

“You’d make a good drug dealer.” The male in front of you automatically comforted, compliments always came easy with you no matter how distorted they were.

“Ahem, anyway thanks for the food but I should go back to my hotel. The quicker I leave Gotham the better.” It didn’t take long for you to fix yourself, saluting Jason who had offered to walk you back to your hotel.

The stroll provided time to say goodbye, as much as you weren’t expecting it he told you to keep in contact this time.

It was nice actually, to know they still cared about you even now and after your first disappearance. The thought put a warm flutter in the pit of your stomach, however that soon dispersed as you reached your bed. On it was a pristine box decorated with a matte black bow; one you hesitantly untied and begrudgingly opened.

The noir silk cascaded to the floor once you lay your eyes on its familiar contents, shades of the amber and black armor withholding your attention span. The suit was accompanied by a mocking note of your last encounter, the inscription ringing of that dark voice you never wanted to hear again as you read over it in your mind tenfold with blood pulsating at an unfathomable pace - it was like you could feel every cell throbbingly reject the so called ‘gift’. But after encountering him amidst the pistol exchange, the threat he’d made rang strong.

‘Welcome back, “моя любовь” was it? ~ Slade Wilson.’

#dick grayson #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dc #dc imagine #batfam #slade wilson #deathstroke #UnreQUITed

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mermain123 · 6 years ago

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Why I won’t Confess

This is my first Miraculous story and I am really nervous and really excited to publish it. please don't ask for a second chapter because i don't know i could continue it besides a few potential lines in potential conversations. and even then i don't know how they would play out. please leave your thoughts on it.

Why I Won’t Confess

Hearts. Hearts were everywhere. Hanging from the ceiling, pinned to the walls, and even stuck to the floor. You cannot go anywhere in these halls without seeing at least five hearts. Marinette rolled her eyes, smiling. Yes, it truly was that time of year. “Hey girl!” Knowing her best friend was approaching, Marinette turned around with a smile. “Hey Alya! What are you up to?” “Not much. Just planning my date with Nino for Valentine’s day.” “Oooo! What are your plans!!?” “Well, we were thinking of going out for dinner at that new restaurant Adrien recommended a while ago. Nino’s gonna play me a few beats he’s mixed and I’m gonna show him this website I secretly made for him to show off his music.” “I’m sure if Adrien recommended the place it’ll be amazing!!” Marinette swooned and her best friend started to laugh. “We lasted almost three minutes without you fainting. I think that’s a new record!” Marinette blushed while good-humouredly glaring at her grinning friend. “I’m not THAT bad.” “Oh dear,” Alya answered in a high-pitched voice. “What if I trip in front of Adrien and he falls and breaks his nose or, even worse, lands on his head and breaks his skull and I was the one who killed him!!!?” Alya couldn’t stop laughing. Marinette just continued to pout. “Speaking of Adrien,” Alya continued, “What are you planning to get him this Valentine’s day? You gonna write another love letter and ACTUALLY sign it this time?” Marinette allowed herself a little smile. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. I may love Adrien but I don’t want to confess to him.” “WHAT!!? But you’ve been crazy about him since you met!!” “I am still in love with him. There are a few reasons but they all basically boil down to one fact. I don’t want to become an akuma.” “An … akuma? What are you talking about? I’m not following here. Why would you become an akuma?” “I love Adrien but I don’t want to just assume he feels the same. If he rejects me I probably would become an akuma.” “I repeat, what are you talking about? Are you trying to say you don’t think you’re good enough or some other bullsh-!?” “Who said ANYTHING about not being good enough? I’m good enough for anyone I want! No. I have every right to be in love with Adrien, and there is no reason I shouldn’t pursue him if I want. But just like I have the right to like who I want, Adrien has every right to like who he wants as well. If he feels the same about me that’s great (okay, fantastic!) but he may also simply not like me for any number of reasons that are beyond the control of either one of us.” “So what’s stopping you from just confessing how you feel?” “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure if he doesn’t feel the same I would be able to move on. I’m sure I could find someone else to love who would love me. But I also know myself well enough to know that if he does reject me, I will be heartbroken. I will be very upset. And tell me who comes along the moment someone is upset about anything?” Alya looked down. “Hawkmoth.” “Exactly. Hawkmoth would immediately come along and twist up my emotions. He could easily make me HATE Adrien … and I never want to feel that way. I never want my feelings manipulated enough to hurt someone—especially not him. Imagine you’re not dating Nino for a second. You are still crazy about him and even though it’s hard, you work up the courage to finally confess all your feelings to him. But he turns you down. How do you think you would feel in that situation?” “I … I guess I would be really upset …” “Exactly. And if Hawkmoth is willing to akumatize a baby who simply wants a lollipop, then what would he do with a girl whose heart was broken by the guy she loves?” “I think I get it. But are you really willing to wait for years for Ladybug and Chat Noir to defeat Hawkmoth?” “I’d be willing to wait, if need be. And hey, if I move on from Adrien in that time, hoorah.” Marinette pumped her fist in the air weakly, as a little joke. “But let’s have a little faith in our heroes! I’m sure they can defeat Hawkmoth before that long! And if by some miracle Adrien confesses to me before then, of course, I’ll confess to him immediately! But until Paris is safe from akuma, I don’t want to contribute to the stress our heroes face all the time.” In her head, she continued: I don’t want Chat Noir to face me alone either. Who even knows if he can get rid of the akuma on his own, let alone heal any damage I might cause. She snapped out of her worried thoughts when Alya responded. “So that’s it. You won’t say anything?” “Alya, do you feel proud about becoming Lady Wifi? Do you like knowing how your burning curiosity about Ladybug led Hawkmoth to make you so obsessed that you pinned her to a wall and tried to forcefully remove her mask in front of everybody? Are you fond of the fact that in your desperation to learn her identity you almost caused Chat Noir to freeze to death?” “Wh-wha? I … I did that?” Alya couldn’t BELIEVE she that she had gone that far. “Alya, I know that was Lady Wifi under Hawkmoth’s power. That wasn’t the real you. I know you would never do something like that. But I don’t want to take the chance that I might do something like that. Like I said, I don’t want to find myself hating Adrien just because he doesn’t share the feelings I have for him.” Marinette looked at Alya a little ruefully. Though still clearly concerned, Alya nodded. “I-I understand. While I don’t really agree with this, I … I will support your decision.” Marinette brightened. “Thank you Alya. That’s all I ask. Now come on. The bell’s gonna ring soon and if we don’t hurry to chemistry before it does, Madame Mendeleiev will kill us!” Alya’s eyes widened. “Shit, you’re right! Let’s go!!” In the rush to their next class, the two girls didn’t notice a blonde boy appear from the corner behind them, blushing furiously and clasping his hand over his mouth to hold in his shock over what he just heard. What does he do now!?

Now i have no plans for another chapter but if anyone else does i give full permission for someone to run with this story. all i ask is 1. credit me. 2. notify me (i wanna see what you guys make!)

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #Alya Cesaire #adrientette #ml marinette #marinette dupen-chang

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tigerlover16-uk · 7 years ago

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The Vegeta fanboy stuff is really annoying, isn't it? He has everything that has been set up for him done. I don't agree with some of the other side of this, either - I don't think he's a spotlight stealer, either because he actually wasn't the focus for a pretty long while, but ugh. I'd say basically everyone except Tien has gotten just enough time.

To be honest, my only major problem with him this arc (Some minor gripes aside) has been him still being in this tournament as of now as opposed to being eliminated after defeating Toppo. Him just miraculously being able to still fight with his new form despite so soon after exhausting himself took a recurring writing issue this arc and stretched it to breaking point, and honestly just going by the next episode info we have his continued use just feels like padding.

It could have been handled better in several ways, but him defeating Toppo WAS a significant achievement, and keeping him around just feels like it undermines Vegeta, Toppo and even Android 17′s big sacrifice I fear depending on how next episode goes. This really should be the point where we have Goku going Ultra Instinct again and just getting to the big awesome climax already. Dragging things out when we know Vegeta’s probably not going to actually accomplish anything, and certainly it’s not going to be as good a last stand as he had against Toppo, just feels like overkill.

I mean, I could understand at least keeping him around if they were actually going to do anything interesting with him, like have the final battle involve Ultra Instinct Vegito or Gogeta, that would be pretty cool. But all I can think is that we’re just likely to get a repeat of the whole “I have to win! For my family! My promise! MY PRIIIIIIIIIIDE!” thing that he’s been repeating for like five episodes now, only to have it end with him getting kicked out this time and probably only succeed at buying Goku some more time.

I’m just annoyed, because they had this perfect end point for the character’s role in this tournament GIFTWRAPPED for them, and they just kept him around longer. I don’t know if this is because of a mandate from Toriyama, or poor planning on the writers part, but someone screwed up here and it’s a detriment to Vegeta’s character.

And honestly, apart from all that, yeah he has done perfectly fine this tournament. He helped eliminate most of universe 9 alongside Goku, made minor contributions to a number of episodes and eliminated more people like Prum, Dr Rota and Magetta. Monna’s defeat can be partially credited to him for saving Cabba, who he helped motivate to win and get stronger. Then we had him fighting Toppo for a bit, then Katopesla, and he played a part in fighting against universe 3. And now lately we’ve had him fighting Jiren pretty well, unlocking a new transformation, and defeating a newly ascended God of Destruction while fueled by the power of love!

And all this while every other character besides Tien got at least one shining moment, yeah. I’d be happy if a number of characters I like got HALF of what he’s gotten here, and throughout Super as a whole.

So what if he didn’t win, he was a big reason universe 7 made it this far and he did a lot to contribute. And he can still keep his promise to revive universe 6 (And let’s not forget the other universes) as long as Goku wins, so it’s hardly a big catastrophy if he goes out.

And people REALLY want to argue he’s getting screwed over? Tien, Murichim, Vikal, Katopesla and Kahseral got shafted. Vegeta got plenty of shine.

I don’t know what it is with people in this fandom thinking that a character not defeating a main antagonist at any point translates to them being shafted, but it’s a mindset that needs to die already.

Vegeta got off good. Anyone who’s angry he didn’t win the whole tournament like he’s supposedly entitled to should go take it up with Majin Buu fans.

#dragon ball super #dbs #vegeta

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thissupposedcrime · 8 years ago

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otayuri as... batcat....

Fam, I am so sorry. I wrote 2k of Otayuri dramatic superhero AU before realizing you requested Batman/Catwoman dynamics. If it helps, picture the Hero of Kazakhstan having no idea how to handle Yuri dressed like Chat Noir from Miraculous Ladybug. Maybe I should write that next?

Superhero AU

In which there is very little skating but the universal constants in Yuri Plisetsky’s life are Victor ruining everything and Otabek Altin’s distracting jaw line.

Before Yuuri Katsuki, Yuri Plistsky is happy.

All he has ever wanted is to be a superhero, and his dream is real after years of injuries, training, and trauma.

They have a good thing going, a well-oiled machine of badassery and rage. Yakov has been training superheroes for decades, since the 1970s when having a secret identity was still outlawed in Russia. He and Lilia even lead the revolution and protests for heroes to retain separate personas.

(And like everything Lilia involves herself in, she wins.)

Lilia’s elastic bones enabled a terrifyingly electric career as a ballerina.

Yakov’s power of flight and telekinesis made him a masterful hero and a terrible task master of Russia’s secret hero development program and leader of St. Petersburg’s heroes.

Civilians know him as a businessman. A few assume mob connections but Yuri’s hung out in enough malls, alleyways, and schools to know people pretend ignorance of Yakov’s identity. Because it means something to him. Jesus.

Under Yakov and Lilia, Yuri P (20, abnormal flexibility, spite, and ability to communicate with animals) thrives, protecting St. Petersburg with:

Mila (23, controls fire, and makes jokes about having no chill that Yuri would rather kill himself than hear again).

Georgi: (27, an actual fucking witch who can’t keep his shit together depending on his heartbreak or the lunar cycle)

The lunar cycle thing is bullshit, just an excuse for his really emotional days.

And…the ice-man cometh himself.

Victor (28) is a dick. Victor is a dick, thinking with his dick. Only that asshole would go to charity dinner celebrating the Sochi Grand Prix and fall in love with a fucking ice skater named Yuuri Katsuki (24) INSTEAD OF GUARDING THE PLACE.

The dude was drunk and likely doesn’t remember who Victor is, but did that stop him from rushing home to Yakov’s training space, squeeing about soulmates? No.

Victor trashes the place in his haste to pack, leaving destruction and a garish, proud note, “Retiring to Japan for love!” in his wake.

Years prior, when Victor was 14 and successfully adopted by Yakov, he asked if Victor would like to continue skating or go into ‘the family business’ of protecting St. Petersburg

The dick just had to become the best superhero Russia ever had. Fuck people with ice powers in Russia. They have to do nothing and get all the credit. Fuck Victor.

Naturally, they can’t let Victor go without a fight, but, plot twist, THE ONLY ONE TO REMAIN IN RUSSIA IS YURI P.

Yakov follows his dipshit son out of foolish, displaced loyalty (everyone knows he wants to meet his prospective new in-law)

Lilia looks on with disgust. Yuri inherited this look from her.

In hysterics, Mila and Georgi are not missing out on this. Besides, Mila knows about the hot springs. She’d literally light anyone on fire who tried to stop her. Georgi lives to see Victor get yelled at. Yuri can relate.

“We deserve this Yuri. We’ve dealt with him longer.”

“Assholes, you didn’t live with him and Yakov for the past decade!”

So Yuri P stays home with Lilia because someone needs to actually do their damn job around here.

“Are you sure you’re not jealous that Katsuki threw himself at Victor and not you?”

“Shut up hag!” There are not posters of Yuuri Katsuki’s skating in his bedroom, despite what she insinuates.

There are. Many.

More importantly, Katsuki’s a fucking civilian. Dating those is a death sentence. Look at half the superhero community for proof.

Yakov isn’t irresponsible. Just his children are. So he contacts a few old friends to see who wouldn’t mind covering for his missing team while they’re out of the country.

Yuri isn’t good at interacting with the teen girls who mob crime scenes during danger.

Yuri thinks if they’re stupid enough to stay when someone is shooting thunderbolts from the sky, he doesn’t need to save them. This is natural selection trying to work things out.

Honestly, part of the reason they want Victor to come home is because he’s the only one who handles the public well.

When Yuri was 17, he was nearly strangled by a supervillain because Mila and Victor were busy entertaining the crowd by melting ice to water and then freezing it into ice sculptures.

Yuri should have stayed in Moscow

(Tragic backstory of civilians-heroes dating in his family and always dying)

“Fuckers, I can protect the city on my own. I basically do already!”

“Language!”

“Lilia, it’s true! Last month Georgi was too busy crying and almost let a bank robber escape.”

Despite his compelling arguments and temper tantrums, no one listens to Yuri. The story of his life.

On a bleak January morning, two foreign gifts arrive for Yuri:

A postcard from Mila describing how amazing Yuuri Katsuki and his town are. Using a lighter, he watches it burn with deep satisfaction.

A man from Kazakhstan, flanked by a duo of pale losers, marches into Yakov’s training center, unarguably the prime superhero compound in the country.

(”In Europe,” Victor has been known to drunkenly proclaim until reminded it’s a secret, asshole)

The two men are dressed in nondescript suits, clean-cut but scuffed shoes. Bureaucrats from Russia to help the paperwork and assistant coaches.

Ugh.

The other man? He’s broad shouldered, compact but graceful as he navigates the wild superpowers and children training under Yuri’s less than watchful eye. He’s at least three centimeters shorter than Yuri yet intimidating and imposing, standing in front of a window as the gray skies outside outline his body.

Yuri is disgusted to note the man is wearing sunglasses indoors, and uses that fact to justify ignoring that his jaw is better cut than any diamond or how large his biceps appear under his leather jacket. This man stares at Yuri, like an old friend rediscovered. Yuri growls.

“Who the hell are you?” Yuri asks, hackles raised while the bureaucrats realize they’re in over their heads in assuming Lilia hasn’t been running things with brutal effectiveness since Yakov left.

It does not matter that people have been collapsing in exhaustion or crying during training. Fucking Yakov has clearly been coddling people if three weeks with Lilia has broken their spirit.

Yuri despairs of what will happen once he retires.

This city is going to wither and die.

“Otabek Altin,” the stranger replies, taking off his glasses and tucking them into a pocket. At least he didn’t put them on his head. Hesitating for a short moment, he reaches a hand out to Yuri, who decides to grasp it as firmly as possible.

Altin doesn’t even wince, handshake powerful and strong. Impressed, Yuri smirks and thinks Altin won’t be so bad.

Naturally, Yuri is right. Otabek, Beka, proves himself an indispensable revelation, a gift from Kazakhstan requested by Yakov to help out in training.

His scowl terrifies their cockier recruits but calms the students skittish when people without powers train them. Unlike countless others before him, no one questions if Otabek should be present, despite his lack of laser beams or telepathy.

Proudly, Yuri calls Mila and tells her to keep enjoying Japan, for Beka is doing a better job than any of them ever had in training and supporting him.

“How rude Yura!”

In the background of one such call, Victor is building an impromptu ice rink for Yuuri on a beach while Yakov and his beloved scream about his usage of powers.

“Do they know who Victor is?” Yuri already knows the answer to this question.

“Well. They love him regardless, and that’s all that matters to Yakov,” Mila offers brightly.

But back to Beka, wonderful, thoughtful Beka who understands what Yuri wants before he asks, patiently listens as he whines about the villains he has faced and his annoying colleagues.

Beka hums encouragingly every time he collapses against his warm shoulder during practice, allows him to nestle his chin against his collarbone.

Lilia doesn’t hate him. Clearly Beka isn’t a regular civilian but powered by miracles and effort.

Occasionally, when he stops raving about Beka to Lilia during dinner, he delicately broaches the topic of keeping him once those losers come home from vacation.

“He’s good for you,” Lilia states. He takes it as tacit approval to amp up his efforts to show off St. Petersburg.

Yakov will be overjoyed he’s found someone so capable to make up for the defects he calls teammates, Yuri decides.

It is a shame he cannot keep the Hero as well.

Nearly a month after Victor fled, Yuri breaks up a museum heist. Most of the criminals are normal, powerless, but the leader shoots plasma from a gauntlet on his hand.

Ice Tiger has successfully knocked out all but the jackass leaking liquid from his wrist, and cautiously moves around the columns at the front of the museum when jackass gets a lucky shot, and sends the columns Ice Tiger rests between into a crumbling mess.

Before Yuri can start swearing, and dodge, a man clad in all black, save for a dark blue belt, steps next to him and presses a palm against each column, steadying them. His mask spans the bridge of his nose, circling around to the back of his neck.

Yuri scampers away with, not stupid enough to hesitate or question during battle, and sends plasma jackass flying with a well placed kick to his upper chest.

He might have given him a collapsed lung, but Yuri cares more for the man standing behind him, nonplussed as he holds up tons of weight.

Once the police arrive and danger settled, Yuri impatiently drags the stranger up to the rooftop.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man blinks, but his dark costume and the pale snippets of moonlight make it impossible to determine the color of his eyes. Alarmingly, he pauses to consider his answer and Yuri wonders if debris concussed him. “Hero.” He finally settles on.

“Hero. Hero of what?” Yuri rolls his eyes in frustration.

“Hero of a far off land, where I use my strength to protect my people.”

“Why. are. you. here.” Yuri grits out between clenched teeth, frustrated he’s been saved, by the slowness of his conversation, and over the powerful upper body of this super-strength junkie. He’s shit at upperbody power, known for his lithe form and kicks. Mila regularly outlifts him.

“Yakov requested-”

“Motherfucker,” he yowls. Alley cats in the street below make noise in unison.

“Sorry for rescuing you,” Hero replies placidly.

“I had it under control!”

“Of course you did. You’re an excellent hero, but I thought it best to avoid more damage to the museum.” Yuri’s shoulders relax slightly at the sincere, admiring tone of Hero.

“Whatever. If Yakov sent you, I might as well make sure you don’t accidentally destroy my city.” For some reason, Yuri doesn’t loathe this guy, despite his nondescript costume or the assumption Yuri can’t protect the city alone.

“Thank you for your confidence,” he replies, tumbleweed dry, and Yuri muffles a laugh, oddly charmed and at ease.

“Do you normally dress like that?” Yuri can’t help but ask as he paces across the roof, preparing to jump down to a fire escape.

“No, I reserve my real costume for home.”

“Oh. Alright.” Better than nothing.

Cue a night of Hero being impeccable and charming and the best partner Yuri ever asked for

In the morning, Yuri will call Yakov and tell him how slowly the Hero aid he requested arrived but he doesn’t disapprove.

When Yakov hangs up the phone, he’ll turn to Mila and wonder if he imagined Yuri’s praise of Otabek Altin for the past week.

Mila laughs uncontrollably, once she pieces it together.

Victor is impossible to drag away, but Yakov refuses to give up, and Mila and Georgi refuse to abandon the show. Georgi might be trying to fall in love with a local girl. Yuri doesn’t want to know.

It means perfect weeks with Otabek in the day, sharing brunch. Beka takes on some of Yuri’s instructor duties (something he’s shit at anyway) so he can train with the upper level students.

Whenever possible Yuri tugs him out of the training center early, desperate to show off his city and give Beka a reason to stay.

Among the many perfect things about Otabek is his understanding of time. He never calls Yuri until the afternoon on weekends, because his week is busy with training in the day, fighting for half the evening.

He even orders “more sleep” when Yuri awakens before 1 PM on a Sunday and calls him. Beka is so thoughtful.

It means perfect weeks with Hero in the night, silent communication and a fearlessness Yuri’s never understood before. The crime rate keeps low so they explore St. Petersburg in the dark or sometimes they play, chasing each other across the rooftops or seeing how many cats Hero can carry, along with Yuri perched on his back.

Hero shares secrets more freely than Beka, the only complaint he has.

He’s waiting for someone to remember him.

His laugh is ugly when Yuri tells him no one is worth his time if they can’t remember Hero.

Yuri falls in love in the mornings, falls in love during the night.

Yuri doesn’t realize the trouble he’s in until early April, when Mila disrupts an early dinner with Beka to announce their return.

“A man held a gun to Yakov’s head and Yuuri punched him! Oh Yuri, you should have seen it. Victor’s still crying over his fiancee throwing himself into such peril for the family.”

“Did Yakov already disarm the gun with his powers?”

“Well yes, but Yuuri didn’t know that! Yakov’s charmed and helped Victor shop for a ring.”

“Wait, what?”

“Vakov approves! We’re coming home.”

A dial tone interrupts Mila’s explanation of their flight details.

Yuri has this huge night long panic as he figures out he’s in love with two people, doesn’t know what to do.

Falling in love with civilians is a death sentence. Just look at his family.

He loves Otabek far too much to put him at risk. So he lets him go.

Ultimately, he cares about Hero because he’s powerful and shares everything with Yuri. Yuri feels safer than he ever did with Mila or Victor or even Lilia who treats him like her own.

Someone needs to tell Yuri the only reason he feels this way is because part of him must realize its Otabek and only trusts him because its Otabek but god help him, he is slow and still doesn’t connect the two after over a month.

But then Yuri remembers Hero belongs to his own country, to another person. So he lets him go as well.

If a gun was put to his head, he’d pick Otabek anyway

The following few nights are awkward, as both understand there’s a countdown for Hero to leave.

On the final night, it is silent. Neither speaks as they guard the town. There is no goodbye, and Yuri feels like a failure.

The days are worse, as Yuri has the option to ask Otabek to stay because he doesn’t belong to Kazakstan the way Hero does to his country. Yuri nearly bites his own tongue off twenty times as he swallows down how badly he wants to beg Otabek not to leave.

He remembers every hero who loved and lost a civilian and refuses, even as he drives Otabek to the airport.

Otabek keeps staring at him, waiting for something he can never offer.

He departs, taking parts of Yuri with him.

Uh this is getting long and we’re at risk at me deleting this in favor of a 10k actual fic version of this so let me wrap up

Yuri sulks for weeks, is a beast to everyone

Beka returns after a month, as does Hero

(the person I’m waiting for is still here. Yuri is still clueless)

Beka’s life is at risk somehow as a civilian but separate from Yuri

Yuri realizes that danger can come regardless and commits to dating Otabek

Yuri tries to confess to Beka, but fucks up horribly, accidentally makes it seem like he’s settling for Beka because he can’t have Hero.

A lot of fucking drama, so much crying

Georgi screaming in the background about how he just left Japan, why is he dealing with this again

Eventually Yuri proves he’s wanted Beka the entire time, long drawn out love confession where he offers to leave Russia and being a superhero (what he loves most) behind if Otabek will have him

Beka is weak, so weak by love

Reveals he’s the Hero, specifically the Hero of Kazakhstan (super famous, super skilled, kick ass costume inspired by his skating uniform) and has known Yuri since they trained together as kids

Traumatic backstory where people always loved Hero, not Otabek

Yuri’s like “I love you for you, you could retire tomorrow, I still want to be here…WAIT NO YOU GOT TO RETIRE RIGHT NOW I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU HURT OH MY GOD RETIRE”

Beka eventually calms him down and they live happily ever after. They spend vacations in Kazakhstan

“Beka, do they even have villains here?”

“Beka, do they even have a training program for heroes here?”

And a lot of time in Russia, where Otabek takes on Yuri’s training duties of baby superheroes/kids with powers while Yuri scouts and fights

Victor is offended no one thanks him at their wedding for setting this entire thing in motion.

I frantically typed this out so sorry for the bad spelling and sorry again for not following the prompt. Should I make this an actual fic?

Update 1/16: Here, it’s becoming a fic.

#otayuri #oturi #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky #my writing #answering anon #anon #superhero au #batcat!au

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