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dangans-ur-ronpas · 8 months ago

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Chapter 16

this is byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

just a note that i probably won't be updating chapter 17 until two weeks out (doctor stuff next week). apologies in advance for the cliffhanger

byakuya is kind of a shit defendant ngl. like buddy you have to get the jury to believe in you? if you dont want the guilty verdict??

makoto is doing his best here

@digitaldollsworld sjdfkdsjflkd

Content warning tags: not sure. but byakuya spirals into anguish if that's something you're not into, slight suicide mention?

< previous - from start - next >

Makoto’s voice echoes through the chamber, cracking through the air like a gunshot. It stuns Owada into silence; it draws all eyes to him.

Byakuya can’t even turn his own gaze away. Makoto has his fists clenched at his side, and stands tall and determined. Commanding the trial once more.

“Byakuya wouldn’t have killed Chihiro.” He says firmly. “And, Byakuya wouldn’t have been able to replicate Syo’s crime either.” He says it with such conviction that Byakuya can’t help to feel that irrational relief again, that comfort he could take in Makoto’s support.

“Can you explain?” Celeste asks, and Makoto nods stiffly.

“First…there’s the matter of location. It just doesn’t make sense, considering what we know.” He says his words steadily, carefully - laying out a careful foundation. “Me and Chihiro left the library at around noon, and went around the first floor, right? We found Hiro in the laundry room first.”

Hagakure nods, finger rasping along his chin. “Yeah, and we talked for…what, ten minutes? Maybe fifteen?”

“Right. And then we went looking for Mondo and Taka…we found them cleaning up in the trophy room.” Makoto's face turns to Owada and Ishimaru, seeking affirmation. “Chihiro wanted to talk to you guys one at a time, so Mondo, you came with us to the cafeteria, because you wanted to get something to eat.”

The only response that Owada gives is a grunt, but it’s not outright denial. So Makoto continues:

“I don’t remember exactly how long Chihiro spent there, but I know he left before one. We already knew where Taka was, and we knew that Chihiro wanted to go talk to him next. So there wouldn’t have been any reason for him to go to the second floor!”

“Ah, but.” Celeste cuts in. “What is the proof that Byakuya did not go downstairs? It’s hard to justify the library as the place of death, but is it not possible that Chihiro was killed on the first floor?”

“That would have been difficult. There were only so many places he could go where no one else would have noticed, or that he had access to.” Kyoko points out. “If Kiyotaka was in the trophy room, he would have had a direct line of sight of the stairs. Kiyotaka, did you notice Byakuya going downstairs at any time?”

She turns towards Ishimaru now. The Ultimate Moral Compass, their apparent de-facto leader and head of class, is dead silent. But his head turns in a slow shake-

“Don’t use my bro as an excuse!” Owada interrupts, again, and Byakuya finds himself with a mouthful of fresh blood, as he bites down on his inner cheek in frustration. “He’s injured, see? You expect him to give a testimony after he took a trophy to the head?”

Just how injured is he? Ishimaru seems to be standing steadily. In fact, other than his uncharacteristic silence and the bandage on his head, it was hard for Byakuya to discern if there was any difference in him at all. But there’s some slight awkward shuffling around him, as the others react with sympathy.

“...You okay, Taka?” Hagakure asks, gently. Ishimaru is still, before nodding once, jerkily. “Um. Okay, then…”

“E-even so!” Makoto’s stutters a bit, thrown off for a moment. “We can’t confirm that Byakuya did go downstairs at all!”

“But it’s not like we can confirm that he didn’t?” Yamada points out, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, I don’t mean any disrespect, Mister Togami - but I did take note of where everyone was around the time the body was discovered, and everyone else has alibis - so is there anyone who can vouch and say that you were in the library the whole time?”

Byakuya can only click his tongue sharply, turning away. Of all the people to want to get a dig at him, and suddenly try to be useful… ”Toko was with me. Twenty minutes before the body was found.”

He stares expectantly at Syo, who crosses her arms, tilts her head, and then shrugs. “Sorry, she’s really zonked out. Down for the count and all that, y’know?”

The one time he needed her! He scowls, but he can’t be bothered to waste time on her anymore. He turns back to Makoto. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking from here, but Byakuya can hear a soft tapping, the slight bounce of his leg against the floor.

“Putting location aside, we also have to consider motive, right?” Makoto says. The confident edge in his voice is almost gone. “The interaction he had with Chihiro isn’t necessarily enough to implicate him. If anything, that would have made it harder for him to get Chihiro alone…he wasn’t exactly, um, nice when he said all that stuff…”

Byakuya almost rolls his eyes. He had been plenty nice at that time; but that was not important at the moment.

“It’s true, Chihiro was…kind of a scaredy-cat, right? I mean, before today!” Hagakure says hurriedly. “And no offense Togami, you’re kinda the loner type…except for with Makoto.”

“Shut up and make your point.” He growls, and Hagakure throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m just saying you’re not the easiest guy to talk to, man!”

“I don’t try to be.” But Hagakure had brought up a good point. “I’m not interested in being friendly with any of you. That included Chihiro.” That wasn’t a lie, technically. Up until this point, his relations with Makoto and Chihiro were made out of necessity and mutual gain. “He did tell me his secret earlier, but Makoto was present during that time. Other than that, we have had no other interactions.”

That was more of a lie. He was purposefully omitting mention of their conversation in the bathhouse the other night. But it was fine, since he doubted Makoto would betray him now, and the one person who was aware of it - Toko - was apparently too caught up in her own head to disprove it.

“And that was also when you told him to try confessing his secret to the rest of us?” Celeste asks.

Why was she doubting him? He scowls at her. He needs the rabble to leave him alone already. “Yes.”

“How interesting.” She has her hand pressed to her lips again, an action that reminds him oddly of a self-satisfied cat. “Pray tell, at what time did you speak with Chihiro today?”

By the sound of her voice alone, Byakuya has the distinct sense that he’s being toyed with. Being lured to a trap. Even without ever being able to see Celeste’s face, he had always been aware that she was someone to tread carefully around, simply by the way she used words alone. Like laying mines in a field.

But there’s no way for him to answer this question without drawing suspicion. Silence would be even more damning. “Why do you ask?” He replies, carefully. He can’t tell, but he thinks Celeste might be smiling.

“You said earlier that you and Chihiro had no other interactions,” She sounds almost amused, despite the gravity of the situation. “I have a confession of my own to make. Even though it violates our ten-PM rule, I sometimes like to take walks after hours. I quite like the ambiance of the reduced lighting, and the feeling of being entirely alone.”

The sudden tangent catches him off guard. Apparently, he’s not alone in that aspect. “Um…Celeste?” Makoto’s voice is hesitant, confused. “What does this have to do with the trial…?”

“Well, as it happens, there are certain things that get revealed in the night-time that are otherwise unseen during the day.” She tilts her head playfully, and he feels a sudden sense of foreboding. “And late last night, perhaps after midnight, I do happen to remember seeing Byakuya and Chihiro leave the bathhouse together.”

The reaction is instantaneous. All around him is a clamor of shock, but he can barely make out individual words. His own ears are ringing slightly, as he tries to parse what Celeste just said.

“T-t-t-together?!” Yamada gasps, almost comical in his surprise. “B-but, I thought, with Mister Naegi-!”

“Boy-on-boy?!” Syo shrieks, practically jumping at her stand. “How obscene!! And such an unexpected pairing-?!”

“Scandal? In my school?!” Monokuma wails, thumping at its head with its paws “Oh, I knew I should have pushed abstinence harder! Where did I go wrong?!”

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” Owada snaps. There’s a catch in his voice; he seems thrown-off too, his previous attitude shaken by the sudden reveal. “You bastard…you better have a good explanation!”

Byakuya stays silent. His head is a buzz of meaningless sound.

“Wait, wait! Stop!” Makoto is waving his arms, trying to settle the noise. “That - Celeste, do you have any proof to back this claim?”

And she, the Ultimate Gambler, hums in amusement. “What proof can I offer? I did not take a picture. And it’d be pointless to describe what they were wearing.”

The absurdity of that statement draws him out of his shock. “Then why mention it at all?!” He snaps, and she giggles, infuriatingly.

“The two of you seemed to be on friendly terms last night. Why do you assume that I am not trying to assist you?” There’s a soft clack as she sets her hand against the railing, her nails tapping against the wood. “I hope you will forgive me for accidentally eavesdropping, but I did hear you suggest to Chihiro some advice regarding strength, no? It was surprising at the time, but it’s reassuring to know that you have a heart of flesh.”

She sounds like she’s smiling at him. He can only glare. Queen of Liars, indeed - he’s underestimated her. It feels like he’d been misjudging many people recently.

“...When you say ‘advice’, do you mean that was when Byakuya told Chihiro to talk to us individually?” Ogami asks, and Celeste just nods.

“Then, he did that with the intention of killing Chihiro from the start!” Owada spits venomously. “When has that guy ever been nice? And why else would he lie about this to begin with!”

“Mondo, seriously! This is just circumstantial!” Makoto tries to say, but he’s lost his assertiveness. He’s overwhelmed quickly, as the others begin their own speculation.

“It’s…really hard to say it’s Syo, huh?” Asahina wonders aloud to herself, almost regretfully. “It’s also hard to say it’s Byakuya, but…”

Shut up. His head hurts. He needs to think. He presses the ball of his palm to his temple, and finds his hand slick with sweat.

“There’s no one else who seems suspicious,” Yamada agrees. “If we consider all the evidence, and the, ah, love triangle…maybe, it was a crime of desperation? To frame Miss Fukawa so she would leave him alone…?”

Shut up. It was loud. They were so loud. He needs to think, he can hardly hear himself, his own thoughts. He couldn’t rely on Makoto anymore, but without him he had nothing left but himself.

“Maybe we should just ask him directly!” Hagakure shouts with bravado, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Hey, Byakuya-”

“Shut up!” He screams back.

The room falls silent. All he can hear is his own breathing, labored and harsh. His head is pounding, ringing in time to his beating pulse; he keeps his gaze fixed on the wooden beam beneath his hands, a flat strip of brown. He’s not sure what looks they’re staring at them with, but he doesn’t want to know.

A few pieces of weak, awkward, circumstantial evidence, and a reputation of being unsocial - was that really all it took? Had he fallen so far that this was all it took?

“It’s not me,” His voice is distant and unfamiliar, shrill with fury. “I wasn’t the only one aware of Syo’s murders. I wasn’t the only one on the second floor. All the evidence is weak at best, and clearly placed to frame me. Are you all stupid? Or just suicidal?” He casts his gaze around at each of their faces, as blank and empty as ever. “Isn’t there one other person here without an alibi? One other person who would know about Syo, other than me?”

“Byakuya-” Makoto says, but it’s so soft he ignores it. He points at Kyoko, who doesn’t even flinch. A statue of lilac marble.

“When the body was found. You were there.” He sounds insane, even to himself. The last, desperate floundering of a doomed man. “ ‘It’s reminiscent of that serial killer,’ but how would you have known that? Explain yourself, Kyoko Kirigiri!”

Kyoko doesn’t move. He can’t tell if she’s shaken at all, or if his words have had any effect. “I read the case file for it in the library a while ago,” is all she says, simply. “As for my whereabouts during the time of the murder, I was also on the second floor. I was investigating the bathrooms.”

“Alone, I’m presuming? And do you have any proof?

“I have no alibi that can be supported by another person.” She admits easily, as if he weren’t accusing her of murder. “As I said earlier, at the time of death, I was investigating in the boy’s bathroom. The only one who might be able to confirm that I had ever been in that room at all, is Toko-”

“And me!” Syo interrupts, sounding genuinely offended. “Gloomy might’ve been the one who collapsed on you, but I was the one who woke up to your mug staring me in the face!”

“-Furthermore, Makoto investigated the bathroom separately.” She continues. “I will let him describe what was found there himself.”

Byakuya turns to Makoto. This was a prime opportunity - surely, Makoto had found something, anything at all -

“...The sinks and taps in the second-floor bathrooms were all dry.” He starts, slowly, hesitantly. “And- there wasn’t anything that could have been the murder weapon. There was also a lot of dust, so it wasn’t a place that was recently cleaned, and considering the time period in which Chihiro could have died…it’s just not likely.”

And that was it. Byakuya clutches the railing to keep himself upright.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Owada’s direction. A breath of triumph, maybe, before he asks Monokuma to start the vote - or a gasp of surprise, at how easy it must have been. How defenseless Byakuya is, hardly amounting to anything.

The thought makes him lean a little more against the railing, his arms trembling. He thinks he might puke.

“But,” Makoto raises his voice again, and Byakuya clings to it, like a drowning man to a buoy. “There’s one more reason why it can’t be Byakuya. The way the word ‘bloodlust’ was written is…it’s too perfect. It matches up too much with Syo’s handwriting from previous cases.”

“It’s not that hard to copy someone’s handwriting?” Asahina starts to say, but Makoto shakes his head.

“It…it’s not something that Byakuya could have done.” He sounds…strained, somehow. Uneasy, hesitant - If Byakuya didn’t know better, he’d think that Makoto sounded guilty - “It’s impossible for him to have done this, because…he’s blind.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #looved writing celeste here she's the worst ever #i did mock trial in high school and i really do not envy makoto here byakuya would be the woorst person to defend for #guy that needs to avoid a wrongful accusation and the death penalty: hey jury. you're all fucking morons and should be dead #also was not planning on making the trial this long its gonna be another 2 chapters at least #but. in my plan to write this fic with a blind protagonist. i neglected to consider the fact that he would be an unreliable narrator #physically incapable of providing all the details. so. ofc the trial would be long af #thpff

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namorslutfanfiction · 1 year ago

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I told my friends that this whole situation was giving scorned woman or she’s being used to bring him down since many hate him in Mexico & look what happened!! I’m a SA survivor myself what she did was absolutely disgusting!! I think they were sex buddies but Tenoch said dating to be nice & she wanted more! I also think she’s an opportunist who thought he’d bring her out in public to make her status go up & when it didn’t happen she’s been pissed ever since! He said he had to get legal help a few months ago so that tells me he knew she would try something! Plus she’s a fraud & scam artist cause her music isn’t going anywhere! I think Tenoch told her from day 1 what it was, tried to give her some grace, maybe even pay for her to go away but she couldn’t let go! Any time someone regardless of gender goes to social media instead of the police or a lawyer I look at them funny cause what could social media do but give an opinion?! And then she blocked reporters who wanted to hear from her & told her followers there’s no need to rush when asked for evidence! This bitch is crazy & I hope Tenoch sues her for everything! Funny how she’s been quiet so maybe he sent her a cease & desist letter! #teamtenoch! ✊🏾

Honestly, I wouldn't go so far as to accuse her of a bunch of stuff, although she has done some questionable things. Like her accusation, there is no proof that any of us have to say she is seeking money, fame, or vengeance.

Some of her actions have been suspicious like the timing of her accusation, the platform she used, and her reluctance to go into any detail.

But there is still however no solid proof from either side.

I was directing my ire more at people willing to believe anything they read on the internet rather than having any critical thought or logical thinking.

Tenoch mentioned that she was already defaming him in their social circles which is probably why he was already in contact with lawyers. He's been under media attack constantly and fears for the safety of his family. Whether or not he suspected that she would go to social media has not been concluded.

As both an SA survivor and a witness to false assault claims, I firmly believe that judgement can only be made once all facts are laid out. Whether she did this out of spite or it really was lascivious will be revealed.

Until then please don't allow anger or anxiety to ruin your day. Right now this is a badly executed fight that we are watching on the sidelines.

#tenoch huerta #tenoch huerta mejia

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sunwarmed-ash · 1 year ago

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Hello I return with more Gavin hc for you

I firmly believe he volunteers at the local animal shelter to help take care of the cats. The shelter staff do have to keep him away from prospective adopters cause he's still Gavin

I'm crying, I love Gavin and his cats 😻

"Ugh! Mr. Sweaty napkins no!!!" Gavin shouted, louder than he probably should have at the senior tabby cat, who on the best of days tolerates humans. But he had knocked over a glass of water for the 7th time now and this time it landed all over his phone.

In the cat's defense, he really wasn't supposed to be on his phone. Hes supposed to be working. But the customers who come into the Cat Cafe (which is attached to the Detroit Cat Rescue) on thursdays are always dicks. Its always the same 4 assholes who come in, loiter in their restaurant, spend no more than the cost of drip coffee, and worst of all, mistreat the cats.

Howell won't even kick them out. Their cafe\adoption shelter was barely scraping by as is. Any money coming in, even from bad customers, was worth it.

However, Gavin wasn't standing for it today. He shook water off his phone and finally looked through the kitchen window to see what Mr. Sweaty Napkins must have been trying to get his attention about.

Charles, MSN longtime boyfriend and best friend, is up on one of the red and teal booths, his hackles raised all the way up. He's hissing and swatting at Resident Jackass Number 4 who is currently shoving a fork in the animals face for fun.

"Hear ya loud and clear buddy," Gavin says to the orange tabby before demanding it to stay put, knowing he would do whatever he damn well pleased before heading into the small dining room to address the situation.

"Hey, asshole! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Gavin's sudden and angry presence startles the man and subdues the cat, who jumps immediately onto Gavin's shoulder when he gets close enough.

"What, we're just playing," the man scoffs, confidence back now that they had an 'audience' to entertain.

"Bullshit. I mean, are you stupid? He was phcking hissing. He's telling you he's not cool with that shit. So knock it off."

The man's smirk only grew when their spectacles humored the other dickwads that seemed to show up too often for comfort.

"Oh I'm sorry, I don't speak pussy."

The lewd comment doesn't bother Gavin, but it does bother the other smattering of customers. Specifically the handful with kids and Gavin growled and doubled down.

He yanked the scrawny man up by his jean jacket, reveling in the man's sudden choked surprise.

"Time to go asshole," he mutters quietly, pushing the squirming man up, out the front door, and out of their lives.

Howell, his junior, blue haired twink of a boss was furious, of course, because the man, a 'Jeremy Turnpike' left a one star review of their cafe a half an hour later and Gavin got his ass chewed for it.

Gavin didn't care. Even if Howell didn't have his back, he knew he made the right choice. He did the job he was hired for. He protected Charles, and all the other cats from cruel assholes.

"Well?!?" Howell demands suddenly and Gavin grimaces because he definitely checked out the second his boss started bitching him out.

"Well what?" He asks anyway, getting another pretentious scoff from the younger man.

"I can't believe you Gavin. I just can't believe you."

Me? I can't believe you don't have my back! Gavin shook his head and made up his mind.

"You don't gotta believe me anymore. I quit and I'm adopting Charles and Mr. Sweaty Napkins when I leave."

So, how is Sumo with multiple cats… 1:23 PM

His phone was still struggling to load certain apps and would need a rice bath when he got home but he was at least able to text Hank and Connor, forewarning them of the two new roommates coming home with him.

Hank texted back a

How many we talking? Knowing Gavin all too well and Connor called requesting video proof.

The camera only loaded partially, gaining confused remarks from the other side.

"Sorry if you can't see much. This guy, decided to knock a glass of water onto my phone. But it was to save his partner. So I guess I can't be too mad."

The cats were currently sitting in the zipped up fur of his winter jacket, looking at the inside of his car while the old engine roared to life.

"They sure are cute Gav," Hank says, a softness in his voice he only gets when he's talking about animals or babies.

"How soon until you're home Gavin?" Connor asks, a child-like eagerness in his voice that accompanies the addition of animals. The first time Gavin brought a kitten home Connor and the thing were practically inseparable.

"You'd know that better than me wouldn't you, computer boy?" Gavin teased gently. No longer holding any malice for the android.

Whatever Connor was gonna say next was halted by an inhuman static squeaking noise that confused both the humans and the cats. When they realized it was Connor's verbal reaction to the cats falling asleep in Gavin's jacket, they all laughed collectively.

"I'll be home soon as I can. I think you're gonna get along with these guys Con. They are a couple of old grumpy gays like Hank and I."

"Hey!" Hank rebuffed, causing another wave of laughter to fill his car, adding a bit of silver lining to his storm cloud of a day.

The cat cafe, Howell, Mr. Sweaty Napkins and Charles are all characters from Bee and Puppy cat lazy in space. I just rewatched Gentle touch as I was thinking up this ficlet

#max answers #detriot become human #gavin reed headcanons #send em my way and I’ll see what I can write #if you like these I have a jumbo fic called the Eden club #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #i post new stuff every sunday #sinful sunday #gavin dbh #dbh gavin reed #hank x gavin x connor #hankconvin #gavin x connor x hank #hank x gavin #connor x gavin #the eden club

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absolutelybatty · 2 months ago

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Take 2 at writing this since I went way off the rails and will again, if I know myself.

Sally Face spoilers ahead.

Okay, I'm thinking about Ash hitting rock bottom off screen. I'm thinking about her time after Sal's death and before finding the Pyramids of Asintmah. And even before that, with the massacre and Larry's suicide, that alone is enough to crack most people. Ash came home from college because of the death of her grandmother, didn't even get a chance to visit her childhood friend before he apparently died of an overdose, and, as she was on her way to try to help, another close friend seemingly has a breakdown and massacres multiple people, including their buddy from highschool and his 3 year old daughter. The story (reasonably) focuses on Sal in all of this, but Ash genuinely didn't even believe in the supernatural the others were talking about. She had no reason to.

So, when we reach the aftermath of Sal's death, I have to imagine there was a feeling of defeat and a feeling of guilt. Like maybe if she'd believed them, none of this would have happened. Her testimony was used as proof Sal was guilty, despite her attempts to get him help. Now, I don't think the cult would ever let Sal live, so her testimony wasn't actually the nail in the coffin, but try convincing her of that.

I'm also thinking about Neil. Neil who's in-laws were cut down. Neil who's boyfriend was found beaten and bloodied, half insane from whatever he experienced. Neil who just tried to keep going, only vaguely aware of the supernatural they tried to protect him from before being plunged into it without warning. I wonder if Neil stopped going to class after that. I wonder if he put his dreams on hold to try and take care of not only Todd, but Ash, Gizmo, and eventually Maple.

It had to be exhausting and it had to be painful but I think he never hesitated to put his life on the back burner for the people he loved. Ash definitely dropped out when it happened. I firmly believe she took over Sal's living area after his death. It's not like anyone was using it before that anyway, since Sal was in jail for half a decade before his death.

I don't know. This is barely coherent but I'm Having Thoughts about all that happened off screen.

Having Ash Campbell thoughts again.

#batty speaks #sally face spoilers #sally face

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sagegarnish · 3 years ago

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So I’ve been watching the wank about Deborah Chow referring to Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship as a “love story dynamic” through Episodes 1-6, and how she hopes to channel that in the series.

“For me, across the prequels, through the original trilogy, there’s a love-story dynamic with these two that goes through the whole thing,” Chow said in the interview with Vanity Fair. “I felt like it was quite hard to not [include] the person who left Kenobi in such anguish in the series… What’s special about that relationship is that they loved each other.”

Well, first things first.... calling Obi and Ani's dynamic a "love story" in an official interview is clearly intended as a non-sexual one. I would go further to say it's not romantic in our modern definition, but would likely fit into "Arthurian romance" with themes of adventure, courtly (chaste) love, and chivalry.

It's interesting to me how the anti-Disney rightwing are REALLY focusing on it as a “gross gay groomer” thing. Bigots and homophobes are using the very idea of Obi and Ani loving eachother as some proof that Disney is “encouraging grooming” and using it to fuel their current boycott.

Meanwhile... anti-shipper, pro-censorship, pro-harassment types are either claiming “people who ship Obikin don't understand Chow meant it to be familial! freaks are taking it wrong!" or they’re taking it literally as the rightwingers are and saying “this is disgusting, I can’t believe they’re making this gross shit canon”. They’re just as furious as the rightwingers, despite being ostensibly left and many of them being queer themselves.

However... it's OBVIOUS TO ME that what Chow said about the story is absolutely true, but it's about these men loving one another PURELY, CHASTELY, NOBLY.

There is actually no way that Chow intended it to mean a sexual romantic relationship. I firmly believe this simply fits along with the recent trend of marketing things as “bromance” or “unconventional love story” between stuff like buddy cop stories, to get clicks and sound like they’re skirting the edge of things, when all they’re doing is showing men loving eachother AS FRIENDS. Which is great as a CONCEPT. You should love your friends!

Is it fun to go "HAHA THE CREATORS SHIP IT! OBIKIN WINS. OBIKIN CANON"? HECK YES. BECAUSE I SHIP IT! BECAUSE IT’S A GREAT DYNAMIC. (my definition of “ship it” is “I simply enjoy thinking about their relationship, and the many permutations of it, specifically in a romantic/sexual way. I don’t particularly care if it becomes canon and I don’t want to pressure the studio to do it, and I also am not a tinhatter, as in I don’t think they wrote it intending to be that way. Well, Matthew Stover’s book is borderline... but I digress.)

Do I actually believe they're going to make them queer and IN LOVE with eachother? Of course not. Like, literally, they NEVER intend that. And I won’t be disappointed! I like the canon relationship AS IT IS! But watching people get bent out of shape and super homophobic and calling people names and attack others over this is wild.

It’s canon that Obi-Wan cares deeply for Anakin, and if you look at the movies 1-6 arc alone, it’s really evident that their relationship as it exists is VERY IMPORTANT for the entire Star Wars narrative. Obi-Wan ignores the warning signs of Anakin going darkside because he’s attached. He cares about Anakin. He’s BIASED, and he’s a Jedi and they’re supposed to be above attachment, above bias. Meanwhile, when Anakin is manipulated into thinking that Padme and Obi-Wan were having an affair or conspiring or keeping secrets or turning Padme against Anakin... Anakin is SO DEEPLY HURT by that because he trusts Obi-Wan. He loves Obi-Wan and he is sure Obi-Wan feels the same. The betrayal is so much worse because he trusted him, loved him.

The script and novels make it more overt, since we can’t see what’s inside a characters mind onscreen, but it’s still there.

Obi-Wan goes to Tatooine to watch over Luke, Anakin’s son. He does this out of love. Once again, it’s NOT SEXUAL LOVE. Not in the canon. But simply saying they love eachother isn’t sexual, and I’m sick of people getting hostile over it.

I’m very intrigued to watch the upcoming show, because making sure the canon love is expressed there as PART of the reasons for the anguish sounds like a REALLY COMPELLING story.

(I love that she said ANGUISH, I want these men to SUFFER)

#vaderwan #obikin #technically #but also not obikin at all #this is about their canon relationship #and why i love it #long post #star wars meta

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quillquiver · 4 years ago

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On SPN, Burying Your Gays, and Being Heard

I am shaking, I feel sick, I feel like I’m insane. And did I run a little wild with the theories? You bet. But you know what didn’t help? The botched clusterfuck that was this entire goddamn finale debacle. How was I supposed to believe anything they said in panels when M&G dialogue would leak saying the exact opposite? How was I supposed to grieve and move on when there was nothing from the cast and crew? Nobody said anything! And any info leaked just destabilized what we already knew or directly contradicted what we’d been told. In light of that, how was I supposed to trust anything anyone said? One rogue translator reciprocated the love confession and I was practically sold, because there were so many questions surrounding the English text that this was something good, something that logically fit, and something I wanted to hold onto.

Because they hurt me. This is about so much more than one episode or a ship; for years queer fans have seen ourselves in these characters and been told that we were crazy. That we were reading too much into it. I’m not sure how people get upset and offended when a storyline that doesn’t exist... doesn’t exist! said Guy Bee (2013). And then, after all of that, they turned around and said magnanimously, you have your version, I have mine... and that’s okay. But it’s not okay. It’s not okay, because that doesn’t erase what came before - that doesn’t erase the baiting and the gaslighting, and that invalidates everything we felt in the time leading up to that episode. It gave them an open window for all the subtext that came after. It allowed them to brush us off.

And then we got Cas’s love confession. I watched that scene about 500 times. Added to the rest of the season - to the fandom avatar being presented as successful and intelligent, to arc being the death of the author - I felt seen. Really seen, by a show that made it its mission to erase me. I had been okay with Cas dying at first because I had been sure the romance arc would carry through. I had been convinced that after everything, there was no way they would give that to us and then take it away.

But they did, because this is Supernatural. To anyone saying this is not bury your gays, I implore you to read up on the Hays Code. This link is to an amazing queer history podcast and the episode that covers it. In short, the Hays Code was a legal document that came about in 20th Century Hollywood during the puritanical war on the American entertainment industry, and it stipulated what was not allowed on screen. Not all of it was queer - there’s a whole section about kissing - but what the Code is most remembered for is that queerness was not allowed on screen. But queer people are resilient, and so they started testing the waters... and it turned out that you could in fact code queerness into a narrative, as long as it was subtextual, or as long as the queer character died/was punished, or both. The point is that the character is not allowed to live their truth openly. They are buried, either in the ground or punished in the narrative. The former is normally what we refer to these days, because the latter just doesn’t really happen anymore.

Until Supernatural.

Castiel is immediately punished for speaking his truth - and please don’t tell me he leveraged that punishment and so he had agency. Literally the only thing that could make him happy was confessing his feelings, and so the Empty deal was directly related to this idea of queerness-as-punishment. That being said, Bobo wrote a beautiful scene. Cas’s confession was a love letter to queerness and coming out... but everything that came after buried him. Castiel may have ended the series alive but he was effectively written out of the last two episodes, and that means that he actually never really got to live his truth. He was silenced by the narrative - that is punishment.

Dean is a whole other can of worms. Does one rogue translator confirm canon bi!Dean? Or do we have to read our own version of the text? The fact that we even have to ask these questions firmly places us in the realm of queerbaiting. Were the writers trying to get bi!Dean approved but were unable to? I have no idea, but queerbaiting requires proof that the writers encouraged a reading they had no intent of following through on, and we certainly don’t lack in evidence of that. Not from this writers room, but from those of previous eras. Did these writers try? They might have, but the funny thing about queerbaiting discourse is that there has never been a show to bait this long, and I’m making the call that even if you tried at the end, you baited me with half the ship and all the years that came before.

Of course, the narrative leaves open the possibility of bi!Dean so if you do read the show that way, that means Dean also falls into the bury your gays category; if you read the show this way - which many of us do - the mere suggestion that Dean Winchester was bisexual was enough to punish him. And he was punished. We’ve all written extensively on this, but he was given a random death, on a case his father never finished. All that growth, all that time spent having him accept himself, love himself, that was all taken away. He died the way he always thought he would: as a tool, in service of his father, protecting his brother. He had always believed he’d been a body to throw on the sword and in the end that’s all he was. And when he gets to Heaven? He’s also silenced. He barely speaks in the episode except to monologue during his death, and that is 100% Sam-centric. He is scared.

It was horrific to watch. I sobbed so hard my roommate was seriously concerned.

I had been fully prepared for Supernatural to end disappointingly. I had figured everything would end with a huge heaven reunion because white, straight, cis-male S&F writers love the idea of death as a reward, but instead of being disappointed I felt like I had witnessed a slaughter. Every single one of the queer themes intrinsic to the show: found family, resilience, speaking your truth... were gone. And I know we’ve talked about this too, but it bears repeating, because in doing this, in writing the queerness out of its narrative, Supernatural effectively looked every one of us queer folx in the eye and said: you are not important. You don’t matter. All of that stuff that came before is all good and well, but what really matters at the end of all things is blood family. It’s two brothers in a car. Life sucks but at least we get to die and go to paradise - real paradise, that your angel buddy died for and then made for you and who we never hear from again.

I felt insane. I felt cheated. I felt humiliated. I felt devastated. I still feel all those things, but listen to me. You have been heard. Not by Misha Collins, who is a great guy, but doesn’t get it. Not by Jensen Ackles, who is a similarly great guy, but also just doesn’t understand. And not by anyone else who worked on this show.

You know who heard you? Me. The people who follow me. The people who follow you. We saw each other, and heard each other, and we gave each other a leg up. We made memes. We wrote fic. We drew fanart. We made gifs. All for ourselves and all for each other. We broke Tumblr multiple times. We donated over $60,000 USD to multiple different causes. We got multiple hashtags trending at multiple different points, and today kept it up because we demanded answers and then we got them. There were at least 5 articles written about the show today. We made that happen. We made people listen.

Supernatural didn’t deserve me, and it didn’t deserve you. It didn’t deserve Dean. It didn’t deserve Cas. It didn’t deserve Misha and Jensen. But this show ended with a bleak, awful message and we turned around and showed them that love is loud. So what about all of this is real?

We are.

#alex talks #spngate #archived #this was very therapeutic #and i honestly don't know if i will ever be able to love something like this again #because i have been burned oh man #but this fandom is amazing #and i am proud to be a part of it #and i am not going anywhere #journaling #15x18 #15x19 #15x20 #castiel #dean winchester #destiel

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years ago

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Some Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian friendship please?

Like wwx was the first person to understand that Nie Huaisang was a "useless" young master only on purpose.

You can choose if :

Post cannon?

Cannon divergence?

Cannon divergence: where he's a better friend so he makes him joint he Nie clan? Or something? who knows?

You can also choose if Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang are friends.

(Imagine NHS-WWX-LWJ are buddies since cloud recesses days and go forth, lol. Canon divergence from the point of JC denouncing WWX)

“Listen to me for once!”

Nie Huaisang didn't mean to shout, not really. It is never a good idea to shout at his da-ge because it only provokes anger in return. But Wei-xiong is in danger and no one is helping. Nie Huaisang may be a useless cultivator in many people’s eyes but he refuses to be a useless friend.

The desperation in his stone catches da-ge’s attention and his older brother looks at him with a severe frown, “That boy is cultivating the ghostly path, Huaisang! Even his sect leader distrusts him!”

“Exactly! Da-ge, I’m not stupid, no matter how much you like to believe I am-”

“I don’t!”

Huaisang ignores him, “I know Wei-xiong. He may be mischievous but he’s not evil. If you don’t believe me, ask Lan Wangji! You can trust his word, yes? If you can’t trust your own brother’s.”

“Watch your tone,” Nie Mingjue growls, “You have earned every bit of my suspicion, Huaisang. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Huaisang winces, “I’m not dismissing your concerns but I need more than just your instincts to intervene. Do you have anything more than ‘i know him, da-ge’?” His brother asks and arches a brow.

Huaisang takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. Hundreds of little observations, pieces of a puzzle too scattered, swirl around in his mind. He has held these pieces close to this heart for years, knowing that it would’ve been disastrous to reveal them during the war. But Nie Huiasang can no longer afford to be silent. Every time he hears someone spitting out his best friend’s name like a curse, something in him burns.

Wei Wuxian is so genuinely good-natured, he will accept everyone as they are. Wei Wuxian is always willing to step between an enemy and a friend, ready to take the blow of them.

There are few people in cultivation as honorable and compassionate as Wei-xiong and Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to see that light diminish.

Da-ge is silent, as though sensing Huaisang’s turmoil.

He straightens and tucks his fan away, meeting his older brother’s gaze head-on, without hesitation. That is enough for da-ge to frown and gesture towards an empty seat. Huaisang quickly goes about making tea as he speaks, “Please be patient with me, da-ge,” He begs, “Let me explain the full picture so you can see what I see. All of this may seem like speculation, but I have proof, circumstantial, but proof nonetheless.”

Nie Mingjue’s expression is now serious and placid, like he’s fully willing to listen to what his brother has to say.

“You… you don’t know, Wei-xiong. He cherished his cultivation, da-ge,” He explains, “It is no accident or act of fate that he was so good at it - good enough to even challenge Lan Wangji. He did the work to get there; he was brilliant but he was also incredibly hardworking. His cultivation was the result of years of refinement. Suibian was his constant companion and he wielded it like it was his soul.”

His brother is still because he’s not stupid.

“Is it not strange that we hear rumors of Wei Wuxian being captured by Wen Chao- by Wen Zhuliu - and see him return with a new cultivation that doesn’t require a Golden Core?”

His da-ge is definitely paying attention now.

“But is it not stranger that the Wens claim they had taken Jiang Wanyin’s core, only for Jiang-zongzhu to come back stronger? His cultivation is so refined and powerful, he is now a force to be reckoned with. Is it not strange, da-ge, that a man that couldn’t push his core even after years of diligent training managed to strengthen so significantly in a matter of months?”

“What are you saying, Huaisang?”

“I’m saying that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a Golden Core. He hasn’t had it for the entire duration of the war. He lost it during or before those three months he was missing. I’m saying those rumors about him being tossed into the Burial Mounds are likely to be true. I’m saying that Wei-xiong is exactly the kind of person who would use word games to make people believe otherwise. He’s also the kind of person who would do everything in his power to protect his martial siblings.”

Nie Mingue looks stunned, “He walked into war without his Golden Core?”

“I am absolutely certain he did.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, “But you… don’t believe Wen Zhuliu took his core.”

Huaisang hesitates, “This is where I hesitate, da-ge. My instincts tell me it's not that simple. I have known both Wei-xiong and Jiang-zongzhu for a long time. We lived in close quarters and I may not be a good cultivator, but that doesn’t mean I miss small details. Jiang Wanyin feels just as powerful as Wei-xiong did, back then.”

“And you believe that’s impossible?” Da-ge arches a skeptical brow, “You, by your own admission, don’t like him.”

“Wen Qing nearly published a paper on Golden Core transfer. Wen Ning rescued Jiang Wanyin from Wen Chao’s grasp.” He takes a deep breath, “Wei Wuxian just gave up everything to repay a debt that Jiang Wanyin admitted he owed.” Nie Huaisang doesn’t know everything, but he has had years to figure out enough.

Suddenly, all the skepticism leaves his older brother’s face.

“Let’s speak with Lan Wangji.”

---

Wangji-xiong takes it like a blow to his chest.

Huaisang sees him flinch and he sees Xichen-ge step forward in concern, “Wangji...” Xichen-ge looks like he doesn’t know what to say and how to reassure his brother.

Huaisang may consider Wei Wuxian his best friend, but he firmly believes that no one cares for him more than Lan Wangji.

The Hanguang-jun believes him. That's clear from his expression.

Wangji-xiong has likely been aware of those scattered puzzle pieces as well. He just hadn’t put them together until now.

“This is all speculation,” Xichen-ge tries to interject, “There may not be any need to worry, Wangji.”

“Wei Ying’s heart hasn’t changed.”

Xichen-ge stills and Huaisang watches as icy resolve settles on Wangji-xiong’s face, “I’ll bring him.”

“Wangji-”

“Wangji begs your pardon, xiongzhang,” The Hanguang-jun turns around and walks swiftly towards the door. He offers no other word or explanation.

“Huaisang,” Xichen-ge’s voice is displeased, “You should have come to me with this first. Wangji is… attached to Wei-gongzi.”

Surprisingly, it is da-ge who intervenes.

“If you can give Meng Yao the benefit of the doubt, you can extend the same courtesy to Huaisang and Wangji’s friend, Xichen.” Nie Mingjue is scowling, “We have more reason to fault his character than Wei-gongzi’s.”

It is probably the harshest thing da-ge has ever said to Xichen-ge and it shows. The First Jade visibly calms himself and nods graciously, but there’s a glint of displeasure in his eyes. Jin Guangyao has been a bone of contention between da-ge and Xichen-ge for several months now. Huaisang should probably look into the matter a little more but Wei-xiong’s situation demands all of his attention.

Now that Jiang Wanyin announced Wei Wuxian’s defection to the entire cultivation world, he’s a free agent with a powerful ability and an even more powerful tool. With the Jins and their successful rumor-mongering, Huaisang fears they don’t have much time. Jin Guangshan has already driven a wedge between Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian. How much more can they accomplish if Huaisang doesn’t intervene somehow?

---

Wangji-xiong doesn’t return with Wei Wuxian. He brings Wen Qing and wears an expression of outright fury on his usually stoic face.

“I transferred his Golden Core into Jiang Wanyin.” Wen Qing declares with a straight back and a steady glare. She looks right into da-ge’s eyes, “I helped Jiang Wanyin recover from his captivity and then agreed to perform the procedure.”

Huaisang sits down as his worst fear is confirmed.

He had hoped… he had desperately hoped he had been wrong but as Wen Qing goes on to describe everything, explaining how the procedure worked and what Wei-xiong had to endure for his martial brother’s sake, he becomes certain she is telling the truth.

And this is exactly what Wei Wuxian would do. It would be too far-fetched and outrageous for anyone else, but Wei-xiong- his capacity for self-sacrifice has always worried Huaisang and Lan Wangji.

“Where is he?” Nie Mingjue demands, “Did you leave him in the Burial Grounds? In his state?”

“Wei Ying refuses to come,” Lan Wangji says, his expression pale and tight, “He must keep the resentful spirits at bay and protect the Wens. There’s a child among them, barely two years old.”

Xichen-ge sucks in a breath, closing his eyes in dismay.

“He’s injured.” Wangji-xiong continues, “He was gutted by Jiang Wanyin in a staged fight.” Huaisang looks up sharply, “He hasn’t healed and yet persists to place himself at risk.”

“Wangji, we will help him,” Xichen-ge assures, “I apologize for not understanding the situation, but now we know and we will help him.”

“So they fought to spare the Jiang Sect,” Huaisang speculates with a frown, “But… why not just tell us? Surely Jiang-zongzhu knows he just had to mention his debt to you, Wen-guniang.”

“We have misunderstood Jiang Wanyin’s character greatly.” That is a big condemnation coming from the Hanguang-jun himself. Huaisang is certain that Wangji-xiong isn’t inclined to be charitable now. Jiang Wanyin did hurt Wei Wuxian seriously, after all.

“He won’t move until we do something to help the Wens.” Huaisang concludes, opening his fan in a snap and waving it furiously, “Because he’s just that stubborn. If he owes Wen-guniang and Wen-gongzi a debt, nothing is going to move him, not even Wangji-xiong.”

“I have never been able to move him.” Lan Wangji says icily and it seems like they’re feeding off each other’s ire.

Really, Wei-xiong is so frustrating to deal with sometimes. He doesn’t know how Lan Wangji handles being in love with him, Huaisang already feels nauseous. Wei Wuxian is in such a precarious position now that if they don’t act fast, he would…

He would likely be imprisoned or killed.

“Let’s offer the Wens some protection then.” Nie Huaisang says.

“Huaisang,” Da-ge warns, “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” He demands, turning towards his brother and Lan Xichen, “Will the Jins retaliate? If both Lans and Nies stand together on the matter, what will they do? The Wens don’t need to be free, they need to be safe and healthy. We can keep them contained in a small farming village, forbid cultivation and absorb any children into one of our clans. Let’s take Wei-xiong into the Nie clan and let the Wens settle in the northern reaches. The area is fairly remote and life will be hard but safe, better than the Burial Mounds at any rate!”

He doesn’t know what kind of expression he has on his face but da-ge looks faintly amused, “You’ll take on the Jins?”

“If I have to!”

“He means that much to you?”

Huaisang swallows and thinks of days spent in merriment and comfort. Of a friendly arm tossed around his shoulder and a laughing voice dragging him into all sorts of mischief. He thinks of warm silver eyes that never looked down at him and nods, “Yes, he does.”

Wei-xiong has always helped him and treated him with respect. It is time for him to return the favor.

---

It is a near miracle that everything works out as planned. Well, almost everything. No one is pleased when the Lans and Nies band together to take over the Wen remnants. Fortunately, the Jiangs don’t have any room to object. Da-ge doesn't hesitate to reveal that Jiang Wanyin owes Wen Ning his life. Jiang Wanyin's honor is called into question but he suffers no other consequence for his dishonesty. Nie Huaisang doesn’t care but he notices how it guts Wei-xiong.

Apparently, when Wei-xiong and Jiang Wanyin agreed to part ways, Jiang-zongzhu only needed to say Wei Wuxian had left the Jiangs. There was no need to outright state that his sect brother had betrayed the entire cultivation world!

Either Jiang-zonghzu is incredibly naive or he deliberately placed Wei Wuxian in a difficult position without his knowledge.

Either way, Nie Huaisang is content to see that relationship severed. In his humble opinion, he makes a much better martial brother. And Wei-xiong could certainly benefit from being under the thumb of someone as protective as da-ge. He’s entirely too willing to place himself in harm’s way!

Humming under his breath and happy that everything turned out according to plan, Nie Huaisang turns around the corner and pauses. He quickly takes a few steps back until he’s out of sight. Peeking cautiously around the corner, he hides a grin behind his fan as he sees Wei-xiong fall off a tree and right into Lan Wangji’s arms.

Huaisang bites back a laugh when Wei Wuxian stays in place, arms around Lan Wangji shoulders and eyes peering up at the Second Jade.

He had been suspicious about them since Lan Wangji all but dragged Wei Wuxian to the Unclean Realm. His best friend arrived with flushed cheeks and suspiciously red lips but everyone pointedly ignored it, too eager to avoid that particular mess.

He smiles, chuckling under his breath when Wangji-xiong pulls Wei Wuxian closer and dips his head.

Turning around, he starts walking away, leaving the lovers to their business.

Besides, da-ge would want to know about this.

#short prompts #nie huaisang #lan wangji #wei wuixan #nie mingjue #anti jiang cheng #nmj is proud of his bb bro for standing up for what he believes in lol

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mcheang · 4 years ago

Note

Lila doesn't know that Luka is Juleka's brother so she tries claiming that he is a delinquent and a bad influence on Marinette.

Gossip report

One day when Lila was leaving school, pondering on how to steal Adrien from Kagami, she spotted Marinette talking to a boy with blue hair and a guitar.

He was obviously older and definitely cute.

Nearby two girls were whispering about how lucky Marinette was to have this senior student asking her out.

Well, Lila certainly hates it when the spotlight isn’t on her.

Later that day, while hanging out with the girls (because Marinette was definitely out on a date), Lila tried to be the one to start the gossip chain.

Lila: hey girls, I don’t want to alarm anyone but do you think Marinette will be fine with Adrien off the market?

The girls exchanged shrugs. “She’ll be fine. She’ll move on.”

Lila feigned concern. “That’s what i am worried about. I think Marinette is so heartbroken, she’ll give her heart to anyone who gives her the time of day. I just saw her after school talking to some high school dropout.”

Pause.

Juleka: what did he look like?

Lila: he had blue hair, rode a bike (let them think it’s a motorcycle) and wore grungy clothes. *gasp*

Alix: and what makes you think he’s a bad influence?

Lila saw her pink hair and quickly backtracked on looks. “I could tell by his face. He looks so smug, arrogant and sneaky. The kind of boy you see smoking and dealing with drugs.”

Juleka: I see...

Lila: so you see, we must interfere on Marinette’s behalf, before his claws are in too deep.

Or at least they will because everyone knows Marinette will never listen to Lila.

Juleka was using her phone and at last found an image of Luka, alone at one of his favorite rock concerts. The background was dim and he was making faces for the camera.

Juleka: was this the boy you saw?

Lila: that’s him! What do you girls think? Delinquent or what?

Mylène: i think you should give him a chance. Don’t be deceived by appearances.

Lila: trust me! I’m a good judge of character. This boy is bad news. He’s the type of guy who ends up in jail and drunk.

Rose decided to intervene. “He’s also Juleka’s brother.”

Oh....

Alya: maybe you should check your facts before you go spreading rumors.

Lila’s brain: hypocrite!

Lila: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. I just got so worried for Marinette.

Mylene: we understand Lila. But Luka’s a genuinely sweet boy.

Rose: all the girls at his school like him

Alix: he’s a real artist, in a musical way

Alya: he’s a member of Kitty Section and the songwriter of their songs

Juleka: and he’s a great judge of character. If he doesn’t like somebody, we don’t like him. It’s a band thing.

Lila sweatdropped. “Oh. Well I can’t wait to make his acquaintance and get to know him better.” Maybe she could make Marinette look bad to him and he could tell Kitty Section?

Alya: no worries. Luka’s taking Marinette back here for guitar lessons

Lila: great (at this line, even I can’t tell if she is sincere or not)

Luka and Marinette arrived on his bike. His travel worn jacket and ripped jeans hardly a cause for alarm. Beneath his bright blue hair were darker, soulful eyes.

The moment they stepped through the door and saw Lila, Marinette predictably scowled and Luka surprisingly flinched.

Before Lila could start charming him, Juleka beat her to it with a request to help him keep his bicycle. (As if. Their boat was cluttered and he could have dumped his bike anywhere.)

The moment they were alone, sister asked brother. “What was her music?”

Luka winced. “Loud. Very loud. Like fire alarm loud that you can’t hear anything else.”

Juleka: she sounded like a fire alarm?

Luka: no, she sounded like screechy violins. Like a novice attempting to be Mozart on her first try, and in vain.

Juleka nodded, worry wrinkling her brow. “I understand.”

Juleka headed back to the group and clapped her hands. “So sorry everyone. But it’s time for a band meeting. So everyone who isn’t Kitty Section, I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave soon.”

Alix: no worries. I can meet up with Nathaniel at the museum.

Alya: and I have to be at a date with Nino anyway.

Mylène: I’ll go call Ivan over.

Lila frowned, correctly assuming Luka didn’t like her and told Juleka. “Is it because of me? Does Luka doesn’t like me?” Cue crocodile tears.

Juleka quickly reassured her. “No. No. He just isn’t used to Italian music, and he’s been very cautious about creating music since Bob Roth. So only band members are allowed.”

Lila: but why isn’t Marinette leaving with us?

Marinette: i have to see them to perform to think of what costumes i have to design for them.

Lila’s brain: darn, she has a legit excuse.

Lila: please, can’t I stay?

This time it was Rose who spoke. Kindly, but firmly. “Sorry Lila. But this is strictly band business. Besides, aren’t you meeting with the president’s daughter online soon? To discuss charity options?”

Lila hid her rage. “Right. Thanks for reminding me.”

As Lila expected, and to Marinette’s surprise, for the rest of the afternoon, Kitty Section warned the rest of their class not to trust Lila. Alix and Alya were already suspicious about her since she tried to malign Luka, and his reaction just confirmed it.

Alya finally fact checked her work and took down Lila’s interview, apologising for posting false information.

Nino told Adrien, who already knew. Nino warned Adrien to tell the truth next time because tabloid gossip is different from deceiving friends.

The next day at school, Lila didn’t bother to show. When Caline reported she was ill, the class finally told her she was a liar and is probably lying now.

Caline: do you have proof?

Alya: yes! And if she’s been lying about Ali, she’s been skipping school for months.

Caline finally became serious. “Well then I shall have to contact her mother.”

Alya smirked. “As Vice President I already sent her an email (double checking the embassy website) asking for confirmation if her daughter had really been in Achu for months. Because after her lie about being Ladybug’s best friend (I attached the video link) and her claims of being Prince’s Ali’s buddy, I am skeptical of her claim to be in Achu for all that time.”

Caline’s frowned deepened.

But as it turns out, Caline needn’t have called Mrs Rossi because she dragged her daughter to school to see the principal after she opened her company email and saw the video. Her colleagues told her what was up and even how her own daughter had been akumatized more than once.

It’s a shame they didn’t get to see the scolding happen. But Mrs Rossi forced Lila to tell the whole class the truth. As Lila had been missing so many classes, Kim pointed out there was no way she could graduate unless she took summer school and make up classes.

Lila protested she already saw the online video lessons.

But Mrs Rossi corrected that Lila wasn’t just going to graduate, she had been expelled for tampering with official documents.

Lila sulked and accepted her fate.

Mrs Rossi reminded her daughter that it was worse than she thought because no school would accept a pathological liar with a record for truancy except the ones prepared for such misbehaving cases.

Alix snorted. “Karma! She called Luka bad news and now she’s heading for a school for troubled kids.”

Indeed, Lila’s new school life was miserable. She couldn’t skip without someone finding her and dragging her back to a class that would laugh at her and an unsympathetic teacher. And where everyone knew of her condition, nobody believed anything she said. Her mother won’t even believe her when she reports she is being bullied. Not when the teacher didn’t think calling Lila a liar is bullying, especially when she keeps coming into class with fake doctor notes, painted blood, self-inflicted scratches, and loose bandages. Seriously, bullying is seriously monitored. Beyond the name calling, nobody actually harms Lila because she always tries to harm herself anyway.

She is like the class jester, giving them a free show. And the punishments for actual bullying are so severe that nobody dares do it.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #Lila salt #ml salt fic #Lila karma #lila gets exposed #lila is exposed #post miracle queen

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matan4il · 3 years ago

Note

I would love it if you allowed me a scream into the void moment. No worries if you dont post. But I'm bothered today by antis.

Heres the thing I ship for leisure, I have shipped queer, straight canon ext. I have had ships sail, sink or die. When I'm on the 🤡 end of the ship it doesn't bother me. I get it. Eddie and Buck are canon "straight" on the show. I get why you think I'm a clown 🤡.

But heres the thing I dont get, why are antis not getting this writing isnt normal. I fully am prepared for Buddie not to happen, shit with my luck the will thing was because they plan to kill Eddie off because Ryan wants to leave and they want to keep Christopher with Buck and Taylor. However my point remains nothing about the writing of Eddie and Buck is typical and just admit it.

The constant queer baiting on the small scale mixed with your my kids legal gaurdian on the huge scale. Eddies panic attacks. The angst of Eddie leaving combined with all the Buck adondenemt issues and also Eddie stopping him from leaving. It just doesnt add up. And maybe I'm wrong, but also antis need to acknowledge this isnt normal and they could be wrong and not hate as much.

Hi Nonnie! You are ALWAYS welcome to scream whatever you need to in my inbox! *hugs*

I get what you're saying. I'm not sure I can say that I ship for leisure with the amount of meta'ing I have done, but I do generally believe in "live and let live" in fandom. Everyone's free to disagree with any of my meta's, to interpret things differently, to like whichever characters or ships they like, etc. I firmly believe that at the end of the day, fandom is what we do to help make real life (rl) better, so whatever brings people joy is fine in my book (as long as we're not talking downright offensive opinions).

But even so, I agree with you fully and think that there is something quite unusual about the writing for Buddie. 'Coz here's the thing, yeah, maybe if we search hard enough, we could find a good rl het explanation for everything Buddie have done/been through, but shows aren't rl. To make my point, in rl we go to the bathroom every day not long after we wake up. But we don't see it on screen. If we suddenly do see a character go to the bathroom in the morning, then something IS UP. Maybe we'll discover that they have some sort of a serious medical condition, or that she's pregnant. We don't know yet, but we know that there is some reason for why the show made this unusual choice, and that it's asking us to pay extra attention to this. The same thing can be said about the way Buddie has been written, there are a lot of unusual choices that beg us to pay attention to these two together, as partners and as a family unit with Chris. If you look at the sum of my meta, those are the choices that I'm trying to highlight, the ones that are out of the ordinary and that call attention to Buddie as possibly something other than friends... If a straight couple would have gotten this treatment, then even if they didn't eventually get together, I would fully expect at least one of them to have a feelings realization at some point (an example for that are Dean and Vic on Station 19, who got a lot of similar elements to Buddie, and where eventually Dean was forced to admit he's in love with Vic, even though the actor decided to leave the show before the two of them ever got the chance to get together).

Anyway, my point is you're right and I'm with you, and please feel free to use my meta as proof whenever you wanna point out that the writing for Buddie is NOT the standard writing for friends, even really good, close friends.

Thank you for sending this and big hugs to you! xoxox

To anyone else who sent me an ask, I am going through all of them, thank you so much for your patience! If you wanna check whether I've replied to yours yet, you can have a look at my ask tag. xoxox

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #ask #anon ask #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years ago

Note

handholding- 10/12/13

hugs - 34

kisses - 7/13/27

touching - 47

sambucky :)

Buddies, I literally cannot believe I managed to get all of these done without being too repetitive.

Handholding 10: Happily doing everything with one hand if that means they don't have to let go is already posted on my blog and on AO3: ElisabethMonroe: (til i carry you home) Your Hand in My Hand

Reblogging with AO3 links in a second

Kisses 27: Desperate Kisses

Inhale My Soul

(Listen, listen y'all, you don't know how many different universes of them dying and bleeding out in each other's arms y'all aren't reading here. I didn't do that to you. You're welcome)

Dissolving hadn’t felt like anything. Sam wasn’t sure he even understood what was actually happening. Maybe he’d thought it was just a trick of the reality stone. Maybe human minds weren’t meant to comprehend anything close to what had happened.

Coming back felt like dying.

He woke up on his back and he couldn’t breathe. It was like he had no lungs at all, just a trachea spasming in his throat without air, like a gills with no water. He grasped for the ground and the feeling of dirt was horrifying, a grave waiting to swallow him down into the Earth. The wind was knives on his skin. His suit felt like it was trying to pry his spine from his ribs. His legs ached like someone was trying to stretch the bones on a crank.

He must’ve screamed but there was no air to make a noise.

Finally sight came back and the first thing he saw were the trees falling over him, ready to crush him and hide him again.

Had anyone seen him disappear? No one was by his side. No one looked for him.

No, the trees weren’t falling. They were swaying in the wind. The sun kept gliding down through them with every shuffle of the leaves.

It was so quiet he felt like he could hear the leaves sighing as they grew.

It took him too long to realize the ragged breath that broke the silence like a gunshot came from his own chest. The hands digging his own grave shot to his chest, felt the rise and fall of his ribs and lungs, the proof that he was breathing. He was alive again.

He rolled onto his side and heaved until his ribs creaked, still firmly attached to his spine. There was nothing to come up, but the noise was comforting, the ache that he could name and handle was safe. Human. Living human.

His knees were in his legs when he leaned back on his haunches. They sank into the earth but the grave didn’t swallow him down. No unwilling sacrifice to be taken from him. He brought his dirt covered fingers--firm and whole and attached to him--up to his face. He found his cheeks, a beard with edges that were too straight for a man who had died and been put back together, his teeth. They throbbed in his gums like they were all about to fall out but they were there in his head. His tongue.

He could speak.

“Steve!” he shouted and his throat screamed in protest, the air in his lungs turned to fire. “Steve!” he called again and forced himself to his feet. His boots were tied. His pants were still tucked into them. There was no blood, which seemed wrong. He felt flayed open and left to soak into the ground. How could there be no blood?

“Steve!”

God, if Steve was dead…

Sam couldn’t lose more people. He couldn’t fight his way back. Not after this. Not while everything hurt so fucking much.

“Steve, please, God, where are you?!”

“Sam?”

Sam whirled around at the tired voice. The trees danced in his vision. The grass clutched at his legs, which still felt like they were being stretched out and sunk into the earth. The trees were going to take him over. The grass was going to eat him again. No one was looking. No one would find him. Why wasn’t anyone ever looking for him?

“Sam?” the voice called again.

Footsteps. Crushing grass. A metal screech in the bark of a tree. A colorful curse. “Sam, fuck, shout again!”

Sam stumbled forward, breaking free of the natural world trying to take him away again. He shoved himself away from a tree and crashed into a warm, solid, human body.

“Jesus, Sam,” Bucky breathed and wrapped his arms around Sam tightly. It hurt in the best way. Sam held him back, face hidden in Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t even care about what gore he was smearing all over himself. Bucky’s hand came to the back of Sam’s head and Sam almost expected it to hit exposed brain but it didn’t. Instead his calloused fingers brushed over Sam’s short hair, smoothing over the natural lines and divots in it until goosebumps erupted over Sam’s skin.

Right. Things could feel good. That was part of being human and alive.

He had no idea how long they stood there. His shoulders were aching, but in a pleasant way that reminded him that there was something he loved right in front of him, in his arms.

Bucky was the first to move, stepping back half a step, a quarter of a step, barely any at all, just enough to bring his hands up to either side of Sam’s face. The cheeks and the mouth and the skin that was all there and new again. He tilted Sam’s head back, eyes intense and clear in front of Sam.

Had it not felt the same for him? Was he not grappling with his ridiculously weak claim to existence? Or, fuck, was this how he always felt after being frozen and woken up? Had he been going through this for seventy years with no one to run to? With no one to hold him and remind him that things could feel good?

Sam’s fingers tightened in Bucky’s vest and just as Bucky was starting to say something Sam couldn’t honestly answer--something about how he felt, if anything hurt, if he needed medical attention--Sam hauled him down into a desperate kiss. Their noses smashed together and pain bloomed across Sam’s face, made his eyes water, made him want to sneeze, made him want to lean into it all the more, like the pressed-on-bruise ache of Bucky’s arms around him.

He felt Bucky’s teeth notch a split into Sam’s lip by accident, crushed together with nowhere to go. Finally it softened. Bucky’s mouth pressed against his until Sam felt like he could actually breathe, until he could make his mouth do what he wanted, catch Bucky’s lower lip between both of his, wring out a noise he’d never heard the other man make before. Bucky’s hands on his face kept him close and Sam’s fingers tightened in his vest. He wanted to crawl into Bucky’s chest--felt like, maybe, he could after being unmade and remade. Their noses knocked together again as Sam tried to turn his head, kiss the other side of Bucky’s mouth, let Bucky bruise the rest of his lips.

Bucky pulled away, but didn’t let go of Sam’s face. Cool air flowed into Sam’s lungs until all of his bones and muscles felt like they slotted back into place.

“I can’t tell you how fucking happy I am to see you alive,” Bucky breathed.

We should talk about this. That. Later.

“I thought everyone was gone. I don’t know… I didn’t know how I came back. I thought it was just me.”

Bucky shook his head. “No. There’s hundreds of people. Not everyone, but at least half of us.”

Half of them.

“Oh my God,” Sam said. “Thanos won. He wiped out half of the universe.”

“I think that was us. I think...someone brought us back,” Bucky said. Pain flashed over his face as he looked at Sam and then pulled him in for another kiss. Sam tried to understand a second chance in it, but all he could feel was Bucky and relief and adoration. He wasn’t sure where that one came from more--him or Bucky.

“There’s still a fight,” someone said from behind them. Another magic shithead. Terror clutched at Sam’s chest like magic itself was enough to unmake him again, take him away again. “There’s still a world to save.”

Bucky’s hand found Sam’s between their bodies. Sam took a breath with lungs that almost seemed to work again. “What’re we waiting for then?” he asked.

Kiss 13: Frustrated Kiss

Better Than None

“Barnes, you wanna jump in? Any time’s fine,” Sam called out, though the volume wasn’t actually necessary, since he had an earpiece in and Bucky was only a few feet away, leaned on what was left of a building’s wall.

“Nah, you seem to be handling it just fine,” Bucky called back with a nod.

Sam ducked under the robot arm that had been flung at him. “Barnes, I swear, as soon as I get my hands on you--” he threatened.

“Y’know, normally that gets me going but seein’ as you were so anti-giving me a good luck kiss, I don’t know if I believe you anymore.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Sam threw the shield to cut through seven wire-y necks and caught it at degree 355 of its arc.

“It’s just a kiss. Takes two/tenths of a second,” Bucky said.

“I meant this dumbass argument.” Sam jumped out of the way of an electrical charge and Bucky watched it sail dangerously close to his head.

“Damn, maybe I am lucky without you,” he said and didn’t move at all.

“Bucky,” Sam sighed and ripped the head off of the nearest robot.

“Hot. Wish I could show you my appreciation.”

“How does me not giving you a good luck kiss translate you into not giving me any kisses?”

“It only seems fair. You’re putting my well-being at risk. There should be consequences.”

“That’s not how it works! You’re the one not--” Jesus, he didn’t have time to fall for the bait. He freed a mini-EMP from his utility belt and hurled it at the cluster of robots trying to scale the debris that first responders were using as a barricade to the rest of the street. A few seconds later, the robots fell away, powerless and useless.

“I kind of felt that in my arm,” Bucky said.

Sam growled out a huff and stalked over to Bucky. He shoved the front of the shield against his chest a little roughly and leaned in to kiss him, mostly teeth and irritation. The bastard still looked pleased when Sam pulled away.

“Good luck. Now will you please go do your job?”

Bucky grinned, all teeth and victory, and bolted into action.

Kisses 7: Passionate Kiss

Hand holding 13: Linking hands during s**

Bring Heaven to You

Sam swore he could feel Bucky’s mouth all over him. Every inch of his skin felt electric and alive. Frankenstein’s creature surging to life after a bolt of lightning, every nerve and muscle singing at the same time, overwhelming sensation in the best way. Like a freefall that keep him tethered to the mismatched hands clutching at his hips, his ribs, his chest, his shoulders, his thighs, the backs of his knees. Like Bucky couldn’t decide where he should be shocking Sam back to life either.

Bucky dragged his hand down Sam’s side, flat and steady so Sam could feel the golden band on his finger scorching his skin like it was made of fire. Like vows and rings and heavy promises weren’t enough to prove they belonged to each other, like they needed it written in flesh and blood like everything else about their lives.

Hahahaha, no. The rest is on AO3. Link in the reblog

Hand holding 12: Possessive hand holding

A Green Monster, And No We Don’t Mean The Hulk

“Welcome back to the show, Captain America!” a bubbly, young talk show host greeted. Bucky assumed he’d watched at least a few seconds of the program at some point when he was making it his life mission not to leave his apartment, but he couldn’t place her name for the life of him. “And you brought Mr. Barnes with you!” This she said with much less genuine enthusiasm and didn’t seem all that thrilled to have to look away from Sam to address Bucky.

“Well, you know I can’t stay away too long,” Sam said with a friendly smile. He held out his hand and the host took it in both of hers. It was less a hand shake and more an excuse for her to hang onto Sam, it looked like.

Sam and Bucky sat in the cushy seats for guests and, even though they’d already walked through the staging of this whole farce, Bucky was still deeply tempted to take Sam’s seat so he was between Sam and the host.

“So, Sam, last time we saw each other, you weren’t yet Captain America.”

“Funny how fast things like that can change, right?” Sam asked with twinkling eyes. Bucky wondered if the cameras were bolted down and if he could wrench one free even if they were.

“Well, I think it’s still not soon enough,” the host said and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “You’ve always been Cap to us here. You’ve been so vocal about your mission statement as Captain America, so I won’t make you repeat yourself.” Sam nodded gratefully, though Bucky knew he’d repeat his goals and wishes until he ran out of breath if it meant one more person heard them and got inspired. “So I thought we could focus on what’s going on behind the scenes with you. Has anything else changed for you since you’ve been back?”

As if coming back to life wasn’t enough.

“Oh, definitely,” Sam said. “Buck and I just finished flipping a house down by my sister. Y’know, we got decent temporary accommodations--Buck still has his in New York--and staying with my sister again was nice, but there’s nothing like having a house to come home to that’s just ours. No pre-teens stealing all the food outta the fridge immediately after grocery shopping.”

The host laughed along with Sam, though her eyes couldn’t quite keep from flickering to Bucky. “It’s fun that you’re rooming with Mr. Barnes. Does it feel like having college roommates again?”

Sam frowned, opened his mouth to answer, ran through a bunch of diplomatic ways to say what should’ve been obvious but wasn’t because this lady was into Sam. Which, like, Bucky couldn’t blame her for. But he was anyway.

He reached over to grab Sam’s hand where it was picking at a loose thread in his pants. “Actually, it’s more like just living with a partner,” he answered for Sam. “That’s something else that’s changed too, huh?” he directed at Sam. “Turns out, with consistent showers and therapy, he thinks I’m pretty charming.”

Sam frowned again and scoffed. “No, I do not. That hasn’t changed.”

The host laughed again, forced but a decent show anyway. “Sure, we all love a good bromance,” she said.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t,” Sam warned.

“It’s a lot like a bromance, yeah. Just without the B,” Bucky said. “We kind of figured my name had enough Bs to last us for a while.”

“Sam, are you saying--”

Sam sighed and brought his other hand up to the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately. And, yeah, he’s always like this. Some kinda puffed up bulldog or something.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around Sam’s. “You’re my partner. I’m allowed to tell people that.”

“You don’t ever stop telling people.”

“Can’t blame him,” the host pointed out. Okay, maybe some of the hostility was misplaced, Bucky thought. Only some of it. “How did we not know about this, Cap?” she asked jovially, though Bucky thought she was still a little upset.

Sam shrugged. “Guess it’s not as exciting as superheroing. And cameras keep ending up destroyed,” he added pointedly.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the accusation. “Half the places we go could be classified as an active war zone. It’s not always on me that media cameras get crushed under debris or aliens or something.”

“Every single one that catches you touching my face?”

Bucky shrugged.

“So...how long has this been a thing?” the host asked.

“Since before Sam took the shield. It’s actually a package deal. If you want the shield, you have to have me.”

Sam rolled his eyes and let out another long suffering sigh. “I’m sorry he’s ruining this interview.”

“Oh, no, I’m about to win an investigative journalism prize, I think,” the host laughed.

“I don’t know how investigative it is when your subject is physically incapable of shutting up,” Sam said, looking over at Bucky with a glare and the smallest pout that made Bucky want to kiss it off of his face.

So he did, holding their interlaced fingers next to their face to hide from the cameras at least a little bit.

Hugging 34: Hugging while grabbing butt

Get Sprung

(Man, I meant to put this in the fr@ story and forgot :/ )

The building came down faster than Sam expected it to. He supposed well placed explosives would do that. What happened to uncertain, uneven dynamite? Why was everything electrical and precise nowadays?

He had no idea how Bucky managed to get Sam and the shield bundled in his arms before the ceiling came down. He didn’t know how Bucky had managed to kick a piece of wall upright and then locked his metal arm to hold the shield in place above them. He had no idea how Bucky knew it’d make the perfect alcove for them. For someone who pretended not to know what math was when AJ asked for help on homework, he was very calculation savvy.

Bucky slowly freed his arm from the straps of the shield. The rubble shifted a little, pressed a little closer, and then stilled again. They both let out a small breath. There wasn’t enough room to lay out totally, or to stand fully, but they weren’t being crushed. Bucky’s arm joined the other around Sam’s waist. Sam dropped his face to Bucky’s shoulder and let Bucky’s pulse drum against his cheek for a second.

“Are you grabbing my ass?” he finally asked and Bucky coughed out a startled laugh.

“Yeah, you better hope it’s me and not some darkness monster.”

“Couldn’t blame the monster if it was,” Sam said.

“I gotta make sure it’s still there. Would be a shame to lose America’s ass, y’know.”

Sam shook his head and pulled away from Bucky enough to light up his wristlets. He shook them off and rested them on pieces of concrete and rebar to light the space.

Bucky sank down to the ground, legs bent a little to accommodate the space and Sam followed him down, settling between his legs.

“So, now we wait, huh?” he said, reaching for Bucky’s hands to tangle their fingers together.

“Guess we gotta,” Bucky agreed. “Are you hurt?”

Sam shook his head. There was still a ringing in his ears from the explosion and he was sore from Bucky tackling him out of the way, but nothing felt crushed or cut or broken. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said and then let out a breath at Sam’s arched brow. “I mean it. I’m not playing tough or anything. We got lucky. It came down on us, not sideways into us. I think there’s something lodged between the plates in my arm, but I don’t want you to do anything about it until we’re safe. It’s functional right now. I don’t need to be down an arm if we have to dig out.”

“We’re not gonna have to dig out,” Sam said. “Torres’ll track Redwing to us.”

“How’s your dumb robot?”

Sam reached for a wristlet and navigated to the Redwing menu. “Operational. Some exterior dinging, but nothing serious. He’ll be functional if we need.” Sam set the wristlet aside again and sighed. “Fuck, that was close, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. C’mere,” Bucky said, opening his arms. Sam shifted forward on his knees and leaned against Bucky’s chest, hugging him close. “‘M glad you’re okay,” Bucky murmured, lips brushing Sam’s temple.

Sam nodded and rubbed Bucky’s waist for a second. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re grabbing my ass again.”

“I know.”

“Alright.”

Touch 47: Touching their elbow to get their attention

Quiet Birds Circling in Flight

(Jeez, the only thing that came to mind for ages on this prompt involved a spaceship but these men have SEEN aliens and spaceships so that’s not as fun :(((((( )

Sam stood outside the cenotaph long after everyone else had left the service. And that was quite the feat in and of itself. It felt like the mourning could go on for years. There’d been enough tears around him that he wasn’t sure what his own would add to the spectacle.

To everyone else, the cenotaph was a mausoleum. But Sam had been next to Bucky when he told the military to quietly bury him in the cemetery where his parents were both buried. “You know,” Bucky had said one afternoon while they watched the cenotaph being built stone by stone, engraving by engraving, “I’d wager that most mausoleums are just cenotaphs. Grave robbing and reactions to grave robbing mean probably everyone just got moved somewhere safer.”

“Plus decomposition.”

“Well, shit, Wilson. When do you stop being you after death? When does dirt become dirt again? When isn’t it your resting place? Does it even matter where your body is when alls said and done? Is that ever actually you or just a space filler?”

Sam had elbowed Bucky’s ribs and they’d each taken a piece of stone and pretended they didn’t see.

Sam weighed the shield against his shin, knocking it slightly to the side, and then looked up at the stone one ten more feet above his head.

Steve would hate this so much. Sam felt like he could feel his raging blush from the after life. Sam and Bucky had both asked for something more muted, something quieter. Hell, something that would do good for the world Steve was always trying to save. All this money and work and art, for what? A place to take pictures for likes on the internet?

No, Sam had to remind himself, it was a place for memory too.

As much as Sam kind of hated the whole thing, he couldn’t deny that looking up at the effigy of his friend inspired him the same way glancing over at him had in life too. The words wrapping around and around the base of the cenotaph sparked the same intense pride and righteousness they had the first time he heard them.

Maybe he didn’t hate the cenotaph. Maybe he just wanted the real thing back.

He startled at a gentle touch at his elbow. He thought it might’ve been another mourner come to offer condolences, though those mostly went to Bucky when someone was brave enough to approach him. Most people hadn’t looked at Sam twice. Not when Captain America was, in theory, laying in rest thirty feet beyond.

Sam was not in the mood to listen to anyone else talk about the time Steve smiled at them in a cafe or grabbed their cat out of a tree. If he heard his name again, he was going to break down.

But he had the shield now. He had to do the things Steve did. Smile when he didn’t want to. Hide any sign of weakness, lest it reflect poorly on the red, white, and blue he carried now. So he ground his teeth together until his gums ached and turned with a screwed on smile.

But it wasn’t a mourner. Not a random one anyway.

Bucky still had his fingers on Sam’s elbow, a sad look on his face. Dawn was creeping over the horizon and Sam realized with a start and a bloom of despair in his stomach that he’d spent the entire night in the park.

“Think if we wait two more days he’ll shove that stupid stone shield out of the way and come out?” Sam asked, voice wavering like a flag in the wind.

“We would literally never hear the end of it if he did,” Bucky pointed out.

Neither of them smiled. Neither of them really meant their jokes.

Sam finally broke down.

He collapsed against Bucky’s chest. It wasn’t until he lost his breath in the middle of a sob that he realized he wasn’t the only one shaking. Bucky was crying too. They clutched at each other, both terrified they might drift away, that the other might decide this was too difficult too and go back to something better at the first opportunity.

Sam didn’t even blame Steve. He’d laid awake in the temporary accommodation the government had put him up in and tried to convince himself that if he was in Steve’s shoes, he wouldn’t have saved Riley and stayed in that timeline. But he couldn’t. He knew he would have, almost certainly. And it wasn’t fair to ask Steve to give up a happy, quiet ending after more than a century of fighting and hurting.

But understanding it and accepting it didn’t make it hurt any less. “What are we supposed to do, Bucky?” he asked with an irritatingly genuine hiccup at the end of his words.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, sounding for all the world like he was grinding his teeth together, trying to pull himself back together. “You have a lot more options than me.”

And it was true. Sam had had a job. The Air Force had reached out since he’d been back stateside. He had a family who missed him, who he missed. But it felt like something heavy and tethering had been locked away in that empty cenotaph. He didn’t want to walk away yet.

Bucky stepped back, kept a hand on Sam’s elbow. “For now, we should get back home. You need to sleep.”

Sam didn’t want to sleep. Everything hurt too much.

“Sam, come on,” Bucky insisted. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now.We could both use a few hours of being quiet, right?

Sam reached up to wipe the tears from his face. He had the shield. He had to act like it. “My place or yours?” he asked, still watery.

Bucky pretended like he didn’t notice. “Yours is nicer than mine.”

“And I have a bed.”

“I have a bed.”

“It’s unassembled in a box.”

Bucky squeezed his elbow and then tugged him into a brief hug that Sam was pretty sure they’d never speak of again. “Let’s get out of here. He’s not goin’ nowhere.”

Sam rubbed at his face again and nodded. “We-- We should order in. When’s the last time you ate?” he asked as they walked away.

“I had a better breakfast than you.”

“You didn’t have to give a speech.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t throw up in front of everyone.”

“Shut up, I’m a great public speaker.”

“Sure, Wilson.”

“Screw you, Barnes.”

The dawn bloomed before them.

Do not stand

By my grave, and weep.

I am not there,

I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand

By my grave, and cry—

I am not there,

I did not die.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #sambucky fanfic #writing #i answer things #the falcon and the winter soldier #prompt answers

17 notes · View notes

peaches-writes · 4 years ago

Text

group huddle!

member: jeongin wc: 1.7k genre: fluff, college au, it’s actually ot8-centric lmao warning: explicit language, flop humor note: might make it a longer fic in the future anyway i think it’s cUTE + @skzwriternet

There’s a violent dust of pink and an awfully hidden grin on Jeongin’s usually nonchalant face as he stares dreamily at his phone, anyone with eyes within the vicinity of the dormitory’s common area can see clearly. It’s been some ten minutes, Jisung notes as he looks up from his own phone to check on the youngest, and it seems as if it’s going to stay this way for an hour more, Felix concludes this time when he passes by to help Minho in the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Chan asks Changbin as the two peek their heads out from the former’s bedroom door on the other end of the hall. Even with the distance, the two could still tell that something is up and it’s not just the ceiling this time. “Do you think uncle and auntie sent him something? Cute pictures of cats? A motivational video, maybe?”

Changbin snickers with a shake of his head, rolling his work chair back inside the room first before Jeongin could snap out of his daze and notice everyone’s eyes on him. “Hyung, it amazes me sometimes how your mind works.”

“What?” Chan pouts, mirroring Changbin and heading back to the song they’ve been working on. “What does that mean this time?”

“It means that maybe the kid’s smiling at his phone because he’s actually looking at someone.”

“Like a celebrity?”

“A crush, Bang Chan. I’m talking about a crush.”

Jeongin is actually looking at his conversation with you which is quite close to Changbin’s idea. What was his reason for being anxious just fifteen minutes ago is now the source of his giddiness as your message history clumsily yet endearingly shifts from a very impulsive love confession from Jeongin to a shy and awkward reaction from you.

“They like me too...” Jeongin mumbles under his breath as he waits for you to finish typing more messages, the simple gesture of saying it out loud making him smile even wider. He’s unconsciously tapping too loud on the sofa with his socket feet, something Seungmin and Hyunjin from the nearby study table would’ve called him out for had he not been looking adorably excited over something, and swaying gently from side to side in his seated position just at the thought. “Cute, cute, cute, cute!”

“Innie, are you talking about me, hm?” Minho suddenly chimes in the younger’s train of thought as he enters the common area with plates of side dishes. Felix follows behind with his own set of dishes to serve on the dining table, rolling his eyes all the way. “Get off your phone, it’s dinner time, buddy.”

Jisung, watching the exchange from the other end of the sofa and using it as an opportunity to speak. closes his phone and scrambles over to Jeongin with a back hug and a curious gaze to the youngest’s phone. “So watcha got there, anyway, huh? What’s our baby smiling at?” He asks cheekily, eyes widening and voice gasping dramatically as his eyes caught a clear glimpse of the screen before Jeongin closed it frantically. As if on a comical cue, the phone also lights up right after it’s closed with a message from you. “Ooh, Y/N! Aren’t they your classmate from your lab—“

“Hyung!” Jeongin belatedly clamps a hand over Jisung’s mouth, catching the entire dormitory frozen in their places when he then looks up; literally, Felix has a big bowl of rice hovering right above the dinner table and a piece of stolen kimchi is right in front of Hyunjin’s open mouth.

Jisung shrugs innocently at Jeongin as he topples over the sofa, even raising his hands up in surrender for emphasis. “What?” He mumbles through the hand on his mouth.

By this time, Chan and Changbin have left Chan’s room to join everyone at dinner, getting caught frozen right at the common area’s end of the main hallway. “Y/N?!” Changbin exclaims into the brief silence, briefly taking away everyone else’s attention from Jeongin. “Yeah, aren’t they that kid you hung out wi—”

Given the distance this time, Jeongin instinctively resorts to yelling to silence the other older boy. “Yeah, yeah, I get it! Can you guys—ugh, now you two have done it!” He groans, running his free hand through his dyed blue hair once before puffing out his cheeks.

“I’m a little lost here...” Chan frowns, head turning in all directions his seven other roommates are positioned for help. Next to him, Changbin slaps a hand to his forehead.

Another brief pause then follows, albeit now for allowing Felix to finally set the heavy rice bowl down and Hyunjin to quickly eat the kimchi before Minho could reprimand him for it, before Seungmin clears his throat and calmly suggests, “How about a group huddle?”

Jeongin would’ve said otherwise had his phone not lit up again with another influx of messages from you.

y/n [8:06 PM]: im sorry its just

y/n [8:06 PM]: and ah this is so embarrassing to say but

y/n [8:06 PM]: it’s my first time doing this and i really like you too

y/n [8:07 PM]: but what now? what do you want to do?

“Fine,” The youngest ends up sighing in defeat, unclamping Jisung’s mouth and begrudgingly standing up from the sofa to head over the dinner table. Jisung follows closely in tow, eyes still wide but this time nonverbally relaying the contents of the messages to Changbin who simply snickers.

At this, the rest of the dormitory gathered to the dining table in a speed never before seen in the otherwise slow boys, Seungmin glaring at everyone to ‘shut up’ the entire time they get settled.

“So what’s going o—?” Chan tries asking in genuine confusion before getting dragged off the seat at the end of the table by Minho while Felix shushes the two sharply.

Jeongin slaps a hand to his forehead this time as he sits at Chan’s usual chair, clasping his hands together in front of him after until everyone’s seated. “Hyungs,” He calls for everyone slowly and firmly, taking in a deep breath before continuing. The rest of the table holds in their breath with equal seriousness. “I have a situation but can we please eat first?”

Half an hour later when the dishes have been cleared out and Changbin has accepted his destiny of washing the dishes for another night, everyone migrates to the living room side of the common area to finally discuss the ‘situation.’ Changbin, Minho, and Chan have a hostile Jeongin held down on the sofa by the wrists, Hyunjin has somehow stolen the youngest’s phone over dinner to display right in front of the TV, Seungmin is 'emergency messaging’ other important people (aka Yedam from the floor below as well as Daehwi and Chenle who both just need to know all of the campus gossip), while Felix and Jisung prepare a very unnecessary PowerPoint Presentation on the spot while the entirety of Seungmin’s laptop screen is projected on the TV.

“I just—” Jeongin sighs as he struggles to adjust in his seated position because of his elders’ playful grips on his arms. “I-Is this really necessary? I’m calm, I swear, I just need to reply to Y/N‘s text!”

“It’s going to be a very long presentation and we have to make sure that you don’t run away, Innie!” Minho, who sits on Jeongin’s immediate right while he’s seated on Chan’s lap, exclaims before linking their arms. ”This is for your own good! The future of your first relationship is at stake!”

“Also, I’m on it—texting Y/N, I mean.” Hyunjin dismisses as he types away on Jeongin’s phone, prompting more protests from the younger. “Oh hey look, they’re free on Saturday! Innie, where do you want to go on Saturday?”

“That’s good, Hyunjin! Ask them what kind of flowers they like too!” Jisung snaps his fingers in satisfaction before going back to cramming with Felix. “Ah, this is so exciting!”

Finally giving up in his physical struggle, Jeongin groans. “You don’t have to ask, they told me that they like tulips last time.” He sighs in defeat before turning to Changbin with a glare. “And what do you have to say for yourself, exposing me like this?”

Changbin shrugs innocently, linking his arms with Jeongin as well. “What do you mean? You’re the one who ended up agreeing to this.”

Meanwhile in front, Felix begins manning the most bare minimum PPT the entire dormitory’s ever seen while Jisung stands in front with his best impression of a salesman pitch. “Okay, everyone shut up we’re about to present!” Jisung grins with his hands clasped together in front of him. Everyone topples over in laughter at this. “Alright, alright, we’re all settled? We’re all cool? No one needs to go to the bathroom? Can we start?”

“I’m just saying, why is Jisung presenting when he’s not even in a relationshi—?”

“Anyway,” Jisung immediately cuts Jeongin off with a more passive smile, comically making an ‘I’ll see you later’ gesture to him after. Felix almost bangs his head on the laptop’s screen in laughter while moving the slides. “Questions will be entertained after the presentation, including questions about mine and Felix’s credibility and about going to bathroom so don’t even try, Minho. Felix and I made this really quick but we promise it’s going to be worthwhile and definitely fool-proof! Our baby Jeongin will be dating soon, can you believe it?”

The slides that follow are labelled according to the parts of a standard academic research, everyone’s quick to notice and react positively to.

“Does it go with a thesis stateme—oh, it does!” Chan laughs the hardest as the senior who’s currently working on his thesis, almost loosening his grip on Jeongin in front of him. Fortunately, Jeongin doesn’t even try to escape as he places his hands in front of his face in embarrassment.

“Yes, the visuals are admittedly half-assed because of the time constraint but it’s the content that matters!” Felix wiggles his eyebrows and laughs as well. “ Take notes for your thesis defense, hyung.”

The crowd ‘ooh’s at the sudden attack.

“So back to the topic,” Jisung points out once he’s managed his giggles, snapping his fingers to the change in slides. “Good evening everyone, I am Han Jisung, with me is Lee Yongbok, and we are presenting our guide to dating!”

m.list

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mrsmaxwelllord · 4 years ago

Text

Baby

Pairing: Comandante Veracruz x Reader.

Summary: After hating him for a long time, Veracruz shows that he has good qualities.

Word Count: 2,4k

Warnings: Veracruz is a dick, cursing, choking, spitting, a bit of humiliation, recording, dom/sub dynamics, oral (male receiving), rough sex.

A/N: I don’t know anything about this man, really. But I’m sure he’s mean and provocative, that’s what I wrote this fic based on. I’m just horny, hope you guys forgive me!

If there was one thing that you hated the most, it was self-righteous men. Unfortunately, they seemed to follow you everywhere.

When you accepted the job as assistant you didn’t think you’d be introduced to the most annoying man alive, yet now you have to deal with him every day. The building you worked in had many horrible men, yet Comandante Veracruz managed to be the most arrogant, egoistic colleague of them all. However, you knew exactly why you despited him so much.

Veracruz was a good looking man — a very good looking man. And against all the logical thinking and prudent reasons telling you he was an asshole and that you should get away from him, you couldn’t deny yourself a good look at him every now and then. You hoped it was just because of the dark bulletproof vest and uniform he always had on; after all, not even you were immune to the charm of a good uniform.

The attraction you felt for him was undeniable, but you’d go mad before getting involved with the man that always took a minute of his day to simply piss you off. He usually would approach you to get an important file hidden in the whereabouts of the messy data room and you’d complied - it was your job, after all - then he’d talk some nonsense and call you baby.

You wasn’t his fucking baby.

Then, one beautiful Wednesday, he got a field mission and didn’t show up until the next Monday. You never had such peaceful work days before, everything seemed to go smoothly and not a single problem interfered with you. No bullshit, no headache and no silly argument.

Feeling relieved for a good four days, you even thought that all the attachment was something made up by your mind. You couldn’t possibly feel the hots for Comandante Veracruz, the man who you know for sure is in some unfilled dark shit. The man that kills and does anything to get away from consequences. The man that had already betrayed his co-workers — this part was just a rumour, but you didn’t completely discredited it.

On Sunday, before sleeping, you thought about every bad thing you knew about him and what he would be doing all the weeknd — yet you couldn’t help the butterflies on your stomach when a hand touched and pleasured your most sensitive part. The next day came with the familiar guilt, but that soon gave space to anger when Comandante Veracruz walked through the door and not even looked at you.

Monday came with its usual headache and pile of files and documents to organise too. The employees were more impatient but so was you, then the anger you usually saved for the bickering with Veracruz was gone by the afternoon. You were so tired of everything that you didn’t even realize it was way past the end of your shift until you put the last file in its place.

You were putting your things together to go home, when you heard someone opening the door. You took a deep breath before turning around. “I’m sorry, buddy, but I’m closing the room now. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow to get whatever documents you need.”

"Can’t you make an exception for me?“

You changed the weight to your right leg and snorted when Veracruz stopped right across your desk.

"No, I cannot” you replied, already getting angry again. Veracruz had his arms crossed over his chest and you realised this was the first time you saw him without the bulletproof vest and gun. Unfortunately, the bastard was handsome still with bags under his eyes and civil clothes. “You’ll have to wait. Let’s go.”

You walked away from him, trying to get to the door when his big hands held your arm preventing you from continuing.

You didn’t know why it surprised you, but his face didn’t express anything - his dark brown eyes glistened with something new, but that was it. His relaxed instance managed to infuriate you. How dare him send you mad and still be unmoved?

"Why are you so nervous, baby?“

You yanked your arm out of his grip and looked deep in his eyes. "I’m not your fucking baby!”

It seemed to do the trick because Comandante Veracruz then laughed, but it wasn’t genuine - more a short sarcastic laugh. Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw clenched. You wanted to punch him so bad!

"Are you not?“ he demanded, walking towards you, you took a few steps back until you felt the wall on your back. He only stopped when his face was very close, breathing you in, without looking away. You pressed your hand firmly against the wall, trying to leverage yourself since your legs didn’t seem to be working now. "Because I feel like that’s why you’re so nervous.”

His fingertips touched the side of your leg, slowly rising to your waist. The bastard smirked when you bit your lower lip, pulling you against his body. “You’re nervous because you know deep down that you ache for me exactly like I do for you.”

He bent down and traced your cheek with the tip of his exquisite nose, pecking you. His other hand he used to uplift your chin, holding you surprisingly soft.

"But you won’t accept this, will you?“ he asked, sneaking his thighs between yours, whispering. "You won’t accept the truth because you’re afraid of me corrupting you, am I right?”

Veracruz moved you by the hip, making your cloth-covered cunt thrust up on his muscular thigh. You swallowed hard, then involved his neck with your arms.

"Answer me!“ he demanded and you finally gathered courage to look him in the eye.

"You can’t corrupt me” you smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m already defiled.”

He tightened the grip on your chin, then brought his hand down to your neck, slightly squeezing it. He was truly smiling.

"So you won’t mind if I do this?“ Veracruz questioned before sealing your mouth with a kiss. His kiss was demanding and hungry, making your head turn a bit so he could have better access to the inside of your lips and tongue. You moaned into it, but it soon ended.

When you looked up at him, he was smirking at you. You then realized in what situation he left you in.

Hips still pressing up and down on him, hands grabbing his hair and pulling his now half open bottom-up shirt, lips swollen from the kiss. Completely dumbstruck.

You stopped the movement and tried to push him away, but his hands quickly pinned them on the wall above your head.

"Wanna be a big girl? Fine, I’ll treat you like one.”

You really thought about spitting on him, but something about it made you realise he’d probably be into it so you just allowed him to push your skirt up and squeeze your ass unmercifully. You wanted to groan and let him know just how much it hurted, how nice it felt, but you couldn’t let go of your pride.

You still hated the man, a voice in your head screamed. And it was right. Comandante Veracruz was the same bastard and all the inches of you wished you could slap his pretty face and make him beg for your touch, but that wasn’t the time. You were too lost in the pleasure to have any reasonable thought.

He squeezed you again, harder this time, and bit your neck. This time you couldn’t hold the moan back.

"That’s better, baby" he whispered then, kissing the sensitive spot he hurted and slapping your ass playfully.

"You fucking asshole!“ you cursed, half-hearted trying to free your hands. He actually let go and when you didn’t know what to do with them, Veracruz laughed at you.

You felt embarrassed, squeezing his shoulders tight, then you spat in his face. It landed below his left eye, close to his nose. He suddenly stopped laughing and looked you dead in the eyes, not a bit amused as you first thought.

He grunted and held your jaw tight, tighter than his previous grip, and smiled diabolically.

"Clean it. Now” he ordered, not an ounce of hesitation on his voice. You bet this is the voice he used with his subordinates, you didn’t like to think he’d use this tone with you forever. Yet, you did it as you were told when he brought your face close to his.

Slowly lickings the saliva off, giving him a quick peck where the spit first landed. You felt humiliated, but you did like the control he had on you.

"Good. It wasn’t hard, was it?“ he whispered in your ear, kissing and nibbling. His hand still had a steel grip on your neck and the other on your butt, squeezing you softly.

"Sorry” you whimper, very low so that he could barely hear it.

He hushed you, humming when he felt your hand caressing his hair. Both of his hands go to your breasts and he worked on them through the clothes, when he kissed you on the lips again.

"Now is the time to apologize" he murmured against your lips, squeezing you hard. You moaned loud, then he pulled you to your desk and sat on the chair.

"Kneel" he demanded and you could only arched your eyebrows.

"Are you serious?“

"Now.” His voice is as serious as before, so you obeyed. “Take off your clothes, but let your pantie on.”

You snorted, crossing your arms.

"Fuck you, there is cameras here! I can’t-“

"You’ll have to trust me on this. I promise that the only recording tape will be in your hands tomorrow afternoon” Veracruz swore and he looked serious. You didn’t have any proof he was telling you the truth, yet you wanted to believe him.

"I’m going to kill you if this spread around the office!“

"I’d like to see you try” he mocked you, but relaxed into the chair. “C'mon, baby, we don’t have all the time in the world.”

The last piece of clothing fell on the ground and he was already ordering you again. “Spread your legs wider. Hands on my thighs.”

"Bossy!“ you complained, but obeyed him. His hand worked on his trousers, opening the zipper and freeing his dick. You bit your lip. You didn’t want to look at his dick for too long because suddenly you don’t feel so brave anymore; you would never inflame his pride even more by telling him that he was big, but you felt a bit afraid of what he’d do to you. He wasn’t gentle, this much you knew.

Although everything you thought about Veracruz, he ended up being soft in the beginning. Holding you by the hair and slowly working his way down your throat, it just didn’t last long.

"Oh, that’s the defiled girl you talked about earlier?” he grunted while you sucked him, taking all of him in deep and slowly. “That’s not half of what I pretend to do with you, Baby."

You craved your nails on his thighs through the trousers he was still wearing, you were sure he’d have five little crescent moons on both of his legs but he didn’t seem to mind it. He was too busy grunting and pulling your hair and thrusting up - making you gag.

You moaned against him and he moaned right back. "My dirty baby, I bet that you are enjoying this too. Am I right? Play with your clit.”

You did it, whimpering and wishing it could be him. The warmth in your cunt aching to be touched.

Veracruz increased the speed of his thrusting up and you thought he would cum, but he just kept the pace. Out of breath he looked down at you and, when he found your eyes on him, he raised your face out of his dick to kiss you.

He was all teeth and tongue. Holding your hair at the back of your head and caressing your breast. It was good, but you needed more so you sat on his lap and started to move on his thigh, wetting it with your juices.

"My desperate little thing. My dove!“ Veracruz murmured on your lips. "So needy!”

He grabbed your hips and forced you into a very rough pace, grinding you on the harsh material of his trousers. You moaned into it, arching your back.

"I need more" you begged him. “I need you to fuck me.”

"How will you have me?“ he whispered in your ear, nibbling it.

"On my desk!”

"Should I fuck you from behind, baby? Is that what you want? My dick on your tight little…“

"No!” you cried. “I want you to fuck looking at me! I want you to choke me!"

"You don’t need to say any other word, baby” Veracruz grunted. Carrying you to your desk, laying you on some filles. He didn’t take your pantie off, instead he pushed it to the side and touched your swollen clit with his fingertips.

You were glistening with want and he couldn’t look away from your spread legs and cunt in wonder.

"Look at you. The prettiest cunt I’ve even seen.“ You already were whimpering from his touches.

"I’m ready.”

"You don’t look like the angry person I saw earlier, baby. Was that what you needed? A good fuck?“

"You haven’t fucked me yet… Oh” you moaned loudly.

There wasn’t anything merciful about the way he was thrusting up on you, the grip on your hip didn’t let you move away from him and although he hasn’t got anywhere near your neck the bruising pace was enough to take you breath away.

"How does it feel?“ pinning your hands above your head once again, laying all his weight on you. His fingers found you neck but they didn’t really squeezed it, not that you could focus on anything beside his dick fucking you and his kisses. "How does it feel to be getting fucked in your little data room, baby? With a camera recording every piece of you?”

Oh, well.

“Open your mouth” he demanded and when you did he spat on your lips, like you had done previously. You moaned together this time, messily kissing each other.

His pace increased and you felt tears falling down your face, Veracruz kissed them away. You were so close and what finally sent you over the edge was his harsh bit on your breast.

You whimpered loudly, choking on air. When his hands let go of yours, you used them to grab him by the hair and shoulder and push him away.

"What?“ he asked, but you didn’t reply - just pushed him so you could turn around.

"I want you to fuck me from behind now.”

He grunted loudly but didn’t lose any time. His pace was more erratic and he moaned and bit your shoulder more than he said anything. You were starting to feel ecstatic again when he played with your clit and pulled you flush against his body by squeezing your neck hard.

"Are you coming again or not?“ he asked and it was all it took for you to fall apart again.

The next day around your lunch break he visited you, the recorded tape on his hands.

"If you ever need someone to watch it with you, I’m in, baby” he mocked, getting close enough to place a curl of hair behind your ear. “In the meantime i’d love to have lunch with you.”

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #comandante veracruz #comandante veracruz x you #veracruz x reader

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aetherwytch · 3 years ago

Text

Drop Down (1.9k, destiel, rated M)

He could be anyone, anywhere, having a good ol’ fashioned fuck in the backseat of their car the way God intended. Why sweat the details?

Yes, I wrote almost 2k specifically to facilitate a Star Trek themed dick joke. In my defense, I think the joke is very funny. Also featuring: unfortunate sexual situations, Dean being repressed, and The Gay Angel (long may he reign). AO3 link in the notes.

The suspension in the Impala is creaking a little under their weight. It’s the only thing he can hear aside from their own unsteady breathing—the only thing that exists, maybe, ‘cause Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut. It’s just sensation this way: nails scraping at his cropped hair, a hand clutching possessively at the base of his spine, skin on sweat on skin. His jacket’s in the front seat somewhere, and both his shirts got shed onto the floor at some point, but he never quite managed to lose his pants, so they’re just sorta bunched around his knees. It’s making it hard to move, and it’s not even remotely sexy, but the little breathy noise he gets rewarded with when he twists his wrist just right is enough to reassure him that, hey, it probably doesn’t really matter. He presses his nose more firmly into the join between neck and shoulder, presses his lips against the jut of a collarbone and gets nails scraping helplessly against his back in return. It’s just bodies, that’s all it is. Bodies doing the things that bodies do. A ribcage compresses, a whine of pleasure hiccuping in and then stuttering its way out again. A thump as a work-booted foot slips and thuds into the closed door. There’s not quite enough space back here, but it’s his baby—leather and gun oil and the persistent smell of coffee from where a cup got spilled under the front seat and never got cleaned up right—and it’s… it’s…

He doesn’t have to look to know whose warm breath is fluttering against his ear, whose long fingered hand is pressed against his waist, thumb stroking the ridge of his lowest rib. Whose hips are lined up with his own, whose legs are tangled with his. Every so often, one of them will rock forward, and their chests will brush. And every time, the brief warm slide of skin is a shock that makes his heart try and crawl up the back of his throat. So no, he doesn’t have to look, but he can see it anyway, because it’s Cas spread out underneath him, that stupid trenchcoat flaring out like limp khaki wings. Doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the scene, it’s burned into his mind like a movie frame left paused on a tv screen just a bit too long. One of Dean’s hands is trapped between them, busy, but the other is braced on the seat to keep him from falling off the bench and onto the floor. Cas presses his head back against the leather, a few strands of his hair now tickling Dean’s wrist, and breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. His face might be doing something too, like making expressions, but Dean isn’t—He’s not gonna—His eyes are shut. He shifts, drops down a little so he’s resting on his elbow instead of his spread palm, and then buries his hand in Cas’s hair. The tips of his fingers tease at the scalp. It gets a low groan out of the other man, the kind that echoes through Dean’s chest like a hit on a bass drum, and Cas arches up into him, a perfect angle, and—

“Dean, we need to—Ah. Hm.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. The body underneath him is no longer pressed up against him, tip to toe, and has stiffened in a very different way. Readiness. Wariness. Discomfort? Fuck. He peels his face away from where it had been pressed into Cas’s shoulder. He’s practically nose to nose with the angel this way, and Cas goes slightly cross eyed trying to meet his eyes. There’s still a flush of color high on his cheeks, and his hair is, honestly, fucked, just an absolute disaster. And oh, good, Dean’s still got one hand tangled in it, the strands soft between his fingers.

“Um,” Dean manages articulately.

Cas squints up at him, head cocked slightly to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to get out from underneath Dean. Doesn’t seem particularly concerned that Dean’s got his hand on Cas’s dick either, and oh shit, he’s got his hand on Cas’s dick. It had seemed like a great idea 30 seconds ago, but that was before Cas had started looking at him like he was a particularly perplexing mathematical proof that Cas has been tasked with solving.

“Oh,” Cas says, expression suddenly clearing as some vision of clarity reveals itself to him and bypasses Dean entirely on the way. “I see. This is a fantasy.”

Dream. It’s a goddamned dream, Dean can see it now in the way everything that isn’t Cas fuzzes out around the edges. Or it was a dream (not the first one, not since he saw Cas all rumpled at that brothel and his brain had extrapolated, shit happens, it doesn’t mean anything) but now it’s Angel Waiting Room. And that’s really Cas. And he’s really touching Cas’s dick. He jerks his hand away so fast that it smacks against the back of the front seat, and then he fumbles his way backwards, yanking his jeans up and then overbalancing and cracking his head hard against the window. Somehow it still hurts, but that’s probably just his brain punishing itself. Cas watches the entire thing with mild interest, going so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. His hair’s still going every which way, and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned, gaping open across a muscular chest, and he still hasn’t made any effort to, you know, cover himself up at all, so his dick’s out too, still semi-erect like it’s as confused as Dean is about who’s supposed to be doing what in this particular scene.

“Cas,” he starts, desperate to regain control of the situation. “Buddy.” Oh, God. “Uh. What’s—?”

“I’ve… I believe I’ve found a lead on the Colt,” Cas says, blessedly interrupting him before some other dumbfuck thing comes out of his mouth. “But I had a question regarding warding that Bobby might have some insight on—”

“So why didn’t you ask Bobby?”

Cas blinks at him. “Your mind was more receptive.”

“My mind…” Oh, if he thinks about that too long, he’s gonna lose it. “Look, never mind, could you…?”

To his own utter humiliation, he follows that up with a vague gesture towards Cas’s crotch, and Cas glances down at his lap as well, brows ratcheting up, as if mildly surprised to find it attached to him. He looks back at Dean, a strangely assessing look in his eye.

“You’re sitting on my legs.”

Dean is, isn’t he. He’s not wearing a shirt either, but that seems like a lost cause at this point. Apparently this is just a conversation he’s gonna have to have shirtless. But he plants a hand on the backrest of the front seat and uses it to lever his hips up so that Cas can pull his legs in and swing around so that he’s sitting normally. And then, finally, Cas tucks himself away, although not without a fair amount of fumbling, like he’s never touched his own dick before. Except, shit, maybe he hasn’t. Vessels, right? It’s not like he’s ever seen Cas drink anything, and even if he did, maybe he can just magic the pee away. Seems like someone who can glory, glory, hallelujah shattered bones back together shouldn’t have to use his own hallowed hands to make sure the piss gets in the urinal. Plus, the whole brothel deal derailed long before the pants came off, so for all he knows, this is the first time Cas has had any dealings whatsoever with his dick. Maybe Dean really has just facilitated some kind of dick first contact like he’s the… the Zefram Cochrane of, well, cock.

“Warding?” He asks, normally, in a normal tone. Does he sound normal? Or can Cas tell, like he’s got the equivalent of a big sign over his head that just says I’m Thinking About Your Dick on it in big neon letters.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. And then, because God forbid any part of this situation goes Dean’s way, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah.” It comes out a few octaves too high to be convincing. “I mean. It’s. No, it’s fine.” Cas frowns at him, unconvinced. “Ok, I mean, it’s a little weird. Right?”

“What is?”

Dean gapes at him, but Cas is just doing that cocked-head-blueyed routine that’s so goddamned earnest. Like he can’t even fathom what might be awkward about walking smack into the middle of one of Dean’s—what did he call it?—oh, actually, that’s another thing—

“This isn’t a fantasy.” He’s very certain about that. “It’s… I was just having a stupid dream.”

Cas stiffens, shoulders pushing back, and his hands, which had previously been resting loosely on his thighs, twitch up to straighten his shirt.

“I’m not sure I understand the differentiation you’re making,” he says, long fingers threading buttons back through buttonholes. “Humans often dream about sexual scenarios, and you are—” A pause that Dean can’t even begin to interpret. “Well, it’s perfectly natural to fantasize about objects of desire, and you find this… vessel attractive.”

“It’s not! I mean—” What the fuck does he mean. “You’re… It’s… fine. You look good.” Fuck. “For a guy.” Nailed it. “But I don’t— fantasize. I mean, c’mon, I don’t—I don’t. And it’s not like—I mean, I’ve got chicks practically lining up for me any time I roll up to a bar.”

When was the last time someone touched him any way that wasn't a friendly slap on the arm or a punch in the mouth? Bobby, when he was fresh out of hell? Anna, in this very back seat, her little hand splayed across the tender skin of the scar on his arm? He can't remember. It makes his palms itch, and he presses them shakily against his thighs. Maybe Cas knows it, too, ‘cause he’s giving Dean that look he gets sometimes. It’s not soft—he doesn’t think Cas can do soft—but it’s a lessening of intensity, like Cas has pushed the dimmer down on that fiery angelic aura of his, the thing that raises the hair on the backs of people’s necks even when he looks, for all intents and purposes, human. It’s the sort of look that makes Dean think that even if he were staring into a mirror right now, he wouldn’t see whatever it is that Cas does when the angel looks at him. It’s the sort of look that comes before things like, You don’t think you deserve to be saved. But all Cas does is drop his eyes to finish with his buttons, and when he speaks, it’s directed vaguely towards them.

“Of course, Dean.” The last button squared away, he folds his hands in his lap. “Companionship is a great kindness in a world not overly given to them. I will ask Bobby about the warding.”

And then Dean’s blinking awake, staring dazedly up at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed. He flops his head to the side. Across from him, the other bed is a tangle of abandoned sheets. On the highway, a semi leans on its horn, and the sound echoes hollowly off the walls of his shitty, deserted motel room.

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #fic #supernatural #spn #my fic

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lilacyennefer · 4 years ago

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Hurricane — Part 11

A/N: It was really exciting to write this chapter so I really hope you guys enjoy it! A little reminder, this is just fiction, none of what's written in here is true so please keep that in mind! Have a nice weekend <3

TW: blood, mention of death, panic attack

You’ve been in hospital for almost 3 weeks before you finally could go home. Jax and your brother stayed by your side, even Chibs kept you company sometimes.

“Jax, it’s fine I can pack my things.” You tell him while he’s packing your clothes and toiletries into a bag.

“No way. You just take it easy.” He tells you firmly and you sigh, sit down on the hospital bed. The doctors gave you the order to not lift anything heavy, not stress, and just be careful in general since you got into such risk at the early state of your pregnancy.

“Have you decided if you gonna go back to work?” Jax asks as he zips the bag. The doctors really recommend you to not come back while you’re pregnant, you need to rest as much as possible.

“I probably won’t.” You admit “I love working, but I’d never forgive myself if something would happen to our baby.” As you say the word ‘baby’ you run your hand over your lower belly.

“Good. You know I’ll take care of you.” Jax tells you seriously as he helps you up from the bed.

“I know that, but I’m still worried about a lot of things.” You confess.

“Please, don’t be.” Jax shakes his head “You should only focus on healing and growing our baby. I’ll take care of everything else.” You look down to the floor and you start silently crying.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He cups your chin into his hands and makes you look at him.

“I’m just..” you sob “I’m so terrified, Jax. I’m terrified to leave, because that someone who wanted to kill me is still out there, and they’re probably not done yet.”

“Hey, hey!” Jax pulls you closer as you cry harder. “I’m gonna keep you safe no matter what! You never will be alone, and I’ll find that person who did this to you!” You lay your head on Jax’s shoulder as you cry. In the past 3 weeks you cried a lot, often found yourself at the edge of a panic attack when you woke up and remembered what happened. Well, not exactly remembered, because you still don’t remember anything what happened that night, no matter how hard you tried. Jax didn’t push you, he was determined to find whoever tried to kill his family, with or without you remembering details.

Jax let’s you cry on his shoulders as long as you feel like before he took you home.

________

“I’m staying with you today and as long as you want.” Jax tells you as you step into the house that you share with him.

“Clay won’t miss you?” You ask, and as you say Clay’s name shiver runs down on your spine, a really bad feeling is creeping on you, but you ignore it.

“I don’t give a shit about Clay.” Jax says seriously. During the time Jax has spent next to you, you never once asked what he told the club why he’s staying away.

“What do you tell him? Why are you not there?” Jax looks down to the floor and he clenches his jaw.

“I asked for a leave.” he says seriously.

“You what?”

“I asked for a leave and Clay happily gave it to me.” Jax replies bitterly.

“Jax, I’m sorry.” You say honestly.

“It’s not your fault.” He shakes his head.

“I mean, isn’t it?” You start “If it wasn’t for me then…”

“Tate, stop.” Jax tells you forcefully, but guilt is already eating you and you feel tears in your eyes.

“If I didn’t start saying how much I hate the gun business and I’d I didn’t get shot then you’d still be the part of the club what your father founded and what is your legacy.” You jabber.

“None of this is your fault!” Jax yells and you stop, looking at him scared. You see him immediately regret his action, he runs one of his hands over his face.

“It’s not your fault.” He states again. Jax steps closer to you. “Months ago I found a manuscript. My father wrote it about his vision for the club. He didn’t want this, Tate.” Jax shook his head “It wasn’t just you who made me doubt every decision that Clay made.”

“But also your father talking to you from his grave.” You say, understanding what Jax just told you.

“So, what now Jax?”

“We will figure out who did this to you.” You just nod and wrap your arms around Jax, hugging him.

“I promise it’s going to be okay.” You mutter into his chest, and he hides his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

________

“Jax, could we talk about what happened?” You just took a shower and you walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel wrapped around as you sat down on the bed, next to Jax.

“What do you mean exactly?” He asks, looking at you.

“The accident. My assassination. Call it whatever you want.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about it?” Jax asks you carefully.

“I want to know what you know. Maybe it will help me remember something.” Jax nods.

“You were working late that night, so I went to pick you up. I was waiting for you in the parking lot, smoking when you appeared in the door.” He clenched his jaw “I should have walked to the door to meet with you and not wait for you next to my bike.”

“No, Jax. You couldn’t have known it. You picked me up so many times before and nothing happened.” You say firmly. He ignores what you said and he continues.

“Then a black van appeared. It happened so fast. The next moment you were on the ground, bleeding and fighting for your life.” Jax shakes his head, like he wants to shake the memory away from his brain. Your heart beats faster in your chest, anxiety is creeping on you from Jax’s words so you take some deep breath to calm yourself down.

“You have any idea who wanted to see me dead?” You ask him in a shaky voice. He presses his lips together into a thin line as he’s thinking about what to say.

“We have a good suspicion, but we have no proof.” He says “We think it was Clay. He has every reason to do it.” You get up from the bed, suddenly it’s really hard for you to breath and tears are filling your eyes, again. You try to take deep breaths as you walk around the room, Jax gets up from the bed and walks up to you.

“Tate, you gotta calm down.” He tells you, but you shake your head.

“Is this what I get for wanting to protect my brother and husband? That I don’t want you to get into prison? Or worse?” You cry.

“Tate, listen to me. It’s not your fault! None of this is your fault! If it was really Clay who did this, he’ll pay for it.” You’re about to answer him when you hear a knock on the door. You look at Jax who’s looking towards the direction your front door is.

“Stay here.” Jax says as he grabs his gun and goes to check who knocked on the door. You hear Jax open the door and you hear him talk to someone before you hear steps coming towards the bedroom.

“It’s your brother. He wants to talk to you.” Jax says and you nod, wipe your tears from your face and walk out to the living room where your brother is.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him immediately.

“Clay wants to throw a party for you. Celebrate that you’re okay.” Dan says bitterly, and Jax lets out a snort.

“You kidding, right”? Jax asks, and Dan shakes his head.

“Unfortunately, no.” You stand there quietly, thinking about what your brother said.

“You know what” you start and both men looks at you “This is not a bad idea. Let him believe that we don’t suspect anything. Make him believe that we are okay. Maybe it will be easier to find something against him if we pretend to be buddies.” You state. Jax and Dan looks at each other, then Jax says:

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Tate.”

“Why?” You see him hesitate before he replies.

“I don’t think you can emotionally handle this.” You stare at Jax, thinking about what he just said. You know he’s right, the smallest things can make you cry and push you to the edge of a panic attack, and you know you should keep yourself relaxed for your baby’s health.

“I’ll be able to handle it.” You say confidently “I want him to pay for what he has done.” Your brother and Jax just nods before Dan says goodnight and leaves the two of you alone.

___________

Today SAMCRO is throwing a party for you to celebrate that you’re out of the hospital. Both you and Jax are nervous about the whole thing, but you took part in the party anyway. Jax parks your car in front of the clubhouse and you slowly get out of the car, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. Jax walks next to you, he’s silently asking if you’re okay, and you nod, signaling him that you’re fine. You walk into the clubhouse with Jax, they’re already playing music and you know that they already started drinking. You could really use a drink right now to calm yourself down, but since you’re pregnant, you can’t drink.

“Tate!” You hear Chibs yell your name and you turn towards the noise. You smile when you see him.

“How are you, lass?” Chibs asks you.

“I’m okay.” You lie.

You poletiley chatted with everyone who came up to you, wearing a fake smile the whole time. You even let Clay hug you and tell you how happy he is that you’re okay, it took all your strength to not roll your eyes and punch him in the face. The two new members of the club who came from another charter not long before your accident kept their distance from you, and you didn’t mind honestly, two less people who you have to talk to.

Jax was sitting at the bar, talking to Opie, and you were standing next to him, not feeling like sitting down, when one of the new members, Ritchie was his name, stepped next to you to ask for a beer from the prospect. When he reached for the beer you saw the tattoo on his wrist, a tattoo what looked really familiar to you, but you don’t know from where.

Then it hit you.

It’s the same tattoo you saw on the man’s wrist who shot you.

Suddenly memories are rushing back, you remember everything what happened that night. The van. The tattoo. The Cut.

You feel like you’re going to be sick, you’re feeling nauseous and dizzy at the same time. You grab Jax’s arm and mutter:

“I’m gonna be sick.” before you rush out of the clubhouse. Jax follows you as you walk away as far as possible before you sink down on the floor, breathing heavily. Jax kneels down in front of you, you see him talk, but you don’t hear what he’s saying, all you can hear is your heart beating too fast, and you’re trying to get some air into your lungs as a panic attack rushes over you.

“I can’t breath.” You say, gasping for air. You feel Jax’s hands on your shoulders and you shake them off, pushing him away a little bit. “Please don’t touch me!” You beg as you fight with your panic attack. You slowly look around yourself, listing every thing you can see, telling yourself that you can breathe until you calmed down. Jax was still kneeling in front of you, and you finally looked at him, then around yourself to see who else followed you. Your brother was standing not so far away from the two of you, and you saw Chibs, Opie, and Bobby standing in the door of the clubhouse.

“We need to talk, only the three of us.” You say, still a little breathless. Jax nods and gets up, waking to your brother and tells him something, you see Dan walk up to the guys and tell them something, and they walk into the clubhouse leaving the three of you alone. Jax helps you up from the floor, you fix yourself a little bit and wait for your brother to join you.

“I remember.” You state “I remember what happened, and not just what happened, but what I saw.” Both men looked at you impatiently so you continued “That night, a man jumped out from the van, his face was covered, but he was wearing a Cut. “ you point at Jax’s chest, on his Cut “The exact same Cut the two of you are wearing.” Jax lets out the air he was holding through his nose “But that’s not all. The tattoo on Ritchie’s arm is the exact same tattoo I saw that night.”

“FUCK!” Jax yells. “I knew it, I fucking knew it!” He’s walking around angrily when he suddenly stops and looks at your left where Gemma’s office is. You follow his eyes and you see Chucky standing in there.

“Jax” Chucky starts “I think we should talk.” He says hesitantly and he looks at you. “All of you.” You look at Jax who looks confused.

“What do you want, Chucky?” Jax asks him irritatedly.

“Please.” Is all what Chucky says.

“Jax, c’mon.” You say as you walk towards the office, your brother and Jax follows. Dan closes the door behind you and says:

“I’ll watch if someone’s coming.” as he takes his place next to the window, looking out, but listening to your conversation.

“What is it, Chucky?” Jax asks him impatiently.

“Jax, I’m sorry.” Chucky says hesitantly. “I should’ve said this earlier.” he looks down to the floor, almost ashamed.

“A few weeks ago, I overheard Clay talking to Ritchie and Mike.” Chucky looks at you. “They were talking about making someone...disappear.”

“Jesus christ.” Jax says and steps closer to you, hugging an arm around you and pulling you close.

“I didn’t know it, I swear! I didn’t know they were talking about Tate until it happened, and now that I heard you talk about it.” Chucky says nervously “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not your fault, Chucky!” you say forcefully. Jax looks at you surprised, he was expecting you to cry or have a panic attack, but instead you’re angry, so fucking angry. You look back at Jax before pure rage washes over you and you storm out of the office heading towards the clubhouse, Jax and Dan follows you. You tear the door open and rush inside, skim over the crowd to find Clay, and when you do you rush up to him. You place a hand on his back making him turn around before you punch him in the face as hard as you can, not caring about the pain in your hand what you felt after you punched him. You didn’t let him register what’s happening, you punched him again and again, until he was laying on the floor, you on the top of him, still punching him in the face.

“You tried to fucking kill me and my unborn child, you motherfucker!” you scream into his face what’s covered with blood, so is your hand.

“You piece of shit!” you spit as you hit him one more time before you feel Jax’s arms around you, pulling you away.

“Tate, enough!” Jax tells you, trying to calm you down.

“You almost killed my child!” you keep yelling at Clay as he’s trying to get up from the ground.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Clay asks, wiping his blood away from his face.

“I’ll tell you what she’s talking about.” Jax says, more calmly than you, but you can hear the anger in his voice. “She’s talking about how you tried to assassinate her. Sending her into hospital, almost killing our unborn child too. I bet you didn’t know that she’s pregnant when you hired those two idiots” Jax points at Ritchie and Mike “to do the dirty job.” Jax steps closer to Clay.

“We know you did it, so you better own it.” Jax spits “And I want what’s mine by right. I want the President patch and you out of my father’s club.” Jax’s last words made the crowd, what was listening quietly so far, started quietly talking, and you could feel Gemma’s gaze on you.

Tag list: @innerpaperexpertcloud @lady-evans @agirllovespasta @claudiahxrdy @mheart27 @oldstuffnewstuff @keithseabrook27 @alexa-rae-dreamz @rebel-without-cause-x

#charlie hunnam #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller fanfiction #hurricane part 11

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