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keigelsss · 4 years

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Hard At Work - Kuroo Tetsuro

a/n: HERE IT IS!!!!! it’s really bad. i struggled. i just wanted to get it over with but this idea weighed heavily on my mind for so long and i cant seem to get it out the way i want so this is the bare minimum with what i was trying to go for sorry :/

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, timeskip!kuroo, dom!kuroo, language, teasing, literally half the fic is foreplay oops, smut, oral sex, unprotected sex (no glove no love y’all), kuroo smacks your ass once, sir kink?, SIZE KINK, belly bulge, overstim, squirting, creampie, as always my shitty writing. *thoughts in italics… if i forgot a warning pls lmk*

Summary: you never thought you’d find yourself in this situation, let alone with the man in charge of your paycheck. luckily those files weren’t that important.

word count: 4.7K

You’ve only been working in this position for about two months now, assistant to one of the smartest sports promoters in the country. It’s a wonderful job and you get to meet star athletes almost every day, but what wasn't in the job description was the super hot promoter that you would be working under literally. If you thought it was hard coming into work with someone so damn attractive, the amount of teasing that went on in and outside of the office was insufferable.

Your day began like every other; come in, bring Kuroo some coffee, a full list of the day's meetings and tidy up in his office. While setting the coffee on his desk, you anticipate what comment he’ll make about the lack of a baked good to accompany his beverage.

“Awe Y/n, looks like you forgot to bring something to munch on again,” he was currently going through emails while twirling a pen in his hand. That scheming smirk that you’ve come to recognize all too well plastered all over his smug face.

“I’m sorry, Kuroo, they were all out at the café.” You placed your belongings on the small desk located in the corner of his office, spending some time to go over today's schedule as well as sort through a few contracts and client files.

“It’s all good,” he let out a soft chuckle. “You could always let me eat you instead, shortcake.”

You gave a pointed glare to the man before sighing and closing the file cabinet you just finished sorting. “I think it’s best if we get to work, we’ve got a long day ahead of us, sir.” he sends the smallest smirk in your direction then returns to his tasks. Shit... Did I mean to make it come out like that? Whatever he always teases the ever-living hell out of me so it's about time I had my share of the fun too, it’s only fair. Right?

Most of the day was uneventful, the typical routine coming and going without any interruptions. At around 4 pm though, you found yourself swamped with far more paperwork to go through than usual as well as having to scan and digitally file. We didn't have this many meetings today, did we? I just did a stack like this… Most of these need Kuroo’s signature, they shouldn't be on my desk.

Raising your head you shifted your gaze, letting your eyes land on him. He’s seated only ten feet in front of you behind his desk but today it seems like an entire mile. Did he always look that good going through his messages?

While gathering the papers that were wrongfully in your pile and saying a quick prayer to anyone out there, you walked over to sit in one of the matching seats opposite him. Placing the folder down softly to not mess up the flow of his work. He instinctively moves his elbow away to make room for the file and side-eyes it momentarily.

“Just give me two minutes here and I’m all yours sugar,” he says with a quick smile in your direction.

Humming your response and relaxing into the chair you take the time to admire his features. The messy but somehow put together hair that, according to his long-term clients and friends, has been that way since childhood. The sharp features of his cheeks and jaw, his pink lips permanently resting in his signature smirk that can mean an infinite number of things as you’ve come to find out. A muscular neck that is far too appealing for your taste, broad shoulders leading to strong arms, and an equally muscular chest. It’s no doubt that he is built like a god under that dress shirt, it fits him so perfectly it's almost offensive.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts of the man in front of you that you don't even notice how he moves his body, giving all his attention to you.

“Stare any longer sweet girl and you're gonna start drooling all over that cute outfit of yours.” His deep chuckle vibrates through you, definitely causing something to happen deep in the pit of your stomach. Your body was so hot and your throat was so damn dry from the way he was looking back at you. Is he undressing me with his eyes? Fuck! I’m one to talk, I’m doing the same thing.

“Uh it looks like some papers of yours got in my pile, if you can sign them, I’ll finish scanning and get out of your hair.”

You sat up to hand him a pen then rest your palms against the desk. Those pieces of paper are the only thing separating the two of you and it helps you keep a grasp on reality for the time being.

He toyed with the edges of the folder, lifting just the corner, not even bothering to read over the contents. “Yeah, I put them there thinking it would keep you in the office just a bit longer but you caught on to my plan faster than I thought.” He met your gaze with a semi defeated smile.

“You thought I wouldn't notice at all? Kuroo, I thought you were supposed to be the mega genius here because I had just filed all of those this morning.” A sudden boost of confidence ran through your body and your hands found their way to the folder and started mimicking his previous action that, hopefully, would drive him just as crazy as it did you. Your cold fingers delicately traced above his watch then to his forearms, stopping right where he cuffed his sleeves. A small hiss escaped him through his teeth followed by an airy laugh.

“Call it an experiment.” You couldn't help but giggle at his response.

He suddenly moved back, completely reclining and relaxing in his chair. He went to loosen up the tie around his neck and even went as far as to open two buttons on the restricting shirt. Cheeky bastard.

Kuroo cleared his throat. Resting his elbow against the arm of his chair, chin resting in the palm of his hand. “I bet I can tell what you're thinking right now, shortcake,” he continued to roll his chair back slightly.

Without giving a second thought you moved around to his side of the desk, sitting and leaning on the end farthest from him. You conjured up the best comeback your normally shy and reserved self would never think of, but right now, it's war.

“Oya oya? Tell me, boss, what am I thinking right now?” you finally turned your gaze towards him, pulling off the most convincing innocent eyes you had.

He stood up from his seat, taking the slowest steps toward you and stood right beside your small body. His large hands are dangerously close to the edge of your skirt. If he could feel how hard your heart was beating in your chest you’d be done for.

That contagious laughter of his booming throughout the room once more. He’ll never admit it but your teasing words sound a lot like him.

“Well if the way you're clenching the hell out of your thighs right now isn't the biggest sign.” His calloused fingers finally make contact with the exposed skin on your legs and slowly rise to trace the curves of your body. Finding a place to rest on your jaw with his thumb gripping your chin forcing you to look directly at him. “I’d say you're thinking of all the different ways I could make you cum on my desk,” his thumb began to slowly trace your lower lip.

You were barely aware of the small moan you let out while fluttering your eyes closed. “Let's say you're right Kuroo,” you nearly choked on the lack of saliva in your throat. “What else am I thinking?” your response barely above a pathetic whimper.

He let out a happy sigh as he placed his thumb between your lips, pressing slightly to signal you to open up. That sigh quickly turned into a small moan when you let your tongue slip from your mouth and wrapped your lips around the digit. Years of hard work and skill evident in the sensation of his thumb pressing against your tongue.

“You’re probably thinking about my cock filling every inch of your tight little pussy,” he moved to stand between your legs, his other hand finding residence on your hip and squeezing the clothed flesh possessively. “Or maybe you’re thinking you might just have the upper hand here because you caught on to my little trick,” he began to mess with the hook and zipper on the side of your skirt. Lowering the piece of flimsy metal agonizingly slow.

“If that’s the case then you're seriously mistaken sweetheart also when it's just us, call me Tetsuro,” he whispered his name in your ear and if you weren't trying to match his teasing energy, you would’ve made the first move but the build-up was so much better.

He finally let go of the zipper on your skirt and began to pull it slowly down your thighs, all while maintaining eye contact. He slowly removed his finger from your mouth and trailed any lingering saliva along your bottom lip and down your jaw before his hand found comfort around your neck, offering the softest squeeze, eliciting yet another breathy moan from your lips. If only you knew how much those sounds of yours were causing him to short circuit.

“Tetsuro. If there’s anything I know very well, it's my place in this office.” You kept steady eye contact while attempting to squeeze your thighs together.

Kuroo noticed your struggles and continued to strip the skirt from your body. Your lower half was beginning to burn with anticipation. His long fingers then traced the outline of your panties, if he looked any closer he would see the little wet spot forming right at your entrance. He lightly pulled on the thin material and snapped it back against your body, a small chuckle rising from deep in his chest because of how cute and responsive you are to his actions.

“And where is that exactly?” He can't help but tease you, even though his cock is absolutely suffocating, he still wants to make sure you know who’s in charge.

“I'm an employee on your payroll, aren't I?” your voice was so soft, focusing more on steadying your breathing. He began to run the back of his hand along your hip and grazed his knuckles against the area that you ache for him the most, a throaty sigh escapes you and some of that newfound confidence as well. Where the hell did she come from?

“It only makes sense that my position is under you.” Kuroo is slightly surprised by your response but he can tell that you’ve had enough of his teasing just like he’s had enough of having to come up with new ways to fluster you. Now it seems that all his prayers are being answered, he finally has you to himself all alone in the office, and there’s only one thing on his mind after hearing the words slip from your lips. “That’s definitely the right answer, but I hope you don’t mind if I spend some time on you first?”

His fingers were now pulling the fabric of your panties down and off your body, he never breaks eye contact, rubbing his hands all over your legs and occasionally squeezing your soft skin. He finally returned to eye level and placed both hands on your cheeks, bringing you in for a hot and desperate kiss. He managed to push you further onto the desk so you can rest comfortably, the cold sensation of the wood on your bare skin forced a tiny gasp to escape.

Kuroo began to play with the buttons of your blouse, pulling on the material. By the time he gets to the last button, you’re halfway done removing his, finally seeing the strong body underneath it all. Hot. Once he had you completely undressed he took a single step back. Biting his lip and admiring your body.

“You’re so god damn sexy.” He came back to you, hot mouth leaving kisses all over your neck and chest. He spent some time on each of your breasts, sucking and biting on your sensitive nipples, sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. His hands hooked under your knees and spread your legs. You're practically dripping onto his desk by now and can’t help but grind your hips against nothing, desperate for some sort of relief.

“Someone's a little needy, huh?” his breath was hot against your stomach and fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. Once he got on his knees in front of you, his fingers found their way to your throbbing center. Slowly parting your folds and massaging your sensitive hole with perfect pressure. “Fuck. You’re so fuckin’ wet too,” with his other hand he used his thumb to play with your clit. You threw your head back, letting out a soft moan as you made contact with the desk below.

Kuroo wasted no time putting your legs over his shoulders, leaving wet kisses along your thighs and placing several on your hips. He finally placed a kiss on your clit, causing you to yelp and buck your hips against his face. “You taste better than I imagined baby girl,” he licked a stripe through your folds, then sucked on your clit softly. “Mmm it feels so good!” you’re a moaning, whimpering mess already. Kuroo has to use his hands to keep you still but he’s humming happily while lapping up all you have to offer him and you can't help but shake. “Am I making you feel good, pretty girl? Your cute little pussy is so sensitive huh?” his tongue was replaced with one of his fingers gathering up your slick and slowly entering you.

“Yes yes fuck I love it. I want your cock. Please.” you looked at him through lidded eyes sucking your bottom lip harshly in between your teeth. He can't help but smile at how cute you look begging for him. “Relax baby girl, we’ll both get what we want but I gotta work you up a bit more.” He added another finger curling them a little to find your sweet spot, while sucking on your clit. He knew he found it when you squeezed your thighs around him and called out his name. Your walls twitching around his fingers, reaching your first climax of the day.

He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, sucking off every bit of your juices, moaning in sheer delight. Another kiss was placed on your clit before he began a trail of them to your neck and jaw, teeth sinking into your skin. One of his hands caressed your cheek as he kissed you on the lips, your taste and his hot breath sending another wave of arousal through you and you moan into his mouth. He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. “Wanna make you cum with my tongue one more time okay sweetheart?”

You wanted to whine and throw a fit but his mouth was magical and you weren't one to complain. With a small ‘okay’ and another kiss on the lips he made his way to your pussy once more, already swollen and ridiculously sensitive. He began with the same rhythm as before, soft groans of satisfaction driving you wild. The grinding of your hips against his face only became more violent when he added his long fingers. Finding that same spot as earlier.

“F-fuck oh fuck I’m gonna cum!” you arched your back off the desk and brought a hand to your chest massaging squeezing your nipples. The only thing you hear before your orgasm rips through you is the loud squelching of fingers inside your pussy and his moans of praise. When you open your eyes and finally come back to earth, you see Kuroos face, hand and wrist covered in your juices. “I haven't even fucked you yet and you squirted just like that? You're gonna be the death of me Y/n.”

You giggled a little, hiding your face in embarrassment, body still trembling from the intense orgasm. Of course that smart mouth of his is sinfully skilled. He moved your hands out of the way, intertwining his with yours, lifting you and pulling you into another kiss.

You let go of his hands running yours along his toned chest, leaving small scratches, quickly removing his belt and slacks. You squeal at how big he looks in his boxers, his cock begging to be free. Pulling the waistband down and letting it drop to his feet, you moan at the sight. A small bead of precum forming at the tip, now an angry red from being neglected for so long. “I wanna make you feel good too Tetsu.”

Before you can drop to your knees for him he puts his hands on your hips, rubbing soothing circles. “Next time gorgeous, I wanna feel you right now.” he lifted you off the ground, legs wrapping around his waist and lips meeting in a sloppy mess of teeth and tongue. One of his hands made their way to your ass, squeezing softly before landing a smack. You moaned in response and ground your hips against his throbbing member, the tip creating glorious friction against your folds. He finally placed you back on the desk then fisted his cock a few times, running the tip against your folds and teasing your entrance.

“Want you inside me now Tetsuro. Please.” your chest was heaving in desperation and he loved that he made you like this. “Okay sweet girl. If it’s too much let me know.” You gave him a small nod and he kissed you while letting himself slip inside your warm walls. You were already so wet from before but he was so long and thick that the intrusion was slightly painful.

“Holy shit! you’re so damn tight.” he says through gritted teeth.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tugging softly on his hair when you feel him bottom out inside you. He lets out a few puffs of air because it's taking all his willpower not to cum with the way your pussy is gripping onto him right now. You let out a few whimpers and he checks your face for any signs of discomfort before retracting his hips and thrusting into you. You make eye contact with him, he’s absolutely mesmerizing with that lusty look in his eye and a small layer of sweat on his forehead.

“S-so big Tetsu. It feels so good.” you squeeze your legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him closer to you and he groans in response. He begins to thrust into you slowly, still trying to keep his cool but finding that sweet spot inside you every time. “Oh you're gonna make me cum with the way you are clampin’ down on my cock like that sweet thing.” he shifts the angle of his thrusts and cages your head between his arms. His large upper body casting a shadow over you that makes you shiver. You can see the way the muscles on his forearms and biceps are flexing with every thrust. How he’s looking down at where you two are connected in pure fascination, tugging his lip between his teeth.

Using his arms to push off the desk, he tugs your hips to the edge and keeps his fingers embedded in the soft flesh, meeting each of his thrusts. You lift yourself as well, resting on your elbows and watching him. You notice a small bump on your belly each time his hips meet yours and it's enough to have you roll your eyes back. Holy fuck now that’s different. Kuroo noticed your surprise and pressed a hand against your tummy, making you feel him even deeper if possible.

“I’m right there baby girl. Can you feel it?” You feel as though you're being split open but it hurts so good. His stare and dominating aura so sinful and addictive, you know you're in trouble. “Yes it feels so good. I love your cock.” He feels you fluttering around him and picks up his pace. The sharp sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the office along with his animalistic growls.

“Is that right. You gonna cum on this cock, like a good girl?” his thumb found your clit, working small circles. “Make a mess all over my desk? Let me cum inside this tight pussy?” his thrusts were reaching deep, that bulge in your tummy only looking bigger now. You tried meeting his thrusts halfway, your hand gripped his wrist and you neared another orgasm. “Y-yeah, oh fuck. please. I wanna cum so bad. wanna make you feel good too, sir.”

At the last word you said he thrusted into you once more. your walls fluttering around him bringing his release as well, he hunched over with a groan and found your lips as he spilled his seed inside you. The warmth filling you up and making you feel nothing but bliss. Your ankles locked around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, keeping him buried inside you while you caught your breath’s.

He pulled away first, watching as his cock slipped from your tight hole, both of you letting out a sharp breath from the sensitivity. His cum followed right after, dripping down onto his desk. The sight of your clenching pussy and the mess was enough to get him hard again. He wants as much as you’re willing to give him. Lifting your upper body he pulls you in for another kiss, this one a bit sweeter.

You pulled away and began kissing his jaw. “I want more.” You said looking up at him with bright eyes. Your makeup is messy but you still look delicious as ever.

He gave you a playful grin and a peck on the lips. “You read my mind gorgeous.”

He spun you around and bent you over the desk, pressing your body into the wood but not enough to hurt. His fingers slowly ran down your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You turn your head slightly so you can see him, right now he looks intimidating as ever. Large muscular body towering over you, one hand gripping your ass and the other teasing the head of his cock along your folds. He can see how your dripping hole is clenching around nothing, your frame trembling from previous orgasms. He's so damn overjoyed that he slips right inside you, not wanting to waste another second outside of your tight pussy.

The stretch that he provided was nothing you've felt before, he was definitely the biggest you’ve been with. You felt every ridge and vein, every twitch, you still feel him in your stomach. Nothing beat how warm he is though, flooding every nerve with heat and electricity.

He set a brutal pace, balls slapping against your clit each time, making you cry out and moan incoherent versions of his name. His left hand gripped your thigh and hitched your leg on the desk, the shift in position causing him to drag the tip of his cock perfectly against your g-spot. “Right there Tetsuro, feels so fucking good.” you ached your back in ecstasy.

The hand he had hooked under your knee creeped up your thigh and rested on your hip. He used the other to raise you off the desk and wrap around you. His warm hard chest pressing into your back and his large, rough palms massaged your tits. You can feel his warm breath on your ear and you shiver when he groans. The deep rumble of his chest crashing into you like a wave.

Hearing his moans right in your ear was like heaven, the feeling of his cock twitching inside tells you he's close. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum so fuckin’ hard. Your little cunt’s squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna be a good girl and let me cum inside again?” his rough pounding turned into slow, deep strokes. Slamming into your sweet spot with pin-point accuracy.

“Please. Feels so good and I want your cum. Want it in me so bad.” his hand moved to your jaw turning your head, squishing your cheeks and leaving a sloppy kiss against your lips. You brought your arm up, grabbing his face, pulling him closer. You sucked his bottom lip between your teeth and he growled in response, slow thrusts gaining some more speed.

The hand he had on your hip made its way in front of you, fingers trailing softly against your swollen clit. Tears were pricking the corners of your eyes from overstimulation but you loved every second of it. “I want you to milk my cock, take all your filling like a good little shortcake and make a mess on this desk. Can you do that for me?” you only nod and moan your answer.

The intense eye contact between the two of you, mixed with his hard thrusts and rough fingers, make that tingling feeling in your core seem like the first one all over again. Your head falls back against his chest as your body locks up and shakes uncontrollably, the tight fluttering of your walls brought his release as well.

You can feel his warm load inside as he keeps fucking into you, allowing you both to ride out the intense wave of pleasure. All while massaging your clit, only bringing on another orgasm, making you squirt once more on his hand and desk. Feeling it drip down your legs, surely his too.

Once the rush of euphoria passed, you both fell forward, his cock still inside you as you both caught your breath. You were still quivering with aftershocks of pleasure when he slipped out of you, a mixture of both of your cum spilling onto the floor and down your thighs.

He stumbled back onto his chair and took a deep breath. Hypnotized by the way you’re still spread out for him to see, the beautiful sight of your plump ass becoming something he wants all the time. You finally sit up slowly turning to lean against the desk, legs feeling like noodles. Both of you catching the other staring and letting out a fit of laughter. He reached for your hand and pulled you down on the chair with him to relax, wrapping his strong arms around you.

“So, I was thinking, maybe I should give you a promotion.” he kissed the top of your head and you pinched his nipple teasingly. “Stop fucking around Tetsu.” he smirked and gave you a knowing smirk.

“We just did, sweet heart.” you rolled your eyes and nuzzled into his neck.

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After resting for a while the two of you got cleaned up and dressed, tidying up the office so it didn't look like two people just fucked in it. Once you were done you both stood and looked out the window of his office, watching the sun disappear and the stars start to shine. He made a sound like he just remembered something.

“Do you wanna go out to get something to eat?” he looks at you while putting his coat on.

“I’d love to, I’m starving,” you grabbed your purse and put on your coat as well. “Oh, uh what time is it?” you ask him.

He lifted the sleeve of his jacket, looking at his watch and raising a brow. “That’s weird. My watch is stuck at 4:45.” you look at him in confusion.

A sudden burst of wheezing laughter echoes through the walls and you’re still wondering what’s so funny. He turns to you and looks at your face, melting at how cute and innocent you looked.

“I think you ruined my watch, Y/n.” he brings a hand up to your face moving a piece of hair that was out of place. You can't help but blush at his words, instantly turning away from him and opening the doors to his office.

“Well we’re even now because you ruined any other man for me.” You walked ahead of him in annoyance but he knows it won't last long.

He’ll have you screaming his name again in his bed in no time.

I wonder if he was joking about that promotion though…

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✨stay sexy my friends✨

Taglist: @bobabybo

a/n: if you made it this far... yooo... im so sorry you had to read this. it didn’t tickle the brain the way i wanted and i trashed it like ten times only to go back with what i originally started with but if you liked it and you feel a lil sum ;) lmk i would love feedback or what I could’ve done better. i don’t know what I want to do with this blog just yet but for now its just my thirsts and writings. i reply and like on @keigohoes im just stupid lol.

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zevlors-tail · 4 years

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Febuwhump Day 8 - “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep!”

A/N: I can’t believe I just wrote this in one sitting. I know I’m super behind on Febuwhump, yikes...but I think this turned out pretty well! This got longer than I meant it to be, but then, so did most of the prompts in my drafts that I have for this month. This is actually my first time purposefully writing whump so I hope this was okay! Unedited btw, i’ll read it over in the morning.

TW: Burning building, explosions, second degree burns, mentions/descriptions of burn wounds, life or death situation, building collapse, concussed reader.

***

The first thing Hawks notices when he comes to is the foul taste in his mouth. It causes him to gag and cough with his eyes still closed, though that doesn’t help his situation much if at all. The smell of something burning sears the inside of his nostrils and clogs his lungs, and he finds it incredibly hard to breathe as he rolls over onto his side, eyes finally fluttering open.

The second thing he becomes acutely aware of is how hot he is. No...how hot the floor is. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to recall what he was doing down there anyways. If only that incessantly annoying ringing in his ears would stop-

Wait. Wait a minute...

An image of you flashes behind his eyelids as he blinks them shut harshly to block out the billowing cloud of smoke filling the room, and it all comes back to him in a whirlwind.

There were villains. High class villains. Not your every day run of the mill villains, but villains who could really pack a punch when fighting back. They had been occupying a small skyscraper at the time as their headquarters, and you and Hawks had partnered up to take them down after months of steak outs and observation. But something had gone wrong...very wrong. Those details were still a bit blurry, but Hawks remembers something akin to an explosion- a loud noise, the building shaking, and a blast that knocked him unconscious.

All of the sudden he’s hyper aware of what’s going on- and he realizes he needs to move fast if he’s going to get out of here alive. He’s at least twenty stories up in the air on unstable structures, his feathers and hair are singed, and his head is foggy after inhaling too much smoke. Luckily he can still move, and it doesn’t look like he’s been burned too severely, at least not yet. But the flames licking at the bottom of the closed door in front of him cause alarm bells to scream out in his head, and he knows he doesn’t have much time to think. He needs to find you so he can grab you and-

Ohhh, shit.

As he rolls over onto his other side, he can make out the outline of a figure lying on the floor, and he’s almost certain it’s you. None of the villains stuck around after blowing the place up anyways, and he can just barely see the dulled colors of your hero suit behind the thick screen of smoke.

“Fuck! Oh god, Y/N.”

You’re lying too still for your own good, and Hawks thinks he can see the beginning of what he can only assume to be fire slowly eating at the wall next to you. He wastes no time and flattens himself on his stomach, army crawling in your general direction to avoid the worst of the putrid air. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing. He ignores the uncomfortable heat of his body and pushes onward, his movements still a little sluggish from getting knocked out cold. He’s not entirely sure if he can even use his feathers right now while they’re this singed, and furthermore, he hopes his wings aren’t completely out of commission; he’s going to need those if the both of you are going to make it out of this alive.

“Y/N!” he tries to shout, though it ends in a horrible sounding cough that comes from deep in his chest. As he draws nearer, he hears what sounds like creaking coming from above the two of you, and to his utter horror, the support beams under floor above you have burnt to a crisp and look like they’re ready to collapse any second. It had to have been a sheer miracle that the two of you weren’t already engulfed in flames yourselves. “Y/N! Come on, kid, you gotta get up! Move!”

Even as he tries to urgently get your attention his body seems to move on it’s own accord, and before he can stop himself, he sends a few feathers your way out of habit and concern that you might be crushed any second if he doesn’t move you somehow. It hurts like hell, and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding. This is by far the worst he’s felt when using his feathers, but it does pay off, and you’re lucky that he made the split decision to move you- no sooner had he scrambled back with you had the ceiling collapsed into the floor.

He turns to you while staying low to the ground, shaking you desperately and firmly smacking the side of your face with his hand in hopes of interrupting your forced slumber. It works but just barely, and Hawks watches as you try to take a deep breath but end up choking just as he had. He gives you a once-over while you struggle to breathe, eyes flitting over your form to assess any damage you may have taken- and to his dismay, there seems to be a good amount of it. The entire left side of your hero outfit is singed, bits of the fabric even burnt into your skin in certain places where the heat must have been too strong. You hadn’t been able to move away or protect yourself in your sleep, and the burns on your arm and leg can definitely attest to that. They’re second degree, at least; some of the fire must have actually made contact with your skin.

“Oh, fuck- Hey, look at me. Y/N, focus here!”

He leans over you to look at your eyes, and he doesn’t have to shine a light in them or have you follow his finger to know that you hit your head a little too hard. They’re glossy and unfocused, and you can’t find a single place on his face to fixate on. You just keep looking all over, and Hawks can clearly tell your concussed.

Fucking great. He’s got to get you both out, and now.

“Hey, kid. Can you hear me?” He nervously awaits an answer with eyes trained on you, and the second you start to talk he lets out a small breath of short-lived relief.

“Hawks...? Wha...” You look so out of it and dazed.

“So that’s a yes, thank god...” Before you try to ask anything else, he stops you in your tracks and shakes his head at you. “Whoa, whoa, whoa- take it easy, alright? No questions, I just need you to listen and keep talking to me. Doesn’t matter what it’s about, I just need to know you’re awake and alive-” He pauses briefly to look around for something, anything he can do to escape.

There’s the door you both came from, the one that’s barely holding back the raging heat behind it- that’s a no-go. No way in hell is he trying to brave that. His wings won’t last five seconds in that, and you don’t have the means to protect yourself while you’re concussed. Another option is to try and escape through the hole in the floor that the ceiling caused...but that’s way too risky for the both of you as is, and it looks like flames are starting to creep in from that way, too. If he is going to take that route, he needs to do it soon. Maybe he can get to a staircase, or find a-

The sound of you moaning in pain cuts through his thoughts and his head whips back in your direction to find you grimacing and trying to move. “Ah ah- Don’t do that. Just keep talking, come on. I know it hurts, but you gotta keep talkin’ to me. I’m gonna get us out of this mess, somehow...”

Panic starts to set in as he realizes his options are limited. Terror grips him in it’s icy stone-cold jaws as he comes to the conclusion that his odds of survival are even worse.

“Hawks...it hur’s...” All you can do is roll your head back and forth and try to move, but your body just won’t cooperate with your mind.

“Fuck. Fuck! I know, I know...” His teeth grit together as he thinks, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Adrenaline is starting to kick in, and he’s desperate for anything at this point.

He still has no plan in mind when he makes another split second decision to move you from where you’re currently laying. The fire is only spreading up onto the carpeted floor the two of you are on, and the smoke is getting worse by the second; this room is a hot box with no ventilation at this point. He carefully picks you up and cradles you to his chest, his wings wrapping around the both of you to both support your frame and shield you from the onslaught of unbearable heat. It forces him to take a few steps back, and he does his best to navigate through a screen of black without bumping into any furniture. He almost trips several times, but eventually he hits the opposite wall. Or, rather...

A window. Bingo.

“S’ tired...” you mumble. Your eyes are already fluttering, rolling to the back of your head as your limbs grow heavy in his arms.

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep! Y/N!? Come on, stay awake!”

“C’n we go...home now?”

He doesn’t like how ragged your breathing sounds.

He almost chuckles at the absurdity of the situation, but his lungs are already full of tainted air to laugh, let alone breathe properly, so he scoffs instead- and instantly regrets it. Between fits of coughs, he presses his shoulder to the glass behind you both to test the temperature, and it’s much hotter than it should be. Part of the glass is already blown out to his right, but there’s not enough space to crawl out without the jagged edges of it tearing up his flesh and wings. But if he could somehow break it...

His feathers. He’ll have to use up more of them, but if he uses the bare minimum necessary to break the glass and saves the majority, he may be able to make it out the window and fly you both to safety.

“We can’t go home yet,” he chokes out in response to you, finally. “I’m gonna get you out of here, and then you’re on your way to the hospital, yeah? You’re gonna be fine.”

He knows that to be true, so long as he can actually manage this. He backs up as far as he can go without subjecting either of you to the hot flames now openly invading the room, the entryway having burnt to a crisp already. From where he stands now, he hopes there’s enough distance to create the amount of force needed to shatter that damn glass. After a quick estimate of how many feathers he can get away with using, he readies them, and it all boils down this moment. If he can’t do this, you’ll both die. Both of your lives are at stake, resting on his weary shoulders. He can do this.

He has to.

“Wanna go home...wanna go...” You’re just murmuring to yourself, and it really puts Hawks on edge.

He hears the glass shatter before he sees it. He stumbles forward, wings still securely wrapped around you, and all but falls out of the edge of the window right before the rest of the floor collapses in on itself. He hears the devastation behind him, feels sparks on his back where the holes of his shirt meet the beginnings of his wings. He knows if he had hesitated or stayed any longer, neither of you would be alive right now.

Replacing his hold on you with his arms, he lets his wings drift open and prays he didn’t overdo it with the feathers, begs whatever gods may be listening that the two of you can at least slow the fall somehow. And to his pure joy and bliss, his wings, though bleeding and burnt and painful, are still very much holding up and allowing him to fly.

Now if he can manage to get you to a hospital...you’ll be just fine.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday8 #febuwhump2021 #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #whump #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks #keigo takami #keigo

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lesbianlotties · 3 years

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the only touchstone of truth - I Care A Lot (2020) - Marla x Fran

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives Summary: The American dream. The small business that Marla Grayson built from nothing. And now it's all crumbling down back to... nothing. Marla is left to pick up the pieces of the broken dream, but this time she's determined to start a fire with what she has left. The problem, or rather, the solution, comes in the shape of Fran, a gorgeous woman that, unlikely as it seems, has just as many tricks under her sleeve as Marla. This is how they meet, this is how they fall into each other's dangerous games, and most importantly, this is how they fall in love. Love, the only honest thing about each other, and the most important part of their story.

Chapter 1:

Marla was sitting behind the counter in her shop, wearing a sharp white shirt and her blonde hair falling in soft waves on her shoulders. The place was desolated, only Curtis stood by, idly reorganizing the shelves for maybe the hundredth time. Restlessness disgusted Marla. When she caught herself starting to lazily spin from side to side on her swivel chair she shook herself out of it by planting her feet firmly on the floor and picking up her vape pen. She’d only started using it to become a master of the trade she’s decided to pursue, but she’d grown quickly attached to it. Like an assassins’ favorite knife, it could be used as a weapon, but it brought comfort in unexplainable ways too.

“Curtis,” Marla exhaled, staring at her friend, “What is… the most American thing you can think of?”

The man smiled, an objectively beautiful smile, and said, “Cowboys.”

Instead of laughing, Marla nodded very seriously. That was, indeed, a very American thing. Men proudly resorting to childish ideals of what it is to be a man, hoping to use boyish charm to earn points in a game nobody could possibly win something worthy of. The problem was, Curtis wasn’t like that, not with Marla at least, and his answer was genuine. Besides, the fictional idea of a traditional cowboy was very American indeed. “What would a cowboy do,” Marla wondered slowly, “when facing a god-awful rival?”

“Get rid of them?” the young man replied. That was a certain answer, and the impulse of making it sound like a question at the end was just a consequence of answering to Marla. It was a common thing, he wasn’t immune to it, and she actually relished the fact that she could make people doubt the most obvious things they should be confident in.

“Exactly,” Marla clicked her teeth and winked, adding a playful gesture as if she’d just shoot him with an invisible gun.

Her friend and employee chuckled fondly at her. “Yeah, sorry, Marla, but I don’t think you can get rid of them.”

Gracefully, Marla stood up from the chair. What she’d been staring at so intently on her computer’s screen was the view from one of the security cameras outside, pointing across the street at the line of people waiting to get in at the bigger and flashier vape shop that recently opened up. “I know,” she said, almost soft enough to hide the venom in the words of acceptance of her downfall. She spread both hands on the counter and stared. It was the beginning of goodbye. She wasn’t an overly emotional person, she didn’t exactly hold a sentimental attachment with the place, not even to the person she had been when she started this journey. But, she had to say goodbye. However, “I won’t go down without a fight,” Marla stated. She walked around the counter and toward the front of the shop.

Personally, Marla had a different idea of what was the most American thing a person could do. Walk away from a suffocating family to the big city, make the most of what the world currently wants and turn it into a business, build it all from the ground up, turn it into an empire, make yourself rich enough to become a challenge to royalty and deities alike. It was a perfect plan as long as nobody warned you of the impossible to overcome obstacles that would appear in your path. Marla had done her work, she had spent the better part of her youth working inconceivable schedules and begging for loans. She had studied the market, the competition, the ins and outs of one smart investment, and it had worked. Until the grand opening of a monstrous shop close enough for it to be humiliating. They sold a brand, and Marla couldn’t compete. She’d done everything right, perhaps it was time to do a little bit of wrong in order to come out as a winner.

Marla had chosen that particular place to set up her shop because it was convenient for her type of business, but she never liked the place very much. That was something she could admit now that she was saying goodbye to it. She was staring out the glass windows and almost grimacing at the view. She’d always wanted an office that would be at least one floor up from the ground, before reaching the highest level of the building, of course. Now she was making herself the promise not to rest until she achieved her real goals and desires, the bigger the better, no space for conformity with accomplishing the bare minimum, not anymore.

“Maybe they can get rid of me,” Marla finally said, much to the confusion of the young man listening to her. She didn’t have just an idea, she’d just come up with an entire plan

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

The police sirens were a perfect soundtrack, just like Marla had imagined it. But they carried, along with the blinking red and blue lights, unexpected effects. It was the perfect background for a few of Marla’s nightmares, and for most of her dreams. If only she didn’t have to hold back for one reason or another. If the men that threatened her ever came to something. If only she listened to that little voice in the back of her head that encouraged her to push further and harder against life. It felt like every “ what if ” of her life ended up with police sirens and red and blue lights at her back. Only one slight movement of her shoes on the broken glass that covered the floor of her shop was enough to pull her out of her deep thoughts. Only of discreet shake of her head to push her hair off her face was enough to bring her back to the conversation at hand.

“I didn’t see it, at first,” she said in a frail tone of someone retelling an awful nightmare, “it wasn’t until Curtis pointed it out that… Christ. It looks bad.”

Marla, her loyal employee, and the police officer were, of course, discussing the broken windows, trashed shelves and, more specifically at that instant, the graffiti painted on the floor of her place, it was the logo of the big store just down the road.

“There are a few options,” the detective mumbled, “Could be the competition, of course, but could be simple, overenthusiastic buyers with an interest in causing trouble. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m positive we’ll catch the people responsible for the attack to your shop, Miss Grayson.” After a pause, she added, “I wonder how far they went. May I look over the office, the storage?”

The blonde looked away with a pained expression, “I don’t think I could,” she forced herself to take a deep and steadying breath and when she looked back at the other women she had a perfectly sweet smile on, “Curtis will accompany you, detective.”

As the two of them walked further inside the store, Marla walked out. She’d left her own car parked out front, so she leaned her back against it and put her vape pen on her lips. Only a couple of seconds later, the second officer that had shown up to the place had joined her.

“That’s not going to work,” was the first thing Fran said to Marla.

“Excuse me?”

“Using that guy as bait.”

Marla blinked, reeling back her slight surprise. “And why is that?” she inquired.

Fran shrugged, staring straight at the broken windows of the shop. “Lou’s my ex,” she mentioned as nonchalantly as she should have introduced herself but instead had only nodded when her partner was the one to remember the protocol, “she’s not gonna fall for your boy’s charm.” She finally turned to look at Marla, as if it were the first time, but knowing that since she arrived at the place she’d been casting furtive glances at the striking and intriguing blonde. “You, on the other hand, give her another one of those smiles of yours,” Fran said, with barely a hint of a smile on her pink lips, “and it might work.”

Along with a breathy and quick chuckle, Marla did smile. She wasn’t used to being so blatantly called out for her strategies. People complained all the time about the way she constantly managed to get what she wanted, but nobody ever seemed to know exactly what about her they were upset about. Then there was this complete stranger that with one look and right from the first sentence she spoke, she caught Marla. And the best part, she didn’t even seem to be complaining about it. Marla would have been lying if she said it didn’t feel strangely good. Partially, because she knew she was good at her games, and if no one played at her level then nobody could actually appreciate her. It was pleasant to be seen. Partially, too, it was just because of the way the other woman was looking at her.

“Not that one, though,” Fran continued. She leaned in closer, talked in conspirative whispers, and for some reason was displeased with Marla’s smile. She was fascinating almost to a point of dizziness. Her presence, to anyone of slightly weaker disposition than Marla, would have brought them to their knees. “That one’s sincere,” she said of the smile they were discussing, “and that’s dangerous.”

This time Marla scoffed. She looked away, hoping that the brunette, without looking into her eyes, wouldn’t be able to read how much Marla was struggling to draw the line between being fed a flirtatious line out of the millions of them, and the shockingly unique feeling of it all, something that she’d only seen in Fran.

“You look too young to be a detective,” Marla said, as a way to change the course of the conversation. Only after she said the words she started thinking about what they meant. What could this woman, with the imperfect ponytail, worn leather jacket, and secretive smile, have done in order to get to where she was in life?

“And you look,” Fran started to say, pausing just long enough for Marla to think that if she dared called her old she would simply walk away and never return to the damned shop, “too smart to own a place like this.”

She wasn’t the first person to point out the fact that simply something about Marla’s eyes revealed that she was meant for things greater than a vape shop. She would’ve laughed, or smiled, but that would’ve made things too easy for Fran. “It’s just business,” the blonde said slowly.

“Is that why you did all this?” Fran nodded toward the broken windows and the mess beyond.

Marla turned to look at her and remained speechless for a moment, even if her cold expression did nothing to reveal the spark of surprise that Fran was fueling with every word she spoke. The silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as expected. Marla quickly figured out that if Fran was smart enough to figure out in a few minutes the complexities of her carefully crafted smile, then it wasn’t all that shocking to see her solve a case that she’d probably even seen before.

“Do you think she’ll notice?” Marla finally asked, talking about Fran’s partner. For some reason, she wasn’t worried in the slightest about Fran being the one to ruin her plans.

The younger woman tilted her head from side to side, genuinely thinking it through. The impulse to talk shit about her ex was strong. But she knew and respected the woman as a professional. Plus, a consequence of being so good at pulling the truth out of unwilling people was that she wasn’t that interested in the effort it took to lie.

“There’s a chance,” she replied at last. “But, really, give her one smile,” Fran continued, “and she’ll probably give you that signature you want to take this to court.”

This time, the two women laughed together. When they made eye contact then, it was completely different. No careful glances, no studying the other one, simply looking for the sake of a beautiful and frightening view. Right from the first night, they came across that feeling of absolute freedom and awe of standing at the edge of a cliff that would paralyze in fear those of faint heart, but that they would eventually come to fondly associate with each other.

“And you?” Marla dropped the smile. If Fran could see her tricks, she could return the favor. It was her turn to lean in closer, whisper, and look just disinterested enough as she asked, “What do you want before you give me what I want?”

Fran looked away for just one instant, but they both knew this game well enough to know that such small action would count as a big win for the blonde. When she looked back up at those striking blue eyes, Fran thought for a moment, about what she wanted, what Marla could give, and how far she could push or pull at this unlikely and tremendously exciting situation so she could get the best deal possible.

“I’ll let you know,” Fran announced, pulling out a presentation card and offering it to Marla with a smile. “Someone might break into your business again. So dangerous,” she playfully shook her head and pulled herself away from the car they’d been leaning against, “Call me when you’ll need me.”

#hellooo i posted a new fic bc i can't get the crime wives out of my head!!!#i care a lot #marla x fran #fran x marla #marla grayson #fran #rosamund pike #eiza gonzalez #i care a lot fanfic #i care a lot fanfiction #ical #my fic

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rachelbethhines · 4 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne

So now we get to what is, in my opinion, the best episode in season three. However, it’s still season three, so that’s damning with faint praise.

Summary: Rapunzel tasks the kingdom with refurbishing the throne room. While breaking down a wall, they find a map to the Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne and Rapunzel decides to set up a race to the location. The teams, which consist of twos, are only allowed to look at the map briefly before the start of the race. However, Rapunzel's partner, Feldspar, brings a copy of the map with him and he warns her that the treasure is cursed.

Why Are You Just Getting to This Now?

It’s literally been months since you defeated the Saporians. Edmund had to have time to travel all this way to Corona and you’ve rebuilt an entire village since then. We’re talking at bare minimum three months or more.

Who just leaves a gapping hole inside their home for three months? Where did you conduct the government’s important business during that time? Is there any other structural damage to the castle or the town outside from previous battles that you’ve just left unattended? I understand that rebuilding Old Corona is important but those villagers have been evacuated and living elsewhere for a year and a half now since Queen for a Day. It wasn’t a priority, but this is.

Also this episode has to come after The Return of the King and Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf because Red, Angry, and Hamuel exist. It can’t just be slotted in somewhere else in order for it to make more sense. The writers genuinely planned for Rapunzel to be this disorganized and didn’t think to give a logical reason as to why.

Also Why Are You Conscripting Regular Citizens Instead of Hiring Professional Contractors?

Unlike Old Corona, which is a full on community that would require multiple building projects going on simultaneously and therefore could use volunteers, this is a single government building. It’s Rapunzel’s job as leader to make sure that that building is kept maintained and up to code. It’s her responsibility not the regular average citizen’s who has their own jobs to do and zero experience with construction.

Rapunzel is literally forcing these people to be slave labor for her under the pretense of ‘community’. She’s taking their time away from their own busy lives, forcing them to work a dangerous job, and not compensating them for that time, effort, and risk. And no, they’re not just volunteers at this point; because as acting queen, no one can safely say no to her nor can they just leave even when they’re clearly annoyed and fed up at having to do the work.

Lastly they’re untrained. They lack the skills and tools to this job. You need an architect, you need a safety inspector, you need actual carpenters and masonries ... maybe even an interior decorator... The point is you need trained professionals and part of being an administrator is using government funding to hire these people in order to make sure the work gets done safely and efficiently and create jobs and keep money circulating through the economy.

Rapunzel may not mean any harm. She might just be oblivious and untrained herself. But this is terrible leadership and the show never points that out. It never has her learn how to be a better a ruler so by the end of the series you don't feel she’s earned that title of Queen and you fear for the kingdom’s continued existence.

So Why Is This Here?

Why would there be a Saporian map to a king of Corona’s tomb hidden in the wall? What’s the story behind this?

Yes we know his wife was Saporian, but that doesn’t explain anything. Why would she need a map on the wall to her own husband’s resting place; assuming he didn’t out live her himself. Why would said map be carved into the wall of Corona’s castle and not written on a scroll? Why is it in Saporian when they don't speak that language in Corona?

Like I could come up with explanations and create this whole backstory for Herz Der Sonne and the first Saporian/Coronian War, but at this point I’d just be doing the work of the writers for them. They’re the ones who introduced this lore and had it inform plot points and character motivation; and then failed to explain any of it to the audience and adequately have it all connect back together in a way that makes sense.

The Moment When You Realize This Whole Episode Exists Because Zachary Levi Enjoys Doing an Ed Wynn Impersonation

Ok time to explain some behind the scenes Info.

This is Ed Wynn.

As you can tell from the gif above, he’s famous for voicing the Mad Hatter in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland. He’s also done a whole bunch of other stuff and was well known even before working with Disney, but the Mad Hatter is his most well remembered role today.

Many actors, particularly voice actors, like to do impressions of him because he has such a distinctive voice. Including Eugene’s VA, Zachery Levi.

Now I don’t know if the character of Feldspar was created specifically because the creators were inspired by Zachery Levi’s impression, or if they had this character already planned out and just casted him in the role since he could do it and it’d save them money. Either scenario is plausible and not unheard of in animation. But the long and short of it is, as a shoemaker, Feldspar is intended to be a parody of the Mad Hatter. That is why the character exists.

Now as I said, this isn’t unusual for animated tv shows. Quite often you get main cast members to voice secondary and/or one off characters because it’s convenient, efficient, and doable when working with audio recordings. Also quite often voice actors will do impressions of other famous people to flesh out these background characters. It’s also not out of left field for these secondary characters to get an episode of focus if they’ve been around for awhile and keep popping up in the story.

What is unusual, however, is to focus on said character in the final season when there are a bunch of other more important characters with unresolved arcs that need the screen time more. It’s an incredibly odd decision to highlight Feldspar here when we still got Varian readjusting back into society, Red and Angry settling into their new home, and Edmund running around off screen. And while some of these character feature in the episode, they’re just there for the jokes not for any development.

What’s a “Sap Pond” and How Does That Even Work?

Ok its a fantasy world, I get it. But the franchise does try to have a distinction between the magical and the mundane. Or at least pretends to try and have a distinction. There’s to my knowledge no such thing as a ‘sap pond’, and if such a thing does exist I doubt it’s an actual deep pit full of tree sap as shown here.

If you want characters to still be surprised by out of the ordinary occurrences and have the supernatural world be separate from the regular world; then you need to have the mundane world grounded in our known reality. Nature needs to function as real world nature would. If something exists in your world that doesn't in ours, then you need to either explain it or have the characters responded appropriately to it.

But You’re a Prince Now?

Look, I’ll buy that season one Eugene didn’t have unlimited access to the royal treasury as he and Rapunzel were still new to their roles and their relationship. But it’s been over two years since the movie ended.

Since then Eugene and Rapunzel have lived together, shared finances together, and currently are co-acting rulers of the kingdom. He’s also a bonified prince in of itself on top of being practically married to princess/queen.

Yeah I said it. Part of what makes season three so frustrating is that Rapunzel and Eugene are functionally married at this point, they just haven’t gone through the ceremony yet, and there’s no stated reason for why they keep dragging things out.

This is why we get out of place jokes like this that no longer reflect who Eugene is now as a person and feel like they belong back in season one or the even the movie itself.

I can understand if he wanted to join in the competition because it’s fun, but he’s not poor. Neither he nor Rapunzel needs the treasure. I’m not sure even Lance needs it because as Eugene’s best friend/adopted brother he’s piratically nobility at this point as well.

Royalty and the rich are not and never will be underdogs show. Stop trying to make them such.

So Why Feldspar Again?

This is such a half assed plot point.

Remember Rapunzel literally pulled out a book earlier to translate the map. Xavier not only knows the legends about the Saporians, but also keeps a book of magic lying around, and the Saporians are the only human people who have functioning magic in the show as part of their culture. Varian spent a year living and working with the Saporian leader, and knows how to decipher ancient scrolls written in dead languages. And said Saporians, are being currently held in the dungeons of the castle.

But you’re telling me that only a random cobbler can read the warning clearly written on the map?

They give some bullshit reason as to why Feldspar knows Sapoprian but it doesn’t matter. It’s a forced and contrived excuse to get the character involved in a plot he has no business being in. The story fails to justify the use him over the other more prominent characters who have closer ties to this particular subplot.

And We’re Suppose to Believe That Herz Der Sonne Was a Good Guy?

Why would a benevolent king who supposedly brought peace to a warring land have a doomsday curse involving zombies? Why would said king be enshrined a tomb that’s not native to his culture? What even is the treasure and why be buried with it?

There’s clearly more going on here regarding Corona’s past and the treatment of the Saporians as a people in their own right, but the show never does anything with it. Why introduce these complexities and world building if you’re not going to tell a story with them? Why have the Saporian subplot at all in a series already over stuffed with villains if you aren’t going to have them challenge your protagonist and have her grow into a more mature person?

I’m not dunking on the series for being ambitious nor for having flavor text to help flesh out the world, but it so aggravating that there’s no follow through on the show’s set ups and narrative promises. If you’re not going to give the needed focus to something then just don’t put it in. Cause once it’s aired you’re committed to it and the audience is going to hold you to account.

I haven’t seen plot mismanagement this bad since the 80s; back when cartoons had to battle network syndication, episode commissions instead of contracted seasons, and could be canceled at any time without prior notice. Now there’s still plenty of bad practices going on in the industry, especially as the move to streaming messes with things, but Tangled does not have the same excuses as say Johnny Quest, Dungeons and Dragons, or even Gargoyles did.

How Do You Even Know That Would Work, Rapunzel?

No seriously, how does Rapunzel know that putting the treasure chest back on the pedestal will stop the cruse? That hasn’t been established yet by any known source of information. Heck no one knew what the curse actually entailed until it was activated. Except for Xavier who oh so conveniently didn’t say anything until the last moment. If anyone should have the knowledge to on how to end the curse it’s him. But nope we gotta make the Rapunzel the infallible hero who is always right for no logical reason.

I don’t know how to explain this to you show, but perfect is boring. No one wants a flawless protagonist who can do it all 24/7 without any help whatsoever. And it becomes down right annoying to watch a hero who is clearly flawed still put upon a narrative pedestal as if they weren’t.

So Why is Varian Suddenly Useless In This Fight?

This entire climax is about showcasing the ‘power of teamwork’ by having the characters use their various skills sets and work together to defeat the enemy.

Except for Varian.

He’s treated at best as a spectator to the unfolding events and at worst as a damsel in distress.

Varian. You know the guy who is the series most competent and threating antagonist. Who brought an entire kingdom to it’s knees, twice. The only other character besides Rapunzel herself who could and does hold his own against other major antagonists, including super powered ones.

If this was just a one off incident, I’d just shrug it away as him being a glass cannon; insanely overpowered when well prepared but easily out of his depth when not. But that’s not what’s happening here.

Season three constantly nerfs Varian’s abilities, same as they did back in The Alchemist Returns, and there’s three reasons for this.

The first is to try and stop him from overshadowing Rapunzel and Cassandra. The writers don’t want to give him any more story focus for fear of him being more popular the the two girls. Which is a ridiculous and petty reason to write a character OOC but there you go.

The second is the on going issue of making Rapunzel needlessly the center of any and all solutions to every problem regardless of her level of involvement in the initial conflict. Yes, it’s her show, but she’s still not the whole world. Other people exist outside of her and it’s not fair to anybody when the writers ignore that simple fact.

Last is the writers sacrificing established character for a joke. And as already pointed out, even in this very review, Varian’s not the only character to fall victim to this. It’s just bad writing. Yeah the joke might be funny in the moment but you run the risk of jarring you’re audience’s immersion. In a series like Tangled where you’re constantly asking the audience to suspend their disbelief, humor needs to be firmly rooted in the characters natural behaviors and must evolve to match any character development.

Why not just have Varian throw a chimball or two, run out cause he wasn’t planning on fighting anybody that day, and then have the other characters rescue him? It’s not that hard to work in a joke while still being respectful of the characters.

So What Does Anybody Learn From This Episode?

Yeah the other characters learn some vague lesson on teamwork and getting along or something, but they’re not the focus of the episode. What do Rapunzel and Feldspar learn?

Unlike some people I don’t mind Feldspar’s existence. When’s he’s kept as a background character he works. In fact he’s one of the few townspeople who do work as intended, because he’s representative of the everyday citizen who’s often on the outside looking in on these fantastical events and therefore gives insight into what’s going on and the populous’ opinions on things without being a major player in anything.

That's fine, needed even, and I don’t mind him getting a single focus episode to gain a greater insight into how this world works or even flesh out his character more, but that’s not what we got. Feldspar doesn’t grow as a character because of this episode. I, as the viewer watching, learn nothing about him nor his life that I didn’t already know. This resolution with him resolves nothing cause it’s a ending for a conflict that was never established beforehand.

In fact what even was the main conflict of the story? Rapunzel being annoyed by Feldspar? Ok and..? Did she need to learn not to be annoyed by him? Was that a thing that needed to be addressed? Hasn’t Rapunzel already put up with annoying people before now? Was was this deficiency of character actually solved by this one interaction? Has she learned to be more appreciative, attentive, or open minded of others?

If you tell me it’s Rapunzel’s show then I expect Rapunzel to actually learn shit!

I expect the external conflicts to tie back into her interpersonal conflicts. If the external conflict does not do that than there better well be a another character who gets that focus instead without her hogging the limelight.

This Dynamic Adds Nothing

They set up this friendship with Varian and Xavier and it doesn't go anywhere. It never comes back into play and we never see them interacting on screen together again. It also undermines a future plot point that’s coming up later.

More over it doesn’t further either of their characters.

Xavier is still an extraneous exposition fairy. Turning his flat characterization into a one note joke does not erase that fact. Giving him a kid to tell stories to doesn’t explain his place in the narrative or give him purpose to the story. We still don’t know why he has these connections to magic nor how he knows all the this lore, and he doesn’t push the plot forward.

Meanwhile Varian maybe lonely but that doesn’t mean he needs yet another mentor figure in his life. We already have his father, who we barely see him interact with since coming back, and all his other ‘friends’ are way older then him already as well. Rapunzel’s the closest in age to him and she is constantly condescending to, well everybody, as she pretends to be more mature than she actually is. There’s no one in the story who Varian is on equal footing with, and no Angry and Red don't count as they’re far younger than him.

I don’t know what this series has against teenagers but it showcases some very unhealthy depictions of them; ether by constantly infantilizing them, traumatizing them while subjecting them to parentification, or just flat out ignoring their existence all together.

Teenagers exist and they need to be treated as teenagers. I don’t know how to put it more simply than that. Teens aren’t children. Teens aren’t adults. They’re teens. And when writing for them you need to understand that difference and acknowledge that they have a completely different phycological development and placement within society to anybody else. That’s why the category of adolescence exists separately from childhood and adulthood in the first place.

So to tie things back to the first point. The concept of Xavier and Varian having a friendship is not a problem. But as with so many things on this show, it’s the surrounding context and lack of follow through where the issues arises.

Varian needs a friend his age, who is his equal, more so than a mentor; if indeed Xavier is even intended to serve that function as he doesn’t do any real mentoring. This should have been an opportunity to bring Faith in and establish her better. In fact it’s reasons like this why she should have been a bigger character all along but we’ll get more into that as we get to her only ‘focus’ episode.

Conclusion

It’s fun seeing all the various character interactions and unique team ups. Also the humor does work. The jokes do land even if they do bulldoze through established canon. Plus seeing Rapunzel actually annoyed by shit going on around her is always entertaining as it humanizes her. If watched in isolation from the rest of season three, this is an enjoyable episode. But that’s it’s core problem. I shouldn’t have to find filler to keep me going in the last leg of the show.

This was pretty short comparatively speaking with the rest of the ones I have to write for S3, but longer ones are going to come out more slowly just due to real life and time. As always though you’re support is helpful in keeping going, and if you feel like you can donate to my Ko-fi and leave a tip there.

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

#tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #rapunzel #varian #anti-tangled #feldspar

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

intoxicated

Akaashi x Reader - Scenario

event request: “Congrats on 600!!! maybe i request 8. intoxicated with akaashi pls??🥺🥺🥺💕”

a/n: i’ve always been one to admire strangers from afar. sooo, i thought Akaashi might enjoy seeing your sweet face in a uni/campus setting. fluffy sweetness right here <333

warnings: maybe slightly suggestive (but hardly??)

wc: 1720

---

It all started with a glimpse.

His speculative, grey-blue eyes catching yours from across a full lecture hall. They flickered over, soaking you in at every class period. At first, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been looking right past you, but at the tilt of his head, you were sure that his eyes were set on you. A connection formed instantly, sending shivers straight down your spine, giving pause to every mental function.

It got to the point that you had to remind yourself to breathe whenever the pretty boy sent you a modest smile, leaving you a flushed mess.

Because never have you seen someone that captivating.

How at the flick of his ember hair, brushing a too-long piece away from his eyes, you heart would be pounding and skipping. The way he spun his pencil around on his fingers or rested a studious hand on his chin, squishing his face slightly. How his eyes squinted thoughtfully at the prompt of a tricky question, focusing on a specific object to concentrate, only glancing back up when he came to a satisfying conclusion.

You were spell-bound... and you didn’t even know his name.

But you could dream. And dream you would.

About what his voice would sound like whispering softly to you, his lips brushing against your ear and jawline. Or in the morning with a raspier tinge, waking you up with the gentlest of tones, a hint of coffee lacing with yesterday’s cologne.

How his arms would feel wrapped around your core on a lazy Saturday, soaking in his warmth and sinking back into his secure hold, adjusting accommodatingly for your comfort. To have his eyes drink in every inch of your face, analyzing you instead of his notes for a change.

But for now, you reluctantly settle for distant glances and curious expressions. Separated by a lecture hall and busy class schedules.

That is until you show up to class, finding someone in the usually empty seat next to yours.

Their back is toward you for a moment, so you take it as a chance to scan their appearance. You quickly note the clean outfit, brown boots and simple colors complete with a long, grey cardigan. If you were forced to sit next to some mysterious person, you’re glad they at least knew how to dress well.

But your entire body runs cold as a familiar face shifts toward the tapping of your light footsteps.

Soft, navy glasses with thin frames. The gentle features made up of soft cheekbones and a sharp, slim jawline. Those bewitching eyes that could outshine the profound shimmering of a deep-blue sea.

It’s him. The one you’ve been fascinated by for weeks. And he’s sitting right there.

“Hi.” The tone is soft and pleasant… inviting even. And his eyes, so warm.

His voice is silk, skimming the surface of your skin giving you chills. Your current infatuation is speaking to you. And it’s definitely no longer a dream.

You should probably start responding now,

“Oh, uh, hello!” You stammer out, a flush dancing across your cheeks.

He just smiles at your dazed response, aware of your confusion but unfazed by your reaction.

Dammit, act like a normal human, y/n, you scold yourself for just standing there, your hands shoved in your pockets.

“I’m y/n. it’s nice to meet you!” You return the smile, but it hardly begins to reveal the exhilaration of being so close to him.

“I’m Akaashi. Do you care if I sit with you?”

Oh, you could sit on me, you think to yourself but shake the thought from your head swiftly.

And Akaashi… a pretty name for such a pretty face. He’s polite too. Maybe a little formal, but friendly.

“Oh, sure! It’s not like I’m saving it for anyone or anything like that…” You let out a breathy laugh as you set your bag down next to his backpack.

The bustling of the room before class starts covers for the awkward silence between you two. You do your best to calm your nerves. This was the last thing you’d expected from your day and you sure as hell never planned to make a move on him. Your interest was supposed to fade as the semester closed out. It was going to be a lovely thought. Just a nostalgic, intangible tale of stolen glances or a story to tell about a beautiful stranger and what could’ve been.

But Akaashi had other plans.

He wanted to feel you out. To understand why your eyes rested on his figure whenever you thought he couldn’t see you. Because, to Akaashi, you’re the enigma.

A puzzle in need of solving, determining, and piecing together until a full picture is resolved. And he hasn’t been this intrigued by an individual since high school… so who’s to say he shouldn’t pursue his curiosity?

He took a leap of faith, deciding that you were also potentially interested, which is how he’s found himself seated next to you. And you’re way more attractive up close than he could’ve imagined.

As the professor begins to ramble through some odd topic, Akaashi’s side glances begin.

The way your lips part as you try to listen to the lecture, beautiful eyes scanning your notes, and then flickering back to the PowerPoint on the projector screen has him shifting around in his seat, wishing he could hear the song of your voice through them. He can tell that there’s so much more under your surface. Behind your shy smiles and the way your tuck strands of hair behind your ear. That there was already a lifetime of morals, beliefs, habits, experiences, and stories that you could share with him. There is only so much he could examine in the span of an hour… and it’s not often that he’s drawn away from his studies. But in all honesty, he’d much rather listen to you, falling in love with your mind instead of just your body and entrancing facial features.

Akaashi craves to discover it all.

You bite your lip, attempting to concentrate on anything but the boy next to you… but it’s hard because he’s close enough that you can smell his complex cologne mixed with the chai latte sitting on his desk. You even find yourself leaning toward him, your body urging you to break the distance between you two. Throughout the class you have to control yourself, sitting up straight, keeping comments and conversation to a minimum, because forget about learning anything… you’re barely able to think without being submerged in his presence.

When his arm intentionally brushes against yours as he reaches for another sip of his tea, you almost lose it. Infatuation or not, he was doing something to you.

You barely register that Akaashi has leaned in to whisper something to you, but when it does, goosebumps race down your arms.

“Y/n…”

Your name feels so good rolling off his tongue.

Heat spreads across your face, “Y- yes?”

Very smooth, y/n. Nice stutter, you cringe at yourself.

“After class, would you want to go over notes?” His suggestion, though innocent in nature, sounds far more alluring… and you can’t tell if it’s just your brain making up the sultry tone or if Akaashi just sounds this good.

“Ah, actually I would love to… where to?” You recover, leaning back as a small smile plasters itself onto your lips, trying not to make your excitement too obvious.

“My dorm?” A fleeting smirk crosses his face, but ghosts away to conceal his feelings.

Oh.

---

“Keiji, you’re tickling me.” You squirm, trying to tug your self out of his grasp.

“No, I’m not, you just happen to be ticklish.” He counters sleepily. His fingers continue to dance down your back, running in soothing circles and tracing curves.

You huff, but you stop struggling to get out of his arms.

As terrible as the dilapidated campus dorms were, you’ve never felt safer than when you were buried in a blanket, tucked under your boyfriend’s arm, staring up at the old, cracked ceiling. The tired building was so close to falling apart that it was almost laughable.

But you don’t seem bothered.

It’s hard to worry about it when you’re constantly drowning in the pools of his eyes. Under the influence of his grazing touches and strings of thought flowing from his pretty mouth. An enrapturing blend of sophistication and authentic thought.

You shift in his hold, your back no longer pressing to his chest, choosing to lay face-to-face instead. For a moment, you are met with sloping features and the most peaceful of expressions. A sweeping wave of adoration flows through your body. It’s a warm tightening in your chest followed by a heavy, contented exhalation. He’s an angel.

But soon, Akaashi’s eyes softly blink open, making your heart do little flips. You would never be able to get rid of the butterflies that fluttered their way into your heart. He moves straight to reading your mind, analyzing every quirk of your eyebrow, what kind of smile you were wearing, how long you held his gaze for.

It’s funny how he’d assumed that you would only distract him from that one class. Instead, you have him in a dizzying spiral, taking up all of his attention. Filling his whole heart. His eyes naturally sought you out in noisy rooms full of people. His soul ached and burned for you and your pillowy-soft voice whenever you weren’t around.

It’s undeniable.

You’re intoxicating.

Placing butterfly kisses on his cheeks, you earn a soft, closed-mouth smile. It’s easy to drown in his mesmerizing stare, taking it in, processing what he’s feeling and thinking, you lose track of time and forget about the dingy dorm room.

Because it didn’t matter where you were. A classroom? A house party? A burning building? His artistry and perfection would outshine the most interesting of discussions and the brightest of flames. He’d bled through the pages of your life, leaving beautiful strokes of ink containing hues brighter than you could’ve ever imagined. Dipping into your past and pressing his way into your future.

And it’s clear.

Akaashi is intoxicating.

The feeling is perfectly mutual… and to think it all started with a simple infatuation with the prettiest boy in your lecture hall.

With a beautiful stranger.

A mere glance.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @starboybokuto

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

#haikyuu #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi #akaashi scenarios #akaashi oneshot #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq scenarios #hq imagines #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyu #600 follower event #sneezefiction

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copperbadge · 4 years

Note

Hi. I love your blog! I’m in the middle of a second major depressive episode (my first was in my teens) and like you were, I’m unemployed and living with my parents. I’m now on medication and getting help and applying for jobs, but no luck so far. How did you ‘turn your life around’ and how long did it take you – going from depressed to starting a successful career in the non-profit world? Any advice on how I could do the same?

Oh, Anon. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but in no way did I turn my life around, and I definitely didn’t build a career intentionally.

A lot of the below is general advice -- you are already doing great! -- but I figure some people who are where you are but not quite as far along could be helped by it. Thanks for the opportunity :)

So, here’s the thing: depression is the kind of mental illness that can just be with you for the rest of your life even when it’s not impacting your life. Some depression is situational and therefore (theoretically) escapable, but some of us are just never going to forge enough serotonin on a regular enough schedule. So it’s not a matter of beating depression or backing away from it, but of learning good coping mechanisms: how to recognize an episode is coming, how to keep functioning in a depressive episode, when to ask for help.

And unfortunately while I can tell you what works for me, this is going to vary by person. Some people feel sad all the time; some people feel numb; some people feel okay but are overly impacted by minor setbacks or frustrations, or can do normal life stuff but any deviation from routine sends them into a spiral. These are just examples; there are more. My methods of coping are stuff like building lists, making sure that those lists have stuff like “communicate with friends” on them, being on specific platforms that make that communication easy, and inasmuch as I can, avoiding drama and volatile emotions. Doing the bare minimum of housework to keep myself from being MORE depressed. Making sure my work gets done so that I keep my job, even if I feel like other parts of my life might be out of control.

And as I’ve recently mentioned, I write fiction as a stress response. If I’m not writing but I’m doing okay -- keeping my house clean, feeling good, having fun -- that’s fine. Not optimal, I like writing, but it’s fine. If I’m writing, I’m probably a little stressed, but I’m managing it. If I’m not writing AND I’m not functioning well, or I know I’m unhappy, then I know that the depression is probably worse than I think it is, and I need to go into survival mode.

Some people need meds -- taken year round, even when you’re not depressed. There’s no shame in that and if you aren’t currently using medication, I would recommend at least investigating its use to see if it could help. [ETA: Sorry I 100% missed the part where you are on medication, but this is still useful for others so I’m leaving it in.]

So like...”how long did it take me” is a tough question to answer because I’m still in it. I will be, all my life, and once I came to accept that, I could figure out ways to keep it from devastating me. How long it took me to establish good coping mechanisms? Well, I was diagnosed at 17, which is a rough age to be when it starts happening, but I managed to survive college (barely) and I feel like I had a pretty good handle on managing it by the time I was, I guess about 25. The point at which I was unemployed and living with my parents was the absolute low point of my life, when I was 23-24, but that was compounded by external factors. As soon as I got out of my parents’ house, things improved; as soon as I had a job, even a truly shitty one, I felt like life was survivable. (A huge coping mechanism in those days was actually Netflix, back when it was a mail-you-a-DVD service, because I knew at least a few times a week I would get mail addressed to me with a nice surprise in it.)

And the thing about being here now is -- my parents gave me three grand to get out of the house, find a place of my own, and survive 2-3 months until I could find a job. I couldn’t have done any of what I’ve done without three solid thousand dollars, and even then I got lucky. I quit my first, super shitty job (the only time I have EVER quit a job) and got a job with my last place of work literally two week before the 2008 financial crisis hit. That job happened to be a very visible if very ground-floor administrative position, and from there I was able to impress people who wanted to hire me up to the next administrative level, and from there I was promoted into the department because I showed an active and visible interest in the work they did. That was intentional, but literally nothing before it was anything other than “I need a job and this one offers health insurance.”

Once you have a job in which advancement is possible, which again is a matter somewhat of luck, advancing is just a matter of maintaining a good work-life balance while doing good work and showing you’re interested in supporting the mission of the company. Documenting the work you do, asking for raises, asking or applying for advancement -- putting yourself forward. That’s not so hard. But that’s kind of like starting on third base and telling someone you just need to run 90 feet. You’ve got to get to third base first and for me that was a lot of luck.

But here’s the kicker: you can’t win the lottery unless you buy a ticket. So for you, right now, waiting on that opportunity, your job is to keep yourself alive and reasonably looked-after, gather all the energy you have, and start figuring out a game plan. Whether that’s a shitty job that you agree with yourself you’ll only do for a year, or asking your parents for a huge financial leap of faith if they’re able -- three grand was a LOT for my parents but they knew it was probably going to save my life -- or applying to better jobs that could push you up the ladder. And of course we’re in a pandemic so like, fuck the world, all of this is just that much harder. But people are being hired, and people are moving into apartments, and going to therapy, and doing their best. So there’s hope, as long as you start homebrewing it first.

The thing that has helped me the most in the last twenty years, and which I think may be most helpful and simultaneously most frustrating to you, is that I never just said “I don’t like where I am or what I’m feeling”. I started there, absolutely, but then I asked, “What can I change to stop feeling this way?”

You have to rule out “nothing” as an answer. You probably will have to sit with the question for a while, maybe even a few weeks. You may need to google some weird shit to figure it out. And maybe what you do is a stupid stop-gap like buying yourself a $1 blind box toy once a week so you can feel surprise at something again. Maybe you admit that right now you need to pass the baton and you unfollow or blacklist political activism and activists and just fill your social media with people making dumb dad jokes and posting cat pictures. Maybe that gives your brain breathing room to find more permanent solutions.

But once you get in the habit of “how can I change this”, solutions do start to appear.

So, yeah. Truth is I worked super hard but I also got super lucky. But part of being lucky was being there when the luck finally hit. So I’m wishing you, wholeheartedly, the best of luck.

(Also if your parents have money and aren’t assholes I can’t recommend “Make them give you a long-term loan to get on your feet” strongly enough.)

#depression #coping #career building #Anonymous

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charismaandcashmere · 4 years

Link

In the modern world, it often seems like it’s harder than ever to accomplish your goals.

It seems like everyone has already done the thing you want to do — that your idea is already out there, that your niche is beyond saturated.

Want to start a blog? You’re up against a million rivals. Thinking about starting a podcast? So is everyone else and their mom. Hoping to write a book? With the advent of self-publishing, you’re not only up against authors approved by major publishing houses, but anyone, anywhere, with a laptop. Want to become a YouTube star? Better hope you get noticed next to the thousands of other folks uploading new videos every day.

There’s seemingly a million graphic designers, a million wannabe filmmakers, a million other, probably more qualified candidates gunning for the same job you want.

And that’s just in the marketplace. In your personal life, the competition can feel equally fierce. In the days of yore, you were just competing against people in your college or church to win the attention of a lady. Now you’re up against every Tom, Dick, and Harry on Tinder. The dating marketplace hypothetically stretches beyond your community to encompass your whole state, maybe even the whole country.

Yes, in both economic and personal spheres, demand seems high, and resources seem scarce. It’s enough to make you decide to give up and not try in the first place.

Yet this feeling of scarcity is just an illusion, a myth.

In truth, there’s never been a more opportune time to live. Not only because it’s never been cheaper and easier to write a book, share your art, or start a business, but because the average person’s ability to execute on the basics has never been in such short supply.

While opportunities to achieve your goals aren’t as scarce as you think, there are areas where true scarcity does exist: in common sense, in social skills, in manners, in reliability. There’s a dearth of people who know, or have the will, to do the stupidly easy stuff to be charming and successful.

Let me give you just one example. Both off the air and on, guests of my podcast will tell me, “I can tell you actually read my book before this interview and I really appreciate that. It’s so rare.” I don’t bring this up to toot my own horn, but rather to point out how ridiculous it is that this might even be something worthy of mention! An interviewer reading someone’s work before asking them questions about it would seem like the barest of bare minimum job requirements — a prerequisite rather than something above and beyond. And yet the majority of podcasters aren’t even taking care of this most basic of basics.

There are tons of people doing what you want to do, but how are they executing? In 90% of cases, not as well as they could be.

That’s your opening. And such openings are absolutely everywhere.

To take advantage of opportunities, people typically concentrate on stuff like building up their resume — going to the best school or getting the right internship. And certainly, these things can help.

But what’s missed is that it’s often doing stupidly easy stuff that’s going to allow you to make friends and land your dream job. It’s doing the stupidly easy stuff that almost no one else is doing that can most readily set you apart from the pack, and up for success.

What is some of that stupidly easy stuff? Below you’ll find a (non-exhaustive) list of the things it’s hard to believe people don’t do more often, and which have a huge ROI because most people can’t be bothered.

1. Send a thank you text when you get home from a nice party/date. In my opinion, this is the #1 easiest and best way to be a more charming texter. Yet almost no one does it. When someone has you over for dinner, or you take someone out on a date, once you part ways, they typically worry a bit as to whether or not you had a good time. And a party host wants to know their effort to throw the shindig was appreciated. So even if you thank your date/host in person at the end of the evening, once you get home, shoot them a confirming text saying, “Thanks again for the delicious dinner. We had such a good time!” Trust me on this, it’s stupidly, stupidly charming.

2. Write handwritten thank you notes, always and often. When an occasion was especially nice, instead of sending a text, write the person a handwritten thank you note and stick it in the mail. And send handwritten thank you notes for anything and everything else. Received a gift? Thank you note. Job interview? Thank you note. Someone helped you move? Thank you note. Someone went to bat for you at work? Thank you note.

Thank you note writing has become such a lost art, and receiving snail mail is so delightful, that sending handwritten appreciation has become one of the most effective ways to set yourself apart from the pack.

3. Edit your emails/texts before sending. No one ever catches all of the spelling and grammatical mistakes contained within their communications, but giving your texts and emails a couple reads before you hit send will tighten things up. These “clean” missives significantly contribute to making a winning digital impression.

4. Know how to make small talk. We spend so much time behind screens, that when we finally meet people face-to-face, our conversation can often be awkward and stilted. But being comfortable with small talk opens a tremendous amount of doors; sure, it starts out with the superficial, but it’s the on-ramp to deeper discussions — the pathway to relationships with potential lovers, new friends, and future employers. Fortunately, once you know the simple methodology that makes small talk flow, it’s easy to master.

5. Don’t be a conversational narcissist. Related to the above. The only kind of talk many people know how to make these days, is about themselves. Someone who knows how to listen and ask good questions comes off as stupidly charming.

6. Don’t look at your phone during a conversation. In an age of scattered attention, a person who can concentrate their attention on you, and fight the urge to look at their phone while you eat or talk — someone who can make you feel like the most important person in the room — is a charmer par excellence.

Can’t seem to pry yourself away? Check out our complete guide to breaking your smartphone habit.

7. Dress well for a job interview. You don’t have to show up to a job interview in a three-piece suit (unless the position calls for it); overdressing can make as poor a first impression as under-dressing. But showing up dressed just one notch above what current employees at the company wear will immediately set you apart from many other candidates. Well-shined shoes, a pressed shirt, and good hygiene will help too.

8. Come to a job interview prepared to ask questions of the interviewer. Whenever we post this article on “10 Questions to Ask in a Job Interview,” HR folks always weigh in with how “amazed” they are at the number of candidates who stare blankly when asked at the end of an interview, “Do you have any questions for us?” Know some questions to ask going in.

9. Take a woman on a real date. In a landscape of “What’s up”? texts and non-committal hang outs, taking a lady on a real date puts you head and shoulders above other suitors. What constitutes a real date? Watch this video and remember the 3 P’s: Planned, Paired Off, and Paid For.

10. Offer a sincere apology when you mess up. My generation seems to struggle with saying “I’m sorry” when they make a mistake. Numerous times I’ve had my order messed up at a restaurant, and when I bring it to the attention of the waiter or manager, they just shrug, say “Okay,” and fix it, without saying, “I’m sorry about that.” Then the other day an order of mine got messed up, and the manager took a totally different tack — comping my whole meal and bringing me a free dessert. That kind of treatment is so rare, it was unbelievably winning. I even found the manager after my meal to tell her so, and let her know I would specifically make an effort to return because of her gesture.

As it goes in the restaurant biz, so it goes with everything else. Most of your fellow employees will just say “Okay” when an error is brought to their attention. Offering a sincere apology that demonstrates you take responsibility and understand where you messed up and how it affects the company, will easily set you apart (so will immediately trying to make it right and preventing it from happening again).

And in your personal life, apologizing when you stumble is stupidly endearing. You’ll probably mess up again, and often with the same issue, but even when you can’t completely overcome your flaws, showing you’re at least completely aware of them goes a long, long way.

11. Follow through. I get a lot of emails from guys who want to do something with the Art of Manliness, like write a guest article or strike up a business partnership. They are excited! They are passionate! They are…MIA. They never follow-up or follow-through on their idea. I’ve often wondered what happens between their excited initial email, and their descent into silence. But whatever it is, it can easily be avoided by those committed to following through.

12. Be reliable. No quality today can more readily set you apart from your peers than reliability. Doing the follow-through just mentioned. Showing up on time (and just plain showing up). Meeting deadlines. Managing expectations and not overpromising. Promptly responding to emails. Keeping your word.

Are freelance graphic designers, artists, video/audio editors, app developers, programmers, contractors, etc. a dime a dozen? Surely. But a reliable creative professional or handyman? A pink unicorn. If you couple talent and skill with reliability, it’s stupidly easy to dominate your competition and your niche.

When you survey the economic and dating markets, they can seem incredibly oversaturated. Demand seems high and resources seem scarce. But when you take a closer look, you’ll find that while there are plenty of people all grasping after the same thing, there are only a few executing well on the attempt. Setting yourself apart isn’t complicated or hard; it often involves simply doing the stupidly easy stuff that everyone else overlooks.

Their obtusity is your gain; see through the myth of scarcity, take care of the basics, and the world is your oyster.

#my links #art of manliness #etiquette #the myth of scarcity

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020, Day 1

Waking Up Restrained / Shackled / Hanging

Ao3

Warnings: descriptions of torture, violence, dislocated shoulders, referenced child trafficking. This fic is mature. Please read responsibly.

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up, he's on his side; his cheek pressed against cold and grimy cement and his shoulders pulsing with a discomforting ache.

He groans, his body feeling like tar has been stuffed between each of his joints—which makes it difficult to begin moving. His stomach rolls, and the sharp pain near the temple of his skull isn't helping much.

What… happened?

He remembers… he remembers patrol. Leaving his apartment and swinging towards the streets to fight the constant stream of crime Blüdhaven is so willing to supply. His memories get hazy the more he tries to think about what happened during and after the patrol, making the pain in his head twinge torturously.

Deciding that there's not much he can remember at the moment, he resolves to try and figure out his situation—because even though he has little memory, just the information that he was on patrol is enough for him to realize he's in his Nightwing suit. He recognizes the familiar skin tight feeling of the kevlar.

What he notices immediately with just a few agonizingly slow movements is that his gauntlets and boots are missing. Which is not good. He twitches his nose and he relaxes only slightly when he feels the sharp edges of his mask. His anxiety, however, only rises when he realizes that his hands are stuck behind his back.

Okay. Captured and restrained. The cuffs are heavy and thick, at least a few centimeters thick. There's a small length of chain between the cuffs that can hardly be called a "length". There's not much space between his two wrists, perhaps only three or four thick chain links spanning between the shackles.

He goes to move his fingers and test just how tight the shackles are on his wrists, but he realizes quickly that his fingers are stuck; curled into an uncomfortable fist and held in place with something cold and plastic.

Okay. Alright. This is fine. Dick can still work with this.

He opens his eyes, slowly, to not agitate his headache nor his rolling stomach. He figures that if no one has revealed themselves to Dick so far then he must be alone. He hasn't exactly been quiet walking up, which is something Bruce might be disappointed by but come on. There's only so much Dick can do when confronted with what's definitely wavering effects of some sort of tranquilizer. Nausea, aches, groggy and slow movements, feeling like shit in general.

The first thing he sees through half-lidded eyes is the grimy floor he's laying on top of, and since there's really not much to see here he moves on to the rest of the room.

And scratch that. There's not a whole lot to see in the room at all… at least, not from his position on the ground. Nothing but walls in front of him that are made of dark brick stone.

Dick shifts, curling up slightly to get his shoulder positioned under him so he can work his way up so he's sitting. It takes a minute, a minute filled with panting breaths and barely contained gagging that makes his stomach want to show him what he had for dinner. Eventually, he makes it, his back pressed against the wall and his legs strewn out in front of him and his head leaned back so he can catch his breath and try to make his stomach settle.

Don't throw up, Dick. He doesn't want to be covered in his own sickness by the time his captors decide to show themselves. It will be totally embarrassing and Dick had a cool, pretty boy reputation to keep up after all.

And besides, when he blinks his eyes to look at the rest of the room he's in he finds that it's rather small and compact; throwing up here would make the smell linger horribly.

His stomach rolls and he decides to do his best to not think about throwing up. Starting… now.

He brushes his eyes throughout the room he's woken up in. Besides the stone wall and the heavy looking door, there's not much to see besides a singular bulb installed in the center of the room above him.

That; and a chain hanging right besides it.

He frowns at the chain. The end has a singular clip hook attached to it. From where it's hanging—about three feet from the ground—it travels up to some sort of makeshift pulley system; composed of various eye hooks that run along the ceiling so the other end of the chain latches next to the door.

The clip at the end looks strong too. Something that would be used for lifting heavy equipment.

Now that he's studied the room to its extent, he shifts so he's looking over his shoulders to his hands. Duct tape, he finds, is what's keeping his hands in a fist; multiple layers of aluminum colored tape preventing him from messing with the shackles or breaking a joint to slip out of them.

Alrighty then.

He should probably work on getting his hands in front of him. Just to give himself a little bit more of a fighters chance.

And of course, when he goes to do so, his hands are stopped by another freaking chain that he hasn't noticed till now. It's attached to the tether between his wrists and then it connects to the wall; like a leash, but an infuriatingly short one. There's hardly any give. He's stuck to the wall and he's not going anywhere.

He lets his head fall back against the bricks behind him once again, cursing that sometimes criminals are smart about things.

Then, with that flawless dramatic timing most criminals often have, the door opens.

Dick brings his legs up to his chest, positioning himself so he's less vulnerable, as a group of three masked men—judging by their body types—make their way inside the room he's trapped in. He glares at the one that steps closer to Nightwing as the other two hang back. One by the door, one by the chain connecting to the wall.

One man, who must surely be the leader, stops just outside of Dick's kicking range and kneels down to the balls of his feet. The balaclava he's wearing covers his entire face besides a section for his dark eyes, but Dick gets the feeling he's smirking.

"Alright," Dick says, shifting so he's sitting straighter while making sure his tone is unbothered and bored and not at all as groggy as he feels, "let's get this out of the way. M'names Nightwing, I like long walks on the beach, and I'm not going to tell you any secret identities."

"Which would be a shame," the man in front of him says, "if we cared for secret identities."

A bolt of confusion shoots through Dick at the sentence as the man stands up, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head. He isn't interested in secret identities? That's… a new one. Most villains who capture him practically beg for his name, that way they can get Batman's name. The first time Dick's been beaten with the reasons of secret identities, it was scary, sure, but now that he's older he's just sorta… gotten used to it at this point. A villain who wants to know his name is a predictable villain.

One who wants something different is a dangerous villain.

"You see, Nightwing," the man continues, "all we want is information. We have a couple questions for you, and if you cooperate you won't be hurt."

There's no we'll let you go . Just you won't be hurt . Dick doesn't know who these guys are or what they want, but whatever it is, it can't be good.

Dick flashes a toothy smile. "Oh, a few questions? Is that all? Ask away."

"Does the name The Silence ring any bells?" The man asks, and Dick fights a scowl because it does ring a few bells.

They are an international, underground human trafficking organization. Grabbing kids from all over the globe and selling them to various rich assholes for a multitude of disgusting reasons. Dick's fought them before, in fact, they had a station in Blüdhaven that he worked with the police to raid and rescue the kids trapped inside.

But that was three weeks ago.

"It sounds familiar," Dick replies slowly, wishing the man wasn't wearing the stupid balaclava so he could judge the facial expressions better. He can't tell anything with just the eyes. "But they were taken down weeks ago."

Keep it vague. Do not let them know that you know more than the bare minimum.

"We both know that's not true, Nightwing," the man says with a sigh. "The Silence has reaches across the entire globe and for the past decade they have gone entirely unnoticed. Until now, where you took down the base in Blüdhaven twenty days ago." He pauses, then gives Dick a hard look. "Until when, just a day ago, another base in San Francisco was taken down by none other than Red Robin and all those other powered brats."

Shit. Shit . They caught on way quicker than what anyone was planning. The moves on them were supposed to be "accidental". Like Dick "stumbling" upon the warehouse, expecting to find some other crime and instead finding a massive group of child kidnappers and sellers. Like Tim and his team just happening to catch wind of the base and taking it out because it was in his city. Bruce really isn't going to be happy about this one. Dick really hopes Jason's okay. He's the one who's undercover and getting the base locations.

"Look, I don't know anything about this, I just saw what was happening and took it out of my city," Dick says, flexing his fingers in the tape they're wrapped in. This is going to get messy fast, he can tell.

"Anyone with a brain can see the bats are connected to this," the man says with a sharp edge to his voice. "And I'm not in the mood to pretend you don't know anything. What we want to know, Nightwing, is where you're getting your information and how many other bases you know about."

So… Jason hasn't been found out yet. Good. That's good. There's no way Dick will sell him out, not when they have close to fifteen other major locations and are currently working with the local authorities to take them out in one fell swoop.

Dick takes a breath. "I really have nothing to tell you."

The eyes of his captor hardens and Dick fights to keep his heart steady. He knows where it goes from here. Even before the leader motions to the other two men. "Then you have decided to make this difficult for yourself."

Then, the two other men approach. The moment one of them gets close enough, Dick lashes out with his legs, kicking him in the shins. But, because this guy is 1. Huge and 2. Has a friend , Dick's quickly overpowered as his shoulders are grabbed and he's shoved so far forward his nose almost slams into his knees. His shoulders protest angrily as his wrists remain attached to the wall by the short leash, but that discomfort doesn't last long before his shackles are disconnected from the wall and he's hefted up to his feet by two pairs of meaty hands on his biceps.

His head spins as they frogmarch him past the leader into the middle of the room, right next to where the chain is dangling. The lightheadedness quickly fades though with a dosage of adrenaline as he's held stiffly in place.

When his hands are grabbed and he's turned so his back is to the chain, he fights down a fit of panic and desperately ignores his rolling stomach. "What are you doing?"

There's the clinking of metal links, a snap, then one moment turns into another and Dick is left standing in the middle of the room with the slack between his shackles attached to the hanging chain.

He glares at the leader and watches out of the corner of his eyes as the two other men return to their positions—one by the door, the other by where the very chain Dick is now tethered to is latched to the wall.

He has a very bad feeling about this.

A very bad feeling that he knows exactly where this is going.

"Last chance, Nightwing," the leader says, "tell us what we want to know and you won't be harmed."

Dick shuffles his feet and rolls his shoulders, mentally preparing himself for what's about to happen. This is going to suck .

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything," Dick tries, making his voice sound as genuine as he can so hopefully they believe him and not torture him for the next who knows how long. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, he has no such luck as the leader turns towards the man by the chain and nods.

Now Dick, he isn't lightweight. Sure, he's short for his age and quite lean compared to most people, but that flat stomach and slim shoulders are made entirely out of muscle . And muscles are, in fact, heavy . Yeah, he's nowhere near Bruce's record weight of 210 pounds, nor around Jason's outstanding 230, but come on. Dick's almost six feet of pure 145 pounds and that's heavy .

Which is why it shocks him so much that Mr Man over there takes the chain from the wall it's connected too and manages to successfully yank the chain down so hard that Dick's feet leave the floor for a minute. He just manages to curl up with his back keeping contact with his fisted hands, but without the purchase of his fingers added with the weight of his own body, he quickly finds his shoulders burning with strain.

Dick's an acrobat. He can hang from many positions safely for long periods of time, but there's nothing safe about strappado. His shoulders are on fire, and it's only been a few seconds. His chest is tight and the metal bites into the skin of his wrists, and just when he feels like his ribcage is going to burst he finds his knees hitting the floor roughly.

He's painfully aware of every nerve and cell in his shoulders, he can feel the blood pulsing with a sharp agony that has him swallowing gasps.

And of course, before he can even recover, the chain is yanked again loudly and violently that has him stumbling to his feet, his wrists held so high above him that he's forced to bend forward and stand on his tip toes.

Dick's flexible. He can twist and contort unlike anyone other.

But let it be put on the record that some joints are not meant to bend certain ways. The shoulders shouldn't be pulled back and up like this.

It's agonizing. A pain that's way more biting than what he expected. He hasn't been tortured like this before—which admittedly is a terrible thing to say because it implies he's been tortured before but in other ways… which is a correct assumption, but still —and honest to the gods and to mother nature, it's like his entire upper body is on fire.

His stomach threatens rebellion as he's held upright in this new stress position. His chin is suddenly grabbed and Dick soon finds himself glaring through the strands of his bangs at the man in charge of this fun play date. Dick wants to vomit on him.

He keeps that just to his thoughts. He'd actually rather not.

"Where did you get your information?" The man asks, eyes cold and glaring. Dick bites back a wince as the chain jerks slightly, sending pings of pain into his shoulders and neck.

"No one," Dick hisses through clenched teeth. "No one told me. I was scoping out the warehouse and just happened to find- Ahg-!"

His chin is released and he's in the air with one mighty tug. He chokes back a cry as he's suspended awkwardly above the ground. It's even more painful this time. It came more of a surprise and he didn't get to prepare himself. His abs strain as he attempts to curl up to relieve a little bit of the tension in the socket's of his shoulders that are bending way too far in the wrong direction. He just manages to catch sight of the two other men both holding the chain before his vision is obscured by the leader approaching him.

If Dick wasn't so concerned with not having his shoulders ripped from the socket's, he could kick him in the face right now.

But he doesn't, he can only force himself to not cry out and keep his face a straining level of nonchalant as the man speaks above the ringing in his ears.

"Where did you get your information?"

Dick grinds his teeth and shakes his head.

Which is thankfully answer enough, Dick's pretty sure if he opens his mouth he'll scream.

Though, because it's the answer they don't want, Dick's lowered just a bit and then jerked right back up.

He'd be lying if he says he doesn't release a choked off shout. It's horrible . The strain, the tugging, the constricting, the weight. It's a miracle he hasn't dislocated a shoulder or two yet.

He's held up there for what feels like an eternity but in reality must have been just another minute or so before he's lowered back to his feet. He tries to keep standing, but his mind is so hazed over with pain that he falls to his knees once more, his heels hitting his ass as he leans forward and gags—the nausea in his stomach finally winning.

Thankfully, it's more like just an acidy spit-up. No past meals to be seen. Regardless, there's a horrible taste in his mouth to match the horrible ache in his body and the humiliation of throwing up at the feet of a captor.

A hand in his hair. A tug on the chain.

"Where did you get your information."

Dick doesn't bother answering, and the force of the chain lifting him up is so great that he feels the back of his biceps hit his head right before…

Crack .

Pure, unhinged agony pounds into him as his left shoulder finally gives out. He yells through clenched teeth, his feet scrambling for purchase that isn't there, and then, there's a second horrible pop as his other shoulder dislocates as well, and he's not able to hold back this scream.

Dick's hanging now, his wrists fully above his head in the worst way imaginable, gasping choking on his spit—his upper arms and the area around his neck burn like hellfire. He can't breathe. He can't even try. It's all pain pain pain pain that sends bolts to his fingertips and down his ribs. The meat of his shoulders press against his ears, and all he can do is dangle as his brain tries to process the horrible signals that's being sent though every burning nerve.

"Was wondering when that would happen," someone says all faraway. The leader or one of the other two, it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that his eyes are blurry and he can't focus on anything other than the dislocated joints that are already becoming oh-so-worryingly numb.

He's dislocated his shoulders before. He has . But this is different. This is awful. This is… this is…

"Where did you get your information, Nightwing," the leader yells through the haze. Dick blinks rapidly, trying to focus, trying to find the present though the maze that is torture. His head hangs, the nerves in his neck feeling like he's pinched them all individually, but he does manage to at least look up and mumble.

"What was that?" Someone asks.

Dick tries again, but only mumbles and grunts escape.

The leader leans forward and Dick does the only thing he can do, he spits the biggest wad of phlegm he could gather right onto his enemy's face.

The leader howls in disgust, yelling something too loud for Dick to process. He only has a moment to silently celebrate a victory when the tension holding him suspended in the air is suddenly lost, causing him to once again fall to the floor. Only this time, he crumbles all the way down, landing awkwardly onto his feet, down to his knees, over to his side and right on top of his right shoulder.

Everything goes white then. Ringing. Nothing but lightning bolts of angry, poisonous red as the pain envelops him.

He gasps, choking on air, trying to crawl back to his eyes and ears to see what is going on around him, trying to ignore the invisible knives that slice into his upper body.

He fails. Dramatically so. He passes out from the pain, and the pain remains even in sleep.

So much so, that the only reason he can tell time has moved when he wakes up is that he's no longer in the middle of the room, but shoved back against the wall. He's laying on his side, but he can't feel anything in his shoulders. His fingers itch below the layers of tape and he doesn't have any strength left to even check to see if he's connected to the wall again.

He releases a shaky breath and remains limp on the ground, praying that someone will come and that this will all be over soon.

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silverostro · 3 years

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EMBERS TASK // LETTERS

sent and unsent letters to: @othcrhalf, @honimoore, @ncllysnge, @swannscngs, @sinksand, @digitalrcge, @dawnhardn, @blythefm, @hovergrove

we put down in writing what is happening in our minds once it’s on the paper we feel better, we feel better it’s like some kind of clarity when the letter’s done and signed

to robyn, sent before the 74th hunger games

Robyn,

I know how much you hate the very thought of receiving a letter, yet alone writing a response, but unfortunately you’ve humored me enough that it’s habit to think of you when I sit to write. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but also safer. And there’s something about the act that brings honesty that’s more difficult to offer face to face, or over telecom even, if you’ll forgive a moment of vulnerability.

This letter is out of character, to be completely honest. I apologize that you won’t find the usual ranting and raving about my work, or any of the indifference that I know you adore so much from me. I’m certain you’ll miss it this once, but I promise we’ll be back to normal soon enough. If it helps, you’re welcome to include a few comments speculating on what will surely be another silver monstrosity I’m forced into for this year’s Games. Bacchus is hard at work as we speak, unfortunately.

But I digress.

Something about this year feels different. I know you understand that well, in a way that even I can’t fathom, and wish I had some way to ease. I’ve found myself considering this unease, this restlessness, and it took me far too long to realize what it is, selfishly, in my case.

I’ve never liked celebrating my birthday. The first birthday I still have memories of is my eighteenth; it was only a few days after I woke as a victor, all of my other memories distorted or gone. Ironic, isn’t it? A birthday I had been convinced a week earlier that I wouldn’t live to see, a thought I had made peace with the moment my name was drawn from that bowl, fate sealed, the first I still have memories of now.

I’ve been wrong more often than I would admit to most anyone else, but just this once I’ll admit it to you, Robyn.

This year’s birthday is...strange. They’re always strange, but they’re easy to overlook. In the wake of victories that are rarely Three’s, it’s easy to slip into the background. But I haven’t been able to stop my thoughts from lingering on how strange it is to be here at all. Forty. Horrifying, isn’t that? I should be pleased. I should be grateful to have lasted so long when I believed I wouldn’t live to see eighteen. And yet, in the quiet moments of the night, when it’s more difficult to fill the blank spaces in my life with work, such simply human needs as sleep making it impossible not to reflect. (Yes, even I need sleep, sometimes.) I can’t help but feel I haven’t done nearly what I should have with all of these unexpected years, though. Does that make sense?

I look around around my workroom, my home, the quiet almost eerie, if I wasn’t so used to it after so many years, and I realize that I’ve spent so much time in my own bruised mind, that I’m a little more than alone. Used to something no one should be used to. A circumstance of my own making. There aren’t many memories left of my parents, but the few I have, I remember the way they told me it was better to keep my head down, keep a distance from the world for my own safety. In the absence of their guidance, anyone’s guidance, I took those words to heart, and I did them well. But I have no one to blame but myself. I thought I wanted this, I thought distance would benefit me, but now? I’m not so certain it does.

I can only assume that your own birthday is something a little strange now, too. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m glad you’re still here.

All this to say, perhaps when I’m back in the Capitol, we could celebrate. Nothing wild, I’m much too old for that now, but... a drink or two? I think we could both use the distraction.

I’ll only accept your RSVP in writing...

Yours, Silver

to perri, sent shortly after the 66th hunger games

Perri,

A call would probably be easier, I’m well aware, but I can’t shake this paranoia lately, and the very real feeling that the static might crowd my mind and cause me to forget all I have to say, if I don’t put pen to paper. I know you understand.

I’d rather not give anyone a reason to keep a closer eye on me, or Three than they already have.

But it feels strange, not to be alone in victory any longer.

I should be grateful that for the first time one of the children put in my care against my will survived, but I’ve found it difficult to feel that way. Of course, I’m glad that she survived––I wish desperately she wasn’t the first in my years of mentoring to do so––but from what I’ve seen already of how the Capitol is going to treat her, this outcome feels just as horrible, in an entirely different way. I know I shouldn’t think like that. It’s cruel, and perhaps it’s selfish, too, in a way, because in survival there’s guilt. She didn’t survive because of anything I did; I haven’t made a real effort beyond the bare minimum since my first few years mentoring. I’m certain she realized that I thought she wouldn’t make it out of that arena.

Now there’s a reminder of my failures standing by my side. Now we’ll have to stand there together and watch children die year after year.

It’s not the same, but there are twisted parallels here that I have no desire to accept, but have somehow only fully realized now that Three has another victor. Parenthood and mentorship. Sometimes both as unwanted, and unasked for as the other. I don’t know how you do it, how you do both, when either alone is hard enough. This feeling of responsibility for another’s well being is terrifying. And I feel an immense amount of guilt for not allowing myself to see it that way until this year.

Could I have helped any of the others survive if I had tried harder? Would that have been dooming them to an even worse fate, if I did?

Am I cruel, for thinking this way? I can’t even tell anymore. It’s been too long, I have no sense of what’s normal any longer, if I did at all even before my own victory.

I’ll see you soon enough. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to go on a Victory Tour, I’m not sure I remember how it’s done. But I’m glad for the excuse to see you and Sage. Perhaps I can convince our watchers to let us have dinner with you. I have a feeling you would get along well with Digit, she reminds me a little of you when we first met all those years ago. Perhaps you can give her understanding that I haven’t been able to find yet.

Give Sage my love, as always. And I suppose you can have some of it for yourself, too.

Yours, Silver

to nelly, sent after the 70th hunger games

Dear Nelly,

You mentioned your newest set of stationary the last time we ran into each other, so I thought I might give you an excuse to test it out, in case you’re not waiting on any other replies at the moment. (Although I’m certain you have much more interesting letters waiting for you than mine.)

I hope you’re doing as well as anyone can, in between Games. I realized, as I sat down to begin this letter, that I’m not actually entirely certain what the life of an escort is like outside of the little I hear from ours. In fact, it’s rare that I see much of the Capitol at all outside of the bustle of the Games, usually sequestered in a windowless room in some high rise to do work when I am asked to come in during the off season.

Do you spend your time planning for whatever might come during the next Games, or are you allowed a few months of rest from responsibility? It says something that I can’t tell if the idea of rest sounds appealing or horrifying. Only I suppose it’s hard for me to imagine what life in the Capitol must be like, or even just a life without my days filled with work, no room to think of much else.

Although, that’s not quite true, is it? I’ve found enough time without work to write. Oh, and I apologize if this is utterly illegible. Years of making notes only for myself or my assistants’ interpretation has led to rather awful handwriting. Perhaps you can offer me some pointers, that seems like the sort of thing you would be an expert at, perfect handwriting.

Anyway, I could go on about what I’m currently working on, but I won’t bore you with those details, when I’ve done enough rambling as it is.

It seems that work is going to bring me to the Capitol for a few days in a week or two, perhaps I’ll see you at one of the parties they inevitably ask me to attend while there. The possibility of a friendly face at one of those events is always something to look forward to, at least.

In the meantime, take care of yourself, Nelly, you deserve a break.

Warmly, Silver

to swann, sent before the 72nd hunger games

Swann,

I hope I’m not being too presumptuous in writing to you. I know there’s no need for a letter, a call, at the very most, would have sufficed, if not simply a silent acknowledgement the next time we both find ourselves forced to attend a Capitol celebration. But something compelled me to do so anyway.

Perhaps it’s because understanding is such a rarity, even among the unfortunate many of us who have been put through what we’ve faced.

I know I wasn’t in any state to offer the appropriate gratitude at that party. This is something that I’ve dealt with for years, but it rarely becomes so bad so publicly. I hope you know that I would do my best to offer you the same understanding you gave me, if our positions were ever reversed. I’m not so certain I would be able do so with as much compassion and grace as you, but we all have our strengths. Mine clearly not being my memory.

Trust isn’t an easy thing to give, but the risk was worth it, in this case. Still, if you could keep the...severity of my situation quiet, I would be very grateful. Flaws, weaknesses are too dangerous for those in our position, I know you’ve seen that firsthand as well.

Which I suppose is why I’m all the more grateful for your help in remembering. That’s all I really wanted to say, I appreciated the reminder you gave me, and the humanity you showed. It’s all very easy to forget, sometimes.

There’s no need to write back.

Sincerely, Silver Ostro

to aven, unsent, written several years after desmond’s death

Aven,

I’ve been thinking about Thalia a great deal lately. And when I think of Thalia, I can’t help but think of you, as well, of course.

It’s not rare to see her face in nightmares, to see her body. I relive those last few moments of my Games over and over again more nights than not, slowed down, sped up, in excruciating detail each time.

I try to remind myself of what she was like before, but it’s been harder lately to remember those few good moments in the arena with her, when both of us were safe, when she showed me care it felt like I hadn’t been given in years.

It’s selfish, but I wish we could talk about her, like we used to. I want to hear your stories about what she was like back in Five, before the Games took her, about how the two of you got along. It was always easier to see her smile in my mind, instead of her death, right after you talked about her with me.

But that’s not fair of me to wish for, is it?

I know you blame me in some ways for what happened, and I accept that. I know what I create is used for, I know how dangerous it all is, even those things that would be harmless in less cruel hands than those of the Capitol, and yet I still do so anyway.

I have more blood on my hands that most victors, all without ever laying a finger on anyone.

Sometimes, I wonder if Thalia would have survived, if she hadn’t made the mistake of showing me kindness, and if everyone might have been better for that. I have a suspicion you know that feeling well yourself.

But there’s no use in speculation. We survived, and we continue to survive only because of the choices we’ve made. Choices that have hurt others we care for deeply. Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to blame each other, to stay at odds, because we’ve both made those choices, and they’ve caused immeasurable pain.

It’s not easy to look into a mirror.

I could apologize to you, but nothing I can say will undo what I’ve been apart of, and what I’ve caused with my selfish desire to live, despite this not feeling terribly like life at all. So instead I’ll just say that I understand, even if you don’t want me to. And perhaps that’s as far as we can hope to get just now.

- Silver

dawn, unsent, written several years ago after oversharing then pulling away lmao

Dawn,

I owe you an explanation. In fact, I owe you much more than that, but I’ve never had such an easy time with admitting I’ve been wrong, expressing vulnerability, so all that I can offer just now is an explanation, as a start.

You might have guessed that I’m not used to talking openly when it comes to things more emotional. In the absence of many memories of my own childhood, I have to simply assume from what I’ve been told that this has always been the case, something that I learned early on from my parents, who were both more content to hole themselves up surrounded by electronics and blueprints, rather than face the world. Logic reigned in our home, from what I’ve heard, and the little I do remember now. There was never much sharing of emotions, and that was that.

After my Games, I suppose I took that to the extreme. But it’s easier to swallow it all down, bury it deep, when facing it might break you in ways that you’re not sure you could come back from.

This is my overly formal way of saying I’m shit at anything emotional. And when I’m faced with just that, it’s instinct to do exactly the opposite.

I’m self aware enough to know this is an instinct I need to break. And I’m self aware enough to admit that it’s not always as helpful as I like to believe it is, and that it’s possible, despite so much pain, to live through it with gentleness. You’re proof of that.

In our conversations, you opened my eyes to that possibility, something that I would have scoffed at if I had been told before witnessing it firsthand. At first, it was simple curiosity, you baffle me. I can hardly fathom how someone can be put through the cruelty and pain that you have, and still show such kindness for everyone.

You made me want to try, though. I don’t understand why you’re so intent on trying with me. That’s not something that happens often, I don’t give anyone a reason to want to try with me. And yet you shared, and somehow it compelled me to do the same.

And that was terrifying.

It’s not a good explanation––it’s one that I could use for each and every one of my actions in honesty––but it’s cowardice that made me run from that honesty. But perhaps it’s a start to admit that at all.

Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll try to do better.

- Silver

to blythe, unsent, written after the president’s party, kept in one of their notebooks

B.B.,

I needed to set our understanding in writing, for my own sake. Supremely ironic, isn’t it, that writing is less dangerous than words spoken. I’ve helped make sure of that, unfortunately, and so from the moment I left the arena I found myself clinging to the act of putting thought to paper for safety, I think.

But that’s neither here, nor there.

That hug you shocked me with during the party at the president’s mansion is something I’m considering. It was a surprise, but also a reminder of how much someone can say with something so simple. I’ve forgotten in my years spent with my head down, doing as the Capitol says, that simple can be powerful. An agreement sealed in that gesture, trust, perhaps. It left me speechless, unbalanced, but not in a negative way.

Before then, I can’t remember the last time I hugged anyone, isn’t that depressing?

Physical touch, any form of it at all, is such a rarity now that I hardly know how to react to it. I’ve spent so much of my life making certain I was beyond any such attachment that I’ve left myself thoroughly alone, when it counts. Strange, then perhaps, that I’m realizing how deeply I desire just that. I’ve been alone for a long time, I’ve kept myself alone for a long time. I’m tired of that.

(Maybe I’m presumptuous to think you understand that feeling well.)

Perfect timing, this strange little agreement of ours.

I’m well aware I’m not easy to trust, and I shouldn’t be. I’ve spent the past twenty-two years working for the very people who caused us all so much pain, helping them take lives, and keep us in line. It’s something I have to earn. Something I plan to earn, right along side the penance and control I so desperately seek. The risk you’re taking is not lost on me, and I’m grateful for it.

I’m going to do everything I can not to disappoint you, or any of the dozens of others I’ve already disappointed with my actions. I promise you that.

- S.O.

to digit, unfinished, written after the quarter quell announcement, kept with other letters

Digit,

If this letter ever makes its way to you, you’ll have to forgive the archaic form it’s taken, but I know you’re just as aware as I am that nothing spoken out loud is safe, and anyway, I’m not so certain I could put my thoughts into words if I tried, face to face.

That’s always been part of the problem, after all, hasn’t it?

We’ve agreed to try, but that’s much easier said than done after years of doing the opposite, years keeping as much distance as possible, despite the Capitol forcing us together.

There’s no need to beat around the bush anymore. You deserve candor in a way I’ve rarely offered, something I’m trying to learn to do better at, but still is a foreign concept in honesty.

I’m sorry. That’s the base of it.

You deserve more than just a simple apology, after everything that I have done, and even more so for the things I haven’t, but I’ve never been particularly good at this sort of thing. And I don’t expect your forgiveness, or anyone else’s for that matter. You, of all people, have every right and every reason not to offer it. What have I offered you, after all? Certainly nothing to inspire trust or faith.

My goal here is to do the opposite now. You’ll be a better judge than I am of if I’m succeeding in those attempts or not––and I’m certain you’ll have no trouble telling me bluntly if I am not––but as we’ve said, there’s little to do but try.

My fear is that I might not have a chance to get far enough to make a difference, and my hope is that you might be willing to keep trying in my stead if that happens. It’s a great deal to ask of someone I’ve given every reason not to trust me, but I trust you. Oddly enough, I’ve always trusted you, even if I’ve done nothing to show it. Almost laughable, how in forcing us together, the Capitol might have created its own problems by forcing me to care.

Because I do, despite what I’ve shown.

But I hope it’s not to late to admit that.

to hudson, unfinished, written after the quarter quell announcement, kept with other letters

Hudson,

This is a rather morbid letter, the sort of just in case I’d rather not consider, but with so much uncertainty, precautions need to be in place if things go wrong.

Firstly, I knew your parents, or rather, knew of them, when they were still in Three. And you deserve to know why you ended up where you are, too, I believe, whether they want to admit it, or not.

A well-kept secret in Three. We make the technology, and thus, as I mentioned during our brief conversation on the train, it’s more difficult for them to keep it from us. We’re as advanced as the Capitol in our own way, if not more so, if only covertly. There’s a thriving...market, as I’m certain there is in every district, numbered high or low. There are needs that aren’t met by strictly by the book, and there are those who are willing to bridge that gap, in various ways, for various reasons.

It’s a situation that we all have considered before, in various ways, a situation some of us have lived out, unfortunately. There’s the heroic thought, that if we were put in a position in which keeping quiet would doom us, but save others, we would holdfast. But the reality is not so simple.

I could never blame anyone for breaking under that pressure, under that desire to keep their own life, yet alone those of their family, safe. I know many who have done the same thing. In honesty, I’ve done just that, although not in such an outright way.

It’s preferable to take the lighter punishment, rather than something much worse in the name those you hardly know, isn’t it?

Is it?

I’m not so sure it is. I only wish I could offer some sort of reassurance that none of us will end up in a position like that again.

Which brings me to my second point. You’re intelligent enough that I believe you might have read between the lines during our last conversation. Personal projects that are not actually so personal. And I need someone to know that, several people to know that, in case something happens and I can’t see them through.

Communication, what we spoke about, sharing information between all of us, instead of trying to win this fight alone. But also weapons, for the inevitable. It’s all coded in my notebooks, and the blueprints are hidden away, but I think between Digit, and you, certainly you might be able to interpret enough of them to glean something useful. Enough that I might make it easier for you to help fix things. Or at least I hope so.

If not, I’m certain that you’re intelligent enough to come up with your own solution to this problem. Find a way to fix things, just as you mentioned to me you enjoy doing.

#emberstask #( cyber stockholm syndrome. )#( robyn. )#( perri. )#( nelly. )#( swann. )#( aven. )#( digit. )#( dawn. )#( blythe. )#( hudson. )#i miiiiight write more of these once i'm back tbh #but wanted to get these out b4 i head into the wilderness!!

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camoolla · 4 years

Text

The world has their Jaskier, and Geralt has his.

The soft-spoken poet capable of wrenching lyrics, raw gospels from the very heart of humanity, lute strung across his shoulders like that of Excalibur, the once and future herald of a new generation of musical genius has once again bestowed his wisdom upon the world.

Disciples, who dub themselves the ‘Florets’, continue to sing his praises up and down the country as Julian ‘Jaskier’ Pankratz, known by his stage name Dandelion, has released his latest album Garrotter to the public this month. Comfortably sitting on its rightful throne at the #1 spot on the Official Global Charts for the fourth week in a row, the round table has grown a head to which Jaskier has conquered and is settled to stay for a decidedly long reign.

We fans can only speculate on how this titan of the music industry is spending his amply earned morning. Tapping his foot to the beat of our collective hearts? Strumming the chords to the melody of our souls? Penning the words to the anthem of the generation? Does everything this man touch turn to such benevolent artistry-

“Oh fuck,”

Geralt looked over the top of his phone.

“I put salt in the coffee again.”

The once and future herald of a new generation of musical genius indeed.

The titan of the music industry pouted as he poured out two mugs of steaming, salty coffee. He turned back to the maker, pressing a few of the various buttons on the over-expensive machine; it buzzed suddenly to life and he jumped. Geralt looked back down at the article. The corners of his mouth twitched.

He scrolled through many more paragraphs worshipping and deifying the man currently humming and tapping his fingers against the counter to the beat of Cotton Eyed Joe until he paused at an embedded photo. It was the one from Oxenfurt Pride two years ago - a picture that currently sat on the Instagram jaskierxo at a steady 1.2 million likes, but also tucked into a not-so-secret photo album labelled Jask.

He was mid-set, his hair slightly sweaty so it was perfectly askew, tumbling over his forehead, the dark locks glittering with tiny artificial jewels. His mouth was open in a grin as he sang his heart out. Glitter swiped across his cheekbones in pink, purple, and blue - the blue the same startling hue of that of his eyes, shining and shimmering in the sunlight staring out in awe and joy at the crowd shouting his own lyrics back to him. The stage light behind him was a deep yellow, bouncing off the golden trimmings of his shirt, the hues in his hair, and the light illuminated him, circled, haloed, around his head. He was heavenly. He was beautiful. He was wearing Geralt's dirty hoodie.

Too large and too dark on him, shoulders drooped over his, the sleeves reaching past his hands. What he matched Geralt in height he lacked in girth meaning all Geralt's clothes swallowed him a bit. Geralt adored it. He watched Jaskier push the stubborn sleeves back up his arm to free his hands for stirring. He hummed as he took a sip.

"Almost forgot how good coffee tastes without salt." Jaskier picked up both mugs and made his way over to Geralt at the table. Geralt hummed, reaching out for his.

"How can you mess up the only two steps you have to do?" He mused as he took a long gulp of the hot, bitter liquid. Jaskier huffed and then suddenly Geralt had a lapful of still sleep-soft and second-hand sweat-smelling bard. He steadied an arm around him, forgoing his phone for a warm handful of his own hoodie on Jaskier's stomach.

"Three! I have to put the mug underneath it too." He tilted his head to lean against Geralt's head, cradling the mug between his hands.

"How gruelling." He chuckled and moved his mug of out Jaskier's reach as he lunged for it.

"Mean people don't get coffee from their lovely husbands! I lied; there are four steps, but I shielded you from the actual most arduous ingredient: love! I have to scrounge every morning to summon the barest sprinkle for you, and this is how you betray me?" Geralt laughed, kissing away the playful crease between his bard's eyebrows and the downturn of his mouth. He tasted like coffee, milk, sugar and... yes, a bit of salt.

"You taste of salt."

"That's just from talking to you," Jaskier placed down his mug and noticed Geralt's phone still lit on the table. He picked it up, catching his name in the lines of text, "What are you reading?"

Geralt quickly plucked his phone from his hands, "An article Yen sent me."

"I saw my name."

"It is... about you."

"Can I read it then?"

"No."

"What why?"

"She said you're not allowed."

"What does it say about me?"

"It's... mean?"

"Mean?"

"Yes."

"Geralt, dear, I've read mean things about me before. I'm a big boy I can handle it."

"It’s... really mean?"

"...Are you lying?"

"...Yes."

"Give me the phone!" He laughed and moved abruptly, forcing Geralt to sweep his arm of hot coffee out of harm's way, but in doing so, left the side with the pocket his phone was stashed in open. Jaskier's nimble hand wriggled and brought it out, unlocking it and scrolling. He blinked as he began to read, lips parting and then curling minutely, "Oh."

"Yen said your head was big enough already." Jaskier’s grin widened bit by bit as he read each paragraph, the gleam in his eye the exact one Yennefer had warned Geralt against.

"Not remotely big enough as by evidence of this spectacular article! In comparison to the scripture of this journalist, my head is microscopic! I'm practically a monk with all this modesty! I better buy some extra-extra-large hats, my dear, because I have some major cranial engorgement to do!” He trilled, squirming in Geralt's lap to evade his hands. Geralt jabbed him in the side and Jaskier relinquished, Geralt snatching the phone from his nimble fingers.

”I think you've read enough.” Jaskier pouted, and in punishment shuffled off Geralt to perch on the table, which in hindsight was more punishment to himself really by how Geralt's warm hand didn't move from his thigh. But he stood his ground. Or sat it, he supposed.

Geralt's phone buzzed, officially breaking up their playful moment, and Jaskier sighed, taking a long swig of his coffee as if in preparation, "What toil does Yennefer have for me to do today?" Geralt pulled up their shared calendar, looking for the dreaded yellow dot on the day. There wasn't one. He smiled.

"Nothing."

Jaskier whipped up from his cup and tilted Geralt's phone to see - oh to see, miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably - a white square without a trace of yellow, "Nothing?"

"Hm." And Jaskier had never heard a hum so pleased. His shoulders slumped with relief, and, placing his mug down, he carded a hand through his hair ruffling it back out his face. Today was a day of possibilities. He probably should, and Yennefer would agree, work on the few very early drafts of his next album, he was still struggling to find a rhyme for amber-eyed after all, or, even just as the bare minimum, interact with some fans. But it seemed Geralt had made the decision for him as he reached over to place his mug next to his.

Two large hands engulfed his thighs and with a tug, pulled him down to fall on Geralt's lap, pulling and pulling until his knees bracketed his hips and his nose bumped his. But Geralt leaned down and to the right instead, his mouth sliding around the curve of his jaw. Jaskier exhaled softly, his arms gliding over his shoulders automatically, and he smiled, "No responsibilities,"

Geralt moved his mouth further down his neck, "No photoshoots,"

behind his ear, "No interviews,"

over his pulse point, "No taunting evil little yellow dot."

"We'll have to be quick," Geralt rumbled, unwillingly to pull back from Jaskier’s throat to make the words clear, “Ciri’s coming for lunch.”

Jaskier squirmed, and his patience snapped as he fisted his hands into Geralt's hair to bring their mouths together as he rolled his hips, delighted to find that the fabric of Geralt’s sweat pants were thinner and more revealing than he thought. Geralt groaned, circling his hands to keep the pressure against him hot and taut - Jaskier’s restlessness as he constantly shifted, twisting, rising higher to claim Geralt’s mouth at newer angles, creating gorgeous bursts of friction. Jaskier keened as he squeezed his handful and Geralt bit desperately at Jaskiers lip at the flare of hot pain. He pulled back for a brief gulp of air.

“Plenty of time,” Jaskier smirked down at him, his mouth sinfully red and curved. Geralt briefly grinned wolfishly and with a swift movement that had Jaskier's heart dropping into his stomach and thighs tightening their grip, stood the both of them up with Jaskier lined particularly up where he needed him most.

"Back to bed." Geralt muttered before licking back into his mouth with distinct possessiveness. With a muffled moan, Jaskier agreed.

The phone laid abandoned on the floor, knocked by Jaskier's hip, and the ignored even when notifications flooded the screen. JaskierStan999, jaskiersbrokenlutestring, jasss_bitch, and hundred of others were commenting and tagging the article Yennefer had taken the liberty in warning the two of them about. Is he even real??, have y'all seen the fucking photo renaissance painters are quaking!!, jaskier is my god and i pray by being gay bitch!!, can you believe this man walks around and breathes and eats like we don't know he's an immortal nymph; reverence in all varieties swamped their feed, liking and praising and loving and worshipping the image Jaskier had created.

But what nobody saw, what nobody would ever be allowed to see (sans a curious Jaskier who upon finding, smiles wetly with a silent promise of secrecy and a whispered, “Fucking sap.”) is the photo found if one were to scroll to the very first photo in the album Nudes (Fuck Off). Taken off-stage, the two of them blended into the crowd, two faces into a parade of thousands. A front camera photo, an accident, an overlooked distraction from a planned photo snapped, a moment of time caught and treasured. Geralt has been positioned to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek, but, having turned suddenly to check the timer, instead had glitter smudged across his nose. Jaskier had exploded, forgetting the camera to press his forehead to Geralt’s as he leaned into his laughter. Geralt grinned back, full and fond, eyes magnetised to the scrunch of his nose, the pink blush beneath the glitter, the brilliant blue of his eyes. The two of them shimmered in the sunlight, basking in one another’s glow.

The world had their Jaskier, and Geralt had his.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #jaskier #drabble

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 4 years

Text

Seen ✓ - 1

REWRITE OF “Can You See The Stars”

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: fear of being kidnapped Word Count: 2.4k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. A/N:This is my second attempt at the story everyone loved, with an actual pllot in mind this time. So, attempt number two, better writing, better story. Have at it kids.

I have tagged the old taglist for this first part. Let me know if you wanna be removed/ added

Beta: The lovely @percywinchester27 . Thank you so so much hon :) Masterlist

Chapter One: you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night

Y/n | Sam

The road to independence is uphill, and Y/n knows this better than anyone. She’s done it all. She’s gone through jobs at a similar speed with which she goes through books, worked two or more of them, while also studying for college… She knows how it works, and it’s really fucking difficult to balance emotional baggage the size of a city, an underage sister and college, while also trying to keep, not only yourself, but another person, alive, under a safe roof with food in your stomachs.

Currently, she’s only working one job, at a dive bar owned by a friend of a friend as a waitress.

It’s a difficult job, and Y/n has struggled with it, but the hardest part is not the endless knowledge one needs to mix drinks –on the nights Joel takes time off and she has to take his spot behind the bar- or the carrying up to twenty pounds of glasses and drinks and delivering them at the right table without soaking herself or anyone else with copious amounts of alcohol. Any minimum wage worker will tell you the same thing- clients of any kind fucking suck. Especially if you’re a young woman at a dive bar after midnight.

Another thing she’s struggled with is not having too much money, which is why she’s needed multiple jobs in the past, so she has to use public transport- buses specifically, to go to and from work. And that is exactly where she finds herself, a couple hours after midnight, at her bus stop, five minutes from the bar, when she finds a phone which, unbeknownst to her, will flip her world upside down.

It sits on the pavement of the bus stop, limp and sad. The screen is cracked a significant amount, and for a second she figures someone got rid of it and was too much of an asshole to throw it in the trash. But the second that thought crosses her mind, the screen lights up with a concerning text.

dude where the fuck are you?!

The contact reads “Sam”, and Y/n stands over the phone staring at it. She’s concerned. What if the phone’s owner is in trouble? The device may have fallen from their pocket on the pavement and cracked because they were running from someone and never made it home, and now whoever is texting them is worried for their well-being. Anxiety grips her heart.

It’s instinct that brings her to kneel down and pick it up. She can’t possibly know when the owner lost it, or how long the phone has been sitting there, but there’s an overwhelming urge to contact this Sam person and let them know what’s going on. Of course, the voice in Y/n’s head tells her that this all could just be a product of her anxiety, but it beats leaving it there and having it be stolen by a passerby.

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, she contacts the owner, who is perfectly safe and sound, and they take their phone back. She’s not really planning to pocket it. It’s fairly damaged anyways. Her own three year old, beat-up, 100$ phone is in better condition.

The bus arrives, and Y/n picks up the phone and boards it.

As she sits in her usual seat in the back, alone in the bus apart from an elderly man asleep with his head on a window and a cap on his head near the front, she starts speculating, eyes glued to the black device in her hands. Who’s the owner? Who is Sam to them? Perhaps a partner? A friend? How did the owner lose their phone? Why would this Sam sound so concerned, and most importantly, is the owner okay?

The heavy weight of dread weighs her chest at the thought of the phone’s owner being in trouble and without a phone. She must contact Sam immediately.

Hey, is this Sam?

As she awaits for a response, her curiosity is killing her. The intrigued part of her, reasons that she should snoop, it’s alright, she’s only looking for more information about the owner. Like whether or not they’re a woman or a man- which, sadly, matters when you’re walking alone in dark streets like the ones around this area- and perhaps their age –because, again, it matters if they are a teenager or a forty-year old adult.

The lack of passcode indicates someone older, with nothing to hide, or perhaps someone less technologically savvy, again, someone who may not be very young. The lockscreen is the most popular Led Zeppelin icon, and she instantly respects their music taste, and the home screen is some generic western movie from the 90s with Clint Eastwood. The chances of this belonging to someone younger further decline.

There’s a grand total of four downloaded apps in the phone. There’s an email app, a scrabble app, a microphone recorder and a dating app, no other sign of social media. Someone over 18 years old, definitely.

Soon, she’s tapping on the dating app, and opening their profile page. Holy shit, she thinks.

A guy, the tall, dark and handsome kind. Spiky hair and a smolder-like smile, sharp edges everywhere on his face apart from his gentle, olive-shaped and colored eyes. His lips are full, his nose straight, and his eyelashes long, dark and thick. He’s a real-life dreamboat, the kind you see in movies and Cosmopolitan articles about sex. He’s sitting on a black muscle car, a Chevrolet, with his thick thighs barely contained in blue jeans.

Dean Winchester, the app writes. 28. Male. Likes: old cars, beer, hard rock, westerns, she figured that much, bacon burgers. Dislikes: pop music, modern horror movies, uncomfortable beds. Not looking for anything serious, just a night of fun ;), and wow, okay, he sounds a bit like a dick. The very Red-blooded American Male kind, that enjoys BBQs and winking at women from across the bar. She’s had enough of those during her line of work; she can recognize them from a mile away.

Whatever the case, her moral compass couldn’t allow her to pass up on the opportunity to possibly help someone in trouble. She ignores her urge to roll her eyes, and scrolls a little, finding other pictures of the same guy, when suddenly two separate notifications appear, the phone itself vibrating. One is from the app, which has now received a picture from this girl, Jamie, one which she certainly doesn’t plan on opening, seeing as it’s followed by a winky face. The second one is from Sam.

jesus dean how drunk are you

yes it’s sam. your brother? remember?

No, this isn’t Dean, uh.

My name is Y/n. Your brother lost his phone at a bus stop, near a bar.

i should’ve figured. dean rarely ever uses punctuation.

nice to meet you i guess

Nice to meet you, too.

So basically, uhm, I thought you might help me return his phone to him? I got worried, because this was dumped on the sidewalk, I thought he may be in trouble or something.

knowing him he probably dropped it while being too shitfaced to function.

gotta admit i’m impressed though. most people would’ve pocketed it by now.

I mean, it’s not much use to me with such a cracked screen haha.

yeah i guess.

i don’t know about getting it back to him though. i’m in kansas right now so i’m not close by. i don’t think i can help you.

he doesn’t use social media either.

Crap.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this phone then?

keep it probably.

You sure there’s no other way I can reach him?

i mean i can give you his email but i’m not sure he’ll respond.

I’ll take it. Thank you :)

no problem :)

As she looks up the bus stops, and she quickly realizes this is her stop. Throwing profanities loudly enough to wake the older man at the front of the bus, she scrambles for her things, haphazardly thrown in the seat next to her, and gets off the bus. She pats herself down, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything as the doors of the bus shut, and starts down the road to her apartment complex.

She could probably navigate this road blind. There are many ways to reach the apartment she’s renting from the bus stop, but her favorite goes through the park. It’s a large area, full of big trees with thick foliage and leaves that brown in the fall. The paths are paved and winded, and the park benches are stained with dark wood stain and curve comfortably. She enjoys coming here in evenings she has off, watching the sun descend behind the top of the trees with a good book.

The air smells like oncoming rain now, and with headphones deep in her ears, she walks taking deep breaths and enjoying the clear atmosphere that seems so unlike the roads that surround the park. As soon as she spots the first raindrop falling from the sky, she pulls her hood over her head and smiles.

It’s minutes later, when single drops have picked up to a drizzle, that she gets a sinking feeling, her hair standing up on edge at the back of her neck, shoulders knotting closer to her ears. Someone is close to her.

With the wire pinched between her thumb and index, she pulls one earbud off and pays attention to the surrounding sounds. Sure enough there’s a second pair of footsteps behind her.

Fuck, if she gets kidnapped or attacked right now, she’s fucked. There are no witnesses, and at this time of night screaming for help would be futile. She checks her bag, but her paper spray is nowhere to be found.

Yeah. Definitely fucked.

Her hands go deep in her pockets, going for her phone, but as she hears the footsteps behind her picking up speed along with hers, she panics and grabs Dean’s instead. She doesn’t look for her own, there’s no time for that, so she does the first thing she thinks of.

She texts Sam.

I think I’m being followed.

what?

Yeah

wait what’s going on? are you okay? who’s following you?

I’m walking home from work. I can’t see who it is, but they’re definitely on my tail.

how are you even typing right now??

is there any buildings around? somewhere public to get in?

It’s 3 am. Everything is shut and I’m in the middle of a fucking park, Sam.

Fuck, I’m fucked.

what are you doing at 3 am in the middle of a fucking park then?!

A hand falls on her shoulder and she goes to scream, before she’s quickly spun around. Her free hand is curled in a fist, ready to fall on the attacker’s nose, when they speak.

“Y/n! I thought it was you!”

“Connor?!” She squints and pushes her hair away from her forehead, heart just about ready to fail out of the fright she’s gotten. “Fuck’s sake, dude, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night like this?!” Rain still falls on her, grounding her to the present, the fact she won’t have to fight for her life and corporeal integrity sinking in slowly.

Her neighbor smiles a crooked smile, watching her place a hand over her heart and taking a deep breath. His fluffy blonde hair is damp under the light rain, light green eyes glowing under the street lights. She’s so angry at him right now, she legitimately thought she was gonna die for a second there.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “I didn’t think to call out to you.” A shrug.

“It’s okay,” it’s really not, but there’s no point in staying angry at him. Besides, she figures she’ll be a little safer with him walking next to her all the way back to their apartment complex.

On the way back, they catch up. Connor is back in town after a long week and a half at his sister’s wedding. He’s in a brand new relationship with the guy he’s been pining over for like 9 months now, and he got a job at the bookstore, close to their building, he’s starting next week. He was out for a drink, he offers as an explanation, and was returning home, when he bumped into her. The park is also his favorite route to take.

The key dangles from her hands and finds a home in the lock and twists, while Y/n waves at her neighbor.

“Have a good night, Connor.”

“You too, Y/n.” It’s delivered with a wink and a bright smile.

The motions of dropping her bag by the kitchen counter, dumping the keys in the small bowl and hanging her coat on the hanger are delivered on autopilot in quick succession. Shoes toed off, hair pulled out of her lazy bun, she falls unceremoniously on her thrifted couch, feet suspended on the hand rest. Emmy must be asleep, the only lights on in the house are the fairy lights over the couch, setting a soft glow over the furniture. Y/n sighs. What a day.

Seconds before she falls asleep on the couch, a phone vibrates and it’s definitely not her own. Her eyes snap wide open, and she curses, fumbling with Dean’s device.

The messages are seven, and they all share the same panicked tone. Upon reading them, Y/n facepalms and curses, guilt weighing her down. Poor guy.

y/n?

what’s going on?

are you okay?

y/n

what the hell is going on.

you’re not replying.

please text me if you’re safe.

My God, Sam, I’m so sorry.

It was a neighbor/friend, he sneaked up on me.

you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night.

I’m genuinely so sorry, Sam, I had no idea it was him.

it’s okay

you were scared.

i am starting to question your choice in friends though.

Y/n grins for the first time that day. It’s wide and full. Sam sounds like a guy she’d hang out with.

Hahahah yeah.

I promise, Connor’s odd, but he means well.

well i have to go

but i’m glad you’re safe

Again, I’m really sorry to make you go through that.

it’s fine really.

Thank you.

Goodnight :)

Night :)

---

Part 2

A/N 2: Tell me how you’re liking the rewrite!

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove @sammysgirl1997 @kymberlytorres @bambi95-blog @demonic-meatball @thekarliwinchester @littlekay15 @li-m-ii @thinspo-isuppose @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker @marichromatic @illuminatus42 @lazy-author @mirandaaustin93 @hauntedsiriel @pilaxia @devilgirlsarah @nobodys-baby-now @captiveties @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes @captainmarvelcorps @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @nellachain

#sam winchesterx reader #sam x fem!reader #sam winchester x fem!reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn fanfic #sam x reader

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yzkhr · 4 years

Text

"Kazuha, I'm fine now."

Hattori Heiji spoke with uncharacteristic gentleness towards his childhood friend whose entire attention is on the wound around his stomach. Tooyama Kazuha only regarded him with a panicked look.

"Are you sure? What if it still hurts? What if--"

Before she could continue on her rambling, he held the warm hand inspecting his injury as he gave her the best smile he could manage.

On a normal day, Kazuha's worrying would only be troublesome and annoying for Heiji. He'd just ignore her and tell her how stupid she is, and that he wouldn't die over something so little.

But right now, he couldn't blame her. Even he thought he was going to die, without confessing his feelings first. There was nothing scarier than that moment of realization for him. So he understood, just how much pain he had made the woman he loves go through, and lets her.

The final battle versus the Black Organization was easily the most horrifying thing he had experienced over his seventeen years of existence. He grew up being surrounded by criminals but he had never seen people who saw human life as nothing but piece of paper they can crumple anytime they want. At least, culprits he detains knew guilt and have a minimum amount of reason, but the men in black doesn't. They kill either because you're in their way, or because they just want to.

Watching the downfall of the terrible institution was satisfying, to say the very least. Finally, they were gone and everything else can start going back to normal. Well, If only things would progress so smoothly as he had hoped.

Of course, casualties were made. Their team were heavily wounded. Many agents—mainly the FBI, CIA, and Secret Police— were injured, some even died. He didn't left unharmed either. He had a huge gash in his stomach—which was pretty deep— and a bullet wound on his left ankle.

When Kazuha approached him as they were directed to the nearest hospital, he saw how cold her gazes were, so different from her usual fiery look. She stayed quiet the whole time as the nurse treated him, just giving him nothing but shallow—but tinged with worry— glances.

Seeing that Heiji won't back down, the brunnette sighed and slowly backed away. She stood up from the chair beside his bed, laggardly making her way towards the door.

He wanted to stop her and talk to her, but her verdant eyes filled with pain and a bit of anger wasn't so appealing to deal with right now. Instead, he just regarded her a stare, wishing—begging— she'd turn around.

Kazuha slid open the door, along with it are Heiji's hopes of his stupid actions being forgotten.

But, as if the Gods heard his silent plea, she stopped midway of exiting the room. He held his breath, waiting for her next move, not minding the ache at his middle cause by his hitched breathing. It was like that for a few seconds, until she finally turned her head sideways, ponytail slightly moving to the opposite direction, with her expression unreadable.

"I'm still mad at you. So you better make it up to me."

And with those parting words, she left, letting Heiji huffed in relief. It wasn't the most comforting words he heard from her, but it was a sign that she'd talk to him and give him a chance to explain. For Heiji, that was everything he needed to hear so he can move on to his next concern.

Instantly, his thoughts travelled to her. If Kazuha, his childhood friend, was this mad at him for just being involved, then she must be furious, knowing that her boyfriend was in the middle of it all.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Heiji stood up, swallowing his fear of facing his best friend's girl. After all, he knew he deserved at least some punches.

The hallway was quiet, with only little people roaming around. Nurses and patients paid him no mind, too busy with their own lives. He felt glad, for once not liking the attention of others seeing him in a pathetic state.

His eyes looked for her. He tried to spot her tall figure, her long straight chesnut hair, her leaned back with her toned muscles from doing karate, uncharacteristically for a girl. Unfortunately for him, the area was infested by only ill patients in wheelchairs accommodated by their family members and staff rushing left and right towards their respective positions.

Minutes pass of searching, and he found himself on the quiet part of the institution. Individuals got fewer and fewer and when Heiji was about to head back and asked the others instead, his irises finally found what they were looking for.

There she was, sitting on one of the blue waiting chairs, contrast to the white paint all over the hospital. Her head was down, her form lifeless. Heiji felt a pang of guilt in his chest, knowing that he was a big part of her devastated state.

Once again, hesitation set inside of him, not wanting to face the woman that they had all done wrong. But he couldn't leave her alone either, after seeing that she was just outside the Intensive Care Unit.

Heiji didn't want to believe it, but it has to be him. He was the most injured one of them all, after being tortured by Gin. It was a miracle they managed to get him to the hospital in time. He took one last gulp, and walk towards her tired form.

Mouri Ran was aware of his presence but she made no indication to ascertain his assumption. She just kept her head tilted down, fingers intertwined and expression hidden by the strands of her hair. He tested the waters first by calling her name but she didn't budge at all.

The feeling of unsettlement was getting to Heiji even more but he decided to ignore it. Ran needed him right now, and he owed her a lot. They owed her a lot.

He sat down beside her and imitated her current position, waiting to see if she would do something. She didn't.

Time ticked down, Heiji finally decided to be the one to speak.

"Nee-chan--"

"Leave."

Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper that if he wasn't near her, he wouldn't have heard it.

He shook his head slowly, as if Ran could see his answer that way.

"No. I can't--"

Once again, she cut him off.

"Please."

This time, Heiji wanted to comply. But a part of him was stopping him from doing so. He could leave Ran alone and be free of this nervousness, or he could stay and try to alleviate a bit of her pain.

Heiji chose the latter.

"I won't."

Finally, Ran looked up, letting him see her. Her visage was tired and lost, different from her usual kind and cheerful countenance. It physically pained Heiji to see her like that, so he had to avert his eyes away.

Silence took over the two, the kind of silence rendering him deaf. Eventually, he sensed movement from her, and saw her from the corner of his left eye sitting properly, tense.

"You knew."

It was neither a question or a suggestion. It was nonchalant, as if she was stating a fact, which in this case, was what she just did.

He nodded, giving confirmation. He leaned a little towards the plastic chair, his stomach hurting from his previous hunched forward position.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

It was a basic question, but somehow it was difficult to answer. He had many chances to tell her, ever since he found out that the little brat living with the Mouris was really the missing highschool detective. So why didn't he? He could only think of one reason, though personally, it wasn't enough.

"It wasn't my secret to tell."

She sighed, seeming to expect his common response.

"Then why didn't he tell me?"

Even without any particular mentioning, it was obviously Kudo Shinichi they were talking about, who's currently fighting for his life. Instinctively, he glanced at the doors of the ICU, silently praying for his best friends health, and for his own survival to this interrogation.

Unlike Heiji, Ran stared straight ahead at the painted white wall. She didn't want to look at where he was right now, knowing she'll just burst out crying. She had to be strong, since Hattori was already giving her a chance to know the truth.

"I'm not sure, but I think it's to protect you."

Ran eyed him suspiciously from her peripheral vision, not convinced with his answer. But Heiji wasn't lying. He may not fully know Kudo's reasons, but he had a rough idea.

"From what?"

"From getting hurt by them."

She smiled, but it was screaming fallacy that even someone as dense as Heiji could figure it out.

"I was still hurt."

He couldn't offer a reply to that.

"When was he planning to tell me?"

He wanted to give a satisfying answer, like how Kudo would explain everything after everything was over. But that would be a lie. And Heiji was a bad liar. All those times he kept calling Kudo with his real name almost getting him figured out resurfaced in his head, and Heiji wondered how did they last long at pretending.

He chose to stay quiet.

Ran seemed to get it, as she finally faced Heiji.

"He wasn't planning to tell me anything at all, was he?"

The guilt in his face gave it away.

"Nee-chan, I tried to convince him to tell you more than once, specially before the final showdown, but he just wouldn't budge."

He tried to explain his side, trying to make Ran understand.

Ran simply stared, boring holes in his face.

"Then why didn't you tell me before you guys went and sacrifice yourselves out there? When do you want me to find out? When you're dead?"

She raised her tone a bit, showing frustration.

"If I told you, you would have followed us. I'm not sure Kudo would like that."

She laughed a little, pain so evident that Heiji visibly winced.

"Am I weak Hattori-kun?"

"That's not what I--"

"Then why didn't you let me help? I could've done something!"

Her shout alerted a few but she didn't seem to care, glaring at Heiji as he flinched. He sighed, mentally wishing Kudo was here to be the one to explain since Heiji didn't know what exactly was his best friends mindset for lying to her.

"I told you, he didn't want you to get involved. He didn't want you hurt, nee-chan."

He spoke gently, trying to cajole the agitated Ran. It was weird how calm and modest he was, while Ran was now the one looking like she wanted to punch someone. Unfortunately, the cajoling didn't work.

"You already knew what you were doing would hurt me, but somehow it didn't stop you, so what exactly was the difference?"

He stuttered, trying to find a good answer, but failed to do so. Ran pressed on, not waiting for his response.

"What if it was Kazuha-chan? Would you want her to keep secrets from you? To be in danger while you're safe? To possibly die without you knowing a thing!?"

Heiji visibly froze at the mention of his childhood sweetheart's name and seeing the hurt enter his usually cheery green eyes, Ran knew she went overboard.

She looked away, her eyes travelling at the room where Shinichi was being operated on. She was a mess. After all the revelation and happenings, she couldn't think straight at all. That's why she begged everyone to stay away from her, not wanting to deal with anything else.

But Hattori didn't seem to get the message. Now he was dealing with all her exasperation that clearly wasn't meant for him. He had his own issues to deal with, consoling an emotionally unstable Ran shouldn't be one of them.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

She bowed her head, her tone apologetic. It took a while for him to say anything at all, so Ran willed herself to face the great detective of the west.

It was his turn to stare at the wall, being swallowed by his thoughts. It made Ran feel bad, knowing she stroke a never.

"Hattori-kun, I'm-"

Her apologies died mid air as he finally brought his attention back to her. Expression serious, so unlike the reckless and fun Hattori she had known.

"I would hate it. I wouldn't like her to do something so dangerous alone. She would be an idiot if she wouldn't tell something so important."

Ran was stunned, not expecting an answer from her inquries that were supposed to be rhetoric.

"But," he continued on. "I know that Kazuha didn't intend to do that just to make fun of me. She had no intention to hurt. And I'm pretty sure that Kudo's the same. If there was one thing I know from that guy, is that he would never hurt nee-chan if he had a choice. It just so happens that both choices would hurt you, and he chose to keep you in the dark, than to tell you everything and get you in something so dangerous."

It was her turn to be speechless. Ran had known Hattori to be prideful and obnoxious, sometimes more than Shinichi. He was also childish and dense, specially in terms of love. However, there will always be these kinds of moments where he would completely blow her away with his deduction skills and meaningful words.

"He loves you, Nee-chan. More than what you can imagine."

With that, Ran broke.

The tears she desperately tried to hold back was now pouring endlessly, blurring her vision. Heiji getting caught off guard with her crying, panicked.

He didn't mind his aching stomach and immediately tried to find a handkerchief or a towel to wipe her tears. Unfortunately, there was none.

Ran buried her face into her palms, and tried to speak.

"I knew that. I knew that he just wanted to keep me safe. But that's also what I want. I'm scared Hattori-kun. What if he won't wake up? What if he leaves me all alone? You did something for him. You guys were there when he needed you the most. But what about me? I didn't do anything. I couldn't do anything at all. I-"

In the desperate attempt to comfort and calm down the crying woman next to him, Heiji put his arms around her shoulder and let her crying face lean on his. She sobbed harder, inclining at the comforting brotherly touch.

"That's not true nee-chan. You did a lot of things for him. You were his reason for fighting. I'm sure Kudo would have given up a long time ago if it weren't for you."

It was true. If it were Heiji, he would have just gave in and let his childhood happen again. He was sure there were time Kudo thought of that but because of Ran, he didn't give up.

"I'm scared, Hattori-kun. He can't die on me. Not without telling me everything. Not without making it up to me. Not without achieving his biggest dream. He can't die."

She said almost incoherently against his ears, choking at her own tears. Seeing her break down was also physically hurting him. He was so used to the strong and smiling Mouri Ran she showed in public that he almost forgot that she can be this fragile and weak. Heiji was amazed how she managed to keep up such an amazing act of being fine for so long.

The only thing he can do to alleviate just a bit of her suffering was to whisper at her ear his own share of comforging words while staring at the operating room, a determined look on his face.

"He won't die nee-chan. I'm sure of it. Kudo would never die just like that. He finally defeated those bad guys. I'm sure that he won't ever leave you again. If he did, then he's the biggest Ahou in history of Ahous."

Hattori Heiji had never been close to Mouri Ran compared to others. They were friends, although they never really got to interact that much. However, that didn't stop Heiji from admiring the woman. She was so kind and naive at times that you just want to protect her. But she didn't even need you for that, knowing she can defend herself better than ninety percent of men out there.

Right now, Heiji was the only one who can understand at least a portion of what she's going through. Right now, they're both losing an integral person in their lives, their best friend. And they found at least a little solace from that, knowing they're not alone.

Am I the only one who loves this underrated pairing?

#detective conan #Mouri Ran #Hattori Heiji #more Ran and Heiji interactions please

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magic-fluffie-boyes · 4 years

Note

Hello! I’m not sure if your asks are open still (please disregard this or disregard this if this would not be healthy for you to write currently!) but your fic with Mammon and Beel’s responses to an MC who has anorexia was really therapeutic to read, and I was wondering if you could do a few more reactions (with any character you feel like)?

It’s been a while since I’ve even looked at my ask box on any account, but I saw the notification for this one, and… I dunno, some cord inside of me was hit just right. It’s more than likely that my own condition has gotten worse and I need the therapeutic comfort too… whatever it is I need to thank you for giving me a chance to allow myself to enjoy doing this again. As for my other nonnie who initially requested Luci and Asmo, (whose ask will be answered after this), thank you too, I’m glad that I can be sort of help and comfort for a condition that isn’t really acknowledged enough.

⚠️TW: Annorexia; Mentions of body image issues; Bad grammar⚠️

Lucifer

⭐️ Lucifer prides himself on knowing much about the human condition, despite not fully understanding it; and he prides himself on knowing his darling exchange student very well… but this...

⭐️ He doesn’t notice it at first, mostly because he doesn’t care to notice at first. Themskipping out on a few meals is a bit annoying, but nothing too concerning to him as they seemed healthy -- happy even.

⭐️ He does acknowledge it is… a bit unnatural… not what they should be doing, but so long as they are healthy there should be no issues.

⭐️ However, it gets to the point where they’re skipping multiple meals in a day, and they look pale and tired all the time. They hardly have the energy to do much anymore, and they’re most definitely falling behind in their classes from how distracted they are.

⭐️ He tried to step in then, but they just told him that they were fine, and began a semi-normal eating routine again… his pride wouldn’t allow him to press any further when there wasn’t much reason to.

⭐️ It wasn’t until Satan walked into his office one day, clearly riled up and very upset with him that he realized the gravity of the situation.

⭐️ Satan explained to him what they were doing was seriously harming their body and health, and that it needed to be dealt with unless he wanted to see his darling human fade away before his very eyes.

⭐️ That is when he decided to step in because he may not know many things about humans -- not that he would admit that -- but if Satan was seeking out his help in such a fashion it must be serious.

⭐️ So he takes them aside and asks them to explain it to him, because how could they neglect such an essential part of their health? Why would they do this to themselves? There had to be a logical explanation...

⭐️ When they do explain, he’s left a bit confused, and a bit upset at himself. He could’ve done something about this from the beginning, or at least stopped it from developing so severely… but of course, he didn’t, and there’s nothing he can do but help them get better now.

⭐️ He starts by reintroducing them to food via having his brothers and himself cook up food that he knows they like, staying at the dinner table with them until they finish their plate entirely.

⭐️ He also begins taking time out of his work to listen to them and better understand their situation, while also quietly assuring them that they are not alone, he is there and he always will be.

⭐️ He takes everything on himself because it’s, in his eyes at least, the best way to deal with such an issue. If he can watch over everything, he can be sure that they are taking great care of themselves.

⭐️ And, of course, he assures them that their body is only a small fraction of what makes them his human. No matter if they were underweight, overweight, anorexic, or not he loves them and he always will.

⭐️ His pride may get in his way sometimes, but when his human is involved he will always find a way to overcome it and care for them as they need.

Asmodeus

🌸 Asmo is more than likely one of the first brothers to notice -- or acknowledge he notices -- just after Mammon and Satan, who notice near immediately.

🌸 However, they seem to at least be eating a bit, and their personality and beauty still shone brightly to all of them, so there really shouldn’t be any reason to worry… right? Right?

🌸 He doesn’t want to bother them if nothing is wrong, because as long as they’re a healthy weight they’re doing fine, so he doesn’t have to worry at all!

🌸 No, the truth of the matter is Asmo is worried, seriously worried about them. Eating too much wasn’t good for the body, but eating too little was even worse in his opinion. The physical effects were so much more damming to them, and it was so scary to watch it happen.

🌸 He notices that they’re a few sizes smaller than they usually would be, their complexion is sickly and pale, and their eye bags and little marks that would normally be unnoticeable seemed to stand out on their skin.

🌸 They weren’t looking good, needless to say, and it made him panic a bit. He didn’t want to see his adorable human rot away from something that could be helped.

🌸 As someone who, in the past, had struggled to find a balanced way to keep up healthy body weight and shape that satisfied his perfectionist mindset, he understood what they were going through better than any of his brothers.

🌸 Which is why he doesn’t let it go further than skipping a few meals before he decided to step in. He doesn’t want them to suffer through this kind of thing any longer than they already have, he just wants them to be happy and feel loved.

🌸 So, of course, he has a spa night. Just the two of them talking and having fun together where no one could bother them, and that’s when he asks them what’s been going on. And he listens intensively to every word they have to say, wanting to understand what they’re going through more than anything.

🌸 After they’re done, Asmo wordlessly brings them into a hug, allowing them to cry or calm down or just think for a moment about what they just admitted before Asmo said anything to them. He just wanted them to know that this feeling was okay and that they shouldn’t be ashamed to feel.

🌸 He spends the rest of the night making them feel loved -- no not like that -- telling them how beautiful they are, how much he loves them, and how much he thinks they deserve from the world.

🌸 After that he wakes them up early so they can devise an eating plan that they think would work well for them because they shouldn’t be starving their body of the essential nutrients that it needs. And they work for a very long time on this plan because they deserve nothing but the best, and Asmo is damn determined to give that to them.

🌸 With him its constant affection and reassurance that they’re doing great, even if they skipped a meal or messed up a bit Asmo is right there to figure out what went wrong and assure them that they can do better next time

🌸 Overall he’s surprisingly gentle and caring with the situation, wanting more than anything to make them know that they’re loved and they can get through this by themselves, if not with a little encouragement from him and his brothers.

Belphegor

🐄 He is absolutely the last of the brothers to notice and the last one to take action, partly because he genuinely didn’t notice a change in behavior and partly because he thinks that someone else will deal with it so he doesn’t have to.

🐄 Of course things don’t go in his favor, none of his brothers know how to deal with this kind of situation, or they all think since they’re his human he should be the one to deal with it… and… yeah fair, but it seemed like a bother.

🐄 Yeah, Belphegor isn’t the most… sensitive to this issue… he’s actually pretty damn rude about it for a long time. He doesn’t get it, “If you need to eat then eat, don’t starve yourself for no reason, you stupid human.”

🐄 He only gets worried when he notices that their physical appearance has changed because if even he is noticing then it’s getting to a point where things need to change and they need to change fast.

🐄 Only problem? Belphie doesn’t really know what to do about it, he’s never really dealt with things like this. He and Beel had never had issues with their appearances or their eating habits -- well Beel was a special case in that regard.

🐄 So, surprise, Belphie takes time away from napping to do some research on this stuff, because while he thinks it’s dumb he does want his stupid little human to take care of themselves, or else he wouldn’t have a stupid little human to love.

🐄 With a bare minimum understanding of the disorder and a genuine want to help, Belphie decided to ask them about what was bothering them so much that they weren’t eating the nice food everyone was making for them.

🐄 Well, to say he was annoyed with their answer would be an understatement, he was angry. How could they think so little of themselves, he wouldn’t be so infatuated with them if he thought so little of them.

🐄 He assures them that their body size shouldn’t matter at all, because that’s not why he likes them in the first place, albeit a bit rudely.

🐄 His approach to it is aggressive but loving and a bit annoyed at the thought of them not taking care of themselves. He just wants them to be happy and healthy that’s all, he just doesn’t know how to express that in normal ways.

🐄 He asks his brothers for help, especially Satan and Beel, since he trusts that they would have a better understanding for such a topic than he ever could.

🐄 Beel helps by setting up a workout and sort of introducing them to foods slowly again, he’s by far more gentle than Belphegor with this kind of stuff and has a much better way of reassuring them.

🐄 As for Satan, he’s just more educated on this and Belphegor goes to him for advice on how to help more. What’s the best types of foods, what kinds of ways can i reassure them? stuff like that.

🐄 Overall the approach is lazy, sloppy, and a bit harsh, but it’s clear that he’s doing his best and just wants them to be happy in the end all.

Thank you. Hope you enjoyed.

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hamiltalian-creates · 4 years

Note

Oo!! I wish you would write a fic where... (ask thingy) Logan is totally oblivious to Remus’s attempts to score a boyfriend. He thinks that remus is just being impulsive and saying random sexual stuff at him when really Remus is trying to gain the other’s attention! Also hi!!

Hi, CJ! Thanks for the idea, I’m glad we’re on the same Intrulogical brainwave lol

Words: 3,424

Warnings: Remus being Remus

Remus was weird. All of the sides and Thomas himself knew it and acknowledged it and Remus wore the word like a bad Christmas sweater, but, lately, he’d been acting weirder than Logan would’ve expected from him. For the latest example, Logan was just trying to go about his day and get some reading done in the living room when Remus sat beside him and pulled him into his lap and began speaking.

“So, Logan, how does this sound: You and me, my side of the imagination, 8 o’clock tonight, anything you want.”

Logan hummed in thought as he skimmed the page for where he’d lost the his place once Remus had jostled him. “I’m not in the mood for a hookup, but thank you for the offer.”

Remus pouted, but he wasn’t one to give up that quickly. “Alright, no sex. How about now?”

“I’m busy at the moment. I’d rather finish this book uninterrupted.”

Remus huffed and moved to get up, stopping as Logan grabbed his shoulder.

“At least move me more carefully, I am reading.”

Were it any other side, Remus would’ve just stood up and let him fall to the floor with a satisfying thump and maybe even a nice snap or crack, but this was Logan. Remus wanted to date him and Logan had to like him for that to happen. So, he carefully lifted Logan out of his lap and stood up before placing him back onto the couch, patting his head as he set him down.

Logan nodded. “Thank you.”

But that wasn’t the last of Remus’s exceptionally weird moments with Logan.

Just the next morning, as Logan was making himself a healthy, balanced breakfast of biscuits and jam, hold the biscuits, Remus strolled in and smacked Logan’s behind, an action that Logan was pretty used to by then.

“How about some hang time in the library after breakfast?” Remus asked. “You might have to wait a while for me though, I’m getting hungry from staring at an absolute snack.”

Logan looked down at his jar of jam and then back up at Remus before handing it to him. “It is quite a delicious treat. And I’ll have to pass on the library, ‘hanging’ doesn’t sound very fun.”

Okay, that one was Remus’s fault, bad choice of words. “I mean, like, hanging out,” he clarified, dipping two fingers into the jar of jam and scooping some out before eating it.

“Hanging anywhere sounds uncomfortable. Keep the jar, I have plenty more.” Logan went over to a locked cabinet and pulled the key out from his pocket, unlocking and opening the door to reveal that the entire cabinet had been filled with jars of various Crofters jams.

“That’s quite the collection there.”

Logan shrugged and selected a jar before closing and locking the cabinet again. “I keep the bare minimum, I don’t want to take up too much kitchen space.”

Remus nodded as he watched Logan leave. That nerd really was obsessed with Crofters jams... Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Remus began grinning as he had a brilliant idea.

Logan went a surprisingly short time before having another run in with Remus and his stranger than usual activities, though this one almost made him laugh. Of course, laughing would’ve been a sign that Logan actually felt that Remus’s stunt was funny and, as someone who didn’t feel, that couldn’t happen.

As Logan came out for his afternoon jar of Crofters, Remus was waiting in the kitchen, facing the counters until he heard Logan walk in.

“Hello, Nerdilocks,” Remus greeted as he turned around, showing Logan the newest addition to his usual outfit.

Logan wouldn’t have looked down at his crotch to see it were it not for the fact that it was hard to ignore the large, white writing on his black pants that read “Open here for Crofters” and the large white arrow pointing right at his, thankfully hidden, penis. He took a deep breath as he read it, trying not to let himself show even a hint of the entertainment he felt seeing that.

Remus grinned proudly as he noticed Logan’s lips twitch just the tiniest amount and looked down at his outfit’s new addition before looking back up at Logan. “What do you think?”

“I think that somebody else might find that hilarious and I appreciate your attempt at making me laugh.”

Remus bounced on his toes and inwardly cheered. “Are you taking the offer? I know you’re here for your afternoon Crofters.”

Logan shook his head and went over to his hoarding cabinet. “I’m here for a jar of the brand of jam called Crofters, I’m not currently interested in your penis, which, I assume, you have nicknamed ‘Crofters’.”

“Okay, but what if I told you that my dick is literally covered in Crofters jam right now and you have the opportunity to taste it and guess the flavor yourself?”

Logan stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he was serious before realizing that he absolutely was. “Then I’d say that I really admire your persistence and your dedication to this series of practical jokes you’re playing on me. And... I honestly wonder what that feels like.” Logan had absolutely no intention of doing such a thing, but to say he wasn’t curious would’ve been a lie and he wasn’t Janus.

Remus swooned, Logan’s sense of curiosity being the main thing that drove his attraction to the nerd. “It’s sticky and gross, just like we could be if you say yes.”

“As much as I love Crofters, I wouldn’t particularly enjoyed being covered in it. But I appreciate the offer, I suppose that would sound like an appealing activity to you, so I’ll take that as a good thing.” He grabbed two jars from his cabinet, giving one to Remus before grabbing a spoon and leaving with his own jar.

Remus waited until he left before groaning in frustration and going to take a shower. As much as he loved the warm, wet, sticky feeling that he was getting from the jelly that was covering his dick, it reminded him all too much of how he felt on the nights when he’d wake up after dreaming about Logan.

While he was in the shower, he decided to take advantage of the thought and daydream about those situations with Logan, hoping the post nut clarity would help lead him in the right path here.

And it did!

Remus snapped his eyes open and made quick work of scrubbing himself clean before throwing on a quick outfit and dashing over to Janus’s room. He was a nerd, just like Logan, and he was smart! He’d know what to do!

Remus stormed through his door and jumped onto the bed, where he had been reading peacefully. “Janus! I need your advice!”

“And I need a day to go by where I can actually relax,” Janus grumbled as he marked his place in his book and put it down. He was annoyed by Remus’s interruption, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to help him.

“I need help asking Logan out.”

Ah, yes, Remus’s very obvious crush on Logan. For such a smart guy, Logan was so stupid when it came to realizing that Remus had a huge crush on him. Then again, most people didn’t express their affection by saying that they’d want to rip your head off and place it on their nightstand. Janus supposed that it was just years of living with Remus that made it feel obvious that that was Remus’s way of saying that he wanted to wake up to Logan’s face everyday. “Maybe try speaking a bit more his language.”

“I already tried slathering my dick in Crofters and he didn’t even want to taste and guess the flavor!”

Janus wished he wasn’t surprised by that, but Logan did have a pretty unhealthy obsession with the stuff. “That’s not what I meant. I meant try being straightforward. Tell him in very plain words that you want to go on a date with him or fuck him or whatever it is that you do.”

Remus paused for a second and sat up, a dumbstruck look on his face. After a few more seconds, he smacked his forehead, looking absolutely enlightened. “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

Janus shrugged. “You and Logan have a lot in common and one of those things is that you’re both incredibly smart and, at the same time, incredibly stupid.”

Remus nodded for a second before looking at his friend with a grin. “You think we have things in common?”

“Get out of my room and go get a boyfriend.”

“Thanks, Jay!” Remus hopped up and ran out of the room, going to work on his latest plot: properly asking Logan out.

It took him a few days to come up with a plan and, as he did, Logan grew confused. Remus had been so friendly with him, talking to him everyday and constantly touching him, that seeing Remus just kind of vanish was almost worrying, except he didn’t worry. Remus was a grown man and a figment of the imagination, it wasn’t like he could’ve gotten hurt. The more likely answer was that he’d gotten sick of Logan’s lack of response to his actions and moved on to the next side.

Now, as the logical side, he may have put up a show of not being able to feel, but, unfortunately, Thomas didn’t allow him such a luxury and he was stuck with the burden that was human emotion, figment of the imagination or otherwise. And, currently, his emotions surrounding the idea of Remus going to find another side to mess with just because he wasn’t particularly responsive were anything but positive. There was sadness, a hint of anger, and a fair amount of jealousy that he especially wouldn’t want anybody to know about. After all, Logan already got picked on for the things he liked when they were philosophy, psychology, and astronomy. Who knew how the rest of the sides would react when one of the things he liked was Remus.

Fortunately for them and unfortunately for him, it seemed pretty clear that Remus had no interest in him, at least not in that fashion. Remus was just impulsive and there was a very high probability that he was sexual and touchy with everyone, so it wasn’t like he treated Logan any differently from his rest. And this was Remus he was thinking about here, Remus of all sides, would’ve made it the most obvious if he had a crush on him, even more obvious than Roman, as insanely open and honest as Remus was. Not to mention, Remus probably wouldn’t have stopped talking to Logan if he actually liked him.

So, all that was left to do was for Logan to start on the process of forgetting about his stupid crush. It wouldn’t have worked out, anyways. Remus got bored of him as a friend after a few weeks, there was no doubt in Logan’s mind that he would’ve gotten bored of him as a partner or boyfriend even faster.

Fortunately, with all of the practice he’d had, it wasn’t hard for Logan to hide how hurt he was by Remus’s absence. He went about his day as if nothing had changed whatsoever and attempted to enjoy a peaceful day, something he wasn't particularly used to anymore.

Thankfully, it seemed like he wasn’t going to have to put up with that kind of order for very long.

A few days into getting used to Remus’s absence, Logan was grabbing a jar of Crofters for his afternoon snack, fighting the urge to grab a second for a side who wasn’t even there, when he was interrupted by said side’s voice.

“Logan!” Remus called out as he stepped into the kitchen, hiding his hands behind his back. “I’m glad to see you here, I have to talk to you.”

Logan stood up and looked back at him, his jelly collection briefly forgotten. “Remus. I haven’t really heard from you in a few days...”

Aww, he noticed. Remus beamed and nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you!”

Here it was. Remus was going to say he didn’t want to hang out with him anymore. “What is it?” Logan asked warily.

Remus stepped forward and shoved a bouquet of a variety of flowers in Logan’s face. “Here! I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I brought you some of everything.”

Logan blinked a few times, surprised, before hesitantly taking the flowers.

“Don’t be so scared, there’s nothing dangerous there. Except for the thorny roses, but nothing too crazy,” he said with a shrug, smiling as Logan started analyzing the flowers.

“Thank you... These are really nice. Um... May I ask what they’re for? It’s not a holiday or my birthday or anything.”

Remus put his hands over Logan’s, glad that he’d arranged the flowers so that the few roses were in the middle, unable to stab Logan’s hands. He was too excited to not grip Logan’s hands as tight as he could. “I had a special question to ask you! Would you like to go out with me?”

“Go out?...” Logan asked slowly, putting the pieces together as he looked between his and Remus’s hands and the flowers enclosed in them and the bright blush on Remus’s face as he beamed. “You mean... Like on a romantic outing? Forgive me if I’m wrong, that’s just the context that is usually meant by the phrase ‘going out,’ at least to my knowledge. Unless you’re asking me to go out with you as in die in a fiery explosion and these are a sample of the flowers that you’ll leave to be left in my grave?” It was an unconventional use of the phrase in comparison, but it was more likely in this scenario, considering that it was Remus he was talking to.

Remus cackled and shook his head. “No, Logan, I would like to go on a romantic outing with you. If you are interested, I would like to partake in a romantic relationship with you and I’ve been trying to ask for a while now. It’s kind of my fault for forgetting how crazy literal, but oh my god, you’re really stupid literal.”

Logan laughed awkwardly and nodded. “Yeah.. That’s kind of your fault, you’re so straightforward that I can’t help but to take everything you say literally... And you’re so straightforward that I almost think you’re serious right now.”

“Uh, I am always very serious,” Remus responded, feigning offense before grinning again. “I am serious, I want to date you! You’re smart and cool and you’re curious enough to not be afraid of everything I say and I don’t like that you’re helping Thomas not be scared of me, but I love that you’re helping him not be scared of me. I really, really want to be your boyfriend and I can’t believe I didn’t think of just outright asking you like this any sooner.”

Logan liked to think he was the most composed side, but right now, he was an absolute disaster of a gay. His brain was figuratively short circuiting and he couldn’t find very many words to say, much less figure out how to put them together in coherent sentences. “You think I’m cool?...”

“Of course I do!” Remus was getting excited again, bouncing on his toes and fighting every urge to grab Logan’s stupid face and kiss him all over. “You’re so cool! You’re not scared of the weird things I say and you’re not afraid to call out the others when they’re in the wrong and I really really like hanging out with you. You’re totally cool and it’s taking every bit of restraint for me not to kiss you silly right now.”

If Logan were a more impulsive and a less composed side, he would’ve gladly invited Remus to do just that. Instead, he freed one of his hands and loosened his tie ever so slightly - he wasn’t sure when it had gotten so hard to breathe, but he was pretty sure being this flustered didn’t help, not that he’d admit it - and cleared his throat, hoping that his own brain would start working with him again. “That sounds like a very lovely proposition.”

Just as Logan had spent a while misinterpreting Remus’s romantic advances, Remus misinterpreted Logan’s acceptance as consent for what he wanted to do and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a kiss. Just like everything else that Remus did, it was passionate and chaotic, a mess of mashing lips and clicking teeth - Remus was saving using his tongue for later.

Logan wasn’t one for displays of romantic affection, especially not ones that were so public, but Remus’s passionate kiss was too hard not to get into and he found himself lost in the kiss before he could control himself, putting his previously freed hand over one of Remus’s and keeping the other wrapped around the bouquet that he was holding.

Unfortunately, just as they had a tendency to do every single time Logan showed even a sliver of vulnerability, one of the sides decided to show up right at that moment.

“Hey, Logan, would you mind if I grabbed a- Aaaahhhh!” Roman screamed as he walked in and saw his brother making out with their nerd.

Logan was too used to ignoring Roman’s every word and too into his current activities to pull away at the sound of the scream, but Remus was pretty sure that, in a more clear state of mind, Logan wouldn’t have wanted Roman to just watch them make out, especially not when it was their first makeout session, so he took every bit of his will power and pulled away from the kiss, turning back to glare at his brother.

“Fantastic timing, dipshit.”

Roman made a series of offended noises and gestured vaguely at the two of them, unsure of where exactly he went wrong in this scenario. “You’re making out with Logan in the middle of the kitchen where anyone can see! It’s not my fault that I happened to walk into our shared kitchen!”

Logan began pulling himself out of his daze, standing up straight and clearing his throat. “Roman, you’re not usually one to just walk into a room without loudly announcing yourself first.”

“You’re not usually one to just make out with anyone in the kitchen, especially not my brother!” Roman leaned against the wall and dramatically gripped his stomach. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick... I have to leave!”

And just as fast as he’d arrived, Roman ran out of the kitchen, leaving the other two sides behind.

Remus sighed and turned to Logan, his usual smile making its way back onto his face. “So, we’re boyfriends now?”

Logan nodded and adjusted his glasses. ”Yes, we’re boyfriends now.” He decided against adding on the fact that their relationship was what he’d been agreeing to before, not the kissing, not wanting to let Remus think for even a second that he didn’t enjoy that amazing kiss. “And perhaps we could do more kissing later, when there aren’t any sides around to bother us?”

Remus’s eyes lit up. “Wait, will that include sex? I’ve been asking for a date, but I’ve also been asking for a lot of that.”

Yeah, Logan had noticed that much, he just preferred to be in an established relationship before going to that level. ... Wait, was asking for sex also one of Remus’s ways for asking for a relationship? That didn’t matter now, they were dating and there was no confusion about that. “Maybe after you take me on a few dates, yes.”

Remus cheered to himself and grabbed Logan’s shoulders, leaning in and kissing his forehead before letting him go. “Meet me in my side of the imagination at 8 o’clock tonight, dress according to whatever kind of activity you want to do, you’re choosing our first date.”

Logan simply nodded and watched as Remus left him alone in the kitchen, staring down at his flowers once he was out of sight. He and Remus were dating now... Sure, they could’ve been in a relationship sooner, had Logan been better at understanding the meanings behind his words, but that didn’t matter. They were dating now. And, for once, Logan couldn’t think about anything else.

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