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sjsmith56 · 21 days ago

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Mr. Barnes Seizes the Day

Summary - AU one shot. Mr. Barnes, a bachelor grammar school principal romances a spinster teacher on his staff, after receiving his orders to report for duty in WW II.

Length: 6.5 K

Characters: James Barnes, named OFC.

Warnings: lack of confidence, fear of rejection, no smut although it is implied.

Author notes: Was going to wait on posting this but these recent pictures brought up an idea for a story. Other writers may see him as a mobster, but in this AU I see him as an unmarried school principal contemplating his life choices and deciding to do something about it. Carpe diem is Latin, translated often to "seize the day." Images of Sebastian Stan by @popeofthebowery.

Brooklyn, January 1943

He looked in the mirror as he did his tie, the same colour tie he had worn every school day for 18 years. It had always been a black tie with a white shirt, a black sweater vest, and black suit, black shoes; his current uniform, soon to be replaced by a pink and green one. The new uniform would actually be a dark olive drab jacket over a lighter shade drab for the trousers but he had it on good authority that the officers in the army called them pinks and greens. It was going to be quite the change for the 40-year-old bachelor.

James Barnes looked once again at the orders he received in the mail yesterday, to report for basic training, followed by officer school. After all the years of being regarded as too soft to be anything but a teacher, Mrs. Barnes only son Bucky was going to war. Not that the staff at the school knew him as Bucky. To them, he was always Mr. Barnes, a quiet, bearded, unmarried man who seemed destined to always be alone. After Ma died, he had been just that as his sisters were busy with their own families. Well, at least with him being in the army, he would be going somewhere, doing something, instead of just being the principal at a grammar school in Brooklyn. He sighed. Maybe, just maybe he could get past his usual introverted nature and go out with a woman before he left. Perhaps he could even finally get up the nerve to ask Miss Heathcott to dinner, or at least a walk in the park. It had only been 12 years since she first joined the staff at the grammar school. He really should have asked her out then when he was still a young man and had more to offer than the confirmed bachelor he now was. How she was still unmarried was beyond him but maybe she was waiting for the right man.

He combed his hair into its usual place, put his vest on and went to the window, just like he did every weekday morning to see the weather, confirming that it looked like another grey winter day. He turned around, taking in his two-bedroom apartment, his haven after a busy day dealing with the stress of running a school. The bookcases full of his favourite titles, the gramophone, and records of the jazz music he loved, were his escape from his loneliness. It suddenly bothered him that it would all be sitting here, unused unless he could find someone to sublet it to, someone who would look after it for him so that when he returned, he could live the quiet life again in his personal haven.

After his usual breakfast of two boiled eggs, toast and coffee, Mr. Barnes washed up the dishes, brushed his teeth, put his jacket on, then his overcoat, and his hat, ready for the brief walk to the subway station. When he got there a lineup awaited him. Now that gasoline and rubber were rationed, many people had to put their cars up on blocks and switch to public transportation. It had made commuting longer and more crowded. He stood in the packed train car, holding onto the strap that hung down from the top bar, trying to keep a respectable distance from the women who had joined the work force since the men were called to war. At his stop, several others got off, going their different ways after leaving the station. It was only a few minutes walk to the school, and he fished his master keys out. Only he and the head custodian had them. Mr. Barnes usually unlocked the school in the morning, Mr. Santucci locked it up at night. He turned on the lights from the master electrical panel, then entered his office, taking his overcoat off. Checking the thermostat, he made sure it read 72°, so that it would be warm for the children by the time they got there. Then he started up the coffee urn in the staff room, before unlocking the staff door, knowing that they would start arriving within the next quarter hour. It was all part of his usual morning routine, and it suddenly struck him how much he was stuck in that rut of duty, habit, and dullness. Leaning against an empty wall he wondered what he had become.

He was still standing in the staff room, waiting for the coffee to finish percolating, so he could empty the used grounds then clean the filter, to prevent the coffee from becoming bitter, when Miss Heathcott arrived. She stepped inside, surprised to see Mr. Barnes leaning against a wall, looking down to the floor but not seeing anything. He seemed a little pensive, then he heard her and straightened up, giving her a small smile.

"Good morning, Miss Heathcott," he said, politely, trying to restore his usual projection of calm leadership. "You're early today."

"I had some final preparations for art class," she answered, taking her coat off and hanging it up in the closet. "Is everything alright, Mr. Barnes? You seem a little preoccupied."

"I am a little," he answered truthfully. "I have an important announcement for the staff, but I'll wait for everyone to arrive before I make it. It will only take a few moments between first bell and final bell." He moved over to a chalkboard in the staff room. "I guess I should put that down so that people return in time to hear the announcement. Coffee is made if you wish to have some. I still have to empty and clean the filter."

"Thank you," she smiled. "I will. I can clean the filter for you, since you were thoughtful enough to get it started."

She poured herself a coffee then opened the top and carefully lifted the filter with the steaming grounds out of the urn, aware that he was watching her. Why it made her a little nervous today was a mystery to her. They had worked together in the school for twelve years, her entire school career. He had been a 5th grade teacher when she started fresh out of college. Promoted to assistant principal ten years ago, and principal four years ago, he was still a handsome man and she had wondered if they could ever have more than a working relationship. But his introverted nature, especially around women, became clear soon enough and she gave up any hope of him noticing her in a romantic sense, resigning herself to being a spinster since other men seemed as indifferent to her. Still, he was always a gentleman, and an effective manager of their staff as he was quite unflappable by the shenanigans of some students, as well as being well respected by the parents.

Leaving the staff room to don his overcoat again and take on the supervision of arriving students, Mr. Barnes greeted everyone as they arrived. There was always a persistent group of children around him, sharing the details of their lives. He took it all in good stride, knowing from experience that for those children from a single parent family, they needed the attention of another adult to hear their thoughts and observations. It was also a way for him to learn who was having difficulties with the necessities of life or dealing with issues that could be overwhelming. For the children who were smaller, weaker, and prone to bullying, he was their knight in shining armour, making it very clear that particular behaviour was not tolerated at his school. It was all part of keeping the school running efficiently while providing a safe learning environment.

Before the first bell sounded, he asked some of the more responsible students in the 5th grade to shepherd the younger students to their rooms as he had a brief staff meeting to attend. When the bell sounded, he made sure everyone was lined up, filed inside in an orderly fashion, then he went straight to the staff room, removing his overcoat along the way. The talking in the staff room stopped as he entered, placed his overcoat on a chair and stepped towards the chalkboard.

"Thank you for being here on time," he said. "There is some important news to share after I received a letter in the mail yesterday. I am to report for basic army training in one month. After 8 weeks I am to attend officer training school, after which I will be sent to the European theatre. I haven't informed the superintendent yet, but I will as soon as the morning classes start. I will recommend that Mr. Miller be promoted to principal in my absence, but the final decision is with the administration of our school district, as are any decisions regarding assistant principal. The parents and student body will be informed once we get the confirmation of the transfer of responsibility."

He waited for questions. Since there weren't any, he nodded his head briefly at the staff, then left, picking up his overcoat along the way. Mrs. Hardy, his secretary, followed a few minutes later, taking her position at the desk in the front office, while he hung his overcoat up. He came out again, to supervise in the hallways before the final bell rang, signalling the start of the school day. Satisfied that everyone was where they should be he returned to the office and sat at his desk to make that phone call to the superintendent's office. With that out of the way, he began dealing with the school budget.

That lasted until two boys were brought into the office by Miss Heathcott, both boys appearing very sullen. She left them in the outer office then appeared at Mr. Barnes' door to explain the situation before returning to her classroom. He couldn't help but watch her leave wondering why it made him feel like he was being left behind. Putting that aside he dealt with the boys' dispute, listening to their versions of it as he sat in his chair, his hand on his jaw. Their dispute was based on a game of marbles that resulted in one of the boys losing his boulder aggie, large agate marble for those who never played. He told them a story of his boyhood friend who died of polio at the age of 10. Steve and he played marbles all the time, regularly winning and losing against each other but never letting the heat of the game interfere with their friendship.

"When he died his ma gave me his marbles, knowing that he would want me to have them. She said I could give them to my sons, except I don't have any because I never got married. You two remind me of us, except we never fought each other or called each other names, other than jerk or punk. I miss him, every day of my life. Marbles are just things, to be won and to be lost. But friendship lasts a lifetime and beyond. Don't let the marbles make you enemies. Now, if you two can show me that you can get along and maybe become friends, I might be persuaded to give you a bag of marbles that have some dandies in them. But you have to prove that you're worthy of them. Can you boys do that for me?"

They both promised and Mr. Barnes walked the boys back to the classroom, making it clear he expected them to apologize to their classmates and Miss Northcott for interrupting the class. With a nod to the woman teacher who smiled warmly at him in a way that he felt deep inside, he returned to his office and the matter of the budget for the rest of the day. When classes were dismissed, Mr. Barnes usually insisted that all teachers make an appearance outside the school, both to make sure the students were dispersed and to be a visible presence for any parents who were there. In his experience he found some parents, especially those from certain families were uncomfortable inside the school but found it easier to approach a teacher outside. Today there were a few inquiries but nothing that wasn't handled quickly. More than once he found his attention drawn to Miss Heathcott, her caramel-coloured hair shining in the winter sunlight and her cheeks pink from the brisk air. Had she always been this beautiful? The answer was yes but she seemed even more beautiful today.

Most of the teachers stayed for a time to prepare for the next day classes, but Mr. Barnes was always the last one of out the school, other than the custodians. It was just the way he was. Walking through the hallways to find out who was still present before he finally left, he was surprised to see Miss Northcott still in her classroom, considering she was in early that morning. He watched her for several moments, unseen by her. Intently focused on some papers on her desk, strands of her hair had worked their way over her face, and he wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Knocking gently on her door frame, he stood in the doorway, as she looked up at him. Her eyes were a little red. Had she been crying?

"You're here late. Is everything alright?"

Embarrassed, she looked away briefly. "Mostly." She gave a nervous laugh. "I know that's not much of an answer. I guess I'm a little concerned about you going to war. It will be different here, without you."

He approached her desk, deciding to be bold for once in his life.

"Would you go out with me?" he asked. "Dinner, or even just a walk on an afternoon this weekend?"

She looked up at him again, noticing how his distinctive blue eyes held their gaze on her. She could get lost in those eyes.

"A walk sounds nice," she said. "Here, or in the city?"

He smiled, his even white teeth adding to his handsome features. "Central Park. I can meet you at the subway or there at the park."

"At the park is fine," she said. "Saturday, at 2 pm, at the boathouse ice rink? Perhaps we can rent skates."

Envisioning the possibility of his arm around her waist as they skated in Central Park he agreed to her suggestion and the date was made. As he waited for her to put her coat and galoshes on in the staff room before he left, he was filled with an anticipation he hadn't felt in years. For the remainder of the week, it was challenging to keep their mind on their work. Both of them, alone and lonely, wondered if perhaps this could be the beginning of something wonderful. It was difficult not to imagine a future together, even though they had no idea if they were compatible beyond a good work relationship. For the first time in a long while, both individuals dared to dream of a future with someone at their side.

Then Saturday morning dawned, and Mr. Barnes looked out his window in dismay at the heavy snow that was falling. Quickly turning on the radio he listened to the announcer describe a weather system that was supposed to go north to Canada, but instead came east to New York. Temperatures were expected to plummet throughout the day. It was suggested that the next few days of snowfall could shut the whole city down with the amount that was expected. Sitting forlornly at his kitchen table, Mr. Barnes made the decision to cancel the date and pulled out his list of teacher names, addresses and telephone numbers. As he picked out Lucy Heathcott's name in the list, he noted her address was within walking distance of his apartment. As the phone rang, he suddenly thought of another way to see her. It was quite improper to ask this of Miss Heathcott, but something told him that if he didn't take this chance, he might regret it for the rest of his life. For too long he had followed the path of least resistance. Now was the time for confidence.

"Carpe diem," he said out loud, just as the receiver on the end was picked up.

"Hello?" said a voice on the other end. He recognized it as Miss Heathcott. "Who is this?"

"James Barnes," he replied. Bold, be bold. "It seems that the weather will make our plans for Central Park unwise, but I wanted to suggest an alternative."

She was quiet for a moment. "I'm listening."

"You don't live far from me," he said, "and I would be willing to come over and walk you back, but would you consider coming to my apartment? We can have lunch, listen to music and talk."

He let out a shaky breath. He had done it, had suggested something as an alternative to cancelling the date. She was quiet again, then he heard it, an almost imperceptible whisper of carpe diem. Was it possible that she also wished to throw caution to the wind and do something completely out of character?

"It's supposed to get worse during the day," she said, hesitantly. "What if by the time I have to go home it is isn't possible?"

It wasn't an outright refusal, but he understood that her reputation was on the line. She was an unmarried woman, in a position of responsibility. If it wasn't possible for her to go home, then she would have to stay at his apartment which could reflect poorly on both of them. He did have a second bedroom. Why couldn't Miss Heathcott be his guest and stay in the other bedroom? That wasn't improper, was it?

"You can stay," he answered. "I have a second bedroom. It was my mother's before she passed away. You would be my guest." He breathed out. Carpe diem. "It's just that I was so looking forward to spending time with you. When I saw the snow, and heard the forecast, it made me feel that perhaps fate was conspiring against us. Then I realized that life is a choice. We either accept the limitations placed on us, or we strive to overcome them. If you insist on returning to your rooming house before dark, I will make sure you get home safely."

He closed his eyes, praying that she would accept.

"Meet me halfway," she said, after a long silence. "I live in a rooming house and the landlady would be bothered by a man picking me up. I'll bring some things to stay, just in case, but I don't promise anything."

An hour later Mr. Barnes met Miss Heathcott, both bundled up enough to cover their faces, but he recognized her scarf and approached her as the snow fell in large wet clumps. Extending his hand, he took her small valise from her, then offered her his other arm for the walk back to his apartment. It was the first time they had ever touched and her presence on his arm felt wonderful to him. They didn't speak until they entered his building and stamped the snow off their feet. In his apartment they removed their galoshes, and heavy overcoats, hanging them up in the closet by the door. Both quickly ran their hands through their hair. He took her valise, leading Miss Heathcott, Lucy, to the second bedroom, handing her luggage to her at the door.

"I'll leave you to get settled," he said. "Would you like a coffee or would a tea interest you?"

"Tea would be nice," she answered. "Milk, no sugar. Thank you ... James."

Lucy came out to a tray set up on a table in the living room, with a teapot, two cups with saucers, and milk. Taking a closer look at the living room space, she thought it felt very comfortable, with good quality furniture and decor. Although it was not what she was expecting it showed her host in a positive light. Noticing the full bookshelves and the record collection she smiled, somehow not surprised at what Mr. Barnes ... James, did to relax. He came out of the kitchen, carrying a small plate of cookies, wearing a pair of brown trousers, a grey shirt, and a pullover sweater with an argyle pattern of brown and grey over it. She must have made a noise because he looked at her, then at himself, suddenly self-conscious.

"I've never seen you wear anything other than your black suit and white shirt," she said. "You look nice, like a different person."

"My first principal insisted on all the men teachers wearing the same suit," he answered. "Said it was a mark of professionalism. It just became a habit, I guess. I usually wear something like this on the evenings and weekends. In the summer I'm even more relaxed in appearance." A compliment on his clothing should be returned. "You look good, too. I've never seen you in slacks."

"With the cold weather I thought it was prudent," she breathed. "You live alone?"

He approached closer to where she stood. "Yes. My mother lived with me as my sisters are married with small children. She became too ill to live at home and had to go into the hospital. She passed away about three years ago. My father died shortly after I graduated from college. I assumed responsibility for caring for my family."

"I'm sorry. My folks are still alive but they're in Illinois. I only get back to see them at Christmas and in the summer."

They both stopped talking and stood there, unsure what to do next. He gestured to an armchair for Lucy to sit in, while he sat on the couch. Pouring her tea first, he handed her the cup and saucer, then poured some for himself. They sipped from their cups quietly, letting the warmth of the liquid rejuvenate them. Sitting back, Mr. Barnes crossed his legs at the knee. Lucy stayed upright in the armchair, crossing her legs at the ankle and angling them to one side.

"How long have you lived here?" she asked.

"10 years," he answered. "After my sisters got married my mother's health took a turn and she was unable to be in a place with stairs. This apartment had elevator access which was easier for her. Taking care of her took up most of my spare time outside of the school and left no time for courting." He sipped again. "I don't want to give it up while I'm away so I'm looking for someone to sublet it while I am overseas."

"It's a very nice place," said Lucy. "It feels comfortable." I could be happy living here. It's much nicer than the rooming house.

He suddenly leaned forward and picked up the plate of cookies offering it to her. With a polite smile, she took one, placing it on her saucer.

"You have an interesting assortment of books and records," she said, after she bit into her cookie. "Have you read all of the books and listened to all of the music?"

"Yes, to both," he answered. "I taught my sisters to dance with those records, and I've been an avid reader since I was a boy. Do you read?"

"Yes. I listened more to the radio for music than bought records. Who's your favourite author?"

"I was first interested in the stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Jules Verne, and H.G. Wells, then I discovered The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. It was like being transported to another universe. Did you know he invented several languages just for the world he created, a place he called Middle Earth? He's a brilliant man."

"I'll have to read it." She ate some more of her cookie. "I'm more of a mystery fan, myself. Agatha Christie is a favourite."

"She is a good writer." He looked towards his bookshelf. "I have the ones with Hercule Poirot in them. He's a fascinating character."

Lucy beamed at James, glad to have found something in common with him. They talked more about books, music, and movies, although both admitted they didn't go to the pictures too often. She offered to help prepare lunch and they talked more in the kitchen about food. They spent the afternoon listening to several radio shows, sharing the sofa. As the day lengthened into the late afternoon, Lucy suddenly moved to the window looking out over the snowy landscape. There were no vehicles about and only a few people were walking. The wind had come up as well, as she could hear it whistle a little bit through the window.

"I should go home," said Lucy. "If I wait until dark it will make it difficult to see where I'm going."

"Don't go." James said quickly. "I am having a wonderful time getting to know you better."

"What would people say if they knew I was here? I could lose my job."

"But they don't know," he answered. "Did your landlady notice you leaving with your valise?"

Lucy nodded then looked down. "I lied and told her I was spending the night with a girlfriend whose husband had just left for England. Said she was nervous about being alone during the snowfall."

Wringing her hands a little betrayed her distress at having to lie. Gently, he placed one of his hands on hers, stilling her motions. It was a little presumptuous, he knew, but he didn't want her to leave. This had been a wonderful time for him.

"I'm glad you're here," he said. "In the morning the snowplows will likely be out, and the footing will be easier to manage." He looked out the window. "By the time we got halfway you would have to walk the rest of the way alone in the dark and I couldn't ... I wouldn't leave you to do that. The odds of your landlady seeing us would increase. Please ... stay."

Her hands were so soft that he was unaware he was gently rubbing his thumb over the back of one of them. She looked at it, then at him and swallowed. Smiling, he released her hands and stepped back.

"I'll stay but you promise to be a gentleman?"

"On my mother's memory," he replied. "I would never force myself on you."

She took him at his word. Even though it was cold and dark outside, inside, in his heart, he felt light and young again. Together they prepared dinner, lighting candles on the table, and listening to orchestral music on the radio. After washing up, they returned to the living room and sat quietly again in the stillness that seemed to amplify the beating of their hearts.

"Would you dance with me?" he asked. "There is always nice music on the radio."

"I'm not very good," she replied, blushing. "I rarely get asked."

"That's alright. Neither am I really. All we have to do is sway and move our feet a little. Please."

She nodded and he turned the radio on, tuning in a station with slow dance music. Taking his hand, she tensed a little at how his other hand touched her back, bringing them closer together. Tentatively, they began swaying to the music, and slowly relaxed into it. He placed his head close to hers, close enough to smell her perfume and became brave enough to tell her something, when The Man I Love came on.

"Every time I hear this song, I imagine I'm in Paris," he murmured. "I'm with a beautiful woman and we're outside a café. The music wafts out onto the sidewalk and the only light is from the streetlamp above. Even though there are others there, in our circle of light we feel like we're alone. It's a warm summer night. I'm wearing trousers and a dress shirt, no tie, and my sleeves are rolled up because of the heat, while my partner is wearing a pretty dress and heels."

She looked up at him, noticing how dark his eyes seemed. Lucy's heart was beating so loudly, she was sure James could hear it, but he just kept looking at her.

"What happens next?" she asked.

"Suddenly, we are alone, as everyone goes inside to refresh their drinks. I brush my fingers along her cheek." He stopped and brushed his fingers just above her jawline. "Then I kiss her softly on the lips and draw her into my embrace."

Looking at his lips she opened hers slightly and he leaned over kissing her gently, pulling her into his arms, as she wrapped her arms around him. It was every bit as nice as he imagined. Her lips were so soft and pliable, and the touch of their tongues sent a sensation into his brain that made him want more. How her body felt, melded with his as they held each other, reminded him of the first woman he fell in love with when he was in college. The memory of how they spent their first night together affected him physically in a way he thought was gone forever. The song finished but neither of them heard the next song be introduced or begin as they kept the sweet connection going. Slowly, he pulled away then caressed her face.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he said. "Lucy, I know that we don't have long before I leave but would you allow me to see you until then?"

"To what end?" she asked. "I've wanted to kiss you as well, but I want more than just spending time together." She looked away, embarrassed a little. "I felt how your body responded to me as we kissed. I know it's normal in a man, but I've never been in the position of feeling desire that way. I want more."

He gasped slightly. What was she saying? Carefully, he cleared his throat.

"You felt desire for me?" She nodded. That was unexpected. He had accepted her caveat of being a gentleman when she agreed to stay. "It's been a long time since I was with a lady. College, actually. I never expected you to ...."

She put her fingertips on his lips, and he kissed them, softening his gaze on her. He couldn't deny that the thought of being with her in that way wasn't enticing to him, but this was new ground for him. As a man, he wanted it but as a gentleman there was more to consider, especially for her.

What if a child was conceived? It would make him a cad if he was overseas and received a letter from her saying their tryst had produced a baby. She would lose her job, be ostracized, and evicted from her rooming house, although she could live here. He glanced around his apartment; she could live here. What if she did so as his wife? They had known each other for 12 years. They weren't strangers. He was a bachelor; she was a spinster; successful marriages had been built just on that. With the war on, she could continue working as a married woman, if she wanted. He looked at her upturned face, a small smile gracing it, and felt that warmth again. Carpe diem.

"Would you marry me?" he asked. "We could go to City Hall before it closes one day and get the licence and be married next weekend. You could move in here, stay here while I'm away, be waiting for me when I get back. If what we do tonight produces a child, you'll be taken care of. If anything happens to me, all that I have will be yours."

Marry him? Her mouth was suddenly dry, and no words were forthcoming from her lips. A proposal certainly was unexpected. She had crossed a boundary by coming here, then had crossed another by even suggesting they be together physically. Now, he was offering a chance to make it right. He was offering the protection of his name and his home by asking her to be his wife, regardless of what would come from this night. Is that what she wanted? Carpe diem.

"Yes."

Their kiss was brief but deep, intense, and full of anticipation. James, ever the gentleman, wanted to ensure Lucy felt safe with him. He wouldn’t be aggressive with her as it wasn’t his nature. They could begin with sharing a bed and go from there.

"Do you want to change into your nightclothes?" he asked. "We can be in my bedroom or in yours. Whatever you're more comfortable with."

"Yours," she said. "I would like to change. James, do you like me?"

He lowered his eyes and breathed out noticeably. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer her or would say that he didn't.

"I have loved you from afar for a long time. If I had a flower for every time I thought of you ... I could walk through my garden forever. Alfred, Lord Tennyson said that, and I have known that I loved you ever since the first day I laid eyes on you. When I return, we'll have a house with a garden full of flowers. It won't make up for the years I was too afraid to say anything, but I will say it now. I love you, Lucy. Now and forever, you will be in my heart."

Nothing else mattered after those words were spoken. The kiss they shared at this moment was more intense and passionate than she had ever imagined a kiss could be. To be wanted so much by a man, and to want him in return was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Right now, this was their world, and they would live by their decisions.

💞 💞

June 1945

The taxi driver wouldn't take the money that Captain Barnes offered to him when he pulled up in front of the Brooklyn apartment building. He saw the medals on the officer's uniform, then noticed the folded up left sleeve of the man's jacket. This was a war hero, a man who lost an arm for his country, a man who made it back alive. Today, he rode free. With a slight smile, Barnes got out of the taxi, reaching in for his duffle bag and grasping the strap with his right hand. As he stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the brick building that he hadn't seen in two years he wondered if Lucy would forgive him for not telling her what happened. Might as well get it over with.

The elevator ride was slow, but it gave him time to think about all that had happened since their quick marriage, and separation after he left. It was only six weeks into basic training that Lucy wrote him about being pregnant. She turned the second bedroom into a nursery, selling his mother's bedroom suite, on his insistence, to pay for the baby furniture they needed. Her letters had been filled with love and longing for the day when they would be reunited.

When he lost his arm, just days before Germany's surrender, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. It was hard to admit that he felt less a man than he did before. He wasn't sure he could return to being a school principal. Would staff and students still respect him without his arm? Then the day came when he got his orders to report to a hospital ship returning to New York. His stump wound was healing well so he didn't need much medical care on the trip back. An army doctor on board told him that as a veteran he could get an artificial arm fitted, admitting they weren't the most friendly looking things, using hooks to replace a lost hand, but gave him a card for a special foundation, funded by the billionaire Howard Stark. He was developing a new type of prosthetic for amputees and wanted men willing to try his prototypes out. It was worth exploring.

The elevator stopped and the door opened. Grasping his duffle bag again, Barnes walked to the door of his apartment and placed the bag on the floor, then tentatively knocked on the door. He could hear Lucy's footsteps approaching, his heart racing with an ominous sense of foreboding. Then it opened, and there she was, looking up at him in surprise. Her arms went around his neck, as she cried, calling his name out over and over again. Wrapping his right arm around her, he buried his now clean-shaven face into her neck, taking in the smell of her perfume and the softness of her hair and skin. Then their lips met, deliriously tasting and sensing that which they had both missed since they said goodbye. Her hands went to his arms, and it was then she noticed, as she looked from where his left arm should have been to his face and back again.

"Your arm ... you lost it." It was said as a statement of fact. He nodded, prepared to explain. "Oh, my darling, my love. If that was the price to bring you back to me then that's how it is. For you are back, aren't you? You are still mine? Still my James?"

"Now and forever," he answered, almost ready to cry in relief. He took in all of her, her face, her hair, her lips, her hands that he brought to his own lips to kiss. "I'm home and I'm never going to war again."

She caressed his face, then kissed him again, a sweet and gentle peck that was just as loving as the passionate one shared moments earlier. Stepping back into the apartment as he picked up his bag, she waited for him to drop it off inside the door, then he took his cap off, placing it on a side table. Leading him into the living room where a playpen held his son, James Barnes Jr., she dropped his hand. The toddler raised his arms to Lucy, and she scooped him up.

"JJ, this is your daddy," she said. "Daddy's home from the war. Can you say hi and give him a kiss?"

The little boy's attention was taken by the medals on his father's uniform, reaching for them with his chubby hands. Holding his right arm out, Bucky held him firmly on his hip, looking at the blue eyes, and Lucy's hair on this beautiful child, his child, conceived on a wintry night when a lonely man and woman, who thought life had passed them by, decided to seize the day and reach for happiness together. His lips trembled and his eyes watered. He had never been so happy, as he was right this moment. What would the future bring? Whatever they willed it.

One shots masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes x ofc #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes au #1940s au bucky #introverted bucky #no smut #support non smut

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workingclasshistory · 1 year ago

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On this day, 29 May 1931 a striking rubber worker, Kang Ju-ryong, in Japan-occupied Pyongyang, Korea, began a high-profile solo protest on the Ulmil Pavilion landmark. The pavilion, on a scenic park, was a popular spot for morning walks, so hundreds of people soon gathered to listen to Kang who delivered a powerful speech about the fate of rubber workers who were on strike in the city against pay cuts. Referred to by the nationalist journal Eastern Light as the "Woman-in-the Sky", Kang had got onto the roof by tying a stone to the end of a role of cotton cloth, throwing it at the roof until it caught then climbing up it like a rope. Dozens of police soon arrived, who then also summoned firefighters to get her down. But Kang said that she would jump from the roof to her death if anyone put up a ladder. With the background of the great depression, a strike had begun at the Korean-owned Pyongwon Rubber factory on May 17 in protest at pay cuts of 20-25% for its 49 women workers. The workers went on strike, and the company retaliated by firing the strikers and hiring scab replacement workers. The women then responded by occupying the factory on May 28, until they were evicted by the police. Kang remained on the roof for nine hours until firefighters snuck up on her and pushed her from the roof into a net which had been placed underneath her. The protest galvanised huge public support for the strikers. And despite police repression and multiple arrests, the strikers also had a lot of success in preventing scabs from getting to work by militant picket tactics, blocking tram lines, attacking trams, and in some cases abducting scab workers and forcing them to apologise. By early June strike achieved some concessions, including the rescinding of the pay cut, and the rehiring of the majority of the strikers who had been fired. More: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/7937/pyongyang-woman's-protest https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=634601418713077&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

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captainmalewriter · 2 years ago

Text

Nymphs

Commission Story

Davis couldn't believe the streak of bad luck he'd been having lately. Between getting laid off at work along with various problems back at home, he simply couldn't catch a break! Although the young 25 year old always carried a nonchalant, 'I don't give a fuck' approach to life, even he grew weary after so many L's.

One late evening, Davis was lazing around on his mattress as he tried to figure out how he was going to get some money fast before deadlines started catching up to him. But no matter how much he racked his brain, all he could think of was selling his homegrown pot brownies to the rich high schoolers down the block or go gay for pay.

Neither option was particularly appealing, and out of frustration, Davis let out a grunt as he flipped onto his back. He took out his phone, and as a porn video was loading, he began to strip down. His dick flopped out and he started giving it a few pumps, causing it to grow from 4 inches to 7 inches. Davis was both a shower and a grower like that. He figured a quick tugging session could release some stress. Or it would've been, had his roommate Jared not barged into the room seconds later.

"Bro, what the fuck!" Davis yelled as he quickly covered up his junk. He didn't want his gay roommate to get any ideas. His fears were unwarranted however, as Jared carried on with his business while barely acknowledging him.

"Sorry to interrupt, but can you jerk off somewhere else? I got a guy coming over." Jared then proceeded to change into a jockstrap with Davis still in the room.

Davis scowled, but left without saying anything back. He knew if he didn't leave, it would just cause another week long fight between the two. And not only that, he knew he had sexiled Jared quite a few times too. It'd only be fair if Jared did the same, but that didn't stop Davis from flipping him off as he left the room.

"Goddamn queer..." Davis muttered under his breath as he hopped on his bike and drove out burning rubber.

He had no idea where he was going. Yet, driving around the city aimlessly turned out to be incredibly therapeutic for him. The summer night wind was blowing on his chest as he cruised by streetlights at daredevil speeds. All the adrenaline coursing through his veins made him feel alive! It was crazy that one night drive did what several years of meds couldn't do. Davis was back in his element, and the devilish grin on his face proved it.

The last stop to Davis' night ride was the local city park. At that park was a duck pond where people often went swimming and skinny dipping in. Swimming in the park pond was illegal, but that didn't stop people like Davis from hopping from the fence and going into the water anyway. Davis helped himself, as he always does.

The cool of night made his skin tingle as he stripped down naked. He went slowly into the water, letting his nude body adjust to the temperature change, then dove straight in. The pond water was as refreshing as it was cold. Davis swam around for a while, then floated along the surface for a while longer. He closed his eyes as he remained submerged in the water. The pond was his sanctuary and he had found his peace again.

But as he swam around in the pond, there was something else in there swimming alongside him. It had been resting dormant in the water for decades now, but Davis had unknowingly woken it up, ready to latch onto a host. His nude body made the thing's work easier too. All Davis had to do was swim by for it to attach itself to him.

What was the thing? It wasn't a fish nor insect of any kind. It barely qualified as a multi cellular organism, but to call it a virus would be a gross oversimplification of what it actually was. The thing had come from a stray piece of space debris originating from Neptune. The microscopic Nymph had wound up in the pond after landing. Without a host body, the Nymph was nothing. But now that it had entered Davis through the slit of his dick head, it had awakened. It entered Davis' body, all without him even noticing.

After the late night swim, Davis went back to his apartment to check out for the day. His shared room smelled like anal sex after Jared had his fun in there. Davis popped open a window and went to bed. The exhaustion of an exciting night caught up to him, leaving him sleeping soundly.

While he snoozed away, the little aquatic alien began swimming up the full length of his member. The Nymph swam through his bloodstream, where thanks to its small size, it went completely undetected by Davis’ immune system. It went through the digestive system and the cardiovascular system until it finally landed at the brain. It then nestled into the folds of Davis’ brain, locked and loaded for the next step of complete body takeover.

The next morning came by in a flash. Davis had woken up while Jared was still sleeping over on his side of the room. He groaned as he stretched and got out of bed. Davis looked around and saw the state of disarray the room was in.

“Fuck this,” he said out loud to no one. “I don’t got time to clean, I got more important things to take care of.”

Davis then proceeded to go about his morning. He showered, ate breakfast, then got dressed for the day. He knew had another long day of job hunting ahead of him. But while he was getting dressed, he couldn’t help but notice his massive bulge. He then walked over to his mirror and dropped his jeans to his ankles to get a better view.

“Whewww... God-DAMN!!” Davis exclaimed. He ran his free hand through his chest and abdominals. He was flexing as he felt all the toned muscles of his body. He couldn’t help but smirk as he traced his V-line and cupped his bulge for a quick video. “Thank you God for the good genetics.”

It was supposed to end there. Davis just wanted to check himself out for a brief minute before moving on to the rest of his day. But he didn’t want to stop- or, more accurately, he couldn’t stop! The more he rubbed himself down, the more aroused he was becoming. His bulge grew as his member hardened. He kept playing with his hardening cock, teasing it through his underwear until he finally stuck his hand in and started properly stroking it off. He groaned as he jerked. Jared’s snoring reminded him he wasn’t alone in the room. Davis made a mental note to keep it down, but continued his tugging session anyway.

Davis stopped jerking off for a moment to strip down naked. He kept admiring himself in the mirror. The sight of his naked body kept him rock hard. He flexed in the mirror and smirked. He had just showered, but he hadn’t put on deodorant yet. The faint smell of what was left of his body odor reached his nose, causing him to purr ‘mmm...’ He turned his head to his pits and took a deep sniff.

“God, even my pits smell fucking amazing!! ”

He then continued stroking his dick while worshipping his own body and musk. The cock head was sensitive to the touch, and the lotion he rubbed on his hands after showering made them extra soft. He cupped his hands and thrusted his dick into it. It was so warm and soft, almost as if he was actually fucking someone’s hole.

“Ohh... fuck...”

A moan escaped his lips as he pumped his cock. He made sure to keep the volume down to avoid waking up Jared. He knew he shouldn’t be rubbing one out with his roommate still in the room, but Davis couldn’t help it. He could feel the sexual frustration in his body swell up. He had to rub one out, there was no stopping it now.

He was leaking precum like a broken faucet. His face became flushed as his stroking speed picked up. He was grunting nonstop, completely forgetting Jared was still in the room. But he was too lost in the moment. With his dick pointed up, he tightened his grip as he stroked his cock more and more until he finally erupted. Two weeks worth of cum shot out of him like a fire hose while he was panting. He threw his head back in pure bliss as he felt the warmness of a good jerk off session spread throughout his body. That, and puddles of cum had landed on his exposed body, adding to the warm feeling too.

In the heat of the moment, Davis didn’t realize he had his dick pointed up towards him. Because of that, some of the cum had shot directly onto his face. Some of it even landing on his lips! He groaned and wiped it off, accidentally getting a taste of his own sticky spunk. He felt the salty taste in his mouth, but still instead of being absolutely disgusted by it, he smacked his lips as he savored the taste of his own cum. Davis wasn’t sure why, but it tasted amazing and he needed more. He then used his hands and mouth to clean up all the cum.

Then it happened. The endorphins from masturbating and the taste of cum made the Nymph inside his brain go into overdrive. It hijacked his brain and forced his internal organ systems to start reproducing copies of the alien creature. Within minutes, there were millions of Nymphs inside of Davis’ body. By the time Davis had finished cleaning up and put his pants back on, the head Nymph had successfully completed phase two of body takeover. All that was left was to seize full control.

“Ow... Ow! FUCK!!” Davis screamed out as his temples started throbbing with pain. He fell to his bed with his hands massaging the sides of his head. He was losing control over his body and he was powerless to stop it.

His vision blurred as he thrashed around. His mind felt groggy and heavy, and his breathing grew heavy. Then out of nowhere, he started hearing his own inner voice issuing commands to him. He wasn’t sure why his brain was commanding him, but he obeyed anyway, not knowing it was the Nymph using his own body against him.

Davis stood up, still breathing heavy and face still flushed red. The Nymph scanned the room through Davis, surveying its new surroundings. Its line of sight stopped on Jared, who had slept through Davis jerking off and getting taken over by an alien creature. Davis smacked his lips and his stomach grumbled loudly as he watched Jared’s chest rise and drop with every breath.

“More... MORE!”

Davis threw himself to Jared’s side. He was on his knees salivating at the mouth as he slowly but surely removed Jared’s sweats, leaving his limp cock to slip out. Just the mere sight of another dick got Davis excited! He started with stroking Jared off, and once it got hard enough, he wrapped his mouth around the girthy member. Davis could taste the tang of an unwashed cock, but all it did was motivate him to suck harder.

“Urgh.... fuck...!” Jared said while finally waking up. He felt good, and when he looked down and saw Davis sucking him off, he couldn’t help but smirk. “Finally giving men a try, huh. What a good boy.”

Jared put his hand on the back of Davis’ head and pushed him down, forcing him to deepthroat his entire cock. Davis gagged at first, but quickly grew to the challenge. He then got on top of Jared. He sucked Jared while Jared sucked him off. The two men moaned and grunted like mad as they pleasured each other. Jared was living his fantasy of hooking up with his hot roommate, while Davis was ecstatic to get another shot of cum down his throat.

“Fuck...! I’mma cum...! Argh!!!” Jared cried out as he shot out a load of cum. Davis happily swallowed all of it, but kept sucking Jared off even after he licked his dick clean. Davis then thrusted his hips down to make Jared deepthroat him. He kept the rhythm going strong while he cummed a second time. Jared had no choice but to swallow his load too.

By this time, Davis was chalk full of microscopic aliens. And so was his own cum. Jared noticed Davis’ cum was way saltier than most men, but took it down his throat like a champ anyway. Big mistake. Now the Nymphs were hard at work taking over Jared’s body as another host. Jared felt the piercing pain of having his mind getting taken over, but with Davis laying right on top of him, he couldn’t even struggle against it. Jared quickly succumbed, and all that was left to his mind was the simple command: MORE CUM.

Davis and Jared kept sucking each other until both men’s bodies were completely drained of any and all cum. Only then they did get off each other. Both of their eyes were dilated as they stared into each other’s eyes. Their bodies were alive and they were still fully conscious of their actions, but their minds had been hijacked by extraterrestrial aliens who only had two things on their agenda: gather cum and spread. Because of the Nymphs, their sex crazed actions made sense to them as if it was just another ordinary activity. They had become cum hungry sluts under alien control.

The Nymphs had changed their bodies too. Davis’ musk became more potent, he reeked of masculinity and lust. Jared’s body became more muscular, going from toned twunk to ripped bodybuilder. The changes were subtle, yet they made both of them more sexually attractive to other queer men. Perfect for aliens’ sole mission.

The two men looked at each other, both of them suffering from severe mental fog. Then, a naughty, lustful smile spread across both their faces.

“Threesome?” Jared asked. Davis shook his head.

“Foursome. More men, more cum.”

The two Nymph controlled men then went out to catch more men under their web, hungry for more.

Thank you for supporting!!

#male possession #alien possession #male control #male takeover #musk #alien parasite #commission story #commission #virus tf

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di-in-al · 3 months ago

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~Drifting into Desire~ PART III

>Warnings: Profanity. Smoking.

>Word Count: 8.5k

>Tags 18+ future smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + all characters over age 21 + 1990s themed + no quirks + reader insert

>A/N: Hello hello! This is a chunky chapter, so I hope you enjoy the ride!

>taglist: @simp-plague

part II

~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

The annoying sound of your phone ringing woke you up. In your sleepiness it was like a siren, piercing your ears. You could tell it was still early, not feeling the suns rays peeking through your window. The digital clock on your nightstand read an absurdly early time.

4:00 AM. Fuck that.

It rang seven times, each one getting ignored. Silence filled your room once again, and you could feel your mind slipping back into sleep.

Not even a full minute passes before its ringing again, causing you to bury your head under your pillow. It only helps slightly, not nearly enough for you to completely block it out. Each ring gets more and more shrill, causing a deep groan to travel to your throat. At this rate, Momo is gonna wake up. Throwing the covers off of your body, it recoils with the cool air of the room. Trudging over to your phone, you yank it off of the wall.

“Can I fucking help you?” Did you mean to sound that angry? No. Did it feel good? Most definitely.

A deep chuckle came from the other side, and it caused your anger to swell.

“Well good morning sunshine,” The monotone voice of your uncle came from the other end. “You ready for your first day at school? You’re already late by the way.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This early?

“What the fuck? Do you know what time it is?” Your hand came up to wipe the sleep from your eyes, your mind trying to even come to realize you're on earth. Without a second thought, you hear him reply.

“4:02. Meaning you’re two minutes late as of right now.” You hear the sound of him sipping on something. “You have until I finish this coffee before I leave and this whole thing is off.”

Panic shoots through you. Knowing your insomniac uncle, he can kill a cup of coffee in less than ten minutes. It takes a minimum of twenty to get to the Pass.

“I always forget, you’re not much of a talker in the mornings. Consider this your first lesson, kid. I'll be at the top.”

“Fine,” you snapped, tossing your hair over your shoulders. You threw open your closet, rummaging through clothes until you spotted your favorite racing outfit: a fitted black tank top and high-waisted cargo pants. As you pulled them on, your fingers brushed over the rough fabric, igniting familiar embers of determination. Grabbing the keys from the side table, you sprinted down the stairs, each step echoing your urgency.

You swung open the front door and dashed toward your wine-red Mazda, heart hammering in your chest. The engine roared to life, a familiar growl that pulsed through your veins, igniting adrenaline. You tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the asphalt, the scent of gasoline and burnt rubber filling your senses.

It took you two minutes to get ready, that means there’s eight minutes left. You add more weight to the accelerator, listening as your car whines with the added speed. Your gears were maxed out, taking the straight highway helped with cutting a couple extra seconds off.

A mix of buildings and lights blurred as you flew past them, each street light illuminating your face for a fraction of a second. The off ramp for the mountain pass came up quick, making you downshift swiftly and throw the back end of your car out into a drift. Drifting the complete semi-circle, you downshift one more time, this time to gain some speed.

Checking your watch, the panic rises again. Four minutes. Fuck!

Your best time coming up the mountain is five minutes and forty seconds. You gotta find a way to shave off a whole minute. You’re usually lucky to beat your own time by maybe ten seconds.

You need this. You couldn’t be able to live down missing an opportunity like this. Your uncle was a stern man, so you knew he wouldn’t offer up any form of a second chance.

The first curve of the mountain pass was coming up, knowing the entirety of the mountain like the back of your hand. You gotta go faster. Slamming on the breaks, you whip the car into the curve making sure to keep on the inside. Slowly, pulsing the accelerator, you swiftly come through the curve while still maintaining your speed. A straightaway meets your eyes, your body slumping with relief. Your hand travels back and forth between the steering wheel and the shifter, the movement so quick you don’t even register it. At this point every aspect of being in this car was muscle memory.

You and the car become one, tackling the uphill with a ferocity you’ve never experienced. It excited you, the pressure of the entire thing driving you forward. Your eyes shifted to the rearview, noticing a determined yet happy expression filling your face, despite the earliness of the morning.

You had butterflies everytime the inertia of the car would change, your eyes catching your watch as your hands gripped the wheel. One minute. You still had about a quarter of the mountain to climb.

Don’t focus on the time, focus on the road. Once you’ve conquered the road, time won’t be an issue. Time to amp it up.

You slam your food down, sending the accelerator to hug the floorboard. The gauge in front of you began climbing, your determination sending it to redline. With each new gear, you maxed out the rpm’s. Each turn brought you one step closer to your goal. You quickly forget about your watch, and your heart burns with the idea of finishing the uphill. Two more hairpin curves and you’d be finished.

They approached quickly, making your heart clench with the thought of taking each turn. It wasn’t a nervous feeling, but one of a warrior headed into battle. The first turn came, keeping your car close to the inside, your back end flung out into a quick spiral up both curves.

Coming out of the last turn, you notice a person standing under a streetlight. You recognized the lazy stance of your uncle, and came to a quick stop in front of him. He tossed the last of his coffee back and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He was laid back against his car, an AE-86, which to the normal eye, seems very underwhelming. However, with your uncle behind the wheel, it's a car that has been stopped by few. You noticed he had another coffee in his other hand, and wondered. Either he got no sleep last night and needed extra, or it might be for you.

You prayed it was for you.

“You made it just in time,” he said, tilting his head, and there was an edge of approval beneath his stern facade. “Record time?”

You grinned. “Just barely. I think I can shave off a few more seconds next time.”

Shota’s gaze hardened. “Next time won’t matter if you can’t keep your nerve today. Today is the real test," he said, his tone unyielding. "Get in my car."

Your stomach flipped, mixing excitement with dread. You slipped into the passenger seat, feeling the warmth of the leather against your skin, and adjusted your seatbelt with a swift tug. Shota slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a flick of his wrist. Carefully, you watched as he set the steaming cup of coffee into an awaiting cup holder.

“Let’s see what you can handle,” he said, securing his grip on the steering wheel. A hint of challenge glinted in his eyes, and you felt your pulse quicken as the engine roared to life. Your eyes inspected the cup of coffee, sitting content in its spot. With the harshness of the road, you wondered what your uncle’s plan was. If it spilled, it would send scalding coffee all over your lap.

“Buckle up,” Shota commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

In an instant, the two of you shot forward, the car accelerating with a powerful thrust. As the landscape blurred past, the steering wheel felt like an extension of his will. Shota navigated the road with an unwavering focus, each turn a dance of precision and control.

You leaned forward, gripping the dash, your eyes wide as the world outside dissolved into streaks of color.

It felt like you were riding shotgun not just in his car, but also in the masterclass of what it meant to dominate the mountain. Shota navigated the twists and turns with an intimidating grace, his coffee cup remaining steady in the cup holder as you blazed down the path.

“Focus on the road, not me,” he replied, his voice steady as they near a tight corner, the tires screeching just enough to rattle your bones.

You narrowed your eyes at the road, willing yourself to let go of the tension coiling in your gut.

“Trust the car and your instincts,” he spoke up, not taking his gaze off the road. “Every ounce of pressure, every pull of the throttle—it’s all about understanding the machine beneath you. Feel its rhythm.”

You nodded, trying to absorb his words as you approached a sweeping curve. You studied his movements, mimicking the way he shifted his weight, angling his body slightly toward the turn. You felt the adrenaline surge again, a determination igniting in your chest.

“Do you really think I can get there?” you asked.

“Only if you stop second-guessing yourself,” Shota replied, flicking his eyes toward you for a brief moment. “Your mind is your worst enemy. Focus.”

You tightened your grip on the passenger seat as you transitioned through another sharp turn.

“You think these roads care about your fear?” his tone was the same as if he stood in front of his students, lazily lecturing them. His entire body was relaxed, but you shifted your eyes back to the pavement. You didn’t want to be caught again. Riding with him was something you haven’t been able to experience since you were young, knowing nothing of the way these whips and turns filled you with burning emotions.

You held your breath as Shota accelerated into the next curve, the G-forces pressing you into the seat. “It’s either drive or be driven,” he added, his intensity vibrant, a spark igniting a fire in your chest.

The tight curve loomed ahead, the edge of the mountain a steep drop, and you felt your heart leap.

Shota’s grip on the wheel tightened, and you mirrored his intensity. You focused on the line ahead, every instinct shouting at you to brace for the turn. As you approached the apex, every muscle in your body went tense, fear and excitement weaving together. Shota leaned into the turn, expertly guiding the car as it clung to the road.

“Now!” he shouted, turning sharply into the curve, the tires screeching defiantly against the pavement. You felt the rush, the wild exhilaration of speed and freedom coursing through your veins. You swung into a series of rapid bends, the world outside morphing into nothing but a blur of greens and browns. The coffee tipped towards the paper edge of the cup, inching as if it might spill. But with a quick switch up, it leveled out, sitting contently along with you.

“Keep your eyes on the exit, not the curve!” Shota’s voice broke through your swirling thoughts, a commanding reminder tethering you to the reality of the race.

He made his way back down the twists and turns of the Pass. He takes you back to your own car and passes off the cup of coffee. You cradled the cup in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through your fingers, grounding you. You looked at Shota, who stood beside you with arms crossed, eyes fixed on you intently, the hint of expectation shifting his expression.

“Now, let’s see if you can manage this,” he said, the challenge ringing unmistakably in his voice.

You looked down at the unspilled coffee, wondering how he could've even managed it? You glanced back at Shota, determination flooding your senses as you took a steadying breath.

“So, you think this is all I have to do?”

“Just get behind the wheel and show what you’ve learned,” Shota replied, his gaze unwavering. “Your goal is simple: drive without spilling a drop. Focus isn’t just for the racing line; it’s for execution.”

You took a deep breath, balancing the cup in your hand, the steam curling up in the cold mountain air. Your eyes stared at the little coffee cup as if it were a challenge sent from the gods themselves, daring you to rise to the occasion.

“Alright,” You said, your voice now steady with resolve. “Let’s see how this goes.”

You approached your Mazda, slipping into the driver’s seat and adjusting the rear view mirror, steeling yourself for the challenge ahead. Shota remained close, his imposing presence lending you a cautious boost of confidence.

“Keep it tight around the corners and maintain your speed,” he instructed, crossing his arms again, eyes glinting with challenge. “This is about control, not chaos.”

With a nod, you rolled your shoulders back and turned the key in the ignition, the familiar purr of your Mazda filling you with ease. You placed the coffee cup in the cup holder, its gentle warmth spreading through the air like a quiet promise. Taking a deep breath, you shifted into gear and moved forward, the engine humming softly beneath you.

“Don’t forget, the interview is coming up soon. Focus on the drive now, but remember the stakes.”

You nodded, your grip on the steering wheel tightening as you pulled away from the clearing, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you eased into motion.

“Let’s do this,” you muttered under your breath, your heart thumping in sync with the rhythmic pulse of the engine.

-.-

Everyday, you wake up early and take a trip down the mountain with your uncle. The process was the same every morning, before the sun showed its face you’d pull up to a waiting Aizawa. He’d hand you a coffee and the two of you would take a trip down the mountain. He’d follow you in his car, watching every movement you made. Being behind a driver can tell you a lot about them, this allows you to read your opponent like a book.

The first day was horrendous, having to stop to clean up coffee from your floorboards after every run.

Aizawa made sure you bring cleaning supplies on day two, because you definitely needed them again.

It had been a month of running these roads, and the morning of the interview started like every other. You woke up early and made your way to an awaiting Shota at the top of the mountain. The sun barely crested over the mountain, casting a soft glow across the asphalt ahead. You leaned against your MX-5, your fingers tapping against the cool metal as you watched Shota finish his cup of coffee.

"Ready to show what you’ve got?" Shota called, tilting his head toward you with a glint of challenge in his eyes.

You square your shoulders, the adrenaline already building.

"Always," you shot back, sliding into the driver’s seat, your racing outfit hugging you with the familiar sense of purpose.

Shota smirked, walking towards his car. He placed the coffee in its spot by the passenger seat. “Today’s the day you prove everything the lessons have been leading up to. Let’s conquer that final turn.”

You turned the key, the familiar roar of the engine igniting a fire in your veins.

“Let’s make it count,” you replied, tightening your grip on the steering wheel.

As you sped off, the mountain loomed around the two of you, the winding road stretching like a challenge laid out in front of you. The fresh scent of pine and the cool bite of the early morning air jolted your senses as you ascended the narrow path. You focused on the road, recalling every piece of advice Shota had etched into your mind. You made it through the majority of the Pass without spilling the coffee, but you knew a certain hairpin curve was coming up. This curve twisted sharply, a notorious spot known for catching even the most skilled drivers off guard.

The curve emerged before you, a steel trap waiting to snap shut. You leaned slightly into the turn, letting your instincts guide you.

The asphalt shifted beneath your tires as you entered the curve, heart hammering in rhythm with the car’s roar. You let off the gas slightly, feeling the weight of the Mazda lean into the turn as the tires gripped the road. The coffee flew to the rim of the cup, tempting to find itself on your floorboard again.

Not this time.

With eyes locked on the exit, you remembered Shota's words—focus on the exit, not the entry. Your foot danced over the accelerator, allowing just the right amount of throttle to carry you through.

As you guided the car through the curve, adrenaline surged through your veins, and the world outside melted away. The trees blurred into streaks of green and brown, shadows flickering across the windshield like a haunting memory. For a heartbeat, all that existed was the road beneath your tires and the hum of the engine echoing your resolve.

Taking a peek through the rearview mirror, you noticed the turn was finally behind you. The coffee sat in its spot, completely full.

Yes!

Finishing out, you and your uncle parked side by side. Taking a peek into your car, Shota took note of the full coffee cup. Shota leaned back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Nice work,” Shota said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. He shifted in his seat, the remnants of his coffee still swaying gently in its cup.

“Now for the real test,” he added, his eyes narrowing with consideration. "Your interview."

Your uncle informs you that the interview is at 3 today. He sluggishly gets back into his car mumbling something about getting some sleep.

"Good luck, Y/N."

“Thanks, Shota,” you replied, your heart still racing. Anxiety and excitement bubbled within you, but for now, you focused on your final training run.

He settled into the driver's seat of his own car, a familiar creak of worn leather slicing through the morning calm. His car roars to life, and sets off quickly.

You had another important decision to worry about now. What were you going to wear? All you had back at the apartment was typical everyday clothes, and maybe a dress or two. You sat in your car, the engine still purring softly beneath you, as you wondered about your outfit. The road ahead seemed to mirror your internal turmoil—twisting and turning, the uncertainty reflecting the chaos in your mind. You could always ask Ochako and Momo for some help. You had plenty of time before your interview.

Making your way back to the apartment, you're met with both people you need sitting on Momo's balcony sharing some tea. You parked your Mazda in a spot, its engine still purring softly as you stepped out. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafted from the balcony, pulling you in like an invisible thread. It was a nice change from the aroma of coffee.

"Y/N! Come join us!" Ochako's bright voice caught your attention, and you gave a small chuckle.You walked towards the balcony, your nerves bubbling beneath the surface like the water in the kettle on the stove. Momo looked up, her smile warm and inviting.

"How did the driving session go?” Momo asked, pouring a steaming cup before setting it down beside her.

“Perfect.” You shrugged, though your excitement bubbled in the corner of your eyes. “I managed to keep the coffee in the cup this time.” You bit your lip, a grin breaking through as you recounted the moment.

"Yay! That's great!" Ochako's rosy cheeks scrunched with excitement. “Even though, I think that’s a very unique driving technique. Oh well! I’m sure it helps. What are your plans for today, Y/N?”

"Actually, I have a favor to ask. I need some clothes for this interview, do you think the two of you could help?" Momo exchanged an excited glance with Ochako, her eyes gleaming.

“Absolutely! I have just the outfit in mind. We want to make sure you look confident and stylish.”

“Nothing too flashy, right?” you said, half-joking while rubbing your neck.

“Mmm, being understated isn't really our style,” Ochako teased with a wink, bouncing in her wrought iron seat. You smirked, shaking your head.

“I’m pretty sure confidence doesn’t mean neon pink and sequins.”

Momo held up a finger, feigning deep thought. “It might just mean something that shouts ‘I’m here to dominate’ without blinding anyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Okay, so what do you suggest? Something more subtle or something that doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard?"

Momo leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “How about a fitted blouse to accentuate your figure, paired with some high-waisted trousers? It’ll be sleek but not overly flashy.”

You nodded, your mind racing through the options. “That could work. "

Ochako slung the rest of her tea back, standing up and grabbing your arm.

"I know just the place!"

Within thirty minutes you found yourself following after your friends, your heart racing with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The streets of Musutafu buzzed with early-morning energy, but your focus settled solely on the mission ahead—finding the perfect outfit. As you entered the small boutique, the door chimed softly, and a wave of warmth enveloped you. The scent of fresh fabric and the delicate notes of perfume tugged at your senses. After some rigorous searching, you found yourself trying on a sleek black blouse that hugged your torso with just the right amount of formality, paired with high-waisted trousers that flared slightly at the bottom, creating an effortless elegance. You twirled in front of the mirror, the fabric flowing around your legs with each movement.

“What do you think?” You asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. They had picked out a pair of stilettos, but you eyed them warily from the corner. Momo and Ochako exchanged glances, a knowing twinkle in their eyes.

“It’s perfect,” Momo affirmed, a bright smile lighting up her face.

“But the heels?” you hesitated, eyeing the stilettos as if they might bite.

Ochako laughed, a light melodic sound that eased the tension in your chest. “Trust us, you need them. They’ll give you that extra edge, that ‘I’m not just here to play’ vibe.”

You inhaled deeply, considering the heels. “I guess a little height never hurt. Alright, I’ll wear them.”

Momo clapped her hands once, vibrating with excitement. “Perfect! Now let’s finish this look with some accessories.”

Minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, your reflection adorned with minimalistic silver earrings and a slender bracelet that caught the light just right. You turned slightly, admiring how the sunlight glinted off the delicate silver.

“You look so good!!” Ochako beamed, adjusting the collar of the blouse as if adding the finishing touch. The three of you made your way to the check out and you went to change into the new outfit. Checking the time, you realize it's time to go. You hurriedly buttoned the blouse, the fabric smooth against your skin. As you slipped into the tailored trousers and finally secured the heels, your heartbeat quickened.

“I really need to get moving,” you muttered, glancing at your reflection one last time. The clothes hugged your frame perfectly, the heels adding just the right height to give you confidence, but the clock had become your enemy.

“Let’s go, then!” Momo urged, her optimism bubbling as you all rushed down the street toward the parking lot.

“Do you have everything?” Ochako asked, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and urgency.

“Wallet, keys…,” you murmured as you rifled through your bag, double-checking the essentials while balancing on your heels. "Looks like I’m all set."

“Good. Now let’s see how you handle those heels in the parking lot,” Momo teased, grinning as she led the way.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. “I think I can manage a few steps without coming apart at the seams.”

You rushed off, the idea of city traffic looming over you like a dark cloud.

You quickly opened your car door, your heels clicking against the asphalt as you dropped into the driver's seat.

The ride wasn't bad until that dark cloud came to fruition. The combination of traffic and the almost overwhelming anticipation of the interview gripped you as you navigated through the city. Cars crawled in front of you like a pack of slow-moving tortoises, and frustration gnawed at your patience. Each red light felt like a personal affront, stealing precious seconds from your time.

“Come on! Move already!” you muttered, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel, the rhythm syncing with your rising anxiety.

“Relax, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself, trying to regain some control over your spiraling thoughts. “Breathe.”

If you could just make it a couple more feet, you know a shortcut through the mountain pass. With a sudden jolt of determination, you spotted a break in traffic and made your move. You turned sharply, the wheels of the Mazda squealing in protest as you directed the car toward the road leading into the mountain pass. The familiar climb beckoned, a siren’s call amidst the chaotic urban sprawl you had just escaped.

As the trees thickened and the asphalt stretched out in front of you like a ribbon unraveling from a gift, you felt the swell of freedom wash over you. The familiar curves of the mountain pass welcomed you like an old friend, the trees whispering secrets in the wind. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, the Mazda responding to your eagerness with a familiar purr.

Catching the rearview, you noticed a car coming up behind you at a rapid pace. From the looks of it, it was an Evo III. A well known drift car. The sleek, gleaming body of the Evo III glinted as it surged forward, engine roaring like a beast eager to break free. You narrowed your eyes, determination settling in your chest as you shifted slightly in your seat, pouring your focus into the road ahead.

“Great, just what I needed,” you muttered under your breath, your knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. The driver of the Evo III lurked closer, a challenge hanging in the air between you. You recognized the fierce competitive spirit in the other driver’s approach, a flicker of annoyance sparking within you.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you murmured, determination flooding your veins.

As the Evo III pulled alongside you, revving his engine. Whoever it was kept the windows rolled up, not showing their face. So you decided to keep yours up too. Your heart raced in rhythm with the roar of the Evo III's engine, the familiar adrenaline igniting a fire within you. You could almost taste the challenge in the air, hot and electric but the intruding thought of your interview came crashing down.

“Not now,” you hissed, your fingers tapping against the steering wheel. The Evo III revved again, a taunt echoing in the space between you as if the driver understood your internal conflict and thrived on it.

You clenched your jaw, determination pushing you forward.

"This isn’t the time, but…" you inhaled deeply, your eyes narrowing as you shifted your foot onto the accelerator. The Mazda MX-5 surged into motion, the familiar weight of the car shooting you forward like a bullet leaving a chamber.

The Evo III matched your pace, its engine growling defiantly as the two cars barreled down the mountain pass in tandem. The thrill of the race pulsed in your veins, igniting every fiber of your being. You glanced over at the driver in the Evo III, but the window remained tinted, concealing their identity. You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the road that twisted like a serpent before you. You needed to finish this, and fast. The asphalt unfurled in a series of undulating curves, beckoning you to dance with the road. The rush of wind whisked past you, mingling with the roar of both engines as they flew through the first corner. The world outside became a blur of greens and browns, trees whipping by in a frenzied streak.

“Let’s go!” you shouted, feeling the exhilaration spiral into a fierce focus as you leaned into the next curve, pressing the accelerator hard and feeling the tires grip the road. The Evo III’s driver responded in kind, maneuvering skillfully around the bend, a slight advantage giving him the edge as he surged forward.

You gritted your teeth, your determination boiling as the Evo III pulled slightly ahead.

“Not today,” you grumbled, your foot pressing down harder. The Mazda MX-5 roared beneath you, responding to your urgency as you flung herself into the next turn.

“Focus!” you reminded yourself, aggravation starting to fill you. As the curve tightened, you felt the shift in weight, and you leaned into it, guiding your Mazda MX-5 with precision.

“Just like Shota taught me,” you murmured. You powered through, trying to come up with a way to lose this guy. The Mazda MX-5’s engine sang, its growl resonating through your body as you aimed for the exit of the turn. Trees flanked the road like silent spectators, their branches swaying in the wind as if cheering you on. You kept your focus sharp, gripping the wheel with fierce determination.

The Evo III drove ahead, but you spotted an opening. Leaning into the turn just enough, you swung around, gears clashing smoothly as adrenaline surged through you.

“Now or never!” You felt the power of your car wrap around you like a living thing, commanding your every move as you swung onto the inside line of the corner, tires gripping the asphalt with an eager bite. The world outside blurred in a symphony of green as the Evo III's driver glanced over, surprise written across the unknown face behind the tinted glass. It was a fleeting moment, but it fueled your resolve. You pushed harder, feeling the sweet surge of acceleration lift your spirits as the gap between you and the Evo III grew.

“Catch me if you can,” you taunted, your voice barely rising above the roar of the engines.

The curves melted into a blur, the Evo slowly disappearing from behind you.

You kept on your path, the idea of the interview no longer seeming as daunting. You made it to the fancy looking building , its sleek facade shimmering in the midday sun. The MX-5 rolled to a smooth stop in the parking lot, your heart racing with exhilaration and nerves as you killed the engine. You took a deep breath, letting the buzz of adrenaline wash over you like a refreshing wave. You glanced down at your outfit—a sharp contrast to the casual attire you usually wore behind the wheel.

Carefully making your way up to the building's lobby, you straightened your outfit and put on an air of false confidence.

Fake it till you make it.

-.-

A distant roar echoed through the streets as you pulled into the parking lot, your heart racing from the adrenaline of the interview and the thrill of the road. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the asphalt.

About halfway through your interview, which wasn't even with your supposed new mentor, you realized you promised the crew you'd go watch some races tonight. The interview was strung out longer than you could've ever expected.

So now you are racing through the streets to make it back to the pass, hoping to make it before they start the first race. The hum of the Mazda's engine throbbed beneath you as you navigated the winding roads. You leaned into the curves, every turn a reminder of the lessons etched into your brain by Uncle Shota. The bottom of the pass approached, and you rounded the last corner with a rush of excitement. As you emerged from the final bend, the scene unfolded before you like a vivid painting—cars lined up, lights flickering, and a crowd buzzing with anticipation.

There seemed to be a crowd, all circled around two guys. A tall blond stood at the center, his expression fierce enough to intimidate even the boldest of racers. The glare in his eyes sparked a buzz among the onlookers, who gathered in a ring of excitement, whispering among themselves. With the arrival of your car, everyone's head whipped around. Including the set of angry vermillion eyes.

Parking your car, you watched as a stressed Momo followed the blond brute who was fastly approaching you.

Holding a muscled arm up, he pointed his index finger towards you. "You."

You bristled at his rough voice, shutting your car door and standing on the uneven gravel beneath you.

"You think you can just stroll in here after racing my team and not face the consequences?" His voice cut through the noise like a knife, confidence oozing from every word.

You straightened, "...and who the fuck are you?" You matched his sharp words with some of your own.

He stepped closer, his breath warm and heavy with challenge.

"Name's Katsuki Bakugo," he snapped, fists clenching. "You raced my boys earlier. You think you can just show off and walk away?”

Shoving a thumb back in the direction of his crew, he gestured to a tall redhead standing next to an Evo.

“Your little joyride at the pass?" His brow furrowed, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You smoked Kirishima, and now you think you can just waltz away without a rematch?”

Said Kirishima stepped forward, a sheepish grin on his face. “Hey, it was a good race! She's got skills, man. Don’t take it personally.”

Bakugo shoved a hand through his spiky hair. “Don’t you dare defend her, dumbass. If anyone’s taking this on the chin it’s gonna be me.”

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “He lost fair and square. I’m not going to apologize for putting up a fight. I didn't think his daddy would come running to his defense." The crowd exploded in a mixture of gasps and laughter, each person eager for the drama to unfold. Bakugo's eyes ignited with rage, and the air crackled with tension.

“Watch who you’re calling daddy princess,” he snapped, stepping even closer so you could smell the metallic tang of his frustration. “You might end up in a situation your smart mouth can't handle."

The crowd shifted, sensing the brewing storm. You locked eyes with Bakugo, refusing to back down.

“You think I’m scared of you? Bring it on.” The corner of Bakugo's mouth twitched, a smirk breaking through his intense glare. “You’re either brave or just plain stupid.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest. The thrill of the challenge surged through you. Bakugo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Fine, I’ll give you a rematch. But how about we do it right? A proper one-on-one. No tricks, just you and me on the line,” Bakugo proposed, his voice lower but dripping with challenge.

“Two races,” Kirishima cut in, his grin brightening as he nudged you. “Me against you, Y/N, and then Bakugo against Izuku. If we’re doing this, let’s do it properly,” he grinned, a spark of excitement evident in his voice.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, eyes darting between you and Bakugo as the stakes grew higher.

Bakugo growled at Kirishima's words, hearing a name that has brought him nothing but annoyance. "Fuckin' Deku."

“Then let’s put it to the test. You want a rematch?” You leaned forward, the heat of competition igniting your veins. “Let’s make it official.”

The crowd murmured, feeding into the tension. Bakugo’s lip curled into a smirk, a hint of excitement breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanor.

“Looks like you’ve got some guts after all,” he replied, a challenge lacing his tone. The crowd shifted again, hearts racing in anticipation.

“Let’s see if you can actually back that up,” he taunted, his voice almost playful, but the intensity in his eyes was far from lighthearted.

As the sun dipped lower, casting jagged shadows across the asphalt, you felt the weight of the mountain pass looming behind you. You steeled yourself, determination fueling your every thought.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” you said, confidence swirling within you as you slid back into your Mazda, the familiar roar of the engine igniting a fire in your chest.

Momo stood off to the side, face pale as she watched Bakugo walk off.

"What are you doing?! Are you seriously going to race him?" Momo's voice trembled, her eyes darting between you and the retreating figure of Bakugo. “You know who he is, right?”

"Yeah, I know. The King of Musutafu Pass," you replied, climbing back into your car and adjusting the rear view mirror. “And now, his crown’s on the line.” Momo stepped forward, urgency seeping into her voice.

“You’re serious? What if he—”

“Don’t worry, Momo.” You interrupted, glancing at her with a smirk, feeling the adrenaline already pumping through your veins. “He may be good, but I’m not the same driver I was a month ago.”

Momo hesitated, biting her lip. “Just be careful, please,” she urged, concern etched in her features as she leaned closer, trying to gauge the strength of your resolve.

“Careful is my middle name,” you quipped, taking off to meet up with Kirishima at the top of the mountain. Momo gave a small chuckle at your words, knowing that it was the furthest from the truth.

Shinso walked up, putting a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, are you really going to take him on?” Shinso’s voice cut through the haze of excitement, his brows furrowing in concern.

“Of course,” you replied, a challenging smile stretching across your face. “You heard him—he wants a rematch. I can't back down now.”

Shinso's expression darkened, his tone serious. “He’s not just some brash racer; he's known for his temper and his skill. You could get seriously hurt.”

The weight of his concern settled in your chest, but you shrugged it off. “I’ve trained for this, and besides, Shota's been preparing me. I can handle it.”

Shinso studied you for a moment, the tension in his brow easing slightly, though the worry still lingered in his eyes.

Getting back into your car, he shut the door behind you.

"I gotta go prepare the kid, he's probably shitting himself right now." He motioned towards Izuku, who was standing still as a statue as Momo filled him in.

"Nice shoes by the way. I wanna see those later." With a wink, he's off in Izuku's direction.

Putting the car into first gear, you show out and whip around the empty parking lot, the engine roaring to life beneath you. The metal vibrated with energy as you pulled onto the road, navigating the curves toward the mountain. The familiar route ignited memories of the countless hours spent training with Shota, every sharp turn a lesson learned, every straightaway a test of speed and control. As you wound your way up the mountain, the anticipation twisted in your stomach like a coiled spring, each corner pushing your focus to the limit.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, the smooth surface comforting under your palms. As you reached the top of the mountain pass, the flickering headlights of cars illuminated the gathering crowd. The atmosphere crackled with excitement, radiating from everyone who had come to witness the duel between you and Bakugo. You pulled into the designated spot, the roar of your engine fading into a low hum as you turned off the ignition. The crowd around you erupted into hushed whispers, their eyes darting towards your car as if you were the main event in a high-stakes show. You unbuckle your seatbelt, taking a moment to breathe in the cool mountain air, tinged with the faint scent of pine and fuel. Cool night air brushed against your face, refreshing amidst the rising tension.

Kirishima bounded over, excitement bubbling in his expression.

“You’re here! Bakugo can be a bit much. I'm sorry. The name's Kirishima, let's have a manly race, yeah?" His toothy grin was on full display.

You chuckled, the warmth of his enthusiasm cutting through the tension. “Yeah, let’s see if you can keep up this time, Kirishima.”

“Ha! You’re on!” His grin widened as he bounced on his heels, energy radiating off him like sunlight.

A voice came crackling through a walkie talkie on Kirishima's hip.

"Bakugo and Deku are both ready." Kirishima turned, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Looks like the show is about to begin!” He pumped his fist, a burst of energy that echoed in the mounting tension surrounding the race. Without a second to spare, the sounds of roaring motors can be heard all the way at the top.

Unfortunately for Izuku, Bakugo's RX-7 was too much. From the constant reports coming through the walkie-talkie, it was clear that Bakugo had left Izuku in his dust, pulling ahead in a blaze of speed that rippled through the crowd's excitement.

The roar of Bakugo’s RX-7 echoed through the mountain pass, creating a symphony of adrenaline as the crowd erupted with cheers. His bright headlights rolled up to the two of you, coming to a stop mere inches from your legs. The engine purred ominously as Bakugo leaned out the window, his smug grin barely containing the competitive fire within.

Izuku came trailing in noot too much longer, stepping out with a solemn look on his face. His shoulders sagged as he approached, catching his breath.

“I-I tried my best,” he managed, wiping sweat from his brow. “He’s really fast, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but you're getting better, Izuku," you assured him, a reassuring smile lifting the corners of your mouth. "Just keep practicing those techniques."

Bakugo snorted from his car, leaning further out of the window, his fierce gaze locking onto you.

“As if that’ll help him. You think a few tricks are gonna save you when I beat you?” His voice dripped with disdain.

You had to beat Kirishima first, nerves beginning to bubble in your gut. Kirishima landed a strong pat to your back and headed towards his Evo.

It's time. You took a deep breath, forcing the nerves aside as you walked towards your Mazda. The gravel crushed underfoot, each step grounding you in reality.

“Ready to make this a race to remember?” Kirishima asked, his voice light but laced with competitive spirit. He leaned against the side of his Evo, the engine still warm, gleaming under the fading light.

“Is this a race or a vacation?” You retorted, confidence surging as you climbed into your car.

Kirishima chuckled, his grin widening. “I like your style. Let’s make this a race that’ll get everyone talking.”

You revved the engine, the familiar growl vibrating beneath you, matching the racing in your heart. “Just don’t cry when I smoke you at the finish line. Again.” You shot him a confident smirk, the thrill pulsing through you as adrenaline surged from within.

Kirishima leaned against his car, chuckling. “We’ll see about that. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too."

You nodded, the excitement building, the atmosphere electric as the crowd roared in approval, sensing the tension and anticipation in the air.

With a final rev of your engine, you felt the vibrations resonate through your chest, the echo mingling with the excitement in your veins.

Kirishima climbed into his Evo, settling into the driver's seat with a wide grin. He shot you a thumbs-up, the tension of competition transforming into an electrifying camaraderie.

“Just remember, no backing down this time!” He shouted, his voice barely heard over the revving of engines and the cheers from the crowd.

You smirked, glancing back at him. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

The countdown began, the crowd tumbling into excitement. Each second felt weighty, charged with the anticipation of the races to come. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, feeling the pulse of energy course through you. The crowd roared in unison, a wave of sound that pushed the adrenaline higher.

"Three... two... one!" The shout broke through the chatter, and everything seemed to snap into focus as the countdown echoed through the air.

You felt the familiar adrenaline surge, the world narrowing down to the moment at hand.

"Go!"

The roar of engines filled the air, drowning out everything but the pounding of your heart. You launched your Mazda forward, the tires screeching against the asphalt as you and Kirishima shot ahead. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound bursting around you like fireworks, fueling your momentum.

The engine roared to life, propelling you forward with a force that matched the racing pulse in your chest. You made your move, taking the first turn hard and low, feeling the shift of weight as the tires gripped the asphalt. The world blurred around you; only the road mattered, every twist and turn pulling you deeper into the thrill. An imaginary coffee cup kept your focus strong.

Kirishima drifted close behind, and the heat of competition fueled your drive. The Evo was a sleek beast, but you felt the Mazda respond to your every command, like a well-trained partner. You pushed the accelerator harder, feeling the car almost hum beneath you. The road curved sharply ahead, and instinct kicked in. You flicked the wheel just right, the rear tires skimming dangerously close to the edge as you hugged the corner tightly. The thrilling rush filled your veins, and you could hear the wild cheers of the crowd fading, replaced by the focused silence within the car.

Kirishima flashed into your peripheral, his Evo close but not close enough to break your comfort zone. You felt the rush of exhilaration blend with concentration, the essence of racing swirling within like a storm. Ahead, the road twisted and turned, serpentining through the mountains, each bend challenging both your skill and your willpower.

Kirishima pushed closer, shifting his weight as he tried to glide past you on the outside. You could see the determination in his expression, the fierce competition fuelling his every move.

"Not today, Kirishima!" The words burst from your lips as you flicked the wheel hard, cutting into the turn. Your tires bit into the asphalt, finding the sweet spot of grip as you pulled away just enough to edge past him. The crowd erupted with cheers, their voices blending into a chorus of adrenaline that surged through you. You could feel the vibrations in your chest, each roar a testament to the stakes—one mistake could mean losing everything.

You fought against the rush of doubt creeping in, shoving it to the back of your mind. Focus. You knew the path; you had memorized every twist of the mountain pass, every hairpin turn etched into your memory from countless hours of practice. The world outside blurred, narrowing down to the road snaking ahead of you and the gentle hum of the engine. The sensation of the Mazda beneath you felt electric, each shift in weight translating into a thrill that threatened to consume you whole. You leaned into the next turn, the tires gripping the asphalt like a predator hunting its prey.

The curve tightened, and adrenaline coursed through your veins, sharpening your focus. You could hear Kirishima's engine growl behind you, but the sound only ignited your resolve.

The final stretch approached, and the crowd's cheers fueled your determination as the finish line loomed just ahead. You swung into the next corner, slamming the accelerator down to feel the engine roar in response. The asphalt blurred beneath you, a sliver of darkness edged with glowing lights illuminating the path to glory.

The finish line neared, an invisible weight urging you forward, every muscle in your body screaming for you to push a little harder, a little faster. You locked your gaze on the non existent white flag fluttering in the distance, a beacon of victory just waiting to be claimed. The roar of the crowd blurred into a singular sound—a wave of energy that surged through you as you approached the finish line. Heart pounding, you threw yourself into the final corner, adrenaline and determination merging into a single, exhilarating force. The tires squealed as you leaned into the corner, the Mazda responding perfectly to your command. You glimpsed Kirishima’s Evo just behind you.

You leaned deeper into the turn, the g-force pressing you against the seat as you accelerated through the apex. The Mazda roared, a wild animal unleashed, and you grinned, fully embracing the thrill of the chase. The finish line beckoned, just a heartbeat away, and every ounce of your training surged through every fiber of your being.

"Come on!" you yelled, the sound bursting from your lungs as you pushed the accelerator to its limit, every heartbeat synchronizing with the racing engine flickering beneath you.

Your tires bounded over the finish line, dust flying in a cloud behind you as the crowd erupted into a thunderous applause. You crossed first, heart pounding, exhilaration coursing through your veins like wildfire.

You pulled the Mazda to a stop just past the finish line, the engine rumbling to a gentle purr as the exhilaration of victory washed over you. The moment hung in the air, the thrill of the race still crackling around you. You took a deep breath, the world settling back into focus as the cheers from the crowd enveloped you like a warm embrace. You turned to see Kirishima pull up beside you, his expression a blend of disbelief and admiration.

“Damn, Y/N! That was incredible!” His eyes sparkled as he jumped out of his Evo, a huge grin plastered across his face.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“You weren’t half bad yourself, Kirishima. You put up a good fight.” You stepped out of the Mazda, feeling the energy of the crowd pulsing around you as they celebrated the race's outcome.

Bakugo stood off to the side, anger swirling in his eyes. His fists trembled at his sides, the tension radiating from him palpable even from a distance. The crowd was buzzing, but his gaze was locked on you, unyielding and furious.

“Alright princess, my turn." He stepped forward, the crowd parting slightly, murmurs of excitement rippling through the onlookers as Bakugo made his way toward you. The air thickened with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing louder with his approach. You met his intense glare head-on, unflinching, as if to say you were ready for whatever came next.

~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

Your first race is won and under your belt! Congrats! Next chapter is one on one with our angry Pomeranian!

>di.in.al<3

#bakugou katsuki #mha #90s au #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou series #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha hitoshi shinso #hitoshi shinso x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha fanfiction

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zvaigzdelasas · 1 year ago

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Article published 2021

The U.S. has a habit of ignoring its own laws when it comes to arming and supporting authoritarian regimes. The latest example of this came last month when the Biden administration waived Section 907 of the Freedom Support Act, which was created to block U.S. military assistance to Azerbaijan during and after the first Karabakh war.

One administration after another has issued this waiver since it became available in 2002 in the name of counter-terrorism cooperation, but events in the last year have made the usual rubber-stamping of supplying weapons to the Aliyev regime much more controversial, and rightly so. Azerbaijan’s aggressive military campaign in Karabakh last year was exactly what the original cutoff in military assistance was intended to discourage, and the assault on Karabakh proved that Baku’s commitment to diplomacy was a lie. Issuing the waiver in the wake of the second Karabakh war is indefensible. Doing so shortly after recognizing the Armenian genocide is a slap in the face to the Armenian-American community, and it makes a mockery of the Biden administration’s pretensions to making human rights central to its foreign policy. Azerbaijan is just one of many client governments whose war crimes the U.S. has ignored in order to keep military assistance flowing. Enabling further aggression against the people of Karabakh and Armenia is a particularly obnoxious and shameful example of how our government’s partnerships with corrupt authoritarian states puts innocent lives in jeopardy. Within weeks of the administration’s decision, there were already reports of new incursions by Azerbaijan’s forces into Armenian territory.[,,,] Specifically, members of Congress should insist that Secretary Blinken explain why he signed off on this when the government of Azerbaijan is putting its war crimes on display in its appalling Military Trophies Park, complete with “ghoulish displays of helmets and caricatured mannequins of Armenian soldiers.” The dehumanization of Armenians has become a major feature of Azerbaijan’s official ideology, and by supporting Azerbaijan’s government the U.S. is giving its stamp of approval to a regime that both denies the Armenian genocide and threatens to commit another one.[...] It is no accident that the amendment that created the waiver for Section 907 was passed just a few months after the September 11 attacks. Our government’s “war on terror” has spawned a host of destructive policies, and establishing a closer security relationship with the dictatorship in Azerbaijan in the name of combating terrorism was one of them.[...] There are some hard-liners in Washington that were cheerleading for Azerbaijan during its aggressive war in Karabakh, and they are no doubt pleased with the Biden administration’s decision to ignore Azerbaijan’s many crimes. According to the hard-liners’ view, backing Azerbaijan is not only tolerable but necessary to counter Russian and Iranian influence in the region.[...]

Presented with the opportunity to undo Trump’s decision to recognize Moroccan sovereignty over Western Sahara, Biden has demurred, and it now appears that no reversal of that decision will be forthcoming. Given the chance to block an unjustifiable $23 billion sale of advanced weapons to the United Arab Emirates, Biden has let it go ahead. Issuing the waiver for military assistance to Azerbaijan makes the same kind of mistake. If Biden and Blinken want to make good on their rhetoric about emphasizing the importance of human rights in their foreign policy, they should begin by cutting off all military assistance to Azerbaijan. U.S. and Turkish support for Azerbaijan have served to create a menace in the Caucasus. The least that the U.S. can do is to stop aiding that menace as it threatens the stability of the region.

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aspoonofsugar · 7 months ago

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That's Entertainment

The Hazbin Hotel's Pilot is called "That's Entertainment". The title is a tongue in cheeck joke, as the series is good entertainment, but it also references "That's Entertainment!", a song from The Band Wagon musical. This song is quite famous and it became an anthem of sorts for Hollywood as a whole. Here it is its final stanza:

The world is a stage The stage is a world Of entertainment!

Does it sound familiar? It should:

Alastor: After all, the world is a stage and the stage is a world of entertainment.

Why is there such a reference in the Pilot?

There are two reasons:

Hazbin Hotel is a series with allusions to musicals, movies, memes, fairy tales and different mythologies. All these references tie into the story and characters by commenting plotlines and arcs. So, The Band Wagon's easter egg is the same.

Both The Band Wagon and Hazbin Hotel are meta-stories. They are pieces of entertainment about making entertainment. "That's Entertainment!" (song) has something to say about musicals. "That's Entertainment" (pilot) has something to say about stories.

So, Hazbin Hotel is full of references that can be read:

On a story or character level - in the sense that they enrich the series and its protagonists

On a meta-narrative level - in the sense that they metaphorically comment on the entertainment industry

Let's analyze these two layers of reading, when it comes to some motifs and characters. Of course, let's start from one of the oldest creative minds of the universe. The very first dreamer:

Charlie: Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation.

LUCIFER: THE GREATEST SHOWMAN

Lucifer is a dreamer both when it comes to morals (story and character level) and to creativity (meta-narrative level).

Morals - Lucifer's first big project is to share free will with humanity:

Charlie Morningstar: Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the Fruit of Knowledge to Adam's new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted.

Lucifer and Lilith's plan was to give humanity knowledge, so that they could challenge the system and decide for themselves how to live. It is an ideal rooted in the faith people can be amazing, when in charge of their destiny.

Creativity - Lucifer is so passionate about "creation" that he turns Hell itself into a big colorful show. A seven-ring circus full of acts and performances happening at the same time. This is the metaphorical meaning of Hell's circus motif. This realm is the greatest shit-show of all times and Lucifer is its creator. He is the Greatest Showman. After all, Lucifer's known activities are:

Its previous shows with the Seven Deadly Sins' Troupe

A theme park called LuLu World

An App similar to Ticketmaster, which is called Lucimaster

These are all linked to the entertainment industry. Isn't it strange that the King of Hell has such a specialization? Shouldn't he have control over a more strategic part of the economy, like industry, banks or health? And yet, entertainment is Lucifer's domain because deep down Hell is nothing, but a showbusiness factory.

So, Lucifer is at his root a wide-eyed idealist, both when it comes to his political stance and to his creative process. And yet, Lucifer gives up on dreaming:

Charlie: Ashamed, Lucifer lost his will to dream.

He stops seeing the good in others and loses hope for the system and people alike to change. He can't imagine a different future than the sad and lonely present he lives in.

He is stuck creating "ugly ducklings" he himself dislikes:

Lucifer: That's it… Almost there… Now presenting… the magic-tastical back flipping rubber duck! Haha! That spits fire! Hoo hoo hoo! Hold the applause please, okay. Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh god, who am I kidding? This sucks!

Lucifer's creative block is conveyed also by some details set up in the Hellaverse. For example, Helluva Boss shows another sin, who is very active in the entertainment industry.

WHEN MAMMON STOLE THE SHOWBIZ

Mammon, King of Greed apparently breaks an established pattern in Helluva Boss. In this show, every sin is introduced by a song focused on their vice.

Asmodeus, King of Lust, has House of Asmodeus:

Asmodeus: You singing love songs in my lustful lounge? Fizzarolli: Ozzie's ain't the place for sentimental sounds! Asmodeus: What'd you expect from a proprietor like us? Fizzarolli: Your demon host, Asmodeus, the embodiment of lust! Asmodeus: Give me a thrust! Fizzarolli: Bwabwabwabwa bwaaaah- Asmodeus: Show me some lust From the groin to the bust In desire, we trust In the house of Asmodeus

Beelzebub, Queen of Gluttony, has Cotton Candy:

Hey! I'm whatchu need, I'm watchu want I got it all, a carnival I'll bring you up, I'll take you down I'm sticky sweet, stuck in your teeth Like cotton candy Cotton candy (Ah-ah, ah-ah) Cotton candy (Ah-ah, ah-oh) Cotton candy (Ah-ah, ah-ah) I'm whatchu want Not watchu need (Ah-ah, ah-oh)

What about Mammon? The King of Greed has actually a lot of songs that explore his sin. Let's think about what his debut episode is called: "Mammon's magnificent musical mid-season special (ft Fizzarolli)".

Mammon doesn't sing nor performs, but the musical is still his. Fizz, who is the main character of the episode, gets only a mention.

In other words, all the songs featured in the mid-season special are Mammon's songs. They do not directly say anything about greed, but they comment on this sin in a meta-narrative way:

Octavia: Is it true this park is just a really shameless spin-off of Lucifer's far more popular Lu Lu World?

The Sin of Greed steals others' talents, so his songs are stolen songs. Loo Loo Land is the perfect example of this:

Everybody's friendly And nobody is mean No copyright infringements ever seen I have a dream (He has a dream) I'm here to tell (He's here to tell) About a magical fantastic place Called Loo Loo Land

This song has Mammon:

Profit of Lucifer and his Lu Lu World theme park

Rip off Charlie's Inside of Every Demon is a Rainbow song

Possess Fizzarolli's body

The King of Greed is a talentless performer:

Asmodeus: Also, you are a waaaay better performer than Mammon ever was, and thaaat's just facts.

Still, he is good at marketing and is slowly stealing the showbusiness for himself. He organizes pageants, finds new talents to exploit and has convinced Hell's middle class that being a clown like him is the coolest thing ever:

Fizzarolli: It's not about that! It's getting to work with my idol. I just love that he's giving someone new the chance to be in the spotlight! He's an inspiration. Blitzo: Well he's- definitely something alright. I mean, I dunno, was it worth all our savings just to have him put on an over-hyped commercial, and then bitch about taxes, and then assault us with clowns, vomit, and pass out on stage? Fizzarolli: So worth it!

What does it all mean for Lucifer?

On a character level, it ties with Lucifer's depression and general sense of failure. He is a Seraphim, the King of Hell and a brilliant artist and performer. And yet, he can't stop one of his subjects from ripping off his ideas. Once again Lucifer's dreams are ruined. They become soulless and rotten. Moreover, the one doing this is a member of Lucifer's own Circus Troupe, which adds to the impression of isolation and loneliness Lucifer gives off.

On a meta-narrative level, greed is corrupting the entertainment industry, as the dreamer in charge of it feels unmotivated and uninspired. This is a pretty poignant and tongue-in-cheeck dig to the current state of things, where corporations are mass-producing empty stories. After all, Lucifer fits the Mr Alt Disney TV Trope:

A No Celebrities Were Harmed version of Walt Disney; expect him to be the animator of a world-famous cartoon character (frequently a Mocky Mouse) and/or the founder of Souvenir Land. Also expect an exaggerated interest in planned communities and/or creating a utopia, possibly with sinister undertones. He'll present said utopia in the form of a World's Fair-like exhibition, usually in his parks. Many of these characters go beyond parodying just Disney and fuse him with Howard Hughes, another mustachio'd early/Golden Age of Hollywood impresario and futurist. Hughes gradually became debilitated by severe mental illness (OCD and agoraphobia) and eventually was reduced to living in seclusion, obsessively carrying out odd habits.

Lucifer is an oddball with a Showbiz Empire in Hell. He is loosely an expy of Walt Disney and the old Hollywood, but he is now tired and unable to produce anything new. Luckily, there is a beautiful disney-like princess ready to help him.

HAZBIN HOTEL, THE GREATEST SHOW

Charlie is a disney princess with the twist she reigns in hell, rather than on a classical fairy tale kingdom. In particular, she resembles Rapunzel in both design and personality:

Both princesses wear their hair tied, but they let it loose when they use their powers. They are enthusiastic, able to inspire others, but also sheltered. So, they are a bit childish. Charlie is basically Rapunzel if Raps were met with a cynical world the moment she escaped the tower:

He's got a dream He's got a dream See, I ain't as cruel and vicious as I seem Though I do like breaking femurs You can count me with the dreamers Like everybody else I've got a dream

Inside of every demon is a rainbow! Inside every sinner is a shiny smile! Inside of every creepy hatchet-wielding maniac, Is a jolly, happy, cupcake-loving child!

Rapunzel enters a sinister inn, shares her dream and is validated and understood by a bunch of bandits. Charlie explains her goal to all of Hell and is humiliated and laughed at by everyone.

Despite this setback, Charlie is still a disney-like princess and throughout the first season she brings dreams to others. This is true especially for Lucifer:

The King of Hell's dreams are awaken by Charlie's Hazbin Hotel project in two ways.

On a character level, Charlie's Hazbin Hotel is the evolution of Lucifer's dream, as it is rooted in the belief human souls can choose goodness. Even after death:

Charlie: Don't you care, Sera? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't Mean they can't resolve to change their ways Turn the page, escape infernal blaze

On a meta-narrative level, Hazbin Hotel is the greatest show. It is a new series, which takes obvious inspiration from classics, both disney movies and musicals. However, it is still fresh and innovative. Similarly, its protagonist is a disney-like princess (Charlie), who inspires a Walt Disney expy (Lucifer). She is a creation (daughter) giving hope to her creator (father). This is why by the end of season 1, Lucifer finds some of his old creative drive, as he helps Charlie rebuild the Hotel:

Lucifer: Remedial creation for me... it's as easy as can be!

Charlie brings back both hope (story level) and entertainement (meta-narrative level) in hell:

Alastor: Hahaha, why does anyone do anything? Sheer, absolute boredom! I've lacked inspiration for decades. My work became mundane, lacking focus, aimless! I've come to crave a new form of entertainment! Hahaha!

She has the talent to renew a showbiz (hell), which is mundane and aimless. She has a freshness, which catches the eye of navigated entertainers:

Alastor: She's filled with potential that I could guide Rosie: I concur Rosie and Alastor: Stick with her, you'll be on the winning side

Still, why is that so? Why is Charlie such a good entertainer?

CHARLIE: THE PERFORMATIVE DREAMER (CHARACTER LEVEL)

Charlie is entertaining because:

She tries hard to keep up her smile, even if she is suffering inside. In this sense, she is a real performer

She is so dedicated to her objective, that she is ready to do anything to reach it. In this sense, she is a true dreamer

Charlie, the performer

Alastor:Just because you see a smile don't think you know what's going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures that no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control.

Charlie is a character, who masks her negative emotions behind smiles, enthusiasm and an apparent neverending optimism. In reality, she struggles a lot with who she is:

Alastor: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucifer's delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands, as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you!

Has Charlie founded the Hazbin Hotel to help sinners or to find herself a purpose? The answer is both. Charlie's project is born from genuine altruism, but also from a selfish desire to matter.

Charlie, the dreamer

Alastor: You have a dream! You wish to tell! And it's just laughable. But, hey, kid, what the hell?

Charlie's dream seems impossible, almost a delusion. And yet, Charlie keeps pursuing it, no matter what. She sings her heart out to advertise the hotel... only to be seen by everyone as a joke. Still, she keeps going. She doesn't give up on her project.

Alastor: Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself! I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure!

Seeing Charlie struggle is fun because even if she fails, she tries again. She experiments new things, she learns and she teaches. She apologizes and she forgives. She never quits. So, she is an entertainer.

Charlie: I have a dream, I'm here to tell! About a wonderful fantastic new hotel!

CHARLIE, THE PERFORMER FULL OF DREAMS (META-NARRATIVE LEVEL)

Charlie puts up a performance and follows her dream no matter what. She hides within herself a selfish motivation (fiction), but earnestly pursues her selfless dream (reality). Similarly, Hazbin Hotel is a story (fiction) with a strong heart (reality).

That is because entertainment is rooted into reality:

Anything that happens in life Can happen in a show You can make 'em laugh You can make 'em cry Anything, anything can go (That's Entertainment! - The Band Wagon)

Charlie: Does getting into a fistfight with a reporter count as entertainment…? Alastor: Hahaha! It's the purest kind, my dear: Reality! True passion!

The song states anything can be entertainment

Alastor claims that good entertainment is born from genuine passion

It is the same idea declined in different ways. Entertainment is a representation of the world, of its flaws and beauties. It is fiction, but in a sense it must stay true to itself. Just like Charlie herself is both a performative dreamer (fiction) and a performer full of dreams (reality):

She is a performative dreamer because deep down she feels she must be perfect and repress her negative feelings. Only in this way she has value. She masks herself with a pollyanna persona.

She is a performer full of dreams because she has the talent to maker her dreams come true and to become a real artist in the process. To succeed, though, she should not ignore her hidden parts. She must face reality.

THE WORLD IS A STAGE AND THE STAGE IS A WORLD OF ENTERTAINMENT

When fiction and reality meet, entertainment is born. This is what Hazbin Hotel's meta-message seems to be. A story is invented, but the feelings behind it must be genuine.

At the same time, entertainment helps people better understand themselves. This may be why Hazbin Hotel is full of entertainment motifs. Here are some:

Charlie is a singer

Vaggie is a dancer

Angel is an actor

Alastor is linked to radios

Vox is a TV demon

Valentino is a director and producer

Adam is a musician, whose arc is described by the musical "School of Rock"

Charlie and Alastor's bond is commented by the musical "Annie"

For each one of these references, one could write a meta (I hope I will for some tbh). That is how much the idea of entertainment is intertwined in the story. In conclusion, it is definately true that:

The world is a stage = Fiction must take inspiration from reality or it will feel hollow

The stage is a world = Stories can help to better understand reality and make sense of it

Hazbin Hotel is a piece of entertainment about entertainment, which is best understood through the lens of entertainment. In short, it is entertainment!

#hazbin hotel #hellaverse #hazbin hotel meta #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #charlie hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #mammon helluva boss #my meta

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 1 year ago

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@ckhalloween23 heyyyyyy bestie(s) I know I'm an entire-ass month late, BUT

HERE'S A PREVIEW OF THE ELIMETRI DARKFIC I PROMISED

Listen, y'all can't give me a "Serial Killers" prompt and the opportunity to write the dark, unhinged Demetri Alexopoulos of my dreams presented on a silver platter and NOT expect me to go a little apeshit ^^;

Or. A lot apeshit. Because boy did I let this funny little comic relief guy SNAP ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Also, funnily enough, I realized over the course of the last year or so that I'm probably autistic? For the longest time I held off on writing Hawk's POV because I hc him as autistic and I didn't think I could do him justice, but...I've unlocked this Fun Secret Collector's Item now, I guess XD Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz POV acquired!

Decided to give it a stab here, since him having NO fucking idea how to react to Crazy Demetri was just too much fun. Hawk came to me surprisingly easy once I got started, actually??? I mean I've always related to him a lot but I had no idea it was like. An autism thing. I thought it was just an ND thing akisudhlkuhyfu

Head's up to Tory and Robby stans...this may not be the fic for you. You have been warned 👀

CW for blood, violence, knife-threatening, light knifeplay, toxic relationships (although YMMV), mentions of murder, implied slut-shaming, homophobic slurs, and sexual subtext.

Fic under the cut! As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

***

Hawk’s on his 30th rep when he hears the front door.

He stops mid-jab, the punching bag rattling on its chain as it sways back and forth. Scoffing, he rolls his eyes.

His mom must be home early. How fucking annoying.

He was looking forward to having the house to himself. With his father on a weekend-long business trip and his mother at her Friday night wine hangout, he was finally going to catch up on training without any interruptions.

The last thing he needs is to be outdone by Kyler Park and Robby Fucking Keene.

Hopefully his mom won’t come knocking, pestering him to watch movies or some other frivolous crap. He doesn’t have time for that anymore.

Strange. There’s a notable lack of the jingling and clattering that usually comes from 50 million things being shifted through an oversize purse. Hawk pauses, listening for any noise.

Maybe he imagined it.

“What the hell.” He takes a sip of the Red Bull on his bedside. Some sleep-deprived delirium or whatever it was wasn’t going to fuck up his focus.

Sure, he’s been averaging 5 hours a night, but who gives a shit? It’s not like anyone in high school actually gets enough sleep.

Sensei Kreese said in ‘Nam, they had to be ready to fight on a moment’s notice—geared to slaughter enemies after a mere 30 minutes’ rest in 48 hours. Hawk doesn’t strive for anything less.

The stairs creak.

His mom isn’t usually one for sneaking past his room, but perhaps she’s too tired to be chatty. He thanks the powers that be this seems to be the case, and returns to his reps.

Jab, cross, roundhouse. Jab, cross, roundhouse. Elbow. Knee to the chest.

He counts them out as he goes, power surging through him. Sensei will be sorry he started singing Keene’s praises when Hawk’s a better fighter than that piece of shit ever was.

Because throwing someone off a balcony when they had their guard down was a coward’s move. Typical Miyagi Do bullshit.

God, Hawk hates them. Hypocrites. Losers. Pussies.

He thinks of a new insult every time he lands a punch.

Miguel’s fucking insane for not appreciating what Cobra Kai did to get payback. What Hawk did to get payback.

His fists are starting to ache, fingers burning from being smashed against rubber again and again. Hawk doesn’t care.

Sensei would say the pain makes him stronger.

Jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross jab cross—

“You know, at some point, I think you’re as good as you’re going to get at punching.”

A shadow blocks the hallway light.

Dread grips him in frosty talons. His arms still, the punching bag swinging back and smacking his chest.

He gasps, stumbling back. Still, he refuses to look at the doorway.

Refuses to let Demetri see his shock.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

He presses as much venom into the words as possible. Enough intimidation, and Demetri will back down.

He knows now that Hawk is as real a threat as he ever was. And Demetri’s smart enough not to keep poking at a tiger that’s already mauled him.

“In what world would I not remember where you keep your spare keys?” Demetri sneers.

Well. Maybe that’s a bit generous.

“What do you want?”

Hawk keeps his tone steely, hoping he can kill whatever plans are swimming around his ex-best-friend’s head before they even form. In all likelihood, Demetri’s here to be a nuisance at best and a night-ruiner at worst.

Fucking Demetri. He’s always been such a distraction.

Hawk needs to get rid of those.

He thought he did. But Demetri is apparently either too stupid or too obsessed with the past to be properly scared away.

Irritating, but admittedly also interesting. It shows a kind of boldness that he wouldn’t expect Demetri, of all people, to have.

“Maybe I want to check in on my best friend.” Groaning footfalls as Demetri starts to slowly cross Hawk’s room. “I see you avoiding me at school. And you didn’t even bother to show when your little friends crashed Sam’s party. Perhaps I want to see how you are, hmmmm?”

And try as he might, Hawk can’t pick up the usual sarcastic edge to Demetri’s tone. He frowns at his far wall, confused.

There’s something odd in Demetri’s voice, and Hawk can’t for the life of him pick up what it is.

He still refuses to look at his oldest friend. He’s not going to give him the satisfaction of undivided attention.

Demetri is a pest, and should be treated as such.

“We’re not best friends,” Hawk says tightly, landing another punch on his bag. “Whatever we were? It’s done. Has been for a long time. Why can’t you get that?”

He finally graces Demetri with a look. He’s expecting the usual sullen look—scrunched brow, open mouth, widened eyes. Like he’s eternally surprised Hawk doesn’t need him anymore.

A look where maybe, if he prods it farther, Demetri will storm off. Or run off crying. Be out of Hawk’s sight.

Be somewhere where Hawk doesn’t have to think about that night at Golf N Stuff. Or how it felt to watch Demetri writhe on the floor. Or the streams of vomit that ripped from Hawk’s stomach as soon as he got home.

Or what he did to himself in the wee hours of the morning, when no one—not his mother, not Cobra Kai, not Sensei Kreese—was around to see.

But when Hawk glances over now, Demetri is smiling.

Not a contemptuous sneer, or a pained grimace. A full-on grin, splitting his cheeks and stretching much wider than the situation calls for.

Hawk inhales sharply.

Demetri shakes his head, laughing. “It’s almost endearing, you know. What a tryhard you are.”

He squares his jaw, refusing to budge as Demetri advances on him. “I thought I made it pretty clear what I think about you. You want another reminder?”

Hawk balls his fists, trying not to think about how hard the words are to force out. How hard he’s working to keep the iron shell he’s built around himself intact.

A strange smell hovers around Demetri. Acrid and metallic, like he’s spent too much time mucking around inside one of those computers he’s so besotted with.

“How revoltingly naïve.” Green eyes burn into him like acid, the glint behind them unlike anything he’s ever seen. “You thought you’d break my arm once and be done with me?

Hawk finds himself backing away.

“I’m not going to make it that easy for you, Hawk.”

Something in the way Demetri spits his new name finally gives him clarity.

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” he spits. “Why did you come here?”

“I came here because you were right. About everything.”

Any response is snatched from Hawk’s mouth.

For several seconds, all he can do is stare. Demetri smirks, apparently reveling in getting a leg up.

Hawk is so confused that he can’t even find it in himself to be angry. A strangled “what?” is all that comes out, pulling a snigger from his adversary.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out. Becoming the scariest fighter in the Valley. Making everyone quiver at the sight of you. Doing whatever you like because people aren’t brave enough to tell you no. Becoming your badass karate teacher’s little golden child. Getting rid of your weaknesses. Getting rid of me. But there’s one thing you got wrong.”

Typical Demetri. Monologuing around the point.

But Hawk is, nonetheless, finding his confusion turning to intrigue.

The mopey kicked puppy routine had gotten unbearably tedious. At least Demetri finally has the decency to give Hawk some variety.

“Oh, yeah?” He curls his lip. “What’s that?”

Demetri casually leans on Hawk’s dresser, like this is nothing more than a Friday night video game session.

“You think I avoid fights because I’m scared. But that’s not true anymore.” And there’s that grin again—that wide, unnerving grin that looks like it was pasted on from another human being’s face. The sort of manic look that would never in a thousand years belong on Demetri Alexopoulos.

“I avoid fights because I know who’s worth fighting. And who’s worth hurting.”

Well, that’s new.

Hawk narrows his eyes, trying to piece together if this is all some kind of trick.

“See, Eli, you were right that the world isn’t kind to people who get too soft.” Demetri starts sauntering over again, and that odd, metallic smell strengthens. “Or losers. Or weaklings. Or people who admit defeat. Give in too easily. Run off cowering and scared. So I’m shaking all that off. Next time I fight, I won’t lose.”

As Hawk pieces everything together, he scowls.

“So that’s what you want?” he hisses. “A rematch? Like you’d stand a chance.”

“So touchy. Do you only think of people in terms of whether you can beat them in a fight now? Boooooring.”

Demetri clicks his tongue disapprovingly. It’s a mocking gesture he’s been doing since they were little, but now something about it feels chilling.

Hawk’s back bumps his bedroom wall. Demetri’s closing in on him.

Fucking hell—he’s getting fed up with this cat-and-mouse. Why is he even entertaining this stupid nerd again?

It’s not like he gives a shit about him anymore. Then he wouldn’t snap his arm in half.

“Fuck off, Demetri!” he roars. “I fucking hate you. I don’t give a shit about anything you have to say! Get the hell out of my house, or I swear to god I’ll break your arm again.”

He fills the words with fire and force and poison, hoping something will hurt Demetri enough to make him go.

He can’t cave again. Not after he’s worked this hard to oust Demetri and everything he represents from his life.

Not after he’s severed Demetri’s bone with his own hands and smiled with his friends about it.

That should’ve been the last straw. That should’ve been what sent Demetri running for good, abandoning everything they’d once had to save himself.

But it didn’t. It fucking didn’t.

Demetri takes another step into his space, curling his lip. “You’re full of shit.”

“Fuck you.” Eli returns his stare, baring his teeth. “How are you so sure?”

“Because you hesitated.”

Hawk goes rigid.

“I begged you to stop.” Demetri’s hands slide onto the wall on either side of him, trapping him. “And you thought about it. You didn’t break my arm until all your psychotic teammates goaded you on. If you really hated me?” His voice drops to a breathy whisper. “You wouldn’t have even thought twice.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Demetri snickers.

“Poor little Eli. You’ve always sucked at arguing when you get backed into a corner.”

“I still broke it,” Hawk growls. “You know I can do it. Easily. So how are you stupid enough that you’re still fucking with me? You some kind of masochist?”

“You still care about me, Eli.” They’re inches apart now, Demetri leering over Hawk. “You never got over me not wanting to join your little club of sociopaths. Whenever there’s a rumble, you can’t stay away from me. And you want to know what I think?”

“Shut up.”

Demetri’s voice is husky in Hawk’s ear. “You wouldn’t hurt me when there’s no one to show off to.”

Hawk’s done with this.

He lunges, shoving Demetri’s chest and flying at him with an outstretched fist. He waits for that gratifying moment of shock—the familiar shift in Demetri’s features as he realizes yet again Hawk has no intention of going easy on him.

Demetri doesn’t even blink as he moves out of the way.

Hawk course-corrects, swiveling and diving for Demetri again. He throws the fastest punch he can manage straight at Demetri’s jaw.

Why the hell won’t he give up?

Demetri’s fantastic at giving up. He always has been. He gave up on standing up to bullies and he gave up on Cobra Kai and he gave up on Sensei Kreese.

So why won’t he give up on Hawk?

Demetri doesn’t dodge this time. He only swerves, allowing the fist to graze his chin.

He lets out a hiss of pain—angry, but not surprised.

Without warning, Demetri’s hands shoot up. Hawk freezes as long fingers snake across the skin of his arm.

The next second he’s screaming, Demetri’s hands twisting until his skin burns. The other boy’s grip tightens, thrusting him toward the floor.

He’s stealing my fucking moves again.

And frustratingly, he can do them fast. Hawk barely manages to use his other arm to shove Demetri off, stumbling back.

Even one moment of disorientation is too long. Demetri charges again, teeth bared like a wild animal.

One arm slams him against his bedroom wall while the other digs into his chest, squeezing the air out of him. And Hawk hates to admit it, but Demetri’s training-broadened shoulders have a terrifying amount of power behind them.

Nothing he can’t handle. Hawk’s taken on bigger opponents before.

He squirms in Demetri’s grip, his own arms loosening enough for his hands to make a grab for the taller boy’s throat. Then Demetri’s pinning hand is gone, slipping in and out of his jacket in what feels like less than a heartbeat.

Something cold and sharp presses Hawk’s throat. His hands drop, tensing against the wall.

“What the fuck…?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Eli.” Demetri tilts his head, pouting mockingly. “But you make it so damn hard to talk to you. Can’t do a thing without you coming at me like some kind of rabid coyote.”

“So you pull a…are you fucking insane?”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Red Hulk Rage Issues.” The pout morphs into a smirk. “Clearly, you’re not above playing dirty, using that sad little Eli voice of yours to get out of trouble. Figured it was time I caught up.”

Hawk feels something sticky dripping down his neck. His breath hitches in his throat.

He aims a hit at Demetri’s stomach. The taller boy bends with it, and the blade presses harder.

“Oh, come now.” Demetri tuts disapprovingly. “Don’t make me slit your throat.”

Hawk hardens his expression, channeling everything in him into hiding the shock.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think you’re in a great place to test that.”

And he’s right. Hawk hates it, but he’s right.

This isn’t the Demetri he knows better than the back of his hand. The Demetri he knows so uncomfortably well that he convinced himself over and over and over that it meant he was sick of the fucking geek.

This isn’t grounded, rational, sensible Demetri. Something’s snipped his threads, made him start fraying at the edges.

He’s unraveling, floating in an ether where the pragmatic and the path of least resistance that he made his life philosophy are losing their appeal. He’s…

Well, it seems he’s done some script-flipping of his own. Decided—perhaps on a whim—to overhaul everything Hawk knew and replace it with something cold and alien and completely fucking unpredictable.

Was this how Demetri felt, that day Hawk showed up at school with spiked hair and a conniving sneer? Is this some kind of payback?

He doesn’t care if this new boy with a knife to his throat killed and gutted the friend he grew up with. It doesn’t matter anymore. That relationship only ever got in the way, anyhow.

He truly could not care less. Honest.

The only emotion he feels is annoyance that this new opponent will be harder to match, with erratic moves and a quickly-thinning conscience.

This Demetri isn’t pulling any punches. One stupid or sloppy move, and Hawk will be on the floor gurgling his life out.

He’s never taken Demetri for someone impulsive, but perhaps he just had a talent for controlling his most brutal and primal urges—for his own safety, if nothing else. Perhaps he’s lost this ability.

Hawk wonders what it says about him that he isn’t bothered by this at all. If anything, he finds the whole concept exhilarating.

Fighting Demetri had gotten so boring. Now, at last, they’re on equal footing.

Regardless, there could be a trace of the Old Demetri yet. He might be able to use that.

“Put the fucking knife away or I’ll call the cops,” Hawk snarls. “Think you’ll get into Stanford with a police report on your permanent record? Or whatever fucking nerd school you’re trying to—”

“With what phone?” Demetri interrupts. “The one you left on the coffee table downstairs so it won’t distract you from wailing on your stupid bag?”

Fuck. How did Demetri even notice shit like that?

Hawk tries not to let the dismay show.

“When my mom gets home, she’ll—”

“Mommy’s not coming for you, Eli.” Demetri’s smirk widens. “Mommy’s getting drunk with all her friends to forget her unfulfilled suburban picket fence life with her nasty, violent delinquent of a son. And Mommy’s going to crash at Michelle Galinski’s house, just like she has every Friday night for the past 10 years. And oh dear…Daddy’s out of town on his top-of-the-month business trip? Looks like no one’s coming to save you.”

Fuck that. He can save himself.

Hawk makes a grab for Demetri’s wrist, other hand clawing at the arm compressing his chest. Demetri seamlessly lifts the elbow of his knife-holding arm and jabs the bony appendage into Hawk’s skin.

The knife blade doesn’t even falter, pressing more firmly into Hawk’s neck. A sting, and he feels something warm trickle toward his chest.

The scent from earlier intensifies, and Hawk realizes abruptly that it must have been blood.

“Mmmm-mmmm.” Demetri purses his lips and shakes his head, like he’s scolding a disobedient child. “It’ll make it much easier for both of us if you don’t act up. I really don’t want to cut your throat, but I will.”

As Demetri sneers down at him, Hawk realizes too late that he couldn’t cover his alarm.

“What? Don’t think I’d actually hurt you?”

The taller boy fiddles with the knife, sending little pricks of pain rippling through Hawk’s neck.

“I guess you know how it feels now,” he purrs.

Hawk spits in Demetri’s face, sudden fury overtaking him.

This pathetic nerd’s not going to make him feel bad now. Not after everything he’s done to crush the part of himself that possibly could feel bad.

“Fuck you.”

And slowly, never once breaking his gaze, Demetri licks Hawk’s saliva off his chin. The dim hallway light just catches the moisture on his face.

“Keep it in your pants, Moskowitz. We’re not there yet.”

Now Demetri’s definitely fucking with him.

It’s growing tiresome. Nonetheless, he doesn’t want that cut in his neck getting any wider.

There’s something distinctly unnerving about the way Demetri’s eyes are boring into him, sizing him up with a kind of cold contempt. Looking at him like he’s nothing more than some ugly insect to crush under his shoe.

It’s the sort of callousness that Hawk has never once—not in the entire time he’s known Demetri—been the target of.

And maybe he’ll admit it. He dislikes it for more than just the fact it throws him off.

Demetri is spiraling into someone unrecognizable, and the sheer foreignness of the whole process makes Hawk shudder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hawk’s voice is small and weak. Like Eli’s.

He doesn’t care.

His entire sense of reality—every absolute, irrefutable truth he’s ever attached to himself and his life and his oldest friend—is uprooting and spinning out of control, and it’s not like anything fucking matters anymore.

Demetri laughs—a sharp, hollow sound devoid of any real humor.

“Like you’re one to talk. I know what you did to Brucks.”

Hawk’s blood freezes.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Demetri’s knife slides from the cut on Hawk’s neck, beginning to tease the underside of his chin. “Mitch told us what happened. And I damn well noticed when Brucks stopped showing up to school. Nice of your war criminal sensei to help you cover that up.”

Hawk’s breath comes in quick, short gasps.

Of course Demetri put two and two together. Of course he’d gone snooping so he could find something else to hang over Hawk’s head.

And the fall of that knife might be worse than the one currently tickling his jaw.

Part of him hates it. Hates being reminded of that day and hates being reminded what he’s capable of. Hates remembering the sight of a living, breathing person crumpling to the floor, and realizing they would never get up again.

But Hawk isn’t stupid. If anyone can play Demetri’s games, it’s the person who knows him better than anyone in the world.

“Demetri.” He keeps his tone as calm and non-abrasive as he can. “Who else’s blood is on your knife?”

Because it was still wet when Demetri shoved it up against him. And Demetri’s a moron if he thinks Hawk missed that.

“Ah. And we finally get to that.” Demetri chuckles, gently tracing Hawk’s jawline with the honed edge. “You see…the difference between you and me, Eli, is that I don’t need anyone’s help to hide my bodies.”

His heart drops to his feet.

“What did you do?”

“Not any worse than you.” Demetri cocks his head. “I hurt someone who deserved it.”

“Demetri.” Hawk steels his voice. “What did you do?”

Because whatever it was, Hawk sure as hell needs to take the proper precautions to make certain he isn’t next.

“Stopped at the convenience store on the way over here.” Demetri follows the knife with his eyes as he talks, expression almost affectionate. “Ran into one of Kyler’s old buddies from the wrestling team. One of the kids who used to call us fags, remember? He thought it would be fun to shove me around. So I pretended I was running my ass away, and got him to chase me somewhere a little more…private.”

Hawk gapes at him.

“Did you really…?”

“Shanked the asshole like a pig. He was so surprised he didn’t even fight back. And let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

And there’s that laugh again—the broken, disjointed chortles that feel so jarringly out-of-place. Green eyes shining with a frenetic light that makes Hawk’s hands grow slick with sweat.

Demetri leans in again, knife held steady as his lips brush Hawk’s ear.

“I know how it feels, you know. I know what it is to get so angry that you don’t even know what your body’s doing until it’s too late. Watch the life fade out of another human being’s eyes. Realize you like it. Sit there panicking about being some kind of inhuman monster and then suddenly realizing you don’t fucking care. And I suppose…I suppose that’s another reason you were right. There is a certain freedom in embracing that the world is cruel and cutthroat and unforgiving. In finally unmuzzling the wild animal thrashing around inside you and letting it hunt the way it was always meant to.”

Hawk shudders.

Sensei Kreese promised no one would ever find out about Brucks. Staged some kind of car accident or binge-drinking tragedy or drug OD or some other way stupid teenagers die all the time. Kyler was barred from the funeral, with Kreese worried (probably reasonably) that the dumbass would let something slip.

Kreese told the class that if anyone snitched, he’d be more than willing to look the other way as they met the same fate as Brucks.

Hawk hated how much he enjoyed it. He hated how after the deed was done, he couldn’t find a scrap of guilt in his psyche. It made him feel detached from himself—the abstract idea that doing that to another person was bad, but the complete lack of any emotions to back it up.

But that’s who he is now. No going back, he supposes.

Perhaps, on some level, he figured Demetri would pick up on this and leave him alone. Decide that Hawk’s path was too dark and too dangerous for his pasty basement nerd tastes, and stay huddled away with the Miyagi Dos singing kumbaya.

That would probably be best for him, anyways. Hawk still doesn’t know what other horrific shit he has it in him to do, especially when his victim pleaded so hard for mercy that would never come. When Brucks’ fruitless begging gave him an unmistakable rush.

And yet here Demetri is, claiming he was in a similar position. Claiming he lost control.

It isn’t that Demetri can’t put on an act if he needs to. But on some level, Hawk’s always been able to tell when his best friend is exaggerating or embellishing to make a story more interesting. There’s a kind of snarky undertone he uses, always giving that he isn’t completely serious. Subtle, but easy to pick up if you’re familiar with it.

There’s none of that here. If anything, this is the kind of emotional vulnerability Demetri never displays intentionally.

Until now, apparently.

Hawk bites his lip. “You’re not lying, are you?”

“You’re so cute.” The tip of the knife jabs into the underside of Hawk’s chin. “You thought I was some…what? Some sissy little do-gooder? The pinnacle of morality and mercy and all great virtues? No, no.” He giggles. “I’ve always been as fucked up as you. I only managed to keep it buried longer.”

Hawk scowls, suddenly remembering exactly who he’s talking to.

“Give me a fucking break. You joined the pussy-ass ‘defense only’ karate dojo. Your entire philosophy is about being sissy little do-gooders. Like you’d have the balls to pull even half the shit Cobra Kai—”

The knife flies back to the wound in his throat, Demetri using his arm to ram Hawk harder into the wall.

“You think I ever gave a flying fuck about Miyagi-Do?” he spits. “You think I’m some slavering pet like you, tripping over my little lapdog paws to appease my sensei’s every command? You think these asinine karate wars ever mattered to me? No.” He shoves his face into Hawk’s, blood on his breath. “You’re the one so obsessed with following orders that you can’t even remember who you were before you became some demented old man’s attack dog. You’re the one so drunk on loyalty to a fucking karate dojo that you can’t see none of this shit matters.”

Hawk bares his teeth, hoping with everything he has that Demetri won’t notice him shaking.

“Easy for you to say, when you pussied out after one punch in the face,” he sneered. “Of course you want to believe all of this is pointless when you’re on the losing team. But I’m not like you, Demetri. I’m no quitter.”

“Oh, how admirable.” The knife presses a little harder. “Tell me then, Hawk. How’s being on the same team as Kyler? As fucking Robby Keene? You excited for the chance to help them hurt Miguel again?”

Red-hot rage rips through Hawk. He lifts a leg and knees Demetri’s shin as hard as he can.

Demetri barely even winces. His other foot kicks up, ramming the side of Hawk’s knee. Hawk scrambles for balance, heart pounding as he just avoids falling into the knifepoint.

“Thought that’d hit a nerve.”

“Fuck you!” Hawk spits. “Keene was from your fucking dojo! You fought with him, too!”

“Not since he hurt Miguel.”

Demetri’s voice is frigid, rivaling the most biting winter rains. Every inch of him drips with a venomous hatred that Hawk has never seen before.

Not directed at him. Not directed at anyone.

“And now he’s in your dojo. Funny how that works.” Demetri clicks his tongue. “Guess your roaring rampage of revenge was all for naught.”

“It wasn’t.” Hawk curls his lip. “You were all responsible, and we got our paypack. It’s not our fault Miguel wasn’t grateful.”

“Ooooh, gotta love the Hawk’s impeccable logic! ‘Ah, yes, I think I will terrorize everyone in this dojo except for the person who actually almost killed my friend, who I will agree to team up with for some reason!’” Demetri returns his sneer. “Are you really such an obedient little bitch that you do whatever your precious sensei tells you? Even when you damn well know it makes no sense? You’re more pathetic than I thought.”

“Park and Keene know their place,” Hawk hisses. “They know I’m the alpha. They answer to me.”

Demetri cocks his head, looking amused.

“Even if I were to believe that. Do you like sharing a class with those assholes? Do you like knowing that if one of them were to get their ass handed to them by a Miyagi-Do or an Eagle Fang—by Miguel—that you’d be expected to rescue them?”

“I’d do it.” Hawk grits his teeth. “I wouldn’t like it, but I’d fucking do it. Sensei Kreese gave Sensei Lawrence and the others a chance to join back up with Cobra Kai, and they said no. Miguel chose his side.”

Demetri sighs, expression almost pitying.

“I guess ‘Cobra Kai for life’ trumps a Cobra’s desire to beat another Cobra into the damn ground. Kind of a shame. I think you’d enjoy hurting them.”

What Demetri said earlier circles back into his mind.

I avoid fights because I know who’s worth hurting.

Hawk straightens, keeping his composure.

“Sensei says we need all the allies we can get,” he says. “Even if we don’t like them. I’m putting up with Kyler and Robby long enough to win the tournament, and that’s it. Then I’ll find some way to weed them out.”

“I doubt it.” Demetri smiles down at him. If it weren’t for the knife, Hawk would punch his teeth in. “Contrary to how you act, I know you’re a smart guy. If you knew how to get rid of them, you would have already. No, Eli…” His voice drops to a purr. “You’re stuck with them, aren’t you?”

Hawk feels sick.

Leave it to Demetri to pinpoint his deepest fears—a karate clan filled with the worst people Hawk knew. Not a single friend to speak of, and a sensei with constantly divided attention.

Even Tory was turning out to be a fucking snake in the grass. She certainly took to the boy who nearly killed her ex with not an ounce of guilt.

And yet she believed with all of her being that Demetri deserved a broken arm for what Robby Keene did. That he was a pussy for crying out in pain. Actions didn’t matter to her—only the name branded across the merchandise you wore and the color of your gi at tournaments.

For the first time, the thought makes Hawk seethe.

All this time she’d seemed nothing but tough and fearless, but all she was was a shallow bitch who cared more about rank and status than a damn thing you actually did.

She was always going to hate Sam LaRusso for being rich and popular. She was always going to hate Miyagi Do for its association with LaRusso. But the second Keene bailed? Put on a belt with a cobra on it and showed off his snake-snatching skills?

She couldn’t wait to get on his dick. The filthy slut.

And suddenly Hawk realizes that he hates her, too. He hates so many of the people who are supposed to be his allies. But he can’t afford to think like that. And most of all, he can’t afford to let Demetri see it.

He glowers up at his ex-best-friend, keeping his gaze stony. “And why do you care? You have your posse of Miyagi losers to pal around with. Why do you give a shit what I do? Just go home to your little—”

“I left Miyagi-Do!”

The words come out in a forceful scream that practically knocks Hawk even further into the wall.

The sheer disdain in Demetri’s eyes for the group he had so cozily assimilated into sends Hawk reeling. He’d never—not in this lifetime or the next—expect Demetri to toss the whole lot of them out like garbage.

Demetri breaks into another grin, reveling in Hawk’s stunned silence.

“See, that’s another difference between you and I, Eli. I don’t need some washed-out old man telling me what to believe and how to fight. I can think for myself. And frankly, I got sick of the ‘safety in numbers’ business when it seemed ‘the numbers’ were always the ones who got to pick my enemies for me. And no one—” His eyes burn into Hawk. “No one decides that but me. I hurt who I like when I like, and I’ll fucking gut anyone who gets in my way.”

Hawk exhales slowly, keeping his scowl pulled tight.

“So…what?” Hawk sneers. “You’re going to fight Cobra Kai by yourself now? That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Not all of them. Some of your class are just brainwashed idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.” He sighs, shaking his head. “And you, Eli…well, I think you’ve lost sight of who your true enemy is. I was hoping I could help.”

“You really bounced?” Hawk narrows his eyes, still trying to make sense of everything. “After everything, you…just up and left?”

It can’t be that easy. He knows it wouldn’t be in Cobra Kai.

“Yeah.” Demetri shrugs. “And now I have way more time for important things.”

“I don’t get it.” Hawk’s frown deepens. “Why would you strike off on your own? Did something happen?”

“You happened.”

Short. Simple. Concise.

Completely baffling.

Not that that was anything new today.

Maybe it’s Hawk’s imagination, but the knife loosens a little.

“Don’t you get it?” For the first time all night, something like genuine anguish prods through Demetri’s voice. “I meant what I said. I never gave a rat’s ass about the karate wars, or the stupid dojo feuds. All I ever wanted was to be worth your fucking time again.”

All Hawk can do is stare.

It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“And sure,” Demetri concedes after a moment. “At first, I wanted to do right by Mr. LaRusso. By Sam. They were the ones who taught me. Toughened me up into something worthwhile. Worked with all the shit you thought was a lost cause. But it was always a means to an end to stay relevant to you. Then after what happened with Moon, I genuinely thought the Miyagi-Do philosophy would help you. But I learned soon enough that you were in too deep for appealing to the Old Eli to work. No, I had to speak to you in your own language.”

He licks his lips as the knife starts to slide up Hawk’s neck again, dancing over the bottom of his chin and onto the plump skin of his lips.

“Aggression. Violence. Dominance.” He chuckles. “Wasn’t my go-to, but if it got your attention, I could make it work. And I guess I did, huh? I riled you up enough that you couldn’t leave me alone.”

“You wanted to piss me off?”

“If that’s what it took to keep you coming back for more.” And there it is again—that wide, sadistic grin that feels so brutally wrong. “You can leave me, Eli. You can disown me. You can shit on everything we had and make my life a living hell. But you can’t bring yourself to just ignore me. Because you’re so weak that you can’t bear to refuse the bait when I press your buttons. Because as much as you claim to hate me, you can’t move on from me.”

“And now you ditch your team to…what? Fight me on your own?” Hawk matches Demetri’s grin with one of his own. “I’d wreck you. And deep down, you know it.”

“So presumptuous.” Demetri shakes his head, tutting. “Frankly, I came here tonight because I’m sick of fighting you.”

“Says the one with a knife to my throat.”

“That’s because you don’t fucking listen without me having to resort to extreme measures,” Demetri hisses. “I think we’re a lot closer to being on the same page than you think. And maybe if you dropped this whole tribalism bullshit, you’d see that.”

So Demetri wants a truce. Hawk should have known.

He’s not surprised. But the way they arrived here?

Now that’s a twist.

It’s still an insane concept. Like he’s supposed to let his greatest enemy off the hook. Let Demetri get away with all the ways he’s undermined him and humiliated him and put the Old Eli—the weak, pathetic nerd Eli—on blast for all the world to see.

But if Demetri really left Miyagi Do…

Hawk finds himself wondering how much of his rage against the Miyagi Dos is his own, and how much is Sensei Kreese’s. And if Demetri’s truly deserted “the enemy,” does Hawk still have to hate him?

Does he even want to?

Demetri isn’t that pathetic, sniveling dweeb anymore. He’s crushed his old self as brutally as Hawk has.

Because the Demetri Hawk has known all his life could scarcely bring himself to cook with sharp knives, let alone use one to threaten another human being’s life.

Or take one.

But despite everything, something still doesn’t add up.

“I heard about your little rousing speech,” Hawk says. “About how important it was for Miyagi Do and Eagle Fang to unite against the ‘biggest assholes in the Valley.’ And now you’ve abandoned both of them. Was that all just a load of crap, then?”

Demetri is unfazed.

“Call me naïve, but I thought if Miguel and I were on the same team, you’d finally see some damn sense. You’d hurt me, sure. I’ve known that for a while. But I never thought you’d touch the kid you went on a vengeance quest for.” He shrugs. “Color me surprised when you wrote him off as just another enemy.”

“I told you.” Hawk works his fingers against the wall again, uneasiness trickling over his skin. “Miguel chose his side.”

“Be that as it may. I figured if you were so far gone that you were ready to wail on literally every person you used to be friends with, I needed to adjust my strategy.”

“For what?”

“For getting through to you. For getting you to tell the truth.”

And Hawk doesn’t want to think for too long about what truth Demetri has in mind.

“So you pull out a fucking knife.”

“Mhm.” Demetri snickers. “That’s how you communicate, yeah? Threats and intimidation?”

Hawk clenches his jaw. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Is that so.” The arm suddenly lifts from squeezing Hawk’s chest, long fingers seizing his wrist. He’s too surprised to pry them away.

He really should be expecting this kind of insane bullshit by now.

“Your pulse is going haywire, Eli,” Demetri murmurs. “Either you’re a liar, or something else has you energized. I wonder what that could be?”

It’s then Hawk’s mind fully catches up to its surroundings.

He rips his wrist away, pivoting away from the knife and sending a knee into Demetri’s ribs. The knife tip slices his cheek, but so be it. He’s endured worse.

Demetri gasps, stumbling back. Hawk makes a grab for the knife.

The taller boy is still too quick. He holds the weapon out of reach, using his other arm to thrust Hawk’s body back.

Before Demetri can do anything else, Hawk squats down and sweeps his leg. With a grunt, his opponent stumbles to the floor.

Something seizes Hawk’s ankles as he stands. He cries out as he’s yanked backward with surprising force, landing on the floor next to Demetri.

Hawk scrambles for the bed, trying to writhe out of Demetri’s grip and hoist himself up by the covers.

It’ll be over when I have the high ground.

What a stupid reference to think about.

It reminds him of the kind of game he and Demetri might have once played. Whoever made it onto the bed would get to be Obi-Wan, and whoever stayed on the floor would have to be Anakin, drowning in lava.

The idea leaves him feeling strange.

Demetri doesn’t let go, snarling like a hyena as he tries to tug Hawk back. The knife teases his skin, an imminent threat if he makes any moves too sudden.

He’d kick the annoying asshole away from him, but he doesn’t want the sole of his foot sliced open. If he can’t walk, he can’t fight.

Suddenly, Demetri cries out, grip loosening. In Hawk’s struggles, he must’ve rammed into a sensitive spot. He yanks himself free, scrambling onto the bed and frantically trying to plan his next move.

He realizes his mistake a half-second too late.

Demetri, gleefully bluffing, rises to his full height. Smirking, he pounces like a jaguar.

He lands heavily on Hawk’s stomach, slamming him against the bed. The back of his head smacks against the headboard, filling his vision with stars.

He barely has time to let out a pained gasp before Demetri’s knees are digging into his quadriceps, pinning him again. Growling, he aims a punch at Demetri’s throat.

His fist meets its target, pulling a strangled gasp. Hawk clasps his arms around Demetri’s torso, trying to thrust him off the bed.

For a moment they struggle, yanking and shoving wildly in an attempt to gain an advantage. Then Hawk feels long arms wrap around his back, bony fingers clutching at his throat.

The tingling pain of blade against skin, and Hawk realizes Demetri kept hold of his knife.

Whenever I think he’s finally going to drop that damned thing…

The knife jabs into him, strengthening its grip until he’s pressed flat on his back. At last Demetri loosens his grip, sizing up his victim with a satisfied beam.

Hawk squirms, bed creaking as he does his best to jostle Demetri off. The other boy holds fast, gazing down at him with a pitying look.

The blade digs in again, and Hawk’s struggles weaken.

“Come now. How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I don’t believe I was finished.”

Demetri tilts his head to the side, breaking into another crazed grin that sends dread trickling straight down to Hawk’s bones.

“Shut up Demetri.”

“I see you staring at me. All this time, and all these girls you tried so hard to fuck, and everything always comes back to your stupid middle school infatuation.”

“SHUT UP!”

Hawk squeezes his eyes shut, trying to bleach Demetri’s cold, smug expression from his mind.

“Right after you had your Bar Mitzvah, you asked me to kiss you. You figured since I already had mine, we were both adults now. And adults do grown-up things like kissing.”

“STOP IT!”

And suddenly Hawk is screaming at the top of his lungs because he knows where this is going. Because they were just stupid kids, and that can’t mean anything.

“I said of course I would, because I’d always liked you, Eli.” Demetri’s voice only grows louder—more insistent. “And I go in to give you a peck, and you grab my arms and stick your entire tongue in my mouth.”

“Shut the fuck up, Demetri!”

He feels something wet dribbling down his face, and wonders if the cut on his cheek got stretched wider in his and Demetri’s scuffle. It’s certainly stinging enough for it.

Unless…

Hawk wishes he could dissolve.

“I told you I’d kiss you a thousand more times if you wanted.” Demetri’s voice has grown sharper than his blade. “And I would have. And for a long while, I thought there might be the most infinitesimal possibility that you felt something, too. Now I know I was right.”

He laughs, the sound acrid and bitter and full of flint.

“Because even after everything, you’re still obsessed with me. You watch me across the lunchroom and pretend you’re ‘monitoring the enemy,’ but I know you miss me. You miss when I made you laugh, and you miss when I talked to people so you didn’t have to. You chase me around in every battle, but when it comes right down to it, you can’t hurt me in any significant way until you’re bullied into it. You pick fights with me so you can put your hands all over my body and not have anyone look at you askance for it.”

“FUCK YOU!”

Maybe if he screams loud enough, Demetri won’t pay too much attention to the wet trails smearing the blood from his cuts.

Caustic breath is hovering inches above Hawk, misting onto his lips. Still, he refuses to open his eyes.

“It must be exhausting, you know,” Demetri whispers. “Living your life in denial like that. Wearing your entire personality like some cheap Halloween costume and convincing yourself that’s a fulfilling existence. Don’t you want to be free?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Hawk growls. “I do whatever I like. It’s not my fault you don’t like who I really am.”

“Who you really are, hmmm?” Demetri’s lips brush his earlobe, voice a barely-audible murmur. “So tell me the truth then, Eli. Do you still want me?”

The bluntness of the question almost blows a hole in his composure.

“Of course I don’t.”

“Stop fucking lying!”

All at once, Demetri’s voice is a deafening, furious scream again. The knife slices Hawk’s jaw.

Not enough to do any real harm, but enough to really hurt. Hawk freezes, held prisoner by the burst of sharp, sudden pain.

“It’s always lies, lies, lies with you,” Demetri snarls. “Fake name. Fake hair color. Fake personality. Fake interests. Fake friends who only kiss the ground you walk on because they’ve never seen you at your weakest. Fake relationships with girls you barely let know you—to the point you think they’d leave you for liking to code. And the absolute drivel you feed yourself that this goddamn farce is what you want to live in forever. You think you’re starring in some martial arts epic, and you’re so wrapped up in your stupid method acting that you never want to step offscreen. Like everyone’s on the edge of their seat about your pitiful life like it’s the fucking Truman Show. And at the end of the day? You’re still too much of a pussy to tell me the truth.”

Hawk’s skin tingles, shivers rippling through him. If his heart was pounding before, it’s thundering now.

Somehow it doesn’t feel like fear. He’s used to this new version of Demetri enough not to cower from him.

No, it’s something far worse. And Demetri knows it.

“You can’t hide from me.” The other boy’s tone drips with haughtiness, savoring the ability to confirm Hawk’s worst fears. “I see right through your bullshit. I always have. So I’ll ask you one more time. Do you want me?”

The knife slides down to Hawk’s throat again, pressing firmly.

“Lie and I’ll kill you.”

He’s probably bluffing. Maybe. Surely.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter anymore. Sprawled out on his childhood bed, underneath the only other person he frequently shared it with.

The person he used to watch sleep, wondering wistfully if the freak with the lip scar ever made it into his best friend’s dreams.

He opens his eyes and finally meets Demetri’s gaze, in all of its searing, insurmountable beauty.

“Yeah.”

He breathes it out quiet and fragile—a soft promise. A rare moment of openness that he lets free of his unbreakable shell.

Demetri drops the knife. It falls behind the bed, thumping onto the carpet below.

He swoops down, seizing Hawk’s neck and yanking him up. When their mouths meet, Hawk is nearly thrown back with the force of it.

Demetri kisses like a starved animal, lapping and nipping in a crazed frenzy. The weight of his muscle-toned body is crushing, locking Hawk firmly against the mattress.

He tastes like blood and cold steel and cruelty. Hawk shudders.

This time, he’s certain it isn’t fear. It’s a rush he only thought he could get from smashing his fists against plastic or skin, or feeling another person’s body go limp and lifeless underneath his.

And it’s ironic. The more Demetri tries to devour Hawk, the more Hawk wants to let it happen.

There’s an odd satisfaction to it, he thinks. Being completely at someone else’s mercy.

And Demetri isn’t fighting with any.

***

OKAY, time for some #authorrants because I feel like some of the choices I made in this fic are. Controversial, to say the least. Lmao.

So something that has bugged the crap out of me for a while now is people in this fandom acting like there is any world where Demetri would choose Robby over Miguel. I remember after S3 dropped, there was a lot of "dId tHeY fOrGeT tHe dEmEtRi-rObBy FrIeNdShIp" type sentiment floating around irt why Demetri didn't stay in contact with Robby the way Sam and the LaRussos did. Maybe it's because, I don't know, Robby threw the guy Demetri never actually stopped being close friends with over a balcony and almost killed him???

Like. Not that these showrunners don't ever forget things, but this absolutely is not one of them. Robby paralyzing Miguel is a BEYOND valid reason to sever ties with him, especially when you were just casual dojo bros for a couple months tops. When push came to shove, Demetri pretty unequivocally CHOSE MIGUEL. He brought him a comic book in the hospital! He was thrilled to see him back at school and picked up their friendship right where it left off! He DOES NOT VISIBLY FORGIVE ROBBY UNTIL MIGUEL DOES! Idk idk it just really riles me when people do not take Demetri and Miguel's friendship into account when discussing the Demetri-Robby relationship and why they stopped being friends when they did. Tbh I don't think it's that hot of a take to assume Demetri would have more loyalty to the guy who befriended him when he was a nobody and proceeded to be one of his closest ride-or-die friends for a whole-ass year over the guy he was casual buds with because they happened to share a karate instructor -_____- I could go on about this for several more paragraphs, but that's a rant for another day.

(As far as the LaRussos go, they were all closer to Robby and were basically his adoptive family, which is why they--particularly Sam--were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and say the Miguel thing was an accident. Demetri didn't know Robby well enough to make that call, and had no actual proof it WAS an accident except for maybe Sam's word.)

Some other things to ramble about:

I remember in some interview a while back (I think with Martin Kove?) someone asked about Hawk and Marty or whoever was being interviewed said he was "on his way to being a serial killer" or smth. And Jacob's talked a little bit about the kind of escalating delinquent shit Hawk would get up to if he was never redeemed, etc. So going with that: Bold of y'all to assume the kid simping for Hawk since episode 1 wouldn't renounce his morals and join him on the path to villainy. Sorry but I truly believe Demetri's horniness for Hawk can and would win out over any ethical qualms in the end. Also Demetri is horny for violence and evil this is canon otherwise he would in fact not have simped for S3 Hawk so PAINFULLY BADLY god bless

Also this was partly inspired by those post-S3 jokes that were like "lol what happened to Brucks??? Did Hawk kill him???"...well, what if he did, tho? O_____O

Disclaimer that I promise I do not endorse the Tory slut-shaming!!! Tbh I didn't really wanna write it, but...I think given the circumstances, Hawk WOULD be pretty furious at her for getting chummy with Robby and "betraying" Miguel. And unfortunately, since he's a teenage boy with (canonical!) misogynistic tendencies...I do think that would most likely come across as slut-shaming D: But y'all have brains y'all know I don't condone everything I write about aknhdksuyhf (Murder is probably not something you should try at home either btw)

Hopefully I didn't make Hawk too weaksauce in this ^^; My excuses are a) I suck at writing fight scenes and tend to just want to get to the psychosexual dialogue and knife-teasing, so. If I rushed anything to get there I apologize. b) Going by the school fight, Hawk is indeed thrown off when Demetri takes the offensive (especially in a super dramatic kind of way) and his confused pause is in fact enough time for Demetri to get an advantage and c) The man is thrown off his game!!! Thrown off his groove, even!!! His sissy pussy nerd ex-friend shows up acting like a disturbed maniac and he is so O_____o about it that his moves are off!!! He's sucking a little but it's not his fault 💔It's Demetri's for subverting expectations 💔

I also feel like if Demetri started McFucking Losing It and was generally less grounded in the physical and rational world, physical pain wouldn't register quite as much. Like he's in his head enough now that he's kinda lost his grip on reality and things happening in the physical world don't seem as relevant or immediate, if that makes any sense? Also idk. Maybe after the arm break his pain tolerance just went up :O Anyways that's why he recovers pretty fast when Hawk DOES land a hit. Demetri is nuts now 💙

I will die on my hill that Demetri like. Really REALLY isn't as morally upstanding as people like to think XD Like I say this with love but from the top he's been a self-interested little shit who just happens to be extremely loyal to the very small handful of people he actually likes. My dudes, he didn't join Miyagi Do because he liked their philosophy better--he joined because they were less on board with punching him in particular in the face XD This dude saw Cobra Kai being fucks and playing dirty at the AVT and he STILL up and says "I wanna come back because I like the 'safety in numbers' aspect of joining a gang" XD I always got the vibe the "well at least I'm not an asshole LIKE YOU" he throws at Eli later is more because he likes to feel self-righteous. I say all of this as his biggest fan btw. I think more people should embrace the self-interested king he is and write about him and Eli being absolute dicks together instead of to each other 💖

I guess that's what I'm here for!!!

Anyways I think Demetri and Eli have the same potential to be absolutely horrific people, and I think we're all very lucky that Demetri was too lazy to challenge his comfort zone and stick with Cobra Kai XD We're very fortunate he happened to end up using his speed and his brains to help his friends who happened to be on the Good Guy Side rather than his friends who happened to be on the Bad Guy Side.

I also think people put WAY too much stock in Demetri's ability to staunchly stick with the good guys and have enough of a moral backbone to just keep opposing Eli's douchebaggery indefinitely. My mans is NOT that much of a saint, trust. From how quickly he forgave Eli for a HUGE number of atrocities, he seemed to be like. Waiting on his ass for Eli to come back to him. And if Eli never did???

I mean. Bruh. Someone you've been deeply in love with for years throws you out like last night's trash and just progressively starts being more and more awful to you??? You think it's feasible for my boy Demetri to stay strong and sane and reasonable forever, and just keep on fighting the good fight??? HELL NO. This dude is either a) quitting karate and moving schools so he doesn't have to deal with constantly being pummeled by the dude he's in love with or b) going completely fucking insane from the cognitive dissonance of being in love with a dude who constantly beats his ass.

Listen. I have been in love. If my friend who I was in love with turned evil and joined an evil karate school and started wailing on me all the time, I would either pull an Aisha and haul ass out of there or I would simply lose my mind and become evil. Go full Jinx from Arcane. Sorry if you're a hater who doesn't think Demetri Alexopoulos has it in him to go apeshit, but you're wrong and also boring. The funny kooky comic relief guys are always one thread away from losing their shit because everyone assumes because they're funny and kooky they have no depth and no end to their bullshit tolerance. I would know because I am one of these Guys in real life. Put some respecc on my boy's name and also give him another knife ��

For anyone looking at me askance like "Demetri doesn't have it in him to kill!" Yes he does. I'm sending him over to your house to stab you right now 🩵

No fr tho, like there was MURDER in this man's eyes when Kyler was bullying Eli in the library. There was MURDER in this man's eyes fighting Robby at the AVT in S4. I have full confidence that if he could get away with stabbing his enemies, he would. So would Eli but I feel like this is a less contested opinion.

Also this is interesting so it's something I might go into detail about in another post, but one thing I noticed while kinda brainstorming how Demetri would snap is that Demetri is loyal to people, while Eli is loyal to concepts and ideas.

Demetri I don't think is actually that married to or slavish about MD principles tbh. Demetri isn't really averse to violence conceptually (even back in S1 it's only ever about him disliking BEING hit, not disliking hitting people!!) and doesn't actually do the defense-only thing that often. Several times we see him instigate with Hawk, or help Sam instigate with CK in general. The times we see him stick his neck out to really help Miyagi Do, he seems like he's doing so more out of loyalty to his friends (namely Sam, Chris, and Nate--also Miguel irt the dojo team-up at the end of S3) than loyalty to Miyagi Do as a dojo.

Eli, meanwhile, is way more loyal to concepts he puts a lot of stock in than the people in his life who challenge this. He sees Cobra Kai as this almighty saving grace that is for LIFE, and he doesn't think twice about ditching Demetri and Miguel when they turn their backs on it. He stays in this dojo even as his friends leave and it fills up with people he hates, and his sensei dismisses and ignores his concerns. Because this dojo saved him from his horrible, bullied life, and now he feels like he owes everything to the Cobra Kai name, despite who's actually behind the name. Also why I think Demetri uses "my karate dojo needs your help!" as the selling point to get Eli to join MD in S4. HIS motivation is probably much more that he just wants him and Eli to stay together, but he knows Eli values dojo loyalty above everything, so Dem kinda makes it more about that than friendship.

Anyways! That's all for now! The whole fic should be up on my AO3 sometime in December :3

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captainlondonman · 2 years ago

Text

The Making of a Skin

Olly had been flipping thro’ the dating apps recently and most of the guys he had teamed up were boring. Ok for a quick sex session but once he had cum he was ready to get back. Grindr was fine but he felt he was getting nowhere with any real excitement. One of his hook ups had suggested a new App which the guy had said he had looked at but the guys all looked a bit rough and not for him. Olly made sure he got the App name before leaving. The fuck had been lousy so no wonder the bloke was not interested in anything different.

Might as well give it a try. He was feeling a bit horny and in need of something different so he opened the App, subscribed and started flicking through.

Shit the guy was right, there was a lot of leather and rubber with bulky guys, most seemed to smoke cigars and have walrus whiskers. Not for me, Olly said. He was about to flick again when a guy caught his notice. It was just the face but he had a shaved head, clean shaven and looked mean. Nothing about him but he lived nearby. Olly pressed the button and immediately had a response.

‘You up for it?’

‘Yup’ Olly replied

‘You lookin’ for sumthing different?’

‘Yup’

‘OK M8 get yourself around’

The guy sent his address

‘Get round now, got it?’

Olly liked the way the guy sounded demanding. This should be different he thought, rubbing his crotch and feeling his bulge grow.

Olly took only ten minutes to get to the address, a council block of flats in an area he would normally not go to. Thankfully there seemed no one around and anyway he made sure to park his car away. The guy had told him which block and to press 18. Olly did as told and heard a rough voice saying

‘2nd floor you can walk up. Lift off’

Not sure what to expect Olly walked up the two flights and saw that one of the two doors were open.

‘Hullo’, he shouted meekly

‘Come in and shut the door mate’

Standing in the hall was not just a guy with a shaved head but a Skin, in 20 hole black DMs with yellow socks, bleachers, yellow braces and a Black Fred Perry shirt. He had been working out and showed bulging muscles which were covered in tattoos.

‘Never seen a fucking Skin before? You saw my face so you should have it worked out. So now’s you’re here better have lager. I fucking need one and a Marlbro. He went into the kitchen and came back with an open can and handed it to Olly.

‘Come in and sit down’.

‘I don’t usually drink lager’, Olly said

Skin muttered, ‘well that’s about to fucking change.’

‘Sorry what did you say?’

‘Nuthin’

‘Want a fag mate?’

‘No I don’t smoke’

‘Fuck, you soon will’, Skin muttered

‘Well drink up mate. So what’s you wantin’. Looking for some quick sex and then off is that it?’

‘I saw your photo and it looked interesting’

‘Interesting? What the fuck does that mean.’

‘Dunno know just that’

‘Well drink up mate and make the most of yer lager.’

Not sure what to do Olly quickly drank his can. Feeling a bit scared he took in the Skin sitting opposite with his legs apart his booted feet firmly on the floor and he could see a good sized bulge in his bleachers. Scared or not Olly could feel his cock starting to stiffen Suddenly he could feel himself becoming drowsy, his vision becoming blurred and all he wanted to do was sleep.

‘Sooory I’m feeling a bit tired, perhaps I’d better go home’, that was all he said before he slumped back on the chair, letting his empty can drop to the floor.

Olly felt cold, he could not move and something was around his face. He needed time to think. Where was he? As his vision came back he realised that he was stark naked and in a bath, his ankles were roped together and his hands were tied behind his back. Something leather was strapped around his head and in the centre was a leather ball inside his mouth . he could not speak and almost felt like choking. He started to panic.

Suddenly he heard

‘Stop being such a fucking baby and man up.’ The Skin leant over Olly and spat a huge gob between his eyes and then taking his hand rubbed it all over his face taking a lump of spit and forcing his finger around the leather ball gag

The Skin was standing in front of him, legs apart with a can of lager in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

‘Time to get going Boi’

With that he bent over Olly drawing in the smoke and blowing out into his face. Olly wanted to cough but the leather ball prevented him..

‘Fucking inhale dumb boy’

Skin continued blowing the smoke into Olly’s face until Olly had to take in the smell and fumes.

‘That’s it Boi, you soon luv it’

Once he stubbed out the ciggie, he opened the can and with his other hand undid the gag.

‘No fucking noise from you boy’

And with that he grabbed Olly’s hair, pushed his head back and started pouring the lager down his throat.

‘Fuckin swallow Boi.’

Olly gurgled and started to swallow mouthful after mouthful until the can was empty.

‘I need to pee, please’ he murmured

‘Why do you think you’re in the fucking bath. Go on let me see ya piss’.

Without waiting Olly peed himself, his piss running down the bath

‘Tell you what Boi, I need to piss myself as well.’

Skin unbuttoned his bleachers and yanked out his meaty cock.

‘Take this Boi ‘,and with that sprayed a river of piss over Olly

He lit up another ciggie and started over blowing the smoke straight into Olly’s face.

‘Fucking inhale boi. Let me see you cause youll be smoking yerself soon.’

Once he had finished he took the shower hose and washed down Olly and all the piss in cold water.

‘There you are Boi,’ he said putting the gag back in.

‘Every hour I’ll be back and you’ll get a lager and ciggie smoke. Got it?’

Throughout the day Skin came back with another can and rammed the lager down Olly;’s throat. By the end of the day he almost looked forwards to the taste of the lager as well as the way he was forced to swallow. Even when the smoke was blown into his face he found himself inhaling more and more. When the last can was given he asked

‘Can I have my own cigarette please?’

‘Look Boi, forget all this bloody poncy language. It’s a fucking ciggie got I and I want to hear the word Fuck being used all the time got it?’

‘All that fuckin lager sure make you piss yerself judging by that stream Boi. Makes me want to piss.’ Again he undid his buttons and pulled out his cock . This time he grabbed Ollys head and pulled off the gag

‘Time to drink something else Boi.’

Skin leaned over the bath and with his cocked aimed directly into Olly’s mouth. ‘Ive been fucking drinking all day mate so there plenty coming and your takin it all.’

With that he let out a heavy stream of piss into Olly’s mouth who was unable to take all as it started running down his face.

Seeing Skin’s cock right in front of his face and tasting the acid piss started making him happy, and he could feel his cock lengthening.

‘Christ Boi, yer luving this. Look at yer fuckin cock. Not a bad size Boi. That’s what I wanna see. This is just the start. Boi I’ll make a skin man out of you yet.

Skin buttoned himself up and went out coming back with electric clippers, shaving foam and a razor.

‘Time to get rid of all that fuckin hair Boi. No bloke of mine has hair. Yer best shaved. Be a man, a skin man’

With that Skin set to work and within the hour he had flushed all Olly’s hair down the bath and in place was a gleaming scalp.

‘That’s a fucking great head you’ve got now. Makes you look so much better You can stay tied up tonight and we’ll see what tomorrow brings. But you deserve a treat eh’

He undid the gag briefly and poured another can of lager down Oll’s throat and then lit up a cigarette.

‘Time for your first proper one Boi. I’ll hold and you puff. I wanna see you fucking inhale big time got it?’

Olly by now was desperate for his fag and knew instinctively how to inhale. There was no coughing after all the smoke he had taken in during the day. He took in puff after puff emitting cloud of smoke.

‘Well done Boi, yer on yer way.

I’ll see you later OK?’

After an hour Olly heard the front door bell ring and heard Skin exchange a few words with another male voice.

The door opened and in walked The Skin with a replica but the guy had a rubber T shirt on , Fred Perry style. His arms and head were covered in tattoos. Olly could hardly make out all the patterns but he was able to note the St George’s flag, a skull, a clenched fist with centre finger upright, the Nazi emblem and writing that looked vaguely German. He was all muscle, his rubber T shirt tight against his 6 pack but it wasn’t just the T shirt that was tight. His bleachers showed what looked liked a truncheon down one side, thick and semi hard.

‘So this is yer Boi? Not bad. What do you want done?’ he said opening his bag

‘We’ll start light mate. Gie him an Iron Cross on his shoulder, then S-K-I-N across both knuckles and on the back of his neck in big letters F-U-C-K. Let’s get to work.’

Olly suddenly realised what was about to happen and started to struggle in his bondage.

‘Stop fucking moving Boi,’ he growled and then took his hand and slapped Olly hard across the face. ‘Much more of that and I’ll have your whole fucking body covered.’

Again Olly struggled.

‘Take that you fucking wimp,’ again his hand smacked the side of Olly’s face.

Shit it stung. Olly decided it was best to stay quiet.

The Skin undid the ties and hauled Olly out of the bath, taking his hand across Olly’s arse. ‘Any moaning and moving from you Boi and I’ll take my paddle across that bum of yours’

Olly sat on the chair obediently and the Tat man took out his tools and started his work. Olly bit into his gag to stop any moaning. The guy started on his neck and then took his hands and on each one formed SKIn on each. Finally as he started on the shoulder The Tat man was standing in front of him close to his body and he could feel the guys bleachers rubbing against him. Not just his bleachers but he could feel the outline of his cock and as it lightly rubbed against so he could feel it lengthening. It did feel like a truncheon. Olly started to move his arm into towards the dick so the guy knew and clearly he was loving it.

The Skin saw

‘What the fuck is going on with the two of you. Boi that dick of yours is suddenly fucking hard. You enjoying yer tats?’

The Tat man turned round to face The Skin.

‘I think its my fucking dick he likes.’

‘Shit man, you getting turned on doing my Boi. Christ that’s some bit of meat you got there,’ he said starting to rub his own crotch ‘Think its time we had a bit of action and see how Boi performs eh?’

The Skin put his hand out and slid it down the length of the Tat man’s cock then took a hard clench, rubbing his own cock at the same time.

‘Fuck that’s a real dick man. I thought mine was big but shit that’s huge. Time you got that out’

Both skins opened their flies and forced out their cocks, both rock hard and both standing in front of Ollys face. The Skin had a good 8 incher with a gleaming head already showing some precum, but the Tat man must have had 10 inches and thick. Olly could not believe having two dicks belonging to Skins like this right in front of his face

‘He’s my Boi so I’ll go first and then he can take you after his throat’s widened’

The Skin put both hands around Olly’s head and guided him to his cock. As he did so Tat man spat a gob onto his cock and started sliding his hands slowly up and down his shaft.

‘Fucking open wide Boi you’re taking all my cock right down the back of yer fucking throat ‘

Olly choked as The Skins cock was forced into his mouth.

‘Fuckin breathe properly so you can take this. Just remember yer next cock is even bigger’

With his hands around Olly’s head he started ramming his cock deeper and deeper into Olly’s mouth. Olly let more and more spit onto the shaft to make it easier.

‘That’s it Boi you’ve got the hang. Take it’

This is what Olly wanted, skin prick. He didn’t need The Skin to force his head he was doing it because he wanted. Now he wanted the bigger cock in his mouth

‘I’ll fucking come in a minute. You’re bloody great Boi,’ he said taking his dick out ‘let me see you take his dick in yer mouth’

The Tat man moved in. I can see you’re going to love this Boi. Shit you’re a real sucker.

He also put his hands around Olly’s neck and directed his cock but knowing the size was gentle allowing Olly to open his mouth wide enough to take the diameter.

Taking the cock more slowly turned the Tat man on, even more feeling Olly’s throat expand to take it all. OIly wanted every inch of his dick and slurped down the shaft and as the Tat man clenched his arse feeling his cock throbbing so the skin put his hand between his crack and started rubbing his cheeks.

‘Christ that arse of yours is loving the face fuck mate. One day I’d love to give you a real fuck. Shit you’ve a mighty pair of cheeks.’

The Skin was now even more horny and worked up, wanking and watching Tat’s mans cock inch down more and more while rubbing the arse.

‘Fucking great eh. Right Boi time for your first load of cum. Grab your own dick and we’ll all come together right’

Olly already had his hand around his cock. He was ready to explode after two cocks in his mouth.

‘Don’t know about you mate but this Boi has me ready to fill his mouth with my cum.’

‘Fuck I’m ready when you are,’ the Skin said as he was now wanking hard.

‘You ready Boi. Lets go’

With that all three erupted their load of cum. The Skin spurted his load over Boi’s face as the Tat man let rip down the back of Olly’s throat, so much it was oozing out of his mouth and down his chin. Olly exploded his pent up cum all over the floor. It was like a fucking avalanche of cum from all three.

‘Fucking hell man, next time I do a tat I’ll bloody well make sure I rub me dick against the bloke. Not sure they’ll give such a great blowjob. Well done Boi.’.

The Tat man stuffed his cock back down his bleachers allowing some of the left over cum to drip through his bleachers.

‘Might as well let the blokes see what I’ve been doing eh?’

He picked up his tools to go

‘When he’s ready for the next set of tats let me know. I’ll be back like a bloody shot and I’ll want a blowjob before and after I do them.’

After he went out The Skin said

‘Well done Boi, you sure took the full length of his dick. Never thought you’d get that monster down yer throat. Sure made me so fucking horny. Here’s a can for you. You deserve it.’

‘Can I have a cigarette as well.’

‘Can I have a cigarette as well,’ he mimicked. ‘You can have a fucking ciggie when you ask. I wanna hear skin talk from now on or else I’ll bloody well slap you again, got it?’

‘Can I have a fucking ciggie mate?’

‘That’s better and glad you now know ciggies are for us skins.’

Olly drew on his fag savouring every long puff

‘Right next stage Boi, need to get you dressed, get next door I have everything laid out for you.’

Laid out neatly was a MA 1 green jacket, a Fred Perry T shirt white with black stripes at the collar, black braces, bleachers long white socks and black 20 hole DMs with white laces.

‘Time to get yer gear on, you need to look like a fucking skin but first come here. Olly stood in front of the Skin who put a thick metal linked chain around his neck and secured the padlock.

‘Know what that’s for?’

‘Fucking no’

‘It tells everyone you’re mine and only I can unlock you. Looks good on you and better when you have my gear on you. Its my gear so you are definitely mine , all mine.’

Olly could not believe his luck. All this gear was for him to wear and better still it belonged to his master As he lifted up the T shirt, Skin said

‘That’s right smell it first. Yup its me you smell so you’ve my smell against your body.’

Next he put on the bleachers. They were tight but the right size and he could feel his cock start to swell as he forced his dick down one side. He put it down the same side at The Skin as he could see piss marks

‘Thought this would fucking turn you on Boi. Any skin gets off when he’s in full gear’

The Skin picked up the socks and rammed them into Olly’s face.

That’s it, smell these stinking socks,’ as he rubbed them across his mouth. ‘Not washed for months Boi.’

They were rancid but Olly was getting off on them, his cock getting bigger

He put the socks on and then the boots. Instinctively he knew how to lace them, then the braces which he let hang down at the back and finally the bomber jacket.

‘Shit Boi you look fucking great. I made the right choice with you. How do you feel?’

‘Just look at me fuckin big cock. Fucking right, Skin.’

‘That’s me boy. You talk skin now, that’s because you are one. There’s a mirror over there. Take a look.’

Olly could not believe it, gone was that pussy boy. He was looking at a skin, a mean skin and shit that cock of his had never looked bigger stretching down his bleacher leg.

‘I need a fucking ciggie looking at me.’

‘You can have one as we go out. Now’s the final bit’

Take this and follow me.

He handed Olly a baseball bat and pushed him out the door. As they stepped out into the street they both lit up. People started moving aside as they walked up the road several people looking at Olly’s large crotch. He could not keep his erection down. He felt brill.

‘What you’s fucking looking at.’ He shouted at people ‘Never seen a hard skin before.’ As he waved the bat towards them.

The Skin smiled. ‘Yup he’s my Boi.’

They stubbed out their ciggies and turned into a deserted warehouse. The Skin found an unlocked door and shoved it open letting both of them in.

‘Right Boi this is all yours. Do what you want.’

Something triggered in Olly’s head and he knew what he wanted to do. His cock was rammed hard, he knew he looked a tough skin, being so horny had made him feel full of skin aggro.

‘Oi Oi I’m a fucking skin, no one gets in my way or else they’re meat.’ and with that he took the bat and swung it breaking up everything in sight screaming

‘Fuck the lot of them Fuck, Fuck. Life is for us skins, we rule no one gets in a skin s way.’ Glass was smashed, boxes broken as he wielded the bat.

The Skin watched feeling more and more horny watching his Boi.

‘Shit me’s cock ready for that arse of his, Im so fucking ready to unload in him.’ His cock was rigid down his bleachers and he could not keep it contained any longer, lifting its full length out to show a gleaming head with precum.

Olly was loving the damage he was making and his cock was as hard getting off on the aggro and anger. A damp patch was appearing on his bleachers exactly where is cock head was

‘Get the fuck over here Boi, im waiting’

That was a command thought Olly and seeing the Skin’s thick erect dick he knew what was going to happen and he was gagging for it.

He put down the bat and walked over, the Skin grabbing him and putting his right arm firmly around Olly’s Neck

Suddenly Olly felt a zip goung down at his arse.

‘Fuck mate you’ve got a rear zip on me bleachers.’

‘They’re my bleachers and yes how do you think I’m going to fuck you in your gear. Now shove that arse of your out towards me.’

The Skin dropped a large gob of spit onto his dick and rubbed it down the shaft. Need to give a bit of lube so you can take my full length Boi’

With his left hand he guided his cock into Olly’s arse. Olly could feel his crack being opened and his hole being forced to take the prick. As soon as he felt the head he started moving his arse back into Skin to take the length.

‘That it mate, I fucking ready for your dick so start fucking me’

‘Don’t fucking worry Boi I will. Get you own dick out, I wanna see you shoot as my cum goes up yer bum.’

‘Eh you’re a fucking skin now being fucked by another skin and you are all mine Boi. It’s what you want Boi isn’t it.’

‘Fucking right mate, go on ram that dick of yours up me let me have the full length. You’ve got a good one there Mate and I wanna feel all of it. Your gonna fuck me again and again after this. I’ll never get enough of it.’

‘That what I wanna hear Boi.’

The Skin was getting more and more horny hearing his Boi desperate for a shag and moved his cock in and out faster and faster.

The faster he fucked the more Olly was rubbing his own shaft. He wanted to shoot across the space with all his cum while feeling the rush of Skin’s cum up his arse.

‘This is the best fuck I’ve had in ages Boi, you are a real little sub needing my dick’

‘Get on with it I want to feel your spunk in me’

‘Shit it’s coming get ready Boi to spurt your cum’

The two skins were glued together is their full gear, fucking for all their worth.

‘I’m cumming Skin’ shouted

‘Me too’

With that both came, a shit load of spunk up Olly’s arse and another shit load spurting across the floor.

‘Jesus what a bloody fuck that was.’

Thanks mate for making me into a Skin. This is the fucking life.

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