#the fourth wall break possibilities are endless

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request headcanons for Remy, Wade, and Logan would think about his gender neutral s/o always made sure to tell him that they love him when possible please?

Here's how Remy, Wade, and Logan might react and feel about a gender-neutral S/O who always makes sure to tell them "I love you" whenever possible:

Remy LeBeau (Gambit):

Remy is a charmer by nature, and he's used to giving out sweet words, but hearing "I love you" from you is something that never fails to touch his heart. Every time you say it, he feels a warmth spread through him, like he's just been wrapped in a blanket of affection. Remy knows he has a checkered past, and sometimes, he wonders if he deserves the kind of love you give him so freely. But you always manage to reassure him with those three little words.

He might play it cool on the outside, flashing you that roguish smile of his, but inside, it means the world to him. He’ll always reply with a playful, “Je t'aime aussi, ma chère,” making sure to add a flirtatious wink. But later, when you're both alone, Remy will pull you close, resting his forehead against yours, and tell you in a softer, more serious tone just how much your love means to him. He’s not one to take such things lightly, and he’ll always make sure you know how much he treasures every “I love you” you offer.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool):

Wade is a chaotic whirlwind of emotions, and your constant declarations of love are like a lifeline for him. Underneath his endless jokes and fourth-wall-breaking antics, Wade has a lot of insecurities and trauma. Hearing you say "I love you" so often helps to quiet some of the darker thoughts that occasionally plague him.

Every time you tell Wade you love him, his heart skips a beat. He'll respond in a million different ways, from exaggeratedly swooning, pretending to faint, or suddenly bursting into song about how amazing you are. But sometimes, when he's feeling particularly vulnerable, Wade will drop the act for a moment, his voice dropping to a soft, almost disbelieving tone as he says, "You really mean that, huh?"

He might joke around a lot, but your love is one of the few things he takes completely seriously. Wade treasures every "I love you" like it's a precious gift, and he’ll never let you forget just how much he loves you back—even if he has to do it in the most ridiculous ways possible.

Logan (Wolverine):

Logan isn’t the type to be overly expressive with words, and he’s lived long enough to have lost more people than he can count. So, every time you say "I love you," it hits him deep. Logan’s used to living with the weight of his past and the pain of loss, so your constant affirmations of love are a grounding force for him. They remind him that, despite everything, he has something—and someone—worth living for.

He might grunt or mumble in response, but that’s just Logan’s way of hiding how much it truly affects him. If you catch him at the right moment, when he’s had a drink or two, or after a particularly rough day, Logan will pull you into a tight embrace and mutter a gruff, “Love you too, darlin’.” He might not always say it back directly, but he shows it in the way he protects you, the way he’s always there when you need him, and the way he lets his guard down around you.

For Logan, your “I love you” is a beacon in a world that’s often felt dark and cold. It’s a reminder that, no matter how many battles he fights or how many wounds he carries, there’s someone who sees the man beneath the beast and loves him just the same.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: double chapter day?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The summer sun brings little warmth to the castle of Debray. Those left behind in the shadow of their lord’s march to war, bide their time with baited breaths and unspoken worries. The duchess sinks into her cups, a nectar to her already sharp tongue, as her daughter buries herself in her wardrobe. 

Lady Jazlene hands you dress after dress, demanding a stitch here or there, only to snatch it back and have you cut the cloth of another to alter yet a third. And a fourth, fifth, sixth. Strips of fabric and loose buttons litter the drawing room table as you and Merinda put your needles to work. 

“Motherrrr,” Jazlene swirls around, swaying her hips back and forth, “it has been a fortnight already.” 

“Your father will return soon,” Lady Rezlyn slurs before she empties her goblet. She has no husband to chide her away from excess. “Never fear, dearest.” 

“That is not—mother, what am I to do? I have no wedding dress!” 

“You have no mind,” Rezlyn snickers, “you will have only rags by the time you decide.” 

“Hm,” Jazlene approaches the table with her hands on her hips, “mother, that gown with the gold lace. The one you wore last solstice--” 

“My gold lace,” Rezlyn sneers, “no!” 

“But mother. I only want the lace. You can have it re-trimmed. It would look much nicer with pearls,” Jazlene whines, “do you not understand? I am to marry a king. I cannot look as some simple countryside daughter.” 

Rezlyn clucks and shakes her head, “if it hushes your endless moaning, have the lace.” 

Jazlene gives a triumphant grin and turns to you. She grabs your arm and the needle catches in the fabric, slipping from your grasp, “go fetch mother’s dress. It is rosy satin.” 

“And wine! Bring more wine,” Rezlyn interjects. 

Jazlene rolls her eyes and flicks you away with her fingers. You hastily retreat as Merinda grimaces at her labour. Your fingers hurt from the endless hemming and seaming and you’ve noticed she’s jabbed herself more than once as the noble daughter changes course back and forth. 

You flit from the chamber and sweep down to the kitchens. The descent into the cellar is lit by only the candle in your hand, the flame wobbling dangerously before you. You find a bottle of the duchess’ preferred and climb back into the light. 

You snuff the tallow and quickly press on you. You climb the stairs again but falter as the wail of a horn breaks the afternoon din. You spin and turn to the window. Several other servants cluster beneath the arched opening as they try to see the horizon. The blast comes again, three in quick succession, followed by a long blare. 

The noise of chain and mail comes from the courtyard below. The few men left behind to man the castle walls are quick to action. You can see the flap of banners and nothing more between the other curious bodies. 

“Who is it? Enemy soldiers?” Waldon wonders. 

“I cannot see, my eyes are dim,” Margite shields her vision from the sun as leans over the sill. Their chatter swirls at the approach. 

“It is them! The Lord’s banner!” Stellan exclaims, “I can make out the sun and the sword on the banner. And the Winter King’s white crown.” 

“They return! They return!” Another cries out, “are they victorious?” 

You shuffle away. You forget about the golden lace and return to the drawing room. You enter and look down at the bottle in your hands. You blink, trying to recall what you were about to do. You set the wine on the table near the duchess as Jazlene seizes your other arm. 

“Where is the dress?” She snarls, “ugh, are you so useless--” 

“They’ve returned,” you utter cluelessy. 

“They...” Jazlene begins. 

“The king and your father, my lady,” you explain, “we saw them through the window. I thought to say so before I went to your mother’s wardrobe--” 

“Quiet!” She shoves you away, “I need a different dress. The crimson slit with ivory. Yes, yes, now!” 

She pushes you again and you stumble to the door. 

“And slippers,” she calls after you, “Merinda! Get over here.” 

You scurry back out and to Lady Jazlene’s chamber. You enter and sort through the mess of her clothing strewn and heaped about. You find the red and ivory dress and a pair of slippers of a similar hue. You are certain to bring a selection of jewels and pins to assuage any further remonstrance. 

In the drawing room, Jazlene has Merinda fixing her hairpins. You approach with your armful and lay it on the table. Outside the walls, you can hear the chaos unfurling. You can hardly keep the noises straight as cogs grind, ropes groan, and the noblewoman carry on their tittering. 

You help Jazlene step into the dress, Merinda holding the other side. As you work at the sleeves and skirts, she fidgets around. 

“The king? The king is with them for sure?” She breaths. 

You nod, “yes, my lady. His banner--” 

“Mother! They have won. They must have.” 

“Do not be too presumptuous,” the other lady rises and nears the table, snatching up a string of pearls, “come. Put these around my neck.” 

There’s banging and knocking and footfalls and voices yelling. The walls cannot keep out the rising fervour. Horse hooves and rusty hinges. They are close, in the castle or more. You pull tight the laces of the dress as Merinda clasps the pearls around the duchess’ thick neck. 

There is someone before the door. A shadow darkens below it for just an instant before it opens. No permission is asked as Lord Dustan clatters in. His eyes is swollen near shut. 

“Daughter, wife, you must come down to the--” 

Heavy, steady steps follow him. You continue to weave the laces through the eyes, going as fast as you can. 

“Father, I am not dressed. I am not ready to receive--” Jazlene protests. 

Dustan looks behind him and backs away from the doorframe. King Geralt fills it with his large figure, a dark cut along his hairline though he hardly seems bothered by it. Otherwise, he is untouched, unblemished. You knot the laces as you peek over Jazlene’s shoulder and his gold eyes shimmer in the low lantern light. 

“Your highness,” Jazlene gasps and drops to a curtsy. You stand, dumbfounded for an instant before you bend your neck and your knee to his status. “We were not warned of your coming. I pray you have tasted victory,” she raises her head slowly, “and we may wed in celebration to ring your reign in the Summer Kingdom.” 

He grumbles as his eyes search the space. Dull yet vibrant at the same time. He tilts his head as his jaw squares, “a king’s wife mustn’t fret so much about silks and wine,” he growls as he breaks the threshold. He marches to the rigid high back chair and lowers himself, “victory is mine but that does not mark the end of my efforts. I have no kingdom until all that which has broken is repaired.” 

“Certainly, your highness, and I will be by your side to help you amend what has been injured. As your loyal wife and queen,” she wilts as she wobbles just a little, “I am only so happy to see you alive and returned.” She rises as straight as she can and sweeps over to him, pushing out her chest, “but not unharmed. Your highness, you have been wounded.” 

She goes to touch the gash along his forehead and he motions her away with a flat palm. 

“It is not dire,” he insists, “Lord Dustan, where is your bishop?” 

“I sent away for him. He will come,” the duke avows. 

“The bishop?” Jazlene looks to her mother. 

“For the vows, precious,” Dustan assures. 

“The vows? Now? Today? But father--” 

“I haven’t time to wait around on paltry feasts and drunken hordes,” the king insists. 

“But-- but--” Jazlene stammers, “I am a queen, I should have a wedding.” 

“You are still but a duke’s daughter,” the king snaps, “a wedding you will have. Let us swear the words as was arranged. Then we must away.” 

“Away? Away?” Jazlene echoes again. 

“Take this parrot away from me,” King Geralt barks as he slams his fist into the arm of chair, “I tire of her squawking. When the bishop arrives, fetch me and I shall keep the oath I made.” 

The edge in his voice cannot be missed on that single word. He is a man who would not break a promise given, not the like the one cowering by the door. You glance up slowly as you notice Jazlene quaking. You can tell by her fists that she is not so much afraid anymore as she is angered. 

“Daughter,” Rezlyn girds and touches her daughter’s arm, “a wife should learn first to obey. Let us go paint your lips and await the bishop.” 

“This cannot be...” Jazlene hisses. 

“Quiet,” Lord Dustan snaps, “you want to marry, you marry as you are told. Out.” 

Lady Rezlyn keeps the duke from grabbing his daughter, instead steering her through the door herself. Merinda follows first and you trail after. The king grumbles, “Debray, leave a maid. She may fetch me that wine.” 

“My lord,” Lord Dustan points you back tersely, “the wine.” 

“Leave me,” King Geralt demands of his fair-weather lord. 

Dustan retreats and shuts the door heavily. You turn and cross to the table where you left the sealed bottle. You put your hand around the neck and lift it. You face the king and cross to him with your head low. 

“Your highness, would you like a goblet?” You ask. 

“I am not interested in imbibing,” he reaches beneath his mail and pulls free a grey handkerchief, “pour it on this.” 

You crack the wax seal of the bottle and grab the bulbous head of the cork. You wiggle it but cannot dislodge it. You struggle with it and he wraps his large hand around the pregnant bottom. 

“Little maid,” he slips it from your grasp and puts the kerchief in your hand. 

The uncorks it with only his thumb, flicking free the stopper, and he reaches out to you. You press the cloth to rim and he tilts it slightly, wetting the fabric. He pulls it away and reaches to place it on the floor. You look at him curiously. He leans forward and runs his index below the gash in his head. You get his meaning and daintily press the damp cloth to his head. 

“The alcohol cleanses,” he says as he leans heavier into your touch. 

“It looks rather painful, your highness.” 

You wince at your own careless words. You don’t know why you said anything at all. He sits in silence, breathing slowly. At last, he sits back and looks at you. You drop your hand and your chin. 

“Might I get you anything else, your highness?” You offer as you fold the cloth into a tight wad. 

“Tell me, how do you fare?” 

“Your highness?” You peek up at him through your lashes. 

“Are you well? Have you rested? Are you fed?” He prompts. 

You raise your head, surprised by his questions. 

“I am well, your highness. I have a roof above me.” 

His cheek ticks, “same as you were. Same as I remember.” 

He puts his head back and closes his eyes. He sighs deeply. You waver before him, unsure what to do next.  

“I don’t mind the cold. My land is frigid most days but I felt a true shiver out there on that road. Even Roach could not ease it.” 

You watch him, awaiting an order, not so well attuned to conversation. More often than not, a response is not warranted, just action. He gives you little direction though he is a man who easily commands. 

“My horse. Stinky steed,” he muses as he keeps his eyes closed, “valiant nonetheless.” He lets out another heavy exhale, “will you mind the door? Wake me when the bishop arrives should I doze?” 

“As you wish, your highness,” you go to the door, taking your usual stance beside it. 

He is still. The amber light of the lantern limns his large figure as he reclines in the stiff chair. He does not move but a man who has ridden to war has slept on worse. You cannot tell if he truly slumbers but you know it is not appropriate to stare. 

You remain in silence. It isn’t so bad to the duchess and her daughter. Almost serene if not for the tension of the man’s presence. A king. A wintry figure with his icy hair and colder demeanour. You do not envy Jazlene, he will be a rigid husband. She will not bowl him over as her mother does the duke. 

You listen beyond the walls, trying to track the activity beyond. There are softer voices you can’t make out, creaks which could be only the wind, and footfalls which are most certainly only servants about their tasks. The tedium stretches on as the lantern light wobbles. 

You stare at the wall opposite. The summer hue breezes in with a hint of pollen between the open curtains. Still the chamber remains dim in stone and mortar. 

There is the crank of the gates and you shift. You turn your head to hear better the entry of a new party. A man’s tenor from below assures you of the arrival. You wait until the footfalls reach the stairs. You do not relish waking the king should he have managed to sleep. 

You look to the king in the chair but find him alert. His eyes are centered on you as he sits straight, golden irises blazing. You gulp and shy away. 

“I believe the bishop has come, your highness.” 

He doesn’t speak or move. He just watches you. His gaze bores until it burns. You fear you might have strayed somehow. 

Finally, he slides to the edge of the chair and stands. He does not seem eager as he makes slow progress towards the door. As he crosses the room, he stops, just before the door, right beside you. 

“A war for a wife,” he mutters, “a barter, I suppose.” He reaches for the metal loop on the door, “come, little maid, we might need a pillow should the lady faint again.” 

[timaeustestified-official]

Boom. What the fuck is up, party people? Me. I'm up. I'm here to answer some burning questions and drop some of the sicknastiest art you've ever seen in your damn life. Yaoi included, yuri included. Potentially of the doomed variety. The possibilities are endless. Hit me up, dawg.

((Ask box is open!! Interaction is appreciated :) ooc info under the cut!))

Hello and welcome to my blog! Mod uses they/he pronouns, I’ll drop my main eventually if you guys ever wanna follow me there.

This blog follows Dirk through his own drawings (though I might break from that at some point and do rendered panels in my own style for the sake of breaking the fourth wall or smt silly). No set time frame, so feel free to ask in relation to any canon events! I’ll probably end up settling on post canon pre-epilogue Dirk eventually. Other than that, feel free to send in anything you’d like! I’ll establish rules in the future if I feel like I need to. Have fun with it!! This is an excuse to get me drawing (even if said drawings are shitty mousepad mspaint doodles) so any asks are appreciated!

[gallusrostromegalus]

So, how exactly was the Gotei 13 formed in AEIWAM?

(The original gotei-13 captains might have canon genders but I'm going off vibes tbh.) (Here's a collection of Kubo's art of the original 13 so you can see what everyone looks like)

-----

It had started with the Clans.

Actually, it had started when Shigekuni Yamamoto was mugged for the fourth time in as many days, by agents of The Great Noble Houses, trying to influence the tide of their endless petty wars. You could hardly blame him for reacting as he did, somewhat literally blowing up with rage, and upon his return to his home office, rallying his fellow distraught men into a fighting force to stand up to the clans.

It had been quite a popular manuver for him, with the equally distraught and downtrodden citizens of the central rukongai threw their support behind him in short order. He was already well-known to them, and respected for his work. In a few short years, his meager forces had grown to rival the clans in power.

Then the Quincies had invaded the Spirit World, lead by some horrible creature known as Yhwach, seemingly Hell-Bent on conquest- which is where all of them would end up if The Archery Bastards kept shooting everything that moved and upended the balance between the worlds.

Now-General Shigekuni Yamamoto, the unfortunate bastard to whom the task of defending the largest city in the Spirit world from invasion had fallen, needed some muscle.

Why me, of all people? Surely there were others more qualified? He wondered, staring at the latest round of reports from the meager handful of his men that remained. Or perhaps everyone smart enough to actually do this is also smart enough to realize it was a lost cause and had thrown their lot in with one of the Noble Houses, and I am on a fool's errand.

Even just a handful of warriors with sufficient strength could break the leading edge of the Quincy line, and let the small army that remained slip behind them in to cut the Quincies off from their supply lines. It was just that breaking the wall of archers required at least a dozen of him.

"Word from lieutenant Sasakibe!" Shouted one of his soldiers, sprinting in the door and thrusting a letter at him. "Sorry sir I just remembered how important it was that you heard from him as soon as possible."

"You did as I asked." Yamamoto nodded, opening the letter. He had needed to stay- both to recover from his injuries and because if the Quincy got much closer, using Ryujin jakka to create a wall of fire around the city might be the only way to hold them off- and he had tasked Chojiro Sasakibe, his Longest and Dearest friend, with finding him the strongest warriors in Soul Society.

He took the scroll and opened it, reading the neat but excitably slanted handwriting within-

Dearest Shigekuni,

I am relieved to report I have found a dozen extremely powerful warriors per your request! I went on a hunch a friend of mine had, and found a concentration of MANY powerful warriors that would be willing to aid our cause, but twelve among them are particularly standout candidates. Given the rapid advance of the Quincy Army, I have included a teleportation spell to their location at the end of this scroll so you may meet them immediately.

"Incredible!" Yamamoto laughed. "Is there nothing this man cannot do?"

I do beg of you though- Please, reserve your judgement of them until you have seen their capacity.

"Ah." Yamamoto sighed. "...of course there's a catch."

Their circumstances are... complex, and this has made many of them rough and peculiar to speak to, but I swear we will not find better warriors, at least not before the Quincy advance reaches Seireitei.

I await your arrival, Chojiro

Yamamoto unfurled the scroll a bit more to see the edge of the teleportation spell that would activate when exposed to sunlight. "Sir?" asked the young soldier.

"It seems Sasakibe was successful in finding me the assistance we need, but they are apparently a queer lot." Yamamoto rumbled, thinking. "There is a teleportation spell- How close did you say the Advance was?"

"Not more than a week out, sir."

"Hopefully less than two hours then." he grunted, standing up and carrying the scroll to the courtyard of the building he operated from- it was a place used to the many comings and goings of a large and complex organization, though the little Shrine to the God of Messages and messengers had been somewhat neglected of late. Yamamoto took a moment to sweep the leaves out of the shrine and bowed to the statue within, thanking it for delivering Sasakibe's message and asking for help delivering him to his friend.

"Any orders while you're away, Sir?" The soldier asked.

"Someone clean out that shrine and make it a proper offering. The last thing we need is for communications to go down." The General nodded.

"Yes Sir!" the soldier saluted.

Yamamoto unfurled the scroll and with a flash, vanished from the courtyard.

---

With the same flash, he appeared somewhere... foggy.

"Shigekuni?" a familiarly crisp voice asked somewhere in the ether.

"Chojiro?" Yamamoto called back, and the vague shape that might have been a rock in front of him stood up, arms open. He laughed, and embraced his friend. "Good job! How did you find them so fast?"

Sasakibe's warm smile suddenly stiffened into a grimace. "...Promise you will not be angry?"

"Chojiro?" Yamamoto frowned.

"See, I was asking my friends- only the most trusted of them, I swear- how to even go about finding warriors with everything scattered to the wind of late, and well- One of them suggested that only things that are powerful are widely feared, so look where fearsome things are to find powerful ones."

Yamamoto squinted at his friend, then around them at the dense fog, the strange rocky cliff beside them, and the distant sound of angry voices.

"Chojiro." Yamamoto asked, hands on his shoulders. "Where are we?"

Sasakibe pointed up behind Yamamoto where characters had been carved into the stone cliff.

The Nest Of Maggots

"Chojiro."

"Yes, sir?"

"This is a prison."

"Yes, sir."

"This is a prison for the kind of filth that even the most bitterly factious clans agree is a danger to have wandering around. The kind that they already tried and failed to weaponize against each other. This is a prison for Monsters."

"...Yes, sir." Sasakibe sighed. "-But, is is not monsters we need?"

Yamamoto was silent for a time, thinking of the swathes of pointless destruction- salted fields and burnt villages- of the senseless loss of life- slaughtering soldier and civilian alike down to the last man, woman and child- of the cruel and twisted powers of the chosen favorites of Yhwach.

"Monsters to fight monsters." He shook his head. "What is this world coming to?" Yamamoto sighed.

Sasakibe looked away, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "Still, beggars can't be choosers." Yamamoto nodded. "Show them to me."

--- All twelve "Most Dangerous" of The Nest's prisoners had been herded together into something approximating a straight line in the middle of the rocky cavern that housed the prisoners here, though some of them were already beginning to meander, and one woman near the end of the line had, rather rudely, decided to remain seated in Yamamoto's presence. The lineup was... less than impressive. Two of the women looked like they belonged on pinup posters rather than death row. One of the men looked like a washed-up Sumo, another like an ashtray that had been cursed to roam the afterlife as a human. On one end of the line was an ancient and decrepit old man, and on the other was a- Yamamoto wasn't actually sure if they were a man or a woman, but in another life, they had definitely been a cat.

"These are the most powerful fighters in the Spirit World?"  He muttered to Chojiro.

"These are the most still-alive-est fighters in the Spirit World." Chojiro clarified.

"...Fuck it. " Yamamoto sighed under his breath, before stepping forward and addressing them properly.

"I am General Shigekuni Yamamoto of The Seireitei. I don't know how long you've been in this hole-" Yamamoto paused, sensing that something was off.

None of the Prisoners were looking at him. In fact, the all seemed very dedicated to looking everywhere but at him. Some were inspecting the stalactites, others were examining the grit on the cave floor, or staring into the metaphysical abyss somewhere just over his shoulder, and one man had pulled his very silly straw hat down in front of his face.

"-Alright, what the hell is going on?" Yamamoto growled.

There was a general unenthusiastic sort of shuffling and a distinct lack of answers.

"Remember everyone!" The man next to the cat-in-human-form spoke up while examining his fingernails. He looked more like an accountant than someone who belonged on Death Row, but the others perked up and paid attention. "-We are not to speak to any guards of visitors until our representative arrives and has given us permission to do so." The others nodded and resumed looking anywhere but at Yamamoto.

"...Representative?" Sasakibe lightly growled at a guard, whose complexion went from 'ashen' to 'deathly'.

"They um. Well. They've gotten rather close to one of the other prisoners, but she's no good in a fight, so we left her-" The Guard sputtered under Sasakibe's withering glare.

"-Miss Tsubaki was waiting at the Primary gate last I saw her." continued the man who looked like an accountant and that Yamamoto was becoming increasingly sure was armed, despite allegedly having been searched and denied any tools in his confinement. "...I say to no-one in particular." He added.

There was a moment of silence.

Yamamoto struck the tired-looking, gray-haired young woman beside the accountant, sending her stumbling back, but the accountant and the sturdily-built blonde man beside her stepped in to catch her, the rest of the line snapping to attention, eyes fixed on him with utter rage.

"Now that I have your attention-" Yamamoto started again, the gray-haired woman coughing as the sturdy blonde helped her back to her feet. "-As I was saying, the Spirit World is being invaded, and you're all being conscripted to-"

"Yachiru!" Snapped a young woman behind them.

Yamamoto turned to glare at the interloper, but instead found that the gaunt-looking woman that had remained seated had somehow apparently teleported and tackled Sasakibe to the wall behind them, one arm pressed to his throat, slowly choking him. Apparently-Yachiru's other hand had put some substantial holes in his abdomen and she paused from where she was about to stark licking Sasakibe's blood off her fingers to look at who had spoken.

"Don't eat that! You don't know where it's been!" Said a waifish young woman in threadbare prisoner's robes who could not have been taller than 4'10". She was quite striking, with large, dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a long aquiline nose. She took Yachiru's bloodied hand and dragged her back to the group. Yamamoto tried to keep his pace even as he walked over to check on Sasakibe, who immediately sat up and waved him off.

"...Thirsty." Grunted Yachiru- She might also have been beautiful, with her pale, round face and smooth black hair, were it not for the haunted, carnivorous look in her eye and her apparently literal bloodthirst. She stopped halfway back to the group to give a wet, hacking cough that made Yamamoto's skin crawl, and spat out a gob of bloody phlegm on the floor.

"You'll feel better when you get Minazuki back." the young woman reassured her, helping Yachiru sit back down, the others taking seats on the stone floor as well, in two neat lines behind her, the Human Cat behind one shoulder, the Accountant behind the other. "Is everyone else alright?"

"Kinroku definitely did not tell the guards to go get you." announced the man from behind his straw hat. "Also the mean old man hit Chigiri."

"I understand. Do you need assistance, Chigiri?

"The Old Goat has a sucker-punch like a rocket but I'll live." grunted Chigri, rubbing her abdomen and waving her hand interrogatively at Yachiru, who shrugged in reply.

"Despicable Behavior, hitting a medic." the human ashtray sniffed disapprovingly. Yamamoto could feel the Reiatsu of the group now, previously held in check, now starting to unfurl and growl and snarl at him.

"You BASTARDS-!" Yamamoto snarled, lunging towards the young woman, who instinctively made a fist in front of her chest, grabbed it with her other hand, and swung her whole body around, slamming her elbow into his eye socket and nose, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. It wasn't that hard a hit, not compared to what he was used to, but there was genuine killing intent behind it, much like the heel she struck into the side of his head, knocking him over the rest of the way in surprise. Miss Tsubaki's large, dark eyes were full of rage as she glared down at him, grinding his head into the floor under her toes. "Ah." He said, finally recognizing her from images in the intermittent news bulletins. Tsubaki was a middle daughter of one of the most powerful of the Noble Houses who had suddenly vanished from public view the year before. The rumor was that she had been imprisoned by her father for dangerous activities like 'Going Places' and 'Writing Letters' or even 'Having Opinions'. It was apparently true, but if she'd managed to organize the dirtiest dozen of the Maggot's Nest, he was beginning to understand her father's choice of internment. "Miss Tsunayashiro, I presume."

"I am her, and I am here in my capacity as their Union Representative. This means you do not talk to them. You talk to me." She lightly snarled, removing her surprisingly sharp-heeled foot from his temple and sitting seiza in front of the group. "Now what is it that you have brought us here to discuss?"

"Your friends are getting conscripted." he glared, slowly getting up and standing to address her. Returning the blow to a civilan, no matter who her family was or how hard she hit, was beneath either of their dignity, but a little looming was alright.

"We're getting hired." She corrected him. "With proper contracts and compensation."

"Shut up or else." He snarled, reconsidering the value of his dignity.

"...Or else what, exactly?" She asked.

Yamamoto bristled, and slowly drew his sword. Tsunayashiro's gaze flicked to the blade, following it's gleam as he brought it up to her throat, tipping her chin up with the point. "-Or you will all die right here." Tsubaki closed her eyes, sighed deeply and opened them again, gaze fixed on his. He could feel her pulse through Ryujin Jakka's blade.

...Steady as a rock.

"Alright." She spoke evenly. "Strike me down."

Yamamoto blinked.

"We are already on Death Row, General." She explained slowly as though speaking to an idiot. "None of us have families to speak of, or to speak to, for you to threaten. We're already cold and barely allowed to sleep and starving and in constant pain from broken bones or missing organs or untreated injuries. We are all already doomed to die or suffer gross abasement. You, however-"

She slowly stood up, neck sliding a bit on Ryujin Jakka's blade, drawing a trickle of blood.

"-I've been in here for the better part of a year, I believe, but news trickles in. Guards leave to replace soldiers fallen on the battlefield. Rations dwindle as farmland is overrun or destroyed. Political prisoners are freed and returned home as more popular heirs and scions are killed. You, General Shigekuini Yamamoto, need help with this war, and need it badly, to come here for it." Tsubaki continued, stepping forward and pressing a bit more into the blade, the trickle running more strongly, down her throat and into the folds of her thin Yukakta, staining the fabric bright red.

"So go on. Strike us down." She spoke softly. "Spare us the Humiliation of a Public execution or the horrors of a lobotomy, and doom yourself."

Yamamoto, quite possibly for the first time in his life, hesitated.

"If you cannot do that, sit down and negotiate like a civilized person." She said. The blood stained her entire breast now, but she did not flinch or waver.

Slowly, glaring and refusing to break eye contact, he withdrew his blade, wiped it down and sheathed it. Teeth gritted and heart unexpectedly racing, he sat. Lady Tsunayashiro followed, head still held high, though that may have been so Chigiri could lean forward and press a pad of torn robe to her throat, stemming the bleeding as she bandaged it, muttering curses.

"We're being invaded by an army of mutant humans called "Quincy" who can shoot arrows made of pure reishi, which can obliterate a soul entirely. They're lead by some monster called Yhwach, who seems hell-bent on conquering the entirety of the Living and Spirit worlds, and is apparently capable of killing small gods and Kami." Yamamoto explained, trying to stress the depth of the situation. He'd never been in a labor negotiation before, and was hoping they'd be more reasonable if he made an emotional appeal. "Kill enough of the archery bastards and live, and I'll have all your crimes pardoned."

"What a shame, what a shame." clucked the old man at the far end of the lines. "You young people just don't know how to handle things..."

"Hmmm..." The person who was definitely at least spiritually a cat pursed their lips. "Oh, uh- Chika Shihon." the bowed their head. "-It's a good start, but I'm gonna need a hell of a payday, seeing as nobody will hire an ex-criminal, even a pardoned one, and about forty more people need to die before my family will consider taking me back in."

"As well as some form of protection from political reprisals, or there won't be an opportunity to spend any of that payday." said Kinroku the Accountant, rubbing his nose like he was going to push up a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing.

"Paying criminals? Surely, you can't be serious!" Sasakibe scoffed.

"I am serious, and my name is Tsubaki, not Shirley." The representative quietly smirked at him. "Well, General? What price are you willing to offer for the salvation of all of Soul Society?"

"I want to see some proof before we talk price." Yamamoto glared at the Death Row From The Dumpster before him.

"Fair enough." Nodded Tsubaki, turning her head to address the group. "After me, who would you all say is the weakest fighter?"

The group considered this for a moment.

"Strongest is easy, its Yachiru, even with the missing lung." waved the pinup girl with the eyepatch and pigtails.

"Give Uhin some credit!" Protested the other pinup girl with the tits that were individually larger than her head.

"That's sweet of you to say Batsu-" Uhin the Giant in the back row laughed, patting the second girl's head. "-But also holy shit, no. Yachiru could disembowel me and strangle me with my own intestines before I could get off the mark! No offense little man, but I think it's Furuoki." He said, patting the straw hat of the man in front of him.

"Really?" Tits McGee pondered. "I was going to say Nobutsuna."

"I was gonna say me too." announced the human ashtray with a rough and reedy voice. "I hate fighting." "Yeah, but you hit like a fuckin' rockslide. Yeah, it's Furuoki." Agreed eyepatch.

"Mr. Otogawa-" Tsubaki addressed Furuoki the hat man. "-It's rather dark in here, would you please let in some light?"

Furuoki blinked at her, confused.

"Show the old man you can punch a hole in the ceiling." Yachiru translated for him, wetly.

"Okay!" Furuoki chirped happily, getting up and walking a few feet away.

"MORE!" yelled the group.

"Over by the guard tower!" Encouraged the large and rather jolly looking man, save for how he seemed to have lost both his lips and most of the front of his mouth, but had only bothered to replace his missing teeth with gold ones, giving him a permanent lipless grin.

Furuoki walked over towards the guard tower until the guards approached him and told him to back up, paced a bit until he found a suitable middle ground, and squinted up at the ceiling.

"Sir-" Sighed the head guard walking towards Furuoki as frowned at the ceiling. "Sir that's half a mile of solid rock and twelve different magical wards above you. It's not gonna work."

Furuoki instead dropped down on one knee, aimed, and-

A dazzling blue-green light and a noise like the roaring fires of Hell Itself erupted from his fist as he punched up towards the ceiling, vaporizing the stone above him and making all 12 wards chime and tinkle like glass as he broke through them. As the mushroom cloud of dust dispersed, sunlight began to filter in through the hole, at least 100 feet in diameter. The top third of the Guard tower seemed to have evaporated as well, and the guards were scrambling to try to control the panic.

"Is that enough?" Furuoki called.

"...Is it, General?" miss Tsubaki asked.

"...Ten Thousand Kan?" Yamamoto tried.

"That's fine dear, please come sit back down." Tsubaki waved.

"I am surprised, general." She smiled at Yamamoto in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of they way the post office cat would smile at the mice. "Ten Thousand Kan annually per individual is a very reasonable offer."

"A one-time payment of Ten thousand Kan to be split between the group." he growled.

"No." She shook he head. "You're offering us annual salaries, individually."

"The hell I am."

"Then we will enjoy watching the collapse of civilization through the new Skylight Furuoki made us." She replied, unconcerned. "You may have noticed, General, that there is a war on, and this is an exceptionally safe and secure place to be. Make it worth leaving."

"-Two minutes ago this was a frozen hellhole you were all starving in." he glared.

"Ah, but the view and property value has improved substantially in the last two minutes!" She smiled, unconcerned with his complaints. "There is no punishment you could mete out that is worse than remaining here, General, but you are not an advancing army of superhuman mutants, and there are MANY things the Quincy can do to us that are worse than remaining here. You are in a most unenviable position."

Yamamoto grimaced. "You're sure this is the best there is?" he muttered to Sasakibe.

"We could also try swearing loyalty to one noble house and hoping the other four don't try to kill us before the Quincy do." Sasakibe grunted, hand over the puncture wounds in his guts. "I don't like it either. but I like our other options even less."

Yamamoto sighed. "...Five thousand Kan Annually per individual."

"Ten thousand." replied Tsubaki.

"Seven thousand."

"Ten thousand."

"That's not how this is supposed to go." Yamamoto grumbled.

"And yet, this is how it's going." She smirked. "There is also the matter of the political protections!"

"DAMMIT!"

---

Half an hour later, terms had been reached.

Full pardons, Ten Thousand Kan, annually per individual (plus expenses), and political protections in the form of employing them as commanding officers on the condition that they "-Don't get killed, and prove you're smarter than a sack of hammers and at least half as useful."

"No for real, I'll forgive the old man the gut punch, lemme do something so you're not bleedin' all over my contract?" Chigiri sighed, watching Sasakibe write up the contracts.

"I'll trust my body to keep my guts on the right side of my skin over someone's dirty socks." he sighed. "Or do you have something else on hand?"

"Minazuki." Muttered Yachiru, leaning heavily on Chigiri.

"Oh right! I keep forgetting she does the fish thing." Chigiri perked up. "Yeah tell the guards to go get her sword, it turns into a... fuckin' whatsit, the big flat fish? Turns into one of those that can heal anything."

"Again, I trust my own faculties over any sort of Healing Halibut." Chojiro groaned.

"Stingray." Yachiru muttered, wheezing a bit. "Minazuki is a stingray."

"Alright, back in line everyone- I need you all to confirm your identities and what crimes you need pardoned, and to sign your contracts." Sasakibe sighed, standing up with the contracts and handing the first to Yamamoto.

"Shigekuni Yamamoto, Dereliction of duty and Mail-tampering, among other assorted sins." He said, smirking a bit at his own joke as he took the contract.

"Thank you sir." Sasakibe sighed, shuffling the pile of folders containing the files of the dozen criminals, and stepping up to the first one.

"Chika Shihon-" He read off, matching the drawn portrait to the person in front of him- Chika was a rather handsome young thing, with warm bronze skin and short, soft white hair. It was the gleam in their yellow eyes that made Sasakibe worry. "- Sentenced to lifetime imprisonment or death for staging a clan coup, twelve counts of fratricide and... dabbling in forbidden Kido?"

"Oh, like you've never had a family dinner that got out of control!" Chika huffed, indignant.

"I'm more curious about the Kido, actually." Yamamoto said, peering over his file.

Chika beamed and Sasakibe got as far as a choked "NOT HERE-!" before they vanished in a cloud of smoke. When it cleared, they were still wearing the same excited expression, but now as a small white house cat.

Sasakibe and Yamamoto stared at the cat for a moment, then at each other in a mutual expression of I can't believe we've been reduced to asking these freaks for help.

"Well, when you've got thumbs again, please read your contract, then sign and initial all the indicated areas, and swipe your blood across the bottom." Sasakibe sighed, bending over to hand the kitty their contract. "Remember, these contracts are legally and magically binding. Betray us, and die immediately."

"Next is- Kinroku Izuhara-" Sasakibe was interrupted by one of guards appearing with the confiscated personal belongings of the prisoners, including an entire bundle of swords under his arm.

"I understand not giving us our weapons until the contracts are signed and the seal is placed upon us, but may I have my glasses back?" Kinroku asked, voice crisp and arch. He was certainly the least ragged-looking of the group, his graying hair still neatly trimmed and face clean-shaven.

Yamamoto held out a hand and the guard placed the appropriate glasses in his palm. "Trade you for whatever you have that's kept you so clean-shaven it's making my mustache itch." Yamamoto glared.

Kinroku smirked, and produced a piece of bone that had been exquisitely sharpened into a razor's edge.

"This is a human bone." Yamamoto observed.

"Unfortunately, poorer quality than the bones of pigs or cattle in terms of holding an edge, but it's done it's job." Kinrku nodded.

"...This says you're on death row for ...Tax Evasion?" Sasakibe glared at the file as the blade was traded for the glasses.

"Yes. I made an unfortunate miscalculation regarding the loyalty of my men, so I am glad you are taking adequate precautions." Kinroku muttered, cleaning his glasses on his robe, holding them up to the dim sunlight filtering through the hole, and frowning, disappointed.

"Men?" Yamamoto asked. "You've had experience commanding armed forces before?"

"After a fashion." he said, signing the contract and biting into his thumb to finish the deal. "You've heard of The Vipers of the southern reaches?"

"The decentralized bandit gang that disbanded a few years back? I thought their leader had died?" Sasakibe frowned.

Kinroku smirked at him.

"...Oh, for fuckssake." Sasakibe groaned.

"Chigiri Shijima." Yamamoto read off, having already moved on. "...What the hell kind of charge is Aggravated Medical Research?"

"Can't make an emergency field medicine manual omlette without breaking a few bones. And causing a few disembowelments. And poking out a few eyes." She explained.

Yamamoto slowly arched an eyebrow at her.

"I PUT 'EM ALL BACK!" Chigiri protested. "...Eventually."

"Read. Sign. Blood." Yamamoto sighed, handing her the contract.

"For real though, your man okay? I can have those stitched in under a minute." Chigiri pointed her thumb at Sasakibe.

"That's some fast-acting painkillers." Sasakibe noted.

"What painkillers?" Chigiri asked, genuinely confused.

"...I'll take my chances with the halibut." Sasakibe winced, turning to the next man in line. "Danjiro Obana?"

"Yeah!" Grinned the sturdy-looking blonde man, all smiles and friendliness now that an agreement had been reached. "Lookin' forward to workin' with you guys!"

"...Imprisoned for cannibalism?" Sasakibe asked, horrified.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" Danjiro hollered, voice echoing around the cavern.

"How do you accidentally consume human flesh?" Yamamoto glared.

"Well- okay it wasn't an 'accident' per se, but look, that Ise Clan guy locked me in the family mausoleum to die, and understandably, I got the munches, and the coffins were fulla, eh... post-sapient jerky?" Danjiro explained. "I really don't know what he expected to happen. Really surprised when he opened up the door a month later and I gut punched his spine out though. I don't regret that one bit."

"You know? That's fair." decided Sasakibe, handing him a contract. "Read, sign, blood."

"Yessir!" Danjiro saluted happily.

"Furufoshi Saito?" Yamamoto asked the young woman with the purple pigtails and eyepatch that was next in line.

"I DID NOT 'KIDNAP' HIM, HE'S MY HUSBAND AND THEY'RE ALL A BUNCH OF PRICKS!" She roared.

Yamamoto blinked at her, then leaned over to read "Accused of Abducting and 'Deflowering' the eldest son of the Kuchiki clan' on her file. "...Care to elaborate on that?"

"I found poor Kyoga-kun half-dead on my doortstep after the battle of River Bo- he still had spears in him, the poor thing! So like a sane and reasonable person I took him in and nursed the sweet thing back to heath and- well, a beautiful man in my bed, grateful to me for saving his life and offering me his eternal love and gratitude- How could a girl resist?" She sighed, hearts in her remaining eye.

"-and since I'd carried him over the threshold into my home we were basically married already, so it wasn't wrong of me to ride him like a pony or violate his warranty like that! He loved it! He loves ME! AND I LOVE HIM! It's just that the rest of the Kuchiki clan are a bunch of snobs with no sense of romance." She sighed, melancholy, then looked up at him, chewing her lip in nervousness. "...You haven't. heard anything about him?"

Yamamoto considered her story, and the few times he'd met Kyoga Kuchiki- a delicate young man with a sense of romantic grandeur and when he'd seen the boy recently, he had been lying facedown on the floor and sobbing, in quite some distress over being separated from his beloved-

"...Daddy Bear?" Yamamoto asked, bewildered.

"MY LITTLE BABY BEAR REMEMBERS ME!" She shrieked with joy, "Is he alright? I've been so worried, he still wasn't over that septic infection and the war keeps getting closer-" She demanded, grabbing Yamamoto by his Kosode and shaking him for answers.

"-As of last month, he was distraught over your absence, but otherwise hale. The sooner the Quincy are dead, the sooner you can see him again. Read, sign, blood." Yamamoto said, detangling himself from her and putting the contract between them.

"Ah, Ever-turbulent but true runs the course of Love." sighed the charred man beside her. "Nobotsuna Shigyo, at your service." he introduced himself, bowing politely.

"I'm Batsu'unsai Katori- We were arrested and imprisoned for roughly the same incident and it may help to be introduced at the same time." Said the woman with the exceptionally large breasts beside him. "Um, I'll need my glasses back too- Oh, thank you!"

"The sight of sunlight is so strange after such time." Mused Nobotsuna. "Even before our imprisonment, the Lady Katori and I were leaders of a secret underground society!"

"It was less of a society and more of a Polycule that got out of control-" Explained Batsu'unsai. "Once I discovered by spiritual powers, I moved in with the great sage Shou Dokutsu, and began hanging out with and then dating other people with spiritual powers and they started bringing their partners to my district and pretty soon there were so many of us that the easiest way to house everyone was to start developing the extensive underground cave systems in the area."

"We manufactured many fine magical artifacts, so called ourselves The Under-Wares!" Said Nobotsuna.

"We actually called ourselves The Kido Union, because in addition to the magical tools, we formed a united labor front to keep the clans from exploiting us." She explained, and Yamamoto began to understand her interruption.

"I am the wise Loremaster of our people!" Said Nobutsuna.

"He's a stablehand." Batsu'unsai smiled.

"But the clans did not like that they were no longer able to exploit and abuse us now that we had allied in great numbers, and war came to our peaceful nation of Shou's Hole!" he said, with genuine sadness.

Yamamoto and Sasakibe looked back at Batsu'unsai.

"It actually is called Shou's Hole." she sighed. "He just wanted it so badly."

"I wore them down!" Notbotsuna grinned.

"Still, the clans did not like that they now had to pay to have magical labor done and that we would outright refuse their more barbaric requests, and eventually I think it was the Shibas that mounted an all-out assault on us. Last I heard, most of the Union made it out through the other exits from the caves, but Dokutsu-san and most of our heavy hitters stayed at the primary entrance to buy time. Nobotsuna and I were the only ones to survive the assault, and Hiraku Shiba had us thrown in here." Batsu'unsai sighed.

"Prick." Spat Nobotsuna. "Oh sure, when a head of one of the so-called 'Noble' houses goes around decapitating people and burning them alive it's considered 'honorable combat' and 'keeping the peace', but when I, a man whose family tree isn't a fucking wreath of incest, retaliates in a decidedly less lethal fashion suddenly its 'treason' and 'making up a spell called Penis Blast is a war crime'!!"

"-What kind of blast?" asked Sasakibe.

"He can demonstrate it for us on The Archery Bastards. Read, sign, blood." Yamamoto said, thrusting contracts at them.

"Entetsu Kumoi." Read off Sasakibe as they came to the bald man who was nearly as wide as he was tall, with the exposed gold teeth. Entetsu looked up from where he'd finished putting his glasses back on and arranged his hairless brows into something that indicated that he'd be smiling politely if he had lips. "Imprisoned for your participation in the riot at the Windroad House, where you..." Sasakibe frowned at the file. "-Attacked and killed one hudred fifty-seven town guards with a brick, and mounted an assault on the local Dyamo?"

"Always morally correct, hittin' cops with bricks." Nodded Entetsu. "-Specially ones comin' t' kill just because some people are out havin' a good time, doin' no harm to no-one."

"The Windroad House is a Bar in the 3rd district famous for it's ah. Exotic. Cabaret performances." Sasakibe explained to Yamamoto, who didn't get out much.

"You were. At one of these performances?' Yamamoto asked.

"Ah, nah- just gotten off the job and had nipped down to the pub across th'way for a pint when I saw the pigs kick in the door an' start dragggin' the ladies out and I thought 'well that ain't right', so I started throwin' bricks until I were on me last brick and then I hunted them down wit' that last brick until there were none left." he explained. "Then I thinks, 'well, there's only none left until more come from the station', so's I made me way up the road to the station wit' me brick and had me a little hogslaughter up there too, see?"

"...And you just. kept going?" Sasakiba asked.

"So's I did! Right up to the head hog's trough, though by then it were well early in the mornin' and I were tired an' had some dozen spears in me back and me brick had fallen apart, so's I dinna get hims haunches fer ham." Entetsu sighed.

"Persistence! Very good quality in a captain!" Grinned Yamamoto, handing him the contract. "You know what to do by now."

They turned to the rather comely young man with the straw hat. "Furuoki, was it?" Yamamoto asked, feeling something that wasn't hopeful, per se, but these were strong people, and deeply insane and they were agreeing to help him, something that made his heart race with a delirious sort of mania.

"Yes. I am Furuoki Otogawa." he nodded.

"-And you're imprisoned here for- ecological terrorism, defiling holy a holy site and creating a dangerous magical device?" Sasakibe asked.

"What?" asked Yachiru, getting back to her feet and leaning heavily on him. "You told me you were in here for Jaywalking?"

"I thought I was?" Said Furuoki, frowning and tipping his head with confusion.

"It says here you constructed a device over the Tenjo no Ganbo waterfalls to, ah- 'suck up the carp in the pool at the base of the waterfall and launch them, at speed, up and over the waterfall'." Sasakibe read off and looked up to see Furuoki staring into the distance, eyes watering.

"They wanted to get to the lake at the top so badly they were swimming up the waterfall, but they kept falling down and getting hurt!" he sobbed, overcome with emotion. "I just made a chute to safely carry them to the top and gently toss them in the lake! how is that a crime?"

"-because when a carp makes it to the top of Tenjo no Ganbo falls, IT TURNS INTO A DRAGON! YOU MADE HUNDREDS OF DRAGONS SUDDENLY APPEAR! THOUSANDS BEFORE THEY COULD DISMANTLE THE DAMN THING!!" Sasakibe shouted.

"Ohhh." Furuoki said, nodding. "-I'd wondered where all the dragons had come from. I still don't see why that's a crime though?"

"Gods help us." Groaned Yamamoto.

"Dragons tend to be. Kinda destructive." Yachiru spoke slowly, her voice still rough and hollow-sounding. " 'specially to little villages."

"Oh." Furuoki said quietly, horrified.

"Don't worry, I'll deal with them once I get my lung back and bust outta this joint." Yachiru reassured him as Sasakibe handed Furuoki his contract.

"You wont be 'busting out' of anywhere, miss-" Sasakibe suffled the papers to open her file. "-Yachiru Unohana! You're obligated to serve General Yamamoto in exchange for your freedom, seeing as you're imprisoned for- for-"

Sasakibe froze, staring at the file. "-That has to be a Mistake."

"What?" Grunted Yamamoto, sizing the woman up. According to the group, if Furuoki who could rip this heavily fortified prison open like an ant's nest was their weakest fighter, this sickly-looking woman was their strongest.

"The file says she's imprisoned for killing ten thousand people!" babbled Sasakibe.

"Oh, no, that isn't right." grunted Yachiru, and Sasakibe sighed with relief.

"-Should be closer to twelve or fifteen thousand." She clarified, and Sasakibe went white.

"Read, sign, mark with your blood at the bottom." Yamamoto sighed, thrusting the contract at her.

"Uhhh... can't." She said, staring blankly at the contract, then slowly looking up at Yamamoto.

"What do you mean 'can't'?"  he growled.

"I can't read." she said.

Sasakibe hid his face in his hands, groaning with pain, while Yamamoto turned on his heel and threw his hands in the air, silently beseeching any available Gods for help.

"You get what you pay for, General." Called Chika, having changed back into the clothes they'd arrived in- garish red-orange and black ninja garb of the Shihon clan- and tying their sword back onto their gaudy belt.

"I am paying all of you a frankly OBSCENE amount of money, I don't think it's unreasonable to expect basic literacy!" Yamamoto snapped.

"It's okay girl, I'll read it to you and then you can have Minazuki back, okay?" Chigiri volunteered, wrapping an arm around her illiterate compatriot and walking her back to some seat-height rocks.

"Let's just get this over with." Yamamoto sighed, glaring at Tsubaki, who only smiled serenely back at him. "Uhin Zenjoji?"

"Present, sir." Beamed the enormous man who looked like a professional Sumo wrestler- there was fat, lots of it, but underneath, an unsettlingly steady grace and power to his movements.

"Your file says you're imprisoned for Smuggling, Murder, Bootlegging, Murder, Trafficking, Murder, More murder and... one hundred seventy two violations of The Migratory Bird Act?"

"The only two I will dispute are the trafficking and migratory bird charges-" he said, delicately holding up two fingers. "-firstly, it's not trafficking to move refugees from the clan wars out of danger without giving the aforementioned clans a cut. I'm no pimp."

"And the birds?" Yamamoto glared, intrigued more than anything.

"A man may have his hobbies and his charitable works!" Uhin said, touching his hand to his chest in faux-impassioned speech. "I collect and breed rare and endangered birds- the world would a sadder place without their songs. So I have- well, had- an aviary up in the mountains where they could be propagated in peace." Uhin sighed.

"Huh. Something nearly bordering on sanity." said Sasakibe said, offering Uhin his contract.

"Got any of them- whatsit- the big kicky bitches?" Danjiro asked.

"Cassowaries?" Uhin asked. "But of course! Delightful little creatures."

Yamamoto decided he didn't hear that, actually, and turned his attention to the final member of the dirty dozen.

"Hello young man!" the decrepit old man creaked cheerfully. "I am Saizo Sakahone." he was bald, liver-spotted, missing teeth and had a spine that bowed like a fishing rod with something much too large for the boat on the end of the line.

"Sakahone like the province?" asked Yamamoto, remembering the western area he'd traveled through recently.

"...In a manner of speaking, I suppose?" Saizo grinned. "Though it's rather the other way around- my lovely wife, may she rest in peace, managed to bear me no less than sixteen beautiful daughters, and they bore at least a dozen granddaughters and so on- Why, by my one thousand one hundred and eleventy-eth birthday, I had somewhere over fifty thousand descendants! So I am not so much named after the province, as the province is named after me!" he chucked.

"...by the Gods." marveled Sasakibe.

"Look, I love my sword too but at least I take it out of the scabbard sometimes." sighed Yamamoto. "What're you in for, family man?"

"O-ho! Now that was quite rash of me, I'm afraid. Yes-" Saizo nodded, rubbing his gnarled-oak hands. "-but as you say, I am a family man and there is nothing I despise so much as someone who does violence to children. No, no, nothing more vile in the world than that..."

Yamamoto felt Sasakibe go stiff beside him, and glanced over. Sasakibe tipped the file closer for his friend to read.

"-The total annihilation of the Uchimaki clan?" Yamamoto asked.

"I was born a shepherd, my boy. My people have been herding cattle over the hills of my province since there were cattle and hills to herd them over. When rot and madness like that turns up in a line- you need to cull backwards at least three generations or it'll set root and spread through your whole herd." he sighed. "What a shame, what a shame, but it had to be done, or they would have learned to turn a profit, treating children like that, and then we'd never be rid of it."

"I saw the crater. Half a mile deep and three times as wide." Said Yamamoto, mustache trembling. "I thought the wrath of the Gods themselves had descended upon them."

"Hm." Saizo nodded, jaw trembling a bit with palsy. "Hm, yes. That's what it felt like."

"Would you like to feel it again?" Yamamoto asked.

"No." Saizo shook his head, but slowly straightened up as much as he could- he must have been close to seven feet tall before the scoliosis set in- flexing his hands and rolling his neck, the power held withing that body starting to come off him in shimmering golden steam. "-but if that's what it takes for me to go home again, then I will be the tool of the Gods once more."

Yamamoto offered him the contract, and did not need to give him instructions.

Behind them, there was a quiet but extremely invasive wet noise and Yamamoto turned to see Unohana unsheath her... well, it lived in a scabbard but it was a muddy green and unusually gooey for a sword. Minazuki bubbled forth from her scabbard, trilling faintly as she solidified and formed into a mottled green cyclopean stingray, large enough to swallow a man, nuzzling at her human affectionately.

"Huh. She does seem to have an exceptionally intimate bond with her Zanpaktou..." Sasakibe noted, then flinched as Minazuki's mouth opened to reveal a fleshy interior of writhing tentacles and strange glands. Without hesitation, Unohana shed her prisoner's robe, which was apparently the and stepped inside to be swallowed with a sigh of relief.

"Very intimate!" grinned Chigiri at Sasakibe's shoulder. "My offer to stitch you up is still on the table, unless you want to develop a similarly intimate relationship with a fish."

"Never did care for seafood..." Sasakibe muttered.

"What about Tsubaki-san?" Furofushi frowned. "Where's her contract?"

"I came here for fighters." Yamamoto shook his head, turning to Tsubaki. "But you are right that The Maggot's Nest is a secure fortress in it's own right. The war is no place for a pri-"

He stopped, staring. Tsubaki had sat down and was rubbing her feet, fingers laced between her toes. She glanced up at him, then down at her feet, smirked, and sat back, wiggling her toes. "No, I agree, the front is no place for a Princess, but it is very much a place for a Diplomat, isn't it?" she asked.

Yamamoto blinked. "I have been thoroughly disinherited from any political position I may have inherited, so I am no princess." She explained, rolling her ankle with a smirk. "-and you are, if I may make an estimation based on my training as a Lady Of Society and now that all of our contracts are signed and bonded, terrible at negotiations."

Yamamoto shook himself, trying to pretend he hadn't been staring at her arches. "...I thought it went fine? Nobody lost a hand."

She smiled, and walked up beside him, lacing her arm with his and gently patting his hand. "My dear. If bookies had been allowed to lay bets on this encounter, the odds of me losing my head would have been considered a sure thing, and the odds on my being able to convince you to properly hire us and pay us, I agree, an 'obscene' amount of money so slim that anyone who took my side would now be a very rich idiot."

Yamamoto squinted at her, trying to translate that in his head.

"...You've conned me." He glared.

"Quite badly, I'm afraid." She smiled.

"You've conned me, but you can con say, that idiot that runs the Omeda clan or the obnoxious boy with the cock's comb that follows Yhwach around even worse." He tried.

Miss Tsubaki smiled, and laced her fingers with his.

"I'm going to have someone much smarter than me write up your contract." he nodded. "Sasakibe? Can you get us home in a-"

Yamamoto turned to see his friend, standing with his robe open while Chigiri knelt before him. Yamamoto blinked in bewilderment, and then realized the woman was stitching his wounds up at speed, her face close to his navel to focus on her work.

"...Hurry?" Yamamoto asked.

"Boss if I go any faster I'm gonna sew his bellybutton shut." Chirigi replied, not looking up.

"She is almost done, sir." Sasakibe winced. "Please don't interrupt her work?"

--- It took a good half hour to get everyone together to leave- clothes changed, signed out of the Maggot's nest and their custody turned over to Yamamoto, Nobotsuna trying to smuggle his "pet" Salamander out, several other prisoners saying tearful goodbyes to Tsubaki and her taking their information down 'for later', Minazuki trying to eat the salamander, and further mayhem while Sasakibe finished drawing the teleportation circle but soon they were lined up, and as the spell activated, Tsubaki gripped Yamamoto's arm rather firmly.

But in a flash, they were returned to Headquarters, Tsubaki blinking from the bright sun.

"General!" the soldier saluted. "Good to see you again! No news from the front, but we have received word the Shihon clan has made an alliance with the Fon clan as the advance approaches their homeland."

"HAH!" Shouted Chika. "Either cousin Genki pulled his head out of his ass or whatever cousin they're on now has good taste! Mingyan is a BABE and a half."

"Nice digs, very nice." Nodded Danjiro, looking around the courtyard. "...Looks really familiar for some reason. Never been to Seireitei, but I swear I've been in a building just like this?"

The other criminals looked around the courtyard, frowning and muttering about how it DID look familiar, and not at all like barracks.

There was a distressing hurgling sort of noise behind them and Minazuki spat out Yachiru Unohana, who tumbled out, nude and covered in slime. She rolled to the foot of the shrine, and sat up, blinking at the statue inside.

"Hey-" She called, voice still low and a rough but the hollow wetness had gone. "-Why's the military got a shrine to Yatagarasu?"

The others looked at the shrine and then around the building again. The orderly layout, the way the men were fit and professional but not precisely military, the extensive filing and sorting system visible through the open doors, Yamamoto's confession to Mail-tampering, the shrine to the Messenger of the Gods...

"You know, I did think it was rather strange that you were able to rally a small but apparently quite fast and very loyal army without the aid of any major clans." Tsubaki sighed. "How very industrious of you, Postmaster-General Yamamoto!"

[ularkanojo]

SP Fallen God Orochi S-jade Skin 'Finality Incarnate' Bio

The Sun Goddess defined good and evil in her laws, and locked desires away with her so-called love. Yet both evil and desire came from her, from that hypocritical light. What the light feared is what interested me. Even when I was plunged into that dark Rift, void of light, I vowed that one day I would cover the world with the Goddess’ flowers of sin, initiating judgment on the world.

With the help of the God of Lies, I returned to the high heavens of the past. Finally, after countless attempts within endless possibilities, I became the God-Emperor of the new world created from the ashes of that dark, yet beautiful old world. The gods had fallen and the walls had collapsed. I freed everyone from the shackles of love. As I had expected, they shed their disguise and started killing each other for their desires until they had all been assimilated into true evil. But as the benevolent God-Emperor, I didn’t allow them to have regrets. I sat on the throne of the Adjudicator in the very center of the Scales; walls and seats rose up to form the Trial Ground.

“Today, I will pass verdict on everyone using my own divinity to rule, instead of Yata Mirror. I will show the old gods and the world the sins they have committed!”

“Lambs of the gods, you were born on your knees to pray for peace from birth. The gods bestowed blessings upon you, only to make you weak, ignorant, and shackled to your pitiful existence. They claimed this would prevent you from committing evil deeds, and thus keep the world in peace. What the gods didn’t tell you was that sins are born out of weakness, and committed out of ignorance. The shackles were forged for the sinners.”

The first star crashed into the land. Magma spewed out of the ground, creating a sea of fire which burned the grass and trees to ashes. Then, with a gust of wind, the wildfire was pushed further, scorching meadows and forests into the distance.

“With the fall of the old gods, a new Adjudicator came into the world. Thanks to his discerning eyes, no sins could escape. But when he laid his eyes on the world, he saw a place filled with crime, and everyone a sinner. And so, he ascended to his throne and passed his verdict on the world, `Guilty!`”

The burning star crashed into the sea. Burning mountain peaks fell into the sea, and the water boiled causing a steamy mist to rise up. Ships drifted helplessly into turbulent currents then swallowed by huge waves. After the waves had passed, the boiling sea water turned red as hundreds of boiled wrecks emerged from the water; the ocean looked like a graveyard stretching into the horizon.

“`Please forgive me! It was never my intention to commit any crime,` The lambs pleaded.”

The third star struck towards the part of the world where it was night. As it fell, it brought with it a meteor shower, turning the night into day. The meteors burned and disintegrated along its trajectory, transforming into countless meteorite fragments which smashing into the earth like a torrential downpour. Mountains collapsed and rivers were cut off, villages were obliterated in the blinding flare, and forests were consumed by a sea of flames. Magmatic tides surged forwards, engulfing everything in their path.

“`Please correct the unfairness. It was not our intention to wear these shackles.` The lambs pleaded with the Adjudicator.”

The fourth star struck towards the part of the world in daylight. White clouds dissipated then were refused into burning red clouds. Magnificent buildings and towering trees were split in two. Any living being still hiding quickly fled as a chasm appeared in the ground which started to consume all.

“The Lambs lamented, `My body burns in eternal torment, my soul wanders in an endless labyrinth.`”

The fifth star fell towards point in the sky where day and night met, breaking the divide between light and shadow, yin and yang. Darkness consumed the sun, and daylight consumed the stars. The sky was turned into a messy palette where light and shadow intermingled, trying to corrupt each other. Before long, all light was lost; the day ceased to be bright and the night sky lost the glimmer of the stars. Complete darkness shrouded the world where only the echoes of the people’s wailing could be heard.

“`Please give the first light of the world back to this infinite darkness. Please show pity for the hopeless land one last time. Please begin the end and purge the sins. Please grant me a peaceful rest before the new world comes.` The sinners pleaded.”

Aether poured from the crack and engulfed the stars and the world like a dark wave.

I was sure that this was the end of the world, but then I found some humas huddled in dark caves. Some of them still clung to the beliefs of the old gods, and it intrigued me. So I sent the Evil Gods to stir up their desires, and waited for them to show despair when their beliefs collapsed. But no matter how much torture they underwent, those fragile mortals still refused to give in.

When I came back to my senses, I was once again under the cherry tree; unlike before, the surroundings were so silent that it was as if time had stopped. I ended the age of the old gods, salvaged everything from the injustice it had suffered, and liberated everything from bondage. Then a cherry blossom petal fell into my hand.

“The falling cherry blossoms that fade after blooming are so fragile, yet so glorious. The same goes for you, who have remained unchanged for thousands of years.”

[butchtwelfthdoctor]

got carried away writing a book review of the day of the doctor so here u go i guess

the episode itself is. fine I guess. there are some good moments & its fun seeing ten & eleven interact and there's some good angsting etc. like the episode is fairly solid even though it does that typical moffat retroactively-changing-massive-parts-of-canon thing that he liked doing. its not perfect but whatever, there are lots of good bits! The Novelisation. Is. Dare I Say Kinda Bad.

(also I should point out that this is written by steven moffat who was the showrunner and wrote the script for the episode like he should know what he's doing)

it starts off with the doctor narrating in a typical slightly silly pretentious fourth-wall breaking kinda thing and you're like okay this is sort of cool yup very eleven that feel like him. the narration switches between the doctor talking about himself in third person cos a) that's how books work and b) he's just Like That but will slip into first person in select moments to show he's getting caught up in remember events or his feelings and the idea is that you're reading it on psychic paper & it's being beamed into your head telepathically or whatever and that's cool!! that's a good idea!

HOWEVEr. there are three (mainly) versions of the doctor in the book the war doctor the tenth doctor and the eleventh. and YOUD THINK THEY JUST CALL THEM WAR DOCTOR TEN AND ELEVEN like normal people but noooooooo depending on whose pov you're in he gives them all silly nicknames based on how various characters perceive them which is really hard to follow, or just call all of the The Doctor, which is their name yeah but like ??? which one is talking???? you kinda have to guess sometimes??? added to that is that there are shapeshifters in this one so there's another layer of 'is this the real guy or the Copy Guy' as well as BAD WOLF being there (who isn't rose, its bad wolf, but it isn't her either because it's a sentient superweapon that's talking to him that just LOOKS like rose.), there's just all in all a lot of Multiple Versions Of The Same Few People which can be hard to keep track of. like it's just confusing to read sometimes. not too hard even if the endless silly nicknames for ten & eleven get annoying a bit.

and there's a bunch of inconsistencies too (and yes I know I know this is the who needs continuity show) between this and the episode and I guess moffat can do what he likes adapting his own stuff but he kinda missed out some good bits? doesn't even have the 'this is his grunge phase' line and some of the stuff that makes ten and eleven's dynamic so funny but has all these random extra scenes of kate lethbridge-stewart and osgood that are just ?????? we didn't need that there??? it wasn't reeeeally adding anything??? and in the episode ten and eleven cant see bad wolf/rose/the moment ar all but here they see it for a bit?? but like no reaction really from either of them even though ten at LEaST should have had a visceral moment of loss there or something. idk.

and then at the end where there's that curator guy who is tom baker and its kinda I think supposed to be ambiguous as to whether its really four or not or some kind of coincidence but in the book it's like 'ahah! i was really narrating as four all along!' but like how is that even possible sorry I know this is the time travel show but why is he there and what is the implication? i think it's cos 11 says 'oh I could retire and be a curator' and then four is all old n stuff and Is the curator but like???? he regenerated?? is this a ten/fourteen type situation of the far future like a decade before they came up with that and then why is four in 2013??? what?? idk did they just really really want tom baker in it?

and then there's more foreshadowing of peter capaldi as twelve and then ten says 'i don't want to go' again which you're supposed to find sad but is fitted in in the most awkward way possible like. he would not say that no one would have said that sentence just then sorry guys. the ending feels kinda rushed more so in the book cos the narrator (four?? eleven??? is literally Not Paying Attention to the last conversation and then there's a page that says HELP ME over a bunch of tally marks ?????? idk man????? also there's all this stuff in the comedic chapter interlude narration that's referring to 'chapter nine' 'stop trying to find chapter nine' is he just saying 'yeah ok the ninth doctor's not in this one sorry guys'???? i think so??

cos it starts with chapter eight which is the eighth doctor getting regenerated into the war doctor (a soldier in the time war, the very thing he was saying he'd never become) (more of Moffat retrospectively Majorly Altering Canon) which was uhm. quite the scene cos in the episode he chooses it?? but in the book it says he was forced to by the sisterhood of karn???? what???????????? if that's so then why isn't that made Very Clear in the episode???? girl what???? there's lots of references to classic who which is fun but then he goes and says 'oh yeah btw one and two were actually colourblind that's why 1963-69 was in black and white' like okay. that's a slightly stupid writing decision which every other author has managed to ignore because it doesn't matter that they were in black and white cos the show started airing IN THE SIXTIES you can accept the limitations of historical content into canon!! he did the exact same thing in twice upon a time when he made One make sexist jokes so he could point out how progressive the show was Now which actually backfires Majorly because it makes The Doctor sexist instead of making The White British Colonial Men Who Wrote It In 1960s England sexist like ausgnauhgnshansghn CMON! and on that note Why Is This STuff So Sexualised like????? there was no need to say that the doctor found clara pretty, or rose/bad wolf/the moment/whatever, ten ends up marrying queen Elizabeth I which is kinda funny ngl but some of the things eleven says about that! is so weird! and unnecessary! and theres the fuckinhnsaa scene with the comparing the size of the sonic screwdrivers which is SO BAD LIKE YUCKKKK WHAT WHY WOULD YOU PUT THAT IN THERE ITS A FAMILY SHOW DUDE and like all the women at some point have a Comment on their appearance except for maybe kate lethbridge-stewart but idk. ahjsajnsajnsan. ick. and moffat just changes canon around all the time! gallifrey is gone again! but not really! but now it's back for real! the hybrid! (still don't know what was up with that) the impossible girl! mels/melody/river song! why!

and like some of it was so good!! the three doctors who are all the same person but not the same person, and some of the character writing was really really good & the interactions between different regenerations and like i Knew sometimes when ten was speaking cos the way he reacts to his own issues is so predictable (good predictable. like he has A Way He Acts its fascinating) and how they talk to each other (themself) as a representation of what the doctor is always struggling with about the decisions he's made. and i love the 'time lord art is bigger on the inside' bit that's really cool & when the war doctor starts the calculations and then eleven can finish them cos its four hundred years later even though they're in the same room together, like that's cool! moffat understands how to use timey-wimey stuff in the time travel show and he does it very well, a lot more (and better) than russell t davies does. but i watch this episode and think what no i really like this one and then i think about it and There Are Problems!!

anyways. uhm. haha. my favourite show 👍

[darsynia]

Nearer, My God, to Thee | Stony | Chapter 4 (complete)

STORY MASTERLIST | TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV

Written for @zaramel as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala | gif credit to NatashaIsBae on DeviantArt

Summary: Steve Rogers appreciated his unexpected promotion to Fourth Officer-- until it became clear that it was more about being a novelty American-born officer of the White Star Line than it was about his skill at the job. After another frustrating shift attending to First Class, he was rescued by the devilishly handsome Tony Stark, a notoriously brilliant troublemaker annoyed by his own role as the most tempting eligible bachelor on the ship.

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 4,823 words // life-threatening situations For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

Tags: @chickensarentcheap @linnadhiell @sobeautifullyobsessed @ronearoundblindly @karimac

Excerpt:

Each time a lifeboat filled, Lightoller looked for White Star Line crew to board to assist with rowing, and each time, Tony was determined that Steve should go.

After two, three, four boats left without him, Tony fought his way through the sea of frightened humanity and dragged Steve away from his post, throwing him up against the nearest wall, heedless of anyone who could see them.

“Get on a fucking lifeboat, Rogers.”

“So you’ll beg me to hold back on saying your name, but you deny me mine as I stand there repeatedly lying to family after family, telling them that they’ll see their father, their husband, their lover again?” Steve leaned in, eyes afire, hand pressed to the very center of Tony’s chest, just as he’d done earlier that very night. “You gave away your life vest! What do you want me to do? Call out your name while I row away without you? I refuse.”

Chapter Four: Nearer, my God, to thee; nearer to thee

Almost as soon as the ship jolted, there was a strange hissing sound coming from an open pipe in the room. It was loud, loud enough to immediately quash the euphoria Tony felt from what he and Steve had just done. Folding over the handkerchief he’d used earlier, he tended to himself while Steve did the same. 

“The alarm had to be related to this,” Tony finally said, uncomfortable with the silence. Steve was standing over near the pipe, obviously listening, his face a mask of concern. “The hissing?” he prompted, hoping to break through to Steve.

“I think it’s air being forced up through. If that’s true--” 

Steve broke off, stepping back, moving swiftly to button his jacket, checking that every other part of his clothing was in order. Nodding, Tony did the same, fastening his pants and belt, brushing the dust from his knees, and doing up his shirt so he could re-tie the bow tie. Before he could finish, Steve herded him over to the door and unlocked it.

“We need to get you into a life jacket,” he said bleakly.

“Surely it’s not--”

“You heard and felt the same thing I did. There’s only one thing that could have been, and we scraped across it for quite a ways. We’re in the forepeak; it’s possible that only one or two compartments have been breached, but either way, I need you to be safe.” Steve’s expression brooked no disapproval. He led Tony toward a staircase rather than the elevator, and as they jogged up, they were stopped by two concerned-looking crewmembers.

“Did you feel that?” one asked. 

“We’re taking on water, I don’t know how much. I’m taking Mr. Stark up to First Class.”

Despite feeling the ship judder as it struck an iceberg, despite hearing the hissing air escape the filling compartment below them, Tony had still hoped those things meant a slower than usual crossing, as Titanic limped its way to New York with more ballast than it ought to have. Hell, that’s what he wanted-- more time with Steve. Those thoughts were replaced by actual alarm as he watched Steve brush off his crewmates and rush up the stairs in full view of other passengers. Tony knew he was too conscientious to cause undue concern.

That meant concern was due.

“Steve,” Tony said, stopping him as they crossed to the next staircase. “If you’re right, you need to go get your life jacket.”

Steve let out a huff of frustration, but nodded. Reaching out, he squeezed Tony’s upper arm, a pleading look on his face. “Then you must do the same. Go straight to your suite, get your life jacket, grab your father’s, and go find him. Everyone you encounter will think you are being melodramatic. Ignore them.”

“Steve, the ship’s design--”

“Listen,” Steve said, walking him away from the mouth of the stairs, so they didn’t obstruct them. His blue eyes were fierce. “I didn’t attend the sea trials, but I hear they barely put the ship through her paces. Paces such as testing the lifeboats. I don’t know that there will be enough of them.”

They stood in the hallway and looked at each other for a long moment as the reality of what Steve was saying set in for Tony. If there wasn’t enough space, then naturally the men would defer to the women and children. If there wasn’t enough space, naturally the crew would defer to First Class.

If there wasn’t enough space, Steve Rogers would die.

“Don’t,” Steve ordered, precluding Tony from the argument he was drawing in breath to make. “Focus on getting your life vest and finding your father. Try to get through to the people you care about. I have duties to attend to, and one of them is to ensure that leadership comes to the same conclusion that you just did.”

I won’t lose you, Tony wanted to say. Instead, he set his jaw, projected his soul into his eyes, and said, “I have been looking for you for what feels like my whole life. I will find you again before the night is through. And I’ll stand beside you, if that’s your lot. Proudly.” With that, Tony spun on his heel and dashed up the stairs, unequal to seeing the predictable dismay on Steve’s face.

Steve had been right about the attitude in First Class. Tony followed his instructions, except that he found a satchel to sling over his shoulder to carry the two life vests, without advertising their existence. Sub-Lieutenants thought like officers, but Tony thought like the American nobleman he was; there would be no persuading anyone about the seriousness of the ship’s condition if he went about it looking frightened and crazy.

When he made his way to the Smoking Room, the atmosphere there was jovial and light. One man even held up his whiskey glass and requested someone go and fetch him ‘some of that fresh ice from on deck.’ Far from being more concerned after having seen evidence of the berg, these men were in a celebratory mood. It was all ‘What a story this will be for the family back home!’ instead of ‘I should do all necessary to safeguard my life.’

Tony immediately concluded it would be useless to pull Howard aside and hand him the vest. In fact, if they were to need them, giving Howard’s over now would practically guarantee it would be misplaced. Disgusted, he resolved to seek out some of the more sensible ladies of First Class and prevail on their sense of self-preservation.

He tarried too long, however.

“Ahh, Tony, escaped your minder, did you?” Howard called out from across the entire room, ensuring every eye was on him.

Suddenly, Tony wished he’d knelt on the filthy floor, that it was obvious. Instead, he pulled in a fortifying breath and turned on the charm.

“Oh, you know how it is! Formality or not, we have struck ice. Not even the prospect of whiskey and good pipe tobacco was enough to thaw his sense of duty!” That said, he did a little bow to acknowledge his father as he backed out of the room.

Almost an hour later, the mood in First Class hadn’t shifted much, but he’d gotten through to a few of the ladies, enough to persuade them to get on the first lifeboat sent away. Tony hadn’t spent much time on deck, preferring persuasive, one-on-one conversations with his fellow aristocrats. Mentally, he had a tally of Persuaded, Persuadable, or Pessimistic, and it really depended on how the Pessimistic passengers treated him in the past, whether he planned to go back to try again.

Checking the time, he saw it was nearly one in the morning. Surely by now, Steve would be on deck helping? Tony bade farewell to the life vest-clad young ladies and their mother he had convinced of the danger, and hurried back on deck. Already there were a few lifeboats rowing away from the ship, but Tony found himself clutching the railing in abject dismay when he saw they were scarcely half full.

He was watching the hope of a long life float away, uncaring. Counting heads, Tony reached the number twenty-eight and no more.

“Stark!”

It was Steve. Tony dashed over, pointing behind him. “Barely thirty. Thirty! You must get through to them! They have got to fill the lifeboats!”

Steve's uniform was dirty, and as Tony searched him for signs of what he’d done while they were parted, he was horrified to see that the lower six inches of his pants were wet. 

“She’s going to sink. Hundreds of people will go down with her,” Steve whispered, looking around at the bustle of passengers being gently encouraged onto lifeboats.

“Including you?” Tony asked, through a throat coated with the wax of deep, miserable regret.

“Can it be any other way?” Steve’s face was as resolute as it was handsome.

He could hear a woman begging for her teenage son to be allowed on a lifeboat, to no avail. It cemented for Tony that there was no hope for either of them. None. Rubbing his hands against the cold, he said, “Then let’s ensure those of us left behind are a small, exclusive club, eh?”

“T--”

Tony interrupted with a loud, cut-off sound against his teeth. “No. Save it. Save it,” he hissed, stepping improperly close, grabbing at Steve, almost shaking him. “Save it till we land in New York, or your last breath. Promise me.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice that means I’m to stay close by?” Steve murmured, before schooling his face to a serious expression. He nodded down at Tony as though they were sharing the secret of the sinking instead of indirectly promising ‘lifelong’ fealty. Loudly, Steve said, “Come on, then, Stark,” and started for the nearest lifeboat.

The atmosphere around them had turned desperate, as family after family realized they could not board the lifeboats together. Tony’s hand started to ache from the terrified squeezes of each woman he helped onto the lifeboats. The biting cold didn’t bother him as much as he’d expected, likely because of adrenaline. Each time a lifeboat filled, Lightoller looked for White Star Line crew to board to assist with rowing, and each time, Tony was determined that Steve should go.

After two, three, four boats left without him, Tony fought his way through the sea of frightened humanity and dragged Steve away from his post, throwing him up against the nearest wall, heedless of anyone who could see them.

“Get on a fucking lifeboat, Rogers.”

“So you’ll beg me to hold back on saying your name, but you deny me mine as I stand there repeatedly lying to family after family, telling them that they’ll see their father, their husband, their lover again?” Steve leaned in, eyes afire, hand pressed to the very center of Tony’s chest, just as he’d done earlier that very night. “You gave away your life vest! What do you want me to do? Call out your name while I row away without you? I refuse.” The latter was spoken on a hitched gasp, as though even vocalizing such an action was physically painful.

They looked at each other for a long moment, long enough for the call for a fresh lifeboat  to be filled broke the tension. Steve’s thumb brushed across Tony’s chest even as his expression remained furious, and then he pushed off and headed back over to help.

“Steve, Steve!” Tony called after him, following until a cadre of self-appointed men acting as honor guards caught him, lifting Tony back with rough hands at his armpits, catching his jaw with an angry elbow.

To his surprise, it was Lightoller who yelled for them to stop, saying that Tony had been helping rather than seeking to save his own life. Not until he’d been guided back to his place as a guide to safety was he able to catch Steve’s eye again, at the other side of the mass of souls seeking salvation.

The space between them was as the North Sea itself tonight-- uncrossable, inexorable. They could see each other, at least, and it wasn’t as though they would have had society’s grace to say their honest farewells as the others around them were doing. Tony supposed there was a beauty to that. Their very masculinity meant they could face the end together in a way that these sobbing women being ripped free of their husbands’ arms could not.

He only wished they'd had even half as much time together as those couples did.

The minutes passed by too quickly but somehow not fast enough, as now the ship’s downward list was unmistakable. With the most recent boat being lowered away, the stragglers sought the other side of the deck, and Tony followed the men on their way to free the more difficult to deploy ‘collapsible’ lifeboats.

When he’d made his way down the angled deck toward a boat lashed onto the roof of the officers’ quarters, Tony heard his father screaming his name. Howard was wearing a life vest, for which he was grateful; he’d long since given away both the vests he had been carrying around. No point, really.

“No more boats on this side,” Tony yelled back. It was mostly true. He’d heard the leader of their group swear about how the equipment required to properly launch the boat on the roof was locked away literally underwater. He turned to continue helping, only to be struck in the back with something soft.

He turned and picked it up-- it was a handmade blanket edged with lace. Tony immediately understood, and was disgusted.

“Is that how you think I ought to survive this? Like a shameful, honorless coward?” Furious, he stuck his fingers through the loose stitches and tore it open, using both hands to rend the entire thing in half to throw back at Howard.

“Stark!” This time the voice was unfamiliar, and Tony turned to see Wilde reaching down, his strong hand anchored on the railing beside him.

Tony reached up and clasped the officer’s forearm, letting himself be hauled up the stairs to where the cluster of men and officers were passing up long wooden planks. It looked like the plan was to release the lashing on the lifeboat, then slide it down along the planks. There were too few men to ease it down by hand, and besides, the distance was too high, and with the ship’s angle as it was, the weight too great.

“Good man, what you did there. Was that your father?” First Officer Murdoch said to him as an aside. 

“Looks as if he managed to fling the apple from the tree,” Wilde remarked with a grunt as heaved a plank into position. It was an astute observation as well as an obscure compliment, implying that Howard had proved Tony was a better man in the worst way possible.

“If you stand just there, braced, with another man at your feet, that should do it,” Murdoch told Wilde.

“Where can I help?” Tony asked, seeing Steve nearby, copying Wilde’s stance with another plank.

“Are you strong?”

“He is,” Steve answered at the same time Tony spoke his own affirmative.

“Good, you three catch the boat as it first falls. Steady yourselves, we don’t need to break any arms. You lot!” Murdoch called up to a cluster of men arrayed on the roof. “Take care with your lowering! And, AWAY!”

Tony braced himself along with the others, standing between the two planks, ready to catch the front as it dipped down. The lifeboat swung wide in Wilde’s direction, and Tony hopped over the plank to arrest it. Seconds later, the bulk of the boat came crashing down to a shout of alarm from the men on the roof. One of them fell, dislodging Wilde.

There was a horrible cracking sound, and Tony felt a pressure at his chest that propelled him across the deck, assisted by the awful gravity of Titanic’s sinking angle.

Tony came back to dizzy consciousness to the sight of multiple men leaning near him, with one in particular kneeling directly over him, his hand pressing a balled-up piece of fabric to Tony’s chest. 

It was Steve, and he looked distraught.

“How many splinters? Were you careful? Goddamnit, that’s my son!” Howard was ranting somewhere off to the side. The patient voice trying to calm him was unfamiliar, but the bundle at Tony’s chest shifted when he tried to lift up and see, causing him to suck in a shocked breath at the sharpness of the pain. A dreadful ache followed, which made a terrible sort of sense when paired with Steve’s expression. He wondered what happened, but all Tony could do was lift his eyebrows in question.

“Lay still, son,” Wilde said. His turn of phrase incensed Howard, who was dragged out of sight. “Took a splintered plank to the chest. It was fairly biblical.”

“How deep?” Tony gasped out.

“Multiple shallow punctures. Don’t talk,” Steve commanded. The pain didn’t feel shallow, and he’d just watched this man lie over and over, out of necessity. If ever there was a time that Tony wanted to blur a line, it was now. Now, when death loomed in more than one way, when there was no privacy, when the perfect man crouched over him looking for all the world like he wished to challenge God himself for the right to keep Tony alive.

To hell with it.

“Lifeboat. Safe?” Tony gritted out, desperate to know if his accident had damaged more people’s chances at survival. The resulting fire in Steve’s eyes sent a rush of much-needed adrenaline.

“Yes. And you should be in it,” Steve said decisively. The breath Tony drew in to object was enough to start the most painful coughing fit he’d ever experienced. He rode the waves of pain, directing all his strength to listening in on the conversation going on around him. Steve was arguing that it wasn’t sporting to leave a man as injured as Tony to helplessly drown. Another voice agreed, stating brutally that if Tony died before rescue, they could turn him out of the lifeboat and take on ‘one of the other poor drowning sods. They’ll be thinned out by then, most likely.’

Darkness loomed at the side of his vision, and Tony blinked it away-- only to find himself wedged in the lifeboat. He tried to shield his eye from the lamp that hung over the boat, but his arms were lashed to his chest, likely a compromise to the idea of forcing a stranger to place pressure on his horrid chest wound.

Tony’s throat was caked with grief, making it hard to draw breath. If he was going to die, this would be the worst way. Not just alone, but surrounded by strangers, without the benefits of charisma, status, or wealth. The might-have-beens crushed his lungs as painfully as his actual injury.

Despite the brightness of the lamp, he forced his eyes open again, desperate to catch one last glimpse of Steve. Blinking quickly, he mastered the blur of frustration enough to make out the retreating railing and its collection of faces.

They were staring down at the boat in fear.

“One side is caught!” someone hollered.

“It needs to be cut!”

“Cut it!”

Tony’s end wasn’t descending, and all around him people were shifting their positions, clutching onto each other in hopes they wouldn’t fall out. All things Tony couldn’t do, wedged as he was on the bottom of the lifeboat, propped up against the side. There was no way to even brace himself with his arms tied to his chest. Fear bloomed there, and his heart pounded. He’d resigned himself to dying, but not like this.

“Go, man! GO!”

Tony watched a tall figure leap out and catch the rope like a circus performer, someone strong enough to hand over hand down the damned thing. The man soft-landed on the edge of the boat just feet from Tony, looking down at him, the light haloing around his head.

“You’ll be safe now, Tony,” Steve said, cutting the obstructing rope with sure, confident strokes. Unimpeded now, Tony’s upended side slid down with a jolt, knocking Steve into the water below.

Tony didn’t care about the coughing fit that was sure to result, he took in the largest breath he could before the slicing pain sent him into paroxysms. He struggled to scream Steve’s name, rocking sideways, trying to see where Steve was. Tony vainly hoped he could persuade the occupants to pull him from the water, or at the very least, not land on him. If that resulted in further pain in the effort, so be it.

He succeeded in a way-- after expending all of his remaining energy, Tony rolled chest first into the recently vacated bench beside him, and passed out from the pain.

United States Senate Inquiry on the Sinking of the Titanic, Day 11, pg.247

Testimony of Anthony Edward Stark, questioned by Senator William Alden Smith (pages 244-250)

Smith: So you are saying, sir, that you have no recollection of being placed into a lifeboat?

Stark: That is correct. The plank that struck me had snapped in half. It became a menace, as such pieces of wood often do, a collection of needle-sharp splinters. I believe it was Lightoller who said I was damned lucky it was the shallower break that got me. The resulting injury was as if I’d been stabbed by an inch-long knife in twenty or so places, clustered in the center of my chest. Most were not quite that deep.

Smith: We in the committee are glad you’re well enough now to testify. I hear the splinter removal on the Carpathia was horrid.

Stark: Well, the center of a man’s chest is a boring expanse, and mine now has more character to it, we’ll say. (Here, Smith gives admonition to spectators to be quiet) The blow was still enough to send me senseless, and I recall the following events only in chunks. One chunk had a group of the men who’d been working to get the lifeboat down huddled around me concerned-- the next chunk, I was wedged in the lifeboat.

Smith: No memory of what passed between?

Stark: No, sir. I did hear something beforehand, about whether it was sporting to leave me on deck to drown without any ability to swim away or defend myself against the sea--

Smith: (interrupting) Lightoller did testify to that as well, Mr. Stark.

Stark: Please allow me to say, I had every intention of going down with that ship.

Smith: We spoke to or corresponded with most survivors on your lifeboat, sir. All were happy to give space to those who worked so heroically to save lives that night. Both of you. (Here, the spectators react positively, with no admonition from Smith) Do pass on to Sub-Lieutenant Rogers our hopes for a fast recovery from his pneumonia. I understand that you’ve made space for him at your residence?

Stark: I have, I will, and, it was the least I could do after all of his efforts.

Smith: Getting back to the lifeboat, continue relating your memory of the lowering, if you would.

Stark: One of the ropes caught on the mechanism, leading to my side of the boat halting its progress. For a while, it seemed being struck by an iceberg and a splintered plank might not be my worst experience that night. Thankfully, Sub-Lieutenant Rogers climbed down the rope with a knife to cut us free.

Smith: After which he toppled into the sea, yes? Was he wearing a life vest?

Stark: Yes to both. Smarter man than me-- the plank would have thought twice, had I been wearing one! But that’s Rogers-- ever a good example to the passengers he was helping into the boats.

Smith: Rogers was one of the few taken from the sea by a passing lifeboat. Can you expand on that?

Stark: I wish I could, sir, but that was during one of my escapist episodes. I came to after watching him fall and he was already in the lifeboat. (Stark stops speaking, and Smith gestures for him to continue) When I woke, Rogers was propped up as I had been, completely soaked to the skin. He was positioned to place pressure on my chest wound, and I was apparently positioned, while insensate, to provide him the benefit of my body heat, such as it was.

Smith: Could you elaborate?

Stark: Certainly. We were, I suppose you could say, cuddling for warmth. Given that Rogers would likely have died if it weren’t for our mutual need--  mine for pressure to mitigate bleeding, and he for a source of warmth after being dunked in the drink --I think it worked out quite well. Most of the ladies were too small to have done more than warm a single one of his legs, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.

(The spectators erupt in raucous laughter. Senator Smith calls to adjourn for lunch)

Tony peeked into Steve’s bedroom after knocking lightly. Steve was sitting up, his sketchbook on his lap, charcoals laid out to be easy at hand, but he’d clearly dozed off in the middle of working on something.

Ordinarily he would just turn around to leave, but Steve’s art was one of the few things he could do as he convalesced, so Tony tiptoed into the room, pulling his signature handkerchief out of his pocket to protect the corner of the page from his finger oils. Ever protective, Steve’s hand even in sleep wasn’t resting where it could ruin the half-started piece, so Tony was able to pick the whole thing up without disturbing him.

Or so he thought.

When Tony turned around after spending some time admiring the way Steve had captured his friend Bucky during his recent visit, he saw that Steve was awake and smiling wearily.

“Don’t treat it, it’s not finished,” Steve said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tony said, sliding his hands into his pockets and started strolling toward the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Lonely for the sun or you.” His tone was light, but Steve’s expression was vulnerable. The two of them hadn’t known each other for very long, but somehow they were attuned to each other’s resonance. Tony could tell that Steve felt useless; forced to stay in bed away from fresh air and feeling like a drain on Tony’s resources, all his resources, without offering anything in return. Tony leaned over and kissed his temple, bracing himself with a hand at the center of Steve’s chest-- a signature move for both of them, now.

When care workers on the Carpathia had started to tend to Tony, they’d found his embroidered handkerchief pressed directly to the wound, red-purple where the blood had seeped into the stitching. Pulling it away had brought some of the splinters with it. During it all, Steve hadn’t left his side, a pillar of strength who’d collapsed less than an hour after disembarking their rescue ship. Tony had informed everyone within earshot that he would refuse all treatment until Steve was seen first. That had turned out to be crucial; the doctors had expressed their belief that Steve’s condition had been grave indeed.

“You’re fretting,” Steve complained. “Get in bed, it’s exhausting.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said, lips twitching in affectionate amusement.

“I’m storing those up, you know.”

Storing them up for when they were both physically strong enough to continue what they started, as both a promise and an apology. “I know.”

Steve moved his arm so Tony could nestle in close, but not as close as he’d like to, since he wasn’t fully healed yet. In truth, he wasn’t sure if the two of them ever would heal fully. Keeping each other alive in the lifeboat had preoccupied both of them from the misery going on around them, but that was maybe worse, in a way. Many had died the way they should have, and both Tony and Steve had to reckon with that.

“Bucky brought the paper,” Steve said. His tone implied that he was forcing a subject change, that Tony wasn’t sufficiently hiding his continued fretting. Because he was Steve, though, he punctuated this with a kiss on the top of Tony’s head on his chest.

Tony nestled closer, chest pain be damned. “Mmm?”

“The latest article called you the Iron Man, because of your resolve that everyone else should be treated first, despite being First Class and badly injured.”

“A respectable, if not rare and valuable metal,” Tony mused. “I’ll allow it.” Only part of that was his need to protect Steve’s reputation. Their story of tandem injuries and close physical contact on the lifeboat had been one of the first to be written about in the aftermath. “Did they nickname you, too?”

“‘The Man Out Of Time,’” came the answer. “Feels like a shot across the bow, hinting that I shouldn’t have survived, in multiple ways.”

The only way to prevent Steve's melancholy was to distract him, and Tony knew just how to do that.

“How sad for them that they’ll never know the truth-- I’m covered in rust, and you’ve got the rest of your life to sand me down to something resembling respectability.”

“Well, you know how much I take pleasure in fulfilling my duties, Tony!”

Tony could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, and responded with a grin of his own, pressed as he was against Steve’s chest, in his-- their home, on solid, dry ground. He’d heard Steve use his name multiple times since that first lovely, awful time, and each one was precious.  “I promise I’ll make it rewarding for both of us.”

The end!

[stereax]

over explain hockey rpf pairings and why people like them - sincerely a girlie who wants to get into rpf but only knows her home team

hahahaha, alright :)

hockey rpf: a thing

So firstly, I'll say that, honestly, I'm not the top person to answer this. I am a bit of a fanfic writer, but I'm nowhere near established enough to have a very concrete understanding of it all.

That being said - generally, the reason any RPF (real-person fiction) exists is as an extension of a parasocial relationship. RPF allows people to project feelings onto a fictionalized version of a real person (here a hockey player) who we know much more about than they do us.

RPF can be divided into two subcategories - Player x Player and Player x Reader.

"x readers" (generally found on Tumblr) are often contested in the world of RPF, as many people consider it a bit too far in breaking the fourth wall. There are also issues with diversity in "x readers". The reader in question is almost always assumed white, Anglo-American, cisgender, female, heterosexual, heteroromantic, neurotypical, not fat, not disabled and not disordered in any way. Not only does this reinforce a "beauty standard" (by insinuating that only this kind of person is "attractive enough" to be a partner of a hockey player), it alienates those who do not fall into these categories - this is especially pertinent, at least in my limited experience, for transmasculine people, for whom being perceived as female can cause discomfort and dysphoria. If you're an "x reader" writer reading this and thinking that you're the problem for writing to uphold this standard, please don't feel bad - this is the standard "x reader" fiction has upheld for years. I ask only that you consider writing for more diverse audiences. Maybe one of your next "x readers" could be for a character explicitly written to be of color, or a transgender character, or the character could be hard of hearing or require a wheelchair... The possibilities are endless.

Enough about "x readers" and my gripes on them, though, as your question leads me to believe you're not all that interested in them. Player x player fics (generally posted on Ao3), while not as divisive as "x readers", also carry their own issues, often around misportrayal. For instance, some hockey players, such as Carey Price and Zach Whitecloud, have Indigenous backgrounds, which are an important part of their identities, but are rarely discussed in any detail.

In both areas, it's generally emphasized not to have the fics interact with the public figures - this means archive-locking on Ao3 and other measures to reduce the probability of players actually finding and reading these fics. Don't send a hockey player fic about him boning his teammate. That's weird.

As perhaps the "homoerotic homophobic" sport, hockey RPF situates itself in an environment that allows writers, who are often queer, to tackle issues of sexuality (sometimes gender as well) in a sport that is not always tolerant, mimicking some writers' experiences with homophobia and transphobia. This is especially pertinent in an era when Pride jerseys are being disavowed by players and the NHL itself.

The main idea of RPF, though, isn't a group of queer scholars writing treatises on queer topics - it's simply being a witness to the joy of others, watching people you like being happy (with each other) in situations just left of reality. Hockey, and hockey players, are just the medium for finding that joy. I think that's the long and short of it, honestly. I've spent a solid half hour trying to figure out a better way to put it and I really can't. People care about hockey pairs because they care about the players and want to see them happy. Whether it's a realistic hockey fic or a high fantasy AU where the players are royalty and knights, the idea is to create something that makes oneself (and others) happy. There are fics that, for some of us, hit home in a way that fundamentally changes our point of view on life. Not every fic is earth-shattering, but they are all labors of love, generally in the name of love, and perhaps that's something to cherish in and of itself.

Let's get into some of the pairings, then.

Generally, the more popular pairings have some sort of impetus or drive behind them - an interaction (or usually series thereof) that makes the pair enticing. Popular pairings almost always deal with popular players, too - it is incredibly rare that bottom-six players and journeymen are featured in fics.

Often, the impetus for a pair is them being teammates and growing close, giving interviews about each other, having good chemistry (and cuddles!) on the ice, and so on and so forth. Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews, Jamie Drysdale/Trevor Zegras are some of the most common teammate pairs on Ao3 - going into the specifics on each pair I mention from here on out would require my making entire primers at this point, which others have done far better than I could. Teammate pairings are often denoted by jersey numbers. (8771, 3416, 611, respectively.)

The other main impetus for a pair is a rivalry. Who doesn't love a good rivals to lovers? Leon Draisaitl/Matthew Tkachuk, Sidney Crosby/Claude Giroux, Jack Eichel/Connor McDavid are some of the top rival pairings, with each having strong motives. The first stems from the Battle of Alberta and Draisaitl's "get off the ice" comment about Tkachuk before combining for a sweet goal during one of the All-Star Games; the second is the Pennsylvania teams' rivalry that led to Crosby basically breaking Giroux's wrists before they made up on one of the Worlds Team Canada rosters with Crosby centering Giroux; the 2015 draft class where Eichel and McDavid were pit against each other and the media-stoked rivalry, only stronger now that the "worse" player Eichel has a Stanley Cup whereas the Oilers' "savior" and "generational talent" McDavid is still Cupless, fuel that pairing.) These pairings generally are denoted by portmanteaus of last names. (MattDrai, Cheesby [Giroux's love of grilled cheese makes a better pairing name], McEichel.)

Obviously for pairing names, there are exceptions - Leon Draisaitl/Connor McDavid is often referred to as McDrai and not 2997, as one example. Oftentimes, numbers or last names aren't used, and it's just written as "first name/first name" or "firstfirst" - sidgeno and nicojack are two examples of that. That works better when your pair has at least one distinguishable name.

As always, I know this is far from complete, and I invite others in the HRPF community to share their thoughts and experiences as well! :)

Your hometown team (don't know what it is) probably has a few pairs that are written about. If you're up to it, maybe start from there. If that feels a bit much for you, maybe start from a pair whose players you aren't yet emotionally attached to, from a different team. That's, of course, if you want to dive into the world of hockey RPF at all - if not, that's totally cool too!

If you want to know more about a specific pair, let me know and I'll do some Tumblr trawling for ya.

[playstationvii]

Who Framed #MustangRabbit #RodgerRabbitDeadpool #CAPCOM #KHRE

This concept for "Who Framed Mustang Rabbit?" is a bold and dynamic crossover that merges Disney, Marvel, Capcom, and Square Enix's storytelling universes. The idea offers endless creative possibilities for an interactive and narrative-driven experience. Here's a more polished summary:

Who Framed Mustang Rabbit?

A transdimensional noir-adventure blending Toontown aesthetics, Marvel’s fourth-wall-breaking Deadpool, and Capcom’s high-octane action. Mustang Rabbit stars as an offset persona of Deadpool, linked to his enigmatic past through Jessica Rabbit, who raised him as her own after an ink blot experiment gone awry.

In this PlayStation 7 exclusive title, Mustang Rabbit sets out to clear his name after being framed for a murder that shakes the Toontown-Hollywood community. The game opens with Mustang being recruited by Raccoon City's S.T.A.R.S. after a crossover event lands him in the Resident Evil universe.

Key Features

Main Characters:

Mustang Rabbit: The trans man detective protagonist with quick wit, a knack for chaos, and emotional depth.

Jessica Rabbit: Mustang's iconic adoptive mother, her noir charm guides the narrative.

Tiffany Starlight: A dazzling Hollywood starlet, reimagining Jessica’s iconic “Do Right” number with a modern, sultry twist.

DAN Hibiki: The lovable comic relief from Street Fighter, joining Mustang as his flamboyant S.T.A.R.S. partner.

Ryu: A mentor figure with secrets tied to Mustang’s ink-based origins.

Gameplay Highlights:

Toontown & Raccoon City: Explore an open-world mashup of vibrant, cartoonish streets and dark, zombie-infested urban decay.

Detective Work: Solve crimes using clues from both dimensions, blending humor and horror.

Combat: Combine Street Fighter-style martial arts with weapon-based gameplay from Resident Evil.

Cameos & Easter Eggs: Appearances from Kingdom Hearts characters, Marvel heroes, and other Capcom legends like Leon Kennedy and Chun-Li.

This game could become a unique blend of humor, action, and heartfelt storytelling, making it an unforgettable crossover experience. Would you like to expand on the story or explore its visual aesthetic further?

[44gamez]

Railbreak's Ballistic Bloodshed Wreaks Arcade Havoc Today on Xbox Series X|S

Good day, Survivors! I’m Evan Wolbach, co-founder of Lifeless Drop Studios. We’re elated to let you know all about Railbreak, our aggressively enjoyable on-rails arcade shooter, launching in the present day on Xbox Collection X|S!  Since we final shared particulars with you, our first Unreal Engine 5 sport has expanded in each method!

A “Scream” You’ll Return to Once more and Once more

We perceive that replayability is crucial in an arcade sport, which is why we’re stoked to share how Railbreak is about to ship continuous leisure! We requested ourselves how we may create a brand new and compelling expertise for each veterans and newcomers to arcade on-rails shooters, and our reply is the unpredictable ‘Glitch�� gameplay modifier system. Whereas enjoying by any of the six acts awaiting you in Railbreak’s fully-voiced, campy story, you’ll encounter unusual ‘Glitches’ that flip the sport on its head.  Your shotgun would possibly begin firing icy blasts, zombies might not be vulnerable to dismemberment, and…throwing a grenade might provoke a dangerous roulette?! The brand new Glitch Gauntlet mode freshens up each spherical of Railbreak with randomized enemies and fixed randomized ‘Glitches’ to deal with. It might be the primary rogue-like mode ever featured in an on-rails shooter.

Zany, Over-the-Prime Firearms Provide the Edge in Battle

It’s essential that the armaments in any capturing sport really feel full of life and satisfying to make use of, so we’ve upgraded Railbreak’s weapons with spicy elemental attributes. Ship zombies flying with explosive rounds, put out hearth and freeze enemies of their tracks with icy blasts, construct up {an electrical} pressure to make your foes pop, and extra. In Story mode, you'll be able to swap between completely different weapons scattered in every act, however in different modes like Rating Assault, you play as certainly one of eight numerous unlockable characters, every with their very own distinctive loadouts, making every spherical really feel novel.

Numerous Particular Contaminated Creatures Will Preserve you in your Toes

In fact, it will be boring to defeat the identical few forms of enemies time and again. With Railbreak, we’ve taken care to incorporate all kinds of various zombies. The highlights of those are our particular contaminated abominations. These beasts every have distinctive assaults and attributes that pressure you to be swift with the set off button. The gargantuan Slab towers over you and offers out large harm, the demonic Fetch strives to burn you to a crisp with its mighty laser assault, and Gluttons will even puke smelly acid onto you if you happen to allow them to get too shut. There are a complete of six various kinds of these enemies, and quicker and extra aggressive ‘Glitched’ variants function brutal boss encounters. Suppose you’ve mastered the artwork of slaughter? Check out the brand new Boss Rush mode, and see if you happen to can survive a parade of Railbreak’s largest nasties in Cypress Ridge’s filthy sewers.

Slay the Manner You Need to with a Multitude of Choices, Difficulties, and Modes

We’ve designed Railbreak to be a blast irrespective of the way you play! Soar into motion alone or with a pal with elective co-op assist. Be taught the ropes on the accessible Assisted issue, or lunge head-first right into a depraved problem on Off the Rails issue. Break the fourth wall with an entertaining arcade Story, or slot in some fast motion with the endless Onslaught mode or our particular Shoutout Shootout mode.  Different useful options embrace native rating monitoring, a beefy settings menu, and an in-depth Learn how to Play guide. Are you able to survive a protracted and bloody night time and stay to combat one other day?  Take up the problem in Railbreak, launching in the present day for Xbox Collection X|S. Go away a deliciously bloody mess in your wake or die making an attempt!

Railbreak

Lifeless Drop Studios LLC ☆☆☆☆☆ 9 ★★★★★ $19.99 It is Saturday night time in Cypress Ridge which suggests town is in ruins, hordes of flesh consuming undead are on the prowl, and you've got the arcade all to your self! Seize your controller, choose your survivor, and blast your solution to security as town burns round you on this on-rails survival horror shooter. Oh, and do not forget to deliver a pal for zombie fodder, er, we imply multiplayer expertise! Railbreak melds a traditional on-rails arcade expertise with the innovative Unreal Engine 5. On this prelude to Outbreak: Shades of Horror, you will get a chance to see the sights and sounds of Cypress Ridge and get chomped on by a zombie or 4! Face town alone, or deliver a pal together with elective 2-player co-op supported throughout your entire sport That includes a large forged of survivors every with their very own loadouts and traits, you will discover loads of replayability on this absurd take of a survival horror sport in a survival horror sport. A full story mode expertise awaits throughout six eventualities. Bonus modes embrace Rating Assault, and the countless Onslaught Mode that retains ratcheting up the problem till the undead lastly seal your destiny. Crack open your piggy financial institution, snag a fizzy soda, and make a journey again to the 1990’s arcade. Source link Read the full article

[mydailyupdatesnow]

Beating Summers Heat

Summer, the season of flourishing flowers, endless sunny days, and carefree adventures, has always held a unique spot in my heart. It's a time when the world seems to burst with vibrancy and endless possibilities. However, if there's one aspect that tests my excitement, it's the sweltering heat that comes with this vibrant season. But fear not, dear reader, for I have stumbled upon a delightful solution that allows me to savor all the summer fun while staying comfortably cool within the confines of my home. Let's face it: the heat can be a daunting foe during the summer months. Its relentless grip can drain our energy, leaving us sticky and weary. But my passion for summer refuses to waver. I embrace in achieving the optimal balance between embracing the joys of this marvelous season and finding respite from its unrelenting heat. That's where my reliable cooling device comes into play?a true lifesaver that has transformed my summer experiences. With a gentle whir, my cooling device creates a revitalizing oasis within the walls of my home. It effortlessly brings down the thermometer and fills the atmosphere with a chilled breeze, allowing me to enjoy my favorite summer pursuits without breaking a sweat. No longer do I find myself avoiding outdoor gatherings or seeking shelter in the cool shade. Now, I can relish in the uncomplicated pleasures while staying cool as a cucumber. And when the summer sun becomes too overpowering, I can retreat to the refreshing comfort of my living room, embracing moments of relaxation and rejuvenation. Whether I choose to lose myself in a gripping book, catch up on my favorite TV shows, or simply unwind with a refreshing beverage, my home becomes a sanctuary from the scorching heat outside. It's a space where I can recharge and prepare for more summer adventures.

Even as I venture outdoors to explore nature's wonders, from invigorating hikes to soothing beach trips, I find solace in knowing that my personal oasis awaits me upon my return. The joy of summertime adventures becomes amplified when I can retreat to a refreshingly cool home, allowing me to fully appreciate the splendor and serenity of the natural world while staying comfortably cool. So, my fellow summer enthusiasts, let us not allow the heat to dampen our spirits. Instead, let us seek out our own cooling devices, creating personal oases that harmonize with the warmth of the season. With this balance, we can embrace the magic of summer to its fullest extent, relishing every enchanting moment while keeping our cool. Together, let us plunge ourselves in the wonders of this season, enjoying its uniqueness while finding respite from the heat's grasp.

https://beatingsummersheat.blogspot.com/2023/05/beating-summers-heat.html ChillWell 2.0 Air Cooler ChillWell 2.0 Air Cooler ChillWell 2.0 Air Cooler ChillWell 2.0 AC https://georgiaroofingservices.blogspot.com/ https://georgiaroofingservices.blogspot.com/2023/05/georgia-roofing-services.html https://thefourthmindbusinessinstitut889.blogspot.com/2023/05/the-fourth-mind-business-institute.html https://persianrugrepairpoway824.blogspot.com/ https://persianrugrepairpaumavalley887.blogspot.com/2023/05/persian-rug-repair-poway.html

[miraculousshipping]

Whenever I think about Adrien Agreste watching anime I think about the fact that Adrien’s VA Bryce Papenbrook is also the English Dub VA for a few anime characters and in the case of Seven Deadly Sins, a lot of the cast members for the English dub also voice Miraculous Ladybug characters.

So basically I just imagine Adrien sitting down with Plagg to watch Seven Deadly Sins on Netflix and going “hey Meliodas sounds a lot like me. And King sounds a lot like you Plagg (Plagg’s VA Max Mittleman also voices King in SDS) and Hawk sounds like Marinette (Christina Vee is Hawk’s VA in SDS),and Ondine sounds like Elizabeth (Ondine’s VA Erika Harlacher voices Elizabeth in SDS), And Guila sounds like Alya (Alya’s VA Carrie Keranen also voices Guila in SDS), Margret sounds like Miss Bustier (Miss Bustier’s VA Dorothy Fahn also voices Margret in SDS), and Ban is Meliodas’s best friend and he sounds just like my best friend Nino...(Nino’s VA Benjamin Diskin also voices Ban in SDS),  ”

And then Plagg’s like “Eh I think you’re reading too much into it. Just relax, eat some cheese, enjoy the show then take a nap.”

And then Adrien’s like “huh, no wonder you sound like the sin of sloth.” 

[whiskehorange]

Spooky Nights - 24 Hour Fears! (2022)

A Halloween Special! Only one of the most important nights in horror, how could I not! I’m taking this into a more comedic and lighthearted way, making this as fun as possible for you!

I know I've skipped 2 whole years with this but I think from now on I'm going to try to keep up with All the major holidays from here on out!

Have a Happy & Spooky Halloween kiddos!

Jason

His Fear: Small Rodents

How Its Handled: You're saying you want to witness the absolute most gut wrenching and haywire seen with a deadman and a bunch of rodents trapped in the same room for 24 hours? It looks like a cartoon tornado with machetes, arms, and small furry legs sticking out of the sides. Jason is the elephant to their mice and he's going to be climbing up walls to get away from them the entire night. Notice how you haven't seen a single squirrel in his forrest 🤔

Does He Survive: It's a close call, check his pulse- oh... wait.

Michael

His Fear: His food touching

How Its Handled: The small metallic trays. The silent lunchrooms. The monitors. The cold cafeteria floors. The slop of food on his tray, that was the only thing the ward ever did right; section his food. Who knows what would have happened to the lunch ladies if they but his green beans on his mashed potatoes. You're going to need the heaviest restraints you have when you serve his food looking like one single clump of grease on that plate. Get him a god damn stack of ZooPals

Does He Survive: Absolutely, but whoever's serving him doesn't

Freddy

His Fear: Astral Projection

How Its Handled: What's worse than him seeing what you're dreaming about? Seeing that you're the only controlling it. You sick fucks dream of the most god awful things he's ever seen he feels the need to take vacations from the sights he's seen. You're able to almost stand toe to toe with him when he attempts to terrorize him. Power addict much?

Does He Survive: He'll be fine, he'll suck it up but god does it tire him to sit and watch you guys make out with fictional men and kill your family members.

Thomas

His Fear: Bugs, but mainly the roaches.

How Its Handled: Much like Jason, he's the elephant and the roaches are the mice. Tommy just about has the worst breakdown he's ever had stuck in the barn full of roaches on the rotten meat. Normally he's alright with a few here and there on the meat he's getting rid of but more than 3? Absolutely not. He looks like he's breaking it down on the dance floor with all the swatting and stepping he's doing. You should hear the crunches.

Does He Survive: He think he's dead and gone

Billy & Stu

Their Fear: Their sexuality

How Its Handled: Billy's toxic masculinity will catch up with him eventually, this challenge is just like spending a whole day with Stu and Stu only and for Stu just spending it with Billy. These two are a walking contradiction that share two brain cells every other day and don't realize that they radiate the same energy. Billy is constantly suppressing his thoughts and that's why he's a killer. Angry closeted cis white men are a dangerous force let alone TWO OF THEM WHO JUST NEED TO MAKE OUT ALREADY

Does He Survive: Just wait until Billy finds out he's in the closet with you all

Norman

His Fear: Loud Noises

How Its Handled: Norman is a chihuahua on the Fourth of July: shaking with no thoughts and crying. You should seen him every New Years shut away in his house with the entire room blacked out and everything you can imagine on and running to drown out any noise. Having to sit and just listen to balloons popping and alarms is going to make him crawl up in the fetal positions covering his ears and screaming to drown it out

Does He Survive: Let him pop some Paxil and he'll survive

Hannibal

His Fear: Germaphobe warning!!

How Its Handled: You want to see a man scrubbing his skin off and bleaching away his own senses in an endless loop? It's like watching a man on the verge of life or death if he doesn't make a room spotless (that's actually exactly what this is). This is the most unprofessional you will ever see him and probably the only time you will ever see him sweat bullets. He doesn't even get this nervous when someones onto him about his... diet.

Does He Survive: Hannibal? Yes. His Fingertips? No

Bo

His Fear: Rejection

How Its Handled: Bo needs to get laid and he thinks he's entitled to it. You put him in a room full of people and NO ONE wants to get with him? Bo no longer has an ego and will make it known with his salty little 'tude. God forbid he thinks it may have something to do with his personality or the way he speaks to and about people, no no no it's all you guys are you suck.

Does He Survive: He throws a little fit, but ignore him and he'll get up eventually

Vincent

His Fear: Cats

How Its Handled: They're fine from a distance far far away from Ambrose. Vincent would absolutely be a cat and a kitten person if he wasn't slightly allergic and they weren't filled with spite. Watching those demons get hair everywhere and lie all over his sketches and get cat hair in every single thing he has ever made? He's mortified

Does He Survive: He's puffy, but he lives to see another day.

Lester

His Fear: Chainmail

How Its Handled: It's like that one episode of Spongebob where Patrick's being told to "Get outta town!" and he thinks someone is going to show up to his shack and murder him. He doesn't even have a phone but you send him a bunch of mail directly and a bunch of emails to the family computer and get Bo to convince him that these are real and he'll be on the look out for the man that's supposed to show up at the foot of his bed tonight.

Does He Survive: He will, but he'll be on edge for a year until he's certain they won't be able to find him if he's constantly moving

Brahms

His Fear: Vegetables

How Its Handled: Be deadass with me and tell me he wouldn't throw a complete fucking tantrum if you but a few pieces of broccoli with his dinner and made him eat it. This is a man child who will never in the life of him eat something green that isn't candy or maybe even a drink. Brahms has the nose of a hound dog so don't think you can even slip something into his food without him knowing and calling you a dirty liar and traitor

Does He Survive: You might not having to pick him up off of the floor after his countless meltdowns

Asa

His Fear: Dairy

How Its Handled: ow tummy hurty ploorp oh god plffft brrrrmpt oh no pfft sploosh grrgle

Does He Survive: It burns

Pyramid Head

His Fear: Pregnant women

How Its Handled: It grosses him out and he's not scared of anything in this entire world besides the wrath of a pregnant woman and will do anything to stay out of their way. He can small the little shit in there and the pheromones radiating out of yall. What's worse, Pyramid Head himself or a pre-school on a week day? He knows what his answer is.

Does He Survive: Financially? Not if it's his

Pinhead

His Fear: Hand sanitizer/Rubbing alcohol

How Its Handled: At first it's pretty good, kinda smells good and makes his skin kinda glossy, it's great. But then... it goes into his eyes and bit and into his silly little pinholes. The first sting catches him off guard but it's nice, he thinks. Then it burns and burns and burn and it keeps burning. His impulses has finally gotten to the best of him when he's on the ground suffering from too much pleasure and as stiff as a board, overstimulated to the max as it takes 30 entire minutes to just dry the first coat.

Does He Survive: Not an enjoyable experience at all, at least not for a whole 24 hours

[oneprompt]

ITS ME AGAINN HI LOVE!! I love your writing I cannot resist <3. Maybe, a one night stand with ace ? (Nsfw I’m down bad yes….) and female reader. it’s kind of like the typical one night stand, you meet somewhere and things get heated quickly…. BUT ALSO LIKE you’re literally the best he’s ever had and he’s pretty surprised UMM IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE 😭😭 IK IM KIND OF AWKWARD HAHA but I hope you’re having a good afternoon 🧡

authors note: hello , dolly <3 im deeply sorry for doing this so late ;; hopefully this makes up for the wait... please indulge yourself to the fullest + i just realized how short this is .. my apologies ;; i’ll make sure to make your next request the best i possibly can ..

NSFW WARNING BELOW , DO NOT READ IF SUCH A TOPIC IS DISCOMFORTING.

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Ace x F! Reader , One Night Stand Oneshot

tags : ( brief mentions of ) alcohol , vaginal sex , rough sex , ( brief + slight ) masochism

All it took was a few cups of vodka to have you two landed upon each other, limbs tangled up, pleasure coursing through your veins. It had all happened so fast, you could hardly remember what had happened.

You merely attended a party full of different crews, a banquet of sorts. Not a fancy one, no. A fun one, one that disregarded the need for cotton shirts and newly shined shoes. you had met Ace, chatting up a storm with the young man. Well, less chatting and more so flirting. Wether it was through seductive purrs or the occasional rub of a palm against his scorching skin. You two didn’t bother to hide your shameless flirting throughout the party. Not that it was a huge deal, most people went there trying to make their way into the pants of others

You had no shame as you and Ace went off to a more private area. I mean, what was there to be ashamed of? Who didn’t want to sleep with Fire Fist Ace?

And now, you laid down upon your stomach, Ace’s hands wandering your body. One spread out your soaking hole, your greedy pussy dripping with excitement. His other hand stayed gripping your hip tightly, preventing you from squirming away.

“You’re so wet, Y/n... what’s that all about?” Ace cooed out in a rather teasing tone, showing zero regards for the blush that perked upon your cheeks after he said that. He knew exactly what it was about, he just wanted to hear you say that.

You buried your face further into the depth of the pillows that laid atop of the bed sheets. “You know exactly what that’s about,” you huffed, which caused a raspy laugh to fall from Ace’s well sculpted frame. You could just tell what face he was making, just from the tone of his voice. An endless plane of smugness splayed across his freckled features. What a dick.

You were about to snap back with a snarky remark but your thought process was cut off as soon as you felt a sudden sense of fullness intrude the depths of your cunt. God, he was big. Was he in all the way? You couldn’t help but wonder. Part of you hoped so, as his dick was already pressed firmly within you but you also couldn’t help but wonder what pained pleasure could come from it being even larger.

A loud moan was swallowed by the pillows your face was pressed into, the cotton absorbing the noise you made as Ace slammed balls deep into your warmth. He was far bigger then you could’ve imagined. But again, what should you have expected from the son of the late Pirate King? You should’ve expected nothing but the best.

You continued producing lewd noises, ones that consistently were swallowed by the pillows. Ace really didn’t hold back, never ending the blunt force of his hips, his hips quaking desperately to fill you with every inch of him. You felt so god damn good, the way your insides clutched upon his shaft made Ace’s body tremble with ecstasy everytime he pulled back to push further in.

You were so good, almost too good. You were merely a one night stand, a woman who could surely extend into a friend after this night. Just a friend and nothing more. Well, that’s what Ace had planned. Ace wasn’t low enough to have sex with a girl and never speak to her again but he had planned to just become your friend, nothing like a boyfriend or anything of the sort. But with the way you writhed and tightened on him, it was giving him second thoughts. You were far too delicious to only feast on once, he knew that.

The view of your ass shaking with the needless pounding of his dick was a view he couldn’t pass up. Everything about you was perfect. The moans you let out were painfully erotic and the way your body was highlighted with sweat was far too sexy for him to ignore.

Perhaps... you’d be happy enough to be his fuck buddy or better, his partner. Ace wasn’t sure about status yet but all he knew was that he couldn’t let you go, he couldn’t let this type of sex slip through his fingers so easily.

And so, he didn’t. Even if it was just for tonight, Ace would use you to the fullest, pumping your pussy full of his musky semen, filling you to the brim. You were too good, certainly the best woman he had ever done such a thing with, upon all of his voyages.

And you were so hot. Everything about you made him go crazy, it seemed. It was that way even as the night was young. The way you fluttered your lashes at him as your hand would playfully collide with his shoulder made him tent in his pants every so slightly. You were too much for him. Ace wanted you more then anything. The thought of you screaming his name through the entire night never ceased to be. When you approached him in your rather skimpy outfit, Ace could only imagine bending you backwards upon the bar, taking you then and there. Now, he could. And there was no way in hell he would pass up the chance to milk this.

Even if he wasn’t aware, the feeling was just as mutual. You had been purposefully rubbing up on him all night, wether accidentally letting your thighs rub against Ace’s as you would get up to talk to your friends or placing your hands on his arms to ‘feel’ his muscles and inspect his tattoos. All of that had made your crotch ace and drip, every inch of him was infatuating to you. You couldn’t believe Ace would even do such a thing with you.

Many women could only imagine being plowed by Portgas D. Ace, son of Gol D. Roger. And you were one of the few women to have him inside of you, that feeling alone was electrifying. You could only imagine the jealous glares you’d receive if anyone found out. Part of you wanted that, yearned to see people jealous over you, over the fact you were drenched with Ace’s cum and repeatedly rocked back and fourth by his girthy dick.

“Ace!” You cried out, throat growing dry and tight from the strong strain of your vocal chords. This was too much for you, it felt so good. The way Ace used his hips with euphoric, he was one of few men who knew what to do with their bodies, surely. It was magical, running from your overstimulated brain to your curled toes. “I think...i’m going to cum!” You whimpered our, voice filling the room, pillows no longer capable of containing the beast.

Beads of sweat dribbled down Ace’s well built chest, grazing the hues of his nipples. He looked down at your body, feeling your walls close upon him, squeezing him as if they were yearning for his seed.

The sensation of Ace’s thick cum shooting into you triggered something deep inside of you, breaking your self control in two pieces. The way it reached your deepest parts made your eyes roll back, long lashes dotted with hot tears.

Your fluid coated his dick, slinking it’s way downward to his balls. Your arousal painted his shaft and the sheets that held you two, becoming damp with both sweat and cum.

Ace hadn’t bothered to pull out, yet didn’t move. The room was merely full of nearly eternal panting and gasping, shaky breaths acting almost endless. It took you quite a bit to muster up the energy to speak, your brain still rendered useless from all the pleasure.

“That was amazing...” You looked back at Ace, giving him a tired smile. Your heart sunk as you noticed Ace smirk widely, snickering ever so slightly. Oh boy....

“Who says we’re done, Y/n?” Ace whispered huskily, pushing his black curls backward, wiping sweat from his brow as he stared down at your nude form.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Sushi with KisaObi

A break between missions was rare.

There was a lot to do and little time to complete it all in, so it was understandable they hadn’t had an opportunity to spend some time together.

In just a few days Obito had every intention of declaring the beginning of the fourth great shinobi war, but right now he was as far from being ‘Uchiha Madara’ as possible

Right now, he was Obito, with a rather boring mask over his face that kept his lower face uncovered. After all, what was the point of going out to dinner if he couldn’t eat?

“Sushi?” He stared at the menu, surprised by Kisame’s choice in location. “This could be our last proper meal together, and you chose Sushi?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No…” not one that made any sense. “Just feels like you’re letting the shark brain take over right now.”

They could be having a variety of other foods. Curries, soups, noodles,l. The selection was endless. Yet, Kisame wanted sushi.

Raw fish.

“As long as they have some dragon rolls.” he sighed.

“We’ll get one of everything,” Kisame promised him, flashing some money that he’s certain he stole from the poor soul who had decided to get into a fight with him. “That way you can eat whatever you want.”

Well, he couldn’t complain about Kisame’s problem solving abilities. That certainly did leave him with a lot of options, and there were some cucumber maki’s calling out to him alongside the dragon rolls.

“Still,” placing his hands behind his head, he peered at Kisame out of the corner of his eyes. “I thought you would have wanted a noce picnic alone, or a less crowded place.”

“Last chance to enjoy the crowds,” Kisame argued. “After this there won’t be any.”

Fair point. It would be difficult to have crowded restaurants when everyone in the world was trapped in a dream world.

“Well, as long as I get food i’m happy,” he declaired, sliding in a bit closer to Kisame. “And some time with you.”

“Sap.”

“Are you complaining?”

An arm draped over his shoulders, pulling him even tighter into Kisame’s side. “Not at all,” he’s greeted with a sharp toothed grin. “As long as we get to have some fun at the end of dinner.”

Fun. Now that did sound interesting.

He wondered how many people would meet their end while Kisame was enjoying himself. Only those stupid enough to try to stop him.

“We’ll have some fun after,” he promised, already thinking about how flammable the restaurants walls were. “It wouldn’t be a proper date if we didn’t.”

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part three

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: fingering, fem and male receiving, mentions of pornography, sexual/suggestive themes, swearing, mat not knowing how to eat pussy, anddd too much sneaking around i’m hating myself for it

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three (8.6k), part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: god is fair, sexy nasty, cinderella, planet god damn by mac miller

note: so sorry for the wait! have been a lot busier with uni :(( took weeks for me to finally sit down and write on my laptop to finish this aaaah anw here’s the update and i’m making it up to yall i hope you like!! happy reading babies <3

“Wait–” you break off, your fingers already weaving through his ever so gorgeous hair. 

“What about Tito?” you fret.

You’re sure there was at least a hint of annoyance in his voice. Possibly irked that you had to ruin the one thing you both have been craving for for weeks.

“He won’t come home, trust me.” he says, lips already making its way back to touch your skin, nestling on your jawline, before trailing down to the intricate line of your neck, his movement hasty with a sense of hunger and urgency. 

You didn’t mind. It felt good. 

“Okay– no. Let’s stop this for a sec.” you try to snap out of it, pushing him away but just enough to keep him within arms reach. You rest both your hands on his broad shoulders whilst he rests his on your hips, just a few inches above your ass. 

“We need to clear things out.” you start, eyes lingering on his irises, making you wet your lips at the sight. 

“Didn’t we clear things out thrice now?” he quirks his brows, “And it kinda looks like we’re about to clear the same thing for the fourth time. What’s not clear about it?” Mat kids, half laughing as he lets you punch him playfully, “I’m not kidding, Barz.” you say, clearing your throat. 

You didn’t mind for any of his double entendres but you did mind the fact that whatever’s about to happen tonight is bound to tip the scales of whatever it was that you were having with Mathew.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” he agrees. He walks towards the bed just as he began pulling his shirt off over his head to undress himself.

“Mathew!” you call him yet again, earning yourself a defensive shrug from him, “What? We’re gonna have sex either way might as well talk while we’re at it, right?” he counters, “Now, take your clothes off.”

Regardless of being annoyed at him for acting like an unreasonable child engaging in too much banter, you let out a laugh in disbelief, letting Mathew’s quirks have a hold on you. You roll your eyes out but do as you’re told and begin taking your shirt off which you then throw his way. 

Mat whistles, a smirk sprouting off his lips, evidently in awe of how good you looked half-naked, “Wow.”

You cock up a smirk and shrug to play it off, “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.” you turn the compliment back which Mat only reciprocated with a taunting wink, brushing his shoulder briefly like an idiot.

“So. How do you want to play this?” you inquire.

“Naked, I hope.” he laughs, putting his sweats off revealing nothing but his boxers on. When he sees you roll your eyes, yet again, almost wondering if you’re going to bawl it out at any moment, Mat clears his throat and decides to dial down his terrible jokes. 

“Fine. Let’s just say we’re doing ‘Friends with Benefits’ or, you know, what was that movie again?” he thinks for a second, snapping his fingers as he gathers a few romantic comedies he’s seen in the past. “No Strings Attached! The one with Natalie Portman! Yeah, that’s the one.” he marvels.

You look at him quite stunned that he’s familiar with these movies. “Wow. I thought you guys are just into full-on pornography and sports.” 

“Hey!” he retorts, defending himself at once, “I’m speaking your language, dumbass. And for the record, I don’t like porn.” with that, you let out a loud laugh accompanied by a scoff, obviously not buying any of his lies. To which Mat jumps to defend himself the moment he sees the mocking look in your eyes, “What?? Not all men likes pornography, y/n.”

With both hands on your hips, you arch your brow at him and reply with a revolting grin, “First rule, no lying. I wasn’t born last night, Barzal.”

“Fine. I don’t like it like it.” he points out just as he averts your gaze, “But I’m certainly not against it. Those girls need to make a living, y/n.” 

You meet his cocky remark with an exasperated sigh, “You’re such a pig.” 

Mat answers with a shrug, letting your judgmental glares slide, “Call me names, I don’t care. You’re the one sleeping with a pig.”

And as if it had been expected all along, it didn’t take long for the both of you to end up in bed, wearing nothing but your skin, breathing in each other’s breaths, gasping as you let yourselves let loose with the company of a friend.

Mathew marvels at the sight of your heaving chest whilst his head was wedged in between your thighs, going on endless circles as he nibbles on your clit, perhaps trying a little too hard to make you meet your high. 

What the fuck is he doing? is probably what every girl has asked herself when a man goes down on her thinking that he already got her all figured out. 

Mathew knew what he was doing to be fair. He was there. For the most part. His fingers were nothing but magic but his mouth was a different subject. It was almost as if he was overachieving something. Kind of like the way he does during plays that would eventually cause them the game. 

He’s in his head a little too much. That’s for sure. You didn’t want to ruin the moment so you decide to let it slide and put on your best suit. After all, it wasn’t the first time you had to fake your sexual orgasms. You weren’t entirely surprised though. Half of the men you’ve gone out with didn’t know shit about eating pussy. And Mat was pretty, at least he had that going on for him.

You bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the fact that you weren’t enjoying it. Mat was doing all sorts of things at once and it was all too much. Too much that you’d rather finish the job yourself than have someone licking your region like a fucking chew toy.

As much as you didn’t want to, you arch your back and let out a fake moan, curling your fingers on the sheets, the other tugging on Mat’s hair, staging the perfect scene Mat had wanted to see. He emerges from below and hovers on top of you with a proud grin on his face, oblivious of the dramatic pin you’ve successfully put into the night. 

“And that, my friend,” he smirks, “is how you do it.”

Oh, believe me, it is not. You try to smile, “Hm. It’s that easy, huh?” 

“Well, yeah. Think of it like a scrimmage.” he says as he starts to pepper kisses on your cheeks, his hands roaming around your body, compensating for what his mouth missed. “Or a shootout even.”

“I’m thinking no.” you deny, “Rule two, if talking hockey is your definition of dirty talk, you better zip it.” you stress out as you prop your leg around his waist in order for you to move on top of him. 

Mat chuckles, trying to mask how much he longed to feel your mouth envelop his member. There hasn’t been a day where the image of you sucking his length didn’t enter his mind. It didn’t matter where he was. Whether he was in the shower, on the road with the boys, leaving for practice, or just tying his skates. He wanted nothing more than to look down at you as your little tears revolt to escape your doe eyes whilst you take him whole. Indeed, it was a sight for Mathew. And god knows how much he’s willing to give just to see it again. 

You spit just as you kiss the tip of his shaft, stroking his length in a circular motion to spread your saliva on his cock before you proceed on pressing gentle kisses on his head; edging him for not letting you cum— unconsciously wanting him to know how to give a goddamn head the right way. 

You patiently went your way as you began taking him in your mouth, inching down his thickness without breaking off of his dark and lustful gaze. Mat rests his head on the headboard, his breathing growing heavy and hoarse whilst he watches his dick be consumed by your hollowing cheeks, sucking the life out of him. 

“Fuck. You’re so good.” he groans, pulling your hair with his free hand before guiding you further down his dick. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Flattered by his praises which you find undeniably hot, you pop him out of your mouth, letting all your spit drip onto it just before gathering it back once you start licking him underneath, sucking on his balls as your tongue goes on little circles, playing with it for a while before letting it go with a loud pop. 

You watch Mat lose his mind with every movement you make but you know full well not to let him come in your mouth. It’s bad enough you didn’t get to come the first time he tried tonight. You won’t have yourself seeing the light of day high and dry while Mat gets to doze off the second you leave for his door. 

You climb on top of him. Mat was rather quick to let his hands find its way to your hips, your pussy sitting on his flat stomach just enough to let him know how wet you still are for him in spite of not getting the fun you’ve wanted for your own. 

“Where’s the rubber?” you ask him. Mat props himself quickly and carefully shifts towards his bedside table. You feel him on your back, poking on your skin whilst he pulls out one of the drawers. He fishes a wrapped condom straight from the box which he then swiftly opens with his teeth, motioning for you to get off of him first so he could get settled. 

“Ready?” you ask him, “Ready.” 

Mat rolls over and secures you in between his hands resting on both sides of your head. You feel his head poking against your abdomen as he finally takes his shaft to rub it in between you far too moistened slit just before he takes the plunge and dive deep.

“So,” you struggle to find the words as Mat finally starts making up for his loss a while ago. Your fingers envelop his nape, digging on his skin as you let himself adjust inside you. Stretching you whole with barely half his dick pushing through you.  Thank god this was one of the many things Mat definitely did not suck at. 

“Wanna walk me through this whole set up?” 

Mathew groans, his chest hard against yours as he pumps inside you at a steady pace; one that was pleasurably slow. One that had you closing your eyes whilst you let your head sink into his pillows. 

Despite working his way on tending to too many things at once, with his thumb brushing on one of your nipples, his lips attached to your earlobes, and his free hand secured on your hips, Mat whispers in your ear. “It’s like what we’ve agreed on that night.” he breathes heavily, his mind trailing off to that night momentarily before he speaks again, “We’re friends.”

“And?” you whine as you feel his wet lips brush briefly on your sensitive skin just enough to send chills up your spine, making you crave more of his touch; a grave wanting kindling inside your gut like fire.

“Friends…” he repeats in between kisses, “who likes to do this.” his lips travel from the corner of your lips and onto your jaw line. He then lets himself pull away just so he could look you in the eye, all whilst maintaining both your bodies moving in sync as you follow his lead. 

“You do know that things like this almost never work, right?” you honestly say, telling him the very same thing you’ve told him when you first crossed the line and threw everything you’ve progressively built with him throughout the years of being Anthony’s best friends. 

“Almost is good enough for me.” he counters with a husky voice, feeling constrained by how tight your pussy was around him. It had been a while and Mat was going insane just by thinking about how your cunt was made exactly for him. It was absurd for him to think such a thing but he would not deny the sensation coursing through his veins as if sex had become something entirely new to him. That you have miraculously been able to paint something far better than what he’s already gotten used to for who knows how long; luring him into the worst kind of addiction he could get himself into.  And although Mathew wanted to hate himself that it had to happen with you, he knew he couldn’t. 

“Let’s not have secrets,” he suggests. You raise both your brows, quite intrigued that he requested such a thing. “We’re not that close to have secrets, Barzal.” you remind him. 

“Exactly!” he cheers, voice briefly rising as you let out a moan escape when he pushes himself deeper through your heated walls. Mat hurriedly locks your mouth with his, swallowing all your moans before continuing with his case. 

“That’s the point. We’re not that close so we shouldn’t be keeping anything from each other. You tell me everything. Good or bad, and I’ll do the same.” 

You shoot him a questioning look, pushing him briefly so you could position yourself on top of him. Your action was very much well-received on Mathew’s end and it’s amazing how he’s able to lift you close to his torso before the two of you roll over the switch-game without letting his dick slip out of you. 

“Are you saying we’re going to be in a relationship? You’re way over your head, mister.” you laugh because it was exactly what it sounded. At least for you.

Mat rolls his eyes as he takes a pillow to support his back. His hands then roamed from your thighs before settling to cage your hips to lock it with his, “First of all, bold of you to assume that’s ever gonna happen.” 

You scoff.

“Second, it’s more of a mutual agreement and definitely less than a relationship.” he points out to reiterate that having said ‘relationship’ with you was the last thing he wanted. 

Your hands take rest atop his chest as you start working on rocking your hips at a gentle pace; the kind that had Mathew at a loss for words for a moment, his body taking over his mind as your physique towers all over him. Mathew meets you halfway while you do most of the work. He angles himself forward so as to reach for your tits, his mouth latching on one of your buds, thirsty like a newborn child. Your fingers find their way to his tousled hair, its disheveled state unbelievably making him much more difficult to resist. 

The two of you worked each of your own highs whilst you rock each other’s bodies. Exchanging moans and groans thrown carelessly throughout the room. You were all over Mathew as much as he was with you. His strong and capable hands that moved so well on your body, made you crave for more. Mathew took control of the pace now, his arms embracing your waist closer to his body that no amount of spatial space could ever be perceived by either of you.

“Come for me.” Mat orders, voice almost inaudible as he was chasing his own, the moment he feels you throb rapidly around him, fluttering like butterflies while he watches you shut your eyes. Just like that, you finally reach the ecstasy you’ve been longing for the whole night; one that was specifically shut down by Mathew’s stale mouth.

You let Mat take over. He orders you to turn your back against him before he pulls you rapidly close to his front, your ass perked up close to his skin. His mouth leaves fashioned bites on your neck whilst he held you firmly by your forearm. Mathew begins pounding on you hard from behind, his sharp and abrupt movements painting bruises you know will show up the next morning. 

You were all over the place and you didn’t care. It was messy, it was loud. The sound Mathew’s lips leave on your skin, his balls banging against your pussy, your moans— his groans. Everything was off the record book but neither of you wanted to stop. 

With one final thrust, you feel his body grow all the more rigid behind you. Mathew’s hand was wrapped firmly around your neck whilst he caught his breath. 

“You good back there, bud?” you ask, chuckling. 

“Oh, shut up.” he says, finally letting you go. 

The two of you gather yourselves. Mat discards the wrapper and offers to clean up after the mess he’d made but you profusely decline. 

“I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t have to take care of me.” you tell him with a strong suit as you begin picking up your clothes. 

“I know–” he cuts himself off when he sees you getting into your pants, “Where are you going?” he questions. 

“Rule four. No staying the night.” you point out, grabbing your sweatshirt from the floor. “You come to my room, I come to yours, but that’s that. No more, no less.” you add. 

Mathew looks stunned. Obviously on board with how well you were taking things so easily. 

“Alright then, buddy.” he strides his way towards his bed still naked. 

“We don’t speak about any of this in the morning.” you warn him for you know how the three of you tend to leave the house almost at the same exact time as each other. Meaning that this new setup of yours is bound to be much difficult if you let anything slip off your hold. 

Mathew runs his fingers on his lips as if to zip it before he jumps on the bed, already reaching for his phone that was on his bedside table so he could check the gram.

You were just on your way out of his door when he called you one last time, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, “What’s rule five?”

“No funny business.” you say at once. You look at him one last time with your own teasing smile to mock him from across the room, “No strings attached.” you say, repeating how he used the movie as a reference from a while back before finally disappearing into the hall. 

𖥸

Who would have known agreeing to such a set up would mean getting laid almost every chance you get?

It had been a few weeks since you and Mat committed to your foolish escapades after sorting out your mutual agreement. Said escapades involve a handful of times of you driving over to the Coli to pick him up right after his morning skate and get off the back of your car. It wasn’t that big of a deal being that Mathew usually rides with Anthony for work. Of course, there were also times where you would call him into your office just to grab a quick lunch. On those times you always make sure to leave out at least half an hour or so before going home to avoid unnecessary suspicions from Tito and you and Mathew have been mindful so as not to let him notice anything. 

Mat had mentioned how he was already looking for a place nearer to yours and Tito’s but farther than his previous complex. The place was half an hour less than the travelling time Tito had to drive to from when they used to ride together going home. And now that you were officially friends and more than just acquaintances, Mat has asked you to come and see the place with him. 

You took a lift on your way to Mat’s and let’s just say, that for a man with a whopping 21M at his disposal, the building was grand but it wasn’t as boujee as you’ve expected. It might’ve been your lack of a better judgement but Mathew just didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would be smart when it comes to his finances. You’ve always thought that he was the kind to splurge on things whenever he gets the chance. Although much to your surprise, just like everyone else, he was a simple man. 

You knock on the door a few times before you hear the familiar footsteps nearing the front door. 

“Hey,”  a signature grin welcomes you. He opens the door wider and invites you in. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, I had better things to do, Barzal.” you retort as you start to scan the vicinity. 

The flat had floor to ceiling windows so the surroundings were well lit. You were making your way further when you noticed a few sealed boxes laying around what you assumed to be where the living space was going to be. 

“I thought you were just looking?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion whilst you look back at him, pointing on the storages with your thumb. 

As expected, the entire apartment was painted in white and beige tones. Pretty much like every Islander’s home you’ve been to. It was quite spacious just like his former home. That being said, spacious doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good’ sometimes. For one thing, it didn’t feel home to you. It felt like a cage with huge-ass windows overlooking a scenery you can’t even lay your hand on. You keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to ruin Mat’s excitement for the place. Sure enough, it’ll all come together once he gets settled. 

Mat walks towards you, taking a deep breath. “I was. But the offer was really good so I figured signing the lease right away would be a smart move.” he explains. When he sees your gaze trail off onto the boxes again, Mat feels the need to reassure you that he wasn’t going to move out of your apartment just yet. 

“I won’t be moving in for another month or two, just to be clear. Those are just some stuff I didn’t want hogging all the space at home.” he says candidly pertaining to your apartment as his home, not even realizing the weight he had tied to his words. 

You were quick to dismiss your own unsolicited thoughts and carried on with the semi-tour Mat was starting to indulge you with. “Are you sure you’re gonna live here alone? Feels like a whole penthouse up here.” you honestly say, half-laughing as you make way towards the hallway. 

“Yeah. I mean, it would be great for when the team comes over.” he says as he follows your tracks. “The penthouse is actually two floors above mine though.”

You roll your eyes at his subtle remark, “Why’d you made me come here anyway?”

And as if Mat had remembered the task he originally had in mind, he walks right past you to lead the way. “I want your opinion on something.” 

“Really? What is it?” you inquire, following after his footsteps. Mat stops and opens a door leading to what you assume is the master bedroom. Situated at the center of the fairly spacious room is a california king sized bed, waiting patiently to be slept on. 

Mat looks back at you and says, “D’you think it’s any good?” 

He lets you roam around the place, setting yourself down on the foot of the bed. “Bed’s nice actually.” you tell him and you stand at once to look more of his semi-furnished room. 

“How nice is it exactly? Like, nice to sleep on or nice to not get any at all?” you turn around, rolling your eyes at his sleazy innuendos. “You’re such a tool. You really made me come all the way here to get me tied down this bed?” 

Mat only answers with a shrug. An adorable one to be exact. “What? That’s what friends are for, y/n. Now, come on. Test the bed with me.” he says, taking your hand at once before you could even answer. He lets himself fall onto the bed as he caught your weight in his arms, your bodies dangerously close to each other, feeling your own body temperatures. 

His hands roam around your clothed physique just as he starts to cage you in a well heated kiss. Your lips dance with his, letting his tongue slip whenever he gets the chance, nibbling on your tongue as the two of you enjoy exchanging your own take on what house warming gifts are supposed to look like. 

Mat’s hands were already gripping on the curve of your ass when the sound of your and Mathew’s kisses were stopped by a sudden knock on the door. Your hand immediately trailed down from Mat’s nape to his chest, “Are you expecting someone?”, he thinks for a second, both of his hands still secured on your bottoms.

“Oh!” he gasps upon remembering who could it possibly be, “It’s probably my realtor. He’s picking some stuff up, I’ll go get it.” he says, propping himself up as a cue for you to get off of him. 

“Would you mind getting the door? I’ll be quick, I promise.” he adds, looking back at you as he steps out of the room, heading for the other side of the hallway. He speaks in an apologetic tone, feeling sorry for having to cut off the purpose of your visit. So, in an effort to let him know he had nothing to worry about, you shake your head as you finish straightening the wrinkles off your work clothes. 

“No, it’s all right, I got it.” you give him a reassuring smile.

You gladly make your way towards the door, not even bothering to look through the hole. You hand enveloped the cold metal, swinging the door wide open, leaving yourself not a chance at escape as soon as your eyes landed on those all too familiar big blue ones you’ve known all your life.

“Y/N?” a puzzled expression was all you could make out of Tito’s face. You tried stumbling for a few words in the hopes of calming your already racing heart impending to escape your chest at any moment. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks in utmost bewilderment. You were still in shock being that you’ve never lied to Anthony before since he’s the only one you’ve told everything to most of the time. Having him here, clearly unexpected, has evidently thrown you off guard.

You maintain your gaze at him and throw the same question back, “What are you doing here?”

“Mat and I are going out with Mikey and Noah for drinks.” he answers quickly so he could throw the ball your way, “You didn’t answer me. I didn’t know you knew about this place already?” he furrows his brows, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his best mate. 

“Uhm. Mat called me to discuss a few things. Showed me some stuff too.” you nervously say, tip toeing on the fact that what you just told him wasn’t entirely a lie. You open the door all the way and finally let him in. Your knuckles were wrapped hard around the cold metal knob, wishing that Mat would come out to the room to save your ass. 

You must have gotten on a wrong foot and told Tito a lie that’s bound to invite more suspecting queries.

“Really? What stuff?” 

His bed, where he was just about to defile me on. 

Thankfully, Mat walks out the open room holding an envelope in his hand, immediately halting his tracks the moment he sees Anthony looking straight at him. 

“Beau! What–” he tries to remain composed, but you know Tito would definitely pick up on something just by how pale Mat’s face was. Dead and cold like someone who had seen a ghost for the first time. 

“What— am I doing here?” Anthony finishes Mat’s question just as he turns his gaze back at you. You try to avert his gaze but you figured it’s best not to. You need to go before him strong and level headed. The last thing you and Mathew want is to get caught in the act by no other than the last person you want to know about it. 

“What?” He laughs, brushing Tito’s biting tone off. “I know why you’re here, silly.” he tries to search in his head momentarily, but when he takes long enough, Tito answers it for him. “Drinks, man. You texted me for drinks.”

“Oh– yeah, no. I knew that.” he breathes out an uneasy laugh. 

“Why is Y/N here? I didn’t know you guys hung out? The last time I checked you can’t even last in the same room without slashing each other’s throats.” he smirks.

Surprisingly, Mat was fast enough to come up with quite a clever way to sway Anthony from his inkling suspicions. One that made sense, but not necessarily helpful in your end. “Psh. That?” Mat throws a hand towards your way, dismissing your presence in his unfurnished apartment, “She told me she needs money so I hired her to move my boxes for me. She even insisted on listing all the stuff I’ll eventually get rid of online.” 

Anthony looks back at you, surprised that you didn’t go and asked for his help instead. “How much do you pay her?” he asks Mat again. 

“Uh, five… ten bucks?” Mat scratches the back of his head and your face immediately falls to your palm. 

“Ten?” he questions, glancing at you. “Don’t you have your own office and a secretary? What do you need the ten bucks for?” Tito’s tone was now getting more curious and Mat, just like he always was, was dumb enough to forget you were earning more than just ten bucks for a living. 

“Did I say ten? I meant fifty— per hour.” Mathew takes it back instantly, following it with a lie that involves you asking him for a job because your publisher ordered you to for a book she wants you to sign for. Not that any of it made sense but at least Anthony seemed to have bought it. When you agree, Mat immediately takes Anthony in his arms as he guides him out to the door, snatching his coat resting atop his kitchen island. 

Mat looks over to you once more, both of their bodies already at the other side of the door, “You did great today, y/n. I’ll write you a check in the morning!” he says pushing Tito, who was still asking questions, farther from the door. 

Before Mathew disappears, he looks at you with his big doe eyes already thanking you for going along such a stupid make-up excuse. You roll your eyes as you watch him mouth a quiet ‘Sorry’, flashing his ever so gorgeous smile before him and Tito finally went on their way.  

𖥸

You’ve gotten used to how lazy Mat and Tito are during their off days. They would rather stay at home and play endless video games with each other than spending it with something less dumb than their stupid Xbox. Luckily, today wasn’t like those days because you happened to have your free day as well. You all agreed to spend the evening binging the entire Fast and Furious franchise. 

The three of you were cramped on the cloud couch. To put it in simply, you were sandwiched between two huge hockey players. Your back was leaning on Tito’s strong shoulders as it was laying just above your head. The huge bowl of half-eaten popcorn safely sits in between your middle, hugged by your stomach and your curled up legs, your sock-covered feet brushing against Mat’s thighs innocently. Almost as innocent as how you ignore Mathew’s hands creeping underneath the thick wool covering your body. 

Alarmed at how dangerously close Mat’s creeping palm was to your inner thigh, you shot him a warning look which was, as expected, answered by a defensive, and seemingly harmless “What?” look on his face. You roll your eyes, cautious as to not make any sharp movements for the benefit of Tito. You shift your position, angling your body away from Mathew and towards the direction of the screen instead. You let your body sink in your best friend’s shoulder, clueless that your movement had just given Mat the exact opening he was hoping for. 

With wide eyes, you give Mat’s thigh a firm nudge as carefully as you can, “Are you being serious right now?” you mouthed. Mat stifles a smirk and moves his hand away, keeping it to himself. You try turning your attention back to the television but somehow, Mathew’s actions left your mind wondering what he was about to do next. 

Gently, you stir back to your original position, propping yourself from leaning against Tito. 

“Hey, could you please fill this up for me?” you ask him nicely. Thankfully, Anthony reaches out for the bowl without letting his eyes break off the screen. “Thanks, Beau.” you add the moment he starts walking towards the kitchen. 

“Why’d you stop?” you cautiously whisper, asking Mathew who was surprised by your sudden inquiry.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” he answers on the same level of your tone, putting his hand back on your shin. The warmth of his palm sends a familiar sensation down your region.

Looking back at the archway leading to the kitchen, you quietly tell him, “I asked if you’re being serious. I never said no.” 

Your candidness was met by Mathew’s widening smile, incapable of stopping himself from biting his lower lip, finding your bluntness quite adorable. “Be quiet.” he mutters as he clears his throat, eyeing Tito who was just returning from the kitchen holding a bowl full of popcorn fresh from the microwave. 

“Thank you.” you say the moment Anthony hands you the bowl. You scootch over, making you a lot closer to Mat. Tito places his arm back over the couch, allowing extra space for you. Once you got yourself in a position comfortable enough to last for the remaining half of the movie, your mind flies away, briefly forgetting the exchange you and Mathew just had. 

It was not even a full minute when you feel Mat’s very much capable hand start creeping underneath the thick cloth again. You swallow a giant lump in your throat, your senses already heightened just by the mere contact of his rough and calloused hand on your skin. 

You were wearing a pair of sweat shorts, the kind that were loose enough to let Mat maneuver his way deeper down your thighs so effortlessly. You steal quick glances towards his way but to no avail, Mat’s eyes were nowhere else other than the screen. His fingers, however, told quite a different story. 

You did the exact thing as him and put your sole focus on the movie. The sound of Anthony’s breathing was a good reminder to not let anything slip off of you unconsciously, especially now that Mat’s long fingers were inching its way to the thin fabric covered by your night wear. 

Mat begins to brush his middle finger over your delicates. You bury a part of your face underneath the thick cloth whilst your eyes are still pinned on the screen. The scene where Dom goes rogue plays and the light of the television flashes before your eyes. 

You tried to listen to Tito when he tells you about that time you went to the movies to see the film, trying to space out from Mat’s finger drawing idle circles on the thin fabric of your underwear, easing you just right, evidently taking his time fondling in between your clothed lips.

When he feels your moistness on his skin, Mat sophisticatedly slides a finger in your underwear just so he could feel the wetness of your folds. 

You on the one hand, keep your face hidden under the only light flashing from the screen. You manage to choke down your whimpers and instead lean your force towards the bowl you’re holding. However, you fail to stifle a gasp when Mat slides a finger inside you, making you stir just enough to stop your sudden movement from being unnoticed by Beauvillier. 

“You okay?” he asks, a concerned tone embracing his voice. You meekly nod, saying that you were just too caught up watching the film. He then takes his attention back, pretty much like the grinning Mathew sitting on the other end. 

You shoot a knowing look when you meet Mat’s irises. He casually plays it off just as he remains busy on his own, his fingers curling inside you with ease, pumping in and out at a slow pace, not wanting to let any of his movements show on the surface of your blanket. As Mat continues pleasuring you, you gather all your strength to stay still and calm your breathing. To no prevail however, knowing how good of a fucker Mat was, you knew you won’t be able to hold it in longer than you’re supposed to. 

Your heart almost beats right out your chest when Anthony’s phone starts to ring. You prop yourself up, causing Mat’s finger to do just the same inside you. You shut your eyes at the feeling and chose to clear your throat. 

Anthony takes his phone and looks at the two of you, “I need to take this. Just watch the movie without me.” he says, already standing to head for the balcony at the other side of the room. You sigh in relief, letting yourself fall back on where Tito used to sit, allowing more space for Mat’s miraculous fingers. 

He adjusts his seat, cautiously looking back after Tito’s track just to make sure he was no longer near the two of you. He looks at you, attention faltering from the screen as he slides another finger inside you. 

“Don’t make a sound. Stay still.” he orders, pumping his way in just as he glides his thumb to massage your clit. Your hand takes rest on your forehead, your eyes closed at every pleasure thrown your way, almost forgetting that you were holding a bowl full of finger food on your stomach. Mat must’ve caught on and ensured no unnecessary noises would make Anthony come back just yet when he takes the bowl off your middle to set it down the coffee table. 

“Fucking hell, Mat.” you can’t help but moan, arching your back once you feel your arousal come close. 

“Do it, y/n. Come on my fingers.” he growls in a low register, moving his way into hitting the spot at just the right speed, not wanting to prolong your misery any longer. 

You reach for his hands, your grip on him tighter than ever. Mat feels you come around his finger, eyes pinned on your spent up state harder than it was when the two of you were still watching the movie. When he feels your pulsating core starts to die down, he slips his fingers out your slit, eventually taking it in his mouth to suck your far too addicting juices.

You fix yourself up, eyeing Tito who had just ended his call. Mat looks at you, quite proud of himself.

“At least your fingers make up for what that pretty mouth can’t.” you say with a taunting smirk before standing up to get yourself a glass of water just as Beau finally comes back from the balcony, leaving Mathew with his mouth slightly agape and without a doubt dumbfounded.

𖥸

It was an hour before midnight but the house was already asleep. The boys had to call the night early because of the morning practice they have first thing tomorrow. But you still had some energy left so you figured drawing yourself a calming bath would help soothe your mind and maybe even up the chances of having yourself a well-deserved good night’s sleep. 

Now that you’re feeling better and getting ready for bed, your bathrobe hugs your body whilst you finish off your night routine so you could finally dip into the comfort of your sheets, the cream white duvet calling onto you as you picture yourself dozing off for the night. 

The strides you were just making out of your bathroom were put into a stop by how your door sprung open wildly, revealing one troubled Mathew Barzal entering your room almost a little too carelessly. 

“What the hell did you mean my mouth can’t?!” he questions at once, hissing. When he realizes the sudden rise in his voice, (which has also startled you in the process), Mathew immediately looks back just to make sure that Anthony was in his room, or far enough to hear. He shuts the door behind him before he finally turns his attention back to you. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask him, putting both your hands on your hips, your body covered by nothing else but a bathrobe. 

“The thing you said back in the living room, my mouth can’t what? What the hell did that suppose to mean??” Mat roars like a child’s impending tantrum was about to come. You avert his gaze for a moment, scratching your temple. You couldn’t believe something you’ve said stuck to him. Not that he’d ever do anything about it. Something you most absolutely doubt. 

“If you had to come here to ask me that, I’m pretty sure you already got what I meant.” you say, walking towards your bed as you get the bottle of your vanilla scented lotion from your bedside table. 

“But all those times it looked like you were having a good time?” he speaks, voice in a lower register as if he was talking to himself all along. 

“I was faking it Mat.” you finish off applying lotion on your legs, spreading the remaining on your hands. You met Mat’s gaze and saw that you might’ve tipped him off a little for there was a faint hurt in his eyes. 

“You were faking it?” he repeats in a quiet voice.

“You’re still good in bed, buddy.” you assure him with a smile yet to no prevail, Mat didn’t seem to buy any of what you said thinking that it was just a decent effort to save his ego already plummeting to the pit of his own embarrassment. 

“How many times have you been faking it?” he asks the moment he gathers his thoughts, his mind circling on the fact that all throughout this time he wasn’t able to get you off.

“You’ve only had the chance to do it twice. So… just those two.” you answer honestly. 

Mathew, who was utterly clueless to what was going on didn’t know how to react to such bluntness. He tried to mutter a few words but he was speechless. All this time, he thought he was good at something he obviously wasn’t. And being told something as morally immobilizing as that shocks him to his very core. The horror of all the girls he’s slept with, walking out of his apartment unsatisfied befalls on him. 

“You should’ve told me, otherwise this whole setup won’t make any sense, y/n. I thought you said we shouldn’t lie?” he questions, evidently disappointed in himself. 

“Look,” you stop, tapping on the side of the bed to have a proper conversation. When Mat finally sits beside you, you continue, “I didn’t think it mattered. And no offense but we both know you’re such a sore loser. I didn’t know how you would react. And I definitely didn’t want to deal with any of the messy stuff just to feed your ego.”

“For your information, I’m a thick faced motherfucker, you should’ve known that by now. This thing between us is going to be complicated if you’ll tiptoe your way around it just to spare my feelings.” he says with certainty, a definitive tone accentuated by how intense he was now looking at your face, still glowing from your night care routine. 

“Is there something I don’t do?” he adds, “Or is it something that I should stop doing?”

“Fine. If you really wanna talk about this I’ll tell you.” you angle yourself facing him and Mat does the same, “You’re not entirely bad. You do know your way around. It’s just that— you’re trying a little too hard and it gets really overwhelming at times. And mind you, it isn’t even the good kind,”

“Show me.” Mat cuts you before you could grab the chance to continue, stopping you mid sentence, causing you to stumble on a few words. “What?” 

“I won’t leave this room knowing I can’t get you off.” he says, and just like that, Mathew meets your lips with an all too hungry mouth eager to make you come for him even if it takes having to have endless runs at it. 

Your body achingly responds to every bit of Mathew’s kisses whilst you let him run the course. His touches are tantalizing, urging you to come near him. He takes you in his arms, one fondling on your robe to pull it free from your body, the other tugging lightly on your hair just as he begins to move his weight on top of you.

“Tell me what you want.” Mat breathes the moment he breaks away, his mouth now travelling down the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, leaving faint bites, nibbling on it just before he makes his way down to fondle on your breasts. 

You answer him with a muffled moan when he takes your lips yet again. Mat’s irises unwaveringly gazes on your buck nakedness, your scent just enough to take over his senses. You feel the roughness of his hands graze all over your skin. Pinching on one of your buds just before it travels down your thighs, staying out of the place where he knew you needed him most. You feel him in every inch of your skin but there.

But just as you want him more, Mat purposely leaves it out of his hold. You begin to realize how much you must’ve underestimated what this forward could do. His hands were everything and you couldn’t even put into words how much you need him down there. 

“Mat…” you call out his name, groaning. His featherlight touches flowed smoothly on your inner thigh, grazing just your lips but even that was more than enough to tell him how wet you already were for him. 

He begins to leave wet kisses in between your breasts down to your stomach. Kisses that eventually made their way to your thighs as he inched his way to your core, the sloppy noise he makes sounds so beautiful in your ears. You look down on Mat trying to compose yourself under all the breathing he’s subtly passing your middle. 

“What do you want?” Mat asks again, this time his doe eyes meeting yours, clouded with lust and desire. You buck your hips upward in an effort to meet his mouth but Mat was rather quick to put you back in your place when he cages your hips with his capable arm. 

“Use your words, y/n.” he orders, one that has effortlessly made you oblige. You wanted to feel him more than anything else and if that meant submitting to Mat this time, you know full well you’d gladly break before him. 

“I want you to get me off.” you surrender, signaling him to take the plunge. Once he did, you let out a whimper at his touch, almost forgetting that Mathew was probably doing this so he could eat out his future girl right.

“Don’t rush.” you breathed as you guided him, “Stay slow and steady.” 

Mathew’s eyes never left yours even when you had to look away when you let your head fall back on your sheets with how well he was moving with everything you say. 

“Mathew…” you moan, reaching for his hair to take him closer to your throbbing core, “Go on circles, please.” 

Mat was obedient and followed your every command. Unlike the times he’s spent trying to pleasure you with his mouth, tonight was a time where he actually listened and gave you exactly what you wanted, exactly how you want it.

Mat didn’t have to do anything else for when he started to slip into your cunt and fuck you with his tongue, you going insane was more than enough to let him know that he was doing it right. He watched you fall before him, your chest heaving, your breathing rapid as if there wasn’t enough air for you to breathe. He entwines both his fingers atop your abdomen, the sound of you calling his name like a prayer doing all kinds of wonders on his end. 

You meet his eyes yet again just to see that it never left. Mat looked at you darker than ever before and for once, you feel a firm tug in your stomach you just weren’t ready to acknowledge and care for. As he takes time with his final strokes, knowing that you were close, Mat pulls away, thinking about the one thing he knows will redeem himself. 

“Turn around.” he orders with a grim voice. You were in dire need of an orgasm to even care about how he’s the one ordering you. You gladly oblige to his every whim and turned to your belly, your ass perked up so perfectly for him.

He lets your robe fall just above your back, revealing more of your skin for him to enjoy. He takes no second to waste and kneels before your already swollen pussy. Needy and very much heated for him.

Mat’s hands spread your cheeks before he takes you in his mouth once again, letting himself drown in your juices glinting under his all too heavy gaze. 

“Oh, god.” you whine, feeling Mat’s grin behind you as you dig into your sheets while your legs begin to shake at your incoming orgasm. “Mat, please.” you call out in a whimper, pushing your ass back further his face. 

Mat gladly takes the challenge but maintains at the pace you wanted. As he feels your pussy flutter in his mouth, he deepens it into yours to finally pour you with nothing else but ecstasy and ecstasy alone.

His face was filled with nothing but your juices once he pulled away, leaving you breathless and still caught up on meeting your high. He stands, a hand gripping on one of your cheeks whilst he admires the art that is: your all too spent pussy.

“Next time you lie, you won’t get to fake it at all.” he warns with a firm yet definitive voice masked as a taunting remark. 

Mat looks at your still throbbing pussy, eyes lustful and dark. As much as he craved for the inkling fire resting in his loins, it was already past midnight and he had self-discipline stronger than anyone else’s. He couldn’t afford any more scolding from Anders the next morning. 

So, even when he wanted nothing but to fuck you right then and there, he lets his hand send a message he certainly wants you to remember instead. One that has left a faint yet stinging mark on your skin. Your legs were practically still wobbling when he finally leaves for the door, this time fueled with the purpose of being the one leaving you dumbfounded in your own post-orgasm shame.

Perhaps, even wanting and more.