#the referee is fucking terrible for both sides

[nr1chaedickrider]

but my best enemy is you

pt.1!!!, angst, smut, violence, it's a mess

“you're the sweetest” she says, smiling at your flushed face. her thumb softly caresses your cheek.

you lean into her touch, her soft hand on your skin was a feeling which you love more than anything.

“i love you” you whisper against her lips, kissing her slowly and passionately.

“i love you too” her voice is full of love as well as the look on her face, her smile not fading from her lips.

oh, how you wished it would stay on her lips forever.

“you're fucking unbelievable”

“i'm unbelievable? are you seriously trying to blame me?”

“call it blaming, i call it being honest and seeing the truth”

you can't read momo's expression, you can't tell what she's feeling, if she's sad, mad, or just disappointed.

your hand shakes a little, as if you're scared.

you are actually scared.

“i can't”

“we're done”

is she too?

“so just like that? that was it?”

“you're not going to fight for us?”

“you're the better fighter between us, use it in the ring - not in our relationship,”

“or whatever it was.”

“you're an asshole”

“okay”

-

momo swirls the ice in her drink with the straw, watching the fight that's happening.

two men who she never saw before are fighting against each other, it doesn't quite peak her interest.

she thinks it's uninteresting watching them fight - or others in general. they don't have any tension in their fights.

they simply fight to win the money, not because they have a certain history with the person standing in front of them.

basically meaning, momo doesn't care if it's strangers, she only cares when she and you fight against each other.

she knows about the rumors, she knows that more people come into the bar just to watch the two of them.

but she also believes that you don't need to know both of those things, acting cold and like she has no idea about it instead.

the fight ends and everyone but her cheers for the fighters, she turns to the bartender and orders a shot of vodka.

“momo, right?” a red haired girl asks as she sits down next to her.

momo looks at her, nods and then downs the shot quickly.

“who's asking?” she knows.

“jihyo - i'm y/n's trainer” she replies, looking at the ring.

“what are you doing here?” momo asks her, also looking at the ring.

“the same as you, watching fights”

“y/n is actually up next” her eyes widen in shock, not expecting to hear that you're fighting someone else instead of her.

before momo can ask jihyo other questions - the crowd starts to yell and cheer as you enter the ring on the left side.

jeongyeon enters the ring on the right side, receiving a lot of support from the spectators.

momo has heard of jeongyeon before, even fought against her when she first started fighting.

she asks herself who will win.

you're a strong fighter - and the fact that you're not fighting against her makes momo think that you could easily win, since there is no history, nothing that could hold you back from hitting her with all the strength you have in your body.

the referee (again, who's actually just a random guy) blows in his whistle, signaling that the fight is starting.

you block your face with your hands as jeongyeon tries to hit you, moving to the side and hitting her stomach.

jeongyeon looks at you full of anger, as if you'd done something so terrible.

she walks over to you - almost even runs - and hits your throat.

an illegal move.

you gasp for air, falling against the border of the ring, looking up to her being right in front of you.

the referee is too slow, he doesn't stop jeongyeon and she hits another hit in your face.

then your stomach, your side, your chest - literally everything she could hit before getting dragged away by the referee.

you fall down on the floor, blood coming from your nose and mouth.

momo stares at the ring in shock, not being able to move.

what just happened?

jihyo next to her calls an ambulance, rushing to you to check if you're (somehow) alright.

momo slowly stands up and walks closer, a sigh of relief (which she hopes wasn't too loud) leaves her mouth when she sees you sitting up again, holding your head and talking to jihyo (or rather, jihyo talks to you and you try not to pass out).

the medics arrive quickly, a woman with blonde hair gets into the ring and kneels in front of you so she can look at what happened.

jihyo leaves you alone, the crowd slowly relaxes and decides on doing other things than staring at you and your wounds.

everyone but momo.

her eyes are fixed on you, and her.

she can't explain why, but seeing you and her - it makes her stomach drop, gives her this uncomfortable feeling.

“you're pretty” she hears you say to her, to which the girl replies to with a giggle.

she introduces herself as sana to you (a pretty name in momo's opinion, but that doesn't change anything).

momo thinks that she's pretty and nice, she isn't a bad woman.

but she can't help herself to feel jealous.

she has no right to be jealous, but she still feels it. it doesn't matter if she wants to feel that way or not - she is jealous.

-

it has been exactly one week.

one week since you fought against jeongyeon, which led to multiple serious injuries.

one week since you were laughing and giggling like idiots with that medic sana.

momo hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.

she sits down next to you at the bar without greeting you.

you look at the bartender and ask him for a shot of tequila which he places in front of momo before leaving you two alone.

“your favorite” you say, not looking at her. she interrupts you though.

“how are you doing? you looked rough last week” she asks, drinking the tequila quickly after finishing her sentence.

“why do you care?” you ask back, to which momo doesn't reply (or rather - she isn't able to reply).

“what’s up with sana and you?” she says, turning the bar stool so she can fully look at you.

you laugh a little, finishing your beer, “you know, you ask a lot of questions”

she waits for you to answer her question instead of saying something else.

you sigh, realizing she's as stubborn as you often are.

“nothing much. i dont get why you would care, but we're just talking. that's all” you answer.

you turn to her, looking in her eyes, but you quickly look away.

her eyes make you nervous, even after all this time - you still get nervous talking to her.

“if you excuse me, i have to go, was nice talking to you” you say, placing some money on the table as you walk out of the door of the bar.

maybe she's stupid - but she doesn't care.

she walks out of the bar quickly, walking after you.

she sees you walking away, so she runs after you.

her hand grips your wrist and stops you from walking.

you look at her, your mouth opens to say something, but she interrupts you, again.

but this time, she kisses you.

momo pins you to the stone wall behind you, her hands grip the collar of your cropped leather jacket as her lips are on yours.

you're shocked, but you kiss her back anyway.

oh, how much you missed this.

she leaves your lips after a while, salvia connecting you two.

“i don't know why i care,” she starts speaking, her eyes focused on yours.

“but what i know is that i was jealous,”

“seeing you and sana act like we used to,”

“it made me mad, it upset me,”

“she doesn't know you like i do -”

momo isn't a bold person often, but something about today is different.

“she wouldn't be able to fuck you like i do” she whispers against your lips, her hands gripping your waist.

you look at her in silence, her statement sounding not real, like you're in a dream.

you realize that this isn't a dream though.

this time you pull momo closer, kissing her.

“let's go to my place” you mumble in between kisses.

-

everything happens so fast that neither momo nor you can really comprehend what exactly happens.

it's messy and needy (something you always liked).

you sit on top of momo as you’re both making out.

you lean back just a little so your lips part, taking off your shirt.

momo can't help but stare.

it's nothing crazy in your opinion, a simple calvin klein bra.

momo thinks it's so much more than that though.

you're back to kissing her as you slowly kiss down momos neck, biting and sucking, leaving hickeys all over.

you were never this eager for something, ever.

“ah fuck-... i don't know if this is the smartest thing” she whimpers, hands gripping your naked waist, fingers curling into your skin as they slightly scratch you.

the burn you feel is delicious.

“you know i always thought you are a smart girl,” you breathe out against her neck, admiring your work before going for the other side.

“but this is your time to be stupid for once” you whisper, momo bites her lip at your statement.

she pushes you away so she's able to take off her shirt. you get off her lap so you can take her jeans off, being so eager that you're almost ripping them off (if you’d listen closely you would probably be able to hear it).

“come here” she orders, pulling you closer after kicking her pants off her feet.

you're back to kissing her again, opening your mouth so her tongue can explore it.

you can't help but let out a moan when she presses her knee up to your core, grinding onto it.

you push her back down onto the mattress, leaning down so you can place kisses all over her body.

momo watches you, her breath hitches when you press a kiss on her clit over the underwear.

“that sensitive?” you tease her as you lock eyes, momo bites her lip again.

“haven’t done it in a long time” she replies.

you pull off her underwear, it slightly sticks to her because of the slick, making you laugh at her.

“yeah i bet. it doesn't feel as good when you're doing it without me” you comment.

you don't waste your time and shove two of your fingers inside her wet cunt, fucking her in a fast rythmn.

“we should do something like this more often” you smirk, kissing her naked skin.

she simply just nods, moaning and whimpering at the feeling of your fingers inside of her after so long.

you don't wait long, putting another finger in.

momo moans at the stretch, gripping the bed sheets. her bottom lip starts to bleed a little at the pressure she's applying.

“you sound so pretty for me baby” you praise her, pulling your fingers out just to thrust them into her again.

you move your head right next to hers, whispering into her ear.

“such a desperate slut for me, god.. look at you momo” the way you say her name makes momo even needier, clenching around your fingers.

“please” she begs, if you would ask her what she's begging for, she wouldn't be able to answer. her mind is clouded and full of you and nothing else.

“can you take another one, good girl?” you ask, she looks at you, breathing heavily.

“too much-” she moans.

you know how to get what you want with her.

“please baby”

“you're my good girl aren't you? i know you can take it. please, for me” she looks into your eyes, they’re full of lust, full of the desire to ruin momo.

she nods, biting her lip again. if you look closely into her eyes you can even see how glassy they are.

“that's my good girl”

you slowly insert a fourth finger, giving her time to adjust.

momo throws her head back, breath hitching at the feeling.

“you're so tight baby” you tease, slowly starting to move your fingers.

“feel so full mommy-” she whimpers, the name makes you just increasingly eager to make her finish.

you start to thrust into her, making her moan louder and louder.

“i'm so close-” she moans.

“please- let me cum.. god please y/n-” the way she's asking you for permission, how could you say no to that?

“cum for me pretty girl” you keep moving your fingers and it doesn't take long for momo to cum all over you with a loud moan, her breath shaky as well as her legs, breathing heavily as she somehow tries to calm down.

but you don't take your fingers out, looking at her ruined state.

“please” you start begging, and momo knows what you're begging for.

she also knows that she will say yes.

she'll let you overstimulate her till she's crying and sore.

it feels too good to stop.

[a-ginger-from]

I'm genuinely so frustrated by this match

[samsalami66]

Don't Go Kicking My Heart

Another part of the soccer au, it is time for fluff and trauma! Enjoy!!

Read on ao3!

Today was the first day of a new era. A new age of football.

The world of sports would remember this day. 

The day Morpheus Ateleios, winner of the European Golden Shoe, first played for Fiddler’s Green, the highest ranking football club in all of Europe. 

Or, well, the day he first trained with them. His first match was still far off, the next season only started in a few months after all, but today was his first day as a part of the team. He would face the players for the first time not on opposite sides of a field, but as a teammate. 

Morpheus was about to be sick, standing in front of these unfamiliar training facilities in the middle of London, miles away from Wych Cross and Roderick’s now cold and dead body. The distance wasn’t enough. No distance could make up for the ache he still felt in his bones, in his muscles, for the bruises slowly healing on his back and chest. 

But thinking about the ghost of Roderick Burgess still being imprinted on his skin was not what really got to Morpheus’ stomach. 

No, it was the fact that he would face Robert Gadling for the first time as a colleague. A part of the team. 

Gadling was… well, to say Morpheus and him did not get along would probably be an understatement. They had a bit of a turbulent history. 

Said history might have involved red cards for both of them during their latest match, following a disagreement they had decided to solve with fists rather than words. 

It hadn’t been one of his proudest moments. 

There was just something about Gadling, something that set him off in the worst way possible. Morpheus wasn’t a pleasant person to be around, he’d admit, but Gadling would stare at him with such distaste, it felt entirely unwarranted. Jessamy would say it was jealousy, because Morpheus was clearly the better player between the two of them. But who knew, perhaps the Fiddlers’ star player was simply a homophobic asshole, like so many others in this sport. Maybe Roderick had a point when he said that nobody would want to play with him or share a locker room if they knew about him, about his fantasies. 

Perhaps he had been right to announce them to the world.

But god, was he really about to walk into a locker room full of people who would rather have him dead than anywhere near them? Would they refuse to undress before him, just like the Riggers had done? And what would Gadling do to him in the privacy of a training facility, where there was no referee to step between them, no cameras pointed in their direction? 

Fuck, all of this had been a terrible idea. He should leave, should tell Gilbert that he simply couldn’t play for this club, that he would have to find another player, that there was simply too much antagony and hatred and-

“You alright there, mate?” A voice, all too familiar, sounded from behind him. Morpheus couldn’t help the yelp that escaped his lips at the sudden appearance of Robert Gadling right in his personal space. He had been too caught up in his thoughts and didn’t even notice that the other man had approached him. It took every ounce of self-control Morpheus possessed to school his face back into something less terrified as he turned towards his old rival. 

“Why do you care?” He replied, venom dripping from his words. All it earned him was a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, you look like you’re walking to your death sentence. Mind, I don’t actually know what you’re doing here, of all places, but I’m pretty sure the death penalty was abolished in 1969 over here in the UK.” Robert Gadling looked thoughtful for a moment, one hand coming up to scratch at his beard, and Morpheus was left to stare at him. None of this answered his question. “Unless you committed treason of course, the death penalty for that was abolished in 1998 I think. Not that it matters much, both are in the past now, but the more you know!”

There was a moment of silence after Gadling stopped talking, one in which Morpheus contemplated if he should pinch himself for the unlikely reason that this was all a dream. Though surely not even his brain could come up with such impossible scenarios all on its own. After all, he knew nothing about English history. 

Perhaps if he didn’t answer, the other man would leave. 

But no such luck. Robert Gadling was not fazed by his silence. 

“Not a fan of history, eh? Fair enough, I guess it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea.” Gadling winked at him then, and Morpheus decided that perhaps pinching himself wasn’t the worst idea after all. A stab of pain shot up his arm, but, again, no luck. This really was no elaborate nightmare. Gadling was talking to him. “How about a joke, then? Something to wipe that mopey look off your face?”

He did not wait for Morpheus’ answer. He would not have gotten one anyway, but it was still rude. 

“Why’s Cinderella bad at football?” Morpheus was dreading the answer to this question more than he had dreaded entering the facilities in the first place. Robert Gadling waited for a moment, if for dramatics or simply to torture him, Morpheus didn’t know.

“Because she lost her shoe and ran away from the ball!” 

It was an awful joke. Really, it might be in the top ten of the worst jokes Morpheus had ever heard. And yet, he felt the familiar feeling of laughter bubbling up from deep within him, a sort of hysteria he simply couldn’t control, couldn’t stop as it was about to simply burst from his chest. 

Perhaps it was the whole situation that made him hysterical, the stress of the past few days that came crashing down on him that had sent him into delirium. Or, maybe, he simply wasn’t very sane to begin with.

Morpheus tried desperately to clasp a hand over his mouth in order to stop the horrible noise from escaping his lips, but it was a futile attempt. Waves of laughter shook his body and the sound, only slightly muffled by his hand, spilled into the air between him and Robert Gadling. 

Morpheus knew that his laugh was horrible. Back at school people had held their ears whenever he laughed, much later people had simply asked him to stop whenever he couldn’t catch himself in time. Roderick had had the cane. But Gadling did not do any of those things. 

Gadling was simply… looking. He looked… amused? Fond, perhaps? Morpheus couldn’t really see through the tears that were building in his eyes as he tried to calm down. But he had to be imagining things, nobody had ever looked fond when confronted with his joy. And Gadling… Gadling hated him.

Didn’t he? 

“Looked like you needed that.” he said, tone warm, and Morpheus wasn’t too sure about it anymore. “Come on, I’ll bring you wherever you need to go. And call me Hob, yeah? My friends usually do.”

Robert Gadling clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Morpheus had never felt so unsteady on his feet or in his world-view. 

It was minutes later that the two of them entered the training facilities of Fiddler’s Green, Gadling chattering away at Morpheus’ side as if they were old friends. He talked about anything and everything, topics seemingly unrelated to one another, though somehow Morpheus managed to keep up with the jumps in his stories. How he went from a camping trip the team went on last month to when he went fishing with his father when he was younger, to the anatomy of grasshoppers they had presumably used for fishing, and the physical differences between grasshoppers and crickets. 

It was weirdly familiar, so similar to how his own brain worked. Though he could never verbalise his thoughts like this, without overthinking every single word. Gadling didn’t particularly seem to care if he could keep up, just kept talking and gesturing as they walked. 

It was… calming. Morpheus found himself hoping that he didn’t stop any time soon. 

But, of course, they had a destination. And once they reached it, Gadling slowly came to a stop in his rambling. Before them were the doors to the locker rooms, through which Morpheus heard voices, broken up by laughter, louder than he had ever experienced a locker room to be at Fawney Rig. 

The Riggers hadn’t talked much to one another. Certainly hadn’t laughed together.

“Right, Gilbert should be with the other guys. Do you want me to get him or come inside?”

Considerate. Morpheus wished he didn’t have to go into this room. But there was no point, if he was supposed to work and play with these men in the future. 

“I would come in, if you don’t mind.” 

God, Morpheus hated how small his voice sounded. Gadling must be aware of what he was actually asking. The question Would you allow someone like me into your changing rooms? hidden somewhere between the lines. But the other man simply raised an eyebrow at him, smiled fondly and held the door open for him. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

Morpheus remembered very clearly how the Riggers had once asked him to come inside the locker rooms after Roderick had outed him, just to close and lock the door in his face. 

It had been three years since he last stepped foot into a shared locker room. And Robert Gadling invited him, his rival, inside with a smile. 

Morpheus hoped the tears stinging in his eyes weren’t too obvious.

As they entered, member after member turned to look at them with an air of surprise and curiosity. One of them, blond, American, and with a devastatingly handsome smile, whistled and waggled his eyebrows in Gadling’s direction. 

“Did you finally have the guts to talk to Mister Dreamy without starting a fight, Robbie?”

When Morpheus turned to look at the other man, he could see that his tanned skin turned red around his cheeks, all the way up to his ears. Huh, Morpheus hadn’t known that Gadling felt embarrassment over their common disagreements on the field. He had always seemed very confident in his anger.

“Shut it, Cori. He’s here to talk to Gilbert.”

Just as Gadling said it, the man in question looked up from some papers he had been studying, with a smile spreading over his face. “Oh, Mister Ateleios!” Gilbert stood quickly to offer him his hand, which Morpheus took without much hesitation. The coach of Fiddler’s Green was a homely man, soft and welcoming in every way Roderick hadn’t been. “It’s wonderful to have you, son, just wonderful! I’m glad to see you’ve found your way just fine.” 

Morpheus couldn’t remember when someone had last called him son. Perhaps when he had last seen his parents… some six-odd years ago. Though, honestly, his father had stopped calling him son long before that. It made a part deep within him ache to hear it again, from a stranger nonetheless. But he couldn’t get emotional in front of all these people, not now, so he forced a smile and a nod, and hoped his voice didn’t break when he answered. 

“Yes, Mister Gadling was kind enough to lead the way. I am honoured to be here.”

The elder man patted his shoulder, fatherly, and Morpheus was a hair’s breadth away from breaking down. 

“Glad Robert could make himself useful at least, when he’s already never on time.” Gadling pouted at that, but didn’t otherwise react. Such a statement from Roderick would have had the entire room cowering in fear. But these men weren’t afraid. It was strange, but at the same time filled Morpheus with hope that this perhaps wasn’t a huge mistake. “And now that you two are here as well, it’s time for the big announcement, wouldn’t you say?”

Gilbert hadn’t warned the team of him? With all their history? Either the man had incredible trust in his men or he didn’t care much about Morpheus’ physical well-being.

Morpheus was about to be sick after all. 

“What’s the announcement, boss?” a raven-haired man asked from their right, curiosity in his voice. Or was it mistrust?

“Well, boys, Mister Ateleios here approached me a few weeks ago, asking to become a part of the team. And I signed him on, of course. He will take Paul’s place, since his spot opened up with the end of last season.” 

Morpheus closed his eyes, preparing himself for protest, for judgement, for insults. All of it would be reasonable, and he wasn’t stupid enough to hope for a better reaction. He had landed Gadling in hospital once, for Christ’s sake. He would be lucky if nobody resorted to violence in the face of what must feel like betrayal from their coach-

“Oh fuck yeah, we will kick ass this season with Morpheus on our team!”

Gadling’s excited voice cut through the silence like a knife through butter, and suddenly the whole room erupted into cheers. Hands found his shoulders and back, patting them with enthusiasm as Morpheus blinked his eyes open in surprise. The men were smiling at him, not a hint of malevolence in any of their faces. Robert Gadling was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes shining like those of a child at Christmas. Nobody had ever looked at Morpheus like that, like his presence was a thing to look forward to. 

It would change, surely. They were happy to have his skills on their time, were looking forward to a successful season. That was all. 

It would change. 

Morpheus was sure of it. 

- - - 

The next day, Morpheus was the first ready for training. He was early, really. Dreadfully early. When Roderick said training started at eight, he had expected the team to show up at six at the latest. But apparently the Fiddlers were less inclined to begin a day so early. 

No matter, a few extra hours would not do him any harm. 

He could warm up already, set up a few exercises. Perhaps it would reflect on his conviction to be a valuable player for the team, so they would perhaps forgive his lack of character. 

It was as good a plan as ever. 

He started off with stretching his legs and feet, before moving onto his arms and neck. It was calming, to spend some minutes in tranquil silence, simply feeling the muscles in his body stretch and loosen for the day ahead. Just as he was about to start his last set of stretches, a voice came from the side of the field, which almost caused him to strain his neck with how fast he turned around to look at the source. 

Of course, it was Gadling. 

“Did you hear about the team whose back four was only two fullbacks?”

That. Didn’t make any sense. What was that supposed to mean? Had he been supposed to do preparations for today’s training? Research the teams they would be playing? Gods, if he had already missed such a vital task on his second day they would never tolerate him, they would put him on the bench and find a different player, they-

“Apparently they're double stuffed.”

It was another joke. A pun. A horrible, terrible, awful pun. 

Morpheus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, half-delirious, his heart beating so fast in his chest he felt a bit faint. 

He hadn’t misstepped. No reason for punishment. He was okay. 

Except that he was laughing, freely, before Robert Gadling. 

He really had to get a grip on himself. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the laughter in, couldn’t stop, not even when tears were running down his cheeks and his stomach felt like he had done a hundred situps. 

Gadling was smiling when he came closer, as he seemed to do so very often since they had met in front of the facility. He sat down next to him, mirroring his current position, and Morpheus couldn’t help but smile back at him as they began to stretch together, Gadling once again regaling him with stories and anecdotes and seemingly random facts. 

It was nice. 

Morpheus had absolutely no idea how to deal with it. But he decided to simply accept it for what it was. 

- - - 

On Saturdays, the Fiddlers met for drinks. 

It was an unspoken rule, a tradition, and Morpheus had been invited during that first week of training with the team. Therefore, it was important to leave a positive impression. 

He arrived, dressed in a tux and carrying a bottle of wine, at the address Gadling had sent him. It was… not a real restaurant, nor another place he recognised. It didn’t seem to be a place where any of the other players lived either. The sign on the front of the building read The New Inn and from inside Morpheus could hear the same laughter and joy he had come to associate with the locker rooms of Fiddler’s Green. 

They were a loud bunch, almost irritatingly so, if it weren’t for the warmth their company provided. Spending time with them was easier than it had ever been with the Riggers. 

Upon entering Morpheus was greeted with cheers and whistles, and he realised very quickly that he was immensely overdressed. The team sat around a large table towards the side of the room, dressed in jeans, t-shirts and hoodies (except Ken and Cori, those two technically wore shirts, though Morpheus was not entirely sure that they could really qualify as such with how little they were covering.). Gadling sported a fading band-tee about two sizes too large and sweat-pants.

Gods above, Morpheus would stick out like a sore thumb. Why had nobody told him about the dress-code?

“Looking good, Dreamy!” Cori called over the cheers, a grin on his face. “Dress to impress! Robbie will look dreadfully underdressed next to you.”

The man in question kicked Cori underneath the table. 

“Ow! What, it’s not my fault you roll from your couch upstairs right down to drinks night!” 

The tips of Gadling’s ears turned red at the other man’s words, and Morpheus almost felt the need to defend him. After all, it was his being overdressed, not Gadling being undressed, that was the faux-pas here. 

But in the spirit of good impressions Morpheus simply sat down on the free chair next to Gadling and placed the bottle of wine on the table. It was immediately nicked by Mervyn, an appreciative whistle leaving his lips as he read the label. “Good stuff, Dreamy. Cheers!”

That nickname, twice already this evening. Morpheus wasn’t entirely sure if it existed to make fun of him or was simply a thing these people did. It had been there since day one, and apparently the team wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. It… did not bother Morpheus too much. He had never had a nickname. Roderick had only ever called him Morpheus, and he had only ever said it with hatred, disappointment or cold detachment. Never with humour, joy or fondness, had never used it to tease him. 

“Why did the winger miss the match?”

Gadling’s voice, quiet and right next to his ear, quickly pulled Morpheus out of his thoughts. It was a question. Had he missed a part of the conversation? Was he supposed to answer? Or, no, it wasn’t another one, was it…?

“He was busy chasing ball.” 

Oh, fuck, it was another one of Gadling’s horrible, god-awful puns. That was it. Proof that Gadling hated him, had just been nice to him to gain some twisted sort of amusement. Morpheus knew the laughter was coming this time, knew he was helpless against it bubbling up in his throat. He didn’t want to face the whole team as they were subjected to his laugh. Surely they would tell him to stop, to keep quiet, to leave the inn, laugh at him. 

But there was no helping it. With his face hidden behind his hands, Morpheus allowed the sound to spill over and mix with the laughter around them. Seconds passed by, and the noise around him did not stop. Conversations continued, drinks were drunk, and nobody seemed to react at all. 

Ever so slowly, Morpheus dared to raise the hands from his face and to peek into the group of people around him. 

Nobody was batting an eye. 

Stunned, and more than a little confused, Morpheus let his hands drop to his lap. Beside him, Gadling was nursing his beer, almost as if he hadn’t just tried to embarrass him in front of the entire team. Or… perhaps he really hadn’t tried to. Nobody was laughing at him after all. Nobody was shouting at him to keep quiet or to go outside. 

Almost as if it were okay for him to just… be. 

- - - 

About a month later, Morpheus sat in his apartment on his day off. A Sunday. The first of the month. 

It was a quiet day, warm and sunny and the only sounds were the birds chirping outside.

That was, until someone decided it would be a brilliant idea to abuse his doorbell. Probably some reporter, or an obnoxious fan. They would get bored soon. Very soon. 

Ten minutes later, the doorbell was still ringing and Morpheus had had enough. 

“Gamo to kerato sou. People nowadays have zero respect for privacy.”

Morpheus was ready to yell at whoever was standing behind the door, scare them off so they would never show their face here ever again. 

But behind the door was Gadling. And Cori. And Matthew and Mervyn and John and Ken and… even Gilbert was there. Gadling was holding a cake in his hands. Self-made, by the looks of it. 

The frosting read Happy One Month Anniversary!

Morpheus was about to cry. 

He couldn’t help it. He rushed forward, right into the arms of Robert Gadling. Because this must have been his idea, insufferable, incredible man that he was. Considerate. God, he was always so considerate. Cheering him up with stupid puns every single day, forcing him to relax, to trust, to breathe, to be. 

Forcing Morpheus to enjoy his company. Seek it out even. He didn’t do hugs. And yet, here he was. 

“Thank you, Hob.” he whispered, so only Hob could hear. The arms around him tightened, and the other man pressed his cheek against his own. 

“Anytime, Dream.”

[sufferu]

I have learned that I really can’t write any Julius-Subaru interactions without adding some serious undertones oops. To be fair, it is worse in canon. (“Roll over and show me your belly like the good lapdog you are.” BRO—)

Anyway, here’s an idea of what their interactions are like in Back to Zero — and what Subaru’s situation looks like from anyone else’s POV, because this is BTZ II.

BTZ II Ficlet: Sparring Practice

____

Sparring with Subaru had become part of Julius’ daily routine.

Julius had been reluctant to agree to Wilhelm’s suggestion at first, remembering all too well how terribly their duel at the parade grounds had gone, but Subaru had been adamant enough about wanting to spar with him that he gave in. Then he had attempted to go easy on him, restraining himself to the point where he and Subaru could perhaps have a bout as relative equals, and even resolving to lose on purpose a couple of times — only for Subaru to take apparent offense at the gesture and yell at him to “Take me seriously, for fuck’s sake!”

So now Julius was restraining himself just enough to not cause actual harm, and Subaru was throwing himself at him with all his strength in an attempt to get the best of him. But of course, someone who was just starting out in swordsmanship would necessarily be many times weaker than one of the strongest fighters in the kingdom, and so Subaru kept getting planted right back in the dirt.

…Considering what Julius remembered about Subaru’s preferences from the original timeline, that might have been the point. Whether Subaru was consciously aware of it being the point was another question entirely.

Subaru struggled to his feet, breathing heavily. He was going to need to stop soon. Julius watched him with amusement: whatever the universe, it seemed, Subaru never knew when to quit. —Ah, well. The whole point of this arrangement was for Subaru to learn for himself when enough was enough. If he wanted to keep going until he collapsed, then this — in the middle of a Dukal Estate, surrounded by armed guards on every side, through a controlled training session with people who love him — this was by far the safest place for him to do it.

Julius was one of very few people Wilhelm would let spar with Subaru during these sessions, as their prior experiences in the other timeline had thoroughly convinced the Sword Demon that the Knight of Knights would never try to take advantage of the opportunity to harm his unofficial grandson. His original suggestion had terrified Julius at first, with him panicking and attempting desperately to backtrack as to not force Subaru into fighting him so soon after their disastrous public duel — but with the revelation that Subaru both was not holding a grudge and really just wanted to move on as quickly as possible, the knowledge of the trust that came with such a request now simply made him smile.

It probably helped that Julius was significantly better at PLAYING than Wilhelm was. He had an easier time holding back, and presenting opportunities for Subaru to try and take advantage, and drawing out these spars in a way that would make it fun and engaging instead of simple toil. Wilhelm had run out of ideas after bashing him repeatedly over the head with a practice sword had failed to stop Subaru from charging forward, and he had only stopped that because — even if the individual blows had been gentle, in relation to his true strength — Ferris had warned him that they would quickly accumulate into an actual head injury if he kept it up.

(It was thanks to the old Subaru that he was better at playing than Wilhelm was. Provoking him with casual banter, dragging him into little games, making stupid bets with even stupider penalties attached — Julius had Subaru to thank for all of that. Even if Subaru didn’t remember any of it now.)

“Perhaps the two of you should start wrapping it up,” Wilhelm said gruffly, voice echoing from where he was refereeing their sparring match. His arms were crossed. “There are not infinite hours in a day, and some us have responsibilities to attend to.”

Wilhelm was getting anxious, then. Julius sighed inwardly, privately thinking that the Sword Demon was perhaps a little too overprotective, but took another glance at his sparring partner’s clear fatigue. Subaru was trembling from head to toe, his practice sword was sliding out of his grip, sweat was dripping down his face…

“Perhaps we should call it?” Julius suggested. “It looks like you could use a rest, Subaru.”

“Bold words from— from a coward who’s too wimpy to fight me like a man!” Subaru snapped, panting hard enough that he needed to pause to take a breath mid-sentence. “If you— If you want me to stop so bad, then— then come over and MAKE me, you prick!”

Julius prayed that Subaru would know better than to use the words “coward,” “wimpy,” “fight me like a man,” or “make me” in a fight against someone who was actually trying to hurt him. Judging by the look on Wilhelm’s face, it seemed that Subaru’s unofficial grandfather was thinking much the same thing.

“As you wish,” he simply answered, and then he charged.

He didn’t move as quickly as he would have with an actual opponent, slowing down just enough for Subaru to practice a couple of blocks and parries as he stumbled backwards. But he didn’t let up, and soon Subaru tripped over his own two feet — to which Julius responded by gently knocking his side with the pommel of his practice sword so that he tumbled onto his front, expertly avoiding the danger of having him bump his head on the landing.

“And with that—” he tried to say, only for Subaru to interrupt him.

“Not— Not over!” he gasped. He was struggling to get up, one fist still clenched around the handle of his practice sword. Julius watched with quiet amazement. “I can— I can still—”

This really was starting to go too far. Wilhelm looked about ready to actually jump in — and if he caved this once, then he’d probably be ready to give up on these sessions altogether, which would mean that Subaru would not be allowed to train like this at all anymore. And even if Subaru’s ability to recognize when he needed to stop WAS worryingly low, Julius knew that these sessions were important to him. He didn’t want him to be forced to give up on them entirely. Not before he was ready to stop.

If Subaru really couldn’t put down the sword on his own, then…

Julius plopped down, squashing Subaru into the grass by the small of his back, the same way he remembered screwing with his old friends back in his village when he was a kid. He heard his sparring partner let out an “Oomph!” as all the wind was knocked out of his lungs, his practice sword clattering out of his hands and out of reach. It took him a moment to fully register what was happening, but when he did he started to fight in earnest.

“Wha— Get OFF of me!” Subaru yelled, scrabbling against the dirt.

Julius didn’t budge. “Not until you call it,” he said sweetly. Subaru’s struggles were weak and pitiful, as worked to the bone as he was. It would be admirable if it weren’t quite so worrying. “If you can successfully throw me off, then I’ll say you won this round, hm? How does that sound?”

For the next five minutes or so, Subaru tried to do exactly that. He struggled, and writhed, and kicked, and pushed against the ground with trembling hands in an attempt to lift himself and Julius up enough that he could toss him aside. But he was too tired to be successful, Julius stayed exactly where he was, and eventually even his stubborn self had to admit defeat.

“I— I give…” Subaru finally forced out. “I call it.”

“Naturally,” Julius teased, and then he finally stood up. Subaru didn’t follow his lead, too exhausted to even try to push himself to his feet, instead choosing to glower up at him from the dirt. The sulky look on his face almost made Julius burst out laughing. “Come on, then,” he grinned, gently pulling him up by the arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then you can go take a nap before dinner.”

Julius didn’t really need to clean up yet — he had barely broken a sweat — but Subaru was absolutely filthy with dirt and grime. Julius would have been happy to accompany him into the bathhouse to help him wash up, but Subaru had chased him out, and so the knight was left waiting outside with Wilhelm instead.

“My apologies for dragging you into this,” the old man said, like he often did.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Julius dismissed, as he always did. “Subaru is—” An old colleague? A former romantic partner? A good friend? That question had been difficult to answer even before time had reversed itself and Subaru had — forgotten everything about him. “—someone very dear to me. And if this is what he wants to do — it’s not like I don’t enjoy swordsmanship, myself.”

“Subaru doesn’t even LIKE swordsmanship,” Wilhelm sighed, rubbing his face. “Why that boy decided to be so stubborn with this, of all things…”

Julius was probably encouraging him, indulging his masochistic streak like this. He felt a little guilty at the look of exasperation on Wilhelm’s face, but not enough to stop.

“It’s nyot the dumbest thing Subaru-kyun could be doing,” Ferris butted in. Both Julius and Wilhelm turned to see the healer strolling over, having been watching their duel from nearby in case any accidents occurred. “He could have decided to keep chasing after the Iron Fang, nyes? Pretty sure Ricardo would kill him eventually if he did that…”

Fears of what Subaru might do if not given a controlled outlet for his mischievous behavior were exactly what had convinced Wilhelm to cave and give him these mock lessons in the first place, after all. Julius could see the Sword Demon paling at the thought of Subaru successfully sneaking off on a mercenary expedition, and so he quickly moved to switch focus to something a little less stressful.

“He’s getting a little better here and there,” he said. He wasn’t lying: Subaru had made definite strides over the past two weeks. “I know he’ll never be a great swordsman or anything, but he’s improving enough that he might be able to defend himself from smaller threats if need be.”

“He won’t HAVE to, so long as I have a say in it,” Wilhelm muttered darkly.

“Nyer so mean to him,” Ferris commented, crossing his arms as he leered at Julius. “Did nya really have to go and sit on him like that? That was just foul.”

“He WANTS me to be mean to him,” Julius answered. “He gets angry if I’m not.”

Ferris scoffed. “Even then, surely nyer going just a little bit overboard here, aren’t nya?”

Subaru finally exited the bathhouse, still drying off his face with his sleeve. Uncouth, but one of the less uncouth things Julius had seen him do, so he could let it slide this one time. —Besides, he had a point to make. “Watch,” he said quietly, and then he walked over to greet Subaru with a polite bow.

“Have you had a nice shower, Subaru-sama?” he asked politely. “If you’re finished, I can escort you back to your room for an afternoon rest.”

Subaru recoiled. “What’s THAT supposed to mean?!” he snapped. “Am I too much of a pansy for you, O’ Knight of Knights?! I’ll have you know that I’m— just as strong as you are, and I’m gonna beat the snot out of YOU one of these days—!”

Julius glanced in Ferris and Wilhelm’s direction, both of them watching Subaru’s growing tantrum with wide eyes. See?

Wilhelm sighed, shaking his head. Ferris stifled a laugh. “Nyes, nyes, Subaru-kyun,” he purred, sauntering forward so that he could drape himself across the boy’s back. Subaru flinched. “Juli can put nyew in nyer place all over again tomorrow, m’kay? But for nyow he’s got work to do, so why don’t we just let the knyights go and do their chores?”

“But—!”

“Perhaps Ferris wasn’t clear enough,” Julius interrupted, finally going ahead and giving Subaru the reaction he was clearly looking for. “Disciplining unruly mutts who don’t know their place may be fun, but as a knight of the kingdom, I have duties to attend to.” He would be patrolling near the Capital bookstore, come to think of it. Perhaps he could pick up a slightly more advanced anthology of old historical tales as a gift once his shift was over? Subaru was progressing slowly but steadily in his studies: he might appreciate the challenge. “Be warned that I will respond appropriately if you keep this attitude up tomorrow,” he teased. “I suggest you either learn to mind your tongue or prepare yourself accordingly.”

Subaru finally quieted down, his eyes going wide as he stared up at the knight, struck dumb. Julius resisted rolling his eyes, but couldn’t quite keep himself from ruffling Subaru’s hair affectionately as he brushed past. It was still slightly damp. “You need to dry yourself properly, Subaru,” he scolded, stopping briefly. “You’ll catch a cold if you keep going outside all wet like this.”

“Nyes, nyes, Ferri-chan will make sure Subaru-kyun learns how to use a shower properly — nyow go do nyer job, dummy!”

And finally, Julius had been successfully chased off.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv!!! I’ve seen you have an draco injury/disability reclist but I was wondering if yoy knew of any fics where harry had an injury/disability??

thank you!!

Hi anon! Yes definitely, here are some hurt!Harry for you:

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?). A little story about learning to strike while the iron is hot.

The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)

Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world.

Fearful Trill by @vukovich (E, 29k)

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

fly like paper, high like planes by @harryromper (M, 47k)

Harry Potter, Head Coach of the Appleby Arrows, is very content leading a quiet life. He has a doddery old house-elf who makes his breakfast, a team of players who love Quidditch almost as much as he does, and a Kneazle that curls against his damaged leg at the foot of his bed at night. The absolute last thing he needs is a fit, tattooed, and wildly talented Draco Malfoy back from living his life on the margins.

Harry Potter and the elusive day off by pleasebekidding (E, 71k)

Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with.

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k) - cw: major permanent disability

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

The Ordeal of Being Known by @lou-isfake (M, 146k)

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

[terrainofheartfelt]

okay could you do dair 23 or 26

Dair + 23 …in relief.

(there was another request for dair + 26 so that shalt be answered later <3)

(in the meantime, some 5x24 canon divergence as self care <3)

Dan knocks back the shot Serena hands him with a wince. Tequila. Whenever Dan shoots tequila he makes ill-advised choices. Which is why for his birthday two weeks ago, he and Blair drank Manhattans before feeling each other up in the bar bathroom. 

Whiskey goes with Blair, warm but harsh, sweet and sharp, burns down through his chest like being in love. Tequila is dangerous. Tequila is…well…Serena. 

“Okay, okay, time-out,” Dan pleads, making a T with his hands, trying in vain to referee his own life.  

Serena laughs, her smile glinting around a wedge of lime. “Don’t give up on me now, Dan. I never took you for a lightweight.” 

He snorts. “Yeah, well, anyone’s a lightweight when they ingest tequila on an empty stomach.” 

He hasn’t eaten all day. He couldn’t make himself. His stomach has been twisted up in knots ever since those fucking Gossip Girl blasts. He’d stupidly thought that drinking would help, but it’s only made it worse. 

Serena pats his shoulder sympathetically. “There’s food around here somewhere. I’ll flag someone –” 

She lifts her arm, and despite his compromised state, Dan is able to spot the danger. He stumbles backward and pulls Serena with him, out of the way of a passing waiter, narrowly saving the both of them from being doused by an entire bottle of champagne. 

“Whoa,” he brilliantly comments, then reflexively drops his hands from Serena’s arms to his sides, releasing her.  

She only steps closer, looking at him with concern. “You okay?”

He chokes on an hysterical laugh, because no, he is clearly not, and suddenly everything in the party becomes too much. The noise, the people, the terrible music, the lighting, the dense, cloying air of a hundred over perfumed American aristocrats, and is he that drunk or is Serena still extremely close to him?

“Uh – yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair—it’s so hot in here that he wishes he could chop it off now, or at least have a hair tie on his wrist like Jenny always does. “I just – I need some air.” 

He takes a step back, and Serena immediately follows him. “I’ll come with you.” 

“No, Serena –” he snaps, then catches himself, his stomach does a violent flip. Personal space has never been much of a thing with them, even as friends, but now Dan feels on the precipice of something dangerous. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna puke. And I know that dress you’re wearing is worth more than my book deal, so –” he waves a vague hand, and turns and walks away before Serena can protest again.   

Dan ends up on the sidewalk in front of Grand Central. Given the spring humidity and all the city smells that come with it, the air outside the Campbell isn’t much better, but at least out here Dan can be alone for a moment. 

He knows she means well, but Serena’s hovering only makes him feel worse, like she’s already decided what choice Blair is going to make. 

Dan supposes if anyone were qualified to weigh in on Blair’s choices, it would be Serena. But no, Blair hasn’t really let Serena know her for a long time now, and maybe Dan is partially to blame for that, but — he’s too drunk to follow this thread right now. 

He leans back against the wall to steady himself. He’s already out here, public transportation hub at his back, it would be pretty easy to make a getaway, spare him the humiliation of waiting around for the rest of the night. 

But, what if?

He tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Too many trains of thought, too much tequila to chase them down. 

“Dan?”

He wrenches his eyes open. No way. 

“Oh thank god,” he mutters, pushing himself off the wall and into Blair’s arms, pouring all the relief he can’t speak into a kiss. 

“Mm – Dan,” she pulls back, but holds her grip on his lapels, keeping him close. She wrinkles her nose, impossibly cute, and he loves her. “You taste like a distillery.” 

He loves her. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tipping his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats unevenly, apologizing for more than just the tequila breath. For being drunk now, for serving her that stupid ultimatum, for nearly giving up on his end of it, for saying too much and scaring her off. 

“It’s fine,” Blair says with a long-suffering sigh as she twines her arms around his neck. “I love you anyway.”

Dan gapes at her, dumbstruck. Blair Waldorf has a singular talent of rendering him speechless. “You’re gonna have to tell me that again when I’m sober.”

She giggles and pulls him in to kiss him again, distillery be damned.

[koifishart]

I want to be Your Koi Fish - Nine Tails

Warning: +18 content, criminal underworld, intercourse, strong language - and so on

Fanfiction based on: "Baki" by Itagaki Keisuke

>26<

While waiting for his wife to sort things out with Orochi, he watched more duels. They were interesting, he couldn't deny that. Women turned out to be very inventive in the fight, using not only their strength, but also the opponent's weight. Amazing craftsmanship. Another contestant was just leaving, a red ponytail and a shiny blouse flashed before his eyes, when he heard a terrible bang. One of the partition walls crumbled, Katsumi fell out from behind it and an angry Hanabi came out.

- And if you dare to insult my husband again, or point out his lack of care, believe me, it won't stop at one wall. - she snarled dryly, and he thought he sensed a note of satisfaction. - I'll fuck you to the afterlife.

He grunted in appreciation. He hadn't expected his wife to be so hard on the matter. He glanced quickly at the screen, then waved his hand at her.

- Hana, Shizuka is coming to the Arena. - he said, completely ignoring the still confused karateka. - Come on!

She ran over, immediately turning her gaze to the beginning of the fight. He felt a small arm slipping between shirt and jacket, wrapping around his waist, hooking a finger on the waistband of his trousers. If he remembered correctly, the red-haired Miss Soga was a pacifist, so what was she doing at the tournament? Like the rest of her siblings, she was a master swordsman, but what if she couldn't use a weapon? Her opponent did not impress with height, she was rather similar, but visibly more muscular and aggressive. She was amused by Shizuka's cute appearance, which her sister-in-law didn't seem to pay attention to. As soon as the first blow flew in her direction, she did a neat somersault to the side, and a moment before landing on her legs, she curled around her own axis, undercutting her opponent's legs. Agile and finesse stood on the ground waiting for a reaction. This one came quite quickly, a small woman, remembering the previous attack, tried to reach the red-haired girl's legs and block them, but the sister-in-law swerved out with a dance step, serving another roundhouse kick, sending her opponent to the other end of the arena with force. This was not what he had expected from the by far sweetest of his wife's sisters, even though he had seen her personally extricate herself from the clutches of one of the fugitives. The announcer did not fail to comment on this.

- This has never happened in this Arena! - he howled happily. - Does the pretty and charming Soga Shizuka know Brazilian martial arts?!

- If only... - Hanabi replied. - Capoeira, ju-jitsu, tai-chi... She loves everything that is airy and apparent. The more fluent the style, the more willing she is to learn it.

- You always said she was against violence, didn't you? - Hanayama was surprised.

- "Pacifist" and "defenceless" aren't synonyms, honey. - she explained.

They looked at the screen again. It was over. Shizuka's opponent gave up the fight. Chiharu was already waiting in the corridor, and in the stands around him the inseparable, screaming Tokkoutai gang. Cameras caught the woman throwing herself into his arms, placing a kiss on his cheek.

- Yui is next. - the wife murmured softly. - It will be a slaughter.

She wasn't wrong. The muffled sound of the drum starting the fight was enough for the opponent of the black-haired master of the niten-ichi-ryu school to jump at her at high speed, and she moved away a bit so that, as if she was playing with a rag doll, she knocked her out in a few moves, knocking her into the ground. Scary, especially since she didn't seem to have used much force. The referee immediately declared the winner and Yui headed to Seryuu's corner.

- My Yang is walking over dead bodies. - Hanabi nodded silently. - To me.

>>><<<

There was no doubt that both of them were equally fed up with Grandpa's whining about which one of them should take over the school. For them, the matter was clear, only he could not adapt. Hanabi decided to remove herself, and since that didn't work...Yui challenged her. She saw that look in the direction of the camera. She knew exactly where to look, they sensed each other. After a while, she was back in the waiting room with Shizuka. They approached Mr. and Mrs. Hanayama to watch more fights. They weren't particularly spectacular from their point of view. All the more likely it could turn out that Yin and Yang would face each other in the final. It wasn't long before they called out Hana again, but the next fight wasn't as challenging as she'd expected. She was back before she knew it, and another woman was filling the line in the treatment room, waiting for her wounds to be sutured. It was no different with the next opponent, Mrs. Lieutenant. However, it turned out that Shizuka's second match could be a real challenge. It was enough for them to enter the arena - the difference is visible to the naked eye. Compared to the almost two-meter-tall blonde with a charming face, whose biceps resembled a head rather than an arm, the 175 cm red-headed pacifist was quite meager, despite her wide hips. Hanabi sensed her older sister standing next to her.

- Oh, she won't come out whole... - she muttered gloomily, crossing her arms over her chest. - Testosterone boosters and steroids...

She was right. It was hard. Shizuka went to the most drastic methods and techniques she knew, and the hardened Norwegian kept getting up. Both were dripping blood from fresh wounds. The cup of bitterness overflowed when the huge opponent broke one of Miss Soga's slender fingers. The redhead fell into a wild fury, slashing with successive blows, to finally wrap around the blonde, dislodge both shoulder joints and, jumping down, hit the solar plexus. Even such a big woman didn't stand a chance. She fell on her face and the audience roared with joy, chanting the name of the staggering woman.

The paramedics managed to bandage her fracture and she herself joined the family when Tokugawa himself appeared among them. He was trembling with excitement, almost like when the fights were between his fighters and the sumo wrestlers.

- Really, I did not expect such emotions! - He crowed happily, running up to the redhead. - A beautiful fight, in style!

- And so far the last in my career. -  Shizuka replied with a smile.

- WHAT?! But why?! - groaned the distraught organizer.

- I only went into the fights out of curiosity, which was satisfied. Nothing else keeps me ranked, and you don't want my next match to be a scam or forfeit, do you, Gouroukou-san? - she murmured, using one of those looks you can't refuse. - That would be a very un-exciting solution. Please give my place to someone else. Thank you.

- I wholeheartedly support! - Chiharu replied, still surrounded by a wreath of girls, gently embracing their mother with his arm.

- Take it easy, Tokugawa-san. The last fight will satisfy your cravings. - old Soga replied loudly, putting his hands into the sleeves of the haori, looking suggestively at the two youngest granddaughters. - I swear. Yui is the only one who can bring out Hanabi's full potential. Little Fox will win, I'll bet all my money on it!

He left with the owner of the Arena, and Hanabi silently agreed with him. Yes, it will be an exciting match. However, he will not allow for the result that grandfather dreamed of.

_________________________________

*memory that is a fragment of one of the special chapters - Tenko Kitsune

** Goroukou - [jap.] Noble Elder; title bestowed as a sign of respect;

[ramblesbambles]

Why do I hate you. You've done nothing but be my friend but I hate you.

Do you remind me of myself? Your hubris, pseudo-intellectual thoughts, the act of wanting to be different, chronically online behavior... Or is it something else. I wouldn't be surprised if it was my own reflection that I'm stabbing but you are... Awful. Not in the way you're actively sabotaging, being a narcissist, or anything. You just wanted to be my friend. Though I am the one with the poison, I used you for attention. My fear of being alone wrapped you in a false relationship. And yet... I hate you. It's not because I don't want to feel loved or have an attachment. I simply hate you.

Your fashion, your stride, your thoughts and speech. I hate it. You stare at me with those dim eyes as I tell you of my woes, to just try to fix me. Listen. I've told you to listen, but your experiences of being an online dweller make you the unhelpful mediator. You become the two faced fuck you are. Maybe mom and dad fought too much. Maybe you don't have control of your own life so you choose to mediate in others. You're a terrible referee. Going to both sides of the battlefield. Spitting on decaying bonds and bullying either side. You are no intellectual. You take things too literally. I am not either but your wet cardboard personality haunts me in my dreams. Dank, glintless eyes. A fantasy you spew. Incompetence is your name and I wish to kill you.

You never confided in me (except for AI and distanced companions you've never met in person), your words have nothing in them and I've never cried, rejoiced or got mad for you. I couldn't feel emotion for you. You barate your maker, you enact in rebellion to spite them. You feel fake. You are fake. You are a child in a... Whatever your body is. Feminine yet you're a man. Smaller than what you think you are. Imagining yourself as the lion that does no wrong. When I have I heard you say anything beyond a sorry? No "I was wrong", no self reflection. Disgusting. No future beyond false hope, no place is these lies you tell yourself. Inhuman.

My words come from a place of hate and immaturity. Narcissism, projecting and self-loathing. But dear God I hate you. I know it's best to keep to myself and learn to not keep a bond that actively makes me the greater evil in the end. This is no "I'm the victim" plea. I am wrong for keeping you beside me and I need to grow from it. But my conclusion remains; i hate you.

[alittlelove4u]

domestic tokyo revengers characters

„in 12 years, please stay away from me“

including: Ran Haitani • Takeomi Akashi • Ken „Draken“ Ryuuguji • Manjiro „Mikey“ Sano • Baji Keisuke • Kazutora Hanemiya • Hanma Shuji • Kakucho Hitto

warnings: none, just pure fluff

sunday mornings with Ran in your shared bed, talking to each other as quiet as possible so your kids don’t notice you’re already awake and you can have a flew minutes together.“ Do you think we could drop them off at my brothers?“ he’d suggest with a sly grin.“Last time we did that, he thought them how to play poker.“ You giggle.“Then Kaku, they love uncle Kaku.“

Later on he’d always make breakfast for the five of you with the twins on his side, claiming they wanna help him.

Takeomi falling asleep on the couch with your child in his arms after a long day of work for they’re watching the nth Disney movie and only waking up as feels them jump on his stomach. „Dad, wake up! You’re gonna miss the princess ball!“

He has watched this money enough times to know every damn magical animal and song yet sings along with the little brat in his arms, even dancing for he can’t say no to his little angel.

Darken and your daughter taking Halloween way to serious and making it their mission to scare everyone in the family at least one time. I’m talking about fake blood, soundeffects, spiders. Just so they could scare you and your other kids to death.

What he doesn’t know is that you and your oldest child are planning a revenge on them, causing him to scream like a maniac in the middle of the night.“Aha! Don’t fuck with me, old man!“ your oldest would laughs, after scaring them and enjoy the sweet revenge.

Mikey would cook for you whenever you have a bad day, or at least he’d try his best. The whole house would be cleaned, music in the background and even candles. Everything would look so lovely until you actually sit down and try the meal he prepared to find out it takes like chipboard. But at least it makes you smile and so he doesn’t mind it. You’d just order food and spend the evening on the couch.

Your kid is terribly embarrassed by Baji whenever the two of you would attend a game of them. Your husband is their biggest fan and so it’s only logical that he’s also the loudest. He’d yell and clap and root for them in every match, ignoring all the other parents who’re eyeing him like a psycho for its only a football match for middle schoolers. This man has and will start a fight with the referee, so you better not leave his side.“[title], can you tell him to calm down, he’s embarrassing me in front of my friends,“ they’d complain but you’d just shake your head.“No can do, sweetheart.“

Kazutora waking up in the middle of the night because your little boy is screaming again and he doesn’t want you to get up. After some time you’d notice that your husband isn’t back in bed and so you’d look for him, just to find the man in the nursery. The baby is asleep again and a grin grows on your face because they still have his hair on their little hands, not letting him go. He’d smile and bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t curse or scream for that little human in his arms is plugging out half his hair.“You want some help?“ you giggle quietly whereupon he quickly nods.

If there is one thing Hanma can’t resist, except for you of course, then it’s your son’s puppy eyes. He loves spoiling him with whatever he wants. New toys? Done. Video games? There is a whole closet filled with them. Phones, clothes, trips. Whatever this little brat wants, Hanma will get it.

„You can’t just buy him a car! He’s 17!“ You’d yell as the two of them would come home in a black mercedes.“But look at his little face, he’s just so cute.“ Hanma would squeeze his cheeks and talk to him like when he was a baby. You’d just roll your eyes and smile. Yeah, you both love spoiling him.

Kakucho becoming completely domestic after you have children. You were getting older but not that old! For the first time on months, you had the house for yourselves and instead of going or doing something exiting you spend your evening on the couch, enjoying the silence.

„You know, now that the kids are at the sleepovers, we can’t be bothered by anyone,“ he said with a sly smile on his face, looking over to you.“Are we thinking the same thing?“

In the span of a second has the man thrown you over his shoulder, to rush into you bedroom.

[rocorambles]

Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.  

OR

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that. 

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back. 

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands. 

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals. 

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

Crap. 

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend. 

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway. 

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed. 

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself. 

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one. 

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.  

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?” 

Oh. OH. 

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds. 

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret. 

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside. 

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip. 

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit. 

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after. 

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate. 

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room. 

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you. 

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me." 

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant. 

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway. 

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow." 

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away. 

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other. 

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words. 

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you. 

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?” 

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum. 

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman. 

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?” 

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full. 

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure. 

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.” 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you. 

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him. 

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other. 

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face. 

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture. 

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting. 

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google and France agree on ad-tech interop

It’s (mostly) great that Big Tech monopolies are finally facing regulation.

There are two bad things about monopolies:

I. They cheat their customers and suppliers because they know they’re the only game in town, and

II. They use their money to legalize harmful practices.

Here’s a Type I example of how Google uses its monopoly power to cheat: Google controls the ad-tech market they rig it in their favor — they represent both buyers and sellers, and they compete with them, and they advantage themselves.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/20/sovkitsch/#adtech

But Google’s ad-tech stack also has a Type II monopoly abuse: the ad-targeting systems Google sells are extraordinarily, harmfully invasive. They get away with this privacy abuse because they convert the money they get from rigging the market to lobby against privacy laws.

There’s a real danger that competition authorities seeking to blunt Google’s monopoly will get Type I and Type II abuses mixed up. It’s great to force Google to run a clean ad marketplace, preferably by forcing it to divest of the units that compete with its own customers.

After all, it’s nearly impossible to detect “self-preferencing” in complex markets — like, did Google place its own ad rather than a higher-bidding third-party because it was cheating, or because its algorithm assessed the third-party ad as fraudulent?

And if so, was the algorithm itself designed to overblock third-party ads as potentially fraudulent while applying a more lax standard to the ads that Google sells — and makes more money from?

The entity that runs the market is the referee. Referees shouldn’t also be members of one of the teams. Period. Obviously. I mean, come on.

The problem is that breaking up a monopolist is really hard. It can take decades and cost billions.

So regulators, out of ignorance or desperation, continue to allow referees to have a stake in the outcome, and instead seek to improve competition in other domains, especially Type II domains — those bad actions that monopolists get away with because they’re too big to stop.

That’s what’s going on in France right now. The French competition regulator just fined Google $268M for anticompetitive ad-tech abuses. Included in the settlement — which Google says it won’t fight — is a mandate for interoperability in ad-tech.

https://techcrunch.com/2021/06/07/france-fines-google-268m-for-adtech-abuses-and-gets-interoperability-commitments/

Interop is a great remedy for anticompetitive markets, and indeed, it makes tech a prime target for competition enforcement. When companies are forced to interoperate, their “network effect” advantages can be obliterated, by lowering switching costs.

https://onezero.medium.com/tech-monopolies-and-the-insufficient-necessity-of-interoperability-aafba94f1eb3

Interop is a great solution to Type I problems, problems caused by a lack of competition. But it’s a terrible solution to Type II problems. If a monopolist got away with doing something horrible and abusive, we shouldn’t fix that by improving competition.

The last thing we want is competition in practices that harm the public — we don’t want companies to see who can commit the most extensive human rights abuses at the lowest costs. That’s not something we want to render more efficient.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/fighting-floc-and-fighting-monopoly-are-fully-compatible

Unfortunately, that’s what the French interop remedy for Google does. Rather than abolishing or curbing targeting (substituting noninvasive content-based targeting, reliant on the content of a page rather than the identity of the user), they’re helping everyone target users.

As Google wrote in its corporate comms about the ruling, it will improve interop by creating a way to share ad-tech data with third party competitors. This is such a fucking monkey’s paw.

https://blog.google/around-the-globe/google-europe/some-changes-our-ad-technology/

There’s going to be more of this. In the UK, the Competition and Market Authority’s otherwise excellent report on ad-tech calls for widespread access to “attribution,” where ad-tech follows you around forever to see if an ad leads to a sale.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

There are two kinds of entities agitating for more tech competition and interop. On the one side, you have smaller ad-tech firms and telecoms monopolists who want competition in commercial surveillance.

On the other side, you have public interest groups like EFF, calling for interop as a way to help people escape high-surveillance digital environments by allowing them to take their data with them and maintain their social ties.

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

Interop can be fully privacy-compatible — indeed, interop can be a way to weaken tech to open space to enact and enforce strong privacy rules.

But there’s some forms of competition — competition to invade your privacy — that we should reject altogether, not enhance.

[whumpasaurus101]

The Collab of Clueless Chaos - Chapter One

Okay aaaa i have been looking forward to writing this for so long oml. SO this is a collab with Tabea ( @happy-whumper ) and I!!!

Olivia and Nick all belong to @happy-whumper.

Tabea’s Masterlist / My Masterlist

CW: ‘dog’ fighting / fist fighting / cursing…. I mean it's asher and olivia,,,,, there’s a lot of cursing ngl…. xD / Dislocated limb / blood being brought up. / lmk if i missed something!! <3

Antonio chuckled as Asher was dragged into the changing room by the ear. “Let fucking go of me!” Asher yelled, trying to tear Rodger’s grip off of him. “Quit whining like a fucking baby and get in here.” Antonio stepped forward off of the lockers, “Asher! I’m glad you decided to come today!”

“Didn't have much of a fucking choice, did I?”

Antonio forced a laugh and suddenly his face turned cold, “Funny… hold out your hands.” Asher raised his eyebrows, “Why?” Antonio rolled his eyes, “Just do it.”

“No.” Antonio looked up at him in disbelief, “Excuse you?” Asher snickered, “I don't fucking want to.”

“Asher,” Rodger warned in a low voice.

Antonio took two fistfuls of Asher’s shirt and tugged him closer, “Listen here you little shit, hold out your fucking hands or I swear to god I’ll make you and trust me when I say that you don't want me to.” Asher clenched his jaw, nostrils flared, “Let me go first,” He forced through a clenched jaw.

Antonio waited a moment before finally letting go. Asher slowly held out his hands, quickly putting up his two middle fingers, and started laughing. Rodger was quick to give him a wallop on the back, instantly making Asher stop. Antonio rolled his eyes, grabbed one of Asher’s hands, and started wrapping his hand in boxing tape.

“You better win out there tonight,” Rodger commented, sitting on one of the benches. Asher rolled his eyes, “When do I not win?” Rodger sighed, “Alright, drop the cockyness, if you lose tonight, you will regret it. Do you understand me?” Asher scoffed, “Rodger, honey, you don’t need to act all tough in front of Antonio! I mean, come on, it’s obvious you’re crushing on him but this, this is just a bit O.T.T, don't ya think?”

Rodger was at a loss for words for a moment before quickly remembering himself and slapping Asher hard across the face. Antonio but his tongue trying not to laugh at how red Rodgers face was. “Finish wrapping his hands and get him out of the ring, we don’t have all fucking day.” And with that, Rodger left, slamming the door behind him.

An awkward silence filled the room and Asher couldn’t help but speak up, “Sooooo, the feeling’s not mutual?”

*

The lights shone brightly onto the boxing ring, Asher sat on a stool in the corner of the ring while Antonio massaged his shoulders.

There was a girl in the opposite corner. A girl. As much as Asher hated to admit it, she looked scary… fierce. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail with strands of hair pulled out in the front. She was giving Asher a murderous look. Asher looked to Antonio who was now in front of him, “A girl? I’m fighting a girl?” Antonio raised his eyebrow and chuckled, “Yes, you got a problem with that?”

“No! It's just… well, isn't it unfair on her?” Antonio laughed again, “Sure, we’ll see if you still think that after the first round.” Asher’s eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, she can't be as strong as me i-” the bell rang and Antonio yanked Asher up and shut him up by shoving his mouth guard in his mouth. “Win this, show us that you're stronger than her.” he patted him on the back and shoved him into the centre of the ring.

Asher rolled his shoulders and straightened his back, raising his fists as the girl stepped forward, her handler stepping away from her and retreating back to the front bench outside of the ring. The referee came into the centre of the ring. Asher held out his hands offering for them to touch gloves to show respect and sportsmanship but the girl simply looked at them and scoffed.

“3,2,1, fight!” The ref called. The two fighters hopped from each foot, fists raised over their faces. As Asher got bored he finally yelled over the crowd, “Well, ladies first.” The girl sneered, “Yeah, that's why I’m waiting for your first move, dickwad.” Asher growled and went to punch her straight in the face. The girl was quick to block it and deliver her own one, which Asher was unsuccessful in blocking.

“Jesus, who’s that girl he’s fighting?” Alicia asked, impressed. “Olivia Riley,” Antonio spoke, not taking his eyes off of the ring watching every one of Asher’s moves, “Owned by Nick Bennet.” Jack shrank in his seat as he anxiously watched Asher. He hated seeing him in the ring. Normally he’d be throwing punches and kicks without stopping but it looked like this wasn’t going to end well.

“Giving up already?” Olivia scoffed, slightly out of breath. Asher quickly stood up, spitting out his mouthguard and wiping the blood from his mouth, “Never!” Olivia snickered and spat her gum shield out as well, “Alright fucker, let’s see what ya got.”

Asher growled and pounced forward, managing to get a combo, a right hook, a jab, and a kick to the side. Olivia let out a grunt as she clung to the mesh wire of the ring. Asher chuckled, “That, that’s what I got.” Olivia forced herself back up, resuming her fighting position, “Jesus Christ, not another dude who has cringey comebacks.”

Asher scowled, “Oh jeez, I'm sorry, am I offending you?” Olivia growled and ran towards him, throwing punch after punch to his face. Asher managed to block the seventh one and kicked her in the hip. “Jesus Christ, when is this round going to end?” Rodger huffed. Antonio sighed, “I don't know, his opponent should be on the ground by now.”

“You know, you can stop going easy on me,” Olivia panted, spitting out blood and raising her fists again. “Hah.. funny. Do you always talk so much in fights?” Asher asked, dodging another punch. “Hmm, no, just with the fun ones.” The bell rang and they both retreated to their corners, being sure not to turn their back on each other.

Antonio rushed to the corner, “Asher, what the fuck is happening?” He hissed, shoving a water bottle in his lap. Asher chugged the water, glaring at Olivia who was doing the same in her corner but with a smirk. “She's good, she's fucking good Antonio. Why the fuck is she good?” Antonio glanced at Olivia and back to Asher, “That's a lesson you should learn, never underestimate your opponent. And- where the hell is your mouthguard?” “I don't need it, it makes me sound dumb.” Antonio looked at him, baffled, “Sound? You shouldn't be talking!” Antonio slapped him hard across the face. “Get your fucking brain in the game, you need to defeat her, that's the only important thing here. You're not here to make friends, you're here to win these fucking matches so do it, do you understand?!” Asher sucked his gums, only to be slapped one more, “Yeah! Jesus fuck, yes.” The bell rang again and Antonio shoved him out of the seat.

“Awww, someone have daddy problems? Looks like he doesn't think I'm not roughing you up enough,” Olivia snickered. Asher stayed silent, stepping in and punching Olivia straight in the stomach. “Oh you little shit!” She hissed, hunched over. Asher kneed her in the head and she fell to the ground. He took his chance to make Olivia as weak as he could. He delivered three more kicks until he was pulled back by the referee. “Enough!”

He looked at Antonio who still wore a cold face but gave him a nod of approval. Asher rolled his shoulders, wiping the blood and sweat from his brow. “Five seconds,” The referee announced. Olivia grunted and tried to get to her feet but fell.

Jack allowed himself to relax, Asher was winning. 1-0 to Asher… this is going to end well… it will.

The bell rang to end the fifth round. Asher was slumped in the stool in his corner. Blood seeped from his nose and a gash above his eyes. Antonio roughly shook him, “Do you have any fucking idea what the score is?!” Asher stared blankly in front of him. “Asher, I swear to god, I am running out of patience right now!”

Jack could see how Rodger was seething in his seat. He was ready to murder Asher right there and then. Alicia combed her hand through Jack’s hair and rubbed right behind his ear. She gently pushed his head so it rested against her shoulder as her long nails massaged his scalp, whispering praises in his ear.

His whole body was tense but he took his opportunity to close his eyes, he couldn't watch the gruesome fight any longer. “Hey! Alicia, your fucking bitch isn't watching the match!” Alicia sighed, “Yeah, so?”

“So, he needs to watch it so he knows what will happen if he suddenly becomes useless.” Jack whimpered, nuzzling his head further into Alicia, making her laugh, “Jesus, fine, just don't be all moody ‘cause your stupid mutt is losing terribly.” She pushed Jack’s head off of her chest but still kept one hand massaging his scalp.

“You know,” Asher panted as Olivia and he returned to the center of the ring, “I’m only going easy on you. Like, you know, 'cause you're a girl and all.” Olivia laughed while shaking her head, “Uh huh, sure. Well then, mister strong man, if you're going ‘oh so easy on me’, let's see who wins this round.” Asher gulped, he opened his mouth to say something back but the bell rang and Olivia leapt on him.

The last round, -just like in every other match-, was the worst one. Adrenaline pumping, bruises blooming, each pet desperate to win so they wouldn't be hurting any more than they already were. Asher managed to land more punches and kicks than the other rounds… but so did Olivia.

There was less than a minute left and Asher was doing pretty good! That was, of course, before Olivia had him on the ground and suddenly pulled his shoulder in a direction it definitely shouldn't’ve gone in. a burst of pain exploded in Asher as his vision went white, “AAARRGHHHHH!!!!!” The bell rang and the round was over. Olivia had won.

Antonio quickly ran up to the ring to assess the damage. Asher was rolling around on his stomach, punching the floor with his good hand. Antonio pushed down his worries and put his cold face back on, “Asher! Quit causing a scene, get up, c’mon.”

“Fuck off Antonio you fucking piece of SHIT.” The pain was excruciating. Antonio showed no mercy as he quickly yanked Asher up by the shoulders, making Asher scream from the unbearable pain. He thought he was going to pass out, maybe he was going to.

Jack shut his eyes tight and put his hands over his ears, he couldn't bear listening to this. Alicia looked to Rodger, feeling how he was practically shaking from anger. He quickly shot up out of his seat and stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

Asher did in fact pass out. He woke up with a fright in the doctor’s room of the dogfighting building. He went to sit up quickly but his shoulder immediately lit up with pain. He fell back down to the bed. Katherine, the kind nurse from his first day, walked over to the bed, “Ah, Asher, welcome back! We still need to-”

Rodger burst through the door, “Get out,” He ordered Katherine who had no other choice but to obey. Once Rodger and Asher were alone in the room, Asher’s breathing was uneven as Rodger advanced towards him. “Do you have any fucking idea how much money you fucking cost me out there?! I mean, that was fucking pathetic and downright embarrassing!” Asher dropped his eyes to his lap, clenching his jaw, “I-I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” Rodger scoffed, “Oh yeah, you better fucking be! Oh I’m going to make you be so much more than sorry, do you understand me?” Asher's breath left his body but he quickly nodded. There was silence until Rodger took a step forward to examine Asher’s bandaged shoulder, “Does it hurt?”

Asher gulped and nodded slowly, “Y-yes sir.” Rodger grabbed him by the shoulder and dug his fingers into his shoulder, relighting the fire of pain. Asher screamed and Rodger spoke over his screams and whimpers, “Remember what losing feels like, it feels like this. Now get up, we’re going out to dinner with Nick and Olivia.” Rodger let go of his shoulder and pushed him away, “You have five minutes,” and with that he left, yet again, slamming the door behind him.

My taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit@milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @myst-in-the-mirror @tears-and-lilies

Tabea’s taglist: @starnight-whump @jordanstrophe @froggywhumpy @whumpasaurus101 @as-a-matter-of-whump @jojothepanwithoutaplan @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpsweetwhump

Thank you for reading!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆

[mrthomasdoherty]

What do you think of Kurt’s relationship with:

Rachel

Mercedes

Santana

any other friendship with girl? Brittany or Tina?

Oh boy. Okay.

Rachel: hate it. Hate the way it transitioned to sudden besties out of no where. Hate how it turned Kurt into her cheerleader 90% of the time while she took the 10% to reciprocate (Swan Song for example, that was a good pep talk from her to him). Hate how when he's not with New Directions, she's happy to help him try for a solo because he's her "only competition". Yet, when he tries for leading man material at McKinley, she too laughs in his face. When he gets the NYADA letter and she doesn't, she turns his excitement into her pity party. When he wins Midnight Madness, she turns it into "I guess I'm not talented enough and won't audition for anything". I hate how when she ditches him for fake friends who bad mouth him, she doesn't see that as a red flag to ditch them, until they vote for him and not her. I hate how she manipulates Elliott into claiming Kurt kicked her out when it was her own damn choice, and disowns Kurt when he didn't automatically take her side by playing referee for her outlandish claims against Santana. I hate "my best gay", it isn't cute, it isn't quirky, it's stupid and Kurt Hummel does deserve a better best friend who doesn't just use him to hoist themselves up. I'm glad Colfer called it the fuck out in his episode, even if it was magically fine at the end again just because she showed up to his Peter Pan show - shocker. I hate how she destroyed him being the actual student president by cheating, but that's fine because she owns up to it I guess? Like they still had to claim the cheerleader the winner who did nothing all year, when they could've had Kurt who would actually have done something good, but aT LeAsT sHe WaS HoNeSt right?????? I mean she is the one who also decided to run against him for a hot minute too, but SHE DROPPED OUT GUISE. BFF'S. It would've been so much better if they both went to New York, and then agreed to be roommates because it would be cheaper and we see them expand into actual friendship from there. Kurt doesn't need to stay relevant as a character just by being Rachel's best friend on the fact they both are into Broadway. THAT is the stereotype. Because remember, he's gay and she has two gay dads, so meant to be in each other's lives. Also ew having Rachel as a surrogate, what the fuck. No. Keep that controlling person away from any child of Kurt and Blaine's, that'll just cause more problems.

Mercedes: Maybe it's Colfer and Riley's friendship chemistry showing on screen, but I love and will forever love this friendship. I love that Kurt can admit he's wrong with her! ON HIS OWN! No sob story, no passive aggressiveness, no call out. Him realizing encouraging her to lose the weight was wrong? Growth. No, it isn't a perfect friendship, but it didn't start out of no where either. Kurt being dumb with trying to set her up with dates so he didn't feel bad in befriending Blaine. Mercedes letting her religious blinders encourage Kurt to go to church with her - but at least she approaches this conversation honestly, she doesn't sugar coat it from her point of view, which is good. They're both honest with one another. They're in each other's corners. Kurt Hummel heart eyeing every time she performs is the best. And it's dumb that it got pushed to the back for season 3 and onward. It should've grown from high schooler kids to young adults like a fine wine, instead of getting overlooked. There was potential of Mercedes being the surrogate, or even just another egg donor! But you know, some people needed to be zeroed in on and characters had to be tied to that characters hip, and Mercedes wasn't it.

Santana: Can you imagine how great (or terrible) this could've been if Kurt remained on the Cheerios? We can dream! But what we got in S4&S5 was great. Nice bantering, a mutual respect and understanding becoming a thing over time. They made pacts! They swore to each other about things off screen! She and him would've made a dangerous duo in New York if Rachel never moved back into the loft. She could've encouraged him to loosen up more, he would've helped her unlock a more vulnerable side of emotions when it came to catching feelings! Would've loved to see them bonding more like they did with the boyfriend arms watching TV! We were robbed, and s6 destroyed it all together, so. I wish we could've seen them on double dates, with Dani and Blaine. I wish we could've seen her trying to hook him up with guys in season 4! But no, two Slytherin's teaming up is too dangerous I guess. Fuck you glee.

Brittany: In the first season, it's nice to see that Brittany was the popular girl but still showing up to Kurt's house and dancing with him. It's because of her he joins the football team, briefly, and we get to see him kick ass at it and make a win for the Titans for the first time in however long! That's a big deal. I'm glad that she also approaches him in his "straight" phase and offers to help. And I'm glad she encourages Santana to go support Kurt during Prom Queen. BUT ANYTHING AFTER THAT, is null and void. Because she suddenly becomes this overly stupid child who only wants things done her way. When she offers to help him with his running for class president, she only focuses on him being gay and that's it - because it makes him a unicorn? It's a homophobic school, you really think shoving it in the bullies faces won't get him laughed out of a win? And he ditches the idea last minute anyway, so why bother going with that twist anyway? And when he gives her the rundown on what he wants to do, she ignores him and does it her way. When he gets mad, all of a sudden it's poor Brittany, she was just trying to help, Kurt's a meanie face. And when he (stupidly) accepts her idea for the campaign posters, she's like "oh by the way, I'm running against you now sorry I didn't tell you lol". And the bullshit of season 6 of her telling him that he needs to get over Blaine, then magically wants them to be in her and Santana's wedding? No. Keep her as far away from Kurt as possible after season 2.

Tina: Remember when Kurt fake dates her first? Wouldn't that have been an interesting play throughout that episode? Seeing Burt ask about Tina, Kurt bringing Tina over for dinner, Kurt and Tina discussing this new beard-ship for his dad, and then when he comes out, she would've been so happy for him? WE WERE ROBBED, YET AGAIN. We see them being friends throughout the seasons, but there isn't any growth with it. We don't really see her and Kurt doing things outside of school again. We see her help him for his NYADA audition as Christine (which he replaces her for Rachel, big shock, fuck you). We see him defending her against the jock bullies in the hallway. We see them walking to glee club together. But there's still nothing expanded on so it just falls flat. Clearly she and Kurt talk still after he graduates, as they both enjoy gossip. But what else?! We don't know! It had potential for friendship outside of school and outside of just gossiping! But alas.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

I am mostly seeking advice and probably some form of validation that I am not the one in the wrong here.

So, my husband's mother has been mentally and emotionally abusive to him his entire life, as well as very neglectful. The abuse was never physical, but she constantly manipulated him, made him feel like he is nothing and can do nothing without her, constantly belitled him and made fun of him, teased him to the point of provoking him to have mental breakdowns, called all his problems unimportant and fake when he complained, made him feel unwanted and unworthy and like no one will ever love him excet her, etc. She also never took care of him when he was a child, she would leave him alone at home for up to 12 hours a day sometimes when he was as young as 5, 6 years old, and did many other things that were, in my opinion, horrible and fucked up. My husband gets genuine anxiety and his blood pressure rises to dangerous levels when she is even brought up in conversation. So, with my help and at my advice, he changed his phone number, social media and everything and completly cut off his mom from his life. Since then he's been way healthier and happier.

Now, the problem is that his mom has my mom's phone number and started calling her to cry about how I am a terrible person and I "stole her child from her". My mom is on her side and says his mom did nothing "that awful" and that I should teach him to "forgive, not hate." But I didn't make him hate his mom, just to cut her out of his life because she was evil and toxic af. Am I wrong about this? Was I too drastic in helping him cut her out of his life? I think I did the right thing, but my own mom had me overthinking this to death and I just don't know anymore. Please help.

- Theo

Hello Theo!

First of all, thank you for opening up to us!

I can somewhat relate to your issue. My wife's mother is a massive source of anxiety for my wife, so I'm used to having play referee between them.

Honestly, it sounds to me like you absolutely made the right decision. Especially if the results have been that much for the better for your husband!

The pull of family is certainly a difficult thing to fight against, but it sounds like she is a highly toxic influence in your lives were she allowed to continue to interact with you.

Your own family takes precedence. I don't think it's hateful to cut her out of your lives. You're simply doing what's best for your families well being.

And I must applaud you both for being brave enough to do what you have to in order to maintain your husband's mental health. Your husband's trauma is valid, and ya's are both taking it appropriately seriously.

As for your own mother, I understand where she's coming from, but since she doesn't have the context that you have, I would just be gentle, but firm in your stance. You're not taking the position you are in out of spite or malice. Its simply the healthiest choice for you and yours at this point.

I hope you find some use and comfort from this, because I sincerely believe that even though it's certainly not the easy route, I do believe you are doing the right thing.

The door is always open if you have anything else you'd like to ask us, and I really hope things get easier for you soon!

Sincerely

Mod Red

[sunflowersteves]

Bloody & Bruised || Drinking Games

mob!bucky barnes x boxer!reader

𝒄𝒉. 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You, Shuri, Gamora, and Wanda all head to a new bar in town. You see a secret area that’s restricted, and of course, Wanda wants to see what’s behind it. The breath you hold ultimately leaves you as you stare at those cerulean blue eyes again.

author’s note: soo i’m liking this series wayyy better than before and I think it just flows better. I really like it and i hope you all do too!

warnings: drinking, violence, blood, a little angst, smut, fingering, [18+ only!!]

chapter one // series m.list // m.list 

You sighed, your hips joined Shuri's as you sat in one of the booths at the bar she asked you to come to the other day. You took small sips out of the stirring straw of your tequila sunrise. The sweet taste of syrup and tequila rushed down your throat, a nice burn following after. You’ve already had one before this, so you were getting quite buzzed.

It was nice feeling a bit dizzy as yesterday you were a ball of nerves from figuring out that the guy on the subway was a famous mobster. Shuri was luckily able to calm you down and promised to help you relax. You felt relaxed, considering you haven’t thought about him the whole time you were here.

You laughed as you watched a drunk Gamora try to get Shuri’s brother, T’challa, to go dance with her. Her words slurred together, but T’challa agreed as he was then dragged to the dance floor. There were bodies all around them, dancing next to them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You turn to Shuri to tell her something, but neither Wanda nor Shuri were paying any attention to you. You follow their line of sight to see them staring at a bunch of people walking into an area that looks restricted.

All three of you could see a bouncer in front of a doorway near the bar, letting people in and out of the secret area. Wanda’s eyes sparkled slightly, and you internally groaned. Whatever was behind that door, you wanted no part of it. You had a match tomorrow, and you didn’t want to get tangled in whatever the fuck.

Both Shuri and Wanda quickly turned to you with gleaming, begging eyes. You outwardly groaned at the sound of their pleas and begs. Wanda grabbed your arm and, you rolled your eyes. 

“Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright. We can try to get in, but if we-” Shuri and Wanda drowned out your sentence with cheers of victory. You chuckled beside them while they shoved you towards the doorway. The tall bouncer looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Names?”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” She stares hard at the bouncer as he narrows his eyes and tightens his folded arms across his chest. His lips were in a thin line, clearly unimpressed by Wanda’s reaction. She leaned a little closer with sneering eyes.

“You don’t know who I am, do you? Heard of Pietro Maximoff? One of the wealthiest men in the city? Well, that’s my brother.” She looked at her nails as if she was bored with the conversation. “I wonder what he would think about his little sister being turned down?” 

You and Shuri could only look at her wide-eyed at the scene in front of you. You never knew that Wanda had it in her to manipulate somebody like that with her money, it was kind of impressive considering she could never hurt a fly. You also didn’t even know her brother was some kind of wealthy businessman.

The bouncer stutters over his words and quickly moves aside, letting the two of you inside. You all cheer in victory and laugh together at the situation. “Damn, Wanda, that was harsh.” She just brushes it off with laughter as you continue down the hallway.

“Yeah, I bullshitted all of that. My brother works at that pizza place near my apartment.”

Your eyes look around the place, and it was not what you were expecting. You thought that it would just be a bunch of rich people snorting coke on a brunch of tables. You thought you were going to be bored as Wanda and Shuri bounced around to other tables talking to people. 

You were quite surprised to see a bunch of people surrounding a boxing ring, with two shirtless men fighting each other. Shuri smirked next to you, but you missed it, completely enamored by what was before you. Wanda dragged the two of you towards the front of the crowd. In the middle, the group formed a circle while two men had wrapped bands around their fists while they punched and dodged each other.

Pounding sounds of cheering escalate as one of the men punch the other one in the face, his body going limp and hitting the hard floor. However, not everyone cheers as some have to cough up some of their money because they lost the bet.

The referee walks up to the winner as he yells in excellence and pride, then walked around high fiving those who had bet on him. The ref quickly grabs the boxer’s fist and yanks it in the air, the crowd still cheering as loud as they can for the winner. They start to die down, the referee trying to calm down the mob of people so he can speak. 

“Who wants to challenge the winner?” 

The referee scans the crowd, looking for any sign of an opponent willing to fight the winner. For a short amount of time, there was silence. Considering that this boxer was notorious for winning all of his rounds, nobody wanted to challenge him.

You didn’t know whether you were just dumb, or it was the liquid courage that was coursing through your body as you blurted out that you wanted to join in on the fight.

“I do.” 

Your voice chimes through the silence of the ring; widened eyes glanced your way. The referee slightly hesitates before making a motion that beckons you forward and into the ring. However, not everyone has happy to see a woman challenging the winner.

“I’m not fighting a measly woman.”

Anger had coursed through your body, lying still on your stomach. All you did was roll your eyes at the boxer, a smirk coming forward across your face. 

“You think I’m inferior, and yet you won’t fight me? It sounds like you’re more afraid that I’ll challenge your authority and obscene masculinity.” 

Shuri and Wanda were backing you up with cheering while the crowd around the ring slowly started to join them. “The crowd wants her to fight, Jeff.” The man snarled at you as the referee gave you some bands. You took off the jacket that sat on your shoulders, which Wanda took immediately. 

The referee paused, making sure that you were good to go before the match started. You were now facing your opponent, a smirk teasing your face. This was a terrible shitty idea, but you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the adrenaline that was bouncing around in your body. It felt good to fight other than those with rules and guidelines. 

“Who are you fighting for?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “For?”

The referee points with his finger behind you, and you whip around. A gasp leaves your lips at the man sitting in what looked almost like a throne. There he was, James Barnes, the asshole that you met on the subway. He had three women surrounding him with flirtatious touches. He almost looked like a king. 

Next to him, you recognized slightly as the henchmen in the subway. One was a man with blue eyes and blonde hair, and the other was a woman with fiery red hair. You assumed they were his most trusted partners. 

Your eyes narrow slightly at the man, and you turn around, facing your opponent again. You never saw the Mob Bosses eyes dancing around you with a humorous gleam.

“I’m fighting for myself.”

The referee shrugged at you before locking eyes with James, making sure that it was okay you weren’t fighting for the mafia. You infer that he gives a nod towards the ref as he nods back before turning towards you, telling everyone that the fight was about to start.

You were given a mouthguard that you placed in your mouth. Your eyes flutter close, and you take a deep breath, letting your senses calm itself as you prepare to fight. The ref starts to count down from ten, looking at the two of you as the crowd starts betting on the guy in front of you. 

You knew that no one was going to bet on you, none of these sexist jerks would be able to see how incredible you are unless you beat the shit out of this dude. To them, you have to prove yourself.

“Fight!” The referee breaks out of the ring, and your eyes snap open, watching the muscular man in front of you. He takes the first swing, which you were able to block easily. The crowd around you had gasped, definitely not expecting you to prevent that like it was nothing.

Your opponent narrowed his eyes and proceeded to swing another punch. Again, you dodged it with ease, and the boxer in front of you didn’t miss the sly smirk on your face. While he was distracted at thinking about his next move, you swung a right hook that connected straight to his jaw.

His body took the blow, and he almost fell backward, there was a bit of purple bruising already forming onto his now injured jaw. The crowd erupted in cheers and yelled at the amount of force you were giving. All Shuri and Wanda did was smirk, knowing that the man had offered defeat when you said you were going to fight.

The ref holds up his hand, and you stop for a second while he checks on the guy; he nods that he’s okay, and the referee jumps back into the crowd. The boxer groans in annoyance and narrows his eyes at your figure. He couldn’t even get a swing in and punch you in the face, which was something that never had happened before. 

This time, he went for an uppercut just as he thought you were caught off guard by the crowd cheering again. However, he was clearly wrong. This time though, you completely stopped his movements. You had quickly grabbed his fist, his punch wholly deflated. 

In fast movements, you quickly swing with your other arm and hit him square in the face, blood seeping out from his nose and onto your jaw, which you knew would be sore tomorrow. He stumbles slightly before looking completely stunned. His eyes were rapidly moving from side to side as his vision became blurry. He sunk to his knees, the crowd was now silent in shock.

Immediately, he was fully slumped to the ground now, eyes fully closed. The ref ran over to him, counting down from ten as he watched for any movement. He got down to one and was astounded as he looked at you, your face and body completely untouched.

Two punches, that’s all you gave for this man to be knocked cold onto the ground. You definitely weren’t fighting to just fuck around in the ring. The crowd had practically exploded, never before had they seen somebody K.O. someone in a matter of minutes. 

Shuri and Wanda, on the other hand, were extremely pleased with the rich men giving them all their money. They were delighted to have them cough up their riches. You turn around to see the mob boss stare at you with a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

However, his demeanor quickly changed into that of a cocky one as a smirk came plastered onto his lips. 

“C’mon, doll, you’ve earned an award.”

Your chest was heaving up and down from the fight. You let your eyes trail from the top of his head down to his shoes.

“I’m good, oh so dangerous mob boss.” 

A chorus of laughter left the red-headed woman at your remark while James just sneered. You were about to leave when his guards stepped a bit closer to you. 

“Not even going to stay for a drink?”

A sigh escaped past your lips, knowing you didn’t exactly have a choice with his guards. You could take these two; however, you figured this whole place was riddled with them so it was probably a wiser choice to just roll with the flow. 

You watched as the got out of the throne-like chair and fostered you to follow. Behind his chair was a red velvet curtain, which you assumed led to a private bar. His two friends, including the other guards, stayed still while you followed James into the private area.

It was quite dark and it was undoubtedly empty, not even a bartender was at the bar. It looked to be quite an old bar, lots of the finishing touches looked like they were from the twenties. He sat onto one of the barstools, swirling what looked like whiskey. 

“So, Bronx girl, where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Your eyebrows shot up as his question; you definitely didn’t expect him to remember you. He grabbed an empty glass and slid it over to you, pouring you a glass of whiskey. His eyes flicker over towards yours, and he chuckles at your expression.

“You left quite an impression, doll. I’ve never been turned down before.”

A sly smirk appears onto his face when you roll your eyes. You take a sip of the whiskey and hiss a bit at the burn but then let the oaky flavor fill your taste buds.

“My dad. He was one of the biggest boxers in Morris Heights. He taught my sister and me how to box at a younger age. He always said he’d get in trouble one day, and he needed to know we’d take care of ourselves.”

His lips curled into a smile as he took a large gulp os his whiskey, his eyes never left yours. 

“Bucky.”

You turn towards him a bit with confused eyes before taking another sip of your whiskey, now giving you numbness where your knuckles are bruised and bloody.

“That’s my name, my nickname anyway.”

You nod, turning towards him with a light smile. For the big bad and misogynistic guy that you met on the subway, this was someone you could potentially be friends with. Yeah, he’s a mob boss, but he doesn’t seem to see you as an object.

“Y/n.”

~

You don’t really know when the night progressed, but it very much did. Currently, your lips were locked with a certain mob boss and boy were his lips sweet. All night he would talk to you about old memories with his friends and he would even speak to you about his mother. You got to know who Bucky was, not some mob boss that rules over the city. 

He definitely didn’t treat you like you were some object, so you were just hoping all his riches and fame were a ruse. He had treated you like a gentleman all night, and as you got a closer look at him, he was definitely more handsome than you remember.

His lips were engulfing yours, his hot wet mouth swallowing you whole. His velvet tongue made its way into your mouth, leaving trembling kisses. He tasted like whiskey and faded mint, which made your knees slightly weak. Your hands moved down to his chest, prompting a sweet groan to erupt from his throat.

Your back was pressed up against the bar wall, touching some of the bottles behind you. Your legs were tightly wrapped around his torso as your kisses became hungrier. 

The whiskey bottle was long empty by now, the two of you had drank one whole. His hands were touching all over your body, from your legs to your stomach to your arms and your back.

You were both sloppy, tongues peaking out to wet each other’s mouths. 

You whimpered when he squeezed your hips, his slick tongue flicking against yours. A chuckle had lifted off his mouth at the sounds you were making from his touches. Your head was spinning, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding in your ears. His hands moved down to the waistband of your jeans, and he hurriedly yet gently unbuttoned them. 

With your permission, which you gladly gave, his hand slowly reached down to stripe your slick folds. His middle finger circled around your entrance, which elicited a gasp from you. 

“You’re so wet, doll. All we’ve done is kissin’, huh?” 

All you could do was groan as he slid a finger inside, your walls slightly clenching at the feeling. Your hands were now pressed in a tight hold on his shoulders as he took his thumb and started to circle your clit. The sensitive bud felt good against his rough finger, your nails dug against his shoulder, which leads a dent in his tailored suit.

He wickedly smirks at the way you almost scream when he adds another finger, his throbbing cock was pressed up against your thigh. 

“You feel so good against my fingers, babydoll. Your moans are like a song.” 

You whimper as his fingers curl slightly, hitting the rough patch that was your g-spot. Your arousal was spilling out of you and onto his fingers, your clit was now very swollen and tender to the touch. He pressed fast, hot kisses against your mouth and cheeks, his tongue wetting every surface. 

You sucked in a breath as his fingers started to go in and out faster than ever, trying to chase that sweet release. You were almost there, that coil inside of your stomach, and the nerves that circled your cunt was about to pop.

“Bucky, please, I-”

“That’s it doll. I’ve got you. Cum around my fingers.”

A few pumps of his thick fingers into your heat, and you screamed his name, not caring who heard at the moment. Your lower body shook with pleasure as his fingers were riding out your high, which he then gave you much praise. 

His fingers were completely covered with your arousal. He never lost eye contact with you as he pulled his hand out from your pants and licked his fingers like they were lollipops.

His lips locked with yours as his hand lifted up to caress your cheek, and you tasted the sweetness of yourself. You grew dizzier, so you pushed your arms up to his chest, breaking your lips from his. You both sat there regaining strength, the sounds only heard was the club and you both panting. 

“My place?”

You quickly nodded, not giving a fuck at the moment. 

“Drax, get the car. Now.”

~~

next chapter

Bloody and Bruised: @xoasalxo @raven-rust @widowbite-legit​

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[trvelyans-archive]

You probably should’ve known that Gray would find you here.

Although, to be fair, you did tell him that this is where you go when you need a break. But you thought that, at least, if you didn’t tell him which bookshelves you wedged yourself between, he would never find you if he came looking. Unfortunately for you, he came looking. And he definitely found you.

You don’t know if he did it for your sake or Nick’s. Maybe that makes it all worse.

He lingers at the end of the aisle, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing a stained patch of carpet on the floor with the toe of his shoe. (You can’t see it from where you’re sitting on the floor - you only know that because you look at the same thing whenever there’s someone else in between the bookshelves doing something weird like looking for an actual book and you’re waiting for them to leave.) The lighting in the library casts odd shadows over his face, but you can tell he’s looking at you - and probably smiling sheepishly at you - and clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

Fat chance.

Nick doesn’t get it. He never gets it. He understands that you’re upset but doesn’t understand why, and trying to explain it to him is useless, especially because he can hear your internal monologue in real time and by now should have memorized all your problems as well as his chocolate chip cookie recipe. But he doesn’t, which means he should know to stop listening and tune you out when you’re thinking bad things about yourself - after all, it always leads to an argument - but he didn’t, and now you’re here, tucked away in the darkest corners of the library like an afterthought with the only person you want to talk to not knowing that because he can’t hear your thoughts from the end of the aisle.

You could ignore Gray, and he’d leave. That’s something you know very well.

But you wave him towards you anyway (and nearly roll your eyes at his cautious approach).

You don’t like to fight when Gray’s around. You both know that it upsets him, trying to play referee, trying to make it productive  - and he knows that it upsets you whenever he takes Nick’s side. Nick’s his best friend, of course, so he has every right to defend him, but... you just wish things were different. In literally every way there is.

“Hey,” Gray says as he comes closer, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants while the air conditioner above him rustles his stupid perfect hair and makes him look like the even more stupidly perfect love interest of a bad silent European film. “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I almost gave up ten minutes ago.”

You don’t need to read minds to know what goes unsaid in the awkward silence that follows. I’m glad I didn’t. Though usually you’d be secretly pleased to know that, right now it’s just another nail in the coffin. After all, lately, things have been changing - he’s been taking your side a little more often, tentatively backing you up when you and Nick get in an argument. It’s easier that way because Nick’s much more likely to forgive him (especially considering you’re pretty sure Gray’s just doing it for show) but... that sucks, too. He can’t keep playing on both sides and wait for a truce that’s never going to come. Or, even if it does come, it certainly won’t stick.

But he’s not a quitter. And neither are you, at least not in this case. And that’s the worst of it - you really are trying.

Contrary to what it might seem like, you and Nick get along most of the time. You tease each other and make jokes and talk about stuff happening around the city and then, when you disappear up to your room to watch movies, he turns on the radio and bakes cookies or makes dinner or... well, whatever else he does after work. Living together works if you don’t spend enough time together for you be irritated by him, and if you don’t sit close enough to depress him with your thoughts.

But sometimes even tucking yourself away into the shadows doesn’t help. You should know that, because Gray found you in the library tonight anyway, and his eyes on you make you feel like you’re stuck in a fucking spotlight. Nervous sweats and buckling knees and all.

You sigh. “Maybe I didn’t want you to find me,” you say, trying to be nonchalant about it.

If this was Nick, he’d be met with a ‘fuck off’. Well, okay, maybe not that, but it’d certainly be implied. Gray is different, though.

Jerk.

“You would’ve hidden better if you didn’t want me to find you,” he says with a quiet laugh. He’s right, too, and it wouldn’t have been hard. You could’ve just grabbed a book and hidden your face behind it until he passed by the aisle, or, in a more extreme case, knocked down a couple of bookshelves as a distraction and then bolted in the middle of all the commotion. “I just... I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to look for the right words so you don’t actually bolt. “I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

You nearly sigh again, but you bite your tongue to hold it back. “I’m fine,” you insist.

“You’re not, Marian,” Gray says. His nose wrinkles as he frowns. “Mari.”

“What, can you read my mind or something?”

Unfortunately, the joke falls on deaf ears. If usually does when Nick and Gray are trying to be serious and you’re cracking jokes so you don’t cry or knock something over (usually your’s) or both. He sits back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and stares at the tips of his shoes. “It got intense back there,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He’s obviously waiting for you to take the lead on this conversation, but you’re not going to. He clears his throat. “So...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gray,” you say with much less conviction than you’d like.

“I think you hurt Nick’s feelings,” he continues. Like you hadn’t said anything at all.

You try again. “I don’t care.”

Gray lets out a soft sigh, and you don’t know whether it’s from sheer disbelief or straight-up disappointment. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He doesn’t need to read your mind to know that you feel bad. He can probably read it on your face - with him, it’s your worst enemy. Of course you feel bad. Nick gave up his young adulthood to take care of you, and you can never thank him enough for picking up the slack and taking care of you after everything that happened with your parents. But that’s part of it. Fuck, that’s most of it. You can never thank Nick enough for everything. You’re a failure to your family. You’re a disappointment. You’re nothing but a big fat zero.

And you know that very well. The world has made that very clear. Why would you bother pretending any different? And why does Nick? Why does Gray?

“He should know better,” you insist anyway, because like hell you’re going to admit you’re the one at fault here. “I had a bad day, and he knows that, and he didn’t tune me out like he should’ve when he knew I was going to be in a bad mood.”

“He wants to help,” Gray says.

“I don’t want him to. We all know how therapy went, right? Poorly. And if they can’t fix me, what can Nick do?”

The words sting - you can see it on Gray’s face. Still, he pushes through. He perseveres. Because some people can do that, you think, and it’s something you always manage to forget. You certainly can’t. “He wants to be there for you. He just wants to help,” he repeats.

So do I. Gray doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thinking it.

“It just makes it harder,” You’re surprised at how quickly your anger has turned into exhaustion. Or maybe you’re not. “And I’ve told Nick. And he doesn’t get it.”

He sits back on the heels of his hands, thinking, and you stare at the space between you while you wait for him to say something. Bringing up therapy was a low blow - it definitely wasn’t a nice part of your life, and one Gray was unlucky enough to be a part of. One time you came home after a session and locked yourself in your room for a day and a half straight, and you’re sure Nick probably cried about it at some point before he and Gray managed to coax you out like some sort of wounded animal. It’s a painful memory. For all three of you.

That’s one of the few things you agree on.

“I know it can be frustrating,” Gray says finally, and you look at him again. “And I know he gets on your nerves. And I don’t blame you entirely, Mari. I know your condition can be...” He chews on his bottom lip, looking for the right words because he probably thinks there’s a chance he’ll scare you off. “Difficult. But Nick is trying to make you happy. He loves you.”

That’s all he can manage to say right now, apparently. Which you can’t blame him for.

After all, Gray doesn’t get it, either.

“Well, I love him too,” you mutter, looking at your shoes. There’s no point in pushing anymore - you’re tired, and you want to go home, and above all, you don’t want Gray to hate you. You already cause him much more trouble than you’re worth. “You could tell him that next time you see him.”

Gray chuckles. “Maybe you can tell him yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “Depends on how he greets me when I get home,” you answer. “If he goes in for a hug, I’m out. If he made a batch of apology cookies, then...”

That was another joke, but Gray must have heard it this time. You know that because his eyes light up and reaches into his pocket, fishing around for something until, a few seconds later, he leans forward and holds his arm out as far as he can without getting too close. In between his fingers are a couple of plastic-wrapped chocolate chip cookies. “He started making them right after your left,” he says, smiling kindly at you so the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

You lean forward a little, squinting at them knowingly. “Did you take one, Grayson?”

He laughs, reaching up with his other hand to scratch the back of his head. “Maybe,” he says. “But they’re for you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He thrusts them in your direction again. “Truce?”

You meet his eyes and force a stream of several images through your brain. Frog guts. Crying children. Bloody zombies with terrible make-up and detached limbs. Sure, it’s all pretty dark - something you’ve become accustomed to - but it’s meant to keep people away, and it works for you. Most of the time. Not on Gray, though, who is still looking at you and smiling, and you wonder how he’s allowed to be so perfect when you’re the exact opposite, and why the fuck that’s the reason you love him, too.

You take the cookies from him, giving him a smile of your own. “Truce,” you agree. For now, at least, but to Gray, it seems like enough.