#the upcoming assignments are a fucking nightmare

[lazerv4]

Thoughts on Total Forgiveness

Just my raw thoughts not a review or anything

Total Forgiveness starts with Ally Beardsley and Grant O’Brian pitching the show they are about to embark on to Sam Reich their at the time President of Original Content at CollegeHumor (now CEO of Dropout). The pitch is simple, student debt is a cripplying problem and they came up with the accordion method, what if instead of many years of suffering under their loans they could instead make the suffering happen in 4 months and pay their debt as they gamble on challenges between the two of them for money which the show would award weekly. Sam hesitates but greenlights the show much to the delight of Grant and Ally who get right to work on the first challenges which end up being Grant has to interview a lawyer specializing on student debt while covered in leeches and Ally has to interview an ex partner about what went wrong while they eat the spiciest food Grant can find. Afterwards we see the actual challenges go through as Grant does his assigned interview while bleeding profusely and Ally has what can only be derived as a cringe nightmare of an experience with their ex eating thai so spicy they almost throw up, then when they are both done we see them together, they both look like they’ve been through hell and that is just the first episode.

Episode 2 begins a little bit meaner with Ally getting an Oompa Loompa makeover and getting their driver’s license renovated while Grant wears a dog shock collar for barking the entire day which leads to him spending the day mute, this is where we start to see the main dynamics of the show develop with Ally embracing the horribleness and Grant trying his best to have fun with it but struggling a bit.

Episode 3 is a kinder episode to Grant with him simply going camping which apparently he hates, meanwhile Ally is buried alive for an entire day in a sort of sensory deprivation coffin while they are still in the office.

Episode 4 meanwhile has Grant performing a cringe inducing stand up show purposely sabotaged to be terrible with the caveat that if a joke doesn't land he has to say “it’s all love” which just makes it so much worse, on the flipside Ally has to publish an excerpt from their teenage diary, a move which severely backfires on Grant as it seems like a growing experience for Ally that improved them as a person all things considered, no suffering all money.

At this point not a single point has been lost and both Ally and Grant are giving their all to the challenges and still enjoying themselves to some extent since the point of the show is to compress suffering they do struggle but nothing too bad has happened yet, this is where that begins to change.

Episode 5 is one of the hardest things I’ve had to sit through. Grant gets the challenge of being locked in his studio apartment with 8 family members for a weekend which while I’m sure it was a nightmare, it doesn’t translate to tv. All’s challenge this week was to sing the United States national anthem at a minor league baseball game and to make it way worse, they apparently don’t even know the lyrics so they completely fucked it up and even have a random laugh in the middle of it, it’s the sort of horrible second hand embarrassment that is legitimately hard to endure and I have seen some people say this and another upcoming Ally challenge are borderline unwatchable because it’s just too cringe, but if you can get through it the series has more for you.

Episode 6 is the phobia episode where Grant must face needles and Ally must face snakes, for Grant he just has to inject himself so B12 with the alleged most painful needle which he does albeit it leads to one of my favorite gags when he says “I’ll be fine in 5 minutes” after he pulls the needle out only for the show to cut to him having a full panic attack with an oxygen mask. Grant won his challenge and valiantly faced his fear but as for Ally, well things would go different for them. Ally’s challenge involved that some night, any night at all, Grant would come in with a live snake and Ally would have to sleep with it on their bed. While Ally had been a very ambitious and fun loving contestant, this broke something and they just completely refused to engage with the snake and complete the challenge leading to the first loss and the domino effect which would shape the series into what it became.

Episode 7 is where challenges start to get unreasonable, with almost 4000 dollars on the line this contest had to get difficult so both Ally and Grant came up with this, Grant wanted Ally to spend their whole week piss drunk which at first Ally enjoyed and it annoyed everyone else but quickly it started getting to them and by the end of the week you can see their health suffer because of it and the remnants of a broken person just trying to finish the last day to claim the win, while Grant broke Ally’s body their mind seems unbreakable. As for Grant, Ally came up with a really strange and complicated challenge, basically Grant had to get an erection with no stimulation while being timed which ended in a really bizarre contraption so this could be shown without well showing Grant’s genitals. This challenge has been often called unreasonable and impossible by many people and to an extent it is but Grant still accepted it and attempted it as hard as he could, an attempt that proved unsuccessful leading to his first loss of the show.

As of now Grant has earned $10750 while Ally has $13250, as the gap starts to widen so do the challenges as the series starts to lead to it’s climax.

Episode 8 is the real turning point of the series with Ally getting the other famously cringe and unwatchable challenge in having to become a herbalife shill to her new roommates and do unreasonable actions Grant assigns via an earpiece to try and make them quit but their will somehow remained strong which showed how much fun Ally was having with this whole show as the chaotic person they are, meanwhile Grant was having a rough time. Ally’s challenge to Grant was to sell all his earthly possessions at a flea market and try to earn a thousand dollars which a some points seems maybe doable but very quickly while Grant still doesn’t realize it, it’s very clear to the viewer and to the crew that Grant won’t be able to accomplish this. He leaves this challenge defeated and returns to his empty apartment with now nothing to his name except around $600, not only did he lose the challenge but he also lost everything he had, this is where we first start to see how this show has damaged Grant and Ally’s friendship and also emotionally damaged Grant who seems barely still holding it together by the end of the episode which leads you wonder, how can this escalate further?

Episode 9 got mean, Grant challenged Ally to get a neck tattoo with the name of their new girlfriend who they've been dating for 2 months while Ally challenged Grant to shit in public as performance art (again his genitals are covered but chest up everyone can see him). The challenges this week feel very mean spirited and with Ally now being up $24250 to Grant’s $10750 things are heating up and they are starting to feel more like bitter rivals than loving friends doing a dumb show together. Going with Ally first while Sam seems hesitant to approve this challenge Ally wants to do it and still seems have fun with it as a big dumb joke even if it’s their first tattoo it’s just a gag to them and they don’t mind the embarrassment with them even bringing said gf to the parlor so they can watch the tattoo be made. Meanwhile Grant struggles, even before the exhibition opens we can already see he is stressed and uncomfortable, he doesn’t seem like he wants to do it but the money is too life changing to not go through with it so he presses on, he is notified that when he is done he can pull a string that will drop confetti to signify he has completed the challenge and so he gets on the toilet in front of a lot of people. The atmosphere is not tense, it’s closer to something sad and depressing, something akin to the feeling of exploiting someone and when Grant pulls the string and the confetti falls, you can’t help but feel awful, a big thing through this episode has been Siobhan (another dropout cast member) giving some advice to Grant and Ally separately about how to mend what they are breaking and she stays as everyone leaves to speak with Ally as Grant angrily prepares to go home. As Ally approaches to tell Grant everyone was an extra, the mood is again tense, he just replies he is “done for the day” and that it was “funny” as he just walks away checking with the crew really quick to see if he can leave and then just exiting the building silently. This episode seemed to be the tipping point for Grant and what would have ended their friendship with Ally as even with this the gap just widened and made everything seem worse and worse while making each other more antagonistic towards the other that while Ally had been taking as dumb fun, they had now realized was hurting Grant and something had to be done if this friendship was gonna survive this show, let alone a 10th episode.

Episode 10 is just titled “Finale” with no allusion to the challenges like all the previous episodes so you go on not exactly knowing what to expect. It begins with other dropout cast members talking about the strain this show has had on Ally and Grant before going into the challenge pitching part of the show where Ally is alone with the production crew struggling to even come up with something until they says they have a pitch and the show cuts to Grant alone with the crew as well, they try to check on Grant to see if he is ok and he clarifies he doesn’t blame anyone and he is not the victim of the show but he is struggling. He is not sure what to pitch except something horrible and life changing so he is gonna go through Ally’s challenge first, cut to Jess and Katie (dropout cast members) in Santa Monica, they have a letter for Grant that Ally wrote the challenge is just to enjoy the day at the beach with his friends while wearing a dumb outfit and to decompress the show a bit to see if maybe he has it in him to forgive them. The show cuts to a montage of Grant having fun for his $10k prize just hanging in the pier and doing dumb stuff with Jess and Katie.The mood is so different, so fun and afterwards Grant talks a bit about what the show has done to their friendship and how he is regretful Ally couldn’t be there with them before announcing he now knows what his challenge is and shot fades. We start the scene in a bar called “State Social House” that same night as Grant and Ally meet in the empty bar and Grant reveals the challenge is to have 3 mezcals with him, while they begin drinking they also talk about their sentiments regarding what the money has done to their friendship, the reminique about what they've been through and what living with debt has done to them, how they hope to remain friends after this and even hopefully for the rest of their lives as they approach the third drink to which Ally comments about prompting Grant (a seasoned bartender) to want to smell and check it’s profile, this leads Ally to telling Grant to just drink it and take the $10k and to make the gap smaller to which Grant replies that he can’t accept that, at this point Ally has made their choice so they drop the mezcal on the floor on the most shocking moment on the entire show. What is next is just pure friendship and love for the people around you. Grant starts crying and they hug in the sweetest moment in the show, this is the moment that turned around the show according to Sam in a “episode 11” interview. The show then cuts to Grant paying one of his loans and he becomes able to finally be able to start paying his loans instead of just interest, Ally also talks about their loan consolidation as the show begins to wrap and we get the final scene with is a small dinner they set up and the talk about everything they learned about loans and how they are designed to make people’s life worse before the show ends with a toast to it’s history and a tally of the remaining debt before finally saying goodbye one last time.

Total Forgiveness did eventually get a reunion episode 11 sort of podcast thing but that is mainly talking behind the scenes about how of the rails the show went and how it was almost cancelled before the final episode essentially redeemed the whole thing from feeling like like a dystopian torture system as well as how Ally and Grant expected Jackass but got something much deeper, something about the effects of debt on people, something like most of dropout special. Total Forgiveness may not be for everyone, it can be a hard show to sit through, but for those able to go through with it the way it develops as an allegory for its own themes is fantastic and beautiful and in some ways the only example of prestige reality tv I can think of. It is truly one of a kind and a beautiful little show that can’t and shouldn’t be replicated, it should stand as a monolith and be cherished for all it accomplished in showing the struggles of debt. Ally and Grant did something incredible that would only be possible at a platform like dropout and with how the show turned out and how it stands along with other titans at dropout they should be proud.

[raccoonfallsharder]

here are a few sneak previews of what we’ve got going on (this is really more to organize my thoughts and force myself to come up with titles than anything else)

upcoming rocket raccoon fics behind the cut

1. Window Across the Galaxy

aka long&angsty. hoping to start posting on Sunday or Monday.

Slooowww burn + eventual smut. elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. Slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points).

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

She looks at the rusted bars, and back to her brute of a tour guide, and sighs heavily. Slowly, she turns back to the cage, swaying toward the bars so she can peer in at eye-level. She’s immediately face-to-face with the creature. His ears are still pressed flat against his head, fur bristling, and he’s gazing back, clearly suspicious and probably - justifiably - feeling more than a little bit mean. She’s suddenly certain that if she got close enough, he’d take out her eyes. There’s no helping herself, is there? One corner of her mouth twists up in exhausted resignation and she nods. “Welp,” she says solemnly to the raccoon, “fuck me, my dude.”

2. Blackmail Material

(codename: pwp???). will probably post part 1 in a week or two.

just pure fucking smut. this was gonna be two parts but I'm leaning toward three now (smut // fuff // smut). probably takes place sometime after endgame but before volume 3? not that it really matters tbh because there is NO FUCKIN PLOT HERE. ur girl's got a praise kink so that'll definitely be featured per usual.

basically: rocket finds your vibrator.

“I’ll tell you what,” he offers up, still grinning that shit-eating grin. “I won’t say a word and I’ll give it back to you. You can even keep whatever batteries are in it.” That sounds too good to be true. You raise a brow and cross your arms in front of your breasts. “If?" “If you let me watch you use it,” he challenges, eyes daring you. “For science.”

3. Domestic Scenes in Space Travel

(codename: ok sweatshirt girl.) i dunno -maybe post the first one by mid-august?

Comics-inspired but not exclusive - just a buncha feel-good fuffy one-shots and equally feel-good smutty one-shots. Series of slice-of-life readerxrocket one-shots following The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl.

“Just try not to push any buttons or pull any levers till you know what they do.” You snort. “I fully intend to keep my hands completely to myself unless I have your explicit permission to touch.” Rocket leers. “That could be fun.” Your eyes narrow. “Space Pilot, I’m gonna need you to focus on the task at hand so I don’t end up accidentally jettisoning us.”

4. Other Duties As Assigned

(codename: schemers, dreamers, & multicalendar memers) i don't have an intended outcome for this fic yet so while i am VERY much enjoying it, i first need to grapple with whether or not i'm okay posting something that may be unfinished. i usually try to avoid that.

I have no idea whether this will get smutty or not (probably, knowing me?). Begins five months after The Snap.

Natasha Romanoff is an administrative nightmare - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the (interim) captain of the Milano. First she demands that the remaining two Guardians of the Galaxy be reachable via a primitive Terran messaging system, and then she can't be bothered to read the frickin' emails.

Thank fuck she's hired a new assistant.

**THIS MESSAGE IS ENCRYPTED** To: <nromanoff@aee.org> From: &lt;rocket@aee.org> Subj: re: WHAT THE FUCK RED Date: Monday, September 24, 2018 7:34am well that’s probably the nicest message I’ve gotten since I hacked the internet I’m gonna have to kill your boss though

(a super-secret spoiler sidenote - i have a formula and I shamelessly overuse it, so there are no surprises here: girl falls first, raccoons falls harder. every fuckin time friends.)

[dreamlandxrunaway]

soon 🧍‍♀️

[jooniesficrecs]

enhypen fic rec

last updated 21/6/23

favourites marked with a ♥

✦ — ot7

enhypen reaction to you being special mc on music — @yeeunjia

idol!enha x idol!fem!reader

enhypen giving you gf privilege — @n1k1tty

✦ — hyung line

no nut november — @jayflrt ♥

contains smut !!

social media au

summary : four men suppressing their carnal instincts for thirty days doesn’t sound plausible, but it’s no nut november, so victory is crucial. yet, there’s only one obstacle keeping lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon from their prize: you. game on, boys.

✦ — lee heeseung

give it time — @heesdreamer ♥

playgirl!au x inexperienced!hee

a few sexual scenes but no full smut !!

14.03k words

summary : being jakes twin sister, your reputation followed you around wherever you went. add on the fact you were a known man eating playgirl with a thing for nerds and you were heeseung’s worst nightmare

first date — @heesdreamer ♥

part of give it time universe

contains smut !!

4.1k words

summary : yn gets jealous when a waitress flirts with heeseung on their first date and decided to show her who he belongs to.

fear of spiders — @heesdreamer

spiderman! heeseung x reader

3k words

summary : you’re pretty sure that your quiet and mysterious roommate just might be a serial killer… plus he’s weirdly afraid of spiders

✦ — park jeongseong

ave general — @heetendo

historical/roman! au, roman general! jay, husband! jay

contains smut !!

12.7k words

summary : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, jay park only wanted one thing — some time alone with you.

study lessons — @jaeyunverse ♥

jock x tutor, strangers2lovers, slight rivals2lovers, mutual pining (kinda), high school au

12.3k words

summary : so jay got piss drunk at jungwon’s party, lost his balance, tripped, and fell off the second floor balcony. now, he’s got a broken leg, a plummeting social status and a doctor’s note that orders him to abstain from all upcoming football matches till his bones mend. too bad he doesn’t possess the power to superheal and won’t be able to play when a recruiter from the college of his dreams comes to watch. left with nothing but regret, broken dreams and a shitty gpa (because why would he study when his coach told him he was guaranteed a sponsored ride to indiana university), he’s forced to bury his nose in textbooks and finally learn what the fuck integrals are. it’s a good thing the school was considerate (and sympathetic) enough to assign him the best tutor on the entire campus—you. the small hiccup in this arrangement? you hate jocks, but jay thinks you look cute.

the a-list — @jayflrt ♥

park jongseong x fem!reader (ft. park sunghoon), gossip girl au, rich kid au, fake dating au, friends2lovers

contains smut !!

10.2k words

summary : life seems to finally be going your way. that is, until your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend is back, and gossip girl appears to be out to get you. but there’s only room for one queen bee in the upper east side, and with a hand from your best friend, park jongseong, you’re going to make sure it’s you.

✦ — sim jaeyun

the switch project — @jaylaxies

contains smut !!

photographer!jake x lingerie model!reader, rivals2fwb

5.3k words

summary : being the top model for your company was something you had grown accustomed to, alongside your photographer, jihoon, always placing number one on the 'monthly evaluation list'. just opposite to jake not being accustomed to be placed second. so when company announced 'the switch project', jake had to turn the tables for him. the hard part? you're his partner and you hate him.

to all my firsts with you — @jayflrt

jake x fem!reader, college!au, strangers2lovers, mutual pining

7.3k words

summary : first kiss. first date. first love. first heartbreak. with jake, your timing would always be off—like thunder following lightning—barely missing the other by seconds.

alternate ending — to all my firsts (and forevers) with you

jake sim x fem!reader, established relationship, college au

1.5k words

✦ — park sunghoon

back off — @delcakoo

sunghoon x fem!reader

1k words

summary : after wandering off at the grocery store, sunghoon is less than pleased to find some stranger trying to ask you out on a date. but don’t worry, he’s ready to put the guy in his place!

little lucky charm — @ddeonuism

slytherin!sunghoon x ravenclaw!gn!reader, hogwarts!au

2.4k words

summary : if there was one person who loved quidditch as much as sunghoon, it was you, ravenclaw’s own quidditch geek. from a friendship formed by mutual love for the sport, it’s truly a mystery how you didn’t join you own house’s team. but hey, at least your extensive knowledge on the sport helped him and his team with their playstyle, considering you were always present during the team’s training anyways. after all, you were his own little lucky charm and the sole reason why slytherin has been winning the quidditch cup for five years in a row.

✦ — kim sunoo

scammed!? — @amakumos

non-idol! sunoo x fem! reader, smau

summary : after losing to your friend patrick in a game of fashion famous on roblox, your punishment is to send that one incredibly stupid and very unconvincing “scammer” copypasta using a burner account to your longtime crush - fashion major, kim sunoo. after asking for your phone number, sunoo realises that you’re his classmate from a few years ago that he sees at the cafe often, and maybe you’re the person that he’s been harbouring feelings for - despite how he cringes when he sees your mismatched socks.

✦ — yang jungwon

attention, please! — @eeunoia ♥

rugby player!jungwon x reader

9k words

summary : you are assigned to write the article about the Belift rugby team and had the chance to get close to the the team captain.

kiss cam — @duskwon

yang jungwon x fem!reader, frenemies2lovers

3.8k+ words

summary: you were fully prepared to be single on valentine’s day. yang jungwon was fully prepared to blow your mind.

✦ — nishimura riki

shoot! — @amakumos ♥

friends2lovers, idiots2lovers, social media au + some written chapters

idol!riki x fem!reader

number one rule of having online friends: don’t fall in love with them. but after one year of being friends with cheolsoo, someone you met while playing co-op with in genshin, the little fluttering feeling in your stomach every time he texts you is too hard to ignore. so, after a year of talking and being friends, you and cheolsoo finally decide to meet - but then you realise that “cheolsoo” is actually nishimura riki, a famous kpop idol. so now, you have to deal with having the fattest crush on someone you basically don’t even know. shoot.

sixteen eighty-five — @prettywon

nonidol!riki x gn!reader

6k words

summary : you and riki were the hardest workers on the newspaper staff. despite this, you two are never to be seen working together. he avoids you and you avoid him, until you're both put up for the task of running the "Love Seekers Column." as the column gains popularity, so do you and riki, and no good can come from that.

amortentia — @nikihoon

slytherin!riki x fem!reader, modernhogwarts!au, strangers2lovers

 1.5k words

summary : riki would do anything to have his crush notice him, so he tries his hand at making a love potion.

[pedropascalsx]

Courage - Dieter Bravo x F! Reader. (One -shot)

Summary: You've been Dieter Bravos PA for two years, and you've finally reached your breaking point. But can he convince you to stay?

Word Count: 4.9k

WARNINGS: The fic features withholding of pay cheques. Please do not continue if you feel this could trigger you. ANGST! Asshole! Dieter, Dom!Dieter, P in V sex (unprotected), Oral (Fem receiving), Slight Choking, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Angst! Sex and Cursing.

18+ only!!!! Minors pls do not read.

With equal parts fear and courage coursing through your veins, you walk up to your boss’s door and knock loudly.

Script for an upcoming mini-series he’d been offered the much sought-after lead role in - without auditioning for - tucked under your arm and a large cup of coffee in your free hand.

Today was the day you were officially quitting. And it was liberating and fucking terrifying. The door was opened by a half-naked woman you’d never seen before and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead flashed her a warm smile, “Good morning, I take it Dieter is awake, yes?” The daggers she shot from her eyes made you chuckle internally; she screwed her nose up in disgust at you and briefly nodded her head in confirmation. “Great.”

He was laying on his sofa clearly nursing a hell of a hangover and groaning at the light spilling in from his glass doors. The woman from the door stood a few steps back watching you with the same disgust filled expression as before, whilst you walked over to Dieter.

You fought the urge to dump the hot coffee over him as the memory of your shared phone conversation you two had a mere twelve hours ago burned into your brain. Instead, you passed it to him wordlessly and placed the script on the coffee table in front of him.

He took a large sip of the hot beverage you provided him and sat upwards, the unnamed woman taking advantage of the space now behind him and squeezing herself in it and lowering his head back on to her bare chest. Staking a claim on a man who probably didn’t even remember or hell - even ask her name!

This time the chuckle that escapes your throat wasn’t silent, you laughed at the sight in front of you. “Okay then,” you said eyes on hers, before looking back down at your boss who had yet to say a single fucking word to you, “I’m meeting with an agency at 4. I’ve agreed to carry out my duties until they’ve assigned you a new personal assistant, I hate to ask but is there anything you’re wanting in the next one? Preferably something that’ll make you not treat this one with utter contempt, Dieter?”

You watch as his expression darkens, the lazy uncaring one instantly disappearing off of his face as his brow furrows in confusion and his eyes blacken with a mix of anger and pure perplexity. His eyes burn into yours for what feels like an eternity, but you scoff and turn on your heels, “At least try to get this one to get fully dressed before she exits your property, I am not drafting another bullshit statement on your behalf in regard to you pissing off your neighbours.”

The door slams behind you and you don’t have a care in the world, judging by the look on his face he didn’t remember the conversation from the previous night, or he thought you were bluffing, but you don’t care. You may be jobless, and you may have no idea what you’re going to do now, but at least you’re soon to be free from Dieter Fucking Bravo.

————

Arriving at the restaurant you feel more relaxed than you have in weeks. Looking forward to seeing Josh for your fourth date, a late lunch, before shooting off to find someone else to take over your soon to be over hellish nightmare.

Looking down at the blush midi sun dress you’re currently wearing makes you feel a little uneasy, you ordered it months ago and you’d still not technically paid for it. You’d saw it on someone at an event you’d accompanied Dieter on and fell in love, it was the same day that he’d agreed that you were due a pay rise and he’d promised a small bonus for all the work you had put in for him recently.

You did something you’d not done in a long time and splashed out a purchase via your credit card as a congratulatory gift for yourself. You felt like you’d deserved it and after all the bonus money would cover it… well it would have if you’d received it.

Seeing Josh enter the restaurant brings a smile back to your face, you give him a small wave and he grins back at you and then takes the seat in front of you.

“You look… wow!” he blurts out and your cheeks blush a bright pink.

“Oh, don’t… this is the dress,” you inform him, you’d called him immediately after getting off the phone with Dieter the night before and accidentally ranted and raved about everything that had gone on the past few months - including the story about your hastily bought treat yo’self dress, “Decided it would be a funny inside joke for myself to wear it today of all days… this is the first and only time I’m ever going to wear it.”

“How’d it go?” he asks sucking in his cheeks.

“He didn’t speak one word to me the whole three minutes I was in his house, so pretty fucking perfectly.” You say with a giggle.

Josh insisted on ordering you both a cheeky cocktail in celebration of your newfound courage, you’d decided you weren’t going to drink due to having an appointment to find your own replacement immediately after your meal, but you gave into temptation. “To pastures new!” he toasts, and you giggle as you clink your glass with his. You like Josh, he’s funny, cute and smart. Whilst you have to admit the lack of sexual chemistry so far, you can’t deny enjoying being in his company and his friendship. You were worried he’d be offended and not want to see you again when you shut down his sexual advances a few days earlier, but he was ever the gentleman and happy with your reasoning that it felt too soon.

Your date passed by quicker than you’d expected, and he gave you a cautious kiss on the cheek before making plans to call you later that evening.

You arrived at the office that housed a few local businesses including the agency you’d contacted about hiring an assistant to replace you from. You’d heard of it through a friend who herself had found an employer from and felt comfortable they’d be able to match Dieter with someone quick enough for you.

The amount of paperwork they had you fill in was exhausting, they’d asked a few times why you were finding your own replacement and he was not doing it himself - and you fed them some bullshit about him being swamped with table reads and wardrobe fittings and other miscellaneous time-consuming shit that seemed to make their enquiring minds content.

When they asked information about fair pay and staff treatment you bit your lip. Not wanting to screw yourself over by having them refusing point blank to send one of their clients into his messy world, so you kept your answers short and to the point, “Well, he’s human… good and bad days.”, “Name one Hollywood star that isn’t prone to the odd diva meltdown.” General bullshit that kept them satisfied and enough to stop you feeling completely guilty.

But at the same time, you wondered if you needed to feel guilty, maybe it was just you? Maybe the hate he clearly harboured for you wouldn’t be extended to his next assistant? Maybe he’d be so elated that he wouldn’t need to see you again that he’ll treat this one with the basic kindness and dignity they deserve.

You gave them the details they needed, and they assured you’d they’d be in touch within a few days with a few potential candidates for you to interview and you thanked everyone before making your way out of there and back to your car.

Dieter Bravo (36) Missed Calls.

Dieter Bravo (59) Text Messages.

You’d not even thought about looking at your phone since this morning, setting it to do not disturb and silent before your date with Josh. You rolled your eyes and groaned before peaking at the last text he had sent you.

Answer your fucking phone, this isn’t a fucking joke. What is wrong with you? Either call me back or come to my house. Now.

You groan out loud again before throwing your phone back into your bag without any care - you’ll call him when you get back to your apartment you decide before reversing out of the parking space.

A storm is brewing, you know it. You fully expected him to throw a full-scale tantrum when he came to realise that you weren’t bluffing and that you’d finally had enough. You’d worked for him for over 2 years. Every year getting thrown more bullshit and being made to cover up more drug fuelled scandals.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d sorted out a stay at a rehab centre for him to back out and not go or just discharge himself the very same day. Honestly, you genuinely feel for his struggles with addiction, you didn’t judge him for it, and you want nothing more to see him overcome his battles. In both your head and your heart, you’re rooting for him, and you always will regardless of his treatment of you.

You were 22 when you’d been offered to job, a client of a friend had recommended you and his agent had reached out to you personally.


The first time you’d met him he was neutral, he wished you a good morning and then sat in silence whilst his agent went through some of your expected duties. He had not so gracefully left out your other expected duties, like clearing up after his explosive drug binges, booking hookers and being his personal confidant when he was too drunk or high to realise what he was saying.

Occasionally you had to deal with a cruel unfiltered version of this man, usually when high or drunk but you took it in your stride, not allowing him to see the tears that would inevitably fall the moment you were out of his line of sight. You just accepted it. You’d been told stories about his time on a film set in London during the Covid-19 pandemic and the hell he’d lived through. He pretty much survived on cocaine and kit-kats and almost married a woman who worked at the hotel they’d been quarantining in. The lasting effects from that one job would seemingly haunt him forever. His best friend spilled details about the kindhearted woman he developed feelings for but ultimately fell out of love with when she all but arranged a wedding without being proposed to. Buying a dress and booking a venue whilst he fell deeper into a dependency on cocaine unaware of his future being mapped out for him.

But did any of this excuse the shit he had put you through? Absolutely fucking not.

Slipping the key inside your lock, you kicked off your shoes and threw yourself down on your coach. Sighing loudly and bringing your fists to your temples.

“Bad day?” a raspy voice grits out from the armchair on the other side of your living room.

You almost scream when you realise someone is in your apartment until your gaze meets his.

Dieter Bravo. Sat comfortably in your living room, nestled up in your armchair and clutching a glass of what you assume is straight vodka - the other alternative being water and seeing as unless it’s in a plastic bottle he won’t touch it, you rule that out.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Bravo! What’s fucking wrong with you?” you gasp out, hand clutching at your heaving chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” he counters make, venom spilling out within every word, “You fucking quit on me with no warning? Tell me you’re finding me someone else with no explanation?”

Why did you give him a key to your place in case of emergencies? WHY?!

“No expla-?! Are you fucking kidding me?” you rise to your feet and start pacing around in front of him, anger boiling up inside of you, “You haven’t paid me for five fucking months, Dieter! Five months! I all but begged you to tell me if something had happened with your money but nothing did! I tried to get to the bottom of why you had decided that the endless amounts of fucking hours I put in for you were seemingly worth nothing and it was all just a big game to you.”

He scoffs loudly and begins to laugh, “You have access to all my fucking accounts, baby, all you needed to do was login and pay yourself.”

“Don’t call me, baby,” you yelled back at him, “And I shouldn’t need to Dieter! You shouldn’t have stopped sending cheques. My initial thoughts was that you’d blown everything, and you were broke, I was genuinely concerned for you. Losing sleep over what I could do to help you and at the same time it was me who was the one drowning.”

Tears begin to roll down your face and you notice he’s standing now too, downing the clear liquid in the tumbler he has a vice like grip around, “You could have sent yourself the money. As I said you have the details.” He sounds almost nonchalant as he shrugs off your predicament refusing to make eye contact or acknowledge the state, you’re currently in.

“Two high interest credit cards and a skivvy loan.” You eventually mutter after standing in silence for God knows how long.

“What?”

“That’s what I’ve had to take out to keep a roof over my head and my lights switched on. I’m drowning in debt. I blew through my savings almost immediately because fuck, I didn’t have much to start out with and then I got desperate.” You feel your cheeks flush red as you reveal the state you’ve got your life into.

“Why would you quit your job if things are that bad?”

“Because my fucking asshole boss isn’t paying me!” You scream back at him.

The unexpected level of anger in your voice makes him gulp, you’d never ever shown any real sense of anger with him before. Yes, you’d gotten frustrated, called him some colourful words and even told him you despised him but there was never any real venom in your voice. Never anything to make him believe what you said was from a real place of anger before.

He knew he pushed your buttons, honestly, he’d had more sleepless nights fretting over the way he’d spoken to you than you’d ever believe. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

——-

There’s something about you that just makes him crazy. His agent had warned him that if he’d tried to fuck you or acted sexually suggestive to you in any way that he’d be without an agent immediately. And this was all before you’d even walked in the room.

The very first day he met you, you looked almost angelic. Your hair half up and half down, a pretty floral sundress hugging your curves and the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. The dulcet tone of your voice hit him like a tonne of bricks, you’d literally only said “Good morning,” to him and it was like he was hooked.

The day after meeting you he’d decided to keep you at arm’s length, he planned on being ambivalent with you. Nothing more, nothing less. But the kinder you were to him the more he wanted to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you and stars… he was aching to taste you.

He was in a spiral. The whole world knew it, and many revelled in the entertainment articles they’d read whenever he hit another low and everyone around him except you seemed to spur it on.

Offering him more cocaine, only agreeing to hang out if booze and drugs were on the table… literally! and many secretly recording his downfall for profit. There was no one he could trust… except you.

Every time things got too much, he’d call you and you’d inevitably come and pick up the pieces. Issue another statement or arrange for another large donation to some non-profit organisation to change up the stories being printed about him.

And he could feel your frustration throughout, he could feel the way you lost a little more hope for you every day and he could feel the way you’d fill with tension whenever he entered the room.

He hated what he’d made you. He’d made you hate being in a room with him, and now he was forced to pay the price. Ironic considering. And all he wanted to right now, was find a way to make it all up to you. But he was certain it was too late.

———

He removed his phone from his pocket and pulled up his banking app, he transferred you the money he had owed and an admittedly generous amount on top.

You heard the ping on your phone and immediately registered what he had done.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, sitting back down on the chair behind him, “I-uh- I have no excuses. You’re right. In a way it was a game, I wanted to see how long it would take for you to just… take it. Take it yourself. You never take anything for yourself, ever.”

“My livelihood isn’t a game, Dieter.”

“I know… fuck, baby, I know, I ‘m sorry.”

You follow suit and take a seat, feeling exhausted from your outburst and the wave of emotions flooding through you.

“Why’d you do it? Any of it? Why did you not just find yourself another assistant?” you ask with a slight shrug of your heavy shoulders.

You study his face, and watch as he bites his bottom lip, “Don’t want another assistant. Couldn’t imagine not seeing you every day. Fuck.”

“I don’t…” you end your own sentence never really sure where it was going in the begin with.

“I saw you with that guy the other night, you seemed happy. Relaxed. Didn’t even notice I was in the same bar as you.” He says with a low unconvincing laugh.

“Why’d you care?” you ask noting the quietness of your own voice.

“I told you before. You know why.”

Fuck. The confession. One he had made whilst more sober than you’d ever seen him, and it sent shivers down your spine. He’d found out that he was nominated for a second Oscar, already having won one previously he was over the moon. His agent had called to inform him whilst you were sitting on his couch going through his schedule for the week. A particularly busy week before the nomination he had two magazine cover shoots, an appearance a late-night show and was beginning rehearsals for his first ever SNL hosting gig.

You listened with a sense of pride as he took the call, bouncing on his tiptoes with glee as he was informed of his second nomination. The moment he’d hung up the phone, you stood up to shake his hand in congratulations, but he pulled you into the biggest hug. Wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he could whilst you mumbled a heartfelt congratulations to him. Then those three words slipped from his lips. I love you. And gosh, did you love him too despite everything. He felt you tense up in his arms and after a few seconds he completely let you go and mumbled something incoherent before pouring himself a large tumbler of whiskey.

Things had spiralled since then. And now you were here. At a crossroads.

He loves you. You love him. You both know that each other know. You think he knew you were in love with him before you did. You’d only realised it, when you saw him holding hands and making out with a random co-star and felt the earth shattering around you.

But you both suppressed your feelings and attempted to work together as normal. But nothing was ever normal when this man was involved.

Staring at your feet and trying to control your shaky breathes you didn’t hear him stand up, you didn’t hear him walk over or feel him take a seat next to you.

You didn’t realise until you felt his large calloused palm settle in between your shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry,” he says resting his chin on your shoulders, “I’m so sorry.”

“Dieter.”

“Please, let me apologise. I don’t deserve another second of your time, but I’m sorry. I fucked up. Fuck this is one of those times in which fuck somehow isn’t a strong enough word… And i’m just sorry. No excuses for any of the bullshit, i’m just so fucking sorry.” The stream of acid rain tumbling down his cheeks an unexpected sight.

You turn to face him and your hands cup his cheeks, you use your thumbs to wipe away the tears and before you can speak his mouth finds yours.

It’s not what you’re expecting from a kiss from Dieter Bravo. It’s soft, warm and inviting. You’ve seen him kiss people before usually with a intense need to get them into his bed and then out of it just as quickly. 
But you’ve never seen him kiss anyone like this before.

He takes his time, slowly exploring your mouth and tasting you with his tongue, trembling gently when yours brushes against his and you moan quietly into his lips.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he says keeping his lips against yours the entire time, his moustache tickling your lips with every word, “Want to make you feel so good.” And both his hands start moving up your thigh slowly.

“This doesn’t seem like the best way to deal with this,” you admit pressing your forehead against his, feeling your arms reach up to roam across the broadness of his shoulders.

“Need to show you how much you mean to me,” he says pulling you in for a passionate kiss, “I just want to taste you right now, feel the tension drain from your body baby.”

“Fuck,” you mumble and you can’t help but pull him forward as you lean back into your sofa, “Okay, but this doesn’t mean we aren’t talking more about this, Dieter, I swear. There’s more to be said.” You pepper a kiss on his plump lips between every word.

“I promise, baby.”

He starts to pepper kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, kissing you over the fabric of your dress, only beginning gently pull it up over your thighs when his lips meet your clothed navel.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”

He pulls his mouth from you and hikes your dress up above your belly button, dropping a few more lazy kisses to the now uncovered area before slowly pulling down your panties.

He kisses the soft curls covering your mound before slowly moving your hips apart, your eyes locked into his as he waists no time flickering his tongue over your bundle of nerves. You writhe underneath him at the expert way his tongue laps at your clip, and he groans into your core in approval every time you gasp out or moan his name. The added pleasure from the vibrations coming from his throat making your hips roll up into his face.

“Good girl, baby,” he soothes as your moans become more breathless and your hips unable to stop rocking into his mouth to find your release, “Doing so well for me.”

Your orgasm comes faster than you’re wanting, wishing you feel his mouth on your for as long as possible. But he continues tasting and murmuring praises directly into your core through your high and only stopping when the overstimulation proves to much and you need to push his head away.

“You somehow taste sweeter than I imagined.” He says mouth glistening from the thick coating of your arousal, he doesn’t attempt to clean it off as he drops a kiss to your mouth, allowing you to get a taste of yourself, “Can you taste how sweet you are, baby?” he says after breaking the kiss.

“Dieter, I need….” you mumble.

“Tell me what you need, baby, tell me,” he whispers into your neck letting his lips brush against your skin, “I’ll give you anything you need.”

“I need you. All of you.” you choke out breathlessly, chest still heaving from the orgasm his mouth given you moments ago.

“Baby, I need you to be specific here, bec-“

“Dieter, I need you to fuck me. Now. If you want to.”

You’ve never seen him move so fast, his hands tearing off his clothes quicker than you imagined possible. You take the opportunity to pull your desk off over you head and unhook your bra, tossing them on top of the clothes pile he had made seconds before.

His mouth dropping down to kiss the swell of your breast before moving up to suck your puckered nipple, the moans of pleasure he’s letting slip from his mouth just from tasting you here making you drip with arousal. He releases your nipple with a loud pop before moving across to repeat the actions on your other one, but this time snaking a hand down between your bodies to press two fingers to your clit.

You gasp as his rough fingers start to rub circles in to you pleasure nub still slightly tender from his mouth, “Dieter, please,” you grit out as you feel another wave of arousal flood your center, “Fuck me.”

He growls loudly into your breast before lightly rolling your nipple between his teeth and releasing.

“That’s the prettiest fucking thing, I’ve ever heard you say, baby,” he lines his cock up with your entrance and inches the tip in before finding your lips again, “Gonna take you apart nice and slowly.”

He inches himself inside you as slowly as he can, taking his time to stretch you open and bask in the way he can feel your walls flutter just as the feel of him. The gasps you let free into his mouth with every thrust he’s giving you making his cock twitch and the moment he’s fully filled you, you tighten so hard around his length he feels like he might just cum then and there.

“Fuck, move, Dieter,” you beg breathlessly, “Please.”

Another growl vibrates into your lips as he begins to rock his hips, his speed increasing as moans spill from your lips uncontrollably and you start to plead with him to go faster, wanting all the built up frustration to be fucked out of you you start to roll your hips to meet his, matching his rhythm as you sink your teeth into his broad shoulders.

“Fuck, baby… you wanna fuck, huh?” he grits out, “Don’t want me to go slow, no?”

“Want.. you to f-fuck me,” you stutter as he begins an unrelenting pace, fucking up into you harder and faster as your thighs tremble underneath him.

You dig your fingernails into the back of his neck, leaving half moons into his soft skin as he thrusts in and out of you, slamming across that sweet spot inside of you that’s making your eyes roll back into your head.

“Is this what you really needed huh, baby? Never taking shit for yourself, needing me to fuck you like you deserve to be fucked?” His words gritted out from behind his teeth as he tightens his grip on your hip, the other hand moving up to your neck, “Should have fucked you the first time I saw you, wearing that short little dress… waltzing in like a little fucking tease.”

He grips your neck with enough tightness to make you gasp, eyes burning into yours the entire time. “This okay?” he asks and you nod ferociously, “Fucking filthy, girl… Did he ever make you moan like this baby girl?“ The venom in his words as he bought up the person you’ve been seeing, makes you clench around him. The jealousy and rage a turn on, you attempt to respond but he picks up his already relentless speed and you cry out his name as you grip him so tight, that he’s unable to keep thrusting. Your walls holding him so tightly that his cock begins to pulse spectacularly inside of you, and it hits. A blinding white pleasure that makes you back arch, the pleasure centre in your brain going into overdrive and your pussy flood around his cock. “I got you baby, I’ve got you,” he soothes in your ear as you writhe and sob through as pleasure rips through you. Wave after wave of pleasure making your whole body convulse, you choke out his name one more time and it’s enough to bring him to completion. The feeling of his warmth coating your walls as he mumbles the softest praises into your ears.

“That was… fucking perfect, baby,” he exclaims as lifts you up to roll underneath you and let your sated body rest on his.

You immediately nuzzle your face into his neck as he wraps his strong arms around your naked waist.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to do it over and over and over,” you giggle into him, “But Dieter… I still fucking quit.”

The laughter rips through his chest and he kisses your scalp, “Eh, I was thinking I need to take a break anyway.”

[lizbotw]

hi!! can I ask for some shouto headcanons with a s/o who has frequent nightmares? ty! ily

Todoroki With a S/O That Has Frequent Nightmares

hi! wow, i really loved this request and enjoyed writing it! once again, it's a bit on the longer side and more scenario-like than just plain headcanons, so i hope you like it! tysm, ilyt!!! ♡

Todoroki Shouto

Everyone knows school is just plain hard and going to the top hero school in the nation meant things were… less than easy for you and your classmates.

All-nighters were common, especially now that everyone was living in the dorms together and were up to antics at all hours of the night, even despite the scolding of Iida (Aizawa admitted he couldn't care less what the class did as long as they kept it down and didn't cause too much trouble—just don’t interrupt his sleep and everything is all good).

It’s not like it was unusual for someone to complain offhandedly about being tired one day, or for your classmates to be spotted with eye bags, so no one ever thought to point out the sleepy look you seem to sport regularly from being kept up all night.

Everyone was basically kept up later than intended one way or another, whether it be finishing an assignment last minute or staying up to finish a movie, so they sympathized with your plight, assuming that it was similar to their own—but what they didn’t know was that the reason you were up was much different than any of their reasons.

While they slept peacefully only a few floors away from you, or sometimes even a few doors down the hallway, you were plagued by dark images, the type that twisted around in your mind, growing in ferocity and coiling around your heart with sticky, inky blackness so tightly that you felt as though you couldn’t breathe—any attempts against them that you took seemed futile and you always woke up gasping for air, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead as your chest heaved, heavy with emotion.

You'd gotten used to hiding it, having been dealing with them for quite a while now, and while you eventually learned to brush them off due to their frequency, in the dead of the night, whenever they struck you, you felt as powerless and hopeless as the very first time they arrived.

It was only in the light of day that you were able to be reasonable with yourself and in which the fears lost most of their power (they were never completely gone though, the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind and causing you to mull over them whenever there was a dull moment in class and your attention started to drift).

Perhaps it's because you had these nightmares that you made the most of the energy you had during the day, fighting in your own way in the light to prove that you were still powerful, even if you were stripped of that power every night.

You'd adapted to running on only a few hours of sleep and tried to take short naps throughout the day to make up for lost time (although it was still hard after particularly difficult nights where you got almost zero relief from the terrifying images), so by the time life in U.A. came about, you were able to tough it out and focus on your training.

Speaking of training, you were vicious in class battles, taking many by surprise and were able to render several of your weaker classmates immobile in capture exercises and swept them off of their feet relatively quickly in one on one fights, including a certain “IcyHot” boy (although the way in which you swept him off his feet was much different—it was hard to beat him in normal fights anyway, but when it came to matters of the heart he was forced to surrender).

Your pure power may have caught his attention at first, but it wasn’t until Shouto spoke to you more and your personality came out that he was truly faced with the fact that he was falling for you hard.

A series of mishaps and a fair share of intervention from the rest of Class 1-A later and you two were miraculously dating and even could finally rest easy—they definitely had their work cut out when it came to getting you two together, but they ultimately bit the bullet because they could not stand the mutual pining and hopeless romanticism that continuously went on between you two.

It may take a while for Shouto to realize that spending the night at each other's dorms is a romantic™ thing couples do and that he should offer that up. That would be a great alternative actually versus the current are arrangement of that whenever you come over to study during the afternoons with him (which quickly turns into night because wow, time sure flies when you're being tortured by textbooks), and once it gets late enough, he comments about what time it is and how both of you should start getting ready for bed—effectively forcing you to leave his dorm. Don't blame him—the thought just never crossed his mind.

It was actually Mina, wanting to pry in on all U.A. relationships and resident sucker for romance, that probably brought the idea to his attention.

Something about asking how you two spent time together turned interrogation when she realized he could be clueless about certain things and made it her personal mission to school him on all things romance.

And then came the question, “So, have you guys had a couple’s sleepover yet?”

“A what?”

“Mina, please stop, just leave the poor guy alone,” came Jirou’s chiding from somewhere in the background. Mina had dragged her along with her for unknown reasons, but Jirou had made it very clear that she did not want to be there, slowly distancing herself from the conversation and discreetly trying to slip away.

While Mina took up arguing with Jirou about the “necessity” of these questions and Jirou facepalming and asking Mina why she didn’t just bring Hagakure (second in command on all things romance) with her, Shouto took the chance to mull over Mina’s words.

“And what does this... ‘couple’s sleepover’ entail exactly?” he interrupted their bickering after a few moments of contemplation and being unable to come up with an answer himself.

Mina absolutely lit up at that and turned to him once again, scuffle with Jirou long forgotten. “I am so glad you asked! Well, first of all-”

“She just means spending the night at each other’s dorms,” Jirou interrupted before Mina could go off on another tangent. Shouto turned to look at Jirou now and found her boredly examining her nails before then switching to nervously clinking the ends of her earphones jacks together when she noticed he was watching her.

“Then why-”

Jirou interrupted him this time. “Why did she call it a ‘couple’s sleepover?’ I don’t know, why don’t you ask Mina herself?”

It only took her a fraction of a second to realize her mistake when Mina opened her mouth to unleash the lengthy explanation she had prepared and Jirou immediately cut her off again before the damage could be done.

“Actually, never mind, don’t ask her. I don’t think I have to explain the sleepover part. Just spend the night doing fun things, like playing games or watching a movie or something, I don’t know. Typical sleepover things. And the couple’s part is because… well, you’re dating aren’t you? Bam, a couple.” She did unenthusiastic jazz hands at that. “Hmm… and I guess that means the sleepover activities will be more romantic than a typical sleepover too.” She scrunched her nose at the idea, not even wanting to imagine what that sort of description would entail.

Mina was getting antsy next to her, desperate to jump into the conversation with her own input and Jirou finally seemed to notice it. “Looks like Mina wants to go-” (“What? No, I don’t-”) “So see you later, Todoroki.” She grabbed Mina’s arm with one hand and gave Shouto a small wave goodbye with her free hand—one that he returned—as she pulled Mina away. “Oh, and don’t worry too much about it,” she said over her shoulder, “It’s literally just spending some time together and you do that already, right? The only difference is that this time it’ll be overnight, so just act natural. It’s not some big fancy event despite what Mina’s name for it might suggest.” And with that the two were gone, disappearing down the hallway in a fit of distant, mumbled bickering about how Mina is no longer allowed to give unsolicited love advice and how Jirou needs to learn the ways of love to truly understand, leaving Shouto all alone with his thoughts, trying to decipher what the fuck just happened.

Truthfully, he was always sad to see you go after a day of hanging out, wishing he could spend more time with you. For some reason he thought that as soon as night came, you deserved to head back to your own dorm for a proper night’s rest. He was just being concerned for your well being, isn’t that what proper boyfriends did? He considered the idea once of what if you spent the night together?, and despite that literally addressing all of his issues from before, he still brushed off the idea because it was preposterous. Shouto, where are your thinking skills???

After a while of back and forth with himself over the wisdom Mina and Jirou had bestowed upon him, he made the decision that next time things would be different.

Another late night study session had you packing up your things once you noticed the blinking alarm clock on Shouto's desk had stuck 11 P.M., the process routine at this point and you no longer waiting for your boyfriend to end the study session himself.

You rose and starting gathering the papers sprawled across his floor into a neat stack in your arms, absentmindedly talking about the things you had to do tomorrow as you went—it was like you were just inputting some closing remarks before calling it a night and Shouto fell easily into the conversation as he slipped stray pens and highlighters back into his pencil case.

You two usually cleaned up amongst the quiet hum of your words—discussing how you felt about the upcoming test, subjects either of you needed more help on next time, and what you were looking forward to eating for breakfast in the morning—but this night had Shouto's eyes straying away from the mess at his feet to you. Your back was to him most of the time, but even when you were facing him as you gathered up your books, your attention was focused on said objects, rather than him.

You guys didn't look at each other much as you cleaned, he realized—it was an obvious observation, but he still had the thought as he watched you, taking note of how this was just the perfect chance to admire you.

When you turned to him at one point though, gaze piercing, he quickly averted his eyes, shifting them to a highlighter that lay in front of him in your general direction, reaching to pick up. He ran his thumb over the smooth, bright yellow cylinder of it as you walked over to him, crouched down, hands planted on his shoulders, and leaned in to brush your lips against his. His eyes fluttered close and he leaned into the kiss, pushing back against you. He moved to deepen it, about to grip onto the fabric of your shirt for leverage, the highlighter rolling out of his grip, but the kiss was over in a matter of seconds and he opened his eyes, finding your smiling face right in front of him. You gave him a brief kiss on his cheek, as though to sign it off, and he had to admit that the heat of your face against his felt nice.

“Night, babe,” you said as you got up and turned to walk over to your bag that lay by the door.

“Night…” Right, that was just one of your normal goodnight kisses. That was also part of the routine but… something about the idea that that was the last kiss of the night didn’t sit right with him.

Shouto studied you once more, tongue in cheek, as he watched you stuff the papers and books you had gathered up back into your bag. The contemplative look never left his eye—it seemed as though you hadn’t noticed his staring from earlier so he was a bit more bold and confident about doing it now—and he almost lost himself to a trance of watching your methodical movements of picking something up from the pile of books you had lain at your feet and slipping them into the bag one by one.

When you slung the bag over your shoulder and moved towards the door, turning back to give him a final wave goodbye, he stiffened, remembering his plan.

“Wait-” He scrambled to his feet as you watched him in confusion, hand already on the doorknob. “Um… do you want to stay the night?” He flinched internally at the unsureness in his voice and straightened up, crossing his arms to create some semblance of nonchalance. “I mean, only if you want to. We don’t have to keep studying. I have a… movie? If you want to watch that together?”

Shouto’s eyes carefully tracked your movements, trying to gauge your reaction.

You tilted your head in bewilderment at the sudden offer, but then you grinned brightly and dropped your bag back at your feet, it landing on the ground with a thud from all of the heavy books inside. “Okay,” you beamed and Shouto was sure he was about to faint.

He followed Jirou’s advice to a T, or at least he tried to. He meant to ask if you wanted to play Monopoly but Kaminari had stolen it from the dorm’s game closet and refused to hand it over because his plans for the night included kicking Sero’s, Kirishima’s, and Bakugou’s asses at the game (Mina was there to be the unbiased banker because the boys were so sure that one of them kept stealing money out of the bank whenever no one was looking and Jirou was just there to bask in the chaos that was sure to ensure—when Mina and Jirou caught sight of Shouto, they both gave him a knowing look).

The loss of the Monopoly board meant you two instead played with the dingy Uno card deck Shouto found buried in his school supply drawer (he was pretty sure it was Midoriya’s and in his mind sent him a silent thank you—as for if he was going to give the desk back or continue “borrowing” it… well, that depended on how much you enjoyed playing with him).

You won three times in a row, but also Shouto seemed to keep getting distracted by something (spoiler alert: it was your smile) and you realized he wasn’t even playing his best cards most of the time so you easily crushed him. You clapped your hands in celebration at every victory and Shouto noticeably increased his speed while shuffling the deck whenever you did that (oh yeah, he was definitely keeping these, sorry, Deku).

You two eventually got around to watching the movie he had brought up before on his laptop, you slotted comfortably under his arm while it hung around your shoulder, and even had a late night snack run per your request (snack run = sneaking into the kitchen and stealing the plate of hot pockets Kaminari was making to supplement his game night—better yet, you made Shouto do the stealing with him timing his crime perfectly and waiting for Kaminari’s back to be turned.)

(You supervised the whole thing by peeking around a hidden corner, barely containing your laughter, and then jumped in to distract Kaminari right when he was about to turn around before quickly taking your leave once Shouto was out of sight. Kaminari’s screams once he realized what had happened could be heard down the hallway as you two rushed back to the elevator, stolen goods secured and you laughing freely.)

(You’re pretty sure you heard Shouto mumble, “How’s that for Monopoly, you electric bitch,” and while you’re honestly not sure what he’s talking about, you support his energy nonetheless.)

Soon it was time to actually sleep and you two were curled up under his blanket, limbs tangled together. You had taken brief naps together before so this wasn’t exactly anything new (even though it was, judging by what a big deal everyone had made of it, including you two), but you found yourself appreciating once again how Shouto was the perfect person to sleep against—he regulated his body temperature exactly how you liked it and you found yourself nodding off to sleep easily in between the quiet whispers about nonsensical late night topics between you two.

The brief concern about your nightmares had completely slipped your mind at this point—you found that short naps meant that they didn’t have much time to strike and since said naps were what you were used to with him, you forgot that this was a full night ordeal. When he had first proposed the idea of a sleepover, you had thought it would be good to have someone else there to comfort you, but then felt guilty about being selfish and wondered if your reaction to the nightmares would scare him off—although you eventually pushed those thoughts to the side because no way would you turn down spending some quality time with your boyfriend, and the night of fun had led to never returning to mull over that internal conflict.

You two fell asleep at some point without even realizing it, peaceful in each other's arms—that is, until a few hours later when disaster struck because of course something just had to ruin your perfect night.

Shouto blearily blinked his eyes open, confused at the sound that reached his ears and brain slow to comprehend what exactly was going on. It took him a moment to suck in a breath to clear his mind and decipher the situation, shifting in place—that is, until his arm brushed against yours and he stilled, mind suddenly clear as it recalled the events of the last hour he had been awake. You were spending the night with him.

Carefully, he sat up, head pounding a little. He brought up a hand to rest on top of his head, fingers curling around his hair and massaging away the beginnings of a headache. And then he heard it again—the sound that had woken him up. A quiet whimper maybe?

He was back to being confused, except now his eyes were darting around the room suspiciously, ready to go on the defensive, especially because you were next to him. U.A. had a proper security system, didn't it? He shouldn't be worried. Although, then again, his mind kept returning to those thoughts of uncertainty and how villains had been able to endanger his classmates time and time again recently.

The shuffling of blankets and a sharp intake of breath had him refocused within a second and he looked down at you. Eyes now adjusted to the darkness, he could make out your face against the backdrop of his pillow, your features twisted into a troubled expression, teeth pulling on your bottom lip. Your hands gripped the blanket in a tight fist, your arms shaking a little.

You continued squirming under the blanket until you eventually kicked most of it off of you, almost as if there was someone there that you meant to hit. Your mouth curled into a silent scream, ragged breaths coming out in huffs as your chest rapidly rose and fell. He could tell you were mumbling now, voice low enough that he couldn't exactly make out what was being said—the syllables coming out in quick bursts and half formed as your focus seemed to jump from topic to topic, each of them bringing you increasing distress.

Shouto had been watching you in horrid fascination, unable to take his eyes off of you as much as his mind screamed at his body to just fucking move, but when a sliver of moonlight coming in from his window—peeking out from behind a gap in the drapes he hadn’t pulled together close enough—caught the glint of tears brimming your eyes, he was quick to react, gripping your upper arm and, as gently as he could while still being firm, shook you. "(Y/N)!" he hissed, not wanting to startle you, "Wake up, please. What's wrong?"

It took a few tries—him wanting to snap you back to consciousness right away, but also afraid of hurting you or making things worse—but before a minute had passed you were coming back to reality, forcing your eyes open as you realized the images plaguing you hadn't been real. You sat up quickly, almost bumping your head against Shouto's (not that you even noticed he was there), your breaths coming hard and fast.

You completely forgot where you were for a moment, just focusing on calming down, and it wasn't until Shouto managed a quiet, "(Y/N)?," concern clearly lacing his voice, that you whipped your head around to face him.

And then your eyes slowly traveled around the rest of the room, recalling where you were. If he hadn't been there, the unfamiliar environment probably would have made you feel alarmed when you came to and make you start wondering if you were stuck in another nightmare again.

You heard Shouto clear his throat as he looked at you curiously, and your eyes snapped back to him. Just the sight of him had your eyes watering and before you knew it, you had flung yourself into his chest, fingers finding purchase in the loose fabric of his shirt.

He easily managed to steady you two from the momentum of you crashing into him and wrapped his strong arms around you, squeezing you to him as you sobbed into his chest.

It would take a little while for him to calm you down and although he was incredibly concerned, he made sure to be the rock you needed and let you take all the time in the world to stabilize yourself.

You would probably be a little embarrassed to tell him about your dream, especially now that you were more lucid, and may even start apologizing for your behavior earlier until he cuts you off because you had every right to react as you did.

After a bit of coaxing, along with you realizing you felt comfortable around him and that you shouldn't worry about him judging you for something as trivial as this, you opened up and told Shouto about your frequent nightmares. He would play with your hands as you talked to let you know it was okay and a silent kiss—soft lips against yours—would confirm that he loved you no matter what.

Shouto wouldn’t mind staying up late into the early hours of the morning with you if you wanted to talk about what you had experienced and may even suggest that you two sneak down to the dorm kitchen and get something to eat and drink (now that was fun—teasing him by pretending to be on a spy mission and forcing him to glance around all of the corners with you, as though you were suspicious about someone catching you? absolutely gold).

Just laying together and talking because you didn’t want to go to sleep would be fine with him, even if you insisted that he should get some rest. He didn’t want you to feel bad about the situation or think that you were a burden, so he did his best to take your mind off of it.

If you wanted to stay up longer, you might watch another movie or even play a few more rounds of Uno (Kaminari, the bastard, still had Monopoly locked in his room for some reason and hadn’t returned it to the game closet—now not to say that Shouto considered leaving an anonymous tip to Iida about the blonde breaking the unwritten rules of the dorm by not returning the game as soon as he was done with it but… yeah, he definitely considered it).

Expect sleepovers to become a lot more common between you two from then on, especially after you admitted that having Shouto there made things a lot more bearable. Whether it be in your dorm or his, both of you were always open to falling asleep in each other's arms whenever the other person asked.

At your next late night hang out session, you two even played Monopoly!

(Shouto had frozen Kaminari’s feet to the ground when he saw him running towards the game closet to snag the game again, and then calmly walked off with his prize after plucking it from the shelf while Kamianri wailed in distress and tried to unstick his feet and pull them free. Shouto couldn’t help but crack a small grin to himself in victory as he walked away.)

Per your request, you two invited some of the other students to play Monopoly because it was always fun with more people (for some reason, Shouto expressly stated that Kaminari was not to be invited and while you were confused, you just shrugged and agreed, even when you heard him say something about forcing the blonde go through “Monopoly withdrawal” as a punishment—you decided not to question him on that point), and a few of those who didn’t want to play just came to watch as well.

(Midoriya was one of those who came to play and while he was glancing around the room, his eyes landed on Shouto’s desk and he squinted in confusion, scrutinizing the little deck he saw tucked in the corner.)

(“Hey, Todoroki, are those my Uno car-”)

(“Nope. Oh look, you just landed on Boardwalk and Uraraka has a hotel there. You only have $200, right?”)

(“Wha- oh, fu-”)

Shouto had to deal with his fair share of nightmares as a child and if you ever want to talk about what the latest disturbing image that had haunted you was, he’ll always be available. In turn, he feels ready to open up about his own fears to you, all while soothing away yours. Talking with him feels natural, just like anything else involving him, and not keeping everything bottled up has definitely helped you more, causing your performance both in class and out in the battlefield to improve.

Your chest definitely feels a lot lighter these days and your dark circles seem to be fading. You probably owe those to your wonderful boyfriend turned portable heater (what? he’s perfect for when you want to take naps and now that he knows about your nightmares during the night, you no longer have to explain to him why you like to sleep so frequently during the day).

Shouto is nothing short of supportive and if there’s anything you ever need to ease the nightmares and lull you off to sleep—whether it be him buying you a diffuser you saw online, getting you a custom sleeping mask, or just you needing him to whisper sweet nothings into your ear and pepper kisses along your temple to help you fall back asleep after being jolted awake again—he’s always there to provide it.

[djmarinizelablog]

Hey!! Would you mind write a Miss Congeniality!AU with levihan?

You know, with my beloved hange being Sandra Bullock, and Levi loving her in anyway, after or before the changes, but being surprised with them hehehe

Whew, this was a long one, Anon! Read under the cut to see the rest of it, and let me know what you think! I might expand it one of these days...

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

1.

Beauty pageants are a nightmare for FBI Agent Hange Zoe.

She can do a sliding tackle, a crosspunch, a backflip-ninja-combo-roll before landing a roundabout kick on the bad guys. All of that while she's wearing a handsome suit. Those shitheads were just damn overwhelmed by her the last time the rascals went on the run from the police; Hange managed to find their hiding place after deducing that these crime lords did their operations in small underground bars where they could bribe the management.

But beauty pageants will haunt Hange in her sleep, especially now that her supervisor Erwin Smith has just assigned her to a new mission involving a serial bomber who targets the public. Said criminal had sent them a threat two days ago saying that he intends to bomb the upcoming Miss Paradis beauty pageant within a weeks' time. To add to that, Erwin has asked FBI's top agent Levi Ackerman to call the shots while they're out in the field, which unfortunately in this case... is the runway.

"I just don't fucking understand." Agent Levi grits his teeth as he pulls his suit tighter around him. "Why does this idiot of a bomber want to make a statement in a pageant, of all places?

"Maybe he's a feminist?" Hange suggests. "You know, maybe he doesn't believe that women should be ranked in terms of looks... or maybe he's got a grudge on one of the contestants? They have their own personal advocacies and all that, too."

"Why the hell do you know so much about this?" Levi eyes his colleague suspiciously, her tomboyish nature unconvincing enough to make Hange Zoe the type of person who would be interested in these events.

"Nanaba makes me watch them," Hange says. She's referring to her buddy in the Cybercrime Unit. "Not that I enjoy it, but I think it's enough for me to get an idea of how these shows actually operate---"

And apparently enough for her to infiltrate the pageant.

Hange obviously did not take it lightly when Erwin announced the plan to use her as an insider in order to track any suspicious activity and monitor the candidates' safety as well.

"Oh no, please no," Hange shakes her head. So much for her intelligence and her critical thinking skills. "I'm not gonna strut across the stage in high heels and pushup bras---"

"You don't have a choice." Levi frowns.

"You men seriously don't understand anything about pageants, do you?" She puts both hands on her hips in exasperation. "It takes weeks, months, maybe even years, to train the contestants... and have you seen me?" She gestures to her masculine appearance and her blatant lack of curves.

The two men look at each other before Erwin breaks the silence. "Keith Shadis can take care of that."

2.

Apparently, they had already asked the pageant committee to put her on the roster of candidates, in addition to hiring a beauty consultant to assist her in the preparations.

"Great heavens," Shadis mutters the moment Hange introduces herself to him in plain casual clothes, eyeglasses dirty and her ponytailed hair in complete disarray. His face cannot hide the disappointment. The older man straightens himself up and continues, "Am I staring at a clown? Not that I've seen worse."

He circles Hange slowly, scrutinizing her poor posture and her vital statistics, wondering how a disheveled person like her would even have the audacity to show up at his place for a makeover.

"I heard you're an expert at transformations," Levi comes to Hange's defense, his tone professional. "We just need her to look good enough so she can get into the final selection. Surely some makeup and beauty sleep will do the trick?"

Shadis raises an eyebrow. "At this rate, Mister Ackerman, your partner here needs to hibernate."

Hange winces at the insult. "Look, I'm not as excited in this as you are---"

"But we're already here, aren't we?" Shadis crosses his arms. "Well, let's get to work then."

He snaps his fingers, and out of nowhere, his assistants grab Hange from behind, forcing her down into a styling chair as they inspect every nook and cranny of her face and body, starting from her untidy hair down to her overgrown toenails.

"This is going to be embarrassing," Hange says, an understatement.

3.

No one has ever told Hange Zoe that prepping up for a pageant is worse than torture. Over the past twelve hours, she has been subjected to a manicure, a pedicure, a hot oil treatment, dental prophylaxis, eyebrow threading, earwax cleaning, body sculpting, and of course, a full-body Brazilian waxing.

To add to that, Shadis has discarded her formal suit and has her done several outfit changes to give her a new sense of style.

"My entire face is sore," she complains to Levi who has been on standby while she underwent all the necessary procedures. "I can't even feel my legs.”

They're separated by a huge dark curtain, Shadis wanting it to be a surprise when he finally reveals the new and improved Hange-motherfucking-Zoe.

"It'll be over soon, trust me," Levi consoles her, both of them already exhausted. He doesn't really care about this entire shebang; he just wants to continue with the operation and gather as much intel as they can on the contestants. Unfortunately, this is part of the mission.

Hange whines again. “And they won't even let me eat any of the pizza!"

“I’ll sneak you in a slice while they’re not looking.”

“I heard that.” Shadis says, his head poking through the curtain. 

There's a sigh that escapes Hange on the other side.

"Say, Levi... would you prefer a bombshell model over a badass fighter?" she asks him.

"What kind of question is that?" Levi raises an eyebrow. “You already know my answer.”

He whips his head around just in time to see Shadis smirking, holding the curtains together behind him.

"Behold..." he says, "the one and only... Hange Zoe!"

Levi manages to keep his mouth from falling open when he sees Hange in a nice halter dress, her hair now loose in soft curls, lips pink from the gloss and tint. Instead of her usual glasses, she's now wearing plain contacts.

"What do you think?" She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her brown eyes curious while she looks at him in all earnest.

Levi swallows. The words have already left him.

--------

Bonus scene!

The girls are already in their bikinis, hands on hips and sashes hanging on their shoulder as they prance around onstage for the swimsuit segment. Earlier that evening, Levi and Erwin had deduced that pageant contestant Petra Rall may be involved in their case, having joined several protests against animal cruelty in the past. Hange Zoe immediately shut their opinions' down, claiming that Petra wouldn't even hurt a fly, even if she knew how to. The men were still skeptical, nevertheless.

"Like a Dalai Lama, like a Dalai Lama," Hange grits her teeth as she forces a smile on her face. She can feel the silicon cups moving around her chest as well as her bikini bottom sliding up her butt.

When she was up for the Q&A portion, the host had asked her what she would wish for in order to make society a better place. Hange Zoe made the mistake of saying "harsher punishments for parole violators," but she immediately rectified it by adding "world peace" to her final statement.

They're now watching Petra Rall from the sidelines, Levi and Erwin still convinced that the girl could be an accomplice to the bomber's plans.

"What's your idea of a perfect date?" The host starts with his question.

"Oh, that's a tough one." Petra giggles, her ginger hair bouncing as she speaks, "I'd have to say April 25th. Because it's not too hot, not too cold... all you need is a light jacket."

Hange lets out a snort as the two men's face wrinkle in confusion.

"So much for your alleged criminal," she says.

[joonkorre]

They got a plan for (you)

@drarrymicrofic prompt: Dangerous by Big Data (ft. Joywave)

this song emits a very, hmm, being-in-the-middle-of-a-conspiracy vibe. so. here we are. enjoy. AO3

Harry knows the person standing in front of him. Or maybe he doesn't. If anyone else knows, well. They're not supposed to.

“Cormac McLaggen? Haven’t heard of him in years.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Ron replies, twirling his quill. Harry tries to copy it and gets ink on his face instead. “The bloke’s fucked off to the Mediterranean for some consultant work. He came in, I helped sorted out his paperwork, and he’s gone. It’s been, ah, five years, I think.”

“Right, right. Remember how he was back in Hogwarts?”

“A fucking nightmare.”

“I know,” Harry agrees. “The Sorting Hat should’ve put him in Slytherin— wait, maybe not. He and Malfoy would tear the school apart.”

Ron looks at him odd for a moment before snickering. “The things you say, mate…”

Harry stills. Has his sense of humor changed in some way for Ron to say that? And not just him, a few others of his friends have remarked along the same lines as well.

He sips his tea and grimaces. It’s gone cold.

“Anyway, hopefully his attitude’s improved somewhat.”

“Oh, it has to,” Ron says. “I mean, he’s assigned as your partner. Soon, you’ll be stuck with him here while I’m halfway across the building. So I’m not scared he’d do you in,” Ron points at Harry. “I’m scared you’d snap and end up in Azkaban within an hour.”

“Your trust in me is astounding, Jesus Christ, Ronald.”

There’s a knock on their office���s door. It swings open, revealing Head Auror Robards. Harry and Ron stand up in unison and bow.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you both are working?” Robards taps his cane on the floor, and the door closes with a quiet clack. His bad leg is acting up, it seems.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Diligently?”

“There might have been a bit of discussion,” Ron says, his shoulders loosening, “all about work, I assure you.”

“Mhmm,” Robards says. As his retirement looms, he’s more like a grumpy grandpa than a boss these days. “Smart mouth. Potter.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry straightens.

“You’ve gotten the news?”

“I have, Sir,” Harry says, slipping the document from a folder on his desk. “My new partner is Cormac McLaggen while Auror Weasley is transferred to admin.”

“Correct. How are your lungs doing, Weasley?”

“Ah,” Ron shrugs, but a sheen of sweat can still be seen on his forehead, “same old, same old, Sir. I can’t say I won’t miss fieldwork, though.”

“I know,” Robards nods, a rare sympathetic expression on his face, tapping his cane once more. “Your eye for detail and diplomatic abilities will serve everyone well. Just because you can’t jump all crazy and shit anymore doesn’t mean you’re useless, Weasley, remember that.”

Ron bows and start collecting the piles of paperwork he’s packed up on his desk. Harry reaches over and clasps him on the shoulder, getting a teary smile in return. For a moment, nothing is heard except the rustling of paper.

“Well, gentlemen.”

Harry retracts his hand and turns toward Robards.

“I’m just here to check in on you both. It appears that McLaggen’s encountered some trouble with his International Portkey, so unfortunately, he won’t be—”

There’s another knock on the door. “Excuse me, I was informed Head Auror Robards is currently here?”

Robards lets out an audible sigh of relief and twists the knob. Over his shoulders, Harry can see a head of blonde. Very, very fair blonde.

“Yes, I’m here. Apologies, I had some matters that need to be discussed in person with Mr. Weasley and Auror Potter, so I wasn’t in my office.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I was at fault, anyway. My Portkey was on the cheaper side, so there was a bit of malfunction. Thank Merlin I made it just in time. Your secretary— Miss Brown, is it?— was lovely. You ought to give her a raise.”

Robards laughs politely. “Everybody always says that about her. A hard worker, that woman, I’ll inform her of your commendation.”

He invites the man inside, and Harry feels his world roll upside down.

“Potter, here is Dr. McLaggen. He will be here as consultation, and with your upcoming case,” Robards peers at him over his thin glasses, “his expertise in Potions and International Law will help immensely.”

The man grins, all teeth, but completely non-threatening. His waistcoat fits him snugly, highlighting his tapered waist. The silvery specks in his eyes— not blue like they should be— glint in the summer sun, almost colorless, as he offers a hand toward Harry.

“Malfoy.”

Harry grips those long, pompously manicured fingers of Draco Malfoy tightly, barely registering the growl that rips out of his throat.

“Pardon?” Malfoy— not McLaggen, never McLaggen— tilts his head. His look of confusion is almost convincing.

Something sharp jabs Harry’s side. He doesn’t flinch, but he does drop Malfoy’s hand, who holds it with the other to his chest protectively.

“Mate, what is wrong with you?” Ron hisses in Harry’s ear. The latter whips his head to stare at him. Ron stares right back as if Harry is the one being insane here. “McLaggen was a douche, yeah, but he’s not even doing anything. Why’re you antagonizing him?”

“Antag— Ron,” Harry stresses, aware of a keen gaze flickering back and forth between him and Ron. “That’s literally Draco Malfoy standing in front of us. Tell me you’re not buying this.”

“What?” Ron strains his head back, eyes wide. Harry’s ears pound, and with the way Ron is shaking his head, he can tell he’s not going to like what’s coming out of Ron’s mouth.

“Who the fuck is Draco Malfoy?”

Harry tries and tries and tries. Tries to make sense of this. He fails.

All he can do is watch, numb in a detached sort of way, as Ron shakes Malfoy’s hesitant hand and apologizes for his best mate’s behavior, really, he’s been feeling ill these days, you know how the weather is. Malfoy lets a generous smile stretch across his cheeks, dimples deepening, and Harry hasn’t seen his face look like this before, hasn’t seen those dimples once in all the years he’s known and remembered Malfoy. It looks unnatural. Ron is sold.

Harry swivels to Robards, disbelieving. Robards has to know what’s going on. He’s too good to let someone like Draco Malfoy cast such a blatant Disfigurement Charm or whatever else he did to fool everyone. He can’t be falling for a criminal’s tricks. Yes, this must be a test, or a covert mission only a few are aware of.

Robards, who has been silent during the whole ordeal, catches Harry’s eyes. A presence pierces through his Occlumency shield, clean like a well-sharpened blade through unsuspecting flesh.

You will be dealt with, Auror Potter.

The presence leaves.

Robards says something dry and witty to the other two occupants in the room, and they laugh. With one final shake of hands with McLaggen—no, Malfoy— he wishes both Harry and his new partner a good day. Ron follows him out, a briefcase and a large box in his arms, desk now void of everything ‘Ron.’ He throws Harry a look, that signature ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’ look, before closing the door behind him.

There’s no one else in the office but Harry and someone called Cormac McLaggen.

“I’m… sorry,” that person says, putting his briefcase on the surface of Ron’s desk gently. He tucks a messy strand of hair behind his ear, allowing Harry a better view of his face. “You must have mistaken me with, ah…”

“Yes. Draco Malfoy,” Harry says after a moment, putting his hands behind his back. A test. The person only blinks. “You’re both blonde and your facial structure is. Quite similar.”

“I see,” the person nods in understanding before sending a quick, warm smile at Harry. He looks honest. The past decade of Auror work clears out the fog in Harry’s brain, and he sees it; he really is honest. “It happens, don’t worry about it. Let’s just take a few moments to get to know each other, shall we?”

There’s no sign of recognition in the man’s eyes when he talks to Harry. Whoever did this to him, to everyone else, was sloppy. Arrogant. Harry makes a mental note to bring his backup wand from now on, especially in the event that he’s called to Robards’ office.

“Sure,” Harry sits down and gets comfortable, gesturing for Malfoy to do the same. Whatever is going on, he’d be damned if he won’t get to the bottom of it.

“Let’s.”

[theyearoftheking]

Book Eighty-One: Billy Summers

“Maybe a chilly story needs a chilly writing room, he thinks. It’s as good an explanation as any, since the whole process is a mystery to him, anyway.” 

Well hello there, Constant Readers! Have you missed me and my half-assed reviews of Steve books? 

Crickets. 

I know I’ve promised book reviews, television recaps... all the things. But I’m kind of busy living and enjoying life at the moment, without the need to take notes or screen grabs. That being said, I really did enjoy Billy Summers, and it took me almost a hundred pages to remember how this blogging thing worked. I was supposed to take notes? Dark Tower references? DePere, Wisconsin? Should I remember that for some reason? But don’t worry, it was like riding a bike. This blog is full of all the stuff you’ve come to know and love, as well as SPOILERS!!! So, if you have not finished the book yet, stop reading and come back once you’ve turned the last page.

SPOILERS!!! Consider yourselves adequately warned. 

Billy Summers doesn’t really include anything supernatural, and it’s more suspenseful and plot driven than some of Steve’s other books. In other words, it’s another great recommendation for people who don’t claim they don’t like Stephen King. 

Billy is an assassin who has mastered the art of “dumb like a fox”. 

He’s hired for a new assignment, but something seems off. Billy has been in the assassin game long enough to know when something is foul in the state of Denmark. He doesn’t trust the people who hired him, and he has the distinct impression he’s going to end up as the patsy in the end. But, he plays along as Dave Lockridge, single man and writer. He moves onto a charming street in Midwood (I kept reading this as Midworld... thanks, Steve), makes friends with all the neighbors, and beats all the neighborhood kids at Monopoly on the weekends. This part of the book was so tender, it reminded me a lot of Ted Brautigan and the kids from Hearts in Atlantis. Of all the things Billy later regrets, it’s letting these kids down, and having them trust him when he was obviously so untrustworthy. 

During the day, Billy writes  at his office in Gerald Tower. There’s always a tower, isn’t there? And this tower takes on more significance, because it’s the spot from which Billy is supposed to shoot Joel Allen. Joel is due to be transferred to Midwood, and marched up the steps of the courthouse just like in The Outsider. Constant Readers remember how well that worked out... 

Billy has an assassins creed: he only shoots bad guys. On the scale of bad guys, Joel Allen isn’t quite Ted Bundy, but he’s not Mr. Rodgers either. He had something of a “me too” moment when he accidentally mistook a feminist writer for a sex worker; and there was a gun fight outside of a poker game. It’s enough for Billy to work with. 

Billy is waiting for Joel to be transferred to the Midworld Midwood county lock-up; and he bides his time by actually doing some writing. He covers his tragic childhood (his mom worked in a laundry facility, just like Steve’s mom), and his time in the military. This is where Steve really shines. Billy’s book is written in a childish tone that just WORKS. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a simple-minded assassin. But still waters, friends. As the story goes on, Billy’s voice grows and improves. Well done, Steve, it’s like two books for the price of one.

In between writing, Billy assumes another fake identity (Dalton Smith), and secures a bolt hole to hide out in once his job is complete. Believe it or not, the murder of Joel Allen is such an insignificant part of the book. Billy successfully takes him out, and makes it to his bolt hole undetected. And this is really where the second part of the book starts. 

One rainy night, Billy hears random noises outside his apartment. He looks out the window in time to see a van full of guys dump a female body into a gutter. Billy should have just anonymously called the police... but if he had done that, we wouldn’t have a story. Instead, Billy goes full on Captain Save A Ho, and pulls the young woman from the gutter. It’s clear she had been drugged and assaulted, and she manages to puke all over Billy’s place. 

Neat. 

When Alice wakes up in the morning, she recognizes Billy from the police sketches, but promises not to rat him out for the Joel Allen murder. They form an unlikely friendship that includes watering the neighbor’s plants, watching Blacklist, and Alice reading Billy’s book. Basically, they were sheltering in place before that was even a thing; something Steve jokes about. Eventually, Billy knows he needs to get the rest of his money for the Joel Allen hit, and punish the guys who raped Alice. 

Y’all. I’m still having nightmares over the most creative use of a hand mixer I have ever read. I thought the can-opener in Lisey’s Story was bad... this was worse. But the kind of worse you feel good about, if that makes sense. 

After finding out the name of the guy behind the Joel Allen hit, killing a few bad dudes, and pissing off a bitch named Marge (fucking Marge if you’re nasty), Billy and Alice hunker down in Colorado with Billy’s assassin booking agent, Bucky. 

As soon as Billy and Alice entered Colorado and the town of Sidewinder was mentioned, I knew where we were headed. Yeah buddy, Overlook time! 

Billy takes to writing in a little shack behind Bucky’s house, and inside the shack is a Polaroid picture of the topiary animals at the Overlook. Every time Billy looks at the picture, the animals seem to have shifted. It gives him a cold sense of dread. 

There’s a certain parallel I picked up on in Colorado: Jack Torrance and Billy Summers are both haunted men running away from things. The Overlook was where Jack went to dry out, and work on his writing. He wanted to work on his marriage, and become a better father to Danny. We all know he failed spectacularly. Then, we’ve got Billy. Billy actually gets writing accomplished, and becomes an unlikely father-figure to Alice. Despite having just as much, if not more baggage than Jack, Billy doesn’t let it define him. He acknowledges it, and moves past it. It’s almost like Billy accomplishes what Jack couldn’t. And it took the Overlook burning to the ground for that to happen. 

While we’re on the topic of Billy and Alice, one of the things I love about Steve’s characters is he never forces romance where there doesn’t need to be any. While Billy acknowledges the age gap between him and Alice, nothing untoward ever happens between them. There’s obvious love, but never the romantic kind. Steve is one of the few contemporary writers to get this right. 

The story ends with Billy killing the guy behind Joel’s hit, getting shot by Marge as he leaves the crime scene (fucking Marge), Alice nursing him back to health, and getting him back to Colorado where they all live happily ever after.

I wish.

I wish I had stopped reading twenty-three pages before the book ended, because the actual end was more realistic, but heartbreaking. In reality, fucking Marge shot Billy in the stomach, and he died of an infection in the back of a Walmart parking lot. Fucking Marge indeed. But this was the way the book should have ended. Needed to end. Anything else would have been unrealistic. But damn, I hated to see Billy go out like that. 

There was one Wisconsin reference: after Billy kills Joel Allen, he’s supposed to be transferred to a safe house in De Pere. You know... where Steve lived when he was in a kid.

Other than Gerald Tower, we were also graced with “the world has moved on-” just to remind us that we all follow The Beam. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 49

Total Dark Tower References: 78

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Doctor Sleep: A+

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Mr. Mercedes: A+

Billy Summers: A+

End of Watch: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

The Outsider: A+

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: A+

If It Bleeds: A+

Just After Sunset: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Finders Keepers: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Institute: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Blaze: B+

Hard Listening: B+

Revival: B+

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Joyland: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Later: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Sleeping Beauties: B-

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

The Wind Through the Keyhole: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers D

I’m not going to end this with any promises of upcoming posts. That way when I do randomly stumble on here one afternoon, it will be a delight for us all.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[atsukashii]

❝safe and sound❞ // k. bakugou

SYNOPSIS: ➛ you had originally thought you were a fearless hero to be, but the moment you watched Katsuki get taken by the league of villains, you knew you had one fear, being without him.

» CHARACTER PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x todorok!reader (shouto’s sister)

» WORD COUNT: 2.4K

» GENRE: request from @todorokikouinferno​ (sorry it took so long!)

» WARNINGS: mentions of kidnapping, stubborn reader meets stubborn boyfriend, fluff

« masterlist || ao3 »

Too much of the world, the name Y/n Todoroki didn’t mean much, but in Japan, many people knew of the family that you came from, and the burden you bear as a child of the current number one pro hero, especially as an upcoming hero yourself. From the moment you were born, you were overlooked because of your quirk. It wasn’t enough for your father, the famous Endeavor, number two pro hero in the country at the time. Yet the moment that your younger brother’s quirk emerged for the first time, less than a year after you, you saw the pride in your father’s eyes and could see what was to happen before it did. 

You loved your family fiercely, but you were exceptionally close with Shouto. Less than a year younger than you, the two of you acted as if you were twins your whole lives. You were two sides of the same coin; one side firefly and explosive and the other calm and cool. And for Shouto, you would do anything, including getting your father’s attention off him by training under your old man yourself. You went from a nobody to becoming a hope to many of the future, your fire quirk all but mastered, allowing you to manipulate flames ranging from a roaring orange blaze to a white melting light so bright it hurt to look at. So when you decided to apply for U.A with your brother in his year, having been held back a grade due to being home-schooled to train with your father, it was no surprise that both of you were granted admission by reference to the prestigious school.

It also was no surprise that on your first day of class, you butted heads with the most explosive person in their class. Your fiery red hair matched your father’s temper, something Shouto didn’t seem to have with his calm demeanour. However, you refused to back down from the opportunity to hand Katsuki Bakugou his ass in your first sparring session.  From that moment onwards, there was a form of respect between you two as he got up to his feet and growled under his breath. 

“Not damn bad Todoroki.” 

To say it had shocked you was an understatement, as Bakugou had been nothing but rude to literally everyone so far in his high school career. However, that respect soon became mutual and kept evolving into something more as time passed. You’d become friends of a sort at first, your relationship built on respect, admiration and an unhealthy amount of competitiveness from both sides, but it was your tomboyish nature that seemed to get the mighty Katsuki Bakugou to slowly and begrudgingly lower his walls until you could finally tell the difference between a curse of anger, and one with no bite. Somewhere along the few months of your first year, you had become close friends, training together outside of class time and trying to help your other friends study when they fell behind. 

Normally, you would bark right back at Katsuki whenever he decided to boom at Kaminari or Kirishima over their studying habits - or rather lack thereof. But now, as your lungs heave in the crisp air of the night and your bare knees dig into the loose first beneath you, you would do anything just to hear him snap at you once again.

You feel your lungs expand and collapse again with each rattling breath as your brain tries to contemplate what just happened in front of your eyes. You had been with Ochako and Tsuyu when you’d first noticed the Leave of Villains presence, and somehow, you had all ended up together, in the field, watching as Katsuki got pulled into the warp gate, away from you and your friends, and right into the hands of some of the most lethal people in the country. 

No, no no no please no. You hunch over and feel a scream threaten to break from your mouth only for someone else’s own yell to erupt instead. You don’t have to look up to know that its Midoriya, and your eyes glisten as you look at your dirt-caked hands. What could you have done better? Why couldn’t you save him? Why had you hesitated against those blue flames that were so much like yours? 

“Y/n!” You hear your brother’s concerned voice fill your ears and you see his knees drop in front of you. Dragging your face to meet his gaze, your brother gives you a determined look that has confidence flooding your veins.  “It’s going to be alright.” God he is such a hero, always was as a child and always will be. You don’t hold in the tears as they roll down your cheeks. Bakugou was gone… And you didn’t know when he was coming back.

“If you’re going to fucking nap whilst we study, just go to your damn room so you don’t drool on my notes.” There's a tug on a strand of your hair and your head snaps up from its resting place upon your crossed forearms towards the voice. Red crimson eyes meet yours and a scoff slips from the ash-blondes lips as he looks over your face. 

“I don’t drool.”

“Yes you fucking do.” Katsuki glares at you, but there's no bite to it as he looks back down at his textbook and continues to copy notes. 

“How long did I sleep for?”

“Almost an hour. Too damn long though if you ask me. If you were too tired to study, you could have fucking told me so dumbass.” You reach your arms above your head and groan as the muscles stretch, immediately becoming less stiff and sore. 

“I’m not too tired to study, I just need coffee is all.” You reply, going back to your laptop and try to continue working on your assignment due in a few weeks. Being close friends with Bakugou had its perks, which included becoming great at organizing your school work and not procrastinating as much. 

“You seem a lot more tired recently.” Katsuki’s words shock you and you look over the screen of your laptop to him with raised eyebrows. It’s at your look that you watch his walls go back up and he jumps on the defensive. 

“I didn’t know you cared so much Katsu!” you tease.

“Shut up dumbass, you’re lucky your already my fucking girlfriend or else I wouldn’t date you.” he growls, but you see the slight twitch at his lips at the empty threat. But that somewhat smile drops as he speaks again. “You’ve been training more with Endeavor right?” He tries again, and you immediately lean back, allowing the incoming train wreck of a conversation to happen right before your eyes. 

“Yes.”

“Yes? That's all I fucking get?” There's a bite to his words now, and Katsuki looks genuinely pissed off, and you find yourself getting mad the more his temper rises. 

“What do you want me to say? I train with my dad a few times a week to help strengthen my quirk.” You say shrugging. “I want to be number one Katsuki, and I have the weapons in my arsenal, so why wouldn’t I use them?”

“Because they’re affecting your school work. Fucking damn it Y/n I saw you fall asleep in our calculus class today.” Katsuki growls and you know that he’s right, but you won’t ever admit it. Straightening your spine, you raise your chin and glare right back into his vermillion gaze. 

“That's because maths is boring.” You try to defend, but you know it doesn’t look good. It’s true that training with your father had been kicking your ass recently, where you found yourself making mistakes you hadn’t made since you were a kid. You had damned burnt yourself only yesterday on your shoulder because you had been distracted. But you couldn’t help it, for some reason your sleep had been plagued with a horrifyingly vivid replay of the day you weren’t strong enough to save the boy in front of you, and every night it ended differently. In some, you saw them take him, and in others, you watched those cobalt blue flames erupt over his body, and you heard his screams and watched helplessly from where you stood, physically unable to move. 

“I want to cuddle.” Your sudden change of direction makes Katsuki gape at you as if you had sprouted a second head, and you can’t help but smile.

“What happened to I’m not fucking tired?” He asks as you get up from your seat and drag yourself over to his bed. 

“I lied.” you shrug, immediately burrowing yourself under his sheets, and breathing in his scent. He’s here, its okay… you close your eyes and just breathe for a while, letting the familiar smell wash over you and calm your mind. 

There’s a groan and you can’t help but smile as Katsuki gets into the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms with a curse. 

“For five fucking minutes. Then I need to keep studying.”

“Okay,” you agree, rolling over to face him. Gently resting your head on his chest, his steady heartbeat fills your ears and you breathe out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Is your insomnia back?” He asks out of the blue, and you hold yourself from flinching at the word. 

It had been almost a year from when Katsuki had been kidnapped by the league of villains, and you had thought you were getting better - but you have regressed significantly. The insomnia you created due to being scared of the nightmares in your first year returned with a vengeance until you were reliving that night every time you close your eyes. 

You have never mentioned to him just what caused your insomnia, and you didn’t really want to, purely afraid of seeming weak in front of your boyfriend. 

“Yeah,” is all you get out before nerves stop you from saying the rest. 

“When did it start?” he asks, but the calm tone of his voice alerts you to the fact that somehow, your hot but too intelligent boyfriend already figured it out and just wants you to confirm it. 

“Kamino.” The room is completely silent and for a moment, you’re not sure if either of you are even moving. But then, there's a familiar tug at your hair and you close your eyes as Katsuki begins to gently play with your red hair. “I know none of it's my fault, that I can't put it on my shoulders, that I wasn’t strong enough to help you, but sometimes… I don’t know.” It gets to me. It scares me more than anything else. Is what you want to say, but can’t bring yourself to. But Katsuki is very aware of those around him, and already knows what you’re trying to say, and gently releases your hair and softly tips your chin to face him. 

“It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t mine either. What happened is in the past, and nothing is going to separate us like that again, got it dumbass?” He says with such conviction that tears crease in the corners of your eyes. 

“I love you,” you blurt out, not caring that you said it for the first time here and now, or that you were the first person to even say it, for the words just felt right. Right now, and in this moment where you bare your heart to him. Katsuki is grinning feral down at you and immediately smashes your mouth to his, ignoring your shocked squeak that lasts but a second before you get dragged under a haze that seems to make you lose the capacity to think when you’re around Katsuki. And kissing him? Well you basically only have one brain cell during those moments, and the only thing it cares about is Katsuki Bakugou, and how soft his lips are. Katsuki weaves his fingers into your hair and you let out a shaky breath as he pulls away from the kiss. Although he’s close, he’s looking you in the eyes with so much happiness you find yourself grinning back at him. 

“I love you too even though you piss me the fuck off.” Rolling your eyes at the blatant disrespect you push away from your boyfriend and roll to the other side of the bed. 

“I take it back, I don’t love you. I despise you - Katsuki!” you squeal as he yanks you mid sentence back to him and rolls over so you’re pinned beneath him. 

“The blatant disrespect from you that I put up with makes me a fucking saint.” He smirks and you burst into laughter as he places a single kiss on his cheek.

“You want to talk about disrespect? I could be here all day with a list from here to the fucking Tokyo Tower with all the crap you’ve said hotshot!” You grin back, and your smile has Bakugou leaning down and pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. Your heart soars inside your chest at the contact, and the dark cloud that had been hovering around you today seems to dissipate as you meet his eyes. 

“I’m never fucking leaving you alone, got that through your stubborn skull y/n? Not even your shitty brother will deter me from it, even though icy hot annoys me more than you when your hangry.” You chose to ignore the dig at your brother because you’ve come to learn to pick your fights with Katsuki as your boyfriend, but now, in his arms as he rolls and pulls you into his chest once more, you’re more than content to just stay here forever. As his heartbeat fills your ears and you feel your eyes grow heavier and heavier, for the first time all week, you’re not afraid to fall asleep.

Because even though your nightmares are frightening, your boyfriend is way scarier and he would always be by your side. 

REQUEST: ➛ Hi newcomer here saw requests open and jumped at the chance ☁️ Bakugou x Todo reader shes Shotos sister shes in 1A (she's not his twin but older) she has a fire quirk, she's determined and actually willingly trained with Endeavor, tomboy, competing for #1 spot, she has short red hair which she likes Katsu to play with, her and Katsu are competitive but also loving with each other, the kidnapping made her anxious (she won't admit it) and she forces him to cuddle with her in either of their dorms?

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

Hitmen AU! | Head Canons | 19+ [Haikyuu!!]

KΛЯΛƧЦПӨ [PART i] [PART ii] [PART iii]

Hello! Welcome to my first AU here on tumblr~! I hope y’all enjoy~ sksksk

feel free to ask questions or request anything from this AU! (Just specify so I know~)

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««  

‣ A newly established group in the underworld.

They’re not that big of a group, but damn did their rookies make an impact on their first assignment.

The target was neutralized like that.

D̴a̴i̴c̴h̴i̴ ̴S̴a̴w̴a̴m̴u̴r̴a̴

Daichi be the head honcho, I’m sure we’ve been known

He’s cool and collected, normally very level headed and able to handle the chaotic shit his fellow group mates cause (*cough* tanaka noya hina kage *cough*)

His skill set is a wide variety, but his specialty is close combat.

Besides Sugawara, he’s the one to quickly defuse any situation that arises from their group whenever one of them acts...rowdy

But don’t get me wrong, these boys know very well when their boss is ready to blow up and always find excuses to be out of his way. (out of sight out of mind amiright?)

“Are you fucking shitting me? This is the 3rd time this week that I’ve gotten a messy report coming back from you two!”

Irritated and tired, Daichi slammed the heavy file onto the antique table. His lean form melting into the chair as he let out a heavy and slow sigh before finally letting his gaze fall onto the two bowed heads before him.

“I want you both to explain to me in detail how you managed to, not only get yourselves injured, but how in the absolute fuck did you guys make literal chunks of our target rain over 5th street.”

But I’m sure y’all wanna know how he be looking right  ｡ ◕‿◕｡

He’s 5′9″ [176cm], beefy (sksksks) with a handful of tattoos

Big ol hands, bb gotta smack some sense into his boys as well as be able to get a good hold of a runaway target.

Is not one for piercings, but has two basic black studs on his ears.

He’s usually in the background for assignments.

Torture session? He in the shadows

Assassination? In le other building prepped and ready in case the unexpected happens

If his s/o is a part of their rag tag team he will be only slightly lenient on reprimanding them

Loves to have them close by as he works and tends to have lots of stress relief smex

is highly protective of s/o

like shit watch out bro

s/o is one of the few things that help him keep his humanity especially with all he does

Any who, onto the next bb

K̷o̷s̷h̷i̷ ̷S̷u̷g̷a̷w̷a̷r̷a̷

Sugawara is 1/2 of the brain and tactics in their rag tag team of misfits

Acts like the motherly hen around the rookies, but can be just as terrifying as Daichi when ticked off

There can only be so much he can take as 1/2 of the brains and tactics of their little group.

As expected he handles the tactical planning for upcoming missions

and tends to get highly irate when none of his members listen or follow through a very simple phase of his plan

scares a lot of people shitless when he gives them The Smile ™

Made Asahi cry on their first meeting after he bore witness to The Smile ™

His main strong point in regards to fighting is blade wielding.

Dislikes the use of guns, but will use them if he has to.

Relishes in ending a very irritating target’s demise

Is also the group’s main medic

“Did you really think you’d be able to actually get away that easily?” A mocking laugh danced through the tense air as piercing russet eyes settled on the trembling man before the blood splattered figure.

The begging man’s allies laid in disarray on the floor in various forms of ‘sleep’ as the silver haired male meandered closer.

“I applaud you. You and your rats have given us something to actually do. Of course that doesn’t excuse the fact that my team wasn’t competent enough to follow through with the first phase of our plan.” A sharp, yet brief glance at the squawk of blame between the two bickering members in his assigned team had him repressing the urge to whack both upside the heads.

“Now then...let’s go ahead and have a little...chat. I’d love to hear how you got information on our group...”

Appearance wise, Sugawara is just a couple of centimetres below Daichi’s height

Unlike Daichi, Sugawara is a lot more lean muscle with scars littering his body

Has only one tattoo at the nape of his neck

Is usually the one on clean up duty after the rookies weak havoc on their latest target

is very doting on his s/o

when the rest of the team saw this version of Sugawara they all thought that Kiyoko had laced their food with some crazy drug

Sugawara gives them all a look as they theorize what was happening before them

he likes to cuddle s/o when they sleep it helps keep the nightmares away

likes to take s/o out on normal dates whenever he can

Next bb!

A̴s̴a̴h̴i̴ ̴A̴z̴u̴m̴a̴n̴e̴

Ah yes, soft baby, or what we’d like to think is soft baby

Little do we know Asahi is a part of information collector and clean up duty

Which in short yis, he be part of torture club SKSK

Granted he doesn’t partake in a lot of it. His look of indifference does help set tension and fear into the victim though

ya know, since he always be assumed to be a terrifying big ol man

Is part of the clean up team, and helps keep Sugawara level-headed and calm as they discover just how much ‘fun’ the younger members of their group had when they were getting rid of their target

Tends to also be the voice of reason when Sugawara or Daichi are about ready to skin the young crows alive

“Are you-- Asahi are you fucking seeing this shit?! I’m going to wring their necks...”

Chuckling, the man in question could only place a comforting hand on the blade wielder’s shoulder.

“Well, they did get the job done; and the target was a bit more clever than usual,”

Picking up a bit of discarded flesh and flinging it to their bins of ‘goodies’, the calmer male gave the fuming one a serene look.

“but they did capture a good portion of their second in command. So if you’d like, you can join in our session for some stress relief.”

Despite the calming look on his face, Sugawara knew Asahi needed some stress relief as well. Especially after having dealt with Noya’s adventure the week prior.

With that, the medic caved, and nodded; appreciating the offer for the urge to spill blood.

Now, how does bb look? He’s the tallest out of the veteran group

a strong build and can be seen as the sturdy immovable wall (hehehe)

Like Daichi and Sugawara, Asahi has a couple of tattoos

Usually keeps his hair in a half man bun as he works

He’s very gentle with his s/o

Which comes to a surprise to absolutely no one

Is the most ‘normal’ out of the group when it comes to having a relationship

Last but not least~!

K̷i̷y̷o̷k̷o̷ ̷S̷h̷i̷m̷i̷z̷u̷

The main decoy who infiltrates any sort of hard to meet target

A skilled assassin who uses medical knowledge to quickly and effectively get rid of targets

currently training one of the newest rookies 

She’s mainly seen as indifferent no matter what antics the rest of the group manage to pull

The last to be called into help with interrogations if the victim manages to still hold through 

helps Sugawara in terms of healing any of the more rambunctious who get too badly hurt after a chaotic mission

besides Asahi she’s seen as another voice of reason

Stepping into the room with practiced ease, the fair woman couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh as she observed the state of the room. Rose petals, wine, the usual works of a serenade in the works. It might’ve worked on someone who actually had good intentions and emotions for the sleeze of a man before her, but she was here for one purpose and one purpose only.

Acting her part, she played the male before her into her hands as she pushed the male down towards the bed. A seductive smile gracing her features as she leaned down to kiss his neck. The male’s eyes fluttering closed in anticipation for the night of his life. Yet within that brief moment, she struck. Syringe imbedded deeply into the main artery in his neck, she watched as he began to choke and writhe about in pain as his airways shut. The slow and torturous burn eating away at the man before he fell limp into the sheets.

Slowly sitting up, the woman went to dress herself as she sent a simple voice message.

“Target neutralized. Clean up requested.”

It’s no lie that she’s a literal goddess among humans.

Her looks and indifferent reactions have many thinking she’s playing hard to get when that’s not the case

Like the rest of the veterans, she has a handful of tattoos decorating her skin

with her s/o she’s a bit more expressive in her emotions 

she doesn’t trust easily, but with time builds trust with her s/o and groupmates

she’s quite shy in showing PDA initially, but when she feels confident that s/o won’t leave her she shows it more often

loves to get kisses before and after missions

could be considered emotionally constipated, but she’s truly not she just unsure of loving for the first time~

[breanime]

Butterflies (Part Two)

Part Two to Butterflies!

Strong WARNINGS: language, descriptions of violence, veiled threats of further abuse, Nick Amaro quietly freaking the fuck out

*gif not mine*

The house was quiet; Nick was gone when you woke up, but you felt him press a kiss to your temple before he left. Now you sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper as you sipped your morning coffee. You’d been up well into the night cataloging witness statements for your latest case while Nick looked up locations for your wedding. You smiled as you thought about his excitement.

“You know, this place seems all nice and fancy on the surface, but we’ve busted them for prostitution at least three times in the last five years,” Nick said, laptop propped up on his knees.

You didn’t look up from your own laptop, shaking your head as you moved your files around. “How are they still open?”

“Friends in high places,” he answered, “You sure you don’t mind this? The big wedding and all the fanfare that comes with it?”

You looked up at your fiancé, smiling at the look of caution on his face. Nick was all for a traditional wedding with his kids and both your families there, but he said he’d be fine with just a trip to the courthouse for the two of you—whatever you wanted. “I’m sure,” you said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his waiting lips, “A big wedding will be fine, besides—how cute is Zara going to be in her dress?”

His grin widened. “So cute,” he agreed easily, “and her step-mom is going to look gorgeous…as soon as she picks her dress.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the headboard. Picking your dress was a nightmare; everything was either too fancy, too expensive, or too frilly. “Can’t you just pick one for me?” You whined, shifting the laptop and papers on your lap. “You have better taste than I do.”

“Well, I did pick you,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. You loved these kinds of moments, when it was just you and Nick, planning your future togethers and laughing. Later that night, after the two of you put your work away and laid in bed, holding each other, you felt those butterflies in your stomach as you pictured more nights like this, nights held by the man you loved, your lips on his and his hands on you. You couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Nick Amaro.

You floated on the memories of the previous night all the way to work, moving through your workload surprisingly quickly. You and Nick had exchanged a few texts throughout the day, and your hubby-to-be had sent you links to some sites that made affordable, custom wedding dresses. Satisfied with the amount and quality of work you’d done today, you leaned back in your chair and browsed some of the links Nick sent you. There was a knock on your door, and your secretary peeked her head in.

“Mrs. Amaro…” She began, smiling.

You rolled your eyes; she was almost as excited about your upcoming nuptials as you and Nick were. “Not an Amaro yet,” you corrected, chuckling.

“…Well, your witness for the Patterson case just called. She said she’s having second thoughts about her testimony?”

You sat up, dropping your phone on your desk. The Patterson case was a clear winner, and this girl was your star witness. “What? When? Why?”

“Just now, she didn’t say why…” She took a note from her pocket. “Asked if you could meet her at this address and go over it again?” She walked in, handing you the note. “She sounded…off…”

You stood up, grabbing your bag and chucking your phone in your pocket with the note. “I’m not gonna let her recant,” you said, determined, “Hold all my calls, I should be back in an hour.”

You stormed out of your office and into a cab, tapping your foot impatiently as the cabbie drove you to the address you’d given. You were so focused on what you were going to say to your witness, you didn’t even realize where the cab had dropped you off until he was driving away and you were standing in the street…

…alone.

You looked around, hand on your purse strap. The buildings around you were all abandoned and decrepit, and there was litter all over the street. You weren’t familiar with this neighborhood, and you knew, as you stood alone in the street, that your witness wasn’t there. You pulled out your phone, about to call the cab back, when you felt a leather-clad hand slap over your mouth. You wanted to scream—tried to scream—but the hand was suffocating you. You tried to fight, but the person dragged you into the building.

The butterflies were quickly replaced with the cold, harsh stab of utter fear.

Nick and Munch walked into the squad room, armed with all kinds of greasy take-out for the squad. They were debating the pros and cons of assigned seating at the reception when Nick noticed the grim look on Olivia’s face. Cragen and Fin were standing with her around her desk, and Rollins was clicking away at a computer close by, her face serious and concerned.

“Liv?” He titled his head slightly. “What’s going on?”

“Nick,” she said, her voice was soft and careful like when she spoke to victims, “When was the last time you spoke to Y/N?”

Nick’s blood went cold. “I—she texted me… an hour and a half ago—what’s going on?”

Olivia put her hands up, preparing herself to have to hold him back, he thought. “It might be nothing…” she started.

“What might be nothing?” Nick dropped the food on a desk, stepping up nervously. “Did something happen? Is she okay?”

“She went missing an hour ago,” Cragen reported, hands in his coat pockets, “Her secretary said she got a strange call from a witness to meet somewhere in the city…”

“But the witness called right after asking if she could come by the office,” Liv finished, “the secretary said the first call must have been fake, but when she tried to call Y/N back…” Liv took a breath, and Nick knew he wouldn’t like what was about to come out of his partner’s mouth. “…A man answered the phone and said… He said…”

“He said ‘the bitch is busy’,” Cragen finished for her, eyebrows furrowed, “then hung up.”

Nick moved—unable to keep still as the white-hot rage pounded in his bloodstream. He had questions, accusations, fears that needed to be let out and addressed, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He slammed his hand on his desk, the sting barely registering in his brain.

“Nick, hey, Nick,” Olivia was suddenly next to him, her hand on his shoulder, steadying him, “We’re gonna find her, okay? Stay with us, we’re gonna find him…”

“We already got a few leads,” Fin spoke up, “Rollins is looking through the call log, trying to see who placed the call. The secretary is working with a detective to zero in on the address.”

“She doesn’t have it?” Nick asked, seething.

“She wrote it down and gave it to Y/N,” Olivia asked, “Nick, we’ve got uniforms patrolling the streets looking for her and—”

“—Oh,” Rollins sat up at her computer, eyes wide, “W-we got a hit on the number used to make the call…” She looked up, eyes darting from Nick, to Olivia, and back to Nick. “…It’s registered to Lucille Hemper…the mother of Andrew Hemper.”

Nick felt like he was about to black-out. Andrew Hemper was a violent misogynist who had attacked a handful of women and almost attacked you during interrogation. His trial was in progress, and as far as SVU knew, he had made bail and was on house arrest until his trial ended and the verdict was delivered. He was a non-issue; you had done some great legal work on his case, and the squad had provided more than enough evidence to convict him. But somehow he had skipped his tether and now…

Now he had you.

“I’m calling the judge now,” Cragen said, already power-walking to his office, “I want an APD out on Hemper immediately,” he ordered, and Rollins picked up the phone and started dialing, “Fin, Munch, I want you canvasing the area,” he turned and pointed to Olivia, “Stay with Amaro!”

Everything ached. When you blinked, it hurt. When you breathed, it hurt. When you hissed “you’re a weak, piece of garbage” at Hemper through your clenched, bloody teeth, it hurt. You were on the ground, lying on your side with your arms wrapped around yourself as Hemper stood above you. He had kicked and beat the shit out of you, but you knew him, you knew his type. If you showed any sign of weakness or fear, he’d win. And you weren’t going to let him win.

“You think this is all I got?” Hemper asked, breathing heavily as he paced in front of you. You could see speckles of your blood on his shoes, and you hoped he was leaving evidence all over the abandoned warehouse. You had pulled his hair and scratched his cheek pretty well in the struggle, and even if he killed you, you had his DNA under your fingernails. That thought made you feel a little better about the situation. “You think this is it?” He kicked you again, and you gasped as the air left your lungs. “No way, bitch,” he huffed, “no way this is it.”

You knew what he was implying, the threat underneath the threat, but you also knew his MO. He was all talk. “You…” Your voice was cracked, and you put a hand over your aching stomach, “you’re all out of juice…” You coughed. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your life in jail…”

“Nah,” he crouched down, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him, “I’m in the wind. And if you’re lucky, I might take you with me…” You could feel his fingers tighten on your face, and you knew there’d be bruises. “…or I might let you die here.”

“Wh… What is it that you want, exactly?” You asked, trying to buy time. “You already broke free from your ankle bracelet.”

“I want you to tell everyone that you’re not smarter than me,” he answered, glaring down at you, “That you didn’t beat me. I want you to tell everyone that I’m the best, and that you’re nothing but a stupid bitch.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead, you swallowed, making an effort to make your eyes bigger. “You—you still have my phone, right?” You asked, adding an extra tremor to your voice for the full affect. “Maybe—maybe we can make a call?”

Nick was sitting in the locker room, his head in his hands. Everything and everyone were moving way too slowly for him, but he knew complaining wouldn’t help anyone—especially not you. Your secretary had come in, crying her eyes out, and gave her official statement. As your fiancé, Nick wasn’t technically allowed to be a part of the investigation, but Olivia “happened” to leave the door open as she interviewed the secretary, and he was able to keep up with what was going on.

It was going into hour three of your abduction, and they were nowhere closer to finding you than they had been at the beginning. Lucille Hemper had admitted that her son had disconnected his ankle bracelet and stolen her phone. She even surrendered her home computer—which was full of internet searches for abandoned warehouses in the city, as well as your recent cases. Nick had punched the wall when he heard that. Hemper had been keeping tabs on you since his arrest; collecting your stats and reading up on your cases.

He’d been stalking you. How his case worked and counselor hadn’t spotted that was beyond Nick.

He took a breath, staring at his shoes through watery eyes. You meant everything to him; in all of his life, all of his mistakes and trials and errors in love, you were the one thing he was sure of. Nick knew, when he looked at you, held you, kissed you, that you were the one for him, and he was the one for you. And now you were in the clutches of this psychopath, and there was nothing he could do… you were his fiancée, he was going to be your husband, and he couldn’t protect you.

He was worthless.

“Nick,” Olivia came in, breathless, “Hemper’s on the phone; Cragen’s talking with him now.”

Nick jumped up and followed Olivia out and into Cragen’s office. Nick’s blood boiled when he heard Hemper’s voice, but he stayed silent.

“…And I want a car, full tank, 4-wheel drive,” Hemper was saying, completely unaware that he was on speaker phone. TARU was in the room, tracing the signal and recording it. “I’m taking this bitch with me,” he said, and Nick clenched his fists, “as soon as I get a private plane out of the city, you can have her back…” He chuckled darkly, and Nick wanted to punch another wall—at least until he could punch Hemper. “…when I’m all done with her.”

“We got a signal,” the TARU officer whispered, waving Nick and Olivia over, “He’s stagnant, here’s the address.” He printed it out and handed it to Olivia. Nick snatched the paper out of her hand and ran out of the room, Olivia at his heels.

“Liv, don’t—” he began.

“—I’m coming with you,” she said, shocking him into silence, “Let’s catch this son of a bitch.”

You were leaning on the wall now, still on the ground. Hemper was pacing back and forth, still blabbering on the phone to Cragen with his ridiculous demands. You figured they should have been able to trace the call by now, and you hoped someone was on the way soon. Hemper had tied your hands together with a zip tie, and they laid in your lap idly. You looked down at them, eyes locking onto the ring Nick had given you the day he’d proposed. You felt tears in the back of your throat as you thought of him, but you swallowed them down. You wouldn’t allow yourself to cry in front of Hemper. Your face was hurting almost as much as your body was. Hemper had slapped you around a bit more before he made the call, trying to build his confidence up to talk to Cragen, and now you were starting to feel dizzy. Hemper’s voice was starting to sound far away as he ranted about what a dumb bitch you were and how smart he was, exactly like you told him to. The longer he talked, the stronger the trace. You smirked to yourself, satisfied in that small victory, and let yourself nod off to sleep.

You woke up to a loud bang.

Startled, you blinked yourself awake just in time to see Hemper hit the ground, your phone falling out of his hand and breaking on the concrete floor.

“Suspect is down!” Olivia was shouting. “Call a bus!”

Hemper was groaning, and you turned to watch him. He was crying, and you saw him clutch his chest.

“Relax,” Olivia growled, flipping him over and digging her knee into his back as she cuffed him, “It’s only a rubber bullet.”

You wanted to laugh, but you were too tired. Your head sagged down again, and your eyes closed. You just wanted to sleep, and you were going to, until you heard that voice…

“Are you alright, mi amor?”

You opened your eyes to see Nick. His dark brown eyes were wide and worried, and his hands were on your face. He was trembling.

“Liv—where’s that bus?” He called, glancing behind him to address his partner. “Hey, baby, you’re okay, alright? I’m here, you’re okay.” He said to you, his voice low and soft.

You smiled, tasting blood. “Hey,” you whispered back, “Guess what? I didn’t lose the ring.” You flexed your hand, and Nick made a strangled, distressed sound at the sight of your bound hands.

He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, and both of you relaxed at that small gesture. "Good job, baby," he said into your hair, “Just stay with me, okay? Talk to me.”

“I love you,” you said, and you felt the tears in your eyes.

“I love you, too,” Nick said back, a strained smile blooming on his worried face, “Did he—are you—?”

You shook your head, increasing your dizziness. “No,” you said, answering his unasked question, “No, he didn’t. I’m fine.” You sighed as Nick held you to him, his hand rubbing your back soothingly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m sorry it took so long, mi amor,” he whispered, his lips on your ears, “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be,” you said, eyes closed and butterflies fluttering again, “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Later, you let Olivia and Fin take your statement in the hospital. Your boss insisted you stay overnight in case you had a concussion, and Nick stayed at your side the entire time, watching as the doctor checked you out and the nurses treated your wounds. All in all, you had a broken wrist, severe bruises to your abdomen, legs, and arms, and a multiple cuts and lacerations. Nick took notes—actual handwritten notes—on how to best help you heal, nodding and charming the hell out of the nurses, and when they all left, he tucked you into your bed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, amor? Anything you need?” He asked, voice low. You were tired, and he knew it.

“Can you hold me?” You asked back.

Nick crawled into the hospital bed with you, sitting behind you and wrapping his arms around you. He kissed the top of your head, and you relaxed under his touch. “I’ll hold you every day,” he promised, “for the rest of my life.” He reached down and held your hand, a finger gently brushing against your ring. “For the rest of our lives.”

You looked back up at him, and you saw the depth of his love and affection for you in his warm eyes. You felt those butterflies start flying around again, and you knew you were safe and loved and cherished with Nick, and that you always would be. “Nick?”

“Mm?”

“I found my dress,” you informed him, heart pounding at the sight of Nick’s angelic smile, “I think you’re gonna like it.”

Nick kissed your head again, making you giggle. “Baby, you could wear a shower curtain, and I’d be happy.” He nuzzled into your hair. “As long as you’re safe. As long as you’re with me.”

“You’ll always keep me safe,” you took his hand and kissed his knuckle, lips lingering on the bruise he got from punching the wall, “Love you, Nick.”

“I love you, too,” he said, arms wrapped around you tight, kissing the side of your head, “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“I’ll be here every morning.”

You closed your eyes, letting the sound of Nick’s breathing, the feel of him behind you—sturdy and warm, and the butterflies in your stomach lull you to sleep.

*******************************************************************************************

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[adventuresloane]

"Wake up- you were hyperventilating, are you okay?" With Caleb and Beau? I love their friendship so much....

((All these requests are for good good platonic relationships and I am MCLOVIN IT.))

If he really tried, he could remember something a little like this.

Usually, when a memory from his schooldays came scratching at his door, he bit down on it, or else bit down on his tongue to let the pain distract him from it. Things slipped through, though, of course--most of them bad, or if not exactly bad in a way that was inherent, then bad by association, corrupted in hindsight. But there were moments that, when he could recall them, brought him something almost like pleasure. Not a few of them came from nights spent in the dorms after lights-out. He remembered that sometimes there would be moonlight coming through the window so that he could see his roommates lying in their beds, but other times it would be entirely dark. He remembered their whispered conversations, their voices making gentle contact with one another like reaching hands. He remembered how it somehow seemed easier to talk about things when one was blind and tucked in bed and still awake hours after sundown. That was how he and Astrid and Eodwulf spent nights talking about their latest assignments, upcoming exams, families, fears.

It wasn't the same now, of course. Couldn't be the same. Part of it was because back in those days, he never woke soaked in his own sweat and with a chest heaving like his heart was trying to punch its way out. There weren't the nightmares then like there were now.

Another part of it was that Astrid and Eodwulf generally hadn't tried to wake him up at all, much less by throwing small rocks at his head.

He'd jolt awake, breathing too quickly or not at all. And then, several moments later, he'd feel Beau's stare on him even without being able to see her eyes through the blackness. She'd be lying some distance away from him on the ground wherever their little group had chosen to make camp that night. "Wake up," she'd grumble, as though he could have possibly slept through a pebble to the temple. "You were hyperventilating. Are you okay?"

The first couple times, he pretended that he couldn't hear her, that he was indeed still asleep or else so far gone that it was useless for her to try. She just kept hissing his name into the dark, then. Eventually, he got out the word "No" in a voice that, even to him, came out sounding like a creaking door.

It then became abundantly clear that she hadn't planned much past the point of asking whether he was okay. Most often, when he responded that way, she blew some air out of her mouth, took several long gulps from her canteen, and then said, "Alright, welp," in a tone somewhere between nonchalance and gruffness.

It would be several more minutes before she spoke up again, only to say, "Just wanted to check that you weren't going to die or whatever. I dunno. You probably don't want to talk about whatever it is, and I probably don't want to hear it, but I mean, your call, I guess."

As she had said of herself in the past, she was not good at this. But it was something. He wasn't even sure if it was something he liked, exactly, but still, a whisper in the dark, a hand reaching and groping through it.

It occurred to him, on one of what had become countless nights, to try to say more. Fresh from his flame-filled dreams, he had to work through the residual terror that threatened to lock up his jaw, but he managed anyway. "Beauregard..."

"Yah?"

"I feel that I should apologize to you...for how often I keep you up at night."

She shrugged. He couldn't quite explain how he knew that she shrugged, because he couldn't see her, but somehow he heard the way in which her blankets shifted and just knew. "I mean," she answered, "I get enough sleep. And I'd wake up cranky either way, so it's not like it makes much of a difference in that regard."

"I know that." He allowed himself a long pause, to gather his thoughts. "I also feel like...I should feel sorry for never telling you what's going on."

"Hey, I mean, fuck that, right? It's not like I'm the most forthcoming with that shit either."

"Don't you make it your business to know about the skeletons in everyone's closets?"

"Okay, listen," she said, with an added dose of roughness. "As far as this...whatever this is...this group we've got here. I'm only interested in knowing what I need to in order to keep us safe. Beyond that, it's whatever. And if this has anything to do with your past shit--"

"Ja."

"Yeah. I feel like I know a fair amount about that already without, like, probing your dreams. If you don't want to tell me any more, I don't need to know."

She wasn't good at this. Being a friend. Inexperienced, to put it charitably. He liked that she wasn't good at it, because he wasn't either. He was, to put it charitably, not so much inexperienced as grotesquely out of practice.

Here was one way he knew that he wasn't good at this: It didn't occur to him to return the favor until one night when he was keeping watch and heard her moaning quietly in her sleep. When he cautiously lIt a small flame from his finger and brought it close to her, he noticed the strain in her expression, the tight squeeze of her eyelids. Her face was scrunched up and uneasy. Not as dramatic as he surely was during a nightmare, but something.

There was then perhaps another hour of him hemming and hawing over whether he should wake her, whether she would want that, whether she would maybe just stop having the bad dream in a few minutes anyway. Then, finally, he poked her shoulder, which was not one of his finer ideas, as the monk immediately startled and stopped just shy of punching him in the face. They stared at each other in mutual shock for far too long, her fist still poised in midair.

"Eh...tut mir leid," he muttered.

"Yeah, sorry also. Got nervous there." She yawned. "What's going on? You see something."

"Not exactly," he answered, and then did not know how to elaborate.

She eyed him. "K...well, can I go back to--"

"I suppose just wanted you to know," he started slowly, "that if you're in any way feeling distressed--"

"Oh, God."

"Then you should feel free to tell me. Even if you have to wake me for it. I doubt I would be much help, especially if it's something to do with how much we've been talking about Kamordah lately. But you can say it anyway, if you need."

There was a remarkably long pause. He didn't look at her and put out his light.

"Hey, Caleb? Fuck you." And she turned over until her back was to him.

He stayed awake with a sense of satisfaction that he wasn't sure he deserved to feel. She would probably give him one of her halting apologies for saying that--maybe not tonight, but likely in the next couple of days.

But he was glad that she'd said it. It meant that she had been redirected from whatever it was that had twisted her face up in the night. She slept peacefully for the rest of time that he stayed up.

Neither of them were good at this. In this case, it was perhaps more important to be there than to be good.

[az-5-elimgarak]

#TeamWillow

Fictober19

Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Homeland (TV Show)

Prompt #24: Patience... is not something I’m known for

Rating: G, No warnings apply

Characters: Peter Quinn, Willow (seizure response dog)

The story and the tags after the break-line. Lemme know if tagging bugs you. Or if you’d like to be tagged in the future. And thank you. ❤

The first time the mystery object brushes against the bottom of his jeans, it barely registers. Given how easily he gets distracted on an average day, he promptly dismisses it as another one of those sort-of-phantom-but-not-really-because-Andy-says-it-can’t-be sensations his affected side whomps up on occasion.

The truth is, he’s just too tired to look down. Fifteen years of covert operations, life in the shadow of days, weeks, even months of sleepless nights at a time, and he can honestly say he doesn’t remember himself feeling as worn to a frazzle as he does now.

Since he started on Prazosin the nightmares have gradually gone away. Not entirely, of course, but he hasn’t had one render him borderline catatonic in months. He’s been doing better. Not great - he’s not sure it’ll ever be ‘great’, or that it ever was, for that matter - but definitely better. 

It wasn’t until Kim asked him during one of their sessions if his being ‘busy’ - as in ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Um… Busy, I guess’ - was a good thing that he realized, to his utter astonishment, that it was. That amongst hundreds of briefings, debriefings, missions, drinking himself into a near-stupor between missions, he doesn’t remember a single day that was, simply, busy. And that, even though between his job and the neverending succession of therapy, physiotherapy, speech therapy, and every-other-fucking-kind-of-therapy-known-to-man, he sometimes feels thin, like butter scraped over too much bread (to quote Bilbo Baggins),  he wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for the world.

In fact, right now, following a night shift at the Center and a particularly grueling physiotherapy session, he’s going on thirty six hours without sleep. His brain, fretted and discombobulated on a good day, feels like it’s barely holding structural integrity, let alone that of coherent thought. He’d tried to reschedule the interview, even considered giving it up altogether, but, in his condition, passing on an opportunity like this just wasn’t an option.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, not to mention follow the questions that seem incessant - a slow, systematic torture that’s starting to make the infamous 2003 interrogation in an Iraqi prison look more and more like a walk in the park. 

“...currently involved in any illegal activity? Or were in the last year?”

Now this piques his interest. “Anyone ever answer ‘yes’?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Hayes. I know this is…” A bunch of meaningless, bureaucratic crap? “...tiresome. And may seem redundant.” No shit. “But I’m obligated to ask. And, if you’re hoping to be in the program, you need to answer.”

“I was not,” he concedes. Not in the *last* year. So not *really* a lie.

She’s right, he knows, this woman across the table whose name, for the life of him, he cannot recall. He needs this. In fact, he should’ve applied a lot sooner. Not just because having a seizure response dog may, at last, allow him to hold a legitimate driver’s license. And not just because it didn’t help his rehabilitation process when six months of work to improve the range of motion in his left arm went down the crapper following a nasty seizure-induced fall that shattered his left humerus in two places. But because if he doesn’t, one of these days the neighbor recruited to check on him several times a day will be too late. At which point, ironically, having survived being shot, stabbed, and gassed, he’ll finally meet his demise on the kitchen floor, drowned in his own drool.

“...the program is very intense, and, as such, can be quite demanding. Training takes time. Weeks. Months, in some cases. We can’t promise you quick results. But we guarantee that, provided you put in the due time and patience…”

Patience…  is not something I’m known for.  

Hot on the heels of the thought a wave of anxiety follows. He fucked it up. No, not past simple. He HAS BEEN fuckING it up, for as long as he can remember: every chance he was ever given, every iteration of ‘normal’ he ever had. What if…  

Breathe, Kim’s voice whirs in his head. He swallows, counting to three before gradually letting the air funnel out. Then again. And once more. Until the numbness washes away and he’s prickling all over. You haven’t fucked THIS one up. Yet. So… shuddup and fucking BREATHE. 

“...we highly advise those who eventually qualify make the necessary arrangements allowing them to actively participate in the process. Training an SRD is goal- and need-oriented. We can’t just tell a dog what to do when you have a seizure. And, as you probably know, seizures differ in frequency, type, and intensity. Once the training is complete, your SRD should not only be able to warn you of an upcoming seizure, but also provide assistance, or even call for help if necessary. So, obviously, the training cannot be done unless you’re a full participant for the entire duration of the program…”

There’s that same brushing sensation again. Except, this time it’s not against the sleeve of his jeans but lower, on top of his foot. And it’s not so much brushing as it is… stirring?

He looks down, eyes widening in awe. “Um… Miss…” What *was* her name?

“Yes?

“It’s… There’s a p-p-p…” A sure sign of his brain initiating the shutdown process.

“Problem? Look, I know this all sounds quite overwhelming. But I assure you, if you put in the necessary effort—”

“No. No. There’s a p-p-p…” he motions under the table, unable to stop grinning. “P-p.. small dog.”

With some effort, grabbing the side of the chair with his right hand, he shimmies away from the table. The ball of creamy-gold fluff on top of his sneaker stirs again, sleepily rearranging the tangle of chubby paws around his braced ankle.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Judi! Judi! Why is there… I’m sorry, could you give me a minute? Judi! There’s a puppy in the reception room!”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind,” he tries, reassuringly.

“It’s not that, sir. Judi! I’m so sorry, they’re not supposed to be here. They’re not even house trained yet. Oh my God, did it…?”

Finally, the side door opens and, mumbling apologies, Judi - he presumes - rushes in. 

“Willow! My goodness, how’d you get in here, girl? I’m sorry, she’s a bit of a… here, lemme take her. Excuse me… Sir? Could you…? Your foot?”

“Oh. Sure.”

He moves further backwards. His foot, sliding from under the snuggly weight, causes the puppy to roll over with a soft, startled yelp.

The amusedly exasperated “There you are, you mischievous scamp” is followed by an abrupt “No! No! C’mere! Willow, you...! Oh, for God’s sake… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sir… do you mind?”

Bending down, he awkwardly reaches with his right hand behind his left ankle where what appears to be the feistiest golden retriever in the history of the breed is engaged in an out-and-out battle of ‘catch-me-if-you-can-bitch’ with her irked-out-of-her-mind keeper. 

“Gotcha,” he smirks, deftly hooking his palm under the plush belly and emerging from under the table with a wriggling jumble of ears and limbs. 

Held in front of his smile-dimpled face, a fierce twinkly-brown stare locked with his steely-blue, Willow lets out the tiniest, most defiant squeal of part-bark, part growl, part something-too-adorable-to-not-have-a-name he’s ever heard. 

“Wow. Consider me scared,” he nods, genuinely impressed, tightening his grip as she wiggles harder, earning a narrow-eyed shake of his head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

Something in his calm, measured tone renders her still for a moment. Moisture-sleek, pitch black nostrils flare. Once. Twice. And then, he feels her go limp in his palm, paws and earls slacking, head cocking puzzlingly to the side. 

He lowers his voice. “That’s more like it. Now: care to say hello like a proper lady?” 

Slowly, he moves his hand to his face until they’re nose to nose where, following a series of cautious sniffs, his gesture of good will is rewarded with a torrent of slobber so generous and enthusiastic, he’s forced to laughingly gather her to his chest instead. 

“There,” he whispers, cradling her in the stiff, motionless fold of his left elbow and soothingly running his newly freed hand from the top of her head to the tip of her shimmering tail. “It’s nice to meet your acquaintance, Miss Willow. I’m Noah,” he adds. 

And, for the first time since he was handed his new identity papers, the name he thought he'd never get used to folds on his tongue just right.

 ______________________

The woman across the desk blinks rapidly, as if trying to decide whether or not he’s joking, and, in case he’s not, which part of the protocol her job is outlined by should’ve prepared her for this.

“Mr Hayes, I’m sorry. But that’s - what you’re asking -  it’s out of the question. It just… doesn’t work like that. We don’t - we can’t… you don’t just choose an SRD. At this age, we don’t even know if they have the ability. And even if we did, pairing an epilepsy dog with a potential candidate is an intricate process. There are factors that—”

“That what? I mean, how compatible do we have to be? It’s not like I’m asking you for her  bone-marrow.”

She exhales in an attempt to regain her composure. “I realize that, sir. But, nevertheless, there are things to consider. Things that our specialists have been trained to take into consideration. I’m sorry. This is— unprecedented. The candidate can’t just walk in and choose a puppy. Which is why we usually…” shooting an accusatory glance in Judi’s direction, “...don’t even let the candidates see the dogs until one is assigned.”

“Fine. But how about a puppy choosing a candidate?” he quips, pointedly scratching behind the ears of the aforementioned puppy snuggled sleepily in the crook of his neck.

“A pu…? Mr Hayes, you can’t be serious.”

Quinn leans back, tilting his head so as to rest his cheek on top of the plush bundle. “Look. I understand. So, say she doesn’t have the… SRD gene, or whatever makes them qualify. Or we don’t… work together. It’s fine. I mean, it happens, right? Even with the “selection process”, it must happen on occasion. What do you do then?”

Finally back on familiar territory, Christie - it *is* Christie, isn’t it? - nods.

“Sir, we’re a private facility. One of the top in the world, as I’m sure you know. Candidates who choose our services are guaranteed a functioning SRD. Of course, like you say, it’s not an exact science, and some pairings don’t stick. Which is another reason why the selection process should be left to people who are qualified to perform it. But, if the pairing is unsuccessful, we offer a client a chance to repeat the process.”

“Which costs you money.”

“Yes. But that’s far from being our main concern. Like I said, the training program is quite demanding. Doing it twice is not in anyone’s best interest.”

Disregarding her last remark, Quinn presses on. “And the dogs? Those who don’t qualify?”

“Well, they are all purebred, so, we offer them up for sale to individuals or elite breeding houses.”

“There you go. I’ll make you a deal. I get Willow, right now—” Christie opens her mouth to protest but he raises a hand to stop her. “Just... hear me out. I get Willow. And, if it doesn’t work out, for whatever reason, I’ll pay for her. And I’ll pay to repeat the program.”

“Sir—”

“I fail to see the downside. I really do.”

“Well, for one, Willow is too young to be trained. Or even tested. It’ll be at least another six weeks.”

Quinn smiles.

It never ceases to strike him with awe how, sometimes, his fretted, disjointed, swiss-cheese of a brain just... snaps back. As if resetting to some kind of safe point, all of the stroke and sarin splintered parts shift and reshuffle, and, suddenly, every word he needs is just where it ought to be.

“Miss, I’ve applied for the program over six months ago, and have been on the waiting list for the past three. I was diagnosed with refractory epilepsy a year ago having tried every combination of anticonvulsants known to modern medicine; and a bunch of experimental ones. I’ve had two, three, sometimes up to five grand-mal seizures a month for almost two years now. I’m pretty damn sure I can wait six weeks.”

 __________________

With Christie excusing herself in order to run the ‘this is highly irregular, sir, it really is, but I’ll see what I can do’ deal by her supervisor, and Judi retreating back to the breeding chambers, the room has grown quiet at last. It’s just the two of them now: Quinn, slumped back in the chair, eyes closed,  and Willow, passed out on his chest, her wispy, feathery breaths tickling the side of his throat.

He feels himself melting away, losing cohesion. He could fall asleep like this, his cheek resting against the velvet of flopped ear, fingers buried deep in the thick of her fur. And, given the bargain he just made, he probably should. 

Whatever it takes, he thinks, his mind skidding down the slope of exhaustion. Whatever it takes. 

Like a pebble skipping across the lake of his memory, he’s suddenly at the Center, chatting with Jessie, last night’s admission: a fourteen-year old turned over to CPS by her case worker following a late night raid the DEA made on her fifth foster home in two years.

“Ok, I can tell you. But it’s like a total spoiler.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “#TeamLannister? A total spoiler?”

“Hey. It’s GoT, alright? Everything’s a spoiler.”

“Fine. Spoil away,” he sighed, tossing her a new set of bed sheets.

She went on to tell him a long, elaborate story of a big battle involving dwarves (or was it just one dwarf), dragons, “dragon-wasting” ballistas, some “BAMF” knight called  - he wants to say James(?) - and, well, a “buttload” of other spoilers of which he understood very little; and remembers even less. Not to mention the fact that he never did get the answer as to what #TeamLannister - printed in block letters across her t-shirt - means.

“Hey, we’re a team now.” He nuzzles the wisp of spikes just above Willow’s ear as she stirs and burrows deeper into his neck. “#TeamQuinn?” A snort. “Ok. #TeamHayes?” A sleepy whimper. “What? #TeamNoah?”

Suddenly, there’s Christie’s voice in his head again. “...provided you put in the due time and patience…”

Patience… is not what I’m known for, he remembers thinking. And he shakes his head, smiling. Not something Peter Quinn was known for. Nor “John”, or “David”, or “Nathan”, or any of them, for that matter. 

Noah Hayes, though? He chuckles. The jury’s still out.

Jolted awake by the bounce of his chest, Willow emerges from under his chin, big, droopy eyes blinking in sleepy daze. 

“Hey you,” he laughs, poking the tip of her nose with the tip of his.

And, as she scrambles higher, curling her head in the crook of his neck with a long, joyful sigh, he just knows: for as long as it takes, wherever this road leads, and whatever the cost - from now on, it’s #TeamWillow.

@valerafan2 @hidingupatreeorsomething @awariasuit @tenar-of-atuan @potter012 @johnlockismyreligion @boisinberryjamarama

[slytherhell]

PLAYING WITH FIRE.

PLAYING WITH FIRE.

Prompt; “Make me.”

Words; 1.4k+

( written for the the amazing @squirrel-and-me-quicksilvermaid for one out of two of her of her request(s) from this list. 

/ i’m really sorry i’m just now posting this, hon. for this entire week, i kept waking up thinking it was another day, or with the wrong one in mind and it just really threw off my entire mind for this upcoming trip i have. i’ve been up all night, and i’ve barely slept this entire week and i’m really tired.. overall, i’m really sorry for this late posting. && tbh, i really didn’t like with how this turned out, but i hope you enjoyed something out of this <33 )

\

“WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY, MALFOY?!” Harry shouted over his shoulder with a glare, his quill coming to yet another stop on his half-written on parchment due to the rambling from the other side of the shared room. Despite working on it for hours, his parchment only had a few lines written on it, and that was nowhere close to the two rolls assigned, and required  to turn in for class. 

( And the best thing about it? His essay was due tomorrow! )

Harry sighed and looked back down at his page bitterly. Just great. Not only was he roomed in with Malfoy, he was going to be behind on his work for his redo year.

Behind him, he heard Malfoy shift atop his bed, but the voice did not stop, and Harry shook his head in irritation. He dropped his quill down, and ink skidded across his page; smudging up his last written sentence. Shit. He scrambled to salvage as much of it as he could, pushing his other supplies away from it and managed to, for the most part, to his relief. 

Malfoy’s snicker drew him back to the present. 

Harry wandlessly  ‘scourifyed! ‘ the remaining ink on his hand on his hand. He turned around in his chair, ready to give Malfoy a good and heavily worded piece of his mind when-

Malfoy’s voice stopped.

Harry frowned. That was all it took?

Throwing a glance back, Harry now saw how Malfoy remained still in his spot; un-moving. Originally, Harry had thought he’d been staring up at the ceiling, but a closer examination revealed that Malfoy now laid with his eyes closed, his face looking somewhat content in the mid-day light. And seemingly realizing that Harry had been watching him, Malfoy’s eyes opened and met his. The two stared at one another from across the room, neither exchanging a word. It went on for a while, long enough to begin to giving Harry the benefit of the doubt. But, Malfoy, being who he was, timed it just as Harry was turning back around, before he laid back down, and continued his recitation of the page he’d just read, even louder than before.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, running a tired hand over his face. He removed his glasses, and held his head in his hand, He was sick and tired of this. 

He had to get Malfoy to stop, he just had to. By any means necessary. 

He paused.

Well, not murder.

Harry hand nearly knocked down his chair as he stood back abruptly from it, the idea striking him suddenly. This caught Malfoy’s attention, for he jumped off his bed; staring at him with widened eyes as he watched Harry head closer to his side of the room.

“On Merlin’s beard, Malfoy...” Harry’s voice was low and threatening, “Malfoy, if you don’t stop, I’ll-”

Sensing Harry’s hesitation to continue his sentence, Draco smirked and slowly waltzed up to him, gently biting on his lip as he stared up at him, “You’ll do what, exactly?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I’ll beat you into a bloody pulp,” Harry snarled in reply.

Draco scoffed, flinching on slightly, “Oh please. That would go against your code.”

Harry glared down at him in response, his hands now clenched into heavy fists; bringing back a familiar twitch of his right eye that started when they’d first been assigned as roommates at the start of the year. The room is boring when it gets quiet, Malfoy’s voice from earlier echoed, It needs noise. And I don’t mean that annoying pen tap you’ve got going over there, either.

At the start, Harry, like everyone else, had thought Malfoy would’ve been less of a prat when he returned back for the eighth year. He was.. but the more it became clear that Harry wasn’t out to kill him, he seemingly intensified and got worse with each day.

But it was moments like this that Harry had wished he’d followed through with Malfoy’s previous assumptions.

( And apparently, he’d taken too long to respond, for Malfoy had let out a laugh; brushing past Harry’s arm as he moved around him. It sounded like he’d headed for the spare wooden desk they had by the window, for there was a clank on the stone floor. He walked past Harry again, this time, his arms full of books. He dropped a few on his bed, then leaned over and set the rest on the ground beside him. )

“Oh, shut up. And stay on your side of the room, you’re a nightmare as it already is.”

“And if I don’t?” This time, it was Malfoy who crossed the room; taking a seat on Harry’s crimson bed.

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up before I make you.”

“Go on, Potter.” Malfoy taunted, and sat back on his bed, smirking up at Harry as one leg crossed over the other, “Make me.” 

Harry didn’t dare utter a word, and instead, turned and faced back at his desk; all the while forcing himself to calm down. If he wanted this to work, he couldn’t lose his temper. ( Well, anger wasn’t the exact case in the moment; it was actually a bit arousing too catch Malfoy like this. Though, he still couldn’t let his emotions conflict and clash. ) Sure, he could shut Malfoy up with a simple grab at his throat, he was aware of this ability but knew his temper was one fierce enough to not just stop at hurting one person. 

He inhaled, taking a breath for both himself and all the damage he just prevented himself from doing. This is gonna work, He told himself.

He was one more - just one more away -  from freeing himself of anger, when he heard footsteps clicking up behind him, slow and precise.

Malfoy had something in mind, Harry knew, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Having being caught in the middle of his thoughts, he found himself drawing in a sharp breath as he felt Malfoy lean up his shoulder; with the front of his body pressed up against his own back as either hand sat upon a shoulder. “I knew it. “ The whispered words hit the side of his neck, and Harry’s jaws clenched. “You’re too much of a coward to do anything, aren’t you?” 

Harry let out a snort, rolling his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Malfoy ignored the comment and propped his head up on Harry’s left shoulder. Harry could see the grey eyes watching him out from the side of his own, almost enjoying to watch as his anger geared back up. Malfoy then looped either hand under Harry’s arm, now placing them onto the front of his shoulders. He pressed himself against Harry impossibly further, nearly outlining Harry’s body with his, “Oh well,” He said, then withdrew himself, casually adding, “I guess there’s always a next time.”

Before there was time to register the attack, Harry spun around and yanked Malfoy forward by the front of his short, his collar, more specifically.  The soft and pristine fabric bunched up tightly by Harry’s hardened hands in his hand as he got a firm grip on it, hen slammed him into the nearest wall; causing a few of the quills and light books to fall off the table Malfoy’s foot had knocked into in the process. Other than a bit back groan, Malfoy made no other sound as his head collided with it. Harry panted heavily, now looking down at Malfoy’s slightly crumpled figure splayed against the wall.

Malfoy shifted slightly. Feeling hot bursts of air from in front of him, he looked up and his eyes widened slightly. He’d done it now. Bracing himself, he prepared for the punch surely aimed at his face.

Though, what he didn’t expect was for Harry crouch down on the ground before him. 

Malfoy raised a brow, and watched him go down.

Surely he wouldn’t try to-

Harry held Malfoy’s eye the entire time; from the moment grabbed ahold of Malfoy’s thighs, to when he slowly rose himself up, his face staying a constant five centimeters away from Malfoy’s body - lifting him up against the wall. The act causing Malfoy’s toes to curl up in his shoes, a hand to plant on the wall, and for his other hand to go straight to the back of Harry’s head; fingers grasping his hair, and locking onto them.

Hary found a place in-between Malfoy’s legs and planted himself there.

Harry’s breath was twinged with a sweet lemon, Malfoy noticed, and he felt himself go weak as Harry leaned into. Malfoy could practically hear his heart thumping in his chest, and his breathing becoming hitched. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in to meet Harry the rest of the way.

But the kiss never came.

Upon opening his eyes, Malfoy was met with a smirking Harry; one who’d tipped his head to the side as he watched him with interest.

“Looks like I finally got you quiet.”

His tone wore a victorious underlayer, and Malfoy could practically hear the grin within it. Harry dropped his legs back down to the ground. “Oh, and forget about what I said about doing my essay, earlier. I’m gonna take a shower instead. You know, take off some heat.” 

Harry stepped back and grabbed one of his unused towels sitting overhead on the shelf above them. “Feel free to join me whenever.” His eyes flickered down to Malfoy’s trouser, “You look like you have an issue that needs resolving, plus you’re right, the room does get a bit boring when it’s quiet.” 

There was a mysterious gleam in his eye as he spoke, but before Malfoy could reply, Harry was already headed for the door. Harry rounded the corner, shrugged his shirt off, and left it by the door,; stepping over it as he entered the bathroom. Once instead, charmed on the knobs; adjusting the tone, “Hey Malfoy,” He called through the door, checking the water, “What temperature do you like your water? Steaming hot, or half and half?”

Harry laughed as he heard a strangled cry, and footsteps thudding around the room before Malfoy joined him.

( Harry never had to complain about Malfoy being too loud after that. Though, a few others that lived on the same hall as them often had complaints of loud noises throughout the night.. )

[thedarcymakesart-blog]

An excerpt from Chapter 1 of Forest Folk.

The first to arrive was the head of the Fourth tribe, a drunkard and comedian - The most lighthearted of all the chiefs and easily my personal favourite. He’s never rude like the others, just funny. He embodies the spirit of his band perfectly and despite his lower status is always merry.

He stood by his banner and waited for the rest of the chiefs to arrive…

The second to arrive was an old, withered man representing the elders. He’s nameless and rather quiet, however, he’ll speak if he believes something is important and therefore provides an important perspective in the decision making involved with the council.

The drunkard tried to talk to him but before he finished his opening sentence was struck on the head by the old man with his walking cane to ensure silence, “We hear to listen! Not to talk! Your point is nothing and neither is mine, realise that, I shall have no small talk.”

The drunkard was mildly annoyed but knew not to retaliate and returned to standing quietly and watching the stars in the night sky above.

The Third to arrive was the warlord of the cavalry-band. He’d earned his status in battle and always asserts his power by riding on horseback wherever he goes. We made him disembark his horse and stand among his brothers to make the point: We’re equal in the eyes of the Gods, regardless of our own (invented) nobility.

He didn’t try and talk to the other two, however, the drunkard did try and strike a conversation with him but was made silent when the elder struck him again on the leg this time, “Shut-up!”, he returned to looking at the skies again, now looking somewhat sad due to being forced into silence.

The Fourth to arrive was a taint, chief of the trading band. He’s hunchbacked and speaks with a sly lisp, he brought a dagger that I had to confiscate from him before he entered the shrine. He’s always trouble, he also had his wife who was much more congenial.

They both stood silently under their assigned banner, the drunkard didn’t even dare talk to them - They’ve got incredible arrogance, eventually, the drunkard did try and flirt with the wife, this was to some avail and humorously (to the attends) continued on...

The cuckolded man didn’t even arouse to the flirting, he just ignored it - Like it wasn’t happening. The warlord chuffed at this and began to jest with the drunkard,

“She’s more into you than him! Well done man!”,

The drunkard looks over to him opens his arms to the air and shouts back through drunken lips: “Thank You!”,

A few of the druids by the sides started to laugh at this, we couldn’t help but join in…

Even the elder, after some complaining, started to shout in jest: “Well done, you drunken klutz! The whole bleeding council is a proxy joke now because of you and your lust! Hope you’re fucking proud!”,

The husband was still acting like this all wasn’t happening, looking at the ground in shame while wincing his face to try and look like he doesn’t care but we could tell it was getting to him.

Everyone was starting to laugh at this point, even some of the more serious of the druids in the circle started to snigger while the charade played on.

At this point, I started to laugh myself, the man had been involved in some shady political business so most of this ‘bullying’ was somewhat justified.

The wife, realising she’d been acting disloyally to her husband quickly went to comfort him while the drunkard and warlord began to dance around encircling them while mocking their marriage in jest.

It was a real show, the elder was getting annoyed about this mockery of tradition and eventually demanded they all return to silence, however, they ignored him and carried on dancing, soon the drunkard and warlord were pouring pints by the side of the shrine.

The next chiefs to arrive were a married couple from the farming band, they’re very oriented in that way - Settled and sensible, they still worship the Gods but they rarely cause harm and are rather respected in the political sense for it,

I didn’t bother asking if they had weapons, they both didn’t bear arms, they were farmers.

They stood quietly while the drunkard and warlord were continuing to make a mockery of the whole event by the sides.

The elder was still complaining to the head, who was nodding and looking back to the scene by the sidelines all while the two couples were standing quietly waiting for the actual council to take place,

By now, one of my peers in the circle had begun talking to me,

“This whole council is a mess, can’t we just give up?”,

I reassured him that this is necessary for our people and he eventually came back to resolution and began to settle down the attendees.

That’s the problem with running a tribal alliance for us in the circle, it’s a logistical nightmare, we struggle to run it every red moon. We do though and it usually gets the job done in the grand scheme of things…

More importantly (in my opinion) the drunkard and the warlord were bonding over the barreled brew saved for the after-event, it’s good to see people getting along. It’s wonderful diplomacy - That’s why we all love the drunkard band, you can’t help but love them… they can be the most fearsome foes also but besides that the greatest of allies.

Next to arrive was the other island-folk who stood opposite the elder…

The chief of the band and his son, both famed warriors for their involvement in the war against the Sudden-Folk that had occurred recently, the elder caught their glance and winked at them - Showing affection, praise, in politics even something as small as a wink can make an impact.

Then the wealthiest of the chiefs arrived bearing a military mask for intimidation. He bore no weapons and I let him pass,

He joined in with the drinking going on by the side, the three men eventually called upon for more to some of the helping druids who obliged with several large barrels,

Finally, the cultured chief arrived, he wore a mask painted with cultural symbols. He also bore no weapons.

Eventually, after a bit more procrastination, the council began, despite the fact that three of the nine important council members were already unable to speak/listen or even comprehend what was going on…

The head druid eventually began the council with a prayer: “On this day, may our tongues be blessed and may the Gods ensure our talk is good, honest and wise… Hra, muni de’fonda.”

After this, as tradition states the attendees hmm back: “Hra, muni de’fonda,” all while they gaze to the red moon hovering directly above the shrine emitting a blood-like colour over us - A good omen, we hope…

The head then shuffles his beard, the druids to the side begin signing quietly to the back, he makes the first announcement:

“We’ve an omen to tell, several dead boys in the woods near the Sudden-Lands, slain in their youth by a villain whom we’ll never know, the boys were youthful, warriors, robbed of their future their deaths are a certain sign of upcoming conflict. I am, afraid to give to the more cowardly among you, war is coming, if not the Sudden-Folk then it is the merchants in Mackra who’ve been growing bolder by the day! What is your say brothers? ”

The drunkard began to cry, while a few of the men comforted their wives - Apart from the cuckold who stood still while his wife wept for our loss…

The first to speak is always the elder who replied in his old wisdom, slowly: “If we’re to ensure ourselves to safety then we ought to prepare. At-least prepare, we needn't rush to action, it is in the rage that mistakes are made, we don’t want to cause more unneeded deaths.”

The head openly considered this idea and pointed at the next to speak, the drunken warlord…

He walked forward and shook his helmet while making a grand entrance to make his speech: “Well, I think we ought to kill them bastards down South!”, he then began pointing to the cuckold and his wife, “Traitors!”,

The head tried to calm the drunken warlord, the cuckold ignored this while his wife broke down into tears,

The drunkard started shouting after the warlord stopped: “Traitorous bastards! Fuck you! Fuck you and your hag wife! Skag!”,

The old man started shaking and shouted: “Shut-up! You stupid drunk! Wait your turn!”, while pointing at him assertively.

The drunkard turned and replied: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up, Sorry, that was too much, I shouldn’t have said that It was too much, I’m really sor-”,

“Just shut up!”shouted one of the helping druids to the side, we were all getting frustrated at the slow rate of this council and by now we’d had enough.

Everyone went silent again and the head pointed to the farmer couple who’d speak next,

The couple spoke to one another in whispers and the wife spoke: “We think we ought to prepare, we agree with the elder.”

The head nodded and pointed to the drunkard who was next…

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m just a happy drunk mate!”,

A few of the attendees laughed and the head continued,

The Island Chief spoke next and gave no new arguments, re-enforcing the elders' decision.

Next was one of the Sudden-Folk who still wore his mask that muffed his speech: “I think we should stop with this whole war business and get to the next matter…”

After that, the hunchback of the oligarch band spoke: “So, I think we sho-”,

“Shut Up!” shouted the drunk,

The warlords started laughing while the elder complained to the head again who was getting frustrated like the rest of the circle.

“Kick them out! They’re a bunch of drunks! Fools! This a fucking mockery!”, shouted the elder, getting worked up about tradition.

The oligarch who was fed up of being bullied at this point started to shout back: “Shut-up you drunken fool! I’m trying to speak!”, his wife told him off for this.

By now the drunk and two warlords were banded together around the oligarch who was still huffing and puffing about their ‘stupidity’

Even the cultured chief started to join in, giggling and dancing with the warlords and drunk.

A few druids started to complain to each other, the elder was pouring himself a glass of liquor from the barrel,

“If you can’t beat them, join them,” he said just before downing a pint then pouring another,

The head began to get worked up while the other druids involved started to pour themselves drinks to help handle the stress - “If the elder can do it, we can,” was the motto going around, we all started drinking along with the head who’d given up.

The oligarch was starting to get annoyed and shouted for me to give him his dagger; I shouted back: “Fuck off, pleb!” and returned to the merriment.

The head started laughing and he shouted out to us all: “To Politics and the Gods!”,

The Drunkard shouted back: “To Beer!”