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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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griffinsmith · 2 years ago

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another jackerita au post ?? but from margherita's perspective this time ... i have been ignoring her for too long margherita babey im sorry

its been like a year and a half since I came up with this stupid au and ive never once made a written post that’s mostly about margherita’s role in the jackerita au. That is criminal and im fixing that now sorry girlboss. Also she deserves a bigger role in the plot in general so !!! heres whatever this is

For just some backstory on her: Margherita has literally 4 lines of dialogue so there is not much to go off of for her help me. She says she is a master of the opera nova school of Valencia so Ive always headcanoned that she, just like she says, works at said opera nova school. She has quite the set of pipes and is an incredible opera singer, along with being an expert duelist. Margherita is quite proficient in the art of the sword (again, just like how she says in the battle with her) and when she’s not teaching her students how to sing, she’s teaching them how to duel

One of Margherita’s cheats states that she’s studied in Crab Alley, so I’m going to take that and run with it. Margherita not only studied there, but she also spent some time traveling the spiral before settling in Crab Alley as her place to study music (essentially she took a gap year). This traveling happened right after she finished her primary schooling (with crab alley being where she spent the majority of her secondary schooling) and while she toured the spiral, she visited Marleybone, and guess who she ran into there.

Margherita and Jackall first ran into each other in their late teens/very early twenties (think 19 or 20. Wow just like my age fr), bumping into each other in the Ironworks. Jackall was looking for some scrap metal for an automaton he was creating, as he was just starting his secondary schooling to become a mechanical engineer, and Margherita was just plain lost while trying to sightsee. The two got along swimmingly, bonding over their aspirations that others had frowned upon: Jackall was hoping to land a job at Barkingham Palace as their head of defense, and Margherita wanted to become the most famous opera singer Valencia had ever known. Once their conversation had ended, they promised to keep in touch after some time spent together.

And keep in touch they did, writing letters often, and Jackall frequently making his way across the spiral to see Margherita’s opera performances and Margherita visiting him in Marleybone every so often. Both were extremely supportive of each other’s achievements in their careers.

About ten years pass between the two of them meeting and the events of Barkingham Palace. Margherita has a well-established teaching spot in the Opera Nova school of Valencia, loved by her students and fellow faculty members, and can duel the pants off of anyone she fights. She enjoys reveling in her stories of her time at Opera Nova to Jackall when they visit each other.

Jackall, on the other hand, has gone from just as enthusiastic as she over his job to being bummed out. His passion for inventing mechanical creations to better defend the palace seems to have been dampened by his fellow Barkingham staff members who prefer traditional guards to the palace rather than his automatons. For as long as Margherita can remember, Jackall has always been enamored with the concept of bettering oneself and the things around oneself, and it appears as though he hasn’t gotten to dip his toes into this concept in a while. The spark she once saw in his eyes diminishes a little bit more every time she visits him.

Margherita doesn’t quite get losing your passion for something. Until the Opera Nova school starts rearranging its budget. Teachers stop getting pay raises, student size shrinks, facilities aren’t updated. When Margherita and her fellow teachers try to get those in charge to do something, they respond that they’re already doing all they can to keep the school above water. Margherita is heartbroken that the students she’s loved teaching and watching grow into real opera performers begin to lose their love for their study, and can’t help but feel like she herself is losing her love for it, too.

Margherita relays all this information to Jackall during one of her visits to Marleybone. During this visit, for once, it seems like their demeanors have switched. Margherita cannot remember the last time she’s seen Jackall this energized, full of life. It’s like he’s 5 years younger, the look in his eyes gives away that he’s bounding with a new passion for everything. Margherita cannot quite place why.

That is, until he tells her that he’s come up with something incredible. He describes to her a new concoction he’s made for himself – one that makes him stronger and pumps the adrenaline through his system like nothing else. He’s finally reignited his passion for life again, he tells her, but he adds that he cannot keep his creation’s effects going for very long. But even still, he’s able to do things he never could do without it.

Jackall is purposefully very vague with his descriptions of what his potion does. He sells the creation off as something that energizes and makes you stronger, like what the potion was supposed to do, but he never once mentions that the damn thing makes him turn into a more selfish aggressive version of himself - That’s tucked quietly under the rug. As I mentioned in this post, Jackall is so tired of working at Barkingham and not getting to do what he wants that he’s willing to permanently turn himself into a more grotesque version of himself if it means that he can get what he wants (nevermind that this would mean that he would be hound forever and would never go back to being anything more than an unshowered impulsive violent mirror version of himself. Jackall come on why didn’t you think this through). The point is, Margherita never learned about Hound before the heist.

Margherita is happy that Jackall found something that excites him, but she wonders why he’s telling her this. Why does he want to turn into a different version of himself full time? She likes him how he is. But she does soon get her answer.

Jackall proposes to her that she and he go on a heist together: Steal the Queen’s jewels. It’ll be a grand adventure for them, some bonding! Margherita can use her superior dueling skills to best the dreary guards at the palace while Jackall takes the jewels to perfect his alchemical solution and become his ‘best self’ forevermore.

Margherita’s not super on board with the idea (stealing the queen’s jewels? When did jackall get that idea?). She’s participated in her own fair share of duels in back alleys, and she’s even stolen some gold before when she was in a pinch, but both of those experiences were far in the past. She’s a respected faculty member for one of the most famous schools in Valencia, she cannot just go galivanting around and get her face slapped onto a wanted poster.

Or so she thinks at first. After turning Jackall’s proposal down, she thinks that’ll be the end of that. Until Jackall lets slip that he’d let her keep the jewels after perfecting his chemical solution. The jewels that adorn the Queen’s crown would fetch quite a pretty penny on the black markets of Valencia, wouldn’t they? And that money could be used as a charitable donation to Margherita’s beloved Opera Nova school, Jackall adds. As soon as the heist is complete and Jackall’s become his better self, he promises he’ll let Margherita take the stolen gems and do whatever she wants with them.

The proposition now seems much more interesting to Margherita. Using the hefty sum the stolen stones would get her, Margherita could breathe new life into the school she loves so much. The crumbling fixtures in classrooms could be restored, higher paychecks would be written for teachers, and new students would practically flood the gates to get in! And hey, why not go on a heist adventure with her closest friend? She trusts him a whole lot, and she knows he trusts her back. After a quick moment of reconsideration, Margherita accepts Jackall’s plan. She’s in.

Also quick note on the whole ‘jackall calling margherita his “Lieutenant” thing’: there’s not really much to say here other than Margherita was certainly jackall’s right hand (wo)man throughout the barkingham heist since she did a lot of the string pulling with him to make it happen. Jackall calls her his lieutenant because it sounds more official than just calling her his ‘person who’s got his back’.

For two weeks, the two work together to concoct a plan to break into the palace (Margherita extends her stay in Marleybone and plans to return back to Valencia as soon as the jewels are hers). As someone who works in the palace, Jackall is able to bring any news of new developments to Margherita for them to brainstorm a way to steal the queen away while everyone in the palace is distracted. Jackall offers they use a noxious gas spewing golem he’d never gotten to use as a palace defense mechanism to render the palace’s guards defenseless, and when Margherita hears from him that an opera singer will be performing at the palace soon, she suggests they bribe said performer into allowing them to sneak in with her crew.

The plan falls into place quite nicely, with Margherita and Jackall working to secure some additional goons to help them with the heist. Margherita works on getting Catrin Cheshire bribed (from one opera singer to another) and Jackall hires Poole and Utterson as back up for the airship’s defenses. Everything looks like itll be going according to plan.

Until it doesn’t. Jackall and Margherita hadn’t accounted for Bones and Watson patrolling the scene, and a wrench gets thrown in their plans when the Young Wizard shows up. Margherita stays positioned on the rooftop the entire night as Jackall carries out the queen kidnapping, and nervously sharpens her swords as more and more cops pour into the palace. Then, when Jackalls finally loaded the Queen into the airship, the young wizard arrives and Margherita faces off with them. Filled with determination and knowing Jackall will defend her if anything goes awry, she battles her heart out.

And as we all know, the young wizard defeats her. This was already unexpected for Margherita, but the most unexpected part was Jackall turning against her. As she catches her breath after the fight, she hears him ascending the ladder to the airship, * without her *, and yelling at her that she’s disappointed him and that he sarcastically hopes she enjoys Newgate. Margherita barely has time to process what just happened when the Barkingham guard arrives on the rooftop and places her in handcuffs, but she has enough time to tell the Young Wizard to go after Jackall.

During the journey from the palace to Newgate, Margherita is seething enough to the point where if you put sand in her mouth and gave it a second, it would have turned into glass. Her life as she knew it would never be the same, and she’d never be able to go back to teaching at the Opera Nova – they would not approve of a wanted criminal who assisted in a queen kidnapping teaching students. Sure, she was mad at getting caught, but she was mostly enraged at jackall up and abandoning her. It.. hurt. This heist was supposed to be something they were doing together, and for her to leave her in the dust the second she loses one duel … it’s not sitting well with her. The decade of friendship and mutual trust the two had for each other is shattered instantly with this moment. Margherita never wants to see Jackall again.

So imagine Margherita’s surprise when Jackall gets tossed into a jail cell right next to hers. Upon seeing her, Jackall quickly blubbers out an excuse and a half assed apology. Margherita decides to ignore this and grabs Jackall’s neck through the jail bars and strangles him until the guards pull them off each other. Jackall earns a well-deserved black-eye during this skirmish and it does not leave for two weeks.

After few months into their life sentences, Jackall does give Margherita an actual apology and tells her how sorry he truly is, how he should never have let something as stupid as his chemicals get in the way of their friendship, how he doesn’t quite know what got ahold of him. He says he was so focused on achieving his best self that he let everything else fall to the wayside. He asks her if she’d be willing to break out of Newgate together, and she begrudgingly accepts, giving him a second chance. It'll take a while before she can fully trust him again, but she's willing to give it a shot, and Jackall is extremely grateful for this. Secretly, she's glad to have her friend back.

From here the au is basically the same as before from Margherita’s side. The two break out of jail, live in the shopping district, and stuff goes on from there. The only change is that Jackall is still struggling with nightmares of Hound threatening to take over, but he does not tell this to Margherita. She still thinks the potion he made gave him boosted stats and power, and nothing else. Even in Jackall’s genuine apology to her, he did not let slip that the adrenaline from becoming his alter ego clouded his best judgement and hopes that she’ll never find out about Hound, especially not in their new lives in Wizard city.

We’ll see how well that works out . anyway that’s it that’s way too many words oh my god

#margherita and jackall are essentially friends to enemies to friends to lovers . love wins #if you read this tysm i know its a big amount of words but every note i get on my writing posts warms my heart i appreciate it a ton #sawyer writes words #margherita vizzini #dr jackall #jackerita au #sawyer rambles

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

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You forced this upon yourself😂 you forced this rambo simp.(and i dont mind)

Okay this may not be as good! But! Im giving you the liberty to take it where you want!(because i love your little details and how you express the feeling in your writing i- AH! Its great. I cant say it enough, it’s great. I mean it.)

How about Rambo finally getting enough courage to show The rancher around the tunnels, in a date sort of way!(they don’t know thats actually where he lives. Aka that photo i showed you before.) i really saw how the rancher was so happy to have him at their house, I’d love to see rambos side of scheduling a house tour and date type deal!! Maybe him even sitting and showing the rancher through all his old photos, and them just in awe because wow. He’s so much cooler than they even thought! He just so nervous and surprised seeing them so interested in him after all this time alone, and them just- in awe of him.

( i also really think it would be funny seeing rambo go through his friends house and seeing-“why the hell you have so many plants???” And just. Adorable assassin living with a wholesome and loving hardworking s/o)

Ah! Im sorry if that’s not as good!! But hey, you feel free to describe their antics and relationship as you will!!

I think I may have run a bit with this, but I hope you like it regardless!😊💛

I've Got Your Back, You've Got Mine.

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader

Warnings: mention of death, mention of war, mention of injury, mention of PTSD, mention of violence, (possible flash warning for gif?)

Masterlist

The heavy knock on the door surprises me where I'm sitting, the sharp sound snapping me from my thoughts. Looking over at it from my position at the table, I frown and set down my spoon, standing to go answer, unsure of who it is: I'm not expecting anyone today. Colt looks up from his place on the floor, the dog just as curious as I am as to whom it may be, though he doesn't bark, so it must be someone we know. He watches me as I cross the room, going straight to the door.

Opening it, I'm somewhat surprised to see my neighbour, John, standing there, a tentative smile on his face as he looks me over appreciatively, his gaze drawing a blush to my face.

"Mornin' (Y/n)." He greets, rough voice friendly as he waits for me to let him in.

"Morning John." I smile back, delighted to see him, "What can I do for you?"

I step back, waiting for him to enter, which he does so with a nod of thanks.

"Since when have I needed a reason to see you?" The veteran chuckles, the sound reverberating within me, my brain subconsciously storing the action away for later recall. Gently, John moves into my space, one hand coming to lightly rest on my hips as the other cups my face, drawing me in for a slow kiss.

Kissing back, I feel a glow of happiness flare up in me at this contact: he's never really one to initiate touch like this, so it's a whole lot more intimate when he does. Relaxed, I loosely wrap my arms around his neck, languidly caressing his dark hair as our lips move together.

Being the killjoy he often loves to be, Colt pushes in between us, nosing at John's leg, tail wagging enthusiastically as he recognises the familiar man, the dog as fond of his company as I am. Chuckling, John and I pull apart, looking down at the large canine between us, the dark eyes staring up at us imploring us to pay attention to him. Still smiling, John lowers a hand to scratch Colt's head, ruffling his floppy ears a little as the dog instantly allows his mouth to hang open, tongue lolling in content.

"Hey, Colt." The veteran greets, biting back a laugh as the dog pushes me out of the way, nudging at John's stomach.

"He never gets that excited to see me." I complain jokingly, standing back to watch the two interact, a smile playing at my lips.

"Sure he does." John replies, eyes fixing on mine with an expression of fondness, one that had me weak at the knees.

"He really doesn't, he just sits in the corner and whines at me until I feed him. Isn't that right?" I address the dog himself, giving him a light slap on the rear, his ridiculous height meaning I can quite easily reach it, "Anyhow, did you need something? Or did you just come here to kiss me? I can't say I'll complain if that's the case."

Cheekily, I wink at the veteran, leaning back against a nearby counter.

"As nice as that sounds, it's not the reason I came by." He chuckles, blushing lightly, "Though that does sound good."

Grinning, I nod my agreement, only now taking in his body language: he's nervous. His hands fidget, rubbing his fingers over scars and lines on his palms, and he shifts from foot to foot every now and then, small tells he's never quite managed to hide from me.

"Is something up?" I ask him, slightly more serious this time, unnerved by his discomfort.

"No, no, not at all. I, err, well, I just wanted to ask you something." He rubs the back of his neck, head tilted to the side as he regards me, dark eyes fixed on mine.

"Ok, go for it." I prompt him, curiosity sparking my interest.

"Well, do you wanna come to mine? I mean properly, like in the house." John cocks his head to the side, lowering his arm again.

Blinking, I feel shock flood my system, before it turns to unbelievable happiness that he's trusting me enough to come into his private space. Initially, I can't find the right words, somehow struggling to respond, until I find my tongue again.

"I would love to, John." I agree, features lighting up as my mood brightens, "There's nothing I've really got to do today except train up one of the younger horses, so I've got as long as you want after that."

"Great. Is four o'clock alright?" The veteran smiles broadly, though he still looks somewhat nervous.

"Yeah, should be. I'll be there." I promise him, taking up my Stetson from the table as I briefly turn away to put away the plate I was using, having lost my appetite in my sudden excitement.

"I'll get it tidy." He says, looking around the room again, "I'll never understand why you have so many plants in your house. It's like a damn jungle."

At his comment, I laugh loudly, glancing around at the variety of different houseplants I have placed on various shelves, the greenery practically covering every available surface.

"Because it's way too dry to grow anything like this outside all the time. Anyway, they look nice." I shrug, calling Colt to my side as I follow John from the house, grabbing my jacket from the hook as I pass.

"But why so many?"

Once again, I shrug, following him over to a nearby post, where he's hitched Bandit, the horse I gave him a few months ago. The buckskin stallion paws at the ground, his pale coat looking as clean as ever even as he noses at the dust, the dark colouring around his eyes (the reason for his name) and legs standing out much more in the bright sun. As we approach, he looks up, snorting in greeting.

"He's looking good." I acknowledge, admiring the strong stallion appreciatively - I had reared Bandit from a foal, before I had given him to the veteran as a gift four months ago, hoping it will help him to grow his own ranch. My plan had worked, and John now has four horses, including Bandit, as well as a couple of other animals, such as a cow, a pig and five chickens. I'd sold him a couple of goats as well, but we soon found out that John and goats just didn't get along. At all.

"Yeah, he's doing well, too. Takes the training very well, too." John runs a hand through the stallion's dark mane, untying the reins.

"That's good. Reckon he'll be ready for a competition soon?"

"Should be."

Snorting again, Bandit pulls at the reins, clearly eager to get going, especially as Colt moves up to sniff at the horse's back legs. I quickly whistle him over, knowing Bandit has always been shifty around the dog.

"I'll see you at four then." I finally say, unwilling to say goodbye, even if it is only for a few hours.

"Yeah, see you then." John smiles, leaning in to kiss me again, keeping it brief this time, leaving me wishing for more, as he always does.

"See ya." I grin, watching him climb into the saddle, still somehow fluid in doing so despite his age.

Gathering the reins in hand, John adjusts himself in the saddle, before he smiles down at me again as he gently urges Bandit into motion. Obediently, the stallion moves into a swift trot, which turns into a faster canter as the two move off down the driveway, heading towards the split in the fence separating our land. I watch as they go, still finding myself enraptured by the sight of the muscular man sat astride the horse, Colt eventually snapping me from my mind as he barks at me. Shaking my head, I follow him towards the stable.

Hours later, having showered and cleaned up, I feel a sense of relief go through me as I hoist myself into the saddle secured into place on Leo's back. It's relaxing, the stallion beneath me more relaxed than the youngster I've been trying to train all day: she never gave me a break. Seemingly sensing this, as he always does, Leo flicks his ears back and nickers softly, very lightly pawing the ground as I give him a pat on the neck, glad to have a more reliable horse taking me where I need to be.

Tilting back my Stetson, I take the reins in hand and ease the stallion into a trot, intending to let him pick up his own pace, my trust in this horse far greater than in the mare from before. Obediently, Leo moves into the correct gait, the two of us moving as if as one, years of riding together having made it easy for us to become in tune with each other. Together, we start off down the road towards John's ranch, the new path we've created beaten and well-used, allowing for relatively easy riding. Leo's hooves pound the dry ground rhythmically, my hips moving in time with his every stride, the relaxing movement helping to calm the nerves that have sprung up inside me.

A part of me is still unconvinced about going into John's home. Yes, I had helped him rebuild it and had seen very little of the inside rooms, but it still feels as if I'm intruding upon the veteran's safe space, his reprieve from the cruelty of the world he lives in. Something about that doesn't sit right with me, but I tell myself it's John's decision to make, not mine, so I should trust him, which I do, wholeheartedly.

I'm still torn by the time I reach the main house, where John is already sat waiting for me in his rocking chair, dark eyes fixed on me as I approach. Lifting a hand to him, I smile and slow Leo to a halt, praising the horse as I climb down, the gray stallion nosing affectionately at me. Swiftly, I tie him to a nearby post, only to stop when John calls out to me.

"Put him in the stable for the night." He instructs me, gesturing for me to follow him as I try to fight back the sudden onslaught of racing thoughts at his implications: he wants me to stay the night?

"Sure, thanks." I smile back at him, walking after him with Leo in tow.

"Don't worry about it. It's not fair on him if he has to stay out all night." John waves me off with a short grin, "How'd training go?"

I groan.

"Not great. That horse has it in for me, I swear." I complain, rubbing at my arm, remembering the moment I got the new bruise forming there.

"Oh yeah?" He muses, looking amused.

"Yeah. She threw me off eight times!"

"Eight times? Wow, must be a new record." The veteran jokes, something that stirs up the familiar fondness inside me at his more personable behaviour.

"I reckon so. Painful one to set, though, I'll tell you." I remark, smiling broadly as we enter the stable, where I quickly house Leo next to Bandit, removing his tack and other gear.

"Must be." John watches me work, leaning against the door to the large building, muscular arms crossed over an equally muscular chest. Turning back to him, I have to stop and admire the bulging of his biceps as his hands grip his forearms, the veins I've come to love laying out a pattern on the tanned limbs. Everytime I see them, I imagine his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me safe and secure against his solid body, wishing I could feel his hands splayed against me more often.

"Like what you see?" John interrupts my thoughts, voice teasing as he lifts an eyebrow at me, almost smirking at me.

Blushing furiously, I avert my gaze, lifting a hand to gently tap the brim of my Stetson out of my vision.

"You know I do." I laugh nervously, before I look back up at him, "Anyway, since when do you use pickup lines?"

"Since I figured out they get you all flustered." His playful tone is new to me, though it's gone almost as soon as I see it, his guarded expression falling back into place as he returns within himself, probably thinking he overstepped some invisible boundary.

I still can't help stammering for a response, his gruff tone awakening something within me.

"Heh, I guess you're right." I stutter, going over to him.

Nodding, he keeps his expression straight, leading me out back to the house, where he quickly welcomes me inside.

"I tried to tidy it as much as possible, but it's still a bit messy." The veteran apologises, observing the interior of his home critically, even as I do so in awe.

The rooms, from what I can see, are mostly filled with sparse furniture, a few chairs here and there, an old sofa, a couple of vanities and dressers, with a mantlepiece in most, if not all, of them. He hasn't used much colour, but what he has used is tasteful and works well with the overall appearance. The walls, however, are what really draw me into the place.

They are littered with photographs and memorabilia, frames and objects cleaned and polished so they shine brightly in the afternoon sun, many smiling faces visible in them. Curious, I go over to one wall, looking over the array of pictures, which I now recognise to be images of John and his friends from the years he spent here. Amongst them is a creased black and white photo of a young John sat astride a horse not unlike Bandit, a broad grin on the boy's face as he stares at the camera from under a mop of thick black hair. I can feel a small smile creep onto my face at the sight of the veteran looking so happy and carefree, something I've not seen very much of at all in my time around him.

"That was my first horse, Hector. I had him until I left for the army." John says from behind me, sounding somewhat quiet, eyes softened from nostalgia as he stares at the picture along with me, "I loved him a lot, but my father always said he wasn't good enough."

His words hang in the air as I stay speechless, listening intently to what he's saying to me: it's the first I'm hearing about his life before he came here again.

"What happened to him? Hector, I mean." I ask him quietly, tearing my eyes away to look up at John.

The veteran shrugs, appearing somewhat remorseful.

"I'll never know, but I reckon my father sold him as soon as I was gone."

"Oh." I frown, glancing back at the photograph.

"The horse was getting old by that time, though. He probably wasn't much use." John chuckles wryly, moving away towards the stairs nearby, "Do you want to see upstairs?"

"Yeah, sure." I nod, following him as he ascends to the second floor, which I now see consists of three different rooms.

He takes me to the farthest, opening the door to reveal an old study, which looks as if it hasn't been used in a good few years.

"This was my father's study, where he did all his business. I was never allowed in here as a kid." John sweeps his arm around the room, staying by the threshold, as if abiding by a rule that no longer exists, "Not that I go in here that much as an adult."

I look around, finding the neat area interesting: images of a young John hovering by the door, waiting for his father to finish business entering my head.

"It's nice, I like it." I remark, turning to find him smiling very slightly at me.

"It's the only room in the house that's exactly as it used to be. I haven't had time to do up the others properly." John says, leaving the study and going back down the hall, where he opens the other two doors to reveal a bathroom and an empty room.

A dull curiosity flares up within me as I realise one thing about the top floor, but I easily find a solution to it, following John back down the stairs. As we go, however, I realise that my assumption is wrong, as the only other rooms down here are missing the one thing I'd expect in any house.

"Where do you sleep? I haven't seen a bed or anything anywhere." I ask him, cocking my head to the side as he takes me to one final door.

"I'm gonna show you." He smiles at me, before he opens the door.

I blink as I see the dark steps descending into the ground, unease biting at my throat as I flash John a hesitant look. A cool draft wafts up from the black depth, but John only chuckles and moves down into the space below, gesturing for me to follow.

"It's perfectly safe, don't worry." He calls to me, a light flickering on as he reaches the bottom of the steps, illuminating the path to me.

Swallowing, I gingerly step down the stairs, emerging into a tunnel of sorts, my curiosity piqued as I take in the chiselled walls around me, the rock cast in an odd light from the naked bulbs positioned along the length of the cavern. Struts of wood hold the ceiling steady, wiring hanging off of them in places where he's had to hastily put it all together. John watches as I take in the passage, a thoughtful look in place on his face.

"What is this place?" I wonder aloud, still taken aback by the oddity of having a tunnel beneath the house that stretches off in both directions.

"This is my safe space." The veteran informs me, urging me along with him as we go further into the tunnel, walking together for a minute before we emerge out into a larger room of sorts, which is well lit.

My eyes widen as I realise exactly what he means.

The room acts as his bedroom and bathroom, and also has space to sit and relax, the whole area having a homely feel to it. What was missing in the rooms in the house can be found down here, including more photographs, though these ones seem different to the others. They adorn the walls, all except one, which is decorated with a variety of weapons, both guns and knives. Going over to it, I look over the rifles and shotguns hooked onto the wall, struck speechless as I then turn my attention to a machete, the blade honed but chipped from use, seemingly out of place as it hangs beside another, smaller hunting knife.

Moving on, I regard the photographs, only now realising that they're military pictures, many of them containing images of a youthful John in fatigues and uniform. A smile creeps back onto my lips as I feel my eyes land on a particular image of a group of men, where I can see John standing amongst them, a triumphant grin on his face, long locks of dark hair held back by a strip of fabric around his head. The others also smile, though there's something bittersweet about the inscription at the corner of the photo: Baker Team, Vietnam. As I look past the other pictures, I notice that the team slowly dwindles, beaming faces becoming drawn and solemn, eventually just leaving two people behind. Beneath this image is another inscription: Baker Team Survivors.

"That was my team in 'Nam." John says suddenly, voice husky as he remembers the friends he had, "None of them made it back. Not really."

Eyes wide, I look back at him, taking in the distant look in his own eyes, the barely concealed grief still raw in his expression as he stares at the photographs. Noticing my gaze, John gestures for me to come sit on the edge of his bed with him, the veteran pulling another photograph from it's place on his bedside table. Doing so, I make sure I'm not touching him, but am close enough to reassure him, waiting patiently for him to start talking of his own accord, knowing that this is a sensitive subject for him.

After a moment, he starts, his voice low as he pulls me into his stories, taking me through suffocating jungles and blistering heats, through recon and rescue missions, through bloody gunfights and hellfire, through hours spent in torturous situations. He puts me in his shoes as he loses every single member of his team to the gruesome fight he should never have fought, the harrowing grief and pain of letting go of a comrade, someone who's supposed to be by your side for as long as the two of you can stay alive, laid bare for me to see and experience. And even as he moves on, back to familiar territory in the States, the fight never leaves him.

Facing harassment in what should be his safety and security, I can feel every bit of betrayal, of anger and grief that he felt as he is let down by his own country time after time, used again and again by the authorities to do their dirty work, only to be cast aside when it doesn't go their way, the old catchphrase he once lived by, "I've got your back, you've got mine" completely meaningless in this hollow life. His disgust in humanity is plain to me as he outlines his most recent forays into warfare, where the rage he felt is once again transferred to me, and I experience the violent need to take out the parasites in the world that destroy anything good that he did. It's as if I'm there with him, through everything, his description and memories so vivid they chill me to the core, keeping me hooked on his every word.

After a long while, he eventually trails off, and I realise there's a tear rolling down his cheek, his body shaking a little as he holds himself back. My heart breaking, I have to fight the urge to reach out and pull him into an embrace, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. I place my hand on his shoulder instead, rubbing the tight muscles soothingly until he looks up at me with the most heart-rending gaze I've ever seen in my life. At that point, my resolve breaks.

Carefully, I lean in and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling the veteran towards me. He goes willingly, sobs wracking his body as he wraps his own hands around me, burying his face into my neck, tears flowing freely now as he lets himself go, each pained sound agonising to hear. Tightening my grip, I lay back onto the bed, allowing him to press his body around me, holding me against his muscular form as I rub his back, whispering soothing things to him as his breathing starts to calm a little. It takes time, but eventually he starts to relax, body going limp as he lays in my arms, his larger form awkwardly wrapped around mine as he depresses his face into the crook of my neck.

I barely hear his broken voice as he whispers to me.

"Thank you."

Breathing in his familiar scent, I just mould myself closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as he does the same to my neck.

"I'm here for you, John. I'm here, and I'll never leave. Not as long as I live, I promise."

#rambo x reader #rambo imagine #rambo #rambo 5 #rambo last blood #rambo 4 #sylvester Stallone #John Rambo x reader #John Rambo imagine #John Rambo

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seriouslysam8 · 3 years ago

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Hello, Sam!

I have just started reading your series Moments in Time that I saw Breanie recommended and I must say, it is absolutely wonderful so far!

Croup: This was not at all what I expected! I stumbled across this universe recommended on Breanie’s tumblr and thought I better start in order. PUH-Tunia really is a bitch! You can just see the abuse already inflicted on him and he’s only three! The mental anguish of a three year old being told he can’t have nice things because he breaks them can’t have been good for poor Harry! No wonder’s so unsure of everything later on. Yelling at him because he’s sick like it’s his fault! Im surprised she even gave him medicine! Wanting him to sleep outside in the “frigid air” and only deciding not to because the neighbours might see really says a lot about her personality. Ive never read anything from Petunia’s point of view before but well done. I hate her even more than before. I look forward to following this new adventure that is your moments in time universe. Great read!

The Boggart of Grimmauld Place: This was just so heartwarming! Harry getting to spend even a little time with Remus and Sirius at Grimmauld Place was what was missing from canon. Memories of his grandparents, learning about them. It was just lovely! When Harry is ashamed of wanting Sirius to embrace him a little longer my heart ached for that poor boy who never got to feel real hugs and affection. He thinks he should be ashamed for wanting to feel it and he shouldnt! I blame for petunia for that. I meant to say that in Croup how she touched his forehead to check for a fever and he flinched like he’d been expecting her to hit him. Poor poor little Harry. I love how you play on the connection here between Harry and Sirius and even parallel it to the Potters and Weasleys. Harry being surprised that he would be in Sirius’ will at all. Harry just being surprised that people care about him. Makes me want to just give him a hug! What abeautiful story! Thank you.

Hide and Seek: This was so fun! I love the thought of them all playing hide and seek in Grimmauld Place and everyone joining in! Remus and Tonks making out in the cupboard was the best! It was definitely my favourite part and Sirius just teasing them! Hermione thinking something happened between Harry and Ginny. I loved how Harry opened up a little to Ginny. You could see he was actually really comfortable with her in a way he’s not with people. Absently massaging her wrist, touching her. He was caught up in her without realizing he was caught up in her. Adorable! The second addition was wonderful! I love how Ginny just took control, loosening his tie, taking off his jumper�� they are the superior couple! While I am a tad disappointed to not see them making out at the end, I loved this story. Thank you.

Seventeen: Wow! This was a story I didn’t know I needed. Harry and Ron lovingly admitting they’re brothers warms my soul. I love that touch of giving them matching watches! Was that canon? If not it should be. Mrs weasley feeling guilty over Sirius is so like her. She loves and cares for Harry as if he’s her own son and it’s wonderful to see. The last bit with Ginny was perfect! They definitely had to do more than the uninterrupted kiss and I love how Harry just basked in her. The end made me so sad! His heart breaking over missing her birthday, lost opportunities. Very beautifully done! These one-shots are amazing and I look forward to reading more of them. Thank you.

The Demise of Walburga Black: This was absolutely amazing! The image you crafted of them laughing like lunatics as they destroyed her portrait was awesome! What I like most so far about your writing is how you gently weave in Harry’s relationship with the Weasleys. I love the idea of George moving in with him and Ron, that Harry would offer his home to him like that. I love that Harry goes to Mr Weasley for renovation advice. I think its so hot that Harry would renovate the Muggle way (so sexy to see men in a tool belt and I’m going to assume he’s shirtless and sweaty). I love that it was Angelina’s idea and how you casually had Ron toss in that George and Angelina were already sleeping together. George not really being drunk, is that because he drank a lot to cope with Fred’s death? I think it is. Harry’s reaction to being caught by Mrs Weasley, how his guilt eases into pleasure that Mrs Weasley would call both himself and Ron George’s “younger brothers” and his glee in being lectured by her in a motherly fashion. And dont even get me started on the scene with Ginny! The way he gushed on his drunken ramblings about making a home with her and wanting to raise a family and her not wanting to get her hopes up because he’s so drunk! I laughed out loud when Harry said that drunk Harry wants to do dirtier things with her or something like that. Just wonderful all around! Where’s Teddy in this story? I know he lives with Andromeda in canon but I thought I read that you have Harry raising him. Ah well, maybe the next tale will answer that question! Thank you.

That’s all I’ve had time to read so far, but I just wanted to say thank you for writing such a rich and vast universe! I can definitely see why Breanie recommends you so much! I have a few questions if you don’t mind.

1) What made you decide to write a story about Harry’s early childhood from the point of view of Petunia instead of Harry?

2) Do you think Petunia and Vernon physically abused Harry when he was little? It’s fairly obvious he had psychological abuse, but do you think there was more?

3) Do you think Ron and Hermione knew Harry had never played childish games like hide and seek as a child? Do you think the others knew and that’s why they all agreed to join in?

4) When do you think Harry actually started to notice Ginny? Was it in his fifth year and he just didn’t realize or do you think it was later? There is the scene where she puts him in his place over the possession bit and of course when they get kicked out of the library together. What are your thoughts?

5) Was it canon that Ron and Harry have the watches of Mrs Weasley’s brothers?

6) Do you believe George could handle his alcohol better because of his age or were you insinuating he had become accustomed to the drink after losing Fred?

7) Where is Teddy when Harry lives at Grimmauld Place? From the summaries of your stories I got the impression Harry raised him. But I haven’t read any further so I may be wrong.

Sorry for so many questions, but I am curious. I look forward to reading more. Thank you for your time. You’re amazing and I love your work! Thank you.

I have been following your review journey and getting more and more excited the further you get into the universe!! I am going to try my damndest to answer all these asks you’ve sent today but I have an incredibly busy weekend, so it may take me a little bit to answer them all especially if you’re asking specific questions since I won’t have access to my computer a lot. So, I will answer all your asks, but give me the weekend because I want to give you the best and most detailed answers I can!

1.) Honestly, Croup and Brontide (I promise, no spoilers) are the reason I started this as a series. I mentioned Harry had croup a lot as a child in Brontide and then wanted to write a companion piece. I thought, what better way to demonstrate Harry’s childhood then telling a story through Petunia’s POv because she’s absolutely horrible. Plus, I didn’t think I could get into the mindset of any other POV for that story.

2.) I definitely think there was physical abuse as well. It’s indicated in the books (Harry knowing to dodge away from a frying pan or something). So, I do feel they did physically abuse him as well. He has a few scars to show from it.

3.) No, I don’t think they knew. Maybe some suspected it but not know. I think everyone was just sick of cleaning Grimmauld Place and wanted to do something fun. It didn’t matter it was a child’s game. They just wanted something to do.

4.) I think he started to like Ginny as a friend in fifth year. I think he started to notice her as someone more than just Ron’s little sister. I don’t even think he noticed how he felt comfortable around her in fifth year either. I like to think all the dots started to connect earlier than 6th year but Harry just didn’t know what it all meant. Then 6th year come and he’s like crap… I really her! But it was building, unknowingly, to Harry before then. Ginny had been slowly forming into her own person in Harry’s mind and he felt comfortable and liked what he saw. He just didn’t connect it romantically at that time.

5.) No, the watches isn’t canon. I wish it was though. Honestly, when I wrote it, I totally forgot they mentioned Ron getting a brand new watch in canon until months after I wrote the story.

6.) George was a bit of an alcoholic after the war. It’s mentioned more in-depth in Brontide. But he definitely held his alcohol better because he has been spiraling into alcohol abuse for months by that point.

7.) So, again it’s mentioned in Brontide, but Teddy lived with Andromeda for the first year of his life before Harry gained custody of him. Andromeda didn’t feel comfortable with Harry raising Teddy at first. Once she got to know him and see how much Harry cared for Teddy, she handed over custody to Harry so that Teddy could live a more normal life and have parents and siblings.

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shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years ago

Text

december 14 - vinny mauro

title: party foul

++++

prompt: We accidentally knocked into each other in the hallway at the christmas party. but When you looked to the ceiling annoyed you noticed the mistletoe

request from: @kind-as-sunshine

tag list: @musicsexandpizza69 @svintsandghosts @alilpunkrock @theoneandonlykymberlee @cynic-spirit @thisplace-ishaunted @lifeisabitchandsoareyou @joeynihil @xyours-eternallyx

++++

i sat on the couch and laughed, watching ricky and ryan play beer pong with their girlfriends, each hyping the other up. the guys had decided to throw a christmas party and i was beyond excited, it had been a hot minute since i had seen or talked to any of them, especially vinny. I glanced over at him, noticing him staring at me before quickly looking away when I caught him. I smiled to myself, looking to the floor for a second.

"Having fun?"

Chris asked, taking my attention and offering a glass of egg nog. I nodded quickly, taking it as he sat down beside me.

"This is the first one of these I've been to in a while."

He said, looking around at everyone playing their own games. I took a small sip.

"I'm glad you decided to come. These little get togethers are always more fun with you here."

I joked, nudging his arm and making him laugh lightly to himself.

"Gee thanks."

He said, taking a drink.

"This isn't really my scene."

He motioned around the room with his hand and I shrugged.

"You can always make it your scene."

I said, looking up as Vinny walked by with a huff. I drew my brows.

"Yeah, sure I can."

He said as I watch Vinny walking past everyone, even those that tried to catch his attention.

"Hey, I'll be right back."

I said standing.

"Want me to hold that?"

He asked and I looked back down at him, not quite sure what he'd asked.

"Uh, yeah, sure."

I said, handing it to him and taking off towards Vinny. I walked around the living room area, trying to catch up but he was walking too fast.

"Hey y/n,"

Justin said, catching my arm. I inhaled deeply as he disappeared from my sight.

"Yeah?"

I asked, looking to Justin. He smiled and laughed.

"You okay? You seem a little frazzled."

He said and I nodded, looking to the doorway Vinny had left through.

"Okay, well we were wondering if you wanted to work on something with us."

He said and I finally really looked at him, standing next to shae. I liked her dress, I think this was the first time I'd seen her since I'd arrived. I nodded.

"Uh yeah, I've gotta do something right now but talk to me when I get back."

I said, touching his arm lightly and taking off again. I walked through the doorway, slowly striding down the hall. It was longer than I was anticipating, this was the first time I'd been here after all and wasn't exactly expecting the large house. I looked in each room that was open but was coming up empty handed. I sighed as I noticed only two doors left. As I went to look in the one I was met chest to chest with Vinny, running into him.

"Jesus y/n watch where you're going."

He said harshly and I frowned.

"Sorry but I, uh, I was looking for you."

He drew his brows.

"Why?"

I cleared my throat.

"You uh, I uh, wanted to know if you were okay."

He raised his brows and nodded, annoyed.

"Last I checked."

He tried to side step me but I stopped him with my hand, pushing him back into place.

"What is you're deal lately?

I snapped. He just stood there and stared down at me.

"I don't have a deal."

I sent him a look.

"Then why don't you talk to me anymore? Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

He laughed, tilting his head up and I could see his body tense. I looked up too, my eyes going wide as I realized what was in the doorway. He looked back down at me just as shocked. He pointed up to it.

"That. That is why I've been avoiding you."

He said and I looked at him confused.

"Mistletoe?"

I asked and he nodded.

"Every time I look at you I can't stop thinking about kissing you, so I figured it was better if I just didn't."

He said, looking to the floor and rubbing his arm haphazardly. I laughed a little to myself and when he looked at me I could tell he was a little hurt by it.

"It's not funny."

He said and I shook my head.

"Oh no, it really is. I've been talking to chris-"

"Of course you have."

He said, rolling his eyes.

"I've been talking to Chris,"

I repeated.

"Because Ive been trying to figure out a way to get you to ask me out."

He looked at me with wide eyes.

"Wait, really?"

He asked bewildered and I nodded.

"Yes you big dork."

I said, punching his arm lightly.

"Wow."

He said, finally cracking a smile.

"What do you say?"

I asked and he nodded.

"Give me a time and place and I'm there."

He said, making me laugh again.

"And till then what are we gonna do about that?"

I asked, pointing back to the mistletoe above us. He shrugged.

"Rules are rules y/n, I guess we have to kiss."

I could feel a blush creeping its way up my neck as he pushed the hair out of my face.

"I guess you're right."

I said softly as he leaned down. It felt like ages before our lips finally connected but it was pure bliss when they finally did. It was like the first time, but in a good way. When he pulled away he rested his forehead against mine, smiling like an idiot.

"So,"

He said, taking my hand in his.

"About that date..."

#25 days of christmas requests #vinny mauro #miw #imagines #one shots #x reader

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crowsent · 4 years ago

Text

a fuckton of things i want in da4

a few words censored bc tumblr will swallow this in the void if i dont. long ass fuck list ahead

a romanceable dwarf

more romanceable elves/qunari

more elf/qunari/dwarf companions

consistent writing for once

more nb representation

good hair. please just give me good hair options. give me long hair. give me luxurious flowing locks. give me braids. give me good fucking hair options

let me shittalk the chantry

dalish elf npcs that impact the plot in unique ways

dalish elf companions that are proud of being dalish

if it is set in tevinter maybe uh. maybe address the issue of systemic oppression (and slavery) of elves???????

a return of the friendship/rivalry system in da2 but improved. maybe instead of a friendship rivalry sliding scale its friendship/rivalry/animosity sliding scale. bc rivalry is more like. two people pushing each other to be better than they were before. friendly competition. hes an idiot but hes my idiot kind of deal. animosity would be just regular disapproval. i liked the crisis cutscenes in dai so high animosity would be the same as low approval and might make the companion leave still, but theres more variety with high approval. high approval “friendship” would be the “were best friends and we share many opinions and agree on almost everything” while high approval “rivalry” being “we disagree on almost everything but goddamn it youre my friend and ill follow you into the fade if i have to” so you can have a high approval with someone instead of being a kissass

actions and choices having consequences again

multiple endings again (epilogue slideshows dont count)

dialogue wheels with descriptions that match what you actually say

characters from rivain, antiva, anderfels, etc

gifts. bring back the gifts. i want to give my companions gifts

maybe. maybe a focus of non-andrastian religion for once?

let me shittalk the chantry

i know its a stretch, but maybe. diverse skin colours. please?

nd characters that are written respectfully and treated w dignity

please bring back the talent wheel from dao and da2

more bi romance options

more wlw romance options

more mlm romance options

ace romance options

nb romance options

background romances

let me shittalk the chantry

far fetched but maybe a polycule?

i lowkey LOVED the fast-paced feel of da2s combat so maybe bring that back in some form? maybe improved to mesh with the tactics of dai to give players absolute freedom of playstyle whether they want to be like me and rush into every encounter or play more strategically

companions with unique companion abilities

would be nice to explore cities

would be nice if the open world were a little smaller so it doesnt feel empty all the gd time

more mage spells. mages felt like just another class of fighter to me in dai. they dont really have any awe-inducing wow factor like in dao or even da2. if the narrative wants me to believe that mages are powerful and dangerous and that it takes multiple templars to hunt down an apostate, maybe show that? give me strong mages

remove the jump ability. its pointless

a narrative that addresses the oppression that the chantry and templars perpetuated please

bring back the attributes

make the choices in dai matter. mages governing themselves? i wanna see that

let me shittalk the chantry

please bring back the healing magic for fucks sakes

multi-class system between rogues and warriors?

multiple specialisations that feel like specialisations and not just skill tree+

player-only skill trees

hardening

companion quests that affect their abilities and further dialogue

actual morally grey choices instead of this stupid mage freedom vs templar oppression narrative that is in no way morally grey but is presented as such and thus leaves the conflicts and narratives set up by dao and da2 to be fucking meaningless

bring back the tactics

would be nice to have an origins-esque prologue again. maybe one that would determine future events in game just to give your character better narrative cohesion with the plot

an approval/disapproval system but for companions with other companions. bringing certain companions together may bring them closer or make them pissed off with each other which affects banter maybe quests maybe combat

give me a fucking mabari bioware. give me back my fucking mabari

day/night cycle

a nightmare mode where you have to finish the main quest on a time limit. it is absurd that dai expects me to believe that i have all this time to do wartable missions that can take literal real life DAYS to finish and still thwart corypheus’ plans in time. bullshit

that said. no more wartable missions. waiting for a countdown to finish isnt very fun

let me shittalk the chantry

kal-sharok. ive been hearing about it since dao let me fucking see kal-sharok

dwarven politics

politics in general. my fav dao quest was the succession crisis plotline in orzammar/the landsmeet and wewh in dai

npcs i can talk to. even with generic dialogue like in dao. makes the world more alive

using the environment to your advantage. far fetched but i would love to be able to pull down boulders if were in the mountains or freeze water to get to places as a mage

home base customisation but the customisation choices you make actually. mean something. and do something. or at the very least give more companion dialogue/banter/approval change

laconic and ergonomic codexes. like. sorted by what kind of codex it is, etc etc but then you just get a brief summary of the codex and the option to read more about it so i dont spend eternity scrolling through cards looking for a specific codex entry. cool aesthetic dont get me wrong but real irritating to deal with. also. maybe. the pc making comments about the codex if you do read more about it? like a dalish elf saying “they got it all wrong” when reading a codex about dalish elves written by a human??? that would a) give character to the pc b) incentivise people to actually read the codex to see what was so wrong about it c) summarise the codex for people who want to learn the lore but dont want to spent the entire game reading text

maybe have the merchants in your home base close to crafting stations so you dont have to take a fucking hike if you miscounted the amount of elfroot you need?

let me shittalk the chantry

avvar companion maybe??? interesting lore right there

bring back stat requirements for weapons and remove the class restriction for most shit. obviously a dagger would be better for a rogue than a longsword and a mage would do better with a staff than a sword and shield but its not about efficiency. its about the roleplay. its about the options. give me the option to make a mage with wildly inappropriate stat distribution

bring back sustained mode abilities

traps. bring back traps. bring back the option to stealth into an area, trap the fuck out of it, and go from there

have the three available classes in kind of a rock paper scissors scenario. warriors do real well against rogues who do real well against mages who do real well against warriors. so you can plan your party depending on who/what youll face AND how much their approval will change during the quest you take them on

let me shittalk the chantry

actually resolve the plot points introduced in dai

a more threatening villain. the inquisitor thwarted every attempt made by corypheus in dai. he was not threatening at all

queer characters. background, companions, etc. queer characters

mounts were meh in dai. maybe. make them faster? or less cumbersome? or have your companions on mounts too so theres still banter?

i liked the armour tinting. let me have armour tinting from the beginning

i would really like mages to move and attack at the same time bc lowkey standing in one spot is uhhhhhhh kinda boring

let me check companions friendship/rivalry levels

would be nice if the narrative acknowledged that elves suffered greatly at the hands of the chantry and stopped victim-blaming them

more taverns. specifically like tapsters in dao where theres a dwarf just reciting something in a language i cant understand and if you look its a ballad/poet about dwarven culture and that was a real nice touch let me have that

dalish elf clan. dalish elf clan that does not get murdered please and thank you

meaningful quests. more cinematic dialogue

make found gear / quest reward gear more valuable than crafted gear

game modifiers like in dai were real nice. i want more

let me shittalk the chantry

quests that can be resolved in multiple ways. like connors fate in dao. and for those ways to impact further quests

companions with varying moral alignments

companions that are mutually exclusive (like alistair and loghain) but are both good companions so itd really make you think

a pc that IS NOT a “chosen one” vanilla da2 is my fav dragon age game for one reason and one reason only and that is because hawke is just some random refugee who escaped lothering. no chosen one magic at all. just an ordinary person who is a real good fighter. and that appealed to me more than this “you are the only one who can do it” narrative

let me meet more elvhen gods

if the setting is in tevinter, GIVE ME FUCKING ARCHITECTURE. give me the high spires, the archways, the buttresses, give me statues lining city gates and magic infused into the buildings. tevinter is a land ruled by MAGES give me magical architecture. give me floating buildings. give me fire floating as orbs above the streets like lamps. GIVE ME ARCHITECTURE

SHALE

let me shittalk the chantry

PIERCINGS GIVE ME FUCKING PIERCINGS BIOWARE

more main quests, longer main quests

if it is set in tevinter maybe. maybe address the fact that tevinter has been at war with the qunari for a while? on and off war is still war. and maybe give us the option to influence the outcome of that war?

more voice options. instead of just american voice or british voice, do the thing in dao again where there are multiple voices of different tones to further cement the pcs personality

more armour designs

biased but uh. can. can taliesen jaffe va a character?

i already said qunari companions but specifically saarebas companions

blood magic

FINISHING MOVE ANIMATIONS

please do not let it be as long as inquisition. inquisition was a SLOG in later playthroughs

body sliders. what if i want a tall but lanky qunari? what if i want a buff as shit elf? body sliders

more eye options

let me call out companions

btw bioware. if you really wanted cullen to be a good guy. maybe handle his fucking redemption arc a little better instead of retconning all the terrible and creepy shit hes done in the past k thx

can female walk/run animations not have. so much swaying hips? no one moves like that

personality dialogue that affects future dialogue like in da2 but meshed with the wider range of emotions introduced by dai

keep the race/s*x lock on romance candidates like in dai. keep the fact that some characters can only be romanced by certain races or s*xes

nb and genderqueer options for the pc

cutscenes of companions interacting

ngl i lowkey liked the random encounters of dao so maybe bring that back

my fav quest in dao is the landsmeet / orzammar succession crisis questline but you know whats my second favourite? the rescue mission if the warden gets captured and you have to play as your party members. give me that again

more creepy/dark shit. dai was too lighthearted for me esp after da2 and dao

let me shittalk the chantry

broodmothers. in hd.

red lyrium broodmothers. in hd

companions with different backgrounds. different faiths. different statuses. different families. etc

maybe make the pcs appearance make an impact on the story? like how bull says he likes redheads, but even if you are a redhead, he says nothing about it????? maybe keep track of which slider the player picks so that can affect the story?

i love my inquisitors but maybe. dont. bring the inquisitor in as anything more than an advisor/npc in this game? let me fall in love with a new pc???

if theres gonna be a homebase like skyhold where youre not in armor. maybe give us better clothing?

a kind of gear skin mechanic similar to ac:odyssey where you can change how the gear looks but keep the stats. so you can equip that higher level armour and keep the look and aesthetic of your old armour and you unlock the skins/looks of the armours you discover/make so you can be both powerful AND aesthetic

i enjoyed the nobility/underworld/arcane/etc knowledge in dai unlocking more dialogue options so maybe keep/expand on that but make it more accessible by side missions or companions or something that isnt the abysmal perk system in dai

let me shittalk the chantry

customisable walking animations. does the pc walk straightbacked? slouched? with a swagger? please

since there will undoubtedly be an obligatory fade sequence, maybe have an option for nightmare demons that ARENT spiders. thank you

slap on subtitles and conlang some languages. i want to hear elvish. i want to hear tevene. give me the languages

more dragons. esp if they look vastly different

more bard songs

i am completely biased here, but i would like to hear laura bailey as a va for a character. preferably a voice option for the pc

hey maybe have the true ending actually included in the base game and not in a dlc (tresppasser cough cough)

better val royeaux

please remove the had to do it to em idle animation tis distracting

on that note, more idle animations. maybe some unique to companions?

very trivial but. unique stair climbing/descending animation

bring back talking to companions on the road. maybe with some dialogue that can only be said on the road???

if banter is interrupted, make like rdr2 and pick up where the banter left off

more vallaslin designs please?

if theres another formal scene like dai maybe. give us. decent clothing. or better yet, decen clothing OPTIONS. i wanna decide how i look in a ball full of haughty orlesians

mage vs templar conflict resolved and addressed please. it is NOT resolved in dai. what we got was sequel bait and a slideshow. resolve it please

let me shittalk the chantry

a pro-mage anti-circle circle mage companion like anders

religious person who doesnt victim-blame elves in the codex or in game or anywhere please

characters more like leliana who question the chantry and acknowledge its corruption and greed

unapologetically sapphic companion

idc if its tevinter i dont want to fucking see queer people being disrespected

a true tal-vashoth companion, one who escaped from the qun

have quest decisions affect whether or not a companion will turn hostile to you or not

if IF solas will be redeemed, please do the redemption arc right

more horn options for qunari

an apostate mage who doesnt use me for their personal agenda whilst hiding something from me (morrigan, anders, solas) thanks

i really dig the whole “leader of an army” thing dai was trying to go for. but you didnt actually. lead. anything. would be nice to have that option. command soldiers. send them places that affect further quests. would even use the wartable for its intended purpose. planning wars. battles. like. you get sent word that there are bandits harassing villagers. you can set up an ambush with your soldiers or confront them headon, and theres a new mini-location on the map like the manor you meet vivienne in where you can go deal with the bandits and depending on your choices, there are actually soldiers with you in a field, or traps in a narrow pass, or even in a city. id rather the wartable shit dont return but if they have to, at least this way youre not just waiting real life time for a bunch of text to appear

i am real fucking excited for the possibility that da4 companions can just fucking die on you. good shit. give me that angst

missions that certain companions would refuse to go with you to. you know. so you actually have to use other members of your party instead of the same 3 (three) people all the goddamn time

disabled characters (i want a character who suffers from the same chronic bad leg disease as i do is that too much to ask)

kinda touched on by the da2 combat point but let me do close combat damage with the staff

no multiplayer. and if there is a multiplayer, dont tie it with achievements

let me fucking explore weisshaupt

(i dont think solas will be the endgame villain of da and i dont think da4 will be the last da game but still) again. for emphasis. resolve the plot points dai brought up

full-body scars and tattoo options

companions and npcs changing their opinions about things over time. eg: a pro-circle mage wanting instead for circles to be abolished after a specific side mission or a main quest decision etc

keep the multiple companion quests. and maybe change what kinds of companion quests are available further down depending on choices made in previous companion quests

please for fucks sake give us more characters of colour

let me shittalk the chantry

#dragon age #dragon age 4 #da4 #long post #its 3 am and i am once again putting on my clown wig bc bioware will fucking disappoint me again

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blueiscoool · 3 years ago

Photo

The 295-Foot Superyacht ‘Nero’

Superyacht fans around the world will instantly recognize Nero, the one-of-a-kind 295-footer that defines the term “modern classic.” First launched from Corsair Yachts in 2007, Nero was commissioned as a replica of the famed 300-foot Corsair IV owned by J.P. Morgan, which, when launched in 1930, was the world’s largest yacht.

British entrepreneur Neil Taylor loved the look of Corsair IV, but didn’t want the expense of restoring a vintage yacht—which would’ve been impossible with Corsair, since it had transitioned into a high-end cruise ship in Asia and eventually sank off the coast of Mexico. Instead, Taylor set about building a beautiful replica with a modern hull and interior.

Taylor actually established the Yantai Raffles Shipyard in China and hired 400 workers to build the yacht, which took nearly four years to complete. Two years after her delivery, she took Best Motor Yacht over 246 feet in the ShowBoats International Design Awards. The 1930s lookalike has since undergone two major refits, the latest just completed at San Giorgio del Porto in Genoa, Italy, to become an even more modern version of the original classic.

“Nero’s original build was fairly complex, so this refit was a great opportunity to technically upgrade her to the latest regulations,” Capt. Marcel Busse told Robb Report. “I’ve overseen numerous large refits on other boats, but this one takes the cake on many levels.”

The icing on that cake is the sundeck gym filled with Technogym equipment, including a Kinesis, treadmill, cross trainer and cardio bike. The area also has loose weights, yoga and Pilates equipment and, naturally, a certified physical trainer is part of the crew. A large Jacuzzi just steps away on the sundeck makes a perfect post-workout de-stressor.

“It used to be a ‘snug’ salon, but was underused,” says Busse. “Now it’s a fully-fledged gym with mirror-fronted storage lockers, fridge and TV. We’ve got a lot of space on the sun deck, which is monstrous compared to other boats of her size.” An 18.7-foot-long resistance pool is also located on the foredeck. The original gym has become a beauty salon and massage area.

Nero’s owners have been careful to preserve its inimitable historical look, including the long bowsprit and yellow funnel in the center. The sleek exterior lines that herald the golden age of yachting haven’t been touched, though her striking black hull and superstructure have received a fresh coat of paint. One key area that has been rehabbed: The air-conditioning system, which could spell the difference between heaven and misery on such a large yacht. “It’s key for a black-hulled boat like Nero,” says Busse.

Nero underwent a nine-month refit five years ago that included an updated interior by designer Laura Pomponi. “The owners spent a lot of time and money in 2016 upgrading the interior from dark wood to lime-washed wood with light-colored carpets,” says Busse. “We’ve maintained the lime wash and given the interior a Hamptons beach-house vibe.”

Pomponi was brought back for Nero’s most recent refit, giving the interior turquoise hues with blue and red accents. Handmade carpets run throughout, including the owner’s duplex suite with separate lounge, study and his-and-hers bathrooms. Most soft furnishings, fabrics and sofas have been replaced. In the sky lounge bar, a new maple-and-oak hardwood floor delivers a wow factor in what looks like a classic yacht.

For onboard entertainment, a newly installed and upgraded Icon Connect AV/IT system delivers the latest technology. A collection of water toys, including an inflatable slide, keep everyone happy in the water.

As part of the refit, Nero’s original custom 31-ft. limousine tender also got a makeover, with new paint and varnish, upholstery and interior lights to update her classic beauty.

Despite the classic look, Busse says the yacht has a modern hull that cruises well at 14 knots, while consuming the same amount of fuel most yachts her size would use at 12 knots. “She has two sets of stabilizers, giving her four in total, so she’s quite stable,” he says.

Nero is available for charter in the Med through Burgess Yachts, with weekly charters starting at about $590,000

By Julia Zaltzman.

#The 295-Foot Superyacht ‘Nero’#boat #ship #yacht #yachtlife #yachtcruise #luxury #luxury living #luxury lifestyle #billionaire lifestyle #rich #cash #$$$#J.P. Morgan #300-foot Corsair IV #JP Morgan's Corsair IV

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k1ngj0ve · 3 years ago

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have only gotten nice comments on my fic, which is good, mostly stuff about finding my oc funny and people enjoying conversations

im glad everyones be nice to me

but ive had this oc for like 10 years and you know how it is, hes just my Go To Guy, its been ages since ive thought things like 'hes insecure', its just 'he is Dove'

so in a sense ive sort of lost touch with What He Is Like. what are his character traits?

so hearing 'hes so funny' is very pleasing, it rings a funny little bone in my ear. Oh! Dove is Funny? Yes!!! He must be!!! wow!!

#watch me end up flanderizing my own oc now that im Aware #fingers crossed i dont think im going out of the way to do that #its mostly a 'the world alway skinda shits on him in a funny way' thing hes not cracking out standup comedy #should be okay #its just funny to meeeee #im uniquelly writing him the way i write him in rps and the way ive always written them for 10 years #usually when i strip him to Base and retrofit him to insert in an alternate universe he doesnt get written with this Tone #idunno i just like thinking about dove i love him #dove #dovetail #oc

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littlebitoffanfic · 5 years ago

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Celebration

Fandom: The Collector/The Collection Character: Asa Emory – the collector Relationship: Asa Emory/reader Request: Since I have seen you do some slashers, can I request Asa from The Collector? Something sweet where the reader works with him and is an alibi and then saves him when Arkin comes for him in the collection?

You knew him from your work although you didn’t know him well. Asa was a private man, reserved to his office and displays for the museum. You were tour guide with a hand in some of the office work. After all, the museum didn’t get an awful amount of funding to be able to employee more office workers. Today, you were happy. It was a sunny day, which meant people were less likely to come to the museum for an indoor activity. Your tours still ran ever 2 hours, but a smaller group had less questions and you could normally be done within an hour, leaving an hour free. You all but skipped down the halls like a school girl, your project held tightly in your arms as you stopped outside Dr Emory office. knocking three time, you waited for him. He towered over you, and had such a demanding presences that made you weak at the knees. Your crush on his was not unnoticed by your co-workers.

“Good morning.” You smile, trying your best to work through the flutters in your chest. “Its 1.30.” he stated, his eyes unreadable. “Oh, well, good afternoon. Could I steal a few minutes of your time?” You ask, nearly slapping yourself in the face for your mistake. His eyes darted to the folder in your arms and he stepped aside, allowing you to enter. This was a privilege in itself. Barely anyone was allowed within his office. But Asa seemed to tolerate you more than the others. Perhaps because you were his neighbour. Now that had truly been a happy accident. His previous neighbour was selling and you were looking for somewhere when you moved here. It just so happened that your neighbour to your left was also a co-worker. Entering his office was like entering a new world. The walls were decorated with various bugs throughout different ages in their lives. Butterfly’s, beetles and roaches but the most prominent member of his displays were spiders. Your attention was drawn to a particular specimen. Pinned in a shadow box was a blue spider. The sign under called it a Cobalt Blue Tarantula. “Wow, those markings are fascinating.” You mumble aloud, more to yourself that to the mans whos office you were in. “Truly. The Cyriopagopus lividum.. native to the borders of Thailand.” Asa speaks so fondly of the dead creature that it makes you smile slightly. There was no denying his love for his work. “Are they venomous?” You ask, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, but the venom not strong enough to kill an adult human. Although its not pleasant.” Asa walks past you to his desk and drawing you from your thoughts. “Now, you wanted something?” “Yes, I was wondering if you might help me with an exhibition.” You hold out the folder to him as you sit at the other side of his desk. He takes it and opens it, showing a sort of mood board you had put together ranging from other exhibitions to enclosures to photo life-spans of certain creatures. “an exhibition?” His eyes flick up to meet your own with curiosity. In truth, you hated how under appreciated he was at the museum and his knowledge should be put to good use. “Yes, for insects. Of course, I’d do most of the work, but I’d really apricate someone who I can fact check with and can offer some insight.” You smile sweetly, and the small smile that pulled at Asa’s lips told you that he was in.

-------------time skip ------------------

Your time spend with the entomologist was one of the most pleasant and interesting interactions you had had in a while. Walking to his office, you held your papers in your hands. You were about to knock when you heard voices inside. Pressing your ear against the door, you listened. “Dr Emory, unless you can provide an alibi for your whereabouts on Saturday evening, we will have enough to arrest you under suspicious of connection with the collector killings.” A voice spoke with authority. Your heart stopped. The collector killings had fascinated you ever since they had come to light. And Asa, well, he was a private man. If they were threatening such a thing, there must be something behind it. And you wanted to know. The two men that seemed to cloud your thoughts could be one. Your mind thought quickly as you came up with a plan. Knocking on the door, you walked in without waiting – something you never really did. Once inside, you acted like a deer in headlights. Two men sat opposite Asa’s desk in suits. “oh, sorry. Are you from the board?” You asked sincerely but you didn’t let them answer before quickly adding. “Look, Dr Emory and I are neighbours. Its perfectly reasonable for us to spend our evenings and weekends in each others company. Besides, if Tiffany told you about us, she has been having an affair with the janitor.” You could tell Asa was just as stunned as you were. One of the men smiled and stood. “You don’t need to be alarmed, miss. We are from the investigations team.” He then presented his ID badge to you. “Oh, gosh. I am so sorry.” You looked stunned, despite already knowing. “Its okay. But I am interested in what you said. Do you know where Dr Emory was on Saturday evening between 5pm and 11pm?” The man leaned back on Asa’s desk while the other twisted to fully look at you. “He was with me.” You said, talking to the two detectives. “At my house.” “with you? He said he was home alone.” The one with the strong jaw line narrowed his eyes at you. “Yes, well, its not against any policies, our director has been known to fire people for having… interpersonal relationships with colleagues. We’d agreed to keep it a secret. He would have been trying to protect me, in case this got out to the others.” You explain to them, not daring to look at Asa. You knew you were playing with fire here. But what you said wasn’t a stretch. The director had fired a member of the geology department… for sleeping with his wife in astrology. He really cared what staff did as long as they did their job. And didn’t fuck his wife. “Is this true?” He asked Asa, who gave a single nod. “And is there anyone who can corroborate this?” The detective asked you, more kindly than the others. “Not really. As I said, it was a secret so I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. Although, you can ask half the staff in this building and they’ll tell you that ive had a crush on the man since I moved here, and they know we have been spending more time together. They are so fond of teasing me for it anyway.” You manage to draw a chuckle from one as he jabbed the other detective in the shoulder which earned a smile. Apparently, there was a similar situation going on where they were. “Right, well, we’d better be on our way. We’ll be back in touch soon.” The one sitting rose to his feet, nodding to both you and Asa before he and his partner left. They left and the door had closed for a brief moment before you felt someone grab your arm and you were twisted to meet Asa. He didn’t say anything and his cheeks were slightly red, but his ears were bright red. “So, you are the collector?” You breathe, looking up at him with a small smile tugging on your lips. “What do you want?” He growled, his voice low and menacing. Oh, he wasn’t happy. “I want to know.” You breath, stepping closer to him. “You take parts, right? What do you do with them? Keep mementos? Are you making something?” His nostrils flares out, obviously angry. You understood. You had let yourself into his world, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He couldn’t kill you because it would point the fingers back to him. No, it was smart to keep you close. He let out an exasperated sigh, reaching up and pinching his brow. “look, once this has blown over for you, I wont say a word. I don’t expect anything for it. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.” You reassured him. “Why?” His eyes narrow at you, but you shrug. “honestly, you fascinate me.” You confess to the man, even more intrigued than before. You saw the smirk that twitched at the side of his mouth.

----------------- time skip ------------

The world of the collector was one you never dreamed you would see inside, and you loved it. It took trust to get him to let you see. First you saw the inside of the hotels lobby, then some traps, then some of the beautiful creations he made, then his prize possession. you never participated, but you provided a bit more support for him, offering help from the side lines in exchange for information and his time. If he was suspicious of you, he couldn’t deny the genuine interest in your eyes as he spoke, or how you hung on every word of his. He seemed to love how you marvelled at everything with a child-like innocents. Wide eyes and a curious mind. He kept you very close, at work and in your personal lives. It took 5 months in total for the cops to ease up off of Asa, but they still occasionally found their way to his house, watching it. He would come to yours in those situations, still keeping the façade up that you were in some kind of relationship. Not that you cared. You found that the two of you had a lot in common which made the time easily spent. Of course, his dogs loved you. When you came round to his, they were pawing at the floor to get to you but waited for their master to give them the signal to move. They really were puppies at heart. Also, sometimes you thought Asa just said they were there to spend time with you. Either way, you didn’t mind. Tonight, you were buried in a book when a harsh knock at your door made you jump but you hurried to answer it, finding a slightly wet Asa. You smiled, stepping aside and allowing him to step in. “You’d think the police budget within the millions by how much they come around.” You giggle, helping his jacket off his shoulders to hang up to dry. He hummed in response, wiping his face with a hand to try get the stray rain droplet off. “So, how was your recent game?” you asked as he followed you into the living room, where you had been reading. You collapsed back into the couch and held your book on your lap. “Uneventful. No one worthy to take.” He mused as he walked over to your book shelf and pulled out the book he had been reading last time. As he returned to your sofa to sit beside you – a show for the police outside – the book fell open to the page he had been reading. But instead of the paperclip he had been using to keep his place, it was a book mark. A novelty bookmark that you had swiped from the gift shop. It was one of those fake 3D ones, with spiders moving on green leaf’s. You raised your book over your mouth to hide your grin. “very amusing.” He soft chuckle left his lips as he placed it to the side. You giggled, moving to reposition yourself. Your sofa faced the TV which was to the right of the window. Meaning anyone who walked by outside could see in. but it was a quiet neighbourhood. Apart from the undercover police. You lay on the sofa, your legs draped over Asa’ lap which you rested your head on some pillows propped up against the arm rest. Asa rose the book without tearing his eyes away from it to allow your legs to move before lowering to rest his forearms on your knee and thighs. Despite being a bit of a play for the police, it began to feel a little more real. You would engage him in conversation through out the evening, and he would tear his attention away from the book to ask you about your day. In fact, you had started to think that Asa had missed this. With the police’s interest dwindling, so had his trips. Even your encounters in work were now limited as you had finished your exhibition. Or many it was just the part of you that had fallen so madly in love with the man that wished he wanted your company. Your eyes left the page to glance at his face. mature features with intelligent eyes. You hated how he could make your heart stop. Maybe this was fake to him, but it was so real to you. Turning your attention back to your book, you didn’t look up until the sun had fully set. Glancing at the clock, you were surprised to see it was nearly 10pm. “Gosh, I swear I’ll never get use to these changing sunsets. Every year it takes me by surprise.” You sit up, stretching as Asa chuckles. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek before lifting your legs off his lap to stand up. Asa followed, and you smiled when he marked his page with the bookmark you had gotten him. “You’re nearly finished. I told you it’s a page turner.” You nodded to the book, which he was nearly finished save for 50 pages. “Yes, all the more reason to come back.” He shot a look over his shoulder that made you smirk. Playful teasing had become something you adored in the man. It was another reason that made you doubt this was fake. They couldn’t hear what was happening, so why play around. Sliding the book back into the slot, he picked up the remote which had been forgotten on the sofa to go to the window and place it on the stand. A ploy for him to see if they were still watching the house. “I think you’re right. They get far too much funding. It could be going to the museum.” He mused as he turned back to you. Maybe they needed to see more. Or maybe you wanted more. Just to test the waters. Walking up to him, you reach up and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me?” You whisper to him, pressing your body against his own. Wide eyes met your own and you couldn’t help but giggle. “They can see through the window.” That was enough to encourage the man to duck down, pressing a kiss to your lips. he could have lightly kissed your lips and pulled away after a few moment, but he didn’t. In fact, you were sure he had forgotten all about the car outside. His arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled tight against his strong chest as his lips fought your own for dominance which you quickly surrendered. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, making you moan as reach up and place your hand on the back of his head near his neck to keep his mouth to your own. Not like he was pulling away any time soon. you felt him push you backwards and you allowed him to push you till your back hit the wall and he pinned you to it. they couldn’t see you anymore, but you didn’t care. Raising your right leg, you hooked it around his hip as his hand trailed down your side and followed the curve to your thigh, holding you in that position. He was driving you crazy, his touch was like fire as you cling to him. When he does pull back, you are left a panting mess with rosy cheek. But his tell was his red ears despite the smirk on his lips. “So, tell me, where does the line between fake and real stop?” he asks, keeping his face close to your own. “With a kiss like that.” You bite your lower lip, completely aware of how his hand had kept your leg hooked on his hip. “The police aren’t outside. They left over an hour ago.” Asa’s voice was low, barely about a whisper. “They did?” You raise your eye brows at him. A nod answers your question and you were left pondering your next move. “Good.” As leans down, sealing his lips over your own.

-----time skip ------

You were sitting in your living room, half heartedly flicking through the channel when you notice Asa’ car drive past your window. Smiling, you turn off the TV and grab your small bag. It was a Friday, which meant that Asa worked late. But it also meant you would be staying over with him. A few weeks ago, shit had really hit the fan. You really didn’t know what happened, expect that the hotel was burned to the ground, and Asa only just escaped with his life. He was badly hurt, and you were thankful that he had taken a week off for holidays. It had been holidays he was going to spend with you in his cabin up north, but plans changed. You stayed by his side during his recovery. Asa had lost nearly everything that night. His creations, his sanctuary, his dogs, his prizes. But he had been thankful to come home to you. He had extended his own holiday but you returned to work the next week. He said he had fallen while on a hike so no one questioned his cuts and bruising when he did go back. You took your bag and left your home for the evening, locking it up as you set to go to Asa. He had regained most of his energy and health back, which you were hoping he might be up for something a little more… activity related tonight. The lingerie in your bag certainly hoped so. he was already out the car and into the house as you walked up. But something caught your eye. In his living room, there was someone hiding in the corner. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognised the man. His name was Arkin. He had been the one who had escaped Asa, the one who caused his injuries. You only recognised him because Asa had pointed him out when the new came on one evening. And you highly doubted that he was here to say a friendly hello. Running around the back, you ducked under the window so as not to be seen. You ditched your bag in a bush as you made your way to the back door just as you heard heavy metal music blare through the house. You wanted to scream to Asa, but the glint you had seen in Arkins hands wasn’t enough to tell you if it was a gun or a knife. Slipping into his kitchen, you heard the music being turned off and then silence. You took a large knife from the knife block on the counter and held it as if to stab. And you were willing to. Then you slowly opened the bottom draw, which had some duct tape in it. You round the edge, only slightly pulling it off. If you were going to hurt someone, they cant make a lot of sound. You moved into the hallway which connected to the living room and dinning room. “All those insects. You’re quite the collector.” A voice, Arkins voice spoke, making you pause as you made sure no one knew you were here. “In a 200 mile radios from where we last saw each other, there are 14 licensed entomologists. You were number 12.” As Arkin spoke, you moved slowly down the hallway, looking behind you ever second in case someone else was here. “Your daddy ran a museum, didn’t he? Fucked you up real good.” His words made you feel sick. Asa never spoke of his father. His mother was held with high regard, and he said he wanted you to meet her when she was next in town. But he had shut off when you asked about his father. Arkin was right. “Turn around.” You pressed your back against the wall as you inched closer to the doorway. Tape in your left hand, the edge taped to your finger, and the knife in the other. You could see from the glass display cabinet that Asa and Arkin were standing face to face near the entrance to the dinning room. Arking had his back to you. And a gun raised at Asa’ face. Fear rushed through you as the analogy of ‘don’t bring a knife to a gun fight’ flooded your mind. “Are you here to kill me?” Asa spoke with a calmness you couldn’t fathom. “No. that would be too nice. First im gonna make sure feel everything that I felt. Then im gonna kill you.” You could hear the smugness in his voice. “So that you can never hurt anyone-“ He was cut off as Asa lunged at him. But Arkin gave a swift jab to the face, causing him to tumble back. Into a red box. Your gasp was covered as Arkin flipped the box and started slamming the lid shut again and again, growling “fuck you.” Before the lack closed. he stepped back, gasping for air. He thought he was alone. Darting into the room, you raise the knie and bought it down into his right shoulder and an angle. He instantly dropped the gun. Letting go of the knife for a moment, you grabbed the roll of tape and started wrapping it round and round his mouth. He had only just managed to let out a cry of pain as his legs gave way under him. He reached up, struggling so you grabbed the knife and pulled it from the flesh. Using the sharp, bloodstained blade, you cut the tape and he collapsed to the ground moaning. You gave him a quick kick in the face before kicked the gun that had fallen out of reach. The last thing you needed was neighbours calling the police for gunfire at the house. You raced over to the box. “Asa, its me.” You reassured him through the small walls in case he tried to attack whoever opened the box. When you pulled the lid open, he scrambled to his feet, the anger in his eyes blazing as he found his attacker on the floor. Arkin was groaning, unable to move just yet but you were sure he’d be up and about soon enough. “Your hands.” You whispered, reaching out and taking his right hand which was covered in blood from Arkin slamming the box down. Your heart broke. He had not long healed. Arkin began to come around, his eyes darting between the two of you as he realized what had happened. He looked at you with an unimaginable about of rage and anger in his eyes as he tried to scream. Asa darted forward, twisting him around and pinning him to the ground, a knee in his back and his hand pressing on the new wound. “The tape.” He commanded of you, and you immediately grabbed the duct tape which had rolled away slightly. Finding the end, you saw Asa grabbing Arkins left hand and you mirrored with his right. Bringing them forcefully behind his back, you taped them in place, then went to tape his ankles together. Once satisfied, Asa hauled the man off the ground and threw him into the box, the lid closing over with the force. Asa flipped the latch. Looking him inside. You didn’t realise you were panting and shaking until Asa was looking at you. Racing forward, you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his chest. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He ask, holding him as tightly as you could. A bloody hand stroked your cheek as another rubbed your back to sooth you. “No, you got here right on time.” There was a softness to his voice that made you melt as you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m too late to be a guard dog. Ludwig or Vivaldi wouldn’t have let him get close enough to hurt you.” You shake your head as you pull back, taking his hands in your own once again to inspect the damage. But he turned his hands over and took your own. “How about we go up to the cabin this weekend?” Asa askes, his question not very well fitted for the currant moment. “huh?” Your eyes glanced to the box which was moving slightly as Arkin struggled. “Oh, we’ll take him. And, since I am out of commission right now, perhaps I can show you some tricks.” Asa smirked as your eyes light up at his words. “Yes!” You bounce on the balls of your feet. You went up on your tiptoes to kiss him, resisting every urge not to pull him upstairs to his bedroom right now. Pulling back, you dart down and pick up the gun, offering it to Asa. “I’ll go get some stuff to see to your hands. And I’ll run back and pack a quick bag and then come and pack your things. I think I should drive, though. You’ll have to give me instructions.” You rattle off, the excitement obvious in your voice. “Oh, you’ll get use to taking instruction this weekend.” Asa whispered in your ear, making you blush and bite your lip with a smirk. Arkin seemed to get a burst of energy and started flaying around in the box, which only moved slightly. “He truly is annoying, isn’t he?” you huffed, hating the moment was ruined by him. Asa simply chuckled and walked up to the box, sitting on it and stopping it from shifting. As you flitted around, gathering supplies and seeing to his hands and then packing his things, Asa watched with a soft eyes. He would be lying if he said he trusted you from the start. And even more so if he admitted there had still been a small part of him that thought you were with the police. but that doubt was well gone. And this weekend, he wanted to celebrate this strange relationship. And oh, what a celebration it would be.

#the collector #the collection #asa emory #asa emory x reader #asa x reader #the collector x reader

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generallybarzy · 5 years ago

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your baby, she’s mine

mat barzal x reader

summary: Your parents aren't thrilled about your relationship with Mathew. You don't care what they think, but Mat takes their criticism so hard it creates a little break in your relationship, and he just really wants a redo. (This is mostly based on single by the neighborhood but I also added some 5sos Lover of Mine in there bcs ive been listening to it for like 4 hours straight) warnings: swearing?, age gap (18-22, not super big). word count: ~2,650 ish

It had been 10 days now since the incident with your parents.

It had been a week now since Mat started avoiding you.

You had been so amazing to hang out with, to go out with, to laugh with, to fall asleep, and wake up with. He really, really, really liked you. He knew he did. So why did he let a little bit of criticism be the thing that tore your relationship apart?

The two of you had only been dating for two months, but you had been pining after him for a long time, ever since your close friend- a girlfriend of one of his teammates- introduced you. You became friends really fast, which was good, but it also came with months of pining after him and having to see countless girls flirt with him and knowing about his hookups with them every now and then. So when you finally got over yourself and all but begged him to stop, he broke down to you and confessed that you’d been the only one on his mind for months. The emotions were hard to control, finally knowing that you liked him back- god, it was so good. He wanted to keep you forever, wrap himself up in your warmth and your joy, protect you, love you. It was crazy, unlike anything he'd felt before. But he was still caught off guard when he came over to visit you one day and was greeted by the disapproving faces of your parents who had come to make sure she was adjusting well to living on her own and who, as he soon realized, had no idea their precious baby girl was dating anybody.

He knew something was wrong the moment you opened the door. “Hey, baby. Thought I’d swing by before the game for some-” You shook your head, signaling him to stop and opened the door further to reveal who he assumed were your parents standing behind you with questioning looks on their faces. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Mat, these are my parents. And, uh, this is Mat. We're dating" he saw them exchange a look and your father scowled a bit.

“Mat? The same Mat who kept breaking your heart for months?” Ouch. His heart dropped to the fucking floor. Shit, he already had a bad reputation with them, but honestly, he couldn’t blame you for complaining about his past habits. They’d probably heard you cry over him a lot.

Fine. He had thought to himself. Didn't expect to meet the parents today, but I’m sure I can still get on their good side. That hopeful thought was gone a minute later when the interrogation began. Your parents seemed to have a problem with everything about him. Okay, yes. Maybe he had met you at a post-game party, but that didn’t mean you were only a starstruck fan. No, he wasn’t just hooking up with you for fun! Okay, he might be four years older than you but that’s really not that big a difference- you’re an adult, not a baby.

Okay, he’d admit that he had gotten a little bit defensive to your parents when they lowkey accused him of taking advantage of a young fan who was just idolizing him. That was a fucked up thing to say. “She’s not a child. She’s not your baby, she’s my baby.” He was grumbling under his breath but everyone heard. And oh boy did it start something.

Your parents- especially your father- wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you begged them. You were so young, you had your whole life ahead of you, they argued. You could be out on the dating scene meeting the perfect man to marry one day, not hooking up with the man who had hurt you for months and taken your focus away from furthering your education. “If I know anything about professional athletes,” Your father said, pointing an accusing finger at Mat, “They don’t want serious relationships this young, just quick hookups, and you should be able to see that by now!” By the end of the night, Mat had sunk down into his seat, quiet and red-faced, holding back everything he wanted to say. It wasn’t him at all, and you hated seeing him so defeated. The day ended with him leaving for a game, sad and quiet, and you practically kicked your parents out, quickly texting Mat and begging him to come back.

You had apologized profusely for their actions, but still, every day after that was tiring. He would barely text back, he didn’t come back over after the game that night and you knew he needed cuddles after a rough loss. He didn’t come over after practice the next day, and it wasn’t long before you received a text from him. All it said was: “I think your parents are right. I’m sorry baby”.

And, no matter how many questions you sent, that was the last you’d heard from him in the past week.

Mathew hadn’t stopped thinking about you all week. He missed you, but what your father had said was still gnawing away in the back of his mind. You were still young, you could be bettering yourself, he shouldn't be distracting you. He had broken your heart. You could do so, so much better than him. But he was suffering without you, and his teammates could tell.

After another long, tiring practice, Mat wasn’t looking forward to going home alone and spending the rest of the day thinking about you, so he was happy when Tito offered a distraction by taking him out to eat someplace that he claimed had the best food. He’d been a little confused at how much his friend was hyping the place up, and even more confused when they arrived at a cute little cafe. After entering, it didn’t take long for Mat’s eyes to spot you, sitting all alone in the corner, sipping on a drink and scrolling through your phone, looking just as tired as him, if not worse.

No. No, no, no. It's such a bad idea to be near you. As much as it hurt him, it was for the best that he should stay away and keep himself out of your life, and being alone with you was the last thing he needed right now.

But, shit, it felt so good to see you again.

“What the hell.” He turned to glare at his friend. "I can't-"

“You need to talk to her. You’ve been so mopey and sad and you sucked at practice today and we all know it’s because of her.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Seriously, you’re dumb to ignore her. Like really stupid. Fix it.” Mat cast another glance in your direction, making sure you didn’t notice him yet.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Because her parents don’t like you? You know that’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, it is. Because they’re right. I’ve hurt her and she deserves a lot more than me.” Tito just laughed and shook his head.

“And you don’t think you’re hurting her now by ignoring her? Go talk to her. She misses you. And I know you miss her too.” Before Mat could argue or leave the cafe, Tito looked over in your direction and waved. “Hey, (Y/N)!” You looked up to smile at your friend and wave back, eyes going sad when you saw Mat standing almost awkwardly behind him. Giving his friend a slap on the back and a nudge in your direction, Tito left, leaving Mat to finally talk to you.

He looked so sad, you noticed, as he hesitantly approached your booth. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a soft hoodie, one that you often used to steal from him when you had a bad day, and his hair looked just as soft as always but a little bit messier. As he slid into your booth across from you, and you could finally see him up close, the way the week apart had taken its toll on him, how tired he looked, as if he hadn’t been getting sleep at night. How his eyes, which usually only held joy around you, were sad and dull as if all the life had been drained out of him. “Hey.”

“It’s been a while, Mat.” You still hadn’t smiled at him since he sat down, but he knew he couldn’t blame you. You sat in silence for a few uncomfortable moments, something uncommon for the two of you. He hated it so much. He didn’t want to feel this wrong when he was with you, so wrong that he couldn’t even meet your gaze. He fucked it up so bad. “You wanna tell me why you went from being practically attached to me to avoiding me completely?”

He sighed and looked up at you softly. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t fix it.” Your voice was soft, delicate, sounding like it was about to break, but the way your eyebrows were furrowed up let Mat know that you were upset with him.

“I know.”

“It doesn’t answer my question, either. You don’t have to listen to my parents, you know. We care about each other, that’s all that matters.”

“Baby-” He paused, not knowing if he should’ve called you that or not. It didn’t feel like he should, but it felt so, so good. “(Y/N), I know I shouldn’t have let them get to me so much but… as much as it hurts... they are right.”

“Right about what? The part where they said you're just hooking up with me for fun? The way they said I'm still a baby and I can’t make choices for myself yet?”

“No, no!” He held his hands up to calm you, wanting so badly to take your hand in his, but again not knowing if it would be appropriate to do so. “Listen. I’ve…” He dropped his hands flat onto the table, giving up any hope of getting to touch you. “They were right about how I hurt you. I broke your heart already. Over and over. I fucked us up already.” His voice was cracking, and even though you knew he wouldn’t let himself cry, especially here, you could tell he wanted to.

“Mat…”

“You’re fucking beautiful, (Y/N). You could get anybody you want. Anybody. You’re young and hot and pursuing a career, and I can’t hold you back from that. You should be dating someone that can be there for you all the time. I’m always busy, and I always end up hurting you. I do care avout you, a lot, but you deserve a lot better than I could ever give you.”

“No, shut the hell up!” Mat looked up. startled. He’d honestly never seen you angry before. “Mathew, there’s nobody better than you. There’s nobody else I want. And you’re not holding me back.” You reached over to take his hand in yours and immediately, Mat responded by lacing your fingers together, thankful to finally feel your touch after a week of separation. You continued, voice softer this time. “Mat, I don’t care that you’ve hurt me in the past. It’s in the past, and it was unintentional. I’m not upset over that. I love you, ya know?” Finally, for the first time in a week, a true, honest smile stretched across Mat’s face, lighting up your heart and making you feel butterflies as if it was the first time again.

“I love you too, baby.” You stood from your booth and slid in next to him, letting him press a kiss against your cheek, keeping it short and sweet in public.

“Mat, the only thing I’m upset about is how you ignored me for a week.”

“I know. Fuck, I know. This past week has been the biggest mistake of my life. Not being able to see you, touch you, even hear you say my name... I'm so sorry, and I swear I’m never going to let you go again because in the past few months, being with you is the only thing I got right. I’m so sorry. I never want to let you go again.” You smiled and wrapped your arms around his waist, tucking yourself into his side. “Are we good?”

“We’re good, Mat. So good.” He held you against him, just taking the moment to enjoy the fact that he finally had you back in his arms. God, he was never going to let you go.

“I still want a second chance at meeting your parents, though.”

You laughed a bit at his persistence. “Are you sure? Last time wasn’t so great.”

“I’m sure I can get on their good side. And if not, oh well.”

“Alright then. Woo them with that Barzal magic. I know you can do it.”

Next weekend, you called your parents back to visit, not telling them that Mat was going to be there. Mat came extra early, dressed nice but not too formal, in contrast to the fact that he had been in all sweats at their last meeting, with his hair styled nicely. It made your heart flutter, seeing the lengths he was going to to get your parent’s approval, even if it really meant nothing in the end. He smiled and shook their hands when they arrived, even though they obviously weren’t too thrilled. He helped set the table for dinner and offered some stories that made your mom smile. By the time dinner was over and he offered to wash the dishes for you, it was obvious your mom trusted him. “No, Mat I think my mom and I need some time to talk. Why don’t you go watch tv with my dad.” You smiled sympathetically, knowing it was really your dad Mat was trying to win over now.

So he took a deep breath and went to the small living room of your apartment where your dad was flipping through the channels on the TV.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say my stuff, then.” Mat stood beside the TV, nervous as your father’s eyes shot up to look at him. “I know you’re still unsure about (Y/N) dating me, and for good reasons. I know she’s young and you're worried about her in the big city, but she’s an adult, and she can make choices for herself, and she loves me. I love her, too.” Your dad sighed and muted the TV, sitting up and turning his full attention towards Mat. He looked him over, obviously trying to gauge something about him.

“Do you know how often my daughter used to call us, crying that her best friend ignored her calls and blew off their plans to hook up with some random girl?”

Your father’s words felt like knives through his heart. It hurt knowing how much you cared for him even before he knew it, but he continued. “Trust me, I know I’ve hurt her, broken her heart, and I’ve apologized to her so many times, so now I’m going to apologize to you. I’m sorry for ever making her go through all the heartbreak. I seriously never meant to hurt her. I never meant to hurt your baby and I swear I’ll never do anything to hurt her ever again. You can trust me to keep her safe out here. So will you let your baby be mine?” There was silence for a few long moments before Mat sighed. Well, that was all he could do. “Alright, I’m done with the speech, but I’m just gonna say that no matter how you feel about it, I’m still going to love her.” He was about to leave the room before he heard the man let out a small, amused laugh.

“You seem like a good guy. Mathew.” Mat bit back a smile, waiting to hear how he would continue. Your dad sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry for judging you too early. You’re fine.” Mat finally let out his smile. He did it! Your dad was okay with him! You’re fine. You’re fine. The words kept ringing in his ears. “Just know that if you ever hurt her again, I don’t care how much of an all-star you are...” He gave him a pointed look, but Mat had nothing to worry about.

“That’ll never happen, sir.” He added 'sir' just for good measure, wanting to stay on you family's good side. He caught your smiling gaze from the other side of the room, feeling his heart fluttering in his chest at just the sight of you washing the dishes and smiling up at him. “Trust me. I’ll be here for a long time.”

#mat barzal #drabble #lyrics #nhl writing #mathew barzal #mine #my post #op #fanfiction #imagine #fic

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a-blue-secret · 4 years ago

Text

CHAPTER IV

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: 3.2k+

AN: I did a little fencing when I was younger, so this is based on my very limited experience. I had fun writing this part- there's not as much angst!

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

So how good are you at fencing, Yeonjun?” Beomgyu asked, picking up his foil. He’d already finished getting dressed, and was waiting for Yeonjun to be ready too.

“Me? Oh, I am by no means a master,” Yeonjun said as a servant tightened his gloves. “But I am rather good, if I do say so myself. How about you, Your Greatness?”

“Well, I am a master myself. Be prepared to lose in the sorest ways possible,” Beomgyu grinned. Yeonjun smiled back, picking up his own mask and foil. “Ready?”

Yeonjun nodded, and stepped aside. “After you, Your Greatness.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“En guarde.”

They raised their foils towards each other.

“Pret.”

Beomgyu was rather surprised to see Yeonjun’s stance looking so firm. No one he’d sparred with had looked that comfortable in a fencing stance before.

“Aller.”

Beomgyu advanced almost immediately, thrusting his foil out towards Yeonjun’s side. The elder back-stepped quickly, staying just out of reach. They exchanged hits, moving backwards and forwards as they alternatively defended and attacked. Finally, Beomgyu managed to strike Yeonjun on his back, using the flexibility of the foil to curve it round to touch Yeonjun. They parted, panting.

"Break?" Beomgyu offered. Yeonjun nodded, already taking off his face guard.

As a servant handed them a towel each, they walked over to a table with drinks on them.

"Wow, you're pretty good," Yeonjun marveled, gulping down the water. "No one I've met has ever been able to perform that so well before."

"Thanks," Beomgyu said, patting the towel along his hairline. "It takes ages to master as well. I'm not surprised there are few people you know who can execute it."

"How did you learn it?"

"My father," Beomgyu explained. "He was a general slash Lord. He taught me how to fence, how to do bareback horse riding, how to sword fight, and so much other stuff."

Yeonjun nodded. "Wow. Your father sounds so cool."

Beomgyu smiled. "He was. Anyway, how did you learn fencing?"

"In court. I was born a noble, so it's kind of a given that I had to know how to do it, so I was taught by fencing masters."

"Cool. Here in Gojongja, I believe we have a swordsmanship school where the kids can learn sword fighting and fencing. It's kind of like a summer camp thing I think? I heard we had it anyway."

"I heard that you do."

Beomgyu set down his glass, and placed his mask on top of his head. "Ready to go again?"

Yeonjun grinned. "Get ready to be beaten by me."

Beomgyu laughed, taking his foil from a servant as they walked back. "Oh, you wish."

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

"It almost looked like you were using a whip! How did you do that?"

Beomgyu and Yeonjun finished fencing (with Yeonjun not even managing to touch Beomgyu once), and Beomgyu suggested they go do archery. They were currently walking through the castle to find the door which led to the outdoor fields.

Beomgyu laughed. "You're not going to let go of that, are you?"

"No, I'm not! I've never seen someone do that before!"

Beomgyu let out a chuckle, tapping the side of his nose. "It's a secret."

"...It was luck, wasn't it?"

"What are you talking about?? It was a tactic which I 100% meant to use, and how dare you think otherwise!"

"Yeah it was. Don't deny."

".... Okay fine, maybe it was, but it was still cool, right?"

Yeonjun looked at Beomgyu, and they both burst out laughing. Their light-hearted banter reminded Beomgyu of how it used to be between him and Taehyun. With Taehyun always saying a sarcastic comment, or seeing through Beomgyu's bravado, and then all it took was one shared glance and they'd start laughing. The thought made Beomgyu a little sad, and then angry. He pushed thoughts of Taehyun aside. He shouldn't be thinking about the younger. Right now, it was about bonding with Yeonjun, and becoming friends.

"So," Beomgyu said. "You have any experience in archery?"

"Oh, loads," Yeonjun said. "I'm a bit of a Robin Hood myself."

"Ah," Beomgyu sighed regretfully. "I'm not the best archer in the field, so it seems like in this sport you'll have the upper hand."

"Hey, don't doubt yourself," Yeonjun said. "You never know! You might beat me again."

"No, but archery seriously isn't my strong suit," Beomgyu said. "I remember in one of my archery classes, we were meant to hit the board which was like three metres away, and I managed to get the arrow caught in the tree. Behind us."

Yeonjun laughed. "But this was when you were little, right? Surely much has changed since then."

"It was five years ago."

"See? Five years! Not that bad, eh?"

"I was twenty."

"Ah." It was obvious Yeonjun was at a bit of a loss as to what to say to that. Beomgyu laughed, nudging Yeonjun.

"I'm joking! I was five. This wasn't five years ago, don't worry. I've improved since then, I'm sure. I think. I hope."

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Beomgyu stared at Yeonjun's target. The elder had managed to get two in the bullseye, and three in the red ring. He was watching intently as Yeonjun shot his last arrow.

Thwip!

It landed right in the center of the yellow bullseye, and Beomgyu clapped.

“Whoo! Well done!”

Yeonjun grinned, and playfully bowed. “Well, I did say I was a master at archery.” He sighed a little regretfully, walking up to the target to tug at the arrows. “It’s annoying I didn’t get these three in the bullseye too.”

“You're good, though. Like, really good."

"Thanks. How did you- oh," Yeonjun laughed, seeing Beomgyu's target. Beomgyu had managed to hit everywhere apart from the centre. "Hey, at least you hit one into the red ring, right?"

"That one I shot with my eyes closed."

"Even better!"

Beomgyu laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "I was aiming for the target's leg."

"You what?!"

“Yeah. That was my last arrow, and I thought, ah, whatever, let’s just aim for the leg stand, and then it just flew straight to the red ring.”

Yeonjun shook his head in wonder. “Wow. I guess archery really isn’t your area of expertise, huh?”

“Standing archery isn’t, but I can do it pretty well on horseback," Beomgyu said conversationally, going to take his arrows out of his own target.

“Woah,” Yeonjun said. “I can sort of do it, but isn’t it harder when you’re moving?”

“I dunno,” Beomgyu shrugged. “I find it easier because the momentum adds to the power of the arrow, and I was pretty much brought up on horseback.” He mimed going up and down as if on a horse, and brought an imaginary bow up to eye level and mimed shooting into the air. “Yeah, I find it easier on horseback.”

“That’s so weird! Most people are the other way round, because you have to take your hands off the horse, and your legs are like the only thing securing you. You must have really strong thighs then.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu laughed. “I do. But my butt’s been hurting like hell recently every time I’ve gotten on a horse, so I’ve been taking a break from horse riding.”

“Well, you still up for a little horse riding session?”

“Hell yeah! I miss Toto.”

“Toto?”

“He’s my horse! Well, I say mine, but really he’s one with nature.” Beomgyu began talking animatedly to Yeonjun about Toto as they walked to the stables. “Oh, and just a fair word of warning: some of our horses are very, um, unique.”

“Unique, huh?” Yeonjun laughed. “We have unique horses back home. One of them has three legs.”

“Three legs? They’re not a race horse, are they?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said yes, would you?”

“No way! You make the three-legged horse run a race?”

“No, but Nellie is really, really good. Seriously! She’s won three times out of the five races she’s competed in.”

“Three-legged horse wins the race, hmm?” Beomgyu mused. "Well, our horses are even more unique than that."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You'll see."

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“I… When you said they were unique, I didn’t think you meant like this.” Yeonjun was staring at a horse in a dumbfounded state. The horse nickered, tossing its orange mane. Yeonjun started a little, stepping away. His wide eyes were fixed on her orange, beak-like muzzle. “How do you even breed these types of horses?”

“Easy. They breed among themselves. No, we don’t cross-breed the different animals,” Beomgyu laughed at Yeonjun’s shocked stare. “Starburst, for example, the horse you’re looking at. She’s just like that. We think a curse, but we’re not sure. Orion over there, though, is a type of elemental horse we found in the woods. He's among the last of his kind, and we're breeding them until they flourish again.” Beomgyu patted Orion's watery muzzle. "We're going to protect you, aren't we? As for Starburst, we're trying to make sure she stays okay while under a curse."

“How old is she?” Yeonjun asked, still standing a good deal away from Starburst.

“I don’t know. I think Taehyun said she’s been around even before he was born.”

“Woah.” Yeonjun raised his eyebrows. “He’s around the same age as you, isn’t he? And Starburst looks so young.”

“Yeah, Kang’s a year younger than me. I dunno, she might be immortal.”

“Can I…?” Yeonjun gestured to the horse.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Beomgyu said. “Despite her appearance, she doesn’t bite. Well, she doesn’t bite much. Stroke her nose. She likes that.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Yeonjun asked, gingerly reaching out to Starburst. “About court and stuff.”

“Kang and I used to be best friends. He told me so much about everything. Also, I’ve been doing my own asking around. I like horses.” Beomgyu walked up to a greenish horse with a feather-like mane standing in the corner. “Hello, hello. Yes, I’m back now. Did you miss me?” The horse whinnied, tossing its mane before nuzzling its nose into Beomgyu’s shoulder. The boy laughed, stroking the horse. “Alright, alright, I get it. I missed you too, Toto. Are you ready for a ride?” He turned to Yeonjun. “You picked a horse yet?” he asked.

Yeonjun was still staring in surprise at the unusual horses. “I knew you had pegasi,” he said. “Those take part in your wars and parades. I knew about the unicorns, ‘cause we have them too. But everything else?” He turned around, face a mixture of shock and awe. “I didn’t even know half of them existed.”

“Benefits of our long history of preserving wildlife and our abundance of wild forests, I guess,” Beomgyu said, taking out a brush. “Anyway, do you want me to choose you a horse? Tell me what you want and I’ll pick for you.”

“No, no it’s okay,” Yeonjun said slowly. “I’ll go with Starburst.”

Beomgyu nodded. “Good choice. Seems like she likes you as well. Oh! Yeonjun, meet Toto. They said he’s a breed of Amazona Equus. Apparently he’s a parrot-horse? I’ve never seen him sprout wings though, so yeah.”

“Well, uh, nice to meet you, Toto. My name is Lord Yeonjun.” Yeonjun bowed to the horse. Toto regarded Yeonjun for a few moments, before inclining his head in a bow of his own. Yeonjun smiled at Beomgyu in disbelief. “Did he just bow back at me?”

“Yep,” Beomgyu smiled. “It means he trusts you.” Yeonjun gave a smile.

"Okay, so let's go brush and tack the horses. Meet back in front of the stables?" Yeonjun asked. Beomgyu nodded.

"See you then!"

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

"Whoo!" Beomgyu yelled. "Race you to the oak tree!"

"Hey!" Yeonjun called. "That's not fair! You're in front of me!"

"Come and catch up then, slowpoke!" Beomgyu laughed over his shoulder, galloping full speed towards the tree. He yelled out again, the yell turning into an overjoyed laugh at the end. His face was split into a wide grin. God, he'd missed this. The stinging wind whipping against his cheeks, the feeling of the powerful horse beneath his legs, the exhilaration he felt from riding. He'd missed it.

He glanced over his shoulder back at Yeonjun, who was riding behind on Starburst. He grinned. Leaning forward, he patted Toto’s neck.

“You ready? Wanna do the trick?”

Toto flicked his ears, letting out a neigh as they continued to canter towards the tree. Beomgyu laughed. “Okay bud. Get ready, ‘kay? I’m trusting you!”

Gingerly, Beomgyu released Toto’s reins. Toto seemed undeterred, continuing to go forward at a steady pace. Now was the hard part. Gritting his teeth, Beomgyu brought his knees up, closer to the saddle, before slowly easing them up further until he was crouching on Toto’s back. He looked back at Yeonjun.

“Wanna see something cool?” he yelled. Then, he stood up on Toto’s back fully, raising his arms up and letting out a loud whoop. Yeonjun cried out, either in terror or amazement, Beomgyu wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear much over the whistling of the wind and the happiness in his heart.

“Whoo!” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. But he immediately shot them open again, seeing that they were close to the tree. He jumped back down into the saddle again, laughing. “Was that fun? God, I haven’t done that in ages.” Toto flicked his ears again, and Beomgyu grinned, riding faster.

When they we're a short distance away from the tree, Beomgyu pulled at the reins, slowing Toto down to a walk. Yeonjun came thundering up beside him a few moments later, grinning and panting hard.

“Oh my god! You actually did that?”

Beomgyu laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing special.”

“Special? You stood on a horse’s back! And at that speed too!”

Beomgyu shrugged. “I find it easier at higher speeds.”

"Wow!" Yeonjun laughed. "I don't think I've ever galloped that hard before."

"Better get used to it," Beomgyu grinned. "Here in Gojongja, we ride hard and fast."

"Evidently," Yeonjun said, still out of breath. "Why don't we, uh, go for a little walk?"

"Okay," Beomgyu laughed. "Follow me. There's a cool lake around here somewhere I think."

Beomgyu and Yeonjun rode side by side, in amiable silence.

"So, tell me Yeonjun," Beomgyu said. "What was your life like in Aruyeonan court?"

"My life? My life was, well, almost ordinary for an Aruyeo noble. I live in a big house, have a large inheritance, have matters within court. I suppose what makes me different, however, is the fact that I always have matters within court. Her Supreme Highness is fond of a few select nobles, and those are the ones which she sees all the time."

"I assume you're one of them?"

"Yes. While you here in Gojongja have meetings with lots of Lords and generals, we narrow it down to five people plus the Queen."

"Ah yes, your Queen does not have a vizier, does she?"

"Queen Erajin does not, no."

"Hmm. Ah, we're near. See that shiny, round thing in the distance? That's the lake. We nicknamed it 'the Shield', because in just the right angle it looks like it's a huge, silver shield."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Oh, Kang and I. We used to come here," Beomgyu muttered. "But anyway! Here we are. You up for another race there?"

"You bet," Yeonjun grinned, already galloping off.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

They reached the lake and dismounted, letting the horses drink and rest for a little. The two of them wandered a little aimlessly around the lake.

You know," Beomgyu said, "I have experience within the Aruyeo court as well. You probably don't remember, but about two or three years ago I came to stay in your court."

"Oh really?" Yeonjun raised his eyebrows. "Hm, no, I don't think I remember."

"You guys were really welcoming," Beomgyu remembered. "Especially this one Lord. I can't remember his name exactly -I think it was foreign?- but he was adopted by the Jinju Choi clan. Kai? I think that's his name? Wait- Yukai? No, no, I remember. Hueningkai. He was really kind."

Yeonjun tripped over a pebble. "Sorry, didn't see the rock. Hueningkai, huh? Hmm… I know a lot of the nobles in my court, but I can't remember seeing a Hueningkai…"

"I dunno. He was really nice. I remember him because he was adopted by this clan, so he wasn't even native to Aruyeo court. And yet, he was welcomed so readily. You could see it, because everyone greeted him so normally. It was obvious he wasn't a pure Jinju Choi, and yet they didn't treat him any differently. It was nice."

Yeonjun nodded slowly. "We in Aruyeo pride ourselves on making no one feel excluded. It's one of the things we are adamant about."

"You guys sure do a good job of it then." Beomgyu laughed slightly. "I must confess, there were times I felt more at home within Aruyeo than I'd ever felt inside Gojongja." Yeonjun gave a small, proud smile.

They stood there, silently. Beomgyu was staring down into the lake, but Yeonjun was looking out back into the direction of the palace. He squinted.

"Hang on… is that Kang Taehyun?"

"Hm?" Beomgyu turned around, following Yeonjun's line of sight. "Oh. Yeah it is."

"And is he riding that horse… bareback?"

"Yeah." Beomgyu turned away, walking up to Toto before mounting the horse. "He's coming to lecture us about staying out. Must be almost supper."

"That's so cool though. He's riding bareback!"

"Eh, he's gonna lose his cool in a minute if we don't get going."

They both began making their way back to the palace, and Taehyun, seeing that they were coming towards him, halted his horse to wait for them.

"Do you know how long you were gone for?" Taehyun glared when Beomgyu was within hearing distance.

"No, and I don't care," Beomgyu retorted. "And did you seriously have to come riding bareback?"

"What, you have a problem with it?" Taehyun scoffed, turning the horse around back to the direction of the palace, Beomgyu a couple of places behind. "You shouldn't have a problem with it. It's better for the horses to have no saddle on them anyway."

"Uh huh."

"You're just mad that I'm right," Taehyun said. "Anyway, would Lord Yeonjun care to join us for dinner? It seems a little mean to get him to eat on his own."

"Since when did you care about seeming mean?" Beomgyu scoffed. Taehyun glared at him.

"Shut up. That's rude."

"Hey, don't tell the King to shut up. That's rude."

"Anyway," Taehyun said. "Would you like to eat with us? You spent the whole day with His Greatness, so perhaps it's only fit you eat with us as well."

Yeonjun inclined his head. "I'd be much obliged." He gave a slight grin. "I've been having meals in my room these last few days, so a change of scenery will be nice."

"Well let's hope there is any food suitable enough to eat," Taehyun said, glaring at Beomgyu. "It's an hour past supper time. An hour!"

"Stop nagging, geez! You sound like a mum. Ow! What the heck?”

Taehyun hit Beomgyu around the back of his head, causing the elder to glare at him.

“I’m the King! You can’t just go round hitting me on the head! What were you doing??”

“Simply trying to knock some sense into you,” Taehyun said calmly. “But then I realised you didn’t have any in the first place.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, before slowing down his horse so that he was in step with Yeonjun. “See? Kang has literally no respect for me whatsoever.”

“I can hear you,” Taehyun called. “And hurry up, or you’re not getting any food at all.”

#taegyu #txt taegyu #beomgyu #taehyun #txt beomgyu #txt fanfic #txt taehyun #txt fluff #court of lies #txt #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together

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wavbleu · 4 years ago

Text

Rodrick heffley: Keep quiet

tw: possession and degrading

~~~~~~~~~

"I cant believe she would do that to you!" you say with a short giggle, you look at Rodricks adorable face and my smile grew bigger knowing that the only time hes genuinely happy and laughing is around you. "I was so totally shocked when she bit me, my dick hurt for like the following week." He stroked his fingers through his semi-short hair and continued on his painful story on how he lost his virginity.

You and Rodrick have been talking for 2 and a half months now, you and him have an extreme connection despite the fact that you are totally opposite. You like to wear softer colored clothes and get good grades in school, and Rodrick well... doesn't. He doesn't give a shit what people think or say about him and just goes the way he wants to, Thats what you've always adored him, you were jealous of that.

Sometimes you question how your friends with a guy as corrupted as him.

But when ever you converse the words just spill out of you, it actually feels like hes engaged and actually willing to hear more and learn about you. You've never experienced anything like that before. Speaking that most of your exes just used you for sex.

Whenever your around Rodrick, you feel like yourself. What ever you are scared to be in front of everyone else you show it to him and he strangely accepts it. Obviously, you would even consider him your best friend or 'pal' But lately ... the way he touches you isnt very 'pal-like' . Although it may seem like something small, he would massage your knee and work his way down your smooth thigh, stopping right before he reaches your inner thigh; slowly massaging that area and leaves you wanting more of him.

It could be when your hugging and he lowers his hands from your waist to your hips.. Stuff like that may not seem large but it speaks louder and clear that theres sexual tension in the air.

Rodrick finished up his tragic v card story and you both giggled, Rodrick then abruptly stopped laughing and his once loud laugh turned into a snarky smile. "What's with the smirk." you say smiling nervously not knowing what he will do.

"Are you a virgin?" He says, "Nah." You respond back to him. "Ive only had sex with 2 people though."

Yea you weren't a virgin (at all) but man when you had sex it was just beyond awful, terrible. Butterflies grew in your stomach as you watched him bite his cheek in amazement.

"Wow, Little miss Y/N getting freaky in the sheets." he teased, you droopily looked down at your swinging feet hanging off your bed and sighed before admitting, "Well it wasn't exactly good.. if fact it was absolutely dreadful." , "Well i wanna hear this to see if its just as bad as mines."

You adjusted yourself to lean against the white headboard, looking at Rodrick who was seated at the end of the bed. You wrapped your arms around your pillow and started reminiscing on how you lost your virginity at the ripe old age of 17.

"Well it was a party that was at some random guys house.. gee I dont even remember his name... I think it was like tony or something like that.","We were in this small group with other people in our grade, we were bored so we decided to play 7 minutes in heaven.." , "and it was my turn to spin the bottle, sadly."...

flashback

~~~~~

(skip if you dont like the extra length.)

You anxiously spun the bottle, hoping that it would stop on your crush, Luke Hannington. The bottle spun and everyone watched in awe.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach as the bottle started to decelerate and fixate on a person.. tense but hopeful , you look up at the person the bottle focused on.

Luke.

You tried to hold back your sheer excitement and joyfulness, but it quickly came to a halt after seeing your crushes nonchalant, monotone, bored face. 'He was probably hoping for someone hotter' you think yourself pathetically.

Everyone sneakily snickered and whispered in each others ears after seeing his disappointed face and disgusted eyes.

You felt like bursting into tears after feeling the way you did. You felt hideous.

"So ill set the timer, the closet is on your left sweetie." The host said, obviously trying to hold back her sneaky remarks until you get in the closet.

He quickly gets up and speed walks to the closet, you followed, fondling your fingers and biting the skin off your lip.

You got to the closet, atleast he was sweet enough to hold the door open for you.

You sat down on the carpeted floor, hassling all the jackets and coats off of you. Luke frantically searched for the light so we can actually see in this closet and took a seat after.

He closed the door and minutes later you heard it lock from the otherside, "Begin, lovebirds!"

The only thing that began was the pure awkwardness and his uncomfortable glances. "So um.." You tried to start a convo but failed at it miserably, nothing you were doing was working, he would always give this stupid uncomfy look or mess with his collar. You were milliseconds away from kicking the door down and leaving this stupid party.

"Im sorry." he said noticing your frustration, "I dont think your ugly or anything.", "Ive had sex before, but not with strangers."

Stranger. Neat.

Tension arosed in the closet after he asked out of no where, "Have you ever been fingered before?" ,"I think im a pro if i say so myself."

You nodded your head no, "Im a virgin..","Ive always wanted to though.." You tried to say seductively hoping to make him hard. "Open your legs." He sternly demanded, you obeyed and did just that.

He pulled off your cotton panties and felt you up and down, then awkwardly slid a finger in. You gasp surprised, hoping he would've given more foreplay. "Um.." You moan as he fingered you in an accelerating pace , rubbing your left lip thinking it was your clit.

You felt second hand embarrassment for him, Luke Hannington doesn't know where the clitoris is?

You were drying out and getting turned off by his loud grunts and heavy breathing, actually thinking he was doing something. "Somebody lied to this man.." You said in your head. "No way do i actually have to fake an orgasm for this psychopath to stop."

You prepped yourself and tried replicate the girls off of pornhub, "Oh yes!" you moaned as you shook your legs frantically, a smile grew upon his face as he went faster. "Im gonna-" You dramatically puff your chest up faking an intense orgasm.

He stopped and swiped the sweat off of his forehead, "Good right?" , "Great, i bet you i wont even be able walk straight!" You moan, you cheesily snapped your fingers and giving him finger guns to throw him off your awful acting. The timers alarm rung, "Finally." You thought to yourself.

You stood up and walked out of the closet just fine.

You got back to the group who were snickering and giggling like a bunch of pre-schoolers.

~~~~

end of flashback

"Bad but not as bad as mines." He chuckled competitively, "Whatever." You threw a pillow at him. "Ive been cursed with the spell "awful sex." ever since that night." You dramatically say, "Is that so?" , "No guy has been capable of making you cum.. making you scream?" His voice lowered, looking into your eyes with a hot confused look.

"Yea pretty much." You sneakily adjust your skirt so he can see your soft thighs and a sliver of your panties. The room went silent as he looked you up and down, examining your body and its crevices , he licked his lips struggling to control the urge to squish and carress your thighs. He quickly looked down hoping you didnt notice how long he was staring at your body, so hungrily.

"Hey um.. y/n" He said scooting closer to you.

Your breath became heavy and palms began to sweat as you watched him scoot in closer.

"Have you been feeling it too?" his soft deep voice lowering into a erotic whispering tone. "F-feeling what?" You stumble trying to think straight, his eyes were fixated on your lips, he wanted them badly.

"You know.." "The tension?" He slowly rubs your thigh with his huge hands, maneuvering them up your skirt but stopping right before he hit, you know what. You hated that. You nod slowly to his question.

"You told me you never came before?" He questioned, "No.. never." You responded back. He put a stray hair behind your ear, then smoothly rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip.

"Can i be your first?"

You nod needily.

Biting your lip before going in for a deep passionate kiss. He wrapped his hand around your waist , scooting you up onto his lap. His hands adventured up your skirt again , grabbing your ass and slapping it. You gasp at the loud sound it made.

"My parents are home Rodrick!" You whisper yelled pulling away from the kiss.

Rodrick continued kissing your neck and ear, gripping your firm ass cheek, not giving a fuck about what anyone says. Like usual.

"Baby i truly don't give a shit, just keep it down." He sternly said.

"Mmm ok.." You moan and roll your head back as he made out with that sweet spot on your neck.

He roughly pinned you down and kissed you more this time exchanging tongue. He pulled away from the compelling kiss leaving a small train of spit

He pulled your panties off smoothly and stared at the sight to see. "Have you ever been fingered before?" He jokingly teased giving a little lightheart to this hot and spicy situation.

He trailed his hands up and down your wet pussy, looking for that spot.

When he finally got his hands on it you let out a small gaspy squeal, "Its right here?" You nod, breath getting faster.

"Yes daddy right there please~" You cry out, "Daddy?" He smirks, He slowly rubs his fingers around your clit. "Im your daddy now?" Rodrick bites his lip, "Then i guess your my little slut then."

"Are you my little slut?" He asks you, he picks up his pace sending a small tingle down your spine, he giggled mischievously knowing that its gonna be hard for you to respond. You try to catch your breath but moans and shrieks keep cutting your words off.

"Are you my little.. slut?" He slipped in two fingers and fucked your tight hole and worked your g-spot, so much to a point where you had to grasp one of your plushies to keep from screaming. "Alright I guess ill have to make you say yes."

Your eyes roll back as you felt his mouth attach to your clit, swirling his tongue all around your sensitive clit. For the first time you actually wanted to cum..

"I think im gonna-" You bite into a pillow to cover the loud noise you were gonna let out.

Right before you were about to have an intense orgasm, he stopped. Edging you and all your senses. You whined like a little bitch.

"Shut the fuck up." He said unbuckling his pants, "Your gonna take this dick and your gonna like it, alright? alright." He said stroking his rock hard twitching dick before aggressively sliding in.

"My parents- ah-" , " I swear if you mention your parents one more time im gonna throat fuck you." He said in a pissed off tone.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and slid a pillow under you. Rodrick continued to fuck up into you, hitting that one spot again, and again, and again; and just to torture you, he rubbed your clit you were experiencing bliss, euphoria.

Rodrick swiftly took your legs off his shoulder and spread them wide open so he could get a deeper fuck, "stupid slut your legs are trembling." , "You really like me fucking you hard, hitting that spot just perfectly even when your parents are just sitting in their room ; feet away? " ,"Now when i ask this again, i want a response."

"are you my little slut?" He whispered into your ears, you moaned loudly and threw your head back, "Yes!", "Yes daddy, im your slut." ," I want your parents to fucking hear." He looked you deep in the eyes waiting for your response.

"Yes daddy im your slut.." You moaned loudly.

He grasped on your waist and pounded deep into you, the claps of your skin, the loud moans, at that point you forgot you even HAD parents.

He kept fucking into your tight cunt relentlessly, hitting every single spot perfectly. Humanly impossible.

"Cum whore i know you wanna." Rodrick says, you open your mouth but no moans come out.. that was it . You were actually gonna cum... Your legs began to shake and tumble , it felt like a large sneeze but in your stomach. "Im gonna-" You could barely get out.

You released yourself onto his cock, "Fucking hell." He said as he couldn't bare to last any longer. He pulled out of you and came onto your tired cunt.

"Damn baby." He groaned putting his softening dick away. "was it good?" He hopefully said, "It was amazing." You responded back excitedly.

That stupid curse is gone, yay!

Everything was good until you heard loud footsteps seconds away from your door.

~~~~~~~

Authors note:

This is a pretty long story but i actually enjoyed writing these ones, rodrick was my first story on this book (and my most popular) so you know i had to do the mf again🙄 pegging and femboy kink coming soon⚠️

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