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postmoe · 4 months ago

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In the Next Moment:

Yandere/Alpha Gojo Satoru x Omega Reader

I can't even tell you how long ago I started this. I had no idea how to end it and I took away and added a bunch of things haha. Here is your alpha Gojo Satoru, here to save the day and take you for himself!

omegas are lesser creatures, familial abuse, self-deprecation, like your father in this is literal scum

What kind of God deals a life like this? Where status is given the moment you’re born. Where you can be cast away at birth and shoved into a home just for having the wrong scent. It used to be that families would wait until puberty before they knew what breed their child would be. Now? Now they have the technology to make accurate guesses. Not one hundred percent, but, accurate enough.

In your case, call it lucky or not, your family didn’t send you away to a home. Omega’s aren’t completely useless, and can fetch quite a high penny on the market. Every day you were reminded of your failures as their daughter, that being bred by them should have produced an alpha.

“This is all your fault,” your mother would say to your father, “Your cousin is an omega, it runs in your bloodline!”

“How was I supposed to know?! No one ever spoke of them I had no idea until we did the test!” He would shout back.

It’s a common argument you heard growing up. One that would seep into the marrow of your bones and claw its way into your dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Even though they argued with each other, at the end of the day it came out to you being wrong. You were a curse.

Eventually, your mother left. Being an alpha with you in the home, it was irredeemable. She had not bonded with an omega like her DNA screamed, your father a Beta and those relationships were never to last if an Omega came into the picture. Just an example of the homewrecker in your genes.

He would drink and smoke on the couch all day and night. “We had such a happy family, such high hopes for you…” Another swig of the bottle in his hand, “It’s your job to take care of us now. Your mother did everything. Go make some money and bring it back home.”

Quivering, afraid to even speak in front of him, you had to ask, “B-But what if people find out I’m a- AH!”

You cower as the bottle smashes against the brick wall next to your head, glass and liquor breaking around while your father stands and screams, “You stupid bitch! Go get blockers, fuck! How hard is it to come up with things on your own? You’re so fucking pathetic, stupid fucking omega,” he continues to grumble as he storms past you, “Clean up this fucking mess.”

Of course, you’ve thought about running away, thought about life outside of your home. The realism of it is not pretty, though. You’ve seen how omegas are treated on the streets if they get caught, they’re not allowed in the city because their scent can be such a disturbance. You have to be really taken care of to live amongst others. If you weren’t so rare then it wouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately omegas can’t be shared around to every alpha.

Getting blockers is probably the hardest job. Most doctors don’t want to sell them to you unless you have a good reason for being an omega, ie; rich spouse, breeding bitch, selling, etc. Anything on the black market is a gamble between being really good or really shit. Eventually, another omega you came across in passing had recommended a ‘hole in the wall’ doctor. They hide down an alleyway in the slums of the city but are open to helping omegas. When you went there it had ignited your fear and you started releasing poor, omega pheromones. Many, hungry looks your way were cast, though thankfully you made it out in one piece.

Now you were left to try and survive in the wild.

“Yo!” Your head shoots up from the stall oven, seeing a familiar head of white hair and blindfolded head.

Honestly, you were shocked, once people found out the ‘lovely’ attendant at the crepe stall was an omega, they generally never returned. “Ah,” you try not to gape at him, “You’re back. You didn’t come with your, um, students?”

It’s been a little over a year now that you’ve manned the crepe stall in a deserted park. You think that’s why your boss put you here, because not many people came by so business wasn’t that great; it also gave him a good excuse to berate you when you didn’t meet income quota. Earlier this week you were met with a unique set of customers, one of them being this man and then two younger boys and a girl to whom he introduced as his students – very proud of them. In that same interaction, whilst the students were enjoying each other’s crepes and you were making his, he had suddenly leaned in and inhaled a few times, sniffing you and grinning cheekily, “You’re an omega, aren’t ya?” It shocked you because you shouldn’t be smelling like anything right now, the sugary crepes usually enough to hide and scent that seems to waft from you. Now, he had returned alone, acting as if you were buddies, “My dear students are in a fierce battle! I have made some time to see my favourite crepe omega.”

His words were too loud, you had to look around in fear that maybe he was trying to let others know, trying to get you boycott. However, no one was there. Was he trying to bait you? Maybe you should just go along with it, “Did you really like them that much?”

He perked up, arms open in a welcoming stance, “Of course! The food, the chef, both are a delicious snack~.”

Flirting?! Definitely a joke.

Your shocked expression must’ve spoke volumes as he laughed at you, wiping a faux tear from his blindfolded eyes, “Don’t be so unsure of yourself. Surely a treat like you gets hit on all the time.”

“Are you hearing yourself,” you blurt out without thinking. How could he be so casual about this if he weren’t planning something sinister. All the memories of manipulation and abuse from strangers in your life come flooding back, your body subconsciously recoiling in on itself in defence. Your voice is meeker now, “Please, if you’re going to do something just get over with it.”

The man’s footsteps sound calm as he strides towards you, his hand reaching forward. You cringe in on yourself, awaiting a slap or a hit, only for your body to be taken over by surprise when he speaks, his index finger pointing towards the flat stove-surface of the kiosk, “Your crepe is burning.”

“Oh no!” You squeal, quickly going to flip it off the surface and onto a serviette. Tears start to collect in your eyes as you think of all the different ways you’ll be punished, “Shit shit shit. He’s going to know! He always knows and I can’t hide it, I’m screwed-“

Silence engulfs you as you watch, stunned, at the man who picks up the hot and charred crepe, worms out his tongue and opens his mouth, before scoffing it down in a single gulp. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the kiosk counter, “Whew! In hindsight I should have put cream or something on it. Definitely not as good as the first one I had.” Honestly… What was his deal? He didn’t question your shocked expression, only smiling and reaching out his finger to wipe at a stray tear, using the kiosk to lean over and reach you, “Name’s Satoru. Or, well, Gojo is my last name and tends to be what others go by. For you, cutie, I’d rather be addressed by something more to heart. So, you free after this? I know a great restaurant near here.”

Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a dehydrated fish. You didn’t need to look down to see his arms begin to sizzle on the pan, the sound and smell enough to alert you both. Ven so, you informed him with ghostly words, “Your arm is cooking.”

“Not gonna move it ‘til you say yes!”

… You couldn’t believe what your day has come to, “Okay.”

The restaurant he had decided to take you to was something way out of your budget, and just as you were about to voice your concerns for it, he quickly put his finger to your lips and spoke, “Shh, I know what you’re going to say and don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

Neither of you were particularly dressed for this place, he wearing a black uniform with the neck of it covering his chin, and you in your small, ripped (not by design) shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even with this, the waiter at the front smiled widely at Satoru, “Gojo-sama! What a pleasant surprise. Table for two?”

You were thankful that the waiter didn’t acknowledge you. No greeting yet no glare or scowl either. Satoru flicked his fingers into guns and pointed at him, “You betch’ya! One of those cosy, independent booths, please.”

“Of course, right this way.” The waiter lead you through the open area of the restaurant, many patrons idly enjoying their dinner with their loved ones by quiet candlelight, whilst the ones you walked slightly too close to were able to smell you and tell just what breed you were, some even trying to complain to their designated waiter. You just hung your head in shame until you got to the booth, following Satoru’s lead until you heard a door being slid shut.

Quickly, you turned to face him, seeing that he had shut you both in a secluded area with a table, the walls made of a deep coloured screen that didn’t quite go to the ceiling, yet provided all the privacy one could need in a place like this. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking around to pull out a chair for you, “The owner and I get along real well. I’ve helped them out a few times.”

He slides the seat in as you sit, and you still can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. This man has singlehandedly given you the most kindness you have received in your entire life. Perhaps he wants to break your heart in the end, at least you might get a free meal out of it. “I see… Are you a chef? Is that why your hair is up like that and you didn’t flinch when you got burnt?” You knew some chefs were godly in the kitchen and a little stove sizzle wouldn’t quit them.

Satoru laughed, bringing his hands up to act as a resting spot for his chin, “Nooo~ Not a chef, and my hair just sits this way with the blindfold.”

Which brings you on to your next question, “Why do you wear a blindfold? How can you navigate like that?”

His cheeky grin only widens, his hands now moving to sit flat on the table so he can lean forward and whisper, “Would you believe I have… Special powers?”

This made you quirk your eyebrow, now you were unintentionally leaning in as well, “Huh? Behind your blindfold?”

Satoru chuckled, leaning back again in his chair as he nonchalantly waves the discussion away in the air, “Ah, I don’t think you can handle this conversation just yet. Oh! I know, how about this,” he holds his hand up, five fingers pointing towards the sky. Using his other hand, brings down his thumb so he was only showing four fingers, “Four more dates and I’ll reveal my eyes to you.”

Another flustered expression overcame you. You hadn’t even finished this date – this is a date?! – and yet he was already planning more. Subconsciously, you tilt your head away from him, shoulders coming inwards as you mutter, “I don’t have anything to offer you, Satoru.”

“I just,” he falters, and for the first time he sounds a little unsure of how to say something. Easily, his motions fluid and controlled, like he knows exactly what he wants to do, he reaches for your upper arms and pulls them forward, sliding down the length of your arms until he can comfortably hold your hands, “I just need you to be there. That’s all I want.”

You swallow thickly, thinking it over. It wouldn’t hurt to see how tonight turned out, and even if you said no, he knows where you work. You suppose you can see where this takes you, until it falls flat like it should for an omega.

That night, you managed to tip toe back into your home, your father snoring on the couch. It was a miracle you weren’t berated, at least you had thought so until the morning.

Cooking breakfast for him, he had decided now was prime time to slam his fist into the archway of the room, making you flinch as he roared, “You stupid bitch, don’t think I didn’t notice you not home last night. Where the fuck were you?”

What to say… Could you lie? You’d have to lie, he would accuse you of trying to do something shady if you said you had a date. No omega would get a date, especially you, and so that would mean you were planning something bad. Or maybe it was your catastrophising thoughts that made you see it this way, a defence mechanism, if you will. “I was working late,” you tell him, quietly, “My boss is trying to extend the crepe business into later hours for couples on dates.”

To this, your father scoffs, planting his body at the table as he awaits his meal, “No couple would want an omega to serve them, you might try to make off with their mate.”

You really did try to hold your tongue, but maybe Satoru’s easy-going behaviour had mellowed you out a bit, “I just thought you might want the extra money.” It wasn’t a smart-ass comment, but no matter what you’d say he would take it as one.

This morning, he seemed to have had a bad hangover, as he could only growl out, “What was that, you runt? Know your place.”

Oh, how you desired to spit in his food. You gazed longingly at the bacon and eggs you were making, such a simple meal. Last night you had come home to see new pizza boxes laid around. Honestly, you felt a sort of betterment from that. You had dined like royalty, and he was stuck here eating shit from a sole. If only for last night, you were better than him.

…

“A curse?” You questioned, your wide eyes looking over your teacup. It was an authentic, British set, Satoru had taken you out to a little garden café on the other side of the city. It was amongst some of the historic temples around, the trees making you seem far away from the city and the food a kind of exquisite you had never been privy of knowing.

He grinned at you, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling from behind his dark glasses, “That’s right! Kind of like a ghost or a monster. They feast on collective, negative energy and such, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

You tried to keep an open mind, “And you… Hunt them?”

“Yeah! See, now you’re getting it,” he grins, excitedly.

With a smile, you set your cup down and ask, “Are you an author, Satoru?”

He waved his hand dramatically in the air, “Oh, you flatterer, you. I’m not that creative, it’s just my job.”

As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that he was lying to you. Like, this was your third ‘date’ together and he still had yet to bully you or do something horrible. This wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to make you scared and freak out. Maybe he wants to laugh at the weak, little omega and her fear smell. Is that why you were in a crowded café?

“Hey, hey,” he reaches over, holding your hands in his, “I can sense you’re troubled but not for the reason I’d think. You still don’t trust me, do you, (Y/n)?”

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure how to word your thoughts. You were caught in a predicament you didn’t want to be in. Of course you still didn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust him after everything you’ve been through. Would he take such offense to that?

Satoru seems to take your shock as his answer, smiling sincerely at you, “I don’t blame you, it’s okay. That’s why we’re doing these dates! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from now on.”

Flaming heat erupts on your cheeks, the feeling of his thumbs caressing your skin feeling like an iron, “How can you just say that? You don’t know me and I’m-“ you stop suddenly, looking around you to notice the faces of disgust, you really didn’t need to finish that sentence. Your blockers had grown thin, so now you were cutting them in half to try and spread it out since your doctor was on holiday. Unfortunately, they didn’t prevent the smell of your pheromones enough, it was painfully obvious everywhere you went.

“Ah, my darling omega, you truly are sweet,” he inhales, smiling contentedly, “Once you realise the world is your playground, nothing else matters. I could kill everyone here and take you away, and as long as no one can stop me – and trust me, they can’t -, anything is possible, and your dreams really can come true.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, his words always bordering on genuine and humour. Even with the knowledge of Satoru’s like to play, the undeniable dark truth of a true alpha manages to waft in the air.

Like a switch, he grins widely, all teeth and charisma, “That’s not saying I will, but it’s such a nice feeling, don’t you think?”

It’s quiet as his words sink in. You think about your life so far, how you couldn’t even get away with greeting someone without a knife to your throat and spitting words of how an omega doesn’t get to speak without their alpha allowing them to do so. As much as you’d like to punch them in the gut, you don’t think you’d really want to kill them, everyone growing under their own circumstance. Instead of getting into political debates, you think you don’t want anymore stares and judgement for today, deciding that even if Satoru is okay to talk to, you’re still uncomfortable, “I suppose so, it must be nice having such strength, and being able to see… Curses.”

The rest of the date was enjoyable, and he even answered some of your questions about the creatures he hunts. Apparently, omegas are prime suspects, easy to feast upon and no one questions when they go crazy, the second lot of victims being alphas that had an omega as a child. You’re honestly surprised you and your father haven’t been attacked yet if that’s the case.

Satoru drives you home and it’s relatively quiet in the car, the thrumming of the almost noiseless engine enough to fill the silence. You go back to what Satoru says during your date, and now you’re memorising the smells he emitted during your conversation. Before, it was hard to really tell since you were stressing, and the restaurant was full of blooming alphas and betas. However, now it was lingering through the car. He had spoken so easily about death and killing, like it was second nature to him next to breathing. Some curses were sentient, able to talk and think, and then there was the comment about killing everyone else in the restaurant, who were definitely not curses. He was happy, proud even, to have that kind of strength and show it off to you. Tonka bean and vetiver… Perhaps even an orange blossom. It was nice, even if the reason behind it was a little morbid, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and indulge.

The scent got stronger, and suddenly you were startled by a low chuckle, your eyes flashing open to see you were leaning towards him. Satoru had slowed down in front of your house and turned the car off, his cheeks a flush in the dim light, “Having you relax around me like that feels so nice. I can’t tell you enough how happy you’ve just made me.”

You open your mouth immediately to say sorry, only to close it after a moment’s thought. He doesn’t smell like he’s trying to bully you or mad that you thought you could get so close to him without repercussions. How much longer can you hold out from someone who is being so kind to you?

“You don’t have to reply to that,” he tells you, saving you from thinking of an acceptable response. Satoru gets out first, hurrying to your side while you unbuckle yourself to let you out. You smile at him and let him take your hand, holding you close as he closes the door and pushes you against the car. A small gasp is pushed from you, surprised at his boldness. You’re lucky that this neighbourhood was relatively quiet, no one being awake at this hour to see you with anyone. “I really want to kiss you,” he says, face inching closer to you, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold back in the car.”

Your eyes shift in nervousness, hands coming to press to Satoru’s chest, “W-wait, s’too soon-“

“It’s fine,” he cuts, not letting you get another word out, smashing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss. Your eyes dilate, his scent and taste making your heart jump with a certain anxiety – excitement – you’re letting your shoulders relax and clenching the front of his shirt as he takes the lead. Maybe… Maybe this isn’t so bad… His leg finds its way between the both of yours and gently grinds down, a small moan slipping from your mouth at the electric feeling. Next, he starts to slowly introduce his tongue to your mouth, the wet muscle a new sensation to you.

Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain, your gut tightening and your eyes watering as you double over into his chest. Your body is hot, panting, you lean into him and can hardly hear anything. Satoru is speaking, saying something, ‘sorry’ and ‘test’ are two words you think you understand but you can’t focus on sounds. What does help you, though, is the gentle caress his hand brings to your head. He holds you tight, safe, his pheromones echoing security and comfort through your mind. You mumble into his clothes once you feel you’re able to talk again, “Wh-what was that? That hurt so much…”

Satoru hums, both hands coming to your face which he cradles and regards you with loving eyes, “Have you ever been in heat, (Y/n)?”

You sniffle, shaking your head, “No, I’ve taken suppressants since the day they found out what I was. It made puberty really difficult…”

Satoru’s lips curl into a frown, “I imagine it would. It seems your body jumped into overdrive, the stimulation from kissing alone too much for you.”

Your arms curled around yourself for some comfort, “My suppressants, they’re running low so I’ve been halving them to spread them out but they’re just making me feel sick.”

“When did you start halving them?” He asks, eyes now wide with worry.

“Uhm, I think about a few days ago? But I can’t get a hold of my doctor and it’s hard to find anyone that will willingly prescribe suppressants.” Your head falls into his chest, a feeling of defeat washing over you.

Satoru pets your head, quiet in thought before he says, “Why not just stop taking them?”

You have to laugh at that, tilting your head to look up at him, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he closes his eyes, burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, “You’ve got me now, I’ll look after you. Fuck, you smell so good.”

“Satoru-“ Your wrists are caught in his as he stares you down.

Or, at least that is what he appears to be doing. You’re stuck in his grasp as you wait for him to make his statement, which he does once your lips smacks shut, “You don’t need to hide who you are anymore. Just think about it, ‘kay?”

To get him off your back you give an exhale of defeat, rolling your eyes to the side and complying, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Cool?”

His charming grin is almost enough to even fool you into thinking it was okay to relinquish your omega self to him, “Cool.”

Things were not cool. Not long after getting inside, your father had waited to pounce once the car Satoru drove was out of sight. Your vision had waned with the punch he threw at you, your body colliding with the hallway wall. “Disgusting!” He had spat, literally, his saliva landing on your cheek and barely missing your eye. His foot was next to make contact, kicking you hard enough in the stomach that you threw up a little of your dinner, “You reek of a fucking omega! I see you whoring yourself out, slut. Tryna hide the money from me, eh?”

Another kick had you crying out, this one on your bicep and knocking you back to the ground. You wailed as he bent down and held your hair in a tight and painful grasp, “I’m not! I swear, I have no money!”

He ignored you, his breath badly stained with alcohol, however, you were certain even without the influence he wouldn’t hold back, “Tryna seduce me? Hm? Your own father? You fucking wretch. If you don’t stop that smell right now I swear to whatever fucking God is out there…”

You were bawling now, you could only assume your hormones were worse, your own senses dull to the smell of you. It hurt internally as well, your omega working overdrive as you try in vain to calm down so you didn’t have to endure the full impact of emitting such helpless hormones. It may not have worked the way you wanted it to, but, your father seemed to calm down with a sneer.

He threw your head to the floor and began walking away, “If you don’t get back on those fucking meds by tomorrow then I will kill you. I promise you that.”

You didn’t dare reply to that, thankful that he decided to walk away while you were still breathing tonight.

How fitting the weather is today, the clouds a dark grey and the skies pouring with rain. You had one umbrella with a hole between two of the spines but it was better than nothing. This morning you left the house with a bag packed and a small suitcase, only the essentials.

You were on a bus ride to the other side of town to see your doctor. If they weren’t going to pick up the phone then you’d have to arrive suddenly. If he didn’t have the suppressors then you weren’t going to go home, in fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to go back anyway. Perhaps a life on the street was better than this. A woman’s shelter wouldn’t take you in for the fact that you were an omega, and an omega shelter had an 80% chance of being a front for something worse than illegal.

The bus stops where you need to be, the passengers loudly exclaiming that they’re happy you’re finally leaving. It doesn’t hurt so much today, you just have one thing on your mind.

‘Why not just kill yourself?’

You stop at the thought, in the middle of opening your umbrella, standing in the rain. It was a thought, right? Ending it was always a nice joke but holy shit that voice sounded like it was right by your ear and… genuine. You weren’t exactly scared, a little shocked, sure but, maybe you should bring that up with your doctor, too.

However, as you got closer and closer to the clinic, you began to think they weren’t open. Though there was the receptionist’s and the doctor’s cars outside, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off and the sign, once you got close enough to read, was saying ‘Closed��.

Your hand reaches to your heart as you feel it thumping hard in anxiety, your pheromones beginning to linger around you as a thick, steady aura. Thank goodness this place was off the city boarder, not many people around to subject you to bullying and hatred. You look back to the cars again, both of them parked neatly in the small lot. Even if it’s closed, you need to push past your nervousness and gently demand your medication. If you didn’t… Well, he knows just as well as you do.

You knock on the glass with a firm hit, calling out for good measure, “Dr. Kodoka, it’s me, (Y/n).”

Silence.

You knock again, if they don’t want to be disturbed then the earlier they open up to you the better. “Dr. Kodoka, please, I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency,” you plead, hoping he could tell by the sound of your voice how desperate you were.

Your gut drops as more silence is your only response. You probably should have tried this first, grabbing the long handle of the door and trying to open it. No surprise, it’s locked. Perhaps there’s a back entrance? Oh, you feel so seedy scrounging around a doctor’s office.

Past the skip bins there’s a narrow entrance just wide enough for one person between the building and a wired fence. You’re not sure why the wired fence is even here, it’s not attached to anything and only separates a portion of the office from an open wheat field. Luck smiles upon you as you try this door, the entrance clicking open and allowing you to step into the darkness.

One deep breath before you call out has you positively gagging at the disgusting scent that assaults you nose and mouth. It’s unavoidable, the little bit of vomit that works its way up your throat is involuntarily spat out onto the linoleum floor. What. The. Fuck.

This has to be the worst experience you’ve ever been through, the tears in your eyes falling freely as you persevere through the smell. You know you need to call the police, you know something like this isn’t normal. However, if you do, and they find out you’re an omega here to purchase suppressants then there’s a good chance you’ll both be dead. It’s happened before, police getting trigger happy or beating up omegas and any allies. Of course, society doesn’t care. More filth off the streets.

There’s a sound towards the entrance, something being knocked over, as well as some sort of ‘sludging’ noise. Could it be one of them trying to get to the door? Someone must be alive! You quietly move towards the entrance, past the main office, the break room, and peak through the broken door of the reception. It’s horrendous.

All the gore has been maintained in this area. Limbs, a spine, half a head that has been poorly cut from the top of their skull through their chin- and that’s only the background. In the middle of it all, this giant, wrinkly, slug-like creature appears to be waking up. It has an amass of arms and hands over it’s back and sides, and one twitching on the tip of its tail. The stalks that would be its eyes slowly raise, turning in all directions as if looking around.

You fall against the door, your entire being freezing up in a shock mode. The thud of your body hitting the floor alerts it to you, and you notice now that instead of eyes, it was wearing the distraught faces of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist still had one of her eyes hanging from their socket, whilst the doctor was completely eyeless, with only a couple of teeth and the tip of his tongue drooping from the gaping mouth.

It hones in on your position and starts charging at an alarming pace, the only thing you can do is scream your throat raw as your end nears. It’s too horrifying, too real to be a dream you can escape. The creature splits its mouth with human-like teeth in mismatched rows and thrashing hands over its body and you can’t look away from your demise.

You don’t blink, and because you don’t blink it’s hard to believe anything happened.

As fast as light itself, a man appears and slashes the slug in half, horizontally through its open mouth with a light so white there’s a tint of blue to it. The guttural scream it lets out is so closely related to a human’s that you are only filled with more fear. The man, who turns to give you a cocky wink and that you can now see is Satoru Gojo, makes a crude display of holding his index and middle finger in front of his face and slowly licking his digits with the flat of his tongue; before slicing the creature up into smaller pieces until it bursts into sprays of blood and nothingness.

Your hearing was skewed, you barely recognise his footsteps as he walks towards you and bends down to hold his hand out. You tell your mind to grab it, to accept his kindness after saving you but you’re caught in your own sense of dread and confusion as not a speck of blood is seen on Satoru or his white hair, or his devilish smile, or that black coat with the collar sticking around his neck.

Satoru’s smile softens and he’s sure you can’t hear him when speaks to you, “Ah, I see we’ll have to cut our deal short. That’s okay, we’re only one date off anyway.” He reaches for your hands, placing them both in one of his and stroking the backs with his thumb. He then slowly removes his blindfold and tilts your chin with his free hand to force you to meet his silvery gaze, “(Y/n), sweetheart, look at me. Everything is okay now.”

His eyes are so blue… White… Silver… They’re like crystals or diamonds or two pools of galaxies – they’re out of this world. His lashes are gorgeous too, and for some reason you feel a ping of jealousy amongst all this chaos because how can a man be so beautiful just by taking off his blindfold. Like a character taking off their glasses to reveal they were beautiful all along. Wait, what are these thoughts? In this horrible situation you suddenly feel like giggling.

Satoru chuckles, keeping your focus solely on him as he lifts you in his arms to carry you out. People in suits run past you but neither of you pay them no mind as he keeps talking, “What silly thoughts are going through that omega mind of yours?” You laugh incredulously, feeling your body fall heavier in his arms he adjusts you, “There it is, there’s that adrenaline leaving you. I gotcha, sweetheart.”

You’re sat on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water wedged between your legs. A few feet away is Satoru, talking to someone so casually you wouldn’t think he just killed a monster with his own hands; literally. You watch as he dismisses the person and walks back over to you with a smile, his blindfold back on and his hands coming from his pockets to bring you into a side embrace, “How are you feeling? That was quite an experience, huh?”

Trauma makes people react differently to things, so if this was his job then it makes sense he wouldn’t be so distressed. “I smell of decay,” you sigh, though you weren’t covered in filth you definitely had some stains. Even without the mess, the stale air in the clinic was enough to cling to you. You squeeze the blanket tighter around you, “How could something like this happen? They were generous people. Kind; caring.”

Satoru seemed to think for a moment, as if deciding what the best thing to say right now would be. Whether it was helpful or not, he opted for the truth, placing one of his large hands below your neck for comfort, “They were helping omegas, and regardless of their personality, a lot of stigma comes from there. Constant stress to keep a secret, harsh words from the few friends and family that know, it all adds up and creates the perfect scent for a curse to trail.”

“I remember you saying you that they are attracted to negative energy. So, rather than feeding off the energy itself they eat the humans?” You ask, though you already know the answer to that. You just can’t wrap your head around how this is even possible. You recall his eyes, how pretty they are beneath the blindfold, “Is that why your eyes are so striking, because you have the power to fight them?”

A laugh bubbles from his chest, his hand squeezing your back, “Sort of. Not everyone is like me, though. In fact, no one is like me.” He steps back, arms open wide and head tilted towards the sky, “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to exist! Killing that creature used nothing but a flick of my wrist.” When he looks back to you there is a strange, powerful feeling that emanates from him, even some of the detectives around you seem to tense, “Nothing can touch me. In turn, nothing will ever touch you.”

What he says should be something kind, words of protection and safety. However, as his gaze burns through the blindfold and into your own, you feel like your breath has been whisked away and your body is being pulled to the ground, trapping you in place for him. It only lets up when your phone begins to ring, and to get out of this awkward feeling of a situation you answer it, “Hello, this is (Y/n).”

The voice on the other side of the phone makes you almost vomit, your father sounding almost melancholic, “(Y/n)… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. Come home.”

You’re at a loss for words. He wants you home? No, that’s a lie, you can’t understand what is going on with him. Something tickles your ear and you jump to see Satoru leaning close so he can listen to your conversation. He smiles at you and nods, whispering, “Say yes.”

Satoru saved you and promised to protect you. He wouldn’t be telling you to agree if you were going to get hurt, you’d like to believe. So, swallowing your hesitation you reply, “O-Okay, dad. I’ll come home.”

He breathes a huge sigh of relief, “Thank god, thank you, (Y/n). Thank you so much.”

You hang up and look to Satoru with worry, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

“Nah, I won’t let him,” Satoru says, confidently. You think you can trust him, especially since you watched him take down a strong monster, your angry alpha of a father would be no match for him. He sees you’re still worried, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand and his smile doing its best to calm you, “Let’s finish up here.”

By the time you two are at your house the sun was low in the sky. Satoru had parked down the street this time, the two of you walking slowly down footpath to avoid suspicion. You were already on edge, however, when Satoru told you he wanted you to go in alone, you froze up completely.

He just stood there, allowing you to process what he said. You started by shaking your head, grabbing onto his hand, “No. No, please, you said-“

“-I said I’d protect you and I will. I’m going to go around the back, you just walk up like everything is hunky-dory, ‘kay?”

With a squeeze of your shoulder, he skips around, his carefree attitude not exactly lifting your anxiety. One thing is for certain, though, and that’s that you’ve seen him kill the other curse before. You know he can do it. You trust him. Alpha status aside, if you have any friend in this world then it’s Satoru Gojo.

You take your time going up to the front door, hand trembling as you reach for the knob. It’s unlocked, the door creaking open ominously. You get a cold rush through your body, the inside at freezing temperatures. It’s unnatural, making you step back in shock and shivering in what you could only describe as unease.

But it’s okay, because Satoru is here. He said he would protect you and the prospect has you feeling your cheeks flush. He’s like… your alpha.

The inside is quiet, save for the humming of electricity coming from the fridge. You walk slowly in and look around, spying your father in lounge room on his recliner, hands intertwined as he leans forward. You don’t shut the door, feeling just a tad easier with the escape route.

It isn’t until you’re standing before him that a whistling of wind causes the door to slam shut on its own, the locks clicking in place unnaturally. Your confused look in that direction has him huffing a laugh. Your father doesn’t give you the courtesy of eye contact, “You know that on the day you were born, your mother and I were at our happiest?”

It’s an odd way to start a conversation, and though you were certain this was a trap of some kind, you don’t know what else to do except respond meekly, “I didn’t know that no.”

A humourless laugh accompanies the way he sits up, shoulders slumped, and eyes dazed behind you, “No, of course you don’t. We only told you once when you were just a newborn. Once you got your status in life, well… It was too shameful to ever bring up again. We were completely embarrassed we every felt that way about an omega.”

He’s not just staring off into nothing, you notice the way his eyes look specifically behind you. Is it Satoru, did he come inside? You turn your head, only to go rigid and fall back in fear. Not another one… Not another curse.

It was too tall for the ceiling, curving over like a hook with its head twisted to be partially upright. Tiny mouths were strewn over its face and down its neck, human teeth in all sorts of odd places like the lips and cheeks of the creature. The main mouth was skewed to the side and grinning openly down at you, and the eyes that are sunken, almost giving a hollow effect, were as dark as a black hole; though you knew instantly that it had its gaze locked on you. Four lanky arms reach from its shoulders, the body a crooked mass of black and its fingers twitching in all the wrong directions with painful cracks of possible bone.

The worst part that solidified its presence was when it spoke, his voice raspy and words barely tangible, “Dau…ght…er… Path..et..ic ome…gck.a. Delectabblle—dinn….eerrr.”

You jumped at the firm hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place as the curse limped forwards. Your father spoke in a neutral tone, “It appeared not long after your mother left. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, who to contact or what to do. Eventually, I started nurturing it. It grew with every argument we had, relished in my anger and pain. I let it feed off me and now it wants more. Now it wants you. You’ll do this, right? It’s the only good thing you’re for, after all. It’ll save me, your family.”

Tears streamed down your face, head shaking as you shifted back. Even with the bit of adrenaline you were able to muster, you were no match for your father, forced to endure the visual of this creature’s fingers itching to get a hold of your flesh. You could only sob, no words coming out, not even to call for Satoru.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to. Your saviour appears once more, and as though the curse is nothing but a guy on the street, he places his hand on its back and gives a low whistle, “Low blow, dad. And here I was excited to finally meet my father-in-law.”

There’s a pressure now in the air, one that has you curling in on yourself, and causing the curse’s open smile to turn into a low hanging frown. Its head spins on its neck, trying to get a look at the man that has it. Your father is more concerned about the words Satoru spoke, though, the tips of his fingers digging painfully into your skin, “’Father-in-law’? You whore. I knew you were out selling yourself. Looks like even to the end, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. That’s all going to change, though. Now you and your boy toy can die together.��

Satoru laughs, and before you can even blink, he appears behind your father and grabs his wrist, easily shattering the bones and causing him to let go of you. You shift to the side, away from both him and the curse as he screams. Satoru tuts at him, waggling his finger nonchalantly in the air, “Parents should protect their children, not sacrifice them. Honestly…” His voice lowers into something almost sad, though you’re wondering if Gojo Satoru was actually privy to that emotion in the first place or if he was just a really good actor, “People like you disgust me.”

A bright light that radiates such an intense heat envelops the lounge room. Your arm comes up to cover your face, eyes squinting, all you can hear are the pained cries of your father and the garbled curse. It sends fear coursing through your body, even if Satoru is on your side, just what sort of power does he control? The carnage you expect to see once your eyes adjust isn’t anywhere. The light is gone, everyone else in the room is gone, thin burn marks are left where your father and the curse once was.

You jump at the hand on your shoulder, your saviour appearing once again out of nowhere. He smirks, acting a little flustered, “Sorry, are your eyes okay? I just wanted to show off a little bit.”

Again, he’s able to treat this like it’s any other menial task. You ask him, voice quiet, “Where are they?”

He tilts his head at you, a little pouty that your first concern was them and not the praise you should be heaping on your hero. He squeezes your shoulder, comfortingly, “What do you mean? They’re gone, does it really matter where?”

It takes a few goes on shaky legs, but, you’re able to stand and face him, “I’m just a little concerned what even happened. Watching you fight the other one, I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and now this- … Are they…?”

“Dead? Yes.”

You exhale at his blatant response. Is this something you should blame yourself for, the killing of your father and that… thing? Or is that just your life-long need to put any negative responsibility on you for merely being born an omega.

Satoru wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the lounge room to help your overclocked mind, "Here’s what would have happened if I didn’t do that: The curse would eat you, devour your father, and then go on a rampage hunting primarily other poor omegas. It’s happened before, baby. Besides,” he cups your face in his hands, making you look up at him, “He was a horrible man. No loss. Can you really say you loved him?”

The only love you had for your father was before your scent kicked in. After that, he was worse than a stranger to you. You fiddle with your fingers, abashedly looking away, “What happens now?”

“Now,” he excitedly jostles you, the smile on his face huge, “You come with me!”

Your eyebrows furrow, his goofy attitude somehow lessening the severity of the situation for you, “I can’t just do that.”

“Sure you can! Where else are you gonna go?” He questions, awaiting an answer he knows you won’t be able to think of. He takes your hands in his and gets down on one knee, “(Y/n), I know it hasn’t been very long, but when I say I’ve finally found the love of my life-“

Cheeks burning, you push away from him, trying to cover up his teasing laugh with your hands to your ears, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop. Fine, I’ll come along with you.” You don’t think you can ever get used to being flirted with, especially in the unique ways that Satoru comes up with.

He gives you a gentle push, “Go grab some valuables, baby. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

Satoru watches as you move up the stairs, grumbling about the sudden use of ‘baby’ he’s started getting attached to. Hah, how he really does love you. His hand comes to the straining of his cock in his pants, palming the ache that’s been prevalent for a while now. Not long now, he can’t way to absolutely ruin you. An omega that’s never had a proper heat, and he gets to be your first toy, just as much as you are his. His luck truly is divine, if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely him.

#yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #abo #yandere satoru x reader #alpha x omega #yandere gojo x reader #yandere x reader #yandere alpha x omega #alpha satoru gojo #jjk x reader

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horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

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Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 16: In the Blood

📖I'm amused you guys voted on this one as the one that inspired DTDT. I wouldn't say this one was one of the big three, but it ended up becoming my inspiration for Jake's backstory.

Also, this was me after that last part: 🏃‍♀️<-🔱🔥

I'm so sorry I broke all of your hearts with part 15! They have a happy ending, I swear! We just have to get through the angst first... And Sadie... Oh dear... I cried writing this... so it's safe to say maybe bring tissues?

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child character, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, talk about break ups, talk about therapy, probably inaccurate dogfight descriptions (I tried my best!), Jake is going through it, Emotional & Protective Sadie (She needs her own warning), & Protective Bradley.

#6K words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 17

It had to be the shock.

The reason why there were gaps in your memory. You don’t remember climbing into the front seat of Rooster's Bronco. Or even putting on your seat belt or him pulling out of the parking lot.

He probably had to do it for you.

You had to remind yourself he was driving you home. That you just very publically broke up with Jake in the Hard Deck. Spit-roasted George with very colourful vernacular.

You'd have to explain to Penny why you were swearing in her bar again. But you had a more pressing predicament than wondering what might happen in the aftermath of that experience, which would presumptively have Hangman's callsign back on the sign in the bathroom.

Even with a broken heart, you felt like you were a child being allowed to sit in the front seat of a car. Under the scrutiny of an "I'm not mad, just disappointed" parent driving you home from school. White hot anxiety coursed through your veins with the assumption you did something so incredibly wrong; you just didn't know what.

Rooster was eerily silent. Next to the roar of his engine and AC fan, the silence was constructing. Suffocating. He should be gloating, listing off all the ways you ignored him, ignored the team that day on the soccer field. All the ways he was going to hurt Hangman the next time he saw him.

It was driving you insane.

"Are you going to gloat? Say, I told you so?" you finally huffed through your tears when it became too much. "Hangman did what he does best?"

"Not today, Liz."

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them. It almost made it worse. Like you were genuinely expecting a verbal argument, and the fact you weren't getting one was making you pout like an actual child.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he offered eventually, after a pregnant pause. A horrible scraggly sound accompanied your hiccup.

"I should never have let Sadie invite him to Saturday nights."

"No, I'm sorry for what I said in your hallway," he countered. "For the way I acted."

Ironic, isn't it? The person you knew to be the most childish when expressing his emotions was sobering your petulant thoughts and behaviour. Even when your mind and obsessive internal dialogue went, why the fuck did he think now was a good time as any to apologize?!

You dropped your chin to your chest. "But you did," you huffed, hugging yourself against the sudden chill. “In front of Sadie, no less.”

Had you turned your head, you would have seen Bradley nodding absentmindedly, his eyes staring blankly at the road.

“It was uncalled for, Liz. The fact you felt you needed to hide it from me….” he trailed off. You sniffed, wiping at your cheeks, letting him gather his words. "I get it. Why you didn't. I wouldn't have taken the news differently even if you had told me. It might have been worse."

“Still, I should have told you,” you offered, shaking your head before staring out the window, watching the trees blur by. “Not that it matters now.”

Bradley gritted his teeth, hands flexing on the steering wheel. He wanted to mouth off. Not about you ignoring his warnings but all the ways Hangman was a complete and utter cock.

He couldn't. You didn't deserve that in the fragile state you were in. Fragile wouldn't even be in the vocabulary of words Bradley would ever use to describe you. Hangman had made you like this, played you and your feelings.

It was never going to be your fault. He had realized that after the fight. When he promised he'd be there for you and Sadie, he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like.

A punch to Jake's face? Hearing it after the fact? Not actually being there to witness it? Him rambling off all the things he hated about Hangman? Ultimately, Bradley could only offer a measly retort of, "He's an asshole."

You swallowed hard. You couldn't deny Bradley's remark.

Jake being an asshole at that moment was him being Hangman, a side you thought you'd never have to see. For him to so readily agree with George, there was no other way you couldn’t interpret those words as anything but him playing you, using you.

Had he not given you that condensing grin and spoken those words, you might have believed he was merely being triggered by the presence of his brother.

You should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You felt foolish, naive, and utterly lost. The grief of losing Ridley was and had always been a constant companion, but this felt different. It was the realization that you had let him in and allowed him to become a part of Sadie's life and yours. You had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust in the cruellest way possible.

You just wanted to know why? Why he lashed out at you? Why did he act like he cared when he didn’t?

Why? Why? Why?

You’d never get an answer from him now. You wanted to stay away from him, ignore him, avoid every mention or instance of him and his fucking callsign. The wall was back up, and it would never come back down. Instead, fixing your eyes on his dashboard, with no judgment in your voice, you asked Bradley, “Why Roo? Why did you lash out like that?”

Bradley sighed once, tapping his thumb against his steering wheel.

“Loving any of us is a death sentence, Liz. One day you might wake up and find one of us is gone. Just like that.” He shuttered in a breath. “I think, in some twisted way, I wanted to spare you the pain of losing someone you were in love with that way.”

He tried to find the words to explain his next point delicately, but there was no other way he could say it to you without not getting his point across. “You don’t handle grief well, Liz. You barely found the strength to carry on had it not been for Sadie.”

You huffed, knowing deep down he was right but doing absolutely everything in your power to keep denying it. You weren’t doing this today. If not, ever.

Bradley heard you but continued anyway, leaving your reaction tucked away for later. “I didn’t want you to end up like my mom. Sadie to end up like me. Cause him? He always flew like he had nothing to lose; he would do something foolish sooner than later. You would be left to mourn him. For Sadie to mourn him. I didn’t want that for you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Yet, you blurted out suddenly, "You need to go to therapy, Roo."

Bradley laughed softly. You looked over at him, slightly worried he might be having a fit. But it was a genuine reaction. And despite everything, you caught a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You shouldn't be laughing. Not with the heavyweight still pressing down on your chest. Yet, sitting next to Rooster as he drove you home, his laughter was the only thing that seemed to be cutting through the heavy fog weighing over you.

Nothing could be done to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside your chest. Bradley's grin widened, his laughter louder when he realized you were fighting your own. You couldn't help but join him. Whether the pain in your chest was from the laughter or the heartache, you couldn’t tell.

When the two of you finally managed to stop laughing, Bradley admitted with laboured breath. "I am, actually."

You turned to face him, utterly shocked. "Since when?!"

"Two days after." He doesn't need to be explicit. You know what he's referring to. "There's someone on base. I've only had one session so far, but it's making me realize I should have gone sooner."

You stared at him in disbelief.

If he had told you that, come to you while you were still working, or if he had called or even texted, you would have forgiven him instantly. You couldn't hold what he did to you against him after an admission like that.

"I'm proud of you, Bradley," you said, wiping your nose. "I really am."

He glanced over at you, a level of warmth in his eyes. “I needed to hit rock bottom and get a push by a few people. People who cared.”

His response was cryptic. It couldn't have been just you and Sadie, not after how you screamed at him or after Sadie kicked him out. Or even anyone on the Squad. It made you wonder who was his catalyst for the sudden change of thought. For now, you were just glad he was getting help.

You gave him a small smile, making Bradley reach over and grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. You gripped it back, but when he went to let go, you tightened your hand in panic.

"Just... Don't let go. Not yet."

Bradley didn't let go, driving one-handed the remainder of the journey back to your house. The two of you didn't say anything else. You sat silently even when he pulled into your driveway and turned off the ignition.

You didn't want to get out of his Bronco. You didn't want to walk into your house and see all the traces of Jake. You didn't want to gather his things in his bag. Leave them on the front porch, or change the spot for the emergency key.

But that was what happened when you went through a breakup, right? These were the things that needed to be done.

Bradley broke the extended silence, his voice deep and gentle when he asked, "What will you tell Sadie?"

Sadie.

You paused. You didn't really need to think about your answer. Just the weight of what it truly meant to say it out loud.

"The truth. As I've always done."

This was your worst fear about dating. The one that arose when you became Sadie's guardian. The one that so precariously dangled over your head when you told Jake you were a package deal. It wasn't the threat of betrayal, wasted time, or memories turning bittersweet.

As bad as that was at the Hard Deck, as broken and in pieces as your heart was, telling Sadie would be worse.

Jake broke your heart.

Now you had to break Sadie's too.

You glanced at Bradley, searching his eyes before asking him quietly, "Wanna come with me to pick her up from Penny's?"

Bradley smiled, nodding softly.

---

It was the eighth time the F-18s had flown this exercise this week. Coyote, Rooster, Hangman, and even Maverick, all had taken turns flying it with each other, in pairs, to navigate an imaginary narrow terrain.

Had Hangman been paying more attention, he would have questioned the sudden need to practice this particular exercise repeatedly and why it was just them, not Phoniex, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. The first few times had been a simple flight test, learning the route, the twists, and the turns.

He was never more ruthless than in the cockpit, especially now. All that was child's play compared to some of the stuff he had done throughout his Naval carrier.

But today's addition? They wanted to see how they handled the pattern while dog fighting.

Rooster had decided to make it personal.

"Come on, Hangman!" Rooster taunted through the comms. "Is that all you've got?"

Hangman gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the controls, knuckles white. He was pushing his jet to the limit, narrowly avoiding Rooster's ‘fire’ as the alarm from the targeting system filled his cockpit.

The turn in the valley afforded Hangman the opportunity for some leeway to move out of the way. Barely.

"Come on! You're flying like a rookie today!" Rooster taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thinking about what you did to Liz?"

Hangman's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the controls. "This isn't the time, Rooster," he snapped, but the cocky twang had lost its touch.

Rooster just laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. You need a reminder of what a colossal fuck-up you were."

"I know what I did," Hangman growled, banking hard to the right to avoid Rooster's aggressive maneuvers. The asshole was gaining on him, even with how carefree he seemed to be with his taunts.

"Still thinking about Liz?" Rooster's voice was a sneer, crackling through his headset, and Hangman could hear the satisfaction. "Maybe that's why you're losing."

"Focus on the fight," Hangman snapped, anger boiling in his chest.

"Oh, I am," Rooster replied, his voice crackling through the headset and dripping with contempt.

The mountainsides and the green of the trees were a blur as Hangman and Rooster approached the end of the valley. Hangman could hear his heartbeat against the sound of his own breath in his oxygen mask.

Rooster didn't need to say the obvious aloud. Hangman was thinking about you. He couldn't shake the image of your face from that night.

Broken. Sad. Devastated.

He wanted to close his eyes, get lost in the moments when he would awake in your bed, finding you next to him. In your touch. In your voice.

When he hadn't fucked it up.

But he couldn't.

He rolled the F-18 over once he was clear of the mountains and the flight pattern, finally able to use open space to retaliate and flip around. There was only a few seconds left in their time limit.

If Rooster wanted a dogfight, he'd given him a dogfight while he still could.

"Where are you? Where are you?" he drawled aloud. He kept his eyes on the sky, searching for any indication Rooster was nearby as the seconds ticked away. But he was nowhere to be found.

"Time!"

Hangman didn't trust Rooster would listen to Maverick's call. He'd even go as far as to admit the man was almost like him, dead set on proving a point when it mattered. At least Hangman could demonstrate some restraint.

Sure enough, Rooster's voice echoed as his plane came into view. Swinging up and hanging upset down from directly under him.

Inverted.

"Forget to look below?"

Hangman finally had enough.

"Want me to take one out of your book?!" he yelled, staring up through the glass, never once taking his eyes off Rooster as he jolted the stick to the side, rotating the plane over in time with Roosters.

Into a damn spiral dive. A fucking corkscrew.

Rooster grunted with the effort of withstanding the Gs on his body. Hangman was no different, bracing hard as he fought against the controls. Neither one listened to Mav shouting over the airway or the different tone alerts signalling information.

"You think this proves something?" Hangman's voice was cold and ruthless even though he gritted his teeth. "Break off now, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Rooster spat back. "Like you did with Liz?"

His response was automatic, like reading a script he had long since memorized. "Life is hard, Rooster. It's cruel and unforgiving. You can either whine about it, or you can face it head-on. You think you're going to prove something, kid, by keeping me here?!"

"Watch me!"

The world faded out. Nothing mattered but the two pilots, locking in that spin, seemingly staring each other down.

Yet, Hangman was completely unaware he was running out of space. The Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! was background noise on muffled ears, as were Maverick's increasing shouts for the pair to stop and break away.

He was too caught up in everything to care. Rooster would have to break away first. He wouldn't give out.

He wouldn't let him win.

But then a voice, soft and delicate despite the alarms, shouts and struggles of the Jet's engine broke through the haze.

Jake.

It was a blast of bright light like the sun suddenly blinded the corner of his eyes. For whatever spoke to him, it had been as close as he had ever been to hitting beyond the hard deck. He finally pulled up on the control stick, saving himself just in time and avoiding hitting Rooster.

His breath was harsh, anger on the edge of boiling over as he levelled the jet. And when he finally returned to the correct altitude, Hangman ripped the oxygen mask from his face, fighting the urge to hit something, as Rooster's chuckles filled the air.

"Hangman! Rooster! Get back to base. Now!"

---

"Do the two of you want to get kicked out?! How could you be so stupid!?"

Nat's question was rhetorical. Hangman and Rooster were stupid. It was so deeply entrenched into their entire being she knew she was wasting her breath by even pointing it out.

A reminder didn't hurt, though.

She had her eyes set on Hangman, but Rooster wasn't very off, sliding his way over to the blonde pilot who had only just started his post-flight checks after getting his jet back into the hanger.

He was deadset on ignoring her, not once glancing her way as she stomped toward him.

“What will Liz say when she finds out how reckless the two of you were?!”

His reaction made her pause; his hands froze from where they were adjusting a valve. Had she turned away, she wouldn't have caught the grimace on his face - however slight or brief it made have been.

“Oh, you didn’t hear what he did?” Rooster called out, smirking from his perch, leaning against a nearby table and crossing his elbows. He may have promised not to gloat around you, but the squad was fair game.

"Liz even slapped him for it too."

Confusion, shock, and pure anger crossed her face in the three seconds she took to glare at Jake. Heat laced her voice as she asked, "What the fuck did you do?"

Liz would never, she thought, only if she had to.

Jake bowed his head, slamming the panel of the jet closed with a hard bang. He turned, gritting his jaw and standing straight, ignoring Nat’s heated question. Rooster chuckled from the side, uncrossing his arms to stride forward.

“Oh, he did exactly what we expected him to,” he filled the silence. “He hurt Liz and left her out to dry, saying she and Sadie were nothing but a bit of fun to pass the time. And when she confronted him about it, he went right for the kill, not concerned about who he would hurt in the process.”

The rest of the Squad was nearby when they heard Rooster’s words, awaiting the fall out of that aerial display. They gathered around the pair, faces twisting with disdain as a dangerous silence befell the room, each looking from Rooster to Jake, reflecting varying degrees of disbelief, shock and, more predominantly, anger.

Jake's eyes were dark, his face tight with suppressed emotion. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, defend himself, try to explain. But he didn’t. No one would believe him anyway.

"Damn you, Hangman," Phoenix whispered, her voice breaking. "We trusted you."

The room seemed to deflate as the truth sank in. Bob, who had been silent until now, let out a long breath, his face pale. He couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She would be devastated.

“So did Liz,” Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Jake.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and defensive. "You think you know everything, don't you, Rooster? You abandoned her when she needed you most. For what? To prove a point? Now you’re acting all righteous?”

Something hard flashed in Rooster’s eyes. “At least I owned up to my mistake and apologized. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t! I never fucked around with her heart!”

Jake let out a condescending laugh. “You think she came running to you because she trusts you? She couldn’t even tell you she was seeing me. What does that say about you? She doesn't trust you as much as you think.”

Rooster grinned. “If that were true, she wouldn’t have come to me in that aftermath. After all, she asked me to drive her home,” he said mockingly. “We even went together to break the news to Sadie.”

Jake clenched his fist at the mention of Sadie, charging forward to ready a punch to Bradley’s smug ass face. But Bradley didn’t move, still smiling as Jake stared him down last minute as the Dagger’s jumped to Bradley’s defence.

Jake’s guilt over you and Sadie wouldn’t let him follow through on that punch. Bradley was sure of it. Even with the rest of the daggers looming around, he knew Jake would still be seeking your approval, even if you would never give it to him again.

How disturbing would it be for him to know little less than three weeks ago, Bradley had been at the end of the team's disapproval as they backed Jake.

The tables had turned. Nobody would stand behind him after what he did to Liz now.

The two were locked in an intense stare-down, Jake more rattled than he let on and Bradley unnerving calm. It wasn’t until there was a slamming of a door echoing from somewhere in the hangar did the Squad suddenly walk away from the feuding pair, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs, already on their phones to message Liz. the only one who had stayed was Nat, wondering how she could have ever thought Hangman was capable of change.

“Rooster! Hangman! My office!” Maverick's voice boomed from somewhere within the empty hanger.

When neither moved or peeled their eyes away from the other, Mav’s voice rang out again, this time enough to rattle off the hollow steel walls, making Nat jolt from the force of it.

“Now!”

---

As a team, the Daggers celebrated everything. Maverick labelled it moral support and team-building. Jake realized long ago it was just his way of getting all the pilots out of the hangers to experience life. Not that he ever complained.

After the lashing he got earlier, it was surprising that he and Rooster were still invited. It was clear as day nobody wanted him here.

It was the second anniversary of the Urianum mission. The official anniversary of the creation of the squad. Jake missed the last one, so he wasn't sure what to expect. A beach party. A game of dogfight football. A bonfire.

Jake couldn’t care less what was going on. You and Sadie would have been here with him had he not snapped.

Somewhere down the line, everything had become blurred. The day he had been dubbed “Hangman” - they said he was surgical, precise, unfeeling - the perfect pilot.

It gave him purpose and confirmation. He’d even make the stretch to say acceptance. He embedded it. Cause nothing else mattered. It worked the facade. It kept people at a distance and shielded him from judgment and expectations.

But now? Things were different. You, Sadie… the two of you got under his skin.

Would you, would have anyone, listened to the truth after the fact? That he only agreed with George to throw it back in his face? To cockily stand up and remark that he was better off than he had been in years?

Then you heard him. Heard him agree with George and assume so readily it had all been a game. You had never believed he was everything his callsign represented.

You were hurt. Angry. And those words he uttered proved every word you had probably been told about him, words you had ignored. It stung, the words you had yelled back at him. You had given him a chance before, so why didn’t you have faith in him then?

The facade returned. He opened his mouth, and his father and George came out instead. Hangman came out instead.

He had sworn so long ago he would never become like them. Yet here he was, inflicting the same trauma and patterns onto you. He had proved he was just as capable of the same cruelty and manipulation his father was.

You would never forgive him after that. It’s what he did best.

The only person who seemed to stand being around him right now was Javy, but he had left to get another drink, leaving Jake alone next to their bonfire, missing you.

You would have been in his arms, lying up against his chest. The pair of you staring out to the water, watching Sadie hunt for sea shells like she hunted for bugs. He would have stolen a kiss or two, unashamed of the PDA, maybe even purposely putting on a show to intentionally piss off the squad and make you blush.

The two of you would have laughed at Sadie. Maybe he would have been tempted to get up, grab her, and topple the both of them into the water. Rooster didn't need to remind him of what he lost when the absence of both of you was staring him in the face.

"You hurt my aunt."

Well... he was half right.

"You're going to get the both of us in trouble," Jake called out, not bothering to look up from the sand. He knew she'd come for him sooner than later, no matter your wishes. With all your threats to Bradley about revoking his Sadie privileges, Jake never would have thought he’d be receiving those threats too.

Sadie stepped onto the tree log behind him, spreading her arms wide to balance herself before jumping, landing softly on the ground.

"Since when have I done anything I'm supposed to," she argued heatedly.

It took her every ounce of strength not to lay into him like she wanted. She was desperately holding herself back. Because this was extremely different than Uncle Roo hurting her Aunt's feelings.

Hangman messed with her Aunt's heart.

This one was on her.

"Who did you escape to get over here?” Jake still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, reaching over to grab a stick in the sand.

“Aunt Nat. She thinks I’m with Uncle Bob.”

You picked up a shift today where Aunt Penny was working with you. So when the offer to stay with Amelia or sit around at the Hard Deck for most of the afternoon, Sadie opted to join you.

Little did you know she had other ideas. When Aunt Nat came by to steal her away, to join the others with the promise she'd keep her away from Hangman, Sadie saw the perfect opportunity.

Aunt Nat didn't know her tricks as well as she thought. A mad and angry Sadie was a conniving Sadie.

Jake said nothing, choosing to poke the sand with the stick in his hand before adding to the fire.

Sadie knew he was stalling, making small talk to avoid talking about what he did. She had played that card enough to know when it was being thrown back at her.

But he was the grown-up. He shouldn't be pulling childish tricks. He should be the one who should be telling her all the grown-up excuses for why things just sometimes don't work out or, worst case, it was for the better.

Nothing was ever for the better.

She sat down on the opposite end of the log, reasonably close to Jake. She dug her nails into the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn't going to speak first. She had promised him so long along she'd come for him. He should know better than to expect she was here for anything else.

Yet, the words he finally uttered had her reeling.

"I don't know what the right thing is to say, Bug."

The thin sheet of ice Sadie holding her back cracked at the mention of her beloved nickname. He shouldn't be calling her that; he didn't deserve to call her that. Not after what he did. Not after what he said.

For one of the first times in her life, Sadie saw red.

She quickly reached down to grab a handful of sand, only to toss the tiny grains in his direction. Jake ducked, shielding his face with his arms. Sadie leaped up and tackled his exposed side, hands balling into fists. She didn't know what she was thinking or her ultimate goal by coming here and seeking him out. It was such a good idea at the time.

When it came down to being face-to-face with him, she was at a loss for words. Her obvious hurt overshadowed any sassy remark or comeback she could gather.

"Sadie! Hey, stop!" Jake's shouts of her name did nothing to stop her from pounding her tiny fists on his back. “Stop!”

"You don't get to call me Bug!" she hollered through her sobs, still trying to leave a mark, thumps on his back accompanying her cries. "You lost that right!"

She knew you wouldn't want her doing this. Her mom wouldn't want her to do this either. But sometimes, it was just too much for her to handle.

She didn't know how to react to something like this. The world was making her grow up faster than she wanted to. Now, she couldn't help but think about what it would throw at her next.

Jake slid off the log, twisting to kneel in front of Sadie while holding out his arms to protect his face. He was at eye level with her, finally seeing the damage he had wrought on the ten-year-old girl.

Sea blue-green eyes framed by shimmering tears, pooling at the edge, until Jake watched one linger down her cheek. It’s your favourite colour staring back at him, making everything worse.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, still trying to hit him, arms loosening their strength by the second. "Why did you say it?"

"Sadie, stop!" his voice was starkly quiet compared to the sobs, both fragile and profound, catching in her throat. Still, Sadie wailed, "I trusted you! You were supposed to be her person! You made her happy! You reminded her she was worth it!"

With each remark Sadie threw at him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her tiny punches. Or say anything this time that could calm her cries. It was so starkly different from the night he found her hiding in her bed because of that thunderstorm. She had been the one to jump into his arms, to seek comfort from him.

This time, he was the reason she was crying. Like that night, he wanted to tell her it would be alright.

He couldn't. In losing you, he had lost Sadie too.

Utterly weak, Sadie's final thump on his shoulder resulted in her gripping onto his shirt as she fell to her knees on the sand, face blotchy and patch-stained red.

"Why Uncle Jake?" her voice was small. Devastated. "Why did you have to hurt her like that?"

He tried not to look shocked. Sadie's voice was sudden, so unsteady and innocent-like, it was hard not to hide any reaction. She caught on instantly.

"Don't act so surprised," she snapped at him through her misery. "You know she tells me everything."

Jake felt the sharp glare of Sadie’s eyes on him, her small face always displaying a type of sternness that was way beyond her years. She was demanding answers, as horrible as they were.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation. You were… you had taught Sadie to be honest and, in her doing so, to expect honesty in return. He didn’t know how to be. How could he explain this?

He didn’t know where to start.

He wasn't going to say anything. Sadie knew that. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things. She pushed herself away from him, the little force she exerted rocking Jake’s body back, readying herself to get up and leave.

This had been a bad decision, after all.

“Did anyone tell you why they call me Hangman?”

Jake’s words made her stop, making her fall back into the sand, kneeling before him.

“It’s your call sign,” she said innocently. Jake frowned, biting his lip. “Did they tell you the story?”

Sadie copied the look on his face, thinking about it before admitting, “A little. I know you left someone behind.”

It sounded worse coming from the mouth of a child.

Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes… but there’s a little more to it than just that.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he managed to form the words, “My father… he was a tough man. A lot behind the meaning of that call sign has to do with him. He left … scars. Sometimes, they make me act in ways I don’t mean to.”

Sadie’s eyes softened a little, but she still looked confused. “So that’s why you said those things? Hurt her?”

Jake looked down to the sand in shame, nodding once. “When I’m stressed, the anger… the frustration... It brings back memories. It’s easier to put a mask up… lash out. Even when it’s the wrong thing to do.”

"So apologize," she sniffed, shrugging. "Uncle Roo did."

"It's not that simple, Sadie."

She eyed him hard. "Yes, it is."

Her tone left no room for a reply. Who was he to refute the honesty of a ten-year-old who had seen more shit than anyone her age?

"I know you're hurting too," she said, her voice small and trembling. "But hurting others won't help, Uncle Jake.”

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I don't know what the right answer is, Sadie."

Sadie looked at the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn’t know the correct answer either. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things than admit they were wrong. But he had to try, right? Cause if he didn’t at all, it would only make it worse.

Maybe she could nudge him one last time.

"Do you still have the note I gave you when you helped me with my math homework last year?"

Jake stared at her momentarily before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and opening it to find the ripped piece of paper. He had kept it tucked away in the back pouch, even after all this time. Her writing was slightly smudged on account of her using a pencil, but he could still make out her words along the top.

I believe in you.

"I didn't randomly invite you to that Saturday Night," she started to say, watching him stare down at the piece of paper. "I invited you because you looked sad when you thought nobody could see you."

Sadie paused her words, searching his face for any hint of emotion, before she continued. "Because you needed to know people care."

"Your Aunt said something similar to my brother," he said, not looking up from the piece of paper. "That the only reason she allowed me to come that night was because you reminded her of something your mom believed in."

"Of course she did," she said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves you."

Jake's hand clenched on his thigh involuntarily, his eyes turning away from the fire to the water. Growing up without love, without hearing those words, Jake was left wondering if he was deserving of such a remark.

How could he be anything else when all he ever did was self-impose an executioner’s noose around his neck, hanging himself with his own fear and self-doubt, always cutting himself off from what he craved most.

Hangman, indeed.

But Sadie wasn’t done - not by a longshot. Even with her tears, perhaps a touch quieter now, she managed a soft smile, telling him, “You taught me it’s okay to mess up, you know.”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I did?”

Sadie nodded, taking in a deep breath. “When you helped me with my math homework. I was struggling, messing up horribly. I wanted to quit. And nobody seemed to listen to me trying to understand till you came along.”

Jake was trying to see where she was going with this. Math and messing up a relationship were two entirely different things.

“But I was messing up because I was trying. And trying means the possibility of someday getting it right. I was so scared to mess up, but then you sat with me, listened, and made me realize it was even scarier not to try at all.”

“What does this have to do with …?” he trailed off, Sadie glaring at him as his voice died down. “You messed up, Uncle Jake. Bad. But that wasn’t the worst thing you could do to hurt her,” she stated, taking another deep breath. “It would be if you stopped trying to be better. Stopped trying altogether.”

Sadie thought about what Jake just told her about his family. Then she thought about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, the question she had once asked you about, the one that had plagued her until you made her recognize the truth.

"You're not your father, Uncle Jake. You're you.”

Jake couldn’t help the tears, as treacherous as they were, from pooling in his eyes as he lowered his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pain, before he grimaced stiffly, huffing out, "It's a pretty messed up world we live in.”

Sadie didn't hesitate when she replied, "I'm almost eleven, Uncle Jake. I don't understand the world at all." Her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes watering as she let out a sniffle. "But I know you never know when you'll say I love you for the last time."

Jake knew she was referring to her mom, her sudden death that night. But her words hit Jake differently. He recalled the moment he stood on Penny's porch and decided he'd try to take his chance with you.

You were still his possibility of someday. That had never changed. Like he thought then, time was something he was never promised. It was time spent well in the weeks he lived with you and Sadie. Small moments meaning the world, whether it was staying up to play a game with Sadie or waking up to see you sprawled out across his chest.

They were moments he thought he'd never have. Now that he had them, he was left wondering if he should spare you the heartbreak that came with loving someone like him.

Sadie's admission, and words of advice, were more damning than she knew.

He looked up from the sand to peer hesitantly at her face, not surprised to find another remark about to pass her lips.

"If you can't say you're sorry, my Aunt and I don't need to add somebody else to the list of people who've hurt us. So if you want to leave, go ahead but stay away," Sadie remarked, hiccuping as fresh tears streaming down her face.

Every word Sadie uttered hit deeper than any shitty remark his father or brother could throw back in his face. The façade he built, in the face of every slight to his character, was no match for a ten-year-old who had the ability to see through everyone's bullshit, including his.

He couldn't manage a reply. She had given him blows no physical assault could ever imagine reaching.

Sadie saw Jake's silence as a chance to leave. Aunt Nat wouldn't be gone for much longer, and she knew if she weren't with Uncle Bob soon, she'd cause a panic. She got up, rubbing the dirt from her hands, standing over the conflicted aviator with a face marred by sand dust and tears.

Sadie stepped forward to leave. But at the last second, she whipped around in a move that reminded him so much of you. Her voice was firm, scathing even, adding with a note of finality, “I won't be the one to stop you from leaving. And I won’t be the one to welcome you back either if you change your mind. If you're gone, stay gone. We can survive without you."

After shooting him a hateful glare, Sadie left Jake sitting in the sand, staring after her. She wiped her eyes as she ran, finding Bob sitting at the nearby bonfire with the rest of the team. He pulled her into his arms with a laugh, instantly handing over his marshmallow-topped stick with a smile as Sadie giggled, her sadness disappearing as she roasted Bob on the quality of his marshmallow.

Jake threw his head back to the sky, still kneeling in the sand, fighting the knot in his throat.

Damn, George.

Damn, his father.

Damn, Bradley.

Damn, you.

And in some ways, despite not wanting to admit it…

Damn, Sadie.

He didn't know how to make this right. But he wanted to. He had to.

That had to be enough.

Right?

.... Ouch, Jake... And OUCH, SADIE!

Tags:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 17 - Come a little bit Closer coming soon.

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donotpush · 1 year ago

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Bumpin' in Europe, 1

Monica wasn’t your aunt, and to be honest, you were never really sure what she was doing in your house.

The few memories you had of her were like a fuzzy dream, disjointed bits with a touch of a few very specific sensations, like the smell of her perfume or the exact shade of tan she always had.

She was Mom’s friend, that was it. You couldn’t remember for how long she was around, and if anything, she probably had been your mom’s friend more than she was your auntie.

The most vivid memories you had of her flourished around your teen years when the way you looked at her started to slowly shift.

She would come around a few times a year, typically around the holidays and it always meant gifts, exotic trinkets and the extremely physical affection that the people from somewhere in Southern Europe always carried around with them. She would always bring good wine with her and that meant that mom would be a little less grumpy and that you were allowed to stay up past your bedtime, sitting in the dark in the backyard with them.

But she wasn’t around that much for you to consider her a constant, an important part of your life as you did with some other of your mom’s friends, who you would actually call aunt.

Monica was just the woman that would get all the horny teens in the neighbourhood to conglomerate in your backyard to watch her sunbathe.

Cause she was pretty hot, too. As you grew older, the less you cared about if she brought you gifts and more if she was going to wear those shorts or tank tops that showed off way more skin than your conservative neighbourhood was used to.

All the fond memories you had of her seemed to remain buried deep into your little box of wonders, until yesterday.

You shook your feet in the air before smacking them gently against the wall, trying to get rid of the sand that got into your sandals, grazing the bare skin and making you groan silently. Something tickled the back of your sweaty neck, and a small blood spot smudged your fingers when you killed the mosquito that landed on your skin.

This far, this part of your journey has been hell on earth.

It had looked nothing like what the influencers on Instagram showed, and yes, you were aware that if there was something this trip wasn’t going to be, that was glamorous.

But, come on! This was too much even for you.

The owner of the hostel you were staying in ended up being a total asshole, to say the least.

The place was nothing like what it advertised on Airbnb, the posted pictures made you think that there was a cozy, safe, friendly and clean place that couldn't be less far from reality in competition with the building that stood in front of you.

And of course, you did expect to share a room with people. Maybe nine, ten at worst. Not fucking 25 other people in the most cramped place you have ever seen, and for the price you were paying might as well pay for a hotel room.

You could hear your mother’s voice saying I told you clear as daylight.

Long short story, there was no way you were getting your money back that day, you were without a single penny in your pockets and waiting for some divine Airbnb intervention to come and rescue you.

But it didn’t happen, and your mom was the godsend creature that served you the solution to all your problems on a silver platter, after the scolding of the year over the phone. It truly is a small world, and Monica, her friend, happened to live in the same hole lost in the middle of nowhere where you ended up.

Another argument with the hostel owner and a few more calls later, you were heading to Monica’s house, who gladly allowed you to spend as much time as needed at her place.

There were a few little details that didn't escape your eyes at first sight, not the most obvious, perhaps. Her hair was shorter—no longer waist long, and a shade lighter, a nice caramel brown instead of black. And God, she looked younger than her actual age. Even when there were new wrinkles around her eyes and there was proof that she smiled too much on the corners of her lips.

Well, she was still a beautiful woman.

As a kid, you were bewitched by how kind and funny she was and what amazing gifts she always gave you. Now your interests were drafted to how fucking hot the woman in front of you was.

She wasn’t exactly like the vivid image you hold in your memory, she surfed the transition from young adult to mature woman smoothly and hot as hell. And you liked it, but as your eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in every inch and trying to remain as neutral as possible, it wasn't possible to contain the way your eyebrows raised and your lips parted, your face crumpling up in total surprise.

Firstly your gaze shifted front the way the skin that revealed the risky neckline shined against the warm sun to lower, and all the curves were great. But the curves didn’t stop there, because the modest black shirt she was wearing clung tightly to the gravid stomach that protruded in her middle, stretching the fabric dangerously.

Your mind went blank and you weren't sure if you let out an audible gasp, but your eyes seemed to be glued to her heavy, big midsection. Not only she looked— she was pregnant. She was pregnant, and fuck, you were sure she had more than one bun in the oven.

Huge. She was huge. Swollen breasts and round, firm stomach that made you wonder whether she already was in the last trimester.

Lucky the bastard that knocked her up.

It took a moment for your brain to reboot and return to function normally after you almost drooled.

The fabric barely covered the curve of her stomach, leaving a bit of the skin of her underbelly exposed, soft and inviting and you wanted to touch. In an unconscious manner, Monica pulled the shirt down in a useless try, because it lifted again, exposing even more skin.

Her hands moved to your forearms, gripping softly at them before she pulled you closer into a hug, her arms circling your body. You hugged her back automatically, burying your face between her shoulder and her neck and she was wearing the same perfume as always.

“Oh, Y/N! Look at you, dear". Monica laughed quietly.

The weight of the backpack you carried didn’t help you to remain stable, and soon you found yourself almost leaning completely against her in a closeness you didn’t intend. The gravid roundedness of her stomach pressed against your thin middle in comparison, and for a moment all you could feel was your own body getting hotter by the second, not knowing what to do with your hands.

Thank God you already looked flustered and sweaty when you got there.

You knew where you wanted to put your hands, but that would be not respectful at all. You wanted to touch, run your fingers over the bump, to touch and grasp but God, you had basic human decency to not be that much of a creep.

She pressed a kiss to your right cheek, and you shivered at the feeling of her lips against your hot skin and the way her gravid body pressed against yours, then another kiss on your left cheek.

“Please, come inside”.

You didn’t remember it, but she had an accent.

She held the door open for you, and she had to turn sideways facing you to get her belly out of the way and let you fit past her into the house.

The place was surreal, with high ceilings and spacious rooms, floors that conserved old tiles decorated with handmade colorful details you were sure weren't made anymore these days, paintings on the walls and art pieces that reminded you of abstract art pieces you had seen online.

Everything was taken care of, every little decoration carefully placed, every detail double-checked, and your attention should be there, but your eyes couldn't leave Monica’s body.

“Look at you, you’re…” she smiled, walking into the kitchen, “God, you’re so… different. All grown up, now."

Leaning back against the countertop, one of her hands traveled to rest over her growing stomach, and the other one to rest behind her back for support. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck and slid down her collarbone, disappearing between her breasts. You realized she wasn't wearing anything under the shirt, and you got it, being all hot and bothered while being so pregnant didn't seemed like a good idea.

And for a moment your brain flashed with images of her naked on top of you, breasts full of milk bouncing and gravid bellies contracting under your touch. Then you shook your head vigorously, forcing yourself to remember why it was wrong and you shouldn't be looking at Monica in that light.

“Yeah, you’re...” you let out a shaky breath, your hands gesturing first to yourself, then to her before you shrugged. “I mean, you look-”

The words got tangled on your tongue before they could even try to get past your lips; you knew exactly what you wanted to say, but you weren’t sure if you should. You swallowed, taking a deep breath under the attentive gaze of Monica.

“I know, different. Different is good.” you forced out, smiling and waving your hand.

You hoped the blush that painted across your cheeks wasn’t noticeable, that she hadn’t noticed. How to say anything without it coming off the wrong way?

You wanted to compliment her so badly, but there were so many risk factors here, you didn’t even know where to start.

She was hot. More than you remembered and even more than you expected, and pregnancy... suited her so well. Like she was born to be like this, to have a gravid body and carry a huge stomach, with a baby growing inside of her. Full and heavy breasts, glowing from the inside out, soft thick thighs and perfect curves everywhere, meant to be a mommy.

"Y/N?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, her hand rubbing the curve of her abdomen tenderly. "Everything alright?"

As you know, the future of this story is up to you ;) so vote, comment, or whaterver you like babe. I hope you enjoyed the start of this journey so far, and I hope we can get even more of this 👀 as always, criticism is always appreciated and likes feed my ego, so feel free to smash that little heart :)

#pregnancy #pregnancy fantasy #fpreg #stories #interactive story #polls #labor #birth kink #m1lfs #this probably needs to be EDITED #later tho #also #sort of not a pwp #this #has a plot #👀#or at least i intend to #BIE

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junkdrawerfics · 2 years ago

Text

Promise Kept (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)

This is an abo fic so if you don’t like don’t read! (no spice)

Summary: Reader is an omega aviator who has fought tooth and nail to be where she is. She never gave alphas the time of day, until Bradley Bradshaw walked into her life. Even then, she can’t bring herself to let him all the way in, until one night, after a fight with Hangman leaves her with too many doubts to ignore.

Warnings: none really, it gets a little saucy, but doesn’t go past some intense-ish making out. Some internalized prejudice.

word count: 6036 (ended up being kind of a slow burn)

Society had come a long way with how omegas were treated. No longer considered second class citizens, or fragile glass creatures in need of protection, they were treated just like everyone else practically everywhere. Practically.

As always, nothing is perfect. Some people still hold to their prejudice, much like how some women still face sexism, regardless of their secondary gender. For some reason, you just weren’t expecting to come face to face with it in the Navy. Perhaps you should have.

Being an omega, and a woman, meant you had to fight tooth and nail for every sliver of perception you could. In the academy, that meant studying every night and giving up all aspects of a social life to be at the top of the class. It meant long nights spent at the gym after studying, beating your body into a muscular shape, which was no simple task. No one ever told you how difficult it would be to keep your physique as an omega, something about your body being adapted to be softer, rounder, more protective. The odds never phased you, though. You wouldn’t have joined the Navy if they did.

And it worked. You bested everyone academically, and stood your ground in training against the alphas and betas. You weren’t the first omega to pass through the academy, but they all acted like you were, which only stoked the fire in you more, a fire that had been in you since you were young. Always push back. Don’t step down for anyone. Prove that you deserve to be there. Prove them wrong.

When you joined the Navy as an aviator, you started on your suppressants and never let up on your training. Even at that point, when everyone said you’d made it, when your parents urged you to take it slow, go out, meet people (‘an alpha’ was barely hidden in their tone), you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You were going to prove to the world if you had to that omegas deserved to be treated with just as much respect as alphas, and you’d fight anyone if they thought otherwise.

Hence how you end up almost killing a certain frenemy of yours. Several times.

“Hangman, if you don’t shut your trap, I’m going to shave your head in your sleep,” you snap, teeth grinding as you glare up at the taller aviator.

“Ooooh, the omega has claws.” He gives you that annoying smirk, the one that makes you want to smack him over the head with a pool stick.

That would break it though. You don’t want to put Penny out like that, so you stick to a scathing growl. Placing the stick down on the table, you notice your other friends take wary steps back as you come to stand toe to toe with the prick of a blond. Good. You wouldn’t want anyone else getting into this right now.

“Do you want to go, Bagman? See just how sharp these claws are?”

He scoffs, “We wouldn’t want you getting hurt now, would we, Widow?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your eyes narrow.

“Look, darlin’-” The word makes your brow twitch. “-it’s just a simple fact that alphas are stronger than omegas. I’m just saying you’re no exception.”

“I could put you on the ground in less than a minute,” you growl, anger digging into your chest like a hot iron.

“Oh please, if you weren’t on suppressants, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

A low murmur spreads through your group, even amongst the standers-by who overhear your argument. Your jaw clicks with how hard you clench your teeth together, a dull pain thrumming up to your temple. Slowly, you tilt your chin up and square your shoulders, every aspect of your posture screaming of a dominance you shouldn’t possess, a dominance you’ve taken by force. Hangman’s gaze turns wary at the challenge.

“Oh, he’s done it now,” Phoenix murmurs, eyes dancing with barely contained amusement.

“I wouldn’t want you even if you were the last alpha on the planet,” you murmur, voice like a storm brewing out over the ocean, “You should just admit that you can’t beat me in a fight instead of resorting to being such a douchebag. It would look better.”

“You know what I think? I think it’d look better if yo-”

“Watch your mouth, Hangman.”

You bite down on a flare of frustration when a solid body steps between the two of you. Your eyes travel up, trailing over muscular arms, across broad shoulders, up to a mop of dark curls crowned by a pair of aviators and you stiffen.

Rooster.

You reluctantly take a step back, watching the two alphas glare at each other. The look in Rooster’s eyes sends your pulse racing. They burn with something fiercely protective, something utterly dark that curls low in your abdomen. Usually you’d butt back in, because you don’t need rescuing. You don’t need an alpha to protect you, nor do you want one.

But it’s always been different with Rooster, as much as you don’t want to admit it. When he comes to your defense, a deep neglected feeling crawls up your throat and practically chokes you. You’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore how nice he smells, all leather and mahogany and clean linen. How his touch feels like warmth and ice and electricity all at once. Or how he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars when you win in combat, smile dripping with pride and something you don’t dare put a finger on. You can’t. You can’t, because if you do, you’re terrified that feeling will drown you, and you’ll turn into exactly the thing you don’t want to be.

So you settle for stepping back to watch, desperately clinging to the anger still simmering in your veins. Desperate to ignore the prominent veins tracing the alpha’s taut arms and the attractive edge of his clenched jaw.

He’s just an alpha. An alpha like any other. Even if he treats you like an equal. Even if he’s never been anything except respectful to you.

“What, Bradshaw? As if you don’t think the same thing?” A taunting smile returns to Hangman’s lips. “I’m just playing the part, but we all see the way you look at our favorite omega.”

Those words make you stiffen. Eyes wide, you glance up at Rooster, whose ears are tinging pink.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies, a warning in his tone.

“Oh really?” The blond presses, far too entertained by the reactions he’s garnering. His eyes slide to you again, and for once, you feel unsettled by the mischief you find there. “Have you noticed, (L/n)? Because I sure don’t feel like I’m imagining it.”

You don’t know how to respond. It’s like the words have tangled on your lips, like they’re anchored there, too heavy to spit out, too terrifying to face. And you hate just how weak that makes you feel.

“Just drop it, Hangman,” Rooster growls. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Fine.” Jake raises his hands, that idiotic smirk still curling his lips as he takes a mock step back. “You really need to lighten up, Bradshaw. Wouldn’t want someone getting the wrong idea, since you don’t want her apparently.”

That statement settles in your gut like a rock, especially when Bradley just clenches his jaw again and doesn’t say a word.

Leave it to Hangman to stir the pot, or to set the heat until things boil over in this case. You want to throttle him, maybe deprive him of the ability to have kids, but you are far too aware of all the eyes on you, both your friends and the various strangers populating the bar. It makes you want to disappear, or yell, but neither are really an option right now.

Running away means you’re a coward, a weak little omega who can’t stand up to some bullying.

Yelling would just make you look crazy.

So once again you’re forced to settle. You drop into the seat next to Phoenix, watching Rooster take a deep, slow breath before he storms off to the bar, for a drink you presume. It seems most evenings with Hangman require some form of alcohol to make it through. Too bad you were a designated tonight, or you’d be joining him.

“You okay?” Bob, sweet beta he is, gives you the softest concerned look from across the table.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Nights like these make me deeply question why I’m friends with that knot-head though.”

“Who else would you argue with if he weren’t around?” Phoenix laughs into her drink.

You don’t say anything in reply. Part of you wants to say that you don’t love arguing. It frustrates you more than anything, how the blond knows how to get such strong reactions from you. And it’s even worse that he always seems to do it around Rooster, which leads to moments like this, where you can’t control the ache in your heart that clashes with the fire in your veins, leaving you to burn in your own uncertainty.

The rest of the night goes on peacefully, which is likely due to the uptake of alcohol. Despite telling yourself it’s a bad idea, you can’t help but keep an eye on Rooster. The man appears to sulk a few tables over, not paying much attention to the conversation Fanboy and Pay Back keep trying to draw him into. Worry burrows deep into your chest when he switches from nursing a beer to a glass of whiskey, dark eyes lost in thought.

You wish you knew what he was thinking. You wish you could walk right over there and ask him. Pretend the evening never happened. But that uncertainty clings to you like a tick, small and irritating and impossible to tear out.

He’s an alpha.

But he’s also your best friend.

Everythings has always been different with Rooster. At first, you’d hated him. He was just another opponent, another obstacle you had to overcome to be the best. You used to bicker, much like Hangman, but he never once brought up your secondary gender. He respected you, despite all your back and forth. He treated you like an equal, something you had only experienced with Phoenix.

Then, one day, you crashed. It was an accident, an error with the plane. Apparently something was missed in the inspection before you went up. You ended up in the hospital for a few days, and when you woke up, there he was. Sitting at your bedside, somehow asleep while looking horribly uncomfortable in one of those stiff hospital chairs.

Things shifted after that.

That day you saw a new side to the aviator. He was softer, charismatic smirk replaced with the most genuine smile when he realized you were awake. It gave you pause back then. Made you doubt everything you thought about alphas. From then on, you spent most of your time together, and your arguments turned to playful banter, which turned into late night talks, which turned into phone calls when your deployment took you to different places.

It all went so fast, leaving you grasping at straws when you first noticed how your heart skips a beat when he gives you one of those soft, lopsided smiles.

But he’s an alpha.

And you still can’t face the idea of being a typical, lovestruck omega, not after an entire lifetime and trying to be anything but. What would everyone think of you? What if you fell behind? The doubt is crippling, to say the least.

So you stay at your table, nursing your own cup of lemonade, distractedly adding to a conversation with Phoenix and Bob while watching the alpha down drink after drink. Eventually he starts smiling again, laughing just a little too loud like he usually does when he’s drank too much.

“Wanna play a round, Widow?” You glance over at Hangman, who holds out a pool stick to you. A peace offering perhaps. Some of the tension leaks from your shoulders.

“No thanks, Bagman, not really in the mood to play,” you hum, though you give him the faintest smile to make sure he knows the two of you are good. He nods, too white smile on his lips as he tosses the stick to Coyote instead.

When you look back to Rooster, you freeze. He’s looking at you, for the first time since the stand-off. His eyes, such a peculiar shade of hazel and brown, are glazed over, but they burn with an intensity that makes your breath get lost somewhere in your lungs. Smile gone, it’s replaced with a look you are far too familiar with. It’s the look he gets whenever he’s trying to figure something out, how to attack, how to win, how to succeed at a certain maneuver. But it’s solely focused on you.

You meet his eyes, one brow raising in challenge. Not a single sign of submission. A soft glint sparks in his gaze, something dark and fond, as a smile pulls at the corner of his lips. You don’t back down, even as his eyes trail down, lingering for a heated second on your lips, before trailing over the exposed length of your neck and collarbone. Subconsciously, your shoulders draw up, and your eyes narrow into a glare. Rooster leans back in his seat, eyes sparkling as they trail back to meet yours. Too dark. Too warm. Too hungry.

You break away, heart suddenly in your throat. And you’re shaking. You tuck your fingers between your thighs, desperate to hide the slight tremor. You can still feel his gaze, feel it warming your skin to the point of setting a fire. For the first time in what feels like forever, a blush spreads up your neck and across your cheeks. A low chuckle sounds from a few tables down.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you grumble under your breath.

“Who?” Phoenix asks, though the smirk on her face gives away that she knows.

“Rooster,” You tell her anyway.

“Oh please, you love him. He could wreck your car and you’d still ruffle his hair like you do and forgive him,” she laughs, and Bob nods along. “He loves that by the way.”

“Huh?”

“The two of you are very oblivious,” Bob adds, which is like a punch in the gut coming from the beta.

“What do you mean?” You look between your two friends, frustration building when they merely share a look and laugh.

“Nothing, Widow. Just might be some time for a heart to heart with ‘Roo’.” She puts the nickname in air quotes, because it’s what you notoriously call him. No one else can get away with it, lest Bradshaw bite their heads off. He lets you though, and they’ve all seen the fond smile it brings to his lips. It’s so painfully obvious, to everyone except you and him apparently.

You’re about to bite back, maybe something about her and Hangman, but the sound of a sharp shuffle draws your attention away. Rooster is jostling out of his seat, slurring something about another round, but he can barely keep himself upright. With a sigh, you slip from your booth, heading towards the idiot.

“Case in point!”

You send Phoenix a glare over your shoulder, but it turns to something fond when she gives you a cheesy thumbs up, eyebrow wiggling. They’re all idiots, you decide.

You make it to Rooster’s side just in time, as he practically trips over his own feet.

“Woah, buddy,” you laugh, catching him around the middle. You can feel the heat of his body, even through his Hawaiian shirt. Rooster has always run so warm. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

A cacophony of protests sound from the rest of the table, but Bradley just looks down at you with a doe-eyed smile. You stomp down the fondness curling in your stomach, and instead draw his arm over your shoulder and curl an arm tight around his waist.

“I’m taking this dufus home. Try not to die while I’m gone!” You call, receiving a mixture of laughter and catcalls (Hangman of course), which you ignore.

Now, moving a 6’2” alpha is no easy task. Not when it’s Rooster, who can barely keep a foot under him when he’s tipsy and is only coordinated when he plays the piano. Usually, on nights like this, the main struggle is getting him to stop laughing long enough to get his feet to move, but tonight, he’s suspiciously quiet as you lead him out to your car. You can still feel his eyes on you, but this time you’re too scared to meet them. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking now. You don’t want to think about the fact that you’re alone with him now. An alpha. A drunk alpha at that. Even if he is your best friend.

The cold, night air helps to ease the warmth dancing under your skin. It seems to help Rooster sober up just a little too, as he fumbles his way into your passenger seat. You reach across him, intent on buckling the idiot up, but freeze when his fingers curl around your wrist.

Slowly, so slowly, you lean back to look at him, ready to bite, knock him out if you need to, but Bradley just smiles. It’s one of those soft, genuine ones, brimming in his eyes, boyishly lopsided. And you melt. You buckle him up and take a moment to ruffle a hand through his soft curls, drawing a content hum from the dirty blond. He just keeps looking at you, all smiley, eyes half-lidded.

“What am I gonna do with you, Roo?” You sigh.

“Kiss me?”

A shocked laugh parts your lips at the earnest suggestion. This finally gets Rooster to frown, though it looks more like a pout, which makes you giggle more. Leave it to Bradley to always be unexpected.

“Maybe when you’re sober, Roo,” you tease, and this seems to bring back his grin.

“‘m holdin’ you to that.”

You snort, knowing he probably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning, though a small part of you hopes he will. A small part you chastise as you close his door and move to the driver’s seat.

The drive is surprisingly quiet, until the sound of Rooster’s soft snores fill the car. A fond smile captures your lips. Looks like you had the perfect timing. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer at the bar. When you reach his apartment, you take a moment to just look at Rooster. His brow, usually knotted together for some reason or another, is smooth in his sleep, making him look younger, softer. His hair is a little mussed from when you ruffled it, a few strands falling over his forehead, tempting you to brush them back.

He really is handsome, you think. You don’t often let yourself entertain it, but Bradley really is something. Tall, muscular, with a defined jaw and a confidence to match. He’s an ideal alpha. Yet, that’s not what you find yourself drawn to. No, it’s those moments in the air when he calls on you to make the decision. It’s all the times he invites you over for a drink and just listens. It’s everything else about him that drives you crazy. He’s the perfect alpha.

You wonder if he’d ever pick you, as his omega.

And then, immediately, you shove that thought down and jump out of the car. Bradley jumps awake when you slam the door, eyes blearily tracking you as you make it to him and unbuckle him.

“Come on, big man, time to get you to bed,” you huff as you drag him up.

“You’re so strong,” Rooster mumbles, the look on his face just short of adoration.

Your face flushes, “Strong enough to drag you around. Better keep that in mind the next time you try to pick a fight with me.”

A moment of silence.

And then - “’m not Bagman.”

You stop, casting the alpha a curious glance. You hadn’t been insinuating that, but suddenly he looks too serious, brows furrowed, mouth set in a firm line.

“I know you’re not, Roo,” you murmur gently.

“I don’t like how he talks to you.” He frowns, now facing you completely.

“Yah? How so?” You slowly redirect him to the door.

“Don’t like how ‘e treats you like some ‘mega. You’re an omega, but he, he-” He practically growls, and your shoulders tense. “He’s no manners. I should knock some ‘nto him.”

You loosen when you realize the root of his anger. He doesn’t like that Hangman blatantly disrespects you as an omega. You were expecting it to be some protective alpha thing, since the two of you are so close, and it is to some degree you’re sure, but it lifts a little of your unease knowing that this is partially his chivalry thing. He once told you it’s how his mother raised him, since she was an omega and his father had passed away. His only other real influence was Maverick, who happens to be a beta.

“Well, I bet if we messed his face up a bit, he wouldn’t be so rude,” you hum, laughing softly when Bradley nods aggressively.

You prop the alpha against the wall and fish his keys from his pocket, shuffling nervously when he goes quiet, heavy gaze falling down on you again. If only he weren’t a good head taller than you, then maybe it would be easier to face that look.

Instead, you swiftly step into his small apartment, busying yourself with grabbing a cup of water for him and a couple aspirin for when he wakes up the next morning. He watches from the doorway, only moving in when you tell him to go change.

And boy do you regret that when you slip into his room. You were intending to just check on him one last time, make sure he didn’t slip and die whilst changing, but you instead come face to face with a notably shirtless Rooster.

“Ah, I was just um, I just-” You gulp, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Rooster shirtless, but this is different. This isn’t on the beach, when he’s covered in sweat and dancing to a victory play in dog fight football. No, this is in the dim light of his room, the soft glow from the kitchen just illuminating the prominent muscles of his abdomen, the smooth planes of his chest, the line of his collarbone, every inch of him tan and glowing and perfect.

When you finally do bring yourself to look away, to look at his face, you’re met with the most wolfish grin.

“Like what you see, Widow?”

Heat flushes through your chest, your breath catching in your throat. A small voice in you screams danger danger danger, but you can’t move as Rooster inches closer. His hands hover over your sides, close enough that you can feel his warmth, but not touching.

And part of you begs him to. Wants him to touch you, grab you, hold you, do whatever he wants. It collides viciously with the relief that swarms you when his hands settle gently on your arms. But then he’s leaning over you, face coming so so close to yours and you can’t breathe again. Your thoughts are swimming, lost to the whirlwind of the homey scent that envelops you.

“I wanna tell you something,” Rooster mumbles, warm breath brushing your face, the faint scent of whiskey not as gross as it should be.

“What is it, Bradley?” Your voice doesn’t quiver. It doesn’t.

He looks at you, and for a moment, it’s like he’s completely sober. His eyes are clear and bright, swimming with more emotion than you thought someone could hold. It feels like your heart is pushing through your chest.

“He’s wrong.”

“Who’s wrong?”

He hesitates only a second before the words spill from his lips, “Hangman. He said I don’t want you. He’s wrong.”

The air fizzles between the two of you as you process what he’s saying.

Bradley wants you. Is that what he means? He wants you? In what way? You’re suddenly overflowing with questions, each one dancing on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to ask them. Not now. Not when he’s like this and you can’t even seem to get your head straight. You don’t even know what you want, for Mavericks sake. (haha funny)

“I think you should get some sleep, Roo,” you all but whisper, “We can talk tomorrow.”

“It’s okay-” He draws you close just to press the softest kiss to your temple. It’s so innocent and sweet, you almost melt. “-know you don’t like alphas. Jus’ had to tell ya.”

And your heart breaks. His voice softens with something horribly sad and resigned, like he’s thought about this before, like he’s told it to himself over and over again. Because of you. Because of your stubborn prejudice. You’re no better than all the people you’ve been judging.

“Let’s get you to bed,” you croak, not meeting his eyes as you pull the man deeper into his bedroom.

He flops onto the mattress unceremoniously, immediately grabbing one of your hands when you turn to leave.

“Stay?”

You bite your lip, torn between running, escaping all this mess in your heart that he’s not even aware of, or doing exactly what he asks, because that’s all you want.

All you’ve ever wanted.

“Yah,” you rasp and settle down on the edge of his bed, “I’ll stay Roo, we’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

“An’ you’ll give me that kiss?” He peaks up at you with one eye, already fighting sleep.

You smile and gently brush your free hand through his curls, “Guess you’ll just have to get some sleep and see.”

Rooster eagerly closes his eyes and buries into his blankets, though that big, dopey grin stays on his lips even as he quickly drifts off. You linger, fingers still petting his hair, until you’re sure he’s asleep. Then, slowly, to not wake him up, you untangle your hand from his and make your way to the door.

Right before you close it, you hear a low, muffled, “Night, (Y/n).”

“Good night, Bradley,” you murmur back and silently shut the door.

You slump against the wood, a long whoosh of air escaping your lips.

How on earth are you supposed to process all of that?

It feels like everything is clicking together and falling apart, all at once.

Rooster wants you. You can still feel the warmth where his lips pressed against your skin. And you can’t really deny how you feel about him, not after all of that. Not only had you brought him home alone, drunk, and stumbled in on him shirtless, but nothing had happened. He never pressed, never made a move besides some flirting which is just so notoriously Rooster. Even drunk, he was more respectful than most people had ever been to you.

You love him.

There’s no other way to describe the deep, aching fondness in your chest.

You trust him, which seems even more important. Bradley would never do anything you wouldn’t want, he would never push himself on you, he would never force you to be something you’re not. Yet, you’ve made him feel like it’s impossible, because of your stupid vendetta against alphas.

The decision is made right then and there.

In the morning, when he’s more sober, you’ll show him just how much you like him and want him as an alpha. There will be no more doubt, no more holding back, no more suppressing every instinct that claws at your chest at the sight of him.

In the morning, he’ll definitely be getting that kiss.

---

When Rooster wakes up, it’s still dark out. A habit from all the early mornings for the job. He groans softly, head pounding like a herd of elephants are traipsing around inside it. He looks around blearily in the dark, barely catching the silhouette of a glass of water on his bed stand and the pills sitting next to it. He downs the painkillers quickly, finding the tiniest bit of relief from the cool water on his throat.

That’s the last time he drinks like that, he thinks, much like every morning he wakes up hungover.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Wincing, the alpha looks up with narrowed eyes, catching a familiar sight. You’re standing at the end of his bed - how did he miss you coming in? - dressed in a pair of shorts and one of his old shirts. You look significantly better off than how he feels.

“Morning,” he rasps and clears his throat, heat climbing up his neck, “What happened last night?”

“Not much. You proposed to me in a fit of undying love and cried when I said no,” you hum, holding the straightest face you can.

Absolute horror flashes across Rooster’s face, making his eyes go wide as saucers. The blush on his neck climbs all the way across his cheeks, all the way to the tip of his ears. It only lasts for a few seconds before you burst into a fit of giggles, and understanding dawns on him. His features settle into something unimpressed.

“Not funny,” he growls, but the blush still lingering on his face makes it not too threatening.

“You’re just so fun to tease, Roo,” you coo, thoroughly entertained by the glare he sends you. You give his leg a pat, letting your touch linger - Rooster notices, his brow perking inquisitively at you - before you tuck your hands between your legs and your tone turns more serious, “Last night was fine. You just drank too much so I brought you home.”

“I didn’t do anything?”

“Weeeell…”

“(Y/n)?” His voice holds something uncertain in it, which is out of character for the aviator, and makes you soften.

You hold his gaze for a serious moment, biting your lip as you think through the words you’ve rehearsed over and over in your head. It’s not helping, not with the nerves swirling in your chest. You barely slept last night thinking about this moment.

“You were mad about what Hangman said at the bar last night,” you murmur slowly, to which he nods. That he remembers. “You wanted to make sure I knew he was wrong. You um, you said you want me?”

Bradley freezes. He looks down at his hands, fingers flexing and unflexing as he traces back the events of the night. It’s all blurry, but he does remember being close to you. Kissing you. He winces. That is not how he wanted that to go. But all the best pilots know that once you make a move, there’s no taking it back, so the best route is to just keep going…he hopes.

“And if that’s true?” He asks, bringing those dark eyes up to meet yours. They burn with the same intensity they did last night, making you bite your lips.

“Well, if that’s true…” You take a breath, gathering every ounce of courage left in your body to swing a leg over his, putting you right in his lap. Rooster inhales sharply, instinctively gripping your hips to steady you. His eyes are wide, brewing with something wicked as they stay locked on your face. “I’d have to tell you that I want you too…alpha.”

A low growl rumbles through the aviator’s chest and his fingers dig into your skin, hard enough to leave a bruise, you’re sure. And you love it. The omega in your crumbles when he draws you closer, close enough that your noses practically touch.

“You weren’t drinking last night too, were you darlin?” His voice is deliciously rough, brushing over all your senses, leaving you tingling.

“Nope,” you hum, draping your arms over his shoulders to play with the curls at his neck, “I’m all here, Bradley. This is my decision.”

“And you’re choosing me?”

Instead of saying anything, you take another deep breath to still the nerves boiling away under your skin, and slowly tilt your chin, exposing the expanse of your neck to the alpha. A sign of submission.

Bradley stills, chest practically heaving as he keeps himself from moving. Both of your hearts are pounding, the moment so quiet, so tense, as you look at him from under your lashes. Your eyes swim with uncertainty and a vulnerability he has never seen, and that breaks him from his spell.

“God, I love you.” He buries his face in your neck, breathing in every bit of your scent that he can. You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath on your skin, a low giggle escaping you when he presses his lips to your neck, all gentle and slow and sure, but the brush of his mustache against your skin tickles. “I’ve loved you since that crash, probably since before it. Never thought I had a chance with you, baby girl.”

“Sorry for making you think that, Roo,” you gasp when he nips at your ear.

“Don’t be.” He presses kisses to your jaw, closer and closer to your lips. You wish he’d just hurry up. “This feels more rewarding.”

“What? Knowing you got the stubborn, little omega?” You jest, practically dizzy from all the contact, and from his scent which seems to swallow you. God, you love his scent.

“No.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Knowing you’re choosing me. It’s all you, darlin’. I never stood a chance against you.”

“I don’t think I did either,” you sigh, “Not with that stupid mustache and that face.”

“You like my face?” His eyes twinkle with boyish mirth.

“Shut up and kiss me, lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You can feel the curve of a smirk on his lips when they finally meet yours. And it’s perfect. His lips press gently to yours as his hands trace up your sides to cup your face. Every touch is searing, leaving behind trails of heat that make you whimper softly into the kiss. Bradley growls, the sound deep, low in his chest. He tilts your head, catches your bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a gasp from you. He deepens the kiss, and you’re helpless against it, against him. He kisses you until you’re breathless, until you’re clinging to him and his hands are curled firmly around your waist, drawing you closer, closer, closer. Even when you break away, chest heaving for air, he doesn’t stop, just presses kisses along your neck, tugs the collar of your his shirt aside to drop kisses along your collarbone and shoulder. A shaky sigh escapes your lips, and you can’t help but curl your fingers tightly through his curls. The alpha groans, concentrating on the spot right below your ear that makes you tremble. You whine when he bites the spot, and a low rumble vibrates his chest as he traces his tongue over the stinging skin before he presses one final kiss over it.

Your whole body is like a live wire. You can’t catch your breath, can’t stop the shaking of your hands or the wild pace of your heart. But you feel alive. You feel alive for the first time in forever.

“I love you,” Bradley murmurs again as he presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed as he too tries to catch his breath.

“I love you, too,” you laugh breathlessly, “I can’t believe I’ve made you wait so long.”

“Worth it.” He hits you with that stupid, lopsided grin you love so much.

“Definitely….”

“...alpha.”

Bradley opens his eyes, glaring at you playfully, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, darlin’.”

You peck his lips one last time, teasingly soft, before you jump up from the bed and make your way to the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t dream of it! I kept my promise about the kiss, didn’t I?”

A low laugh sounds from the bedroom, and you smile.

Yah, this was the right decision.

Note: This was purely self-indulgent when I wrote it, but I liked it, so I figured I’d post it somewhere. Hope someone else likes it!

#top gun #top gun maverick #rooster #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #reader #reader insert #x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #abo #abo dynamics #alpha Bradly bradshaw #alpha rooster #omega reader #don't judge pls

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bestworstcase · 4 months ago

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Great, now a couple more questions about the life-death-rebirth cycle come to mind. Namely, isn’t it some level of unfair to punish characters who “break the rules” by resurrecting the dead when they don’t know that’s a rule in the first place?

Take Pietro. He had no idea about Remnant’s past nor any way to learn about it (the only conceivable courses are the relic spirits, which are off limits without a Maiden, and Lewis, who is dead and likely never told anyone beyond what he wrote), so why should he and Penny suffer for it?

Heck, you could make a similar argument for Salem and even the GoD, but really, I’d like to hear what this says about the GoL. He created and strictly enforced the entire false paradigm of death being eternal. Sooo… what about him?

(Sorry if I’m asking too many questions, you just have so many amazing insights.)

in the case of pietro and penny, it’s less about punishing wrongdoing than it is just a natural consequence of the way penny is treated (not just by pietro but by the whole system of the atlesian military) – why does she suffer? because her father built her as a living weapon owned by his very powerful employers and brought her back, after beacon, into a situation where she had zero autonomy. it’s implied that penny literally does not have down time – she’s either working or in standby mode, no time for friends. and when she breaks away from ironwood, he gets so obsessed with forcing her back under his control that he winds up treating salem assaulting his city as a secondary concern.

this has nothing whatsoever to do with some sort of cosmic punishment for “breaking rules” – there aren’t any rules at all, besides the arbitrary ones the brothers tried to impose and light is (notionally) still trying to enforce. the point is that abrogating someone’s personhood, taking away their autonomy in this manner, is wrong because it inflicts grievous harm on that person. and in a setting where death isn’t an ending but rather a moment of transition between the old life and the new, where nothing can happen to you except what you want to happen, it’s wrong to take that choice away from someone by bringing them back.

that’s not to say it would necessarily turn out badly every time – for example, in a world where the brothers decided to relax, salem and ozma would’ve been fine, probably; millions of years later when ozma’s given the chance to return to her, he eagerly takes it. but there’s always, inescapably, that dimension of wrongness. of not letting go. of not letting the person you love choose. (& this is why salem did the right thing in not ever trying to bring ozma back herself after the gods fucked off.)

the narrative explores this with penny through the extreme control she’s subjected to in life. she isn’t allowed to leave. she isn’t allowed to make her own choices. she isn’t even allowed to die, because the atlas military considers her its property, and her father loves her very much and is also cheerfully complicit in this system right until the moment his daughter gets branded a traitor.

pietro knowing or not knowing about the distant past or the arbitrary rules set by the gods doesn’t matter. what is salient is that he knows what he’s bringing his daughter back into – the military machine of atlas in which she is, against her will, a mere cog. and he’s fine with that.

(i do think it’s sort of interesting how blasé he is about penny being the protector of mantle early in v7, before public opinion turns against her; this is a dimension of his overprotectiveness that often gets overlooked, but pietro is completely fine with penny being atlas’s robotic supersoldier. similar to his blithe lack of concern about mantle’s network security, pietro has several massive blindspots because he has very much drunk the atlesian exceptionalism koolaid)

and eventually that view of penny – doesn’t matter if she dies, we’ll just bring her back; doesn’t matter if she’s unhappy, she’ll do what we built her to do with a smile on her face; doesn’t matter what she thinks or feels or wants, she’s under control – was going to come due. inevitably. in the same way that rhodes training cinder to fight and then putting a weapon in her hand had obvious, completely predictable consequences.

what happened with salem is a whole different kettle of fish because she is being punished – tortured, really – for not even breaking but just questioning an arbitrary rule that had no basis in reality. and of course that’s unfair; that injustice is the beating heart of the story because salem was and is right to loathe the brothers as tyrannical monsters. all she did was pray to both of them for something light didn’t want her to have.

and then light’s issue fundamentally is that he doesn’t understand destruction, and therefore disdains and fears it, so change terrified him and he’s obsessed with control. very much in the same mold as ironwood; by the time it gets to the point of light setting up the divine ultimatum it’s less about the original sin than his fixation on salem as The Aberration Who Must Be Corrected (By Punishing Her Until She Submits).

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etinceelle · 1 year ago

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Look, I miss Penny and while I do think it's unfair that Penny didn't even get to experience much of what it means to be humans, a big theme of RWBY that I respect is that the heroes don't always win and that sometimes, good people die. If Penny were to come back to life, it would undermine not only her own sacrifice, but also the development of Ruby, Jaune and Winter.

I wrote a loooot of big reflexions and ideas about the Penny subject soo tbh I'm kinda tired to explain why I would disagree with you and why I think her coming back is very much possible. :'] Nothing against you but if you know me a liiittle bit, you know I write a lot about her, I give valid arguments when I write theories, nothing comes out of nowhere so feel free to check it out if you'd like to know more of my thoughts on this !

Of course in the end, no matter if she comes back or not, it's up to the writers and CRWBY to decide. I'm not saying anything I'm saying is the confirmation of anything, it's just that I need to gather my thoughts and write discussions on the topics because I still find odd that I'm able to find that many clues and hints about Penny even in just Volume 9 alone. Also I just enjoy this and I'm having fun in my little delusional era and even if it turns out not true, well I'm having a good time rn now aha. And people can completely disagree with me, I accept that of course ! But unless you have a discussion to start with me and arguments to give me on your opinion as well, what is the point to tell me that you disagree ? '^^

I'm not saying that to be mean, but it just feel like here that you seem annoyed of my little ramblings about Penny, if that's the case I will continue so feel free to not read if you don't like it. But if you genuinely want to discuss about the subject, then I think what you said isn't really enough. Like if Penny is just meant to be a tragic character, it's just sad that they brought her back + we already have Pyrrha who died and never came back (unless plot twist they decide to bring her back too lmao). Penny symbolizes hope in a lot of way, and I completely agree that for a while I thought she had to stay dead and never come back (again, just read my posts before writing in my ask section because I won't write to explain again lol). But as I explained in a few posts, Volume 9, literally a volume about rebirth and reincarnation, changed a lot of aspects to me. No one complained that much when Little died then came back as Somewhat just because they're Afteran. The very same universe that created the Two Brothers who created Remnant, anyway-

What I mean is that for the first time we have reincarnation depicted in a positive way in RWBY, while it's always been about war and "balance" before (balance instaured by the Brothers, and they don't even respect it). I think it's a big tone change in the RWBY story.

For now I'll stop there but truly, if you want to talk about this subject with me, read my posts-

#rwby #rwby discussion #rwby theory #theory #discussion #penny #penny polendina #rwby v9 #rwby volume 9 #penny revival

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theinstagrahame · 7 months ago

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If your AI arguments begin and end with "It's badly executed plagiarism", then you're not adding anything of value to the conversation. OP did a great job of explaining why it's kind of a short-sighted position to take, and I'll not rehash that.

Yes, plagiarism is scummy as hell. And yes, the quality is bad. But the Techbros are largely focusing on improving the quality, and from a legal standpoint the main way to defend yourself against plagiarism is with Intellectual Property laws, and they're broken as shit.

I'm going to bust out the popcorn when Disney eventually comes after OpenAI, like everyone else does. But I'm not going to delude myself into thinking Disney will be the hero there (y'know, the people too cowardly to show an episode of Bluey where the dad *pretends* to be pregnant?).

For me, at least, the real arguments against AI are more about the labor and ethical considerations. They're also the arguments I feel like few people are really talking about.

Companies are going to swap in cheap "computerized" labor, and swap out people with expertise. This means creatives across many fields are going to lose their jobs. We've already seen multiple companies, Google among them, announce layoffs "to focus on" AI. I'm sure my former employers would argue against the categorization, but they did lay me off, start building an AI off of my old work, and then need to bring me back as a contractor to do the stuff their computers can't. Like, this is already happening, and the economy sucks.

When we say cheap "computerized" labor, we do need to remember that this stuff isn't just magic. AI isn't making decisions based on information it can glean itself, it had to be taught at some point by humans what a thing Is and Isn't. So, if you're not teaching it by answering CAPTCHAs, they're paying people (usually elderly, prisoners, or workers in the global south) pennies per item to identify data to go into the data sets that power these Large-Scale Computing models.

Oh, also they're colossally bad for the environment, just like Crypto was, and for the same reasons.

We're also not getting into the whole issue of baking in prejudices and presuppositions into the AI training data. The assumptions being made by the AI Techbros and the people typifying the training data are going to become codified into a machine that's incapable of actually understanding why that's bad.

So yes, artists don't deserve the treatment AI Techbros are giving them. But if you're mad about the plagiarism, you are barely scratching the surface of why AI sucks.

How can you consider yourself any sort of leftist when you defend AI art bullshit? You literally simp for AI techbros and have the gall to pretend you're against big corporations?? Get fucked

I don't "defend" AI art. I think a particular old post of mine that a lot of people tend to read in bad faith must be making the rounds again lmao.

Took me a good while to reply to this because you know what? I decided to make something positive out of this and use this as an opportunity to outline what I ACTUALLY believe about AI art. If anyone seeing this decides to read it in good or bad faith... Welp, your choice I guess.

I have several criticisms of the way the proliferation of AI art generators and LLMs is making a lot of things worse. Some of these are things I have voiced in the past, some of these are things I haven't until now:

Most image and text AI generators are fine-tuned to produce nothing but the most agreeable, generically pretty content slop, pretty much immediately squandering their potential to be used as genuinely interesting artistic tools with anything to offer in terms of a unique aesthetic experience (AI video still manages to look bizarre and interesting but it's getting there too)

In the entertainment industry and a lot of other fields, AI image generation is getting incorporated into production pipelines in ways that lead to the immiseration of working artists, being used to justify either lower wages or straight-up layoffs, and this is something that needs to be fought against. That's why I unconditionally supported the SAG-AFTRA strikes last year and will unconditionally support any collective action to address AI art as a concrete labor issue

In most fields where it's being integrated, AI art is vastly inferior to human artists in any use case where you need anything other than to make a superficially pretty picture really fast. If you need to do anything like ask for revisions or minor corrections, give very specific descriptions of how objects and people are interacting with each other, or just like. generate several pictures of the same thing and have them stay consistent with each other, you NEED human artists and it's preposterous to think they can be replaced by AI.

There is a lot of art of the internet that consists of the most generically pretty, cookie-cutter anime waifu-adjacent slop that has zero artistic or emotional value to either the people seeing it or the person churning it out, and while this certainly was A Thing before the advent of AI art generators, generative AI has made it extremely easy to become the kind of person who churns it out and floods online art spaces with it.

Similarly, LLMs make it extremely easy to generate massive volumes of texts, pages, articles, listicles and what have you that are generic vapid SEO-friendly pap at best and bizzarre nonsense misinformation at worst, drowning useful information in a sea of vapid noise and rendering internet searches increasingly useless.

The way LLMs are being incorporated into customer service and similar services not only, again, encourages further immiseration of customer service workers, but it's also completely useless for most customers.

A very annoyingly vocal part the population of AI art enthusiasts, fanatics and promoters do tend to talk about it in a way that directly or indirectly demeans the merit and skill of human artists and implies that they think of anyone who sees anything worthwile in the process of creation itself rather than the end product as stupid or deluded.

So you can probably tell by now that I don't hold AI art or writing in very high regard. However (and here's the part that'll get me called an AI techbro, or get people telling me that I'm just jealous of REAL artists because I lack the drive to create art of my own, or whatever else) I do have some criticisms of the way people have been responding to it, and have voiced such criticisms in the past.

I think a lot of the opposition to AI art has critstallized around unexamined gut reactions, whipping up a moral panic, and pressure to outwardly display an acceptable level of disdain for it. And in particular I think this climate has made a lot of people very prone to either uncritically entertain and adopt regressive ideas about Intellectual Propety, OR reveal previously held regressive ideas about Intellectual Property that are now suddenly more socially acceptable to express:

(I wanna preface this section by stating that I'm a staunch intellectual property abolitionist for the same reason I'm a private property abolitionist. If you think the existence of intellectual property is a good thing, a lot of my ideas about a lot of stuff are gonna be unpalatable to you. Not much I can do about it.)

A lot of people are suddenly throwing their support behind any proposal that promises stricter copyright regulations to combat AI art, when a lot of these also have the potential to severely udnermine fair use laws and fuck over a lot of independent artist for the benefit of big companies.

It was very worrying to see a lot of fanfic authors in particular clap for the George R R Martin OpenAI lawsuit because well... a lot of them don't realize that fanfic is a hobby that's in a position that's VERY legally precarious at best, that legally speaking using someone else's characters in your fanfic is a much of a violation of copyright law as stright up stealing entire passages, and that any regulation that can be used against the latter can be extended against the former.

Similarly, a lot of artists were cheering for the lawsuit against AI art models trained to mimic the style of specific artists. Which I agree is an extremely scummy thinbg to do (just like a human artist making a living from ripping off someone else's work is also extremely scummy), but I don't think every scummy act necessarily needs to be punishable by law, and some of them would in fact leave people worse off if they were. All this to say: If you are an artist, and ESPECIALLY a fan artist, trust me. You DON'T wanna live in a world where there's precedent for people's artstyles to be considered intellectual property in any legally enforceable way. I know you wanna hurt AI art people but this is one avenue that's not worth it.

Especially worrying to me as an indie musician has been to see people mention the strict copyright laws of the music industry as a positive thing that they wanna emulate. "this would never happen in the music industry because they value their artists copyright" idk maybe this is a the grass is greener type of situation but I'm telling you, you DON'T wanna live in a world where copyright law in the visual arts world works the way it does in the music industry. It's not worth it.

I've seen at least one person compare AI art model training to music sampling and say "there's a reason why they cracked down on sampling" as if the death of sampling due to stricter copyright laws was a good thing and not literally one of the worst things to happen in the history of music which nearly destroyed several primarily black music genres. Of course this is anecdotal because it's just One Guy I Saw Once, but you can see what I mean about how uncritical support for copyright law as a tool against AI can lead people to adopt increasingly regressive ideas about copyright.

Similarly, I've seen at least one person go "you know what? Collages should be considered art theft too, fuck you" over an argument where someone else compared AI art to collages. Again, same point as above.

Similarly, I take issue with the way a lot of people seem EXTREMELY personally invested in proving AI art is Not Real Art. I not only find this discussion unproductive, but also similarly dangerously prone to validating very reactionary ideas about The Nature Of Art that shouldn't really be entertained. Also it's a discussion rife with intellectual dishonesty and unevenly applied definition as standards.

When a lot of people present the argument of AI art not being art because the definition of art is this and that, they try to pretend that this is the definition of art the've always operated under and believed in, even when a lot of the time it's blatantly obvious that they're constructing their definition on the spot and deliberately trying to do so in such a way that it doesn't include AI art.

They never succeed at it, btw. I've seen several dozen different "AI art isn't art because art is [definition]". I've seen exactly zero of those where trying to seriously apply that definition in any context outside of trying to prove AI art isn't art doesn't end up in it accidentally excluding one or more non-AI artforms, usually reflecting the author's blindspots with regard to the different forms of artistic expression.

(However, this is moot because, again, these are rarely definitions that these people actually believe in or adhere to outside of trying to win "Is AI art real art?" discussions.)

Especially worrying when the definition they construct is built around stuff like Effort or Skill or Dedication or The Divine Human Spirit. You would not be happy about the kinds of art that have traditionally been excluded from Real Art using similar definitions.

Seriously when everyone was celebrating that the Catholic Church came out to say AI art isn't real art and sharing it as if it was validating and not Extremely Worrying that the arguments they'd been using against AI art sounded nearly identical to things TradCaths believe I was like. Well alright :T You can make all the "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with a catholic" legolas and gimli memes you want, but it won't change the fact that the argument being made by the catholic church was a profoundly conservative one and nearly identical to arguments used to dismiss the artistic merit of certain forms of "degenerate" art and everyone was just uncritically sharing it, completely unconcerned with what kind of worldview they were lending validity to by sharing it.

Remember when the discourse about the Gay Sex cats pic was going on? One of the things I remember the most from that time was when someone went "Tell me a definition of art that excludes this picture without also excluding Fountain by Duchamp" and how just. Literally no one was able to do it. A LOT of people tried to argue some variation of "Well, Fountain is art and this image isn't because what turns fountain into art is Intent. Duchamp's choice to show a urinal at an art gallery as if it was art confers it an element of artistic intent that this image lacks" when like. Didn't by that same logic OP's choice to post the image on tumblr as if it was art also confer it artistic intent in the same way? Didn't that argument actually kinda end up accidentally validating the artistic status of every piece of AI art ever posted on social media? That moment it clicked for me that a lot of these definitions require applying certain concepts extremely selectively in order to make sense for the people using them.

A lot of people also try to argue it isn't Real Art based on the fact that most AI art is vapid but like. If being vapid definitionally excludes something from being art you're going to have to exclude a whooole lot of stuff along with it. AI art is vapid. A lot of art is too, I don't think this argument works either.

Like, look, I'm not really invested in trying to argue in favor of The Artistic Merits of AI art but I also find it extremely hard to ignore how trying to categorically define AI art as Not Real Art not only is unproductive but also requires either a) applying certain parts of your definition of art extremely selectively, b) constructing a definition of art so convoluted and full of weird caveats as to be functionally useless, or c) validating extremely reactionary conservative ideas about what Real Art is.

Some stray thoughts that don't fit any of the above sections.

I've occassionally seen people respond to AI art being used for shitposts like "A lot of people have affordable commissions, you could have paid someone like $30 to draw this for you instead of using the plagiarism algorithm and exploiting the work of real artists" and sorry but if you consider paying an artist a rate that amounts to like $5 for several hours of work a LESS exploitative alternative I think you've got something fucked up going on with your priorities.

Also it's kinda funny when people comment on the aforementioned shitposts with some variation of "see, the usage of AI art robs it of all humor because the thing that makes shitposts funny is when you consider the fact that someone would spend so much time and effort in something so stupid" because like. Yeah that is part of the humor SOMETIMES but also people share and laugh at low effort shitposts all the time. Again you're constructing a definition that you don't actually believe in anywhere outside of this type of conversations. Just say you don't like that it's AI art because you think it's morally wrong and stop being disingenuous.

So yeah, this is pretty much everything I believe about the topic.

I don't "defend" AI art, but my opposition to it is firmly rooted in my principles, and that means I refuse to uncritically accept any anti-AI art argument that goes against those same principles.

If you think not accepting and parroting every Anti-AI art argument I encounter because some of them are ideologically rooted in things I disagree with makes me indistinguishable from "AI techbros" you're working under a fucked up dichotomy.

#ai is a plague #ai is theft #late stage capitalism #capitalism ruins everything

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zablife · 2 years ago

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Hehehehe

Ahhhh! Love this GIF 😍 Tysm for sending it, babes! Although I'm pretty sure this scene was Great Balls of Fire, my imagine was inspired by the amazing song from the original Top Gun "You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin" by the Righteous Brothers. I hope you enjoy it!

Lovin' Feelin'

You'd been at the Hard Deck all of fifteen minutes when you and Bradley began fighting. It was a stupid argument, but tensions were high as he was about to leave for two weeks on a mission. When you began dating casually you never thought you'd worry about him like this. You weren't going to get serious about a man everyone called Rooster. Were you? Then he had captured your heart and all you did was worry about his safety. It drove you crazy.

Needing some time to cool down, you ordered a beer from Penny and took a seat at a secluded booth so you could be alone with your thoughts. Bradley went to join his friends and you watched him hang his head dejectedly as others talked around him. Both of you were hurting, but you were too proud to admit you'd overreacted so you kept your distance. As you traced the circle of condensation forming on the table, you realized the bar had gone quiet. Then a familiar song rang out on the jukebox.

"You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips..." You looked up to see Bradley looking at you and extending an arm in your direction. "And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips. You're trying hard not to show it, but baby, baby I know it," he sang at the top of his lungs.

"Oh, shit," you whispered to yourself knowing what he was about to do. You dropped your head in your hands, hiding your embarrassed smile, as he jumped up on the piano bench and belted out, "You've lost that lovin' feelin. Woah, that lovin' feelin. You've lost that lovin' feelin, now it's gone, gone, gone." As the drums from the song kicked in, he hopped down to come find you, dragging you from the booth to dance with him.

He brought your body in close, one of your hands captured in his larger one over his heart as he leaned in with a solemn promise, "I'm coming home to you in two weeks, alright? You gonna keep lovin me?" You looked up to see a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes at the little stunt he had pulled to get you talking to him again. "Say yes," he said, brushing his mustache against your upper lip. "Come on, baby, bring back that lovin' feelin," he urged you as he dipped his lips into yours. You nodded, melting into him and kissed him tenderly.

Everyone in the bar began cheering and you hid your face in his shoulder. "Should we give 'em an encore?" he said looking over your shoulder. You pulled away to look at him in surprise, wondering if he meant making out in the crowded bar. Bradley wiggled an eyebrow, "Great Balls of Fire," he clarified. Then he leaned into you and whispered, "The other encore I'll save for the bedroom, sweetheart." He winked at you as he took a seat at the piano and put his sunglasses back on beckoning you over to sit by him.

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

****If you liked this blurb, please comment and reblog!! Also, feel free to send me an ask and request another! I'm always willing to write more for Hangman or Rooster.****

#ask box #Top Gun Maverick #Bradley Bradshaw fanfic #Bradley Bradshaw imagine #Bradley Bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x you #Rooster fanfic #Rooster imagine #Rooster x reader #Rooster x you #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw x y/n #Rooster x y/n

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tsukishumai · 3 years ago

Text

Love Galore

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x f!reader x bokuto kotaro

chapter summary: your not-date with kuroo takes you somewhere complete unexpected

wc: 3.6k

CHAPTER 9 ✧ TIRAMISU

“Are you okay?” Kuroo’s voice instantly snaps you out of your reverie, making you jolt as you turn to face him.

“Yeah, why?” You squeak out, but Kuroo’s expression falls flat, giving you a deadpan expression.

“Mochi’s gonna go bald with how hard you’ve been petting her,” Kuroo points out, and your eyes shift down to the innocent black and white Shih Tzu sitting in your lap. The fur on top of Mochi’s head now laid flat and hung over her eyes, and you quickly withdrew your hands back to your side. The poor little pup hurriedly crawled away from its spot on your legs, giving her fur one quick shake before trotting off to the other side of the cafe.

“Sorry, Mochi,” you mumbled, and Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh. The golden retriever that rested by his feet apparently didn’t like the sound, because soon he, too, left the company of your table.

“You’ve been out of it all day,” Kuroo mentions as the two of you rise from sitting cross legged on the floor, reclaiming your seats in front of your table covered with half-consumed drinks and treats, “I thought you’ve been wanting to check this place out furr-ever.”

Kuroo looks at you expectantly, and you absolutely did not want to give him the satisfaction, but the snort that came out of your mouth was involuntary, and a little disgraceful — so you had no choice but to throw your used napkin across the table at Kuroo, who narrowly managed to dodge it with a mock-disgusted look on his face.

It’s true, the pet cafe has been in your “Need To Go” list for the past three weeks now, and you didn’t want to admit how many times you visited their website just to look at pictures of their furry employees. The giddiness from this morning was still barely present somewhere in your stomach, undeniably flaring up whenever you glance at Kuroo across the table. But the altercation you had with Bokuto still replayed clearly in your head, flashbacks of his angry face plummeting your mood lower by the second.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Kuroo asks, looking down at his own drink and stirring his straw slowly, “Or am I gonna have to buy that cake you were eyeing earlier? I’m not above bribery, you know.”

Kuroo looked so handsome, bashfully hiding behind his glass and taking a sip, as if he hadn’t just demanded for you to open up to him. Your heart felt warm, but it was overshadowed by the looming disappointment you felt clouding over your head. While the bitter taste of your last conversation with Bokuto still lingered on your tongue, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving one on Kuroo’s.

Your eyes never left his face, watching him try to avoid looking at anything but you. His eyes remain downcast, staring at his own fingers as they picked up a napkin and dabbed them at the corners of his mouth. The overhead light glittered against the cool metal of his rings as he wringed the napkin nervously, before finally he lifted his head and his soft hazel irises slightly dilated as they finally landed on you.

Something squeezed tightly in your chest, knocking out in the air in your lungs when Kuroo’s face ever so slightly lifted in surprise, clearly not expecting to meet your heavy gaze. He tilts his head to the side, chuckling nervously.

“Y/N? What’s wr—“

“Bokuto came over this morning,” you blurted out, just a little bit louder than you had intended.

You weren’t sure why you felt nervous, anxiety gnawing at your bottom lip as you waited for Kuroo to respond. You had no plans to bring up the argument, and a small part somewhere deep within you didn’t want to disappoint, didn’t want to risk any misunderstandings — but as it’s always been with Kuroo, you could do nothing against his easy smiles and the gentle timbre of his voice.

“So?” Kuroo asks, lightly chuckling as he leaned back against his seat, “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

The words came out forcefully, like something rotten that had been festering in your stomach finally regurgitated. You recounted the way he barged into your apartment, frowning when you mentioned Bokuto’s demands of you, of the anger and frustration on his face when you denied him of his requests. You hadn’t noticed the way Kuroo’s face darkened for just a moment, too busy stumbling over your own words as you try to explain the resentment that had propelled itself to the surface, the confusion over what really had transpired, unable to properly articulate the jumbled mess of emotions that were raging from the pits of your heart.

“... and so I just left,” the end of your story was anticlimactic, your mouth feeling dry and out of breath as you looked up at Kuroo. Your heart nearly dropped — he was glowering down at his own plate, nostrils flared as he took deep breaths.

“Tetsu—?” Your fingers twitched as they reached out for him, and Kuroo turned to face you, eyebrows scrunched with concern as he bore his eyes into yours.

Something in you felt frantic, speechless as you watched Kuroo’s hardened expressions slowly soften, wondering if he can feel your anxieties. You could feel every line wrinkled across your forehead now, knees bouncing and nearly knocking against the edge of the table, only feeling yourself relax when Kuroo lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head.

“Ahh, that idiot Bokuto,” Kuroo sighs out something light, desperate for anything to blow over the dark cloud you had above your head, “Can’t stand not being in the spotlight for one damn second.”

You choke back a laugh, feeling yourself smiling along with Kuroo as he looked at you from across the table; though you couldn’t ignore the uneasiness that hid behind the shadows of his grin.

“Remind me to beat his ass when I get home later,” Kuroo ignores your protests, laughing when you smack his arm, “You could have invited him, you know? Save yourself from listening to his whining —“

“No,” you cut him off so fast, Kuroo’s mouth practically snapped shut, “I didn’t… I didn’t want to invite him.”

Kuroo sat back with his eyes wide, the beginnings of a smug grin gracing his lips as he crossed his arms against his chest.

“Why not?”

You could feel your throat bobbing as you gulped, doubt slowly beginning to creep along your veins as your interaction with Akaashi — almost completely forgotten — now fights it’s way to the forefront of your mind.

“Because! I — I…” your voice has been caught somewhere along the web of your tongue, sputtering off into nothing as you shrunk beneath Kuroo’s amused smirks.

“You…?”

The embarrassment flared up all across your checks, steam practically wafting off the top of your head. Kuroo looks at you now with a devilish grin, finger tapping against his forearm as he pokes a tongue through his cheek, lifting an eyebrow as if urging you to continue.

It was Akaashi now that you heard loud and clear, above the chattering of fear in your brain, above the echoes of Bokuto’s frustrated voice, above worrying whether you were the only one looking forward to this, of wondering whether this meant to Kuroo what it did to you, or if you were the only one that thought this was a date.

Would it be so bad if it was?

You looked at Kuroo, eagerly waiting for the next thing to come out of your mouth, and realized that you didn’t really want to make the same mistake twice.

“I was really looking forward to our…” you’re trying to be bold, you really were, but you were still you and your face still felt scorching hot, and you try not to look dumb as your hands fly up to your cheeks, “… to this. I went shopping yesterday, you know! I didn’t want to invite anyone else, I just wanted…”

You trail off as you recall the way you’d been acting, spaced out and preoccupied as Kuroo tried to calm down the jumping puppies, staring off into space as he ordered the meal, nodding absentmindedly at the things he had to say — and you felt like punching yourself in the face.

“Ugh, I’ve gone and ruined everything!” You cover your face now with the palms of your hands, groaning your frustrations out and oblivious to the stares it elicited from the other patrons.

You might have wanted to stay there forever, wanted to hide behind the safety of your fingers, because if you don’t see it, it’s not there right? Yup. That’s the philosophy you were going with today.

Delicate fingers wrap themselves around your wrist, pulling you away from their protection, forcing you to look at Kuroo, and something in you blooms.

Hazel eyes were filled with mirth as he looks at you with a smile that made you want to drop dead, chuckling as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your head up every so slightly to look at him, and he laughs lightly while he shakes his head.

“Trust me, you haven’t ruined our anything,” he grins at you, and you couldn’t stop your lips from stretching into a smile even if you wanted to.

“Really?” You asked, chin still tucked into his fingers as Kuroo’s eyes stay trained onto yours.

“Really,” he nods, and you feel a twinge of sadness when he finally let’s go, still smiling at you as he leans back, “I’m really proud of you for standing up for yourself today.”

You could feel your chest swell up with joy.

“And I’m glad you didn’t invite him,” he finishes off the last bit of his Tiramisu cake with a flourish of a fork into his mouth, “Because I wanted today to be just us, too.”

The fireworks in your stomach was explosive, the tingling extending all the way down into your toes.

The waitress stopped by to drop off the check, but before either you or her could argue, Kuroo hands her his card and sends her on her way.

You attempt to squabble over paying for half, but Kuroo just tells you to get the bill next time. And it’s the thought of next time that has your feet feeling like they’re walking on clouds all the way out the door.

“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” You asked as you both stepped into the busy street, sun still blazing hot above as people brushed past the two of you.

“Yeah, I’ve got a few errands to run,” Kuroo mentions offhandedly, “You?”

“No, I’ve got nothing planned,” you reply, and Kuroo nods in acknowledgment, and just like that, your not-date with Kuroo Tetsuro was meant to be over.

You felt yourself deflate at the opportunity slipping through your fingers, upset that you had spent the day sulking, disheartened at having wasted your time.

And as always, Kuroo Tetsuro seemed to have read your mind, because he turns to you with yet another dazzling grin, and he asks.

“Wanna come with me?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’ve walked to all four corners of Tokyo by now, you were sure of it.

Kuroo has successfully brushed off each of your complaints like water to an umbrella, simply laughing at your dismay each time you bothered to nag him about the distances he’d dragged you along so far. Honestly, who in their right mind packs this much into their schedule on a day off?

Alright, you understood the trip to the secondhand bookstore downtown, because the textbooks are criminally cheap there. The little old man who ran the shop gave you a free pamphlet of top sights to see in Tokyo, and he was too adorable to tell him that you’ve lived in the city your whole life.

And, okay, it was pretty sweet of him to order a video game for Kenma because he’s been “eyeing this damn game for months and I need him to shut up about it”, but did it have to be from a store that required two bus rides to get there? Apparently so, because it was a “special edition” and he needed to get it from “a reputable retailer.”

But you were absolutely sure he did not have to take you to the grocery store all the way uptown when there was one near his apartment.

It’s not that you weren’t enjoying your time with Kuroo. Quite the opposite, if you were being honest. It’s not like you were doing anything exciting, but walking around the city with Kuroo, doing nothing but picking up games and books, somehow felt so intimate. The day flowed as tranquil as water down a river, and you floated on by with Kuroo without a care.

But if you knew this was how your day was going to go, you would have worn better shoes.

You sighed in relief as you stepped into the warm air of the grocery store, following silently behind Kuroo as he made a beeline towards the produce section. You called him disgusting for sampling the grapes, and he wanted to wipe the smug smirk off your face when you pulled out a turnip you said was shaped like his head.

“Why’d we go all the way here,” you groaned for the third time, and Kuroo did nothing but roll his eyes.

“Because we have to pick up something from the pharmacy,” Kuroo replies, and you almost didn’t register what he said, to focused on the thought of the two of you being considered a ‘we’.

“Pharmacy?” You questioned, but Kuroo didn’t have time to answer before he was called up to the pick up window.

You waited patiently to the side as he picks up medication for two names you didn’t recognize, trying not to let your curiosity override your manners.

He returns to your side holding two non-descript paper bags, a slight pep in his step as the two of you begin walking out of the grocery store in tandem.

“One last stop, and we’re done,” he assures you as he turns right, and then another right, leading you down into a street lined with houses.

“Where we going?” You ask.

“To my grandparents.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You had the approximately fifteen minute walk from the grocery store to Kuroo’s grandparents house to collect yourself and calm your nerves. You glance at the man walking next to you, smiling to himself as if he wasn’t just randomly bringing you over to meet his family.

How’d you get yourself into this situation? Just this morning, you were debating on whether or not today was even a date. If you were being completely honest, you still weren’t sure. You were just barely adjusting to the intimacy of running errands together and now you were meeting his — hold on, hold on, hold on.

“Relax,” Kuroo jumps you out of your thoughts yet again, and you turn to him with wrinkled brows and fidgeting fingers, “We’re just dropping off medication.”

“I’m just nervous,” you admit, and Kuroo gives you a lopsided smile.

“Nervous about what?” Kuroo almost sounds incredulous, “You’ll be fine. Just be your usual, charmingly annoying self.”

Kuroo gives you a wink as he turns abruptly, and rings the doorbell of the first gate to the left.

You hastily tried to smooth down your clothes, brushing the flyaways from your face, and hoping you didn’t look like a sweaty, melted ice cream cone after spending the whole day traipsing around Tokyo.

There was something itching at the bottom of our heart, an overwhelming urge to impress the people that raised Kuroo. The way he’d speak about them was always gentle, a calmness in his eyes as he recalled stories of the people that held him when he cried, that taught him everything he knew.

You couldn’t help but want to thank them.

Clattering was all you heard before the door swings open, the most energetic old man waiting on the other side with a brightest grin on his face.

“Tetsuro!” His voice was hoarse, but lively as he pulls Kuroo into a tight hug, the tall man suddenly seeming like a small boy in his grandfather’s arms. The old man wasn’t shy in his affection, peppering his grandson with kisses all across his face.

“Calm. Down. Old. Man,” Kuroo tried to say in between kisses, trapped in his grandfather’s affection.

“Did I hear Tetsuro?” A sweet old voice follows suite, and suddenly Kuroo’s grandfather was thrown to the side by a seemingly meek older woman, standing in front of Kuroo with her palms clasped against her chest, shivering in delight.

“Come here,” she pulls Kuroo into a less frenzied hug, and gives him only one big kiss on the cheek, and suddenly eyes that matched Kuroo’s were zoned in on you.

A smile spreads across her face as she steps out into the street and places her hands on either side of your arms, She gives you one good look, before you find yourself pulled into an embrace.

“You must be Y/N,” she says softly into your ear, and your eyes widen in surprise, “Tetsuro’s told us so much about you.”

“Baa-chan!” Kuroo grumbles from the side, trying to pry himself away from his grandpa, “You’re scaring her.”

“I’m not scaring her,” his grandma retorts.

“She’s not scaring me,” you smile at the glare Kuroo bores into your skull.

“Please don’t enable her—“

“What are you doing here, Tetsuro,” his grandfather interrupts, holding Kuroo at arms length and looking at him with a crinkle in his eye, “Are you gonna stay out there forever, or are you coming in?”

“I just came to drop these off,” Kuroo replies, holding up the white paper bag and jiggling the medicine wrapped inside, “The pharmacist told me you haven’t picked up your past two refills. I’ve told you, you can’t miss —“

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to do that, right, thanks, yeah,” his grandfather cuts him off, yanking the bag out of his hands and stepping to the side, “Now get in here, would you?”

Kuroo sighs, shaking his head as he drops his head down. “I can’t tonight, jii-chan. I just came to drop these off. I had a feeling about you.”

Kuroo jabs his grandfather on the side, making him yelp and rub at his ribs. He turns to his grandmother, who still had you clutched tightly in her claws, and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Baa-chan, you have to remember to take these at —“

“Don’t be a pest, honey,” his grandmother lovingly glares at her husband, pulling you in close and wrapping a thin arm around your shoulders, “It’s getting dark now, and Tetsuro’s gotta make sure Y/N gets home safely. Tetsuro, what are you doing making this young woman walk all the way over here? Next time you bring her, get a car!”

Kuroo’s hand snacks on his forehead, running down along his face.

“Yes, Baa-chan,” was the only answer that came from his lips and it was all just way too much to process.

She turns back to you, smiling gently before pinching your cheek.

“Come back soon, okay?” She bends her head down and whispers like schoolgirls telling secrets, “And try to get that grandson of mine to stop smoking, will you?”

You giggle as you bring your hand up to your forehead in mock-salute.

“It’ll be my personal mission to —“

Kuroo pulls you from his grandmothers arms, tucking you in closely to his side as he throws a sharp look at the old woman.

“That’s rich coming from someone who doesn’t take their meds—“

“It was nice seeing you, honey,” his grandmother blew kisses at him as she ushered her bumbling husband back into the gate, “Come back soon!”

“She’s real pretty, Tetsu—“

His grandmother shuts the gate in her husbands face before he could finish his sentence.

Silence suddenly engulfed the empty street, a stark contrast to the rambunctious couple that just emerged from and retreated into this gate.

“I’m… so sorry,” Kuroo mumbles out, arms still hanging around your shoulder as he turns you both around and begins the journey back home, “The pharmacist called me this morning, and said they hadn’t picked up their refills in a while, otherwise I wouldn’t have... And as you can see, they both hate taking their medication, so if I don’t do it…”

“It’s okay,” you laugh out, leaning into his side when his arm around you remains, “They’re cute. Now, I understand how you can be friends with Bokuto.”

Kuroo laughs, eyes clenched with his head hung back, “Fuck, I never made the connection before.”

You giggle alongside him, enjoying the weight of him around you, and it was almost involuntary the way you bring your own arm up to wrap around his waist.

“So you talk to your grandmother about me,” you smile.

“Yeah, I tell her about how you can’t lift a five pound dumbbell above your head— ouch!”

The pinch on his ribs was soft, but he flinched and pulled you closer anyway.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you mention, and he turns to look down at you, “We could have stayed at your grandparents for a bit, you know.”

“No, they would have made us stay for hours,” he shakes his head, “And I know you’re tired.”

You forgot about the blisters on forming in your heels, of the dull ache that’s been ever present in the balls of your feet for the past hour and half, too focused on the dazzling boy that had you wrapped up in his arms as he walked you back home.

“Maybe next week?” You tried not to sound too forward, tried not to let hope bubble into your chest.

But then Kuroo Tetsuro looks down at you with a smile you know is meant just for you.

“Next week.”

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#kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto kotaro x y/n #kuroo drabbles #bokuto drabbles #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x you

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bestworstcase · 1 year ago

Text

i will say upfront that i dooon’t buy the jaune theory tm at all. so this is a “yes, and” primarily but also an “i think the jaune-semblance-exploit/ATM redemption theories are looking in the wrong direction, and ambrosius makes a lot more sense to me here’s why”

TL;DR MAGIC. ITS MAGIC also malicious compliance.

cut for length

firstly, in brief, these are the core reasons i’m not keen on the JSE/ATM theories:

#1: i truly do not think the ATMs can be reclaimed from their original purpose of exerting control over the maiden powers by sacrifice of the actual maidens. even pietro’s consensual, ‘benign’ use of the ATMs to donate his aura to penny is ravaging his health. ultimately it all roots back to atlas culturally reducing the soul to an exploitable commodity; the ATMs are there, narratively, to reify that harm. i think the ‘rule of three’ we’re headed for here is likely to involve either a successful use of the machines to forcibly transfer the power out of an ‘unsuitable’ summer maiden, with catastrophic consequences, OR rwbyj getting to shade just in time to prevent the same.

#2: jaune believes penny is dead. full stop. semblances can evolve in unexpected ways that aren’t realized until much later, sure, but the line of reasoning that penny noticed something jaune didn’t and deliberately took advantage of it to loophole herself out of death is… in essence, an argument that penny took control over and evolved his semblance for her own ends without him noticing?!, and that seems really far-fetched to me.

the ability to do that seems plausible as a semblance in the abstract (cf marcus black stealing his son’s semblance), but i cannot imagine that being PENNY’S semblance. it feels entirely wrong for her character.

#3: THERE’S MAGIC! MAGIC EXISTS!! one of remnants two creators is a dragon who went “sure i’ll bring your dead lover back #YOLT” because a grieving young woman said she believed in him! dark was not exactly a hard sell on permadeath being a nonsense rule, and that was BEFORE V9 went “oh yeah, and light’s insistence on permadeath is totally arbitrary and born out of his weird self-hating guilt about accidentally creating death in the first place, the natural state of the cosmos is an endless cycle of life and rebirth.” gjdhdhx

you don’t need to finagle a scenario where technically penny isn’t truly dead and actually using the spiritually-mutilating human sacrifice machines is okay on a technicality when you’re writing a story where death itself is an artificial construct literally only the true antagonist cares about maintaining. you can just… bring the narrative about the healing of this cosmic wound to fruition. it’s simple.

which brings me secondly to ambrosius!

i think the technicality of “we’d like to keep her around longer than that” is… probably not the relevant piece, actually.

mainly it’s what ambrosius says.

#1: “i’m going to go ahead and assume that you know it's against the rules for me to bring people back from dead so...”

not “i can’t.” not “i won’t.” he tells ruby “it’s against the rules for me to bring people back.” which implies three things: one, that he’s perfectly capable of doing so (and why wouldn’t he be? death is an artificial construct. death is a dam, resurrection is a sluice gate!); two, that he himself is not unwilling to bringing people back; and three, that he has been specifically forbidden to do so by the god of light.

why does this matter? well, either light made the relics but not the spirits chained inside them (<- those spirits are what dark became when he ascended in this essay i will), or light did create the spirits but couldn’t limit their true powers. in either case, those spirits are far greater than the relics light made to contain them. and the ones we’ve met are wearing shackles and super duper Not Happy with being relics.

they’re… getting freed. lol. the only question is when, by whom, and what they’ll do once they’re no longer constrained by the rules the god light imposed on them.

#2: ambrosius seems pretty dubious about ruby’s request at first—until she says “you can’t destroy, it’s against the rules.” and then his eyes slowly widen as he turns thoughtful, and after the kids lay out their theory he goes into this bit: “i suppose i could do a little… oh, add a touch of—but if i do that, how much of the old penny would be my work, and how much would be… her, just coming up to the surface? this is all very exciting! and very dangerous. i, uh, don’t know what the results are going to be.”

think about this. ambrosius can bring people back—it’s within his power—but he’s not allowed to. ambrosius can destroy—he must destroy his old creation in order to create a new one—but he’s not allowed to destroy anything not originally created by him.

but what ruby is asking him to do is destructive. it’s “dismantle penny and build an exact copy of her body using her existing robot parts.” that is, definitionally, destroying penny. but ambrosius isn’t allowed to destroy. but he’s also required to create things to the exact specifications given. how to resolve that contradiction?

ascension. the only way to thread this needle is to pull off an actual, literal ascension—a la the paper pleasers. break penny from her physical form and let her do the rest.

ruby doesn’t know it, but she’s asking ambrosius to throw light’s entire system of life and death out the window in favor of tapping into the essence of the tree—which doesn’t kill, but resurrects and rebuilds. and she is asking him to do it—to facilitate penny’s ascension himself, in his own way, with his own creative flair, rather than just sending penny to the tree.

AND THEN HE JUST. DOES IT??!? LMAO

#3: ok, so, when ruby makes her initial request she explains her reasoning thus: “an exact copy of her would include the virus. an exact copy of her without the virus would cease to exist the second you make something else.”

the expectation is that the exact copy of penny’s body assembled from her original, pre-existing parts, should continue to exist even after ambrosius creates something else, and he not only doesn’t correct this idea, he praises ruby for having “done her homework”—implying that her line of reasoning here is right and he’s impressed that she caught the distinction between “create” and “assemble.”

so… why does the lifeless robot body crumble into blue smoke and ash after ambrosius makes the portals?

not before, mind. not even during the act of creation, but a moment or two after he finishes and time begins to move again, so it’s the last thing the kids see before he tells them “do not fall.”

he can’t destroy, it’s against the rules. according to the rules, that body should have remained intact. and its disintegration isn’t correlated with the creation of the portals. it’s correlated with ambrosius hanging out for a moment or two longer than he should—in every other instance the spirit disappears instantly after the request is fulfilled—to deliver his dire warning (which may or may not have been intended as reverse psychology).

here’s my theory: i think they partially freed him by asking him to do something so utterly beyond what the staff was intended to be used for. he’s still bound to the relic for now, but he’s not restrained by light’s rules anymore. he had to stretch them, bend them so far past their limit, in order to do what ruby asked that they couldn’t just snap back afterwards.

and i think that’s probably a direction the narrative will continue to follow from here on out—the god of light has imposed quite a lot of rules that don’t align with the world as it is but rather with how he’s decided it should be, and if you take a system like that and push it hard enough it’s going to collapse eventually. it’s not about rules lawyering—it’s malicious compliance.

they asked ambrosius to pretty please remove penny’s body from penny without breaking any rules and he went okay! and recreated the ever after’s system of cyclical rebirth but with a twist, making room for the EXACT OPPOSITE of light’s design within the rules intended to enforce that design. this is how they Win: by not breaking the rules in a way that forces the rules to break each other.

last point, on “maiden transfer why gold??”

i know the going theory is it’s the color of jaune’s aura because semblance exploit. but hear me out:

jaune’s aura isn’t yellow. it’s a very pale cream-white whose apparent color shifts with the lighting and environment—depending on his surroundings it can look anywhere from pure white to gold. this is true of all auras to an extent, but it’s especially noticeable with jaune because his is so light to begin with.

rwby takes *advantage* of this quality to visually distinguish the white-gold color of the penny->winter transfer from jaune’s aura (which looks like a much brighter, deeper gold in the dark void). i think it IS supposed to clock as odd, and the similarity to jaune’s aura is countered by the unusual saturation we see right before, because “jaune’s aura?” is a deliberate misdirection.

bc you know what else is exactly that shade of white-gold? the pulses of light that run down penny’s arms while ambrosius is doing his thing, and the light that cracks open the wooden ‘cocoons’ of afterans when they complete their ascensions—in contrast to the silver-white ruby gets, a flash of which we also see during penny’s bootleg ascension in 8.12.

there’s also the little green flecks of penny’s aura. so here’s what i think we’re seeing: first, penny’s aura (green) separating from the actual maiden power (pale whitish-yellow) as the magic transfers—which we don’t get to see with the other transfers because we’re seeing *this* one from the inside, soul-to-soul.

but then, penny disappears in a bright flash of the same warmer, white-gold light we saw flickering over her arms when ambrosius “took the robot parts out,” and which will later see associated with afteran ascension—and i think that is exactly what it sounds like. ambrosius! recreated! ascension! i don’t think penny ended up in light’s afterlife OR the tree, i think she’s plugged into the bootleg-ascension system ambrosius cooked up for her… which is exactly what ruby asked for but with the asterisk that the tree’s “nothing can happen here but what you want” principle must also apply, because that’s how ambrosius circumvented the “only one creation at a time” rule.

and that, imo, is what ties everything together and makes penny returning again narratively feasible in light of what V9 developed thematically. it’s wrong for the god of light to prohibit resurrection, because that just traps people in eternal stasis for no reason. but bringing people back is also wrong: the way both brothers resurrected ozma was wrong because neither gave him a meaningful choice in what his next life would be; conversely, salem was right to accept that he was dead after she was made immortal, because bringing him back wasn’t her choice to make.

pietro bringing penny back after the fall of beacon was wrong, because that wasn’t his choice to make. (<- this is why her arc in V7-8 is constructed as a tragedy, why it ends so horribly after the gradual erosion of what little agency she ever had; she didn’t get to choose.) weiss and blake talk yang down from trying to break ruby out of her cocoon, because it’s not up to yang to decide what ruby is going to be. rwby, as a narrative, never condemns characters for grieving or fearing loss or wishing things could have been different or wanting a loved one back, but it has also been very. consistent. about drawing this line, and V9 spelled out why very clearly. it’s okay to feel, it’s okay to want, it’s even okay to ask, but it’s not right to bring someone back.

because this is a universe where ‘death’ is meant to be an opportunity for self-determination and absolute freedom to choose what your next life will be. it’s “if you love someone, let them go; if they come back to you, they’re yours forever” woven into the fabric of the cosmos itself.

death, as designed by the god of light, is bad because for all intents and purposes it’s a prison. but the solution is not for the living to bring their loved ones back; it’s to knock down the gates so that the dead can be free to choose for themselves.

so: penny is dying, and ruby says “we’d like to keep her around for longer than that,” and penny is notionally saved but the emotional focus of the scene dwells on the *horrific* death of her robotic body and her very disturbed reaction to witnessing that. we see her flinch when her robotic body disintegrates, and then not fifteen minutes later in-universe she’s killed and using her dying moment to say goodbye to one of her closest friends, who is devastated but also accepts penny’s choice to bequeath the maiden power to her and then lets her go.

and then in the next volume ruby is dying, and wbyj realize that it’s not up to them to decide whether she stays herself or not, that what she needs from them is to support her choice and welcome her back in whatever form she chooses to take.

i think, if penny is coming back, the natural trajectory here is ascension through… whatever magical cosmic back door ambrosius carved out for her based on ruby’s specifications and his own much deeper knowledge of Things, accompanied by an arc that brings “we’d like to keep her around” to fruition as “we love her and we’re going to fight tooth and nail to defend her right to choose her next life for herself” and thence “we will face god and then dismantle his stagnant afterlife brick by brick because everyone deserves that choice.”

if penny’s coming back it’s not as a side dish to the main conflict or like a moral detour to humanize salem/prove that light’s rules are arbitrary, it is the main conflict, in that bending light’s rules until they break to allow penny to come back is How True Balance Is Restored.

Interesting alternative to the idea that Penny may have secretly abused Jaune's Semblance to allow her soul to persist after transferring the powers:

It wasn't Jaune's Semblance, but Ambrosius's power. Ambrosius is known for giving people exactly what they ask for regardless of their actual intentions, and Ruby specifically told him she wanted to "keep her (Penny) around longer than that". Ambrosius's powers don't really seem to be limited by the possible/impossible, so I could totally see this body that exists only due to a magical loophole having some kind of extended warranty due to Ruby's accidental request.

The only thing that kind of throws a wrench in this is Ruby saying "longer than that" in reference to the next time the Staff was going to be used. Ambrosius is known for taking requests literally and at face value, and Penny did, in fact, survive long enough for the Staff to be used again. However, this line could still be forshadowing even if it's not a direct contribution to the revival.

Overall I'm still leaning more toward it having been Jaune's Semblance at play due to the fact he was present over any of all of the people that were actually close to Penny, her being perceptive of Semblances has been noted in the past and given attention, she told him there was "something you can do" with a bit of emphasis on "you", the Aura transfer was mostly Jaune's color, and she just generally seemed okay with Jaune killing her while she had been extremely upset asking someone closer to her to do the same thing earlier. It just reads a lot to me like she saw him using his Semblance on her briefly and had an idea click but couldn't inform him of her intentions due to lack of time.

But given that we have two options with decent to really solid backing, I think one of them is going to have to turn out correct or really close to the truth.

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pantoneyoongi · 3 years ago

Text

nothing like us

title ; nothing like us nothing can make me feel like you do

part one

notes ;

part two of let you treat me like that (linked above)

part of the till the night is over drabble series. drabbles are not released in chronological order, but the masterlist is set up as chronologically as possible. :)

title is from jungkook’s cover of “nothing like us”

word count ; 2.8k

tags ; angst, i apologize in advance, seriously i’m SORRY pls don’t be too mad, pls go to masterlist for more / general tags

you’ve never gone very long without talking to jungkook. maybe a couple days, max. there’s always something to say, some story to tell. either jungkook will need you for something or you’ll cave and chase after him.

it’s not the first time you’ve fought with jungkook either. but never to this degree, your words and his words echoing in your head. thinking over all the ways this could have gone differently.

it’s been radio silence for weeks, now. both your hometown group chat and your college group chat have cobwebs collecting from how quiet they are, messages limited to one-on-ones, everyone treading carefully around the trainwreck that is you and jungkook. yugyeom, as jungkook’s best friend, doesn’t message you at all - though you do hear from yerin that he’s worried about the both of you.

you don’t share classes with jungkook this semester, so it’s rare that you so much as see him. but you do catch glimpses - his backpack as he disappears around a corner, or his familiar mop of hair exiting the dining hall. it feels so much like he’s slipping right through your fingers - even if you’re the one who cast him out.

“hey.” taehyung taps a pencil lightly against your head, trying to bring you back to earth. “penny for your thoughts?”

you don’t have the heart to tell him. what are you supposed to say? ‘i’m fucked up because i might have lost a friend who also happens to be the guy i’m in love with that is stopping me from starting anything with you’?

you’d rather seal your mouth shut with krazy glue.

you try smiling at him instead, but it only makes taehyung wince. you let the forced smile fall from your lips and he gives you a sympathetic look. taehyung watches your eyes glaze over again, mind a thousand miles away. when there are things troubling you, you always feel so far away. locked up inside yourself, unreachable.

“y/n,” taehyung breaks the silence, his gaze soft when he looks at you. “you can talk to me, you know. even if it’s about jungkook.” he quirks his lips. “promise i’ll behave.”

the smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes. still, somehow, taehyung feels like he’s made a step forward, because your eyes tell him that you’re not okay. he’s used to your walls being up - cheerful disguises masking the way you really feel underneath. that you’d let him in just enough so he can see that you’re hurting is enough for him to know that you feel even a little bit safe around him.

he doesn’t push, this time. when you brush him off but subtly nudge his shoulder with yours for the quiet comfort of his warmth, he decides he’ll wait a little longer for you.

the first time you catch sight of jungkook after the argument, your head ducks on instinct.

it’s so painfully obvious that you suck a breath in between your teeth, embarrassed. you could at least try to act cool about it, or pretend like you didn’t even see him. not this dramatic comedy bullshit where you literally hide your face behind your hand.

yerin looks at you funny. “you alright?”

you clear your throat, straightening back up. you can’t help it, eyes darting back in the direction where jungkook was. “yeah, i just…” your voice falters when you find him. he’s sitting down at a table with nayeon, throwing his backpack onto a chair next to him. his back is to you but you can see the side profile of his face, the grin that he has when he leans closer to her.

yerin follows your line of sight. “oh,” she purses her lips, setting down her pencil. “should we go somewhere else?”

you turn your attention back to her immediately. “no, no - it’s fine. he - probably didn’t even see us anyway.” you pick back at your food, feeling self-conscious for acting like this in front of jungkook’s literal ex-girlfriend, someone, who by all technicalities, should have better reasons to dodge jungkook than you do.

yerin eyes you carefully, but decides not to press the issue, going back to her notes while you eat with her in the student center. you don’t have much of an appetite anymore. you know jungkook saw you, having walked right past you before making his way to nayeon. is it on purpose? sitting somewhere right in your line of sight - but you know that’s absurd, because nayeon was probably here first, and jungkook just happened to be meeting her.

you hate that he seems to be at ease, thumb brushing over nayeon’s cheek while he stares at her affectionately. like losing you did nothing to him, like the words you left him with had simply floated away, meaningless.

it’s a bitter feeling that settles into you, and you tear your eyes away.

the second time you bump into jungkook feels even worse than the first.

you hear him before you see him. it’s second nature for you to look up and search for him, without even realizing. but jungkook must’ve spotted you first, by just a half-second, because by the time your head is lifted, eyes widening upon recognition of his familiar features, he’s already staring back at you, lips parting in surprise, words lodged in his throat.

it’s the first time you’ve ever seen jungkook caught off guard by you. whatever he was saying never makes it past his lips, a girl you recognize faintly as jennie nudging him with her elbow, confused by the way he’d paused.

there’s a flash of emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite place; it’s gone too fast before you can really name it. all you know is that it feels bad, and before you can stop yourself, you’re forcing a quick smile on your face then walking straight past him wordlessly, head down, like you have something to be ashamed of.

you don’t catch the way his head turns to follow you, nor the way he stops fully in the middle of the sidewalk just to watch you walk away from him like you’re fleeing a crime scene where he’s the crime you’ve committed. he doesn’t even hear jennie asking him what’s wrong, just knows that you’d looked at him with a broken wistfulness in your eyes before hurrying away, trying to put as much distance between you and him as possible.

he doesn’t know what to do. you and him have never been like this before, and there’s no guidebook on how to fix things when he doesn’t even feel like he deserves to try.

yoongi swivels in his chair, reaching out with a foot to nudge you. “what’s with the storm cloud?”

you look up at him, confused. taehyung is in the bathroom, jimin and hoseok are out picking up dinner, so it’s just the three of you in the boys’ apartment. “what?”

“you look miserable.” yoongi was never one to beat around the bush.

you grimace. “sorry.”

he shrugs, letting his chair sway from side to side idly. “don’t be. did taehyung do something?”

you squint at him. “does he usually make girls sad?”

yoongi smirks. “girls who aren’t you, yeah. have you seen his face?”

that earns him a snort. “regular heartbreaker, kim taehyung.” you lean back on the couch, crossing your arms over your chest. “no. i wouldn’t be here if taehyung was making me sad.”

yoongi observes you quietly. he lets you sit and mull over your thoughts, slowly lowering the defenses you always have up. the internal debate you’re having rolls to a stop as you make a decision. your arms unfold, fingers fiddling with each other as you admit, “i fought with jungkook.”

as far as yoongi is concerned, you usually fight with jungkook. it’s nothing new. he’s heard about jungkook from both you and taehyung, though the lenses you tell the stories through differ vastly, taehyung’s laced with barely concealed frustration and anger when you’re not around while yours front with spite in a poor attempt to hide the heartache.

even still, he can tell it’s different this time. your body is tense, like you’re geared to run at any time, but your head is lowered, bottom lip pulled into your mouth. “it was bad, yoongi,” you confess, your stare unfocused. “i know tae is worried but to be honest i don’t even know where to begin.”

nails dig anxious marks into your skin, as you press them hard against your fingers, your palm, anything to keep you grounded. “everyone keeps telling me that maybe i should just let him go,” you continue. “but i can’t just leave shit like this.” you look up at yoongi like you’re pleading him. “if i let him go, it can’t be like this.”

yoongi reaches a hand out to squeeze your shoulder comfortingly. “then talk to him,” he answers simply. your eyebrows knit together, like the concept is confusing, and he smiles slightly. “make peace with him,” yoongi says. “then decide whether or not you want to leave.”

he glances above your head then, and you twist in your seat to find taehyung standing at the entrance of the hallway, looking back at you with an unreadable expression. taehyung takes in the unshed tears in your eyes, the way yoongi still has a hand on your shoulder. the worst part is the way you look at him, equal parts wounded and worried, like caring about jungkook is something you should be apologizing for.

yoongi’s hand slides off your shoulder as taehyung takes a seat beside you, giving you a small smile. “i’m glad you talked about it,” he says. he resists the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear, or brush his knuckles against your cheek. “it must be hard to worry about all this by yourself.”

your lower lip trembles, and he settles for ruffling your hair instead while you’re trying your best to hold back tears. “i’m sorry,” you mumble, but taehyung just laughs lightly, pulling you into a hug.

“for what,” he murmurs against your hair. “caring about someone?”

you shake your head against his chest while your arms come to wrap around him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. taehyung rubs a soothing hand against your back, a quiet reassurance.

you manage not to cry, though you do sniffle a little when you pull back, giving both yoongi and taehyung a teary-eyed smile. “who knew boys could give good advice,” you quip, yoongi rolling his eyes while taehyung grins back at you.

just then, the door bursts open, bringing with it a slight draft and the chaotic loudness of jimin and hoseok combined. “party, party, party,” hoseok chants, but it’s jimin who notices the slight redness of your eyes and nose.

he sets the food down immediately and jumps over the couch to squeeze between you and taehyung, fingers pinching your cheeks. “who did this to you?” he interrogates, tugging your cheeks outwards, making you giggle. “if it’s taehyung, fuck the soulmate shit, i’ll kick his ass anytime.”

taehyung makes an affronted noise, “like you even could, asshole-” then grunts when jimin somehow kicks a foot backwards against his shin. “it wasn’t even me!”

you laugh and jimin coos, hoseok coming from behind the couch to wrap the three of you into a crushing, vaguely uncomfortable hug against his chest.

yoongi stares at all of you like he can’t believe this is his life before hoseok reaches an arm out and yanks him by the jacket off the chair and into the group hug too with a yelp.

“friendship,” hoseok croons. “that’s what love is made of.”

“friendship,” yoongi grumbles, detangling himself and consequently the rest of you, “is made of personal space. where the fuck is the fried chicken, jung?”

it’s one of the warmer nights when you spot jungkook sitting on the steps outside of the campus library, idly spinning his phone in his hands. spring semester is starting to actually feel like spring semester, chilly days giving way for more sunlight as winter fades away.

he doesn’t look surprised when he sees you this time. his eyes don’t widen and he doesn’t look away, and neither do you. it’s quiet, a comfortable breeze rustling leaves as you make your way down the path. you don’t choose to walk in the opposite direction, or give him a wide berth. you simply keep moving towards him without much thought, until you find yourself standing right before him.

he peers up at you, hands stilled, phone no longer spinning. you take a seat on the steps beside him, taking your headphones out to hang around your neck.

the two of you sit in silence. the library was built on slightly higher ground, so you can see the sun setting between the trees, a pretty blend of red, orange, and yellow hues.

“remember freshman orientation?” you ask, and one corner of jungkook’s lips lift upwards. he knows exactly what you’re talking about - you, him, jihyo, and yerin had all attended the university’s three-day, two-night orientation together, and despite having all been placed in different orientation groups, managed to find each other during group events and towards the end of the night, when your orientation leaders let you explore by yourselves.

on the last day of orientation, before you were all set to head back home, jungkook had found you and pulled you along excitedly with him. “look,” he’d proclaimed, pointing out to the horizon, grinning at the gasp you’d let out at the sight. it was so long ago and the university so unfamiliar that neither of you even remembered anymore what part of campus you’d been standing on as you watched the sunset together.

the pair of you lapse back into silence, the sky growing ever-darker as the sun made its descent. every now and then a student passed by, shuffling back towards their dorm building or into the library.

it’s jungkook who breaks the silence, turning towards you. “i’m a shitty friend, aren’t i?” he looks defeated, sad, as he says it, his voice a little rough.

you press your lips together, looking back at him. you could tell him how everyone is begging you to just break things off with jungkook, how jungkook’s mistakes are no longer worth your time or forgiveness. but for all of jungkook’s flaws, you’re the one who remembers the way jungkook held extra parties at his house when jamie’s parents were on the verge of divorce so she didn’t have to spend time at home, or the way jungkook socked dahyun’s bully in the face the instant he found out about it, or the way he was the first to show up at jeongyeon’s door when jeongyeon found out she failed one of her classes fall semester of freshman year.

jungkook cares. maybe too much. he’s not good at showing it and maybe because he cares so much he falls in love too easily and too quickly and too much at once but he does care. you believe this much about him.

“i don’t think you’re a shitty friend,” you respond, gently jostling your knee against his. “but you did do and say some really shitty things, jungkook.”

he nods, slowly. with a sigh he shifts forward, leaning on his knees. “i don’t know what the difference is,” he huffs out bitterly. “i cheated on jisoo and didn’t feel bad about it. i blew up at sana and dragged you into the middle of it. i… all i do is fuck shit up.” he lifts his head towards you with a wry grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. he looks away again, running a hand through his tousled hair. “but you always come back for me.” he turns to you. “you’re always still here for me.”

you scuff your shoe against the concrete of the stairs. “because i care about you,” you twist your lips, before meeting his eyes. “because i know that underneath all the apathy, there’s a lot of pain. a lot of anger. but you do care, jungkook. i know you do.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, but the tired smile he gives you makes the unease that’s been sitting in your chest since the day you started fighting melt away. it leaves room for repair, for you to trust in your endless faith in jungkook, even when no one else does.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, gazing at you. “i mean it. for yelling at you. for saying all the things i did.” he drops his gaze for a minute, then lifts his eyes back up to you. “you deserve better than that.”

it takes time. even after jungkook apologizes to sana, even after the group builds back up to its usual chaos, you and jungkook keep a measured space between you two, borne of caution and hesitance. it’s slow, a gradual closure of the distance, unspoken apologies written into every action as the gap lessens, until you feel okay again. until you and jungkook are okay again.

read the first part: let you treat me like that

other drabbles in the series: girl you got me || are you gonna keep her?

series masterlist: till the night is over

taglist: @mwitsmejk @doublejeon @landl7xoxo

#jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung #jungkook #angst #series: ttno #welp

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heliosthegriffin · 2 years ago

Text

From they’re present, they were his past, in the future.

Finally, after all this time, they could go home.

Pyrrha thought to herself, as Ozpin, Weiss, Glynda, and Ren worked the ritual that would take them and all of Beacon back to Remnant.

It had been hard here on Desolation, being on entirely different world with entire sets of problems they didn’t have on Remnant, despite there being no Grimm here.

Monsters.

Demons.

Magic.

Desolation had it all, and the people here were on the verge of extinction, being persecuted by a Demonic God who wanted to wipe the slate clean, and had started by slaying half of the peoples gods.

By the time they were forced to summon help, they were down to one God, Ather, who was forced into slumber from pulling them across dimension.

It was awkward at first, and Staff and Students were angry, but surprisingly, or unsurprisingly enough, Ruby had stepped up to the plate to defend them.

It had been a long argument, but Ruby had lit a fire by arguing that wasn’t this what Hunters were supposed to do? To slay monsters and help people in need?

And the argument worked, not at first, but overtime.

Bring over her team, and then the staff.

Pyrrha would admit though, it had taken longer for her to accept it though, as the her partner was missing and she was bearing a grudge against them for leaving him on Remnant, separating her and her teammates from they’re leader.

For two years.

But, thankfully Ruby managed to convince her that by working with People here they could be sent back.

Once she got back on her feet, people started flocking to help, her fame helping immensely.

For the next two years they fought and grew stronger, bring out potential that they never knew as possible, magic and martial arts, the works. They’re strength skyrocket, and when the dust settled they had cleared the world of the Demon Gods influence, and working together they killed the bastard.

Now?

Now was the time to go home.

----

Ruby smiled as a circle was drawn around Beacon, as the lights grew brighter and stronger.

It was time to go home again, to see Dad, Uncle Qrow, Zwei, and all the friends she’d missed for over two years.

She couldn’t wait to catch up with Jaune, and Penny, and everybody else from Signal.

She took one look behind her and looked at Cardin and Russel standing in front of the crowd of People coming to see them off.

And the ones who decided to stay behind, coming to say goodbye to they’re friends.

Ruby tapped on Cardin's shoulder. “So, you’re really staying behind?”

The ginger giant smiled, his temperament much kinder from his own journeys. “Yeah, the place has grown on me, and Russel would never forgive me for leaving him behind.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed mischievously. “And it’s not because of that baker’s daughter?”

Even being two years older, and much more mature, Cardin wore his emotions on sleeve, and trying to hide it was futile as he blushed. “What we have is purely professional!”

“Just like how Russel’s just friends with the fortune-teller?”

Cardin huffed. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Your face that’s how! Why don’t you just get out of here, Ms. Godslayer!”

It was Ruby’s turn to huff. “Don’t call me that! It was a group effort!”

“Yeah, whatever... We’ll miss you, Little Red.”

Ruby wrapped Cardin in a hug. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too, Big Red.”

“Tell, Jaune... That I’m sorry, and I hope he has a good one, and if you see Dove and Sky, that I’m sorry I wasn’t a better leader and that we can meet up one day again.”

Ruby hugged her big friend tighter, fighting back tears. “Yeah, you got it.” Then she let go. “See you later!”

“See you later,” Cardin waved her off, then moved to the crowd, knowing he likely would never see his comrades or Beacon again.

He felt a hand clench his own, and was became at peace with that.

-----

Pyrrha watched Ren and Ozpin chant in unison, Glynda and Weiss maintaining the barrier that would protect them through dimensions.

Ruby burst into existence next to her, by herself.

“So, they’re staying?” Pyrrha asked.

“Yeah, it’s they’re choice though.”

“Ah man, I’ll miss Big Red!” Nora said bouncing around, static flying off her body.

“You’ll just miss your favorite punching bag!” Ruby accused her.

“Maybe!” Nora said.

Blake crawled out of a shadow. “At least she’s honest.”

“Sure am!” Nora agreed. “As much as I’ll miss Big Red, I’ve missed Fearless Leader more! I can’t imagine how lost he’s been without us!”

Yang smirked as she walked up, her hair brightly shining despite her semblance not being in use. “Ah, I’m sure he’s fine, they said time works different here. I bet he’s not even notice we’re gone, and if he has, I’m sure Pyrrha can comfort him.”

Pyrrha smiled. “Oh, that and more.” Her power not being the only thing to have grown.

“Yeah! You get him girl!”

Blake shook her head. “Have mercy on him, the poor boy might get his pelvis broken with how strong you’ve gotten.”

Nora laughed. “Don’t worry about that! We’ll get him up to standard soon enough, I’m certain he had life affinity so we’ll be able to train up super fast!”

Blake shrugged. “So, you say.”

Yang put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Its not use, Jaune’s going to get a broken pelvis, and he’s going to like it.”

Ruby looked conflicted. “Should I warn him, or not? He’s my bestie, but so is Pyrrha, hmm. I’ll do both!”

Finally the chanting stopped, and Ozpin, Glynda, Weiss, and Ren finally stepped out of they’re own circle.

Ozpin dabbed a hanky against his forehead. “It’s done. We’ll be sent back to Remnant any second now.”

Glynda sighed. “At last.”

Weiss nodded. “We can finally do some actually good for the world, the Grimm, the White Fang,no chance against us now.”

Ren smiled. “I’ll just be happy to have some peace... and brotherhood.”

Nora shoulder check him. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t love us.”

Ren stumbled but caught himself. “Hmm.”

“Oh that is not a answer!”

And with that light flashed and Beacon was once more sent through dimension in a pillar of light.

---

He didn’t always enjoy paper work.

The constant reading of the documents, taking a moment to digest the information, and then sign off on it.

But, when he had a cup of coffee, and gently pumping his aura through his wrist, Jaune had come to enjoy the sounds his pen made on paper.

There was were still times where he hated it, where he wanted to ignore it or make it someone else’s problem, like when he first started having to do paperwork, but he forced himself to do the chore it was, like he did with all undesirable things, and they passed by and he found himself enjoying it repetitive nature.

Completely giving into the process, enjoying the state he entered, only exiting when his hand went to grasp more documents only for his stack to be empty.

It was surprise the first time it happened, but it only got easier with time and aura made it even easier.

Jaune smiled and leaned back, cracking his back and staring at his office.

He didn’t always have a office, it used to be just a desk in an empty house with half dozen other people, everybody trying to maintain order. Thankfully, they had all come a long way since then, and he had a whole office, his office too, and he appreciated it.

There wasn’t much in his office, aside from the normal stuff a office needed like a desk, monitor, chair, other chair, and a filing cabinet.

He kept pictures around the room, of his friends and loved ones, some potted plants, a couch to nap on, a table for his coffee machine, a sink and refrigerator.

Ok, maybe it was a bit more than not much, but it still wasn’t a lot.

But, it was all he needed, if he moved anything else any here, the other’s might think he was trying to live in here.

And the last time he tried doing that, they had collectively thrown him into the Grimmlands to decompress.

He had banged on the city gates for two days before he realized they weren’t going to let him back in.

It had been a nice week though, with his friends rotating on who was babysitting him at the time. With a some of them actually bring they’re babies along.

Anyway, Jaune could say confidently that if he was going to start living in his office he was going to be much quieter about next time.

Turning around his chair, he may have taken a little too much joy in spinning around his chair, but so what? It was nobodies business if he wanted to indulge his inner child.

After the chair finally stopped moving, Jaune was facing east out to where Beacon used to stand tall and proud.

Now, it was just a lake where the waters had flooded in after it was... there wasn’t really a good term for it, kidnapped? Disappeared? Vanished? Vanished worked.

There was no trace of anything where it stood, just a great gaping hole in the earth that the river water and rain-clouds were all too happy to fill. It had been slow going at first, but time marches on and eventually it was full.

He stared out over it, and over the Forever Falls, it had been a long time since he had been there not since that business with the White Fang.

That had not been a good time, and Jaune didn’t like to think about the lives lost there, or how many he had to take.

Jaune squinted, he could sense something, just on the edge of his senses like a rippling sensation, water crashing on rocks or something like that, but it was like the sky was shaking around the lake.

His scroll went off, and Sun’s voice came out. “Dude, you feeling that? The techies are going nuts, getting all kinds of readings, so I’m going to go check it out.”

Jaune nodded, even though it wasn’t of video. “I’ll follow, meet you there.”

Sun’s voice came back worried. “Take Dove, or Sky with you, actually both.” His friend gulped. “This feels big.”

Out of the two, Sun had the sharpest senses, he’d take his word for it.

“Got it.”

-----

Jaune watched the lake anxiously with his team, Sun pacing back in forth, Dove sharpening his sword, and Sky keeping watch for any Grimm.

Dread was filling his stomach, and he was sure the same was true for his teammates.

Something was up, and he did not like it.

He did not like the mystery of this, and it worried him.

The energy in the air was odd and unfamiliar, the air above the lake was vibrating and shaking causing ripples and waves beneath.

And it was only increasing, whatever was happening was picking up and would be here soon.

“Get ready!” He shouted.

“It’s coming!” Sun shouted quickly. “Jaune throw up a barrier, we’re going to need it!”

Jaune nodded, if Sun said they needed a barrier, they needed a barrier.

Planting his sword in the earth, Jaune used it as focus for his power and aura, channeling the protective force of his soul outward, leaving him momentarily defenseless as he created a barrier around himself and his team.

Hopefully, whatever was about to hit them wasn’t going to hit the city, or he was going to need to make it bigger.

He realized he needed to ask Sun.

“Big enough?”

Sun was sweating, Jaune realizing. “I can’t tell.”

It was then Jaune felt it too, a pressure over them as energy built in the center of the lake.

Even Sky and Dove could feel it now.

Then it happened, and Jaune expanded this barrier to cover the entire west lakeside.

He would be damned if anything harmed his city.

----

Ruby wasn’t expecting the water, it was like a gosh-darn waterpark with how much flew into the air, and then came down.

But it sure was pretty! Rainbows everywhere.

After a couple minutes, but it stopped raining.

Blake looked worried though. “Was the Forever Falls always that wet?”

“I believe that we may have landed in the wrong location, it seems we have dislocated a entire lake, but for the life of me I can’t remember one being here.”

Glynda nodded. “Neither can I, it’s particular.”

“Well, regardless. Congratulations students, we have returned to Remnant.”

---

Jaune felt his soul burn as he felt hundreds of million of tons of water hit his barrier.

His eyes burned, and his soul shook as he diverted the flood away and out toward the Forever Fall.

It was only when Sun put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude. Look.”

Jaune felt his breath leave his body. “It’s Beacon.”

After an eternity, Dove spoke up. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

---

Ruby was ecstatic, she was finally back! After two long years, she was finally back in Vale!

She could go home now, see Dad and Zwei!

But, first she had to help find Jaune and tell him all about the adventures they have been on!

Rushing to the edge of the cliff, she dived off and flew arcoss the sky, everybody else not far behind.

She flew and took in everything that she missed, the trees, the sky, and Vale!

But..

Things weren’t the same at all! It was different.

Then she crashed as something out of nowhere hit here!

“Owch!” Ruby growled as she flew into.. a wall? She knocked on it. “Is this a wall?”

Yang and Pyrrha appeared soon after. “What’s stopping you, Rubes?”

“There’s like a force field here!” She gestured to the whitish yellow barrier, and Pyrrha’s eyes lit up. “That’s Jaunes! It��s his aura, he must have unlocked his semblance!”

Yang whistled. “Impressive, guess all that Aura goes somewhere.”

Ruby vibrated in the air. “Then he must be near by, right?!”

Blake swooped next to them on shadowy wings. “Heads up, we got company down there.” Pointing at below them where a quartet was staring at them.

Ruby looked down and her keen eyes saw him. “There’s Jaune!”

With incredible speed Ruby flew down to ground with Pyrrha.

Only thing weren’t what she expected.

“Jaune?”

---

Jaune froze.

“Ruby? Pyrrha?” His voice trembled. “You’re alive.”

It was them, two of them at least.

Then more of them came down, till all of Team RWBY was there, and his old team.

But, why were they so young?

---

Pyrrha grabbed her mouth, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Why did Jaune look so much older?

---

Sun grabbed his shoulder, steadying himself. “They’re back.” His voice full of disbelief. “Blake?” Sun called out.

Blakes eyes widened as well. “Sun?!”

Confusion spread through the group.

---

Ren had no words to say as he took in his missing brother in arms appearance.

He was so much taller now, at least as tall as Ozpin and nearly as wide as Cardin.

His old leader was not as Nora would say, ‘A noodle.’

He was brawny, but massive.

But, his hair was duller and faded, grey hair here and there, with his boyish features melted away.

His looks much more rugged, almost nearing stony.

It made wonder if this is the potential Pyrrha saw in him all along.

But, it was not just his change in physique that caught Ren off guard, not it was too be expect that if some time passed, Jaune would change.

The scars though, they told a story, as a long faded slash mark went down his cheek across the neck, and down the torso.

There was a burn mark across his left brow and eye.

They were to be expect too, and they all had scars from Desolation, but wasn’t expected was how old they looked, scars only looked that faded if they had been there for years, many years.

And those were just the scars he could see.

And most of all was Jaune’s eyes, they were still blue and wholesome, but there was a colder and stony feeling to them now.

They looked so old and worn, Nora would say ‘They’ve seen some shit.’

Then he started laughing.

----

He couldn’t help it, he truly could not help himself.

It was all too funny, a cosmic joke.

Twenty years he waited for them to come back, and they hardly aged at all.

Jaune pulled Ruby, Pyrrha and anybody else nearby into a bear hug, shouting. “Welcome back to Remnant, we’ve missed you!”

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anandabrat · 2 years ago

Text

Nightmare Warehouse, day 6. In which Helena and Myka take the plot @starshipblueberry and I had carefully crafted and fling it onto the burn pile.

“Jack, my boy, you have something up your sleeve. I can see it all over your skull. Tell Dr. Finklestien.” The tiny doctor leads Jack into a comfortable looking room, places to sit, quilted pillows, candles melted everywhere. She can see that someone has tried to make it homey and that someone else is too messy to notice.

Helena goes instinctively to a wooden chair and perches on the back of it, her knees splayed out like a spider.

“Curiouser indeed,” she says to herself as memories slowly unspool. She can see herself in this room hundreds of times, pouring over mathematical formulas and brewing concoctions with Dr Finklestein. Loud laughter and some louder arguments. And Sally. Always Sally, there with a snack and a smile and those eyes… and the sass. The sass he likes best of all.

Helena blinks quickly and shakes her head. She has an urge to take it off completely and shake it out like a penny jar. She resists.

“Jack.”

“Doctor. Tell me about Sally.”

“Yes. Sally. Ungrateful girl. She ran off again — ripped her arm right off, left it behind. She’ll come back, she always does, but Jack. She’s so stubborn! I had no idea when I sewed her together and stuffed her with the first fallen leaves that she would grow into such a headstrong girl. Once she gets something in her head! There is no talking her out of it,” he shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What am I to do?”

“You sewed her together. You actually made a person — a person with a personality you did not forsee. How very interesting. Do you think you could reanimate — how much would you need —“ Helena reaches for her locket but it’s not there. She feels a rising panic and starts to search, and finds she has no pockets. She holds her empty boney fingers out. “This is not real.”

“Jack? What’s wrong?”

Helena stares through Doctor Finklestein, another set of memories playing behind him, and tries to reorient herself. She keeps getting lost. Where is she? Wait. Where is Myka?

“I’m fine. Thank you for telling me about Sally. If I see her I will send her home. Have a good evening, Happy Halloween!”

Helena all but runs out of the room. Myka is nowhere to be seen. Did she leave already? Should she risk looking for her?

“Myka? Myka, where are you?”

There is no answer.

***

Myka hears the door slam downstairs and winces. She can see her arm make a 'what gives?' gesture at her out of the corner of her eye.

"I know, I know," she mutters, "I'm almost done."

She grabs a last armload of drawings, rolling them up tight against her body so she can use her forearm to hold them in place, then staggers across the room and hurls them out the window. They float down, like fall leaves. Oh hell, there are some fall leaves mixed in. She's leaking again, where her arm is still…

She hears mechanical wheels and freezes in place. They're still far away, but now her escape route is gone. She knows she can't overpower him physically, not as she is. God, what she wouldn't give for a Tesla. A grappler. Fuck, just muscles would be good.

She risks peering around the corner and down the center of the spiral. She sees the doctor, three loops down, and she also sees another open door she'd missed the first time somehow.

Something pulls at her. Something familiar about this door. She runs back for her arm, tiptoes to the new door, cursing the inevitable rustling sound every movement brings, and carefully closes it behind her.

Oh no. This must be Sally's room. There's a sewing machine in here? That's just… perverted. Did he make her just to mend his clothes and make his supper? There's really only this sewing machine, and a bed. Poor Sally.

"I hear you in there, you wretched girl." His voice is just as horrible as before. There's no weapons in here. She pauses, then raises her own arm in her hand…

But he doesn't come in. She hears something heavy fall and her heart sinks. Oh. There was a bolt behind the door.

She's trapped.

"You stay in there for a while, wicked creature. Jack was here asking about you again. You stay away from him, you hear me Sally?"

Myka says nothing. She's already looking around the room for a way out.

***

Helena prowls around the whole house, but she can't find Myka anywhere. Fantastic. Come back for an arm, leave an entire woman.

She's half a mind to go back in there and make up some excuse to search the house, but Myka interrupts that thought by shouting.

It takes Helena too long to clock where Myka is. "Oh, my."

"I know. Asshole locked me up here. Can you gather up the stuff I threw out the window? It's on the other side. We need to burn it - or you need to, you're not flammable."

"Right. I can do that." Helena finds drawings and writings scattered all over the side yard. She gathers up a few, then glances down at their contents and stops, squinting at the pages in her hand.

Ah. Could it really be so simple? She'd need some equipment, and the details are maddeningly vague…

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of something hitting the ground. Something large, something that hits the street with a solid thud… oh no, surely not…

Helena's heart leaps into her throat as she spots Myka in pieces in front of her. Papers forgotten, she slides on her knees to Myka's side, frantic.

She can't even figure out where to look for a pulse. Where to check if bones are broken, if her spine, if her…

Myka sits up and Helena jerks back violently.

"Turns out, there's some good things about being made of leaves. There's a needle behind my ear and a spool of thread in my pocket. Do a girl a favor and sew me up, please."

Helena pricks her finger twice putting Myka back together, but it doesn't hurt. It doesn't bleed. Advantages, indeed.

"Did you find all that stuff I threw out the window? He was going to make another person, as if one free housemaid wasn't enough!"

"I don't think that's exactly what the doctor made you for, Sal…Myka. He was genuinely concerned about your welfare when I spoke to him."

"He was probably just hungry." Myka snaps. She gathers up the last of the papers Helena dropped in her earlier haste. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Helena is glad that Myka is so concerned about her ability to catch on fire. It means that she, Helena, has to put each drawing, each page of notes into the fire, when they've gone deep enough into the woods to risk making one.

It means she can stuff one or two pages up her sleeve when Myka turns around. The rules of this world can't be that different, can they?

It won't hurt, at least, to keep them safe for now.

#bering and wells #myka bering #helena wells #my fic #collab post #nightmare warehouse

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psyga315 · 6 months ago

Note

I'll tag in and call out the latter half of that post.

People need to know what they're dealing with and the threat looming over the world.

This is by far the most two-faced line that makes the entire argument against Ironwood fall apart like Mantle and its people after RWBY dropped Atlas on it.

It ignores that Ironwood was literally doing the exact same thing except more controlled because worldwide panic plays into Salem's favor. And the funny thing is that this was the exact reason he was setting up Amity.

Meanwhile, Ruby compromised Penny and Nora's safety (leading to Penny's suicide by cop moment) just to do the same thing but her reasoning is more to tell people "Ironwood's a mad man, help us, save us" and then getting pissy at her girlfriend's pristine mansion (that she stayed at during the time she waited) when no one was coming to save them in less than 24 hours (don't worry, her next boba is free), with Yang (who literally told her she was a shitty leader and didn't have her in mind when regretting her choice to help Mantle) needing to reassure her decision.

But back to that whole "people need to know" thing...

You realize that should include Ironwood, right?

You bring up that the reason RWBY were pissed at Ozpin was because he covered up that Salem was immortal and let people die for one huge lie, but you have no problem when RWBY does it because "he's a big ol meanie" even though RWBY had vouched for Ironwood and helped him out. Did you forget that when Ironwood was being put on the ropes by his peers, Weiss jumped in and detailed the entire topic to say "lmao, my dad is a dirty rotten rat" and inadvertently saved Ironwood's skin?

How about when RWBY were mostly complying with Ironwood throughout Volume 7, even acting as his secret police in Arrowfell and dispatching his political opponents?

What about when they kept trying to reason with him?

Hell, go all the way back to Volume 3 where Qrow had every right to just let his ass get killed by a Grimm or even kill him right there and then, but instead chose to save him, because he knew that despite the shit he pulls, he wasn't responsible for the robots.

Sorry, I think it's you whose expectations are subverted because you keep playing a story where Ironwood was straight up the villain when he was anything but.

One final note.

There is not a single male character in the show that comes close to that, especially not Jaune.

Funny you say that because the entire climax of V8 can be summed up as Oscar, Hazel, and Whitley solving the issue for RWBY and Jaune doing the tough man doing tough decision which ultimately helped everyone by giving Winter her Maiden powers.

And don't get me started on when Jaune began to victim blame Ruby when she was beginning to vent her grief and frustrations which helped lead to her suicide.

Figures the turd claiming that CRWBY can't write women is a Ironwood bootlicker and a Jaune stan.

Your opinion doesn't count for shit.

... Ok let me explain something that hopefully makes sense.

The woman of Rwby have very little characterization to the point they get overshadowed by the male characters (example: jaune). Crwby/Rt cannot write women, but they also just can't write. Team Rwby in the series has made baffling decision after baffling decision, such as.

Lying to ironwood despite him being trustworthy as seen multiple times before.

Acting as if ozma is suddenly the worst person in existence because he hid the fact Salem probably can't be killed. While yes that is very questionable that doesn't change the fact he did care for beacon and every other academy. He specifically made sure the students could actually be students instead of foot soldiers.

The entire thing with Salem being revealed to the people and the fact she's immortal.

Yet despite these actions they are treated as heros. Which normally makes sense but in context.. makes them really shitty.

Rt can't write. That's just a fact. Im sorry some people don't wanna believe that but the fact is Rwby has failed as a series because rt can't write, and especially cant write women.

Ironwood at the start is a man with his heart in the right place but is hasty with his decisions. The actions he later makes that people would dub as out of character. Is when he when he finds out he's been lied too.

As for Jaune... Look I've made multiple discussions on why I like jaune as a character. But to sum it up. He's a inoffensive character. Most offensive thing about him was his crush on Weiss and him lying about transcripts. Thats about it.

Now I'm done trying to defend myself. If you got a complaint tell me! Whether in chat or by using anything else besides anonymous asks.

You hiding your account and not manning up to yo damn words makes you sound like a coward.

I ain't trying to be dick, hell I'm mainly focusing on my rewrite of Rwby and my own shit. I just want to say what I think, if you disagree that's perfectly fine. You ain't gotta hide yo account I ain't gonna make fun of you.

Ok I think I've rambled enough, I got a limp dick ass hate who decided to just insult me out the blue.

#rwde #rwby #Ironwood

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aubreyprc · 3 years ago

Text

safe in these arms of mine

prompt - you’re safe . i’m here

summary - emily gets taken by their recent unsub, someone they named the three day killer. they know they have three days to find her, aaron refuses to let them get to four.

word count - 3.3k

TW / mentions of torture (not graphic), alluded / implied hint of SA (not graphic or mentioned)

He thinks he’s probably watched the CCTV footage more times than he’s ever watched anything, rewinding certain moments in hopes of something that will give them a clue, something that will tell them where she is. who he is. anything.

Watching her drop to the ground, even after seeing it hundreds of times, still makes his heart fall into his stomach, the sight of the man picking her up over his shoulders, carrying her like she was dead weight. like she was nothing still making him feel sick, still making him feel guilty. not that he could ever tell anyone why. Not that he can really act on how terrified he is.

To everyone else’s knowledge, they’re colleagues, friends, just like he is with the rest of the team. He can be worried, they’re all worried, all scared of what could happen, all nauseous at the idea of what she could be going through, but he can’t be anything more. Because to everyone else’s knowledge, they're just friends but in reality, behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, FBI policy’s and fraternization rules, they’re something. They’re more than something.

What started off as casual, turned into coffee and coffee soon turned into dinner, dinner soon turned into staying the night and four months later in the darkness of her bedroom, his fingers tracing patterns on her spine as she lay in his arms, the three words slipped out of his mouth… and ten seconds later she repeated them, a soft smile on her face. a smile he has never forgotten.

A smile he would kill to see again.

They’re eight months in now, getting to the point where keeping them a secret was becoming impossible, Jack far too young and unpredictable to not blurt out something that would cause the penny to drop.

As he watches the footage for the millionth time, the guilt is almost overwhelming, his palms cut to pieces from how harsh he is clenching a fist. He knows if they don’t find her, that if day three comes and they still don’t have a location, that he’d never forgive himself, he wouldn’t know how to. He wouldn’t want to.

He was supposed to be with her.

Jack was with a friend, and they’d had plans to stay at her apartment, order take out and just be without a four year old demanding their attention for most of the night. But they’d argued. A stupid argument. So stupid that he can’t even remember what started it, or what it was even about. All he remembers is her bitter laugh before she walked out of his office, all but slamming the door behind her as she walked back into the bullpen and grabbed her stuff, he remembers watching her go, remembers telling himself that he’d call her when he got home, or maybe he would go over, make it up to her.

He prays he still gets the chance to. Prays that the last memory he has of her… of them… won’t be her walking away from him in anger. That their last conversation won’t be something he can’t even remember.

“You’re going to drive yourself insane if you keep watching that.” Dave tells him as he walks into the office, “it won’t bring her back. It won’t give you any more information.”

Aaron remains silent, his eyes peeled on the screen, her facing in the direction of the unsub, her face in full view of the camera.

“Reid has something on the unsub…” he says, but Aaron can’t bring himself to hear it. “I know this is hard but—”

“You don’t know.” he says, turning to face his friend, “you don’t know.” he repeats and the older man nods.

“You’re right. I don’t.” he accepts, before staring at him, “but I know you love her.” he says and Aaron’s eyes widen, “and I know she loves you. And I know she’s counting on us.. on you to focus, to put our feelings and our fear on hold and find her.”

“I can’t even think about what she could be going—”

“Then don’t.” he tells him, “don’t think. Help her. Help her by doing what you can. Here. Now.”

Aaron nods, standing and following the man out of the office and into the briefing room.

They all refuse to go home, refuse to waste time when she has so little of it, refuse to do anything but find her, the thought of what she could be going through knocking every single one of them sick.

The entire building feels eerie, everyone on egg shells around the team, scared to say the wrong thing, scared to say anything. Everyone loved Emily, and her absence noticeable at any time, and so the entire situation has the bullpen in silence, the only sound being the muttering of the agents on the case as they work alongside the team to find their missing member. Their missing friend.

They all know what this unsub does, have all read the case files, seen the pictures of the women he’d taken and killed over the last few weeks, have heard in detail what he does to them before hand, and it becomes the elephant in the room, every single person knowing exactly what Emily was going through, knowing far too much about what could happen if they don’t find her, but no one ever says anything, no one comments, no one even brings it up, because they can’t. The knowing itself is enough, they shouldn’t have to talk about it too.

Aaron is the only one who tortures himself by looking at the other cases, reading over what they went through before he killed them, how he killed them, and what he did to them afterwards. It’s the same every time, the same marks and bruises on each woman they found, all killed the same way around the same time and all found in the same place, beaten, bloody and cold, all with signs of a struggle, as if he’d toyed with them, given them to opportunity to fight him off… each woman died in pain, alone and scared, and the idea that Emily might go through that, the fact that he could be doing to her what he did to all the others makes him nauseous, it makes him murderous but mostly it just makes him want to scream, cry, shout, and he can do neither, not yet, not when he still has the chance to get her back. Not when there’s hope that he can save her.

And he will. He has to. Loosing her is not an option.

“Stop.” Morgan says as he enters his office, “reading the files won’t change this. If anything it will just make it worse.”

“There could—”

“Reid has the files memorised…” he says, “there’s nothing in there.”

He closes the file, rubbing a hand over his face as he leans on the chair.

“How is he this hidden?” he asks, “we’ve been trying to find him for three weeks and all we have is that he’s male, in his thirties and…” he stops, shaking his head as he thinks about what he does to the women he takes.

“I know.” he nods, “but we’ll find him.”

“Will we find him in time?” he asks, the silence between them lingering as the other man remains without an answer.

“We can only try.” he tells him, “and trust that she’s strong enough to wait until we do.” he says softly, before leaving the office.

He sighs as he opens his draw, grabbing his wallet before pulling out a picture he hides behind one of Jack, a picture Penelope took just a few weeks ago when she just had to capture the moment as she stated on the email she forwarded the picture on. He smiles every time he looks at it, her grin sending warmth through him as he looks at it, the blissful happiness on their faces as they sit in their own bubble, his own smile on his face as he looks at her. He rubs a thumb over it, his heart aching in his chest as he swallows.

I’ll find you.

And they do. On day three.

They speed through the traffic, each of them tense with anxiety as they sit in the SUV, neither knowing what they’re going to walk into. If they’ll make it on time.

The warehouse is huge, the smell of blood, sweat and death hits them as soon as their in, each going in a different direction as they search for her. For him. For anything.

Aaron hears them before he sees them, leans against the wall as he calculates what his next move should be, signals for the team to head in his direction as he tries to block out the sound of her choking, dreads to think what he’s going to be met with when he turns the corner.

Reid and Morgan head his way first, are on the other side of the building when he spots them, and on his nod, all three man make themselves known, turning the corner with their guns out, but all can see is her. The way the only reason she is still standing being due to her arms being hung above her, her head lulled to the ground, no movement, not even a groan and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt panic like it before.

He has no intention to chase the man when he runs, grateful that the other two take off in a sprint after him, and he heads towards her.

He stands in front of her, heart hammering in his chest as terror fills his body and slowly cups her face, moving her head up to look at him and when he’s met with her tired, but open eyes, the relief that fills him is enough to make him want to cry. But the fear in her eyes, the sheer terror that stares back at him has him pushing it away, his focus on her.

“You’re okay.” he whispers, quickly freeing her hands from the chains above her, wrapping an arm around her waist as he does, catching her as she all but falls into him, a soft cry leaving her throat as her arms drop, the only reason she doesn’t being that he has her, wraps her protectively into him and all she can do is look at him, shock, exhaustion, pain, terror and everything in between meaning it takes her a few moments to register what’s going on, to register that it’s Aaron but it’s obvious the moment she does. The look of terror turning into relief as she relaxes, letting him pull her into his arms and she goes willingly into them, her face in his chest as she breathes, tears threatening to fall down her face as she allows the last few days to process. There’s a bang from the other side of the room that causes her to flinch, to tense in fear and he runs a hand down her back.

“It’s okay..” his voice is soft, soothing and he smiles at her when she lifts her head to look at him. “You’re okay. It’s over.”

“Can we get out of here?” she asks, her voice dry and rough, a hint that she’s been without water for days and he nods.

“Of course.” he says, gently wrapping an arm around her waist as he helps her walk out of the room.

She gets the all clear from the hospital and is free to go that night, her ribs bruised but not broken, her arms strained but no damage to the ligaments, a concussion she might feel for a few days, but no bleed, no damage, is told she’s lucky, and she wants to scream, feeling anything but luck as she sits in the passenger seat, her mind replaying the last three days on a loop, the man’s face, voice, touch lingering with her, can feel his hands on her skin, can hear his voice as he toys with her, can see his face so clearly he might as well he sat next to her but she’s lucky, because he didn’t break her ribs, she’s lucky because he didn’t kill her, how does she explain that she wishes he did?

Aaron walks them up to her apartment, his hand around her waist as she uses him to hold herself up, a lump in the back of her throat as she tries to pretend as though she hasn’t spent the last three days tortured, laughed at, broken.

“I’ll go and run you a bath,” he says softly as he enters her apartment, she simply stands, her hand clinging to her throbbing ribs as she nods. “Can I get you anything?”

“No,” she says with a tired smile, “I’m good. Tired.”

“Would you prefer a shower—”

“No,” she says quickly, before smiling as best she can, “A bath would be great.” she nods and he smiles, slowly walking over to her and waiting for her to lean into him before wrapping an arm around her waist, helping her up the stairs as she winces in pain. He’d do anything to take it from her. For it to have been him instead.

He sits on the floor next to the bath at her request, stroking gentle patterns onto her hand as she stares ahead and he waits, knowing she has to be the one to talk first, knowing he can’t rush this.

“The last woman you found… she couldn’t have been older than twenty.” she says, her eyes still staring ahead of her.

“Yeah..” he whispers, “found her just before we…” he stops, “you saw her?”

“He killed her right in front of me…” she says, turning to look at him, “she was begging me to help her, I could hear her crying but…” she stops, looks away from him.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Em.” he tells her, “you know that. It’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t answer, simply continues to stare at the wall ahead. He wants to ask, he needs to, but he doesn’t know how. Isn’t sure he wants to know. He’ll have to read the police report anyway, sign off on her being back on duty in a few weeks and he wonders if that might be easier. To read it rather than hear it, but he also knows he needs to hear it from her, needs to let her be the one to tell him, tell him what, he isn’t sure.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” he asks her gently, smiling softly when she turns to face him, “I’m not leaving,” he tells her, “but if you want some space tonight, if you want some time to work through this, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She smiles slightly, linking their fingers together as they rest on the side of the bath and she slowly shakes her head.

“I don’t want to be alone.” she whispers, and he nods.

“I’m here,” he tells her. “Whenever you’re ready to talk… I’m here.”

“I know.” she says, “I’m exhausted.”

“Come on.” he says, getting to his feet with a groan that makes her laugh slightly, before he helps her up, wrapping her in a towel before walking them towards the bed. He hands her an old jumper, one that nine months ago, used to belong to him, and a pair of joggers, kissing her head slightly.

“I’ll grab some water, I’ll be right back.” he tells her and she nods, watches him go as she takes a deep breath, focuses on getting into the clothes rather than the silence, rather than the memories of the last few days.

By the time he’s back she’s already in bed, her eyes staring at a spot of the wall across the room as she curls into the duvet and his heart breaks when the creek of the floor makes her jump.

He places the water on her bedside table, runs a gentle finger across her cheek as he passes her and gets himself in bed, turns to face her when she rolls over, taking her hand gently when she rests it on his chest, smiling when he links their fingers.

“Derek said you kept reading the other women’s files.” she says softly, he looks at her and nods. “He pretty much stuck to the script.” she tells him, looking from him to their hands. “I wish you didn’t read them.” she whispers, tracing his fingers with her own.

“When your ready to tell me, I’ll listen.” he says, “I’ll wait for you to tell me.”

“You’ll read the report before—”

“I’ll wait for you to tell me.” he whispers; she nods.

“Okay.” she whispers, “thank you.”

“Get some rest,” he tells her, “I’m right here.”

She smiles before she leans up to kiss him, wrapping herself around him as she inhales, the scent of him calming her, the feeling of safely taking ahold of her as she sighs, closing her eyes.

“I love you.” she whispers as he kisses her head and he smiles.

“I love you too.” he tells her, and waits until shes asleep before allowing himself to fall asleep too.

It’s barley been three hours when her scream jolts him awake. He sits up instantly, terror taking over as he registers what woke him and he turns, slowly reaching out to cup her face as she cries in her sleep, completely taken over by a nightmare, by a memory, by fear.

“Emily,” he whispers, trying to wake her carefully. “Em, sweetheart. Wake up.” he says a little louder, tapping her face gently as she gasps, her eyes opening instantly and she sits up, hyperventilating as she cries, a hand on her chest as she struggles to breathe and he holds her.

“You’re okay.” he whispers, “just breathe. It’s okay.” he soothes, a gentle hand on her back. Her breathing evens out pretty quickly but her tears do not, her entire body shaking with fear as he holds her close.

“You’re safe now,” he tells her, lifting her face to wipe her tears as she looks at him. “I’m here.” he says, “You’re safe.”

He slowly lays them back down, wrapping his arms around her when she clings onto him, resting herself in his arms.

“I love you.” she mutters as she slowly breathes, allowing herself to succumb to sleep.

“I love you too.” he whispers. “You’re safe. I’m here.” he repeats, hoping it soothes her, hoping she feels safe with him.

It’s obvious she does when she doesn’t wake until late that next afternoon and goes searching for him as soon as she realises he’s not next to her.

She finds him on the couch and heads towards him, smiling as she sits next to him and rests her head on his chest, relaxing the minute his arms wrap around her.

“You weren’t in bed.” she mumbles as she closes her eyes.

“I’m right here.” he whispers, “I’ll always be here.” he promises, and he smiles when she mumbles a small I know, before falling back into a dreamless sleep.

#hotchniss fic #hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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