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xadoheandterra · 1 year

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Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

The desert is harsh and unforgiving, but sometimes a light in the darkness could be found. Sometimes.

Sometimes though there are more steps before a resolution can be met.

The excavation work of the eco crystal would take time. Seem knew that they didn’t have all the necessary tools for the removal of crystal without it blowing up in their face. Mar knew that Damas might just attempt it despite the risk and lack of proper materials in the sudden urgency Seem saw him filled with once they began to return to the surface. Damas marked the position of the crystal that presumably housed the Acheron's. Seem worked to map spotted safe routes from Damas' back as they returned to the sands above.

“I need to speak with my Order,” Seem said, voice quiet. “The Council of Elders needs to know.” Seem frowned faintly. “I also need to see how the envoy to the Marauder Clans is doing. I haven’t received a report yet.”

Damas nodded. “We shall reconvene at a later point then Master Seem.”

With the agreement and understanding reached Seem and Damas went their separate ways. Seem headed over to her Monks purposefully. The materials they would need were with the Marauder Clans, and that meant she would have to prepare to enter their domain. She tended to avoid the Clans whenever need of them came up. Instead Seem sent proxies to deal with the barbarians and criminals. Recently the young Warrior Master Talin had become her proxy of choice.

Talin caught Seem’s eye rather quickly. He wasn’t as old as most of the Masters of the Order were for one thing—he barely crested his twentieth year. The Sage’s and Elder’s reported only good things about Talin, too. A calm and level head surprisingly unseen for someone born of Marauder ilk. Seem’s interest piqued there and crested when she learned how well the boy had taken to civilized folk. She could barely see a lick of Marauder in him, and yet he still knew their traditions by rote. A true young prodigy, and so well taken to the Warrior role.

When Talin came to request a team to work with, Seem found herself pleased with his choices. Irma, while in her thirties and only just a Master, had a good grounding in the work required of one of Seem’s Guardians. She’d taken on a Novice in young Finn, and Talin wanted to take upon Liren for Apprenticeship. Liren had more of a hot head than Talin, but Seem wondered if Talin could prevail in getting the boy to embrace a cooler form of thought. Then Talin approached her with the final member of his team—a Sage.

Kira worked as a Healer for as long as Seem knew her. She worked near exclusively within the medic division during the time of Seem’s mother, as she cared for the Monks until dark eco took her. Kira looked after Seem too when her father couldn’t be bothered, and her grandmother found herself lost to Prophecy and uncaring of the world around her. Already Kira approached the position of Elder, and with her gentle but firm nature Seem felt she could do well to direct the otherwise young and impressionable team under an equally young and impressionable leader. In private Kira informed Seem that she looked to the assignment as a vacation.

Seem did not understand how Kira could take the fact that the team would work closely with the various Marauder camps in keeping the peace as a vacation. Still the fact that Kira felt comfortable with the position and was willing to follow the lead of Talin Seem allowed the reassignment. As long as she didn’t need to deal with the Clans and none of her Monks were harmed, Seem could care a little less about who settled as part of the diplomatic envoy’s. Of course Kira had leeway anyway being so close to the position of Elder to make her choices in assignments with or without Seem’s say-so. Seem herself was only a Master for all she led the Monks as a whole.

The Precursor Monks portion of the camp outside the crevasse was busy as Seem anticipated when she stepped into their midst. Healers moved back and forth between the injured that they’d worked to rescue, settled into a make-shift tent for delicate work. They were only the stabilizing force until the Spargans could be transferred back to their city where their own caretakers would continue treatment for their injuries. Further still several Guardians worked to shift barrels of eco off of transports for the medics to use—blue to stimulate nerves, green to push regrowth, red to rebreak and resettle, and yellow to burn away what could not be conducive to green’s gentle touch. Each eco had its own use to the medics, after all, as each affected the body in different ways.

Healer Elder Fors oversaw the various Apprentice’s, Master’s and Sage’s that worked with the eco and the injured. Fors had always been a rather crotchety old man in Seem’s memory, but well suited to the role to bark orders at the younger members of the Order as they rushed around and worked themselves until Fors demanded rest and breaks. He rotated out his team of medics, which had grown from the initial ten sent out with Seem to the full contingent of twenty—and those were only the medics still active and capable of using their gifts. There were several more that Seem knew were back with the Order working in a more managerial series of roles if only because they weren’t trained enough, were healing from an injury, or just could not handle the strain of channeling anymore.

For a moment Seem watched the Healers, Guardians, and Warriors bustle about. She watched as Fors barked orders with her bones weary from exhaustion and the discoveries of the past day. Still more needed to be done, so Seem squared her shoulders and made her way toward Fors, dirty, tired, but determined.

“Master Seem,” Fors greeted, voice like reed paper with how faint and cracked it sounded. The sand soaked air did not do the man justice, but he bore the burden well.

“Elder Fors,” Seem deferred with a slight dip of her head. When she raised it her gaze darted back over the tent and the bustling medics. “How are the efforts?”

Fors grimaced, lips pulled down in a way that only seemed to amplify the wrinkles in his cheeks. It made him look gaunt and hollow as he spoke in grim tones and even grimmer facts. “We’ve lost at least five, and another five look to be on their way. We’re running low on water to provide and the resupply from Spargus is late.”

Seem pressed her lips together, brows furrowed down in contemplation. “An attack, do you think?”

Fors scoffed. “From the Clans? With how much of a struggle they must be in? No. No, child, but perhaps the Hora-Quan, perhaps another creature. Who knows? Perhaps Spargus deigns not to listen to their Lord when He speaks?”

Seem doubted that. Spargus may not believe in the tales of Mar in the way of Havenites, but that didn’t mean that they could deny Damas had power and the means with which to wield it. The blood of Mar ran strong in the exiled monarch; stronger than the King before him, and the King before that even if what Seem had been told were true. Still in this desert and heat, with the chaos of the incident, a delayed resupply could be the cause of many things—but always a question and a concern.

Eventually Seem sighed and murmured, “I would hate to drag you away from your post, then.”

“But you must,” Fors replied.

“I must,” Seem agreed. She waited, and then cautiously prompted, “Do you have someone to oversee in your absence?” A moment of silence before Fors called for one of the apprentices and spoke in low tones with the girl. Seem didn’t bother to listen in to the conversation; her thoughts drifted through the various causes behind a delay in the resupply. She worried her lip as each concern coiled within her gut like a lead stone snake.

“Master Seem,” Fors interrupted her thoughts and Seem jerked her head in his direction. He laid a wrinkled hand upon her shoulder and began to steer her from the tent. “It is handled. Come.”

“Yes, Elder,” Seem mumbled, and allowed Fors to lead her away.

Damas peered over the maps of the crevasse cobbled together from several members of the rescue efforts from underneath the tent, but found his attention drifted from the conversation around him. His mind moved constantly back to the crystal deep down into the earth, and the pulse that he felt beat out from within it. The combination of dark and light eco intertwined into one another had never been considered to be possible—what could the effects be, Damas wondered. Could it have preserved the Acherons life? Or perhaps their remains in some pristine condition? When even did the eco crystalize? Had that been when the volcano erupted or was it a result of the two severely different types of eco interacting? A part of Damas itched to gather up Mar’s journals and read through the thoughts of his ancestor. Mar had quite a bit to write about the Acherons in his later years; thoughts on their research, how things ended up the way they went, and regrets on their fate and what happened to them and to the Sage that stopped them.

Quietly, at his side, Dag murmured, “Lord Damas,” and drew Damas’ attention away from his thoughts. The tent had cleared; whatever discussion between the leaders of the rescue efforts already completed without Damas’ input. Damas didn’t mind—he trusted the Spargans to do what they needed, and he trusted Dag to relay his own findings appropriately if he were to be so lost in his own head.

“Can you repeat that, Dag?” Damas asked.

“What has you so troubled?” Dag quarried. “You barely paid attention to the casualty list, and you didn’t even react when the supply run was noted to be late.”

“Walk with me?”

“Of course, if it helps with your thoughts…” Dag said, and together they stepped out of the tent.

Damas watched the young man that his wife thought would do him good in silence for a moment as they walked through the desert air. Dag’s Spargan native blood was apparent in more than just his name; he had the dark skin of the city’s native denizens, and the hair that locked and braided neatly. Dag walked straight backed, and even with his diminutive height he seemed to tower over most people; this included at times even Damas. Damas glanced away, looked out over the camp, and gathered his thoughts.

“We need to build a barrier over the crevasse immediately,” Damas said eventually. Dag tilted his head slightly but said nothing as he listened. “Master Seem and I reached the bottom—any who dare to venture that far need to also be warned. A majority of the ground is eco crystal,” Damas frowned. “Dark eco crystal.”

Dag sucked in a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit,” he said plainly, and Damas nodded.

For a moment they said nothing as they reached the edge of the camp, and then Damas sighed tiredly. “How many of our beacons have been recovered?” he asked.

Dag snorted with a grumbled, “So you weren’t listening?” and ducked under the playful slap of a hand that brushed against the tips of his fiery hair knotted on the top of his head.

“Impudent brat,” Damas said, a small smile on the edge of his face, and Dag laughed. A second later the air turned somber again.

“Truthfully, we’ve found most of the beacons,” Dag said, and he turned his gaze away from Damas and out over the desert landscape as he spoke. Damas frowned. “Our search parties have marked the locations of each beacon without a body for further searching.”

“How many of our people…” Damas trailed off, a knot of worry deep in his gut. How many died in this disaster? How many Spargans? How many children?

“We’ve recovered close to twenty-five,” Dag said slowly. “Of those only…only eight are surviving. We lost five in the night, according to the Monks, and another five are severe enough that we don’t anticipate survival by days end.”

“The rest?”

“Already gone.”

Damas closed his eyes in grief and bowed his head down. Mar the ripple effect of the mess caused here Spargus would feel for days. He didn’t want to think how many of the Clans were lost—their numbers were smaller than Spargus, and they were spread far out into the Wastes. Some might not be affected, but the closer Clans that had taken to the area for the season—such a waste of life, Damas thought. The desert was a cruel place; harsh to live in and some days the reward didn’t seem worth it to Damas. He wasn’t Spargan born, however, and he knew they would never give this life up for anything else. Not even the Clans would do so, Damas knew now after years spent among the desert people.

“We’ll recover the rest of the beacons,” Damas said, and from Dag’s look he already knew that the meeting he paid no attention to had decided so without him, “but we’ll put the search for any further survivors aside. They are…likely already gone.” It hurt Damas to say, but it was the truth in the end and Damas and Dag both knew it.

“What would you like us to do instead, then?” Dag asked.

“Begin building a cover for the crevasse. We are in thunder season,” Damas said grimly. “One wrong strike….”

Dag sucked in a breath. “There is that much crystal?” he said, tone just the bit on this side of faint.

“Enough to possibly reach Haven.” Damas pressed his lips together and rubbed at his temples. He could feel a headache building. “Furthermore there is…something at the bottom. We need excavation equipment.”

Dag blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it with a contemplative look. “This is near the underground molten rivers,” Dag said. “According to old maps there was an entrance into the heart of the Volcano nearby at one point; and if the stories are to be believed…the Citadel?” He looked to Damas, who looked to Dag and the nodded. “The Acherons?” Damas nodded again. “Are you sure?”

“I saw their machine,” Damas agreed. “It looked as Mar described only…covered in crystal.”

“You think they are recoverable?” Dag said, and his hands clenched into fists as he looked at Damas with eyes as dark as his skin.

“It is crystal,” Damas said, “but it is still eco.”

Crystal, Damas figured, could be channeled like anything else of eco. If a properly trained channeler could manipulate liquid eco into vapor, then why could one not manipulate crystal back into liquid? Sure they had no clue as to how eco crystalized in the first place—in the crevasse it looked as if the eco boiled first, so perhaps heat could be applied to part of the catalyst for the change—but that didn’t mean the process wasn’t undoable.

“Your mad,” Dag said.

“Maybe I am,” Damas agreed; he wouldn’t deny the thought. Mar seemed quite mad after all, learning to control dark eco in a time where it was taboo—still taboo, really, despite the mess they’ve made of the world with it. “Now,” Damas murmured a minute later, gaze on the horizon, “who is that?”

Dag turned his gaze off into the desert and reached up to the goggles settled over his eyes. He twisted and manipulated the lenses to grant himself more of a zoom to his vision off into the distance. After a moment he stood straighter, arms dropped and clasped at his back in a practiced motion that Damas recognized from whenever one of the Precursor Monks were present.

“It’s one of the sand riders,” Dag said, “but a Monk is astride it.”

“One of Seem’s ambassadors, then,” Damas sighed, a bit of his tension leaving him. “Let us hope he bears good news for us.”

Talin downed the drink offered to him in the tent to soothe his parched throat. The ride from the camp had been long, and the struggle with the Clans to get a hold of a rider took too much time in Talin’s not-so-humble opinion. One of the few things he honestly didn’t miss about Marauder life had been how unnecessarily complicated they made what should be simple things.

The water dribbled down his chin and Talin quickly wiped it away with a grimace, well aware that he’d probably messed up his own face paint but beyond tired enough to really care about it at this time. He glanced to Lord Damas from under his eyelashes, then to the Spargan ruler’s attendant with a tilt of his head.

“Master Seem will be here shortly,” Dag uttered.

“Seem called a Council meeting,” Damas explained as he poured more water into the cup which Talin quickly squirreled back close to his chest to swallow more. “I take it your expedition bore fruit?”

Talin set the cup down with a soft breath and said, “After a fashion.” He looked at the cup and wondered if he should wait for Master Seem to arrive before he explained, but then he thought about the long drive and the mess of the Marauder Camp and sighed. “The Chieftan will only entertain the idea of a truce as long as you are there to present it to him, Lord Damas.”

Damas pursed his lips. “Aermsmin said that?” he questioned, and Talin nodded sharply.

“The Clans are not in a good way.” Talin bit his lip, comfortable in the presence of Damas despite how initially he’d been raised wary of the idea of the man. “The crevasse tore near through the main encampment. There’s been plenty of loss and injury on their end as well.” It didn’t take Talin much to conclude that Spargus’ own losses were significant either; not if Master Seem was in a meeting with the Council of Elders.

“It’s even worse,” Damas said, gaze off in the distance. “We’ll need the Clans to help cover the whole of the crevasse.”

Talin blinked. “Cover it?”

“Master Seem and I made a discovery at the bottom,” Damas looked right at Talin, gaze sharp enough that Talin shivered from its intensity. “The entire of the desert is at risk if we leave the crevasse as it is.”

Talin carefully set down his cup and looked at Damas with his brow pinched down. He wasn’t a fool; Talin could read between the lines easily. He’d spent his whole life on this desert. He knew this place better than most even with time spent mostly among the Monks these past handful of years. After a second Talin nodded and murmured a faint, “I see,” in time for Master Seem to enter into the tent.

“I apologize about my delay,” Seem said shortly with a dip of her head in Damas’ direction. “Master Talin, was your trip a success?”

Talin glanced to Seem and quickly stood to his feet. He made a short gesture with his hand in greeting and ducked his head. “To an extent it can be viewed that way, Master Seem,” Talin replied, “however Chieftan Aermsmin has some caveats before he fully agrees to a truce or armistice at this time.”

There was a flash across Seem’s face, quick enough that Talin couldn’t quite decipher but Damas could. Still, once pressed back into composure expected as the Head of the Precursor Monks Seem tilted her head back in acknowledgement of the news Talin brought.

“Very well,” Seem uttered, hoarse whisper just the slightest bit covered in steel that made a shiver run up Talin’s spine. “Let us hear the Chieftan’s demands.”

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #fanfic #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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butch-bakugo · 1 year

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With the recent news of don Lewis from the tiger king series being alive and perfectly fine in Costa rica(I rewatched the tiger king series for the 3rd time just to make sure I got my facts right, I'm currently working on season 2 for the second time cause I don't remember too much) I'm again reminded of just how much casual and blatant misogyny in our society. Like first amber heard settling with Depp after he admitted to faking evidence and groups of people choosing to not investigate the 3 prior cases she won against her husband MANY years her senior and now with Carole Baskin being relieved of this shit.

Just wow. Crickets. All these people who used Carole and amber as examples of "clearly lieing attention seeking horrible women who just wanted to hurt these poor innocent little men 🥺" being exonerated despite all the evidence of their innocence being present from the get go just shows how much casual misogyny you can dig up from self proclaimed feminists in today's world. Like who tf, despite video, audio and text evidence of these men being horrible abusers and just all around shitty people with historical harm, comes out of tiger king or the depp v heard trial thinking joe exotic and Johnny Depp are fucking innocent???

Whose the next victim? What woman is going to be punished next for using the legal system on her male, slightly charismatic, abuser and stalker?

There was all the evidence from the get go but individuals in society still refuse to acknowledge that I'm sorry but no, the evidence doesn't show "women were wrong this time! See some women lie about rape or abuse!!" Why are y'all searching for an example of women being wrong or lieing about abuse? Because you wanna call all women liars? Grown men wrote articles for other grown men saying "what to do if your daughter is becoming a little amber heard?"... Wtf is wrong with you???

Now all these people and companies are coming out supporting Carole and amber and people who made skits about Amber's FUCKING sexual assault story and made a fucking sex toy based on it are crying "oh no! I didn't know! The evidence wasn't there! The algorithm influenced me!" Then turn on the next female victim to come forward. Like no I'm sorry the algorithm didn't make you make rape jokes, buddy. The evidence was there from the get go. They don't mention it themselves but Carole and amber both got fucking rape threats. Depp himself said he'd wanna burn amber alive and fuck her charred corpse and y'all were like " how dare you police the language of victims! I talk about my abusers like that!" Nope. I don't believe you were a victim from the get go cause ANY victim of rape knows that rape can be worse than death itself and I'd wish death on my rapists before I'd wish rape on them.

BUT EVEN IF YOU ARE A VICTIM AND TALK LIKE THAT-

I'm sorry but if you talk about rapeing your rapist in revenge.... 1st all you do is make yourself a rapist as well and your rapist a victim as well and 2nd seek therapy now. No other victim is gonna feel safe around someone who talks casually about wanting to rape someone for revenge. Jesus Fucking Christ. I'm sorry, this probably really jumbled, it's like almost 4 am where I am but fuck me, I'm so tired of society pretending to love and believe women during women's day then pull the shit they pulled on amber and Carole. You never believe victims if there's even one slight rice grain of semi-respectability in the man that hurt her. Start believing some women. Stop believing all men. If your first thought is "finally! An example of women lieing in court and getting away with it to hurt men!" You need help and you need to step away from the true crime/criminal justice entertainment.

You're not ready for the reality that most women don't lie about rape or abuse or stalking and most men are really that fucking terrible.

(p.s I don't support peta or josh or anyone else in this case but I do support Carole, who is the victim of not only a legitimate murder for hire plot but also of a misogynistic mob mentality that just because she's a woman hated by a gay conservative who totes anti-gun control nonsense that she automatically killed someone for money. Also watch the series again and please note the subtle but PREVALENT misogyny put out by joe and his crew. Every time they talk about women or represent women it's horrible. Nothing like cis gay man brand misogyny to remind you that yes, cis gay men are still fucking men and still fucking misogynistic)

#levi speaks #abuse tw #tw abuse #ableism

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 6 months

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pyro and avalanche!

You know me too well.

Which one is more fond of scary movies: Avalanche. Pyro enjoys some of the gothic-style ghost or vampire movies, or anything with a good story, but gets annoyed by slashers or anything that he perceives as a "brainless gore fest." Avalanche is willing to watch any horror movie, and will just laugh at it if it's bad. He's more interested in being scared, Pyro wants style.

Which one gets the most excited about Halloween: Hmm....from what I've read online (assuming that's accurate), Halloween isn't really a big deal in Australia, and isn't really celebrated at all in Greece, outside of influence by expats and tourists. And Trick or Treating is a recent thing in Australia and wasn't really a custom before, so I headcanon that Pyro never did it as a child. But I think they both enjoy the costumes, because Pyro loves an excuse for a flashy outfit (he inevitably finds the "sexy" costume option, even if he personally has to a cut a deep V-neck into whatever he is wearing), and Avalanche is reminded of Apokries, the Greek festival season leading up to Lent. I think Avalanche likes handing out candy to kids. He spent so many years as a terrorist, it makes him feel good to do some small, nice thing for kids (especially something easy with no personal sacrifice on his part).

Which one would be more likely to survive the apocalypse: Avalanche, because he knows how to garden, and growing your own food is a big step forward for survival. He could also easily bury himself far below the earth if the apocalypse came in the form of a nuclear strike.

Which one would literally kill for the other: Both are equally likely to do that. They are basically Homer here:

Which one likes to scare or startle the other: I'm gonna say neither, actually. They are both violent dudes who have been through enough shit to probably have some kind of PTSD, they don't do that to each other. Both out of respect, and for the practical reason that they don't want to burn or shake their house down.

Which one is more likely to need comforting when they get spooked: Pyro pretends to be scared as an excuse to snuggle in close.

Which one always puts on a brave face: Avalanche is very stoic.

Which one would be more dangerous if they suddenly became violent: Both, really. I sometimes think Pyro tends to be a bit more vicious, but they are both criminal assholes and murderers with very dangerous powers.

Which one would be more likely to commit a crime: Boooooooth! They love crime! They'll get mad if one person commits crimes without the other, it's worse than cheating to them.

Which one believes in ghosts: Pyro. Or at least he really wants to believe. Gothic romance novelist loves the aesthetic of wandering around a haunted manor or possibly castle.

Which one likes to watch spooky show on television: If it's something like Haunting of Hill House, or any Mike Flanagan show with a lot of drama along with the scares, or campy fun like American Horror Story, then Pyro. Avalanche likes making fun of ghost hunter shows.

Which one would propose the idea of holding a seance: Also Pyro. It sounds "romantic" to him, and he wants to talk to a ghost. Especially if that ghost has an interesting story that he can turn into a best-selling novel.

Which one has nightmares more often: I'm gonna say Avalanche here, just because he seems so stoic and serious. Pyro will talk about stuff more openly, which is kind of a release, Avalanche bottles things up and it leads to nightmares.

Which one would want to explore a real haunted house: Pyro! Again, the whole aesthetic, and the possibility of actually meeting a real ghost, or at least having some kind of spooky encounter. Avalanche is mostly bored, and has practical explanations for all the cold spots and creaking floors. But he'll go along with it for the promise of having sex in a haunted house, because Pyro would absolutely want to do that.

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shurisneakers · 3 years

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harmless (v)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, ghosts, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, rats

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: why did i like this chapter sm someone explain. anyway!! y’all are so passionate about these two i love it mwah

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He dislikes the subway.

Other than his other valid reason to have disdain for trains, the subway is dark, it’s shady and he’s sure he’s seen rodents fight to the death here on several occasions.

Still, he’s following you down the stairs of the station, watching as you whistle along to the song blasting through your headphones. There’s a backpack swung over your shoulders, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie and converse doing a skip every now and then. There’s a bandana that’s tied across your face, acting as a mask to hide your identity.

He realises that you’re dressed like a commuter. Were you going to dress the part every single time?

You walk along with the crowd. He follows, a few feet away.

Until you stop. He abruptly stops too, leading someone to walk right into him.

“Watch it, dumbass,” they hiss with the courage of someone who has no idea who he is. He ignores them.

He looks on as you dig around your backpack and pull out a roll of paper. A poster, he realises soon when you peel off a layer from the back and press it to the wall.

Was it legal to put up posters in the subway? He wasn’t quite sure.

He observes as you turn around and continue down the path. He waits a few seconds before trailing up to the poster.

Volunteers needed!

If you’re interested in being turned into a ghost for a couple of hours, this is your chance! Should be okay with being on camera so that we can make money off of taped paranormal sightings.

Paid opportunity. You get to pick your outfit. Randos don’t apply.

He yanks the poster of the wall before continuing down the same place you did.

He finds another poster along the way. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling it down. You were advocating to kill people.

He knows he’s going in the right direction because more posters creep up along the wall.

The both of you are on the platform by now but to him, something changes about the placement of the posters. They were growing in frequency, the distance between them decreasing as they were situated close to each other.

He pauses in front of the next one, hand hovering over the paper.

All it reads is ‘STOP’.

He furrows his eyebrow, pulling it down before peering over at the next one.

‘TAKING’, is all that it says.

It doesn’t take him very long to make his way through all the posters in the hallway.

‘THESE’

‘DOWN’

The train’s arrived by now but a quick scan over the crowd and he knows that you haven’t entered. That, and he knew that you were too dramatic to leave without a trace or a small conversation with him.

‘DICKHEAD’

Tasteful, he thinks.

“It took effort to make them, stop ruining it,” you whine from the end of the hallway. It’s empty, given that rush hour was over a while ago.

Even though the mask covers half your face, it’s obvious that there is mischief etched under it. The twinkle in your eye is telling.

“You’re literally killing people.” He holds up the poster. Not the ‘dickhead’ one. He pockets that for later.

He knows there are a few minutes before the next train arrives and more people flood the station. The eccentricity of today lay in the lighting from the incandescent lamps and acoustics of the platform. It made his voice echo like a movie scene.

“I very much am not,” you huff.

“You’re turning them into ghosts. That’s what a murderer does,” he says pointedly.

“Well, only if you keep saying it like that. You’re making me look bad.” You cross your arms across your chest. “What are you, Fox News?”

A scurry next to him earns his attention. Two rats nibble at a piece of fallen food. He wonders when they’ll starting brawling.

“Explain this.” He waves the poster around. He isn’t taking it too lightly he hopes. If it’s actual murder then it’s going to be an issue.

You pull out a black cylinder, slightly bigger than a pen. He can’t really see any more details, but you hold onto it like a wand.

“I’m turning them into ghosts. I’ll post videos of them doing stupid shit. I get famous and then boom, cash money.” You rub your index finger and thumb together. “I’ll give you a share if you volunteer.”

“You’re not explaining the death part.”

He can feel it. You’re about to start derailing.

“Winter Soldier, the ghost story. Literally.” You grin, yanking down the mask from your face to prove it. It pools around your neck. “That’s so funny, c’mon, it’d be amazing.”

It’s been years since he’s heard that. Never in this context.

“No,” he says sternly, “and I’m going to have to bring you in if you’re going to kill people.”

The rats were ignoring everything that was going down like the hardened criminals that they were. They had probably seen worse. He can’t stop paying attention to them.

“I’m not killing them, bro.” You raise your hands in exclamation. “I’m just moving some molecules around, some frequency shit. They’re alive, just ghosts.”

He’s always been one for science. Straight As throughout high school, attended science conventions as a hobby, alive even at 100 through some mad experimentation, definitely seen some weird shit during his lifetime.

But this doesn’t make sense.

“No,” he repeats. “Give me the thing.”

“Fine, I’ll show you.” You roll your eyes. “Since you have absolutely no faith in me.”

He does a quick review of his surroundings.

No one’s around, which is good.

But that just leaves him in front of you, which is bad.

“Don’t you even thin-” he starts, muscles tensing as he shifts into a defensive stance.

You whip out the little pen thing from beside you but before he can react you turn around and duck.

The click of a button releases a bright light, small but intensely stronger than the fluorescents in the station.

He reels back, feet carrying him away from where you’re crouched. His eyes quickly look down at his body.

Nothing’s changed.

He lifts his hand to check, runs it over his face. Still alive. He thinks.

“Behold,” you declare, “Ghost rat.”

He looks to where you’re pointing. The two rats from earlier were still nibbling on their food but something was off about them.

He could see the faint outline of the tiles on the wall behind them, almost like they were... translucent.

You aimed at the rats, not him. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at the fake threat.

He watches as they move. They don’t look hurt or injured.

“Cool, huh?” you say smugly.

He can’t stop staring at them.

“Bring them back.”

“They’re fine, look how abstract it is.”

“Bring back the rats.” He can’t believe this is what his life has come to.

Bucky Barnes, Rodent Protector.

You aren’t fazed by his indifference, instead wonder filled eyes gaze at the animals. “Astral mice, sarge. Embrace the miracle of modern science.”

“You killed them.”

“They’re alive, they’re just ghosts.” You raise a finger to point. “Look, they’re still eating. Biological functions are still taking place.”

Which was true. But still. He doesn’t know what is going on.

“Bring them back to... non-ghost alive.”

“You sure you don’t want one? That one kinda looks like you.” One hardened glare after you realise the answer. “Jeez, alright then.”

You dig through your bag before pulling out a matte black replica of your current invention.

“Sexy colours, right?” You hold them up. “I modelled them after your arm.”

He looks down. Sure enough the gold and black matched his cybernetic limb. It was oddly flattering.

“Say thank you, Y/N, for letting me be your muse-”

“Un-ghost the rats.”

“Ungrateful,” you narrow your eyes at him.

Still, you comply with his demands, ducking down to their level again.

A click of the button, a bright light and the rats are back to normal. Non-transparent normal.

“Okay, give me that.” He takes a step towards you.

“Nuh uh.” You pull your arm back. His mouth twitches at your response; what are you, five?

The black one is stuffed back into your bag but you wave around the gold like a threat.

He sighs, making a pass for it. In a second his arm is twisted and shoved against his back, forcing him to spin so that he’s facing away from you. His eyes widen.

What the fuck?

“Now we’re having a good time,” you whisper into this ear.

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist to rotate his own out of your grip.

“Since when can you fight?” he asks.

“Are we getting to know each other now?” You raise your leg to give him a semi gentle kick in the side, using his momentary distraction in blocking it to give him a knock on the head with your free hand. “This is so romantic, sarge.”

There’s a low rumble in the distance and he knows the train would soon start pulling into the station. It was still a distance away, but his heightened senses warned him that it wouldn’t take much time.

He groans. How much longer would he have to go at this?

He could easily win this fight and he knew it. But something in him itched, pulled him back from doing it.

He blocks another attempt at his head. “Stop that.”

You grin. “You know what’d be fun?”

He knows you’d reply even if he didn’t encourage it. The lights from the train light up the tunnel around the corner.

“This.” You don’t give him a second to recover before you flick your wrist away from him.

The device flies out of your hand and right onto the track. The both of you watch, you in glee, he in horror, as the train runs right over it, unleashing the brightest light he had ever seen. His eyes shut instinctively before it blinds him.

He forces himself to pry open his eyelids, look at the damage caused.

The train, sure enough, is translucent. He can see the posters on the other side of the platform through the carriage, through various people holding onto the poles for support or seated on the seats.

“Ghost train!” you cheer. He’s mortified.

“Fuck no,” he mumbles, yanking the backpack off your shoulder. He rummages through it, looking for the gold version.

“You lookin’ for this?” you ask nonchalantly, holding it up in your hand like it isn’t the solution to stopping a bunch of ghosts from wandering around New York.

“Turn them back.” He gives you a chance.

“Do it yourself, coward.” You grin, holding it above your head. The train is going to stop and he needs everyone to be alive and non-ghost before they leave.

He doesn’t wait this time, instead turning to you. The thing is still held in your grip above your head. He rolls his eyes, doing a quick assessment before grabbing your free hand, tugging you closer and plucking the device out of your hand before you have the opportunity to retract it.

“Great, now figure out which button to press.” You’re dangerously close to him. He can feel your hoodie brush against his tactical jacket. “Also if you wanted to be all pressed up against me, you could have just asked.”

He furrows his eyebrows, letting go of you as you give a loud laugh. He looks down at the device. It has several buttons, littering up and down the side. Each look the same.

The train’s slowing down.

“They’re both the same device; this version is not a magical solution to the other one. If you press the wrong button then both of us are going to be fucked.”

The last carriage is getting closer.

“Say I win this round and I’ll fix it.”

There’s a gleam in your eye. He knew this was exactly what you wanted.

He wishes he was as stubborn as Steve, just run through each button until the right one worked.

“You win this one.” He hands it back. He wasn’t like Steve and judging by the number of items the idiot jumped out of planes without a parachute on a daily basis, Bucky was glad about it. At least Bucky did it sporadically.

“Yay, two each for the both of us, then,” you say, taking it from him and twisting, eyes running down the sides. “Close your eyes, old man, or else your cataract’s gonna get worse.”

Right as the train pulls to a stop, you press down on the button before throwing it and the blinding light that emanates from it. It lands on the top of the train right as the doors open.

The passengers start stepping out. Some of them are looking at their hands and legs in a little disbelief, most just push through the crowd to leave.

He can’t see through them. It’s a good sign.

He turns to look at you but you’re not there. Instead, the weight of the small device weighs down in his pocket.

The sound of a thud on glass draws his attention.

He looks up at the train. The window of the carriage in front of him has a bit of fog on it. You trace a heart in the condensation and blow him a kiss before pulling your mask back on.

The train starts moving, leaving him alone in the platform again with your invention.

He lets out an exhale, wandering outside to grab a sandwich before waiting to catch the next train to go home.

Later in the evening, he catches hold of a bit of tape and the ‘Dickhead’ poster finds a place on Sam’s door.

He doesn’t appreciate it.

So now it’s tucked away in the shelf of Bucky’s bedside table along with a freeze ray, a ghost-inator, and some discount Pym Particles.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

928 notes · View notes

flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

break my mind’s eye special — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

Walking through the dark halls of permanently stained apartment building, Jungkook finally stood in front of a familiar number written on the text. He rapped at the wooden door a few times hearing a couple of grunts and rummaging from the other side. He sighed. “It’s me, Hoseok, you don’t have to hide the weed.”

“ Oh! ”

A few locks clicked here and there before the door swung open to welcome a light air of smoke mixed with the stench alone that could make Jungkook high. Hoseok gave him a loose smile, holding onto his arm as a wide grin spread across his lips. “You finally made it!”

Jungkook hummed trying not to grimace too much at the smell as the older male closed the door behind them.

“Come on, tell me…” Hoseok patted his back, prancing towards the couch where the coffee table was exuding smoke.

The apartment was miniscule with one bedroom door open on the left and a tiny kitchen on the right with a window next to the fridge. Another one near the dining table. Walls were a gross green tint and the floors a dull brown with black velvet couches that were ripped a little at the edges. But Jungkook could not complain.

“Tell you what?” The younger male dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the couch next to him, burying his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Hoseok picked his joint back up and hovered it near his lips. “What was prison like?” He sucked in his cheeks causing the ambers to light up at the end before he blew the thick smoke away from Jungkook.

“Like living with a bunch of criminals. What else?”

“So just like old times then.” Hoseok smirked.

Jungkook glanced at the male for a moment before scoffing out a chuckle. “Yeah…pretty much.” Except there was one difference. Every time he pranced with criminals like himself in the past, he was a leader. In prison, he was young, fresh meat. Before he would also come back home to a warm embrace in bed instead of a steel bed alone with a stinky roommate.

“Well it’s all over now.” He blew out another puff of smoke, shifting to rest his head back against the couch. “You can start doing something else with your life. Something different. Not a lot of people like us get that chance.”

For the first time, he noticed a slight sadness in Hoseok’s tone despite being pumped with artificial endorphins.

His eyes flickered down to the coffee table, noticing the burger wrappers and scattered newspapers. One of them immediately caught his eye. Jungkook sat up again, pulling one of them out of the pile, the right corner of his lips twitched seeing the familiar face.

‘ FAMED DESIGNER KIM BELLE RULES TOKYO FASHION WEEK ’

A side by side picture of a model wearing violet and gold ensemble which almost resembled the traditional kimono with a modern, royal twist. The picture on the right showed her. Belle wearing a simple black dress with her gorgeous waves out and a gracious smile spread across her lips.

‘ Twenty seven year old fashion designer Kim Belle takes all the popularity and buzz with her winter designs for Tokyo Fashion Week. Showing her long love for traditional Japanese fashion culture along with an inspiring movement for domestic violence and trafficking victims by showcasing broken chains and kimono style gowns. An elegant mix of grace and fight for personal freedom. Truly an impressive successor to the legend that was Madame Saito and we are definitely going to keep an eye out for more of her daring projects. ’

“She made a big damn name of herself.” Hoseok broke through the thick coat of silence Jungkook had around him.

“She deserves it.” More than I ever did.

The older male searched his expression for a moment, scoffing a little. “Dude, I have to ask.”

Jungkook met his gaze as he leaned back onto the couch again with the newspaper still in his hands. “What?”

“Why her?”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you—literally could’ve had anyone in the entire country to pose as your fake wife or whatever. But you chose a fashion designer who barely knew anything about you to begin with…” Hoseok shook his head with a light wince. “What was your angle?” Some part of him did not want to believe Jungkook simply blackmailed someone for his own amusement because he knew the man was better than that.

Jungkook wished he had a decent reason to blurt out to him. Maybe he was just inherently evil and wanted to hurt Belle for his own pleasure. Maybe he wanted to fuck her one time just for kicks before dragging her out a little further until it was too much. Maybe he was just sick in the head, wanting to claim a girl who could not say a word against him because her and her brother’s life were wrapped around his finger. Except none of them felt like the truth. “I honestly thought she’d say no.”

“Oh fuck off—”

“Seriously I…” He shrugged a little. “I really thought she was going to punch me and storm out of there with her brother.”

“But the guards wouldn’t let her. I mean—no offense, buddy but you would’ve probably killed her. Knowing you from back then.” Hoseok scrunched his nose lightly.

“She did something ten times more dangerous though.” Jungkook couldn’t resist the jolt of pride bursting in him. “I destroyed her—so she waited until she destroyed me.”

Hoseok chortled a little, voice incredibly raspy. “I wouldn’t call going to jail for your crimes destroying you but sure…”

Jungkook shared a small laugh, nodding as he looked at her picture again. He could almost still feel her soft skin underneath his palm. How her hair smelled when he would hug her from behind as they slept, the way it soothed him to a calmer sleep.

“It’s a thing of the past though…” He tilted his head as his expression turned a little more serious. “…right? No more pulling her into shit she doesn’t deserve?”

“Yeah—yeah, of course.”

“Good…cause Belle’s the star of the city now. One wrong move towards her, you’re back in jail or worse.” Hoseok raised his brow a little making sure there was not a hint of determination on that young face of doing anything stupid. “You don’t have guards or power by your side and Taehyung isn’t addicted anymore. Has a wife and kid…he’s got the dad anger. So he will beat the living shit out of you if you give him the motivation.”

“I know, Hobi.” Jungkook chuckled, patting his thigh gently. “I don’t want her to go through it again either.”

Hoseok hummed a little taking another waft from his joint as he looked out the window, the sky tinted purple. “Alright. I’m gonna go and eat my girlfriend out.” He patted his shoulder, walking up to his bedroom.

“You had to look at the time for that?” Jungkook winced despite the grin on his face.

“Brother, when you’re together for this long, things need schedules.” He walked out of the bedroom with a black duffel bag putting out the joint onto the ashtray. “Food’s in the fridge and there’s Netflix open on the laptop.”

Jungkook waved him off before the door clicked close leaving him in his thoughts. For some reason, all he could do was look back at the newspaper and try to salvage that warm feeling again. The feeling of a true home that could never be.

Purple faded into a deep blue across the skies as Jungkook paced around the apartment in his bare torso, scattered with more imperfect tattoos. One cellmate liked doing tattoos because it calmed him down so the younger male did not hesitate much to let him use his skin. He was a nice man who had been thrown in jail for being a drug mule all his life and Jungkook could not help but have a nauseating guilt in his stomach.

Drug mules were essentially trafficked human slaves from Jungkooks’ experience. Their owners use their lives and bodies to transport goods without being detected and usually they start off terrifyingly young or desperate or both. All this service was done for almost little to no money. They were more abused victims than criminals but the legal system were not good at telling the difference sometimes.

Jungkook allowed his body to be used as if giving himself some kind of cathartic relief allowing the broken soul to control something else for a while instead of being controlled. Thus his skin now littered with designs of devil horns, tiger flowers and his own personal request was a tiny print font ‘B’ on his collarbone. No one could truly see it up close but he wanted to feel it there.

Chugging a generous sip from his beer bottle, he quietly observed the night sky glimmering with stars while the city shone in neon. The one thing his mansion lacked was the clear view of how alive everything looked at night.

A knock sounded on the door causing his head to shoot to the side.

Hoseok should not have been home at this hour. Even if he was, the man would not knock in his own apartment.

Jungkook opened the kitchen drawer and brandished a knife before making his way over to the door. Another knock sounded again. It was a gentle knock. Almost shy. But he knew better than soften up so easily. Carefully, he peeked through the peephole trying not to make too much of a sound even though the wooden floors creaked far too much.

His heart jumped right up to his throat seeing the familiar face on the other side. Jungkook almost dropped the knife on the floor trying to focus as best as he could. Was he drunk already? Was he dreaming? Gulping down, he placed the knife on the side table along with the beer bottle and opened the door.

When the view became clear to him, Jungkook let out a sharp breath. “Belle.”

Her hair was shorter up to her shoulders compared to the length in the newspaper picture except she still always kept her natural waves. Eyes a little glazed while her flushed lips spread into a weak smile before pressing them together again. “I-I don’t–I don’t know why I’m here.” Belle’s furrowed her brows a little.

“It’s okay.” He whispered. “Come in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiled even though a small tinge of sadness shone in his eyes.

He opened the door further for her to enter before closing it behind him. Eyes flickered down to her grey sweatpants and frilly white socks paired with a thick sweater like she just woke up from a nap.

Belle kept her back to him for a few minutes, pretending to observe the apartment even though she was really just trying to figure out why she was here. Questions muddled her mind over and over again. Any valid or logical answer. There was nothing. No reason to be standing here when she tried so hard to walk away from him. She did everything to get away. Now she walked right back without any coercion.

Jungkook tilted his head attempting to meet her gaze but decided not to force it too much. “You cut your hair.” A smile twitched on his lips. “It looks nice.”

She absentmindedly touched her waves, breathing out a small chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Uh—how did you know I was here?”

“Namjoon helped me track you down.” Belle mumbled, guilt pooling in the pit of her belly going behind Yoongi’s back like this. She still remembered what Namjoon said when he gave her the address.

‘I’m only giving you this because I know you’re tough as nails…no matter what people say to you…but the second anything goes wrong, you call me.’ Namjoon had become a close friend in the last few years. He had been escorting her back and forth from home to work.

Yoongi had been disallowed to see her after being undercover so he could get a proper therapy before doing field work again. So Namjoon seemed the next obvious choice to take care of her.

Finally Belle turned around to face him, eyes raking down his torso and seeing new designs etched on his skin. Not as precise as the phoenix but still beautiful. “The tattoos look good.”

Jungkook glanced down at his torso with a soft grin. “A friend did them for me.” He met her gaze again even though she quickly averted it, plunging silence back into the room as they waited for it to be filled. “Belle…why are you here?”

Her body deflated as the question lingered in the air, lump growing in her throat while her knees kept trembling. “I—” Belle closed her eyes. “I mis—I missed you.” She smiled sadly before trailing her glossy gaze away again. “It sounds stupid when I say after so long.” Her voice kept getting constricted from the lump, tears filling at the brim of her eyes. “But I still think about you…I still kept that—stupid letter after all these years.”

A familiar warmth seeped through his veins knowing she missed him but it still mixed with dread and guilt. Jungkook scarred her memories forever with his presence and she was so confused on what it meant. He could see the way she shifted and looked away as if trying to push reality away but face it all the same. “I hurt you a lot. I’m so sorry—if I—if I could do it all over again, I’d do it better.”

“How could it have been better?” Belle shook her head. “We met when my brother owed you a debt.”

Jungkook raised his shoulders. “Maybe we’d have met at your boutique.” He attempted to smile a little at the thought of just walking into that boutique and falling in love the normal way. The happy way. “I’d have flirted with you a lot and you’d roll your eyes at me. We’d travel together to Paris or Tokyo, explore the things we love and eat ice-cream until our stomachs ached.” A tiny chuckle passed through his lips.

Belle had to suck in her trembling bottom lip as tears began escaping down her cheeks. “And?”

“We’d get married…properly. Away from my family, we’d relax somewhere at a beach.” The visions in his mind played without any effort causing his eyes to flood knowing it was all an impossible dream now. “We’d have children…we’d love them so much, Belle—”

She couldn’t hold in the sobs that shook through her body. At the very mention of children, Belle felt a tingle under the skin of her belly, memories of the aches still lingering. “Why didn’t you just take the money?”

“What?” He whispered.

“Why didn’t you just take the money? And don’t tell me it was because of business or keeping up appearances. Why? Why me?”

The ever burning question. Even the interrogators asked them the question. What was the motive to taking in Miss Kim? A lot of people owed you debts. Jungkook only answered with a vague, menial answer that had no real connection to his deeds as a boss.

“It was—it was just an impulse…”

Belle’s expression hardened even though her eyes still looked so vulnerable and broken. “An impulse?” Her voice was small and meek. “That’s it?”

“I didn’t think you’d—say yes.”

Saying it to Hoseok was easy. Saying it to Belle felt evil. Jungkook noticed the darkness clouding over her beautiful features, a mixture of heartbreak and pure rage.

“You put my brother’s life on the line and you thought I wasn’t going to say yes?” Belle winced, tone rising back to its original power. A harsh slap of reality learning that one of the most traumatizing experiences of her life happened because one man had an impulse decision to use his power over her.

“Belle, it was years ago—”

“So why am I still getting nightmares about it?!” She shrieked leaving a tense silence to plunge into the room while her voice still echoed through the walls a little. “W-why h-haven’t I stopped seeing t-that mansion every time I close my eyes? Wh-why do I wake u-up scared that I’m still in that room w-while they watch—” Belle let out a loud, trembling breath closing her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping to her chest from her jawline as she hugged herself tightly.

Jungkook stammered, swallowing down the painful lump in his throat as he attempted to keep his composure. “You didn’t have to come and see me.” He whispered.

“I wanted you to see me.” Belle sniffled shakily. “Staying away from you doesn’t help because you could always push it out. I can’t—I can’t push it out because it’s inside me.”

“You think all this has been easy for me? That I just pushed it out?” Jungkook shook his head with a pained expression as their gazes met again. “Yeah our first meeting was an impulse but that didn’t mean it was always like that. I stopped a lot of contact with my family when you told me you were pregnant. That letter was meant to be the last thing I said to my parents before we left.”

Belle wanted to argue that he just started getting sympathetic after her pregnancy but she would be a hypocrite. Even she felt softened knowing a child was growing inside her. “You wanted to kill the mayor too, Jungkook, how long would that have taken?”

“Overnight if it meant I’d be escaping somewhere with you.” Jungkook spoke without hesitation, still remembering all the plans he had in place for their move.

“But I would’ve lost the baby anyway.” She smiled sadly. “It was natural causes.”

The male took a few careful steps forward, trying not to intimidate her but hopefully close a little more distance between them. “I didn’t just do it for the baby, Belle.” Jungkook sighed. “I did it cause I love you…but I knew we couldn’t be happy if we were at that mansion and I was still running the cartel.”

Belle sniffled. “I wish you didn’t love me.” Her chin trembled, her body tired of brewing more sobs as tears filled her eyes again. “I wish I didn’t love you. Maybe all this would be easier.”

“When has it ever been easy between us?”

“That’s the problem.” She pressed her lips together. “Love shouldn’t be this difficult. Maybe sometimes but—every single day wondering whether what you’re feeling is real…or worrying that something terrible is going to happen if I stay with you for too long.” Features contorted in pain as she stumbled on her feet a little.

Jungkook’s inhibitions banished immediately seeing her trip slightly, rushing to her side and gently holding onto her arm. Before he could say anything, he felt Belle rest her head on his chest. A burst of butterflies soared across his belly having that familiar smell touch his nostrils and the warmth of her body radiating onto his cold bare skin.

They didn’t say a single word as Jungkook properly wrapped his arms around her body, fingers brushing through her soft hair. Her sobs were quiet but her body still trembled and his embraced tightened a little. As if praying that all of her pain could be transferred to him so she did not have to suffer through it all.

Belle should have pulled away the moment he touched her but the warmth was too much. Her body felt heavy against his, melting onto his skin almost like they could join as one. Maybe that could repair some of the damage. Breathing became steady as she allowed herself to relax. A protective part of her still tried ensure she was not too vulnerable but another part said it was too late.

In this particular weakened moment, she was his and he was hers.

15 unread messages.

Namjoon: How did it go? Are you good?

Namjoon: Taehyung said you didn’t come home last night.

Namjoon: Belle?

Namjoon: I don’t want to have to track you down.

Namjoon: Please tell me if you’re okay.

Namjoon: Yoongi and Taehyung found out, I’m sorry.

Belle: I’m okay.

Namjoon: Jesus, don’t scare me like that.

Namjoon: Where are you?

Belle: I’m still at Jungkooks’ place.

Namjoon: Okay. Is everything alright?

Belle: I don’t know.

Namjoon: What do you mean? Did he hurt you?

Belle: No.

Namjoon: Just tell me what happened.

Namjoon: Look I’m not Yoongi or Taehyung. I won’t get mad, alright? You can tell me.

Belle: I slept with him.

Namjoon: Okay that’s fine.

Belle: No it’s not.

Namjoon: Did he hurt you or force you or anything?

Belle: No, no it was consensual.

Namjoon: Then I don’t see an issue.

Belle: How?

Namjoon: Considering he’s a former drug lord, I expected far worse things done to you then you two just consensually having sex.

Belle: Are they really angry?

Namjoon: I’ll handle Yoongi and Angel’s handling Taehyung. They’re grown men, they’ll get over it.

Namjoon: Just come back up again.

Belle: Okay. Thank you, Joon.

Namjoon: Anytime.

Belle let out a sigh, chest falling a little as she hugged her phone for a moment before placing it on the nightstand. Eyes scanned the ceiling, a few brownish stains here and there but nothing far too putrid. Her old apartment usually had those stains after a storm. She felt Jungkook shift a little, his arm still resting over her body while his face buried into her neck. It was so easy allowing the warmth to coat their little bubble.

Except it was not a bubble of theatrics. She was not pretending to be Mrs. Jeon anymore. She was a fashion designer with her boutique and Jungkook was a regular man trying to get by in the city. They were two normal people with no real threat to be together but they were here.

The ache between her legs still pulsed a little when she remembered the night before.

The very minute she resorted to hugging him, Belle knew it was going to be difficult to turn back from it. Deep recesses of her mind surfacing up to whisper in her ear that it would be okay just this once.

To feel him again.

To have his head between her legs at this moment, kissing and nibbling on all her sensitive nub while his fingers pads dug into her thighs. Jungkook took his time. Licking a stripe tantalizingly slow, tasting her juices until it was the only remnant on his tongue. He let out a breath through his nose as his lips wrapped fully around her clit, suckling passionately until her thighs closed up around his head only making him moan.

Belle whined against the vibrations on her aching, sensitive skin as her fingers found themselves knotting in his hair. Chest rising and falling she faced the ceiling. Lower belly burned and tightened as Jungkooks’ movement did not falter, shaking his head a little to jolt more of that head-spinning heat.

…

Bed creaked as Belle straddled him, bouncing at a steady pace while her hands rested on his torso. Moonlight painted her sweat glistening skin through the window. As if the whole city could see her relishing in her own guilty pleasure. Except the guilt was nowhere to be found.

His hand trailed up her abdomen to cup her breasts gently, digging a little into her tender skin to earn a small whimper from the woman. Then he moved up to her neck. Jungkook cupped the side, thumb tracing her bottom lip while the other hand gripped at her shaking hips.

Belle suckled on his digit muffling her moans all the while clenching tightly around his member until it sent shivering tingles up her spine. She hummed in satisfaction as Jungkook groaned at the pressure.

“You feel so good.” He pushed in his thumb a little further watching her slightly drenched curls fall over her face. A smile curled up at the corner of his lips hearing the sinfully loud squelch sounds their thrusts emitted. “So fucking beautiful.” Jungkook whispered. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, wanting to take every second of how she tried to suck on his skin harder every time she dropped down roughly.

“I’m close.” Belle’s words were a little muddled against his thumb. Her thrusts grew desperate and relentless, pussy squelching violently as their incessant moans swirled in the sex scented air.

Bursts of searing heat and unbridled pleasure shook through their limbs, pulsing through her veins as Belle’s movements became sloppy. Jungkook had his head pressed deep against the pillow as his muscles tensed feeling her walls clench around him before he pulled himself out, release spewing out onto his belly. Belle cheekily reached down to touch his reddened member, giggling lightly when he jerked against it.

Jungkook followed with a breathless chuckle of his own as she rested back on his chest, uncaring of how messy they were.

It was the first time they laughed after sex.

Granted it was not much but last night gave her a dreamless sleep. A welcomed type of sleep. They cried, hugged, moaned and laughed. So many sensations all at once was bound to make anyone have such a deep sleep that they do not want to wake up the next day. A wonderful feeling. It would be temporary before her other dreams settle in again but Belle was not going to let them get to her this morning. She wanted to relish in this new, momentary peace.

Jungkook began stirring more, light hum under his breath until he finally opened his eyes to a calming sight. Tired vision still a little blurred but he could always make out her face. “Sleep well?” His voice grumbled despite the smile creeping on his lips.

Belle turned to meet his gaze, mimicking his gentle smile. “Really well.” The curl slowly disappeared from her lips as reality seeped through their comfort. “We can’t see each other anymore. You know that, right?”

He nodded although solemnly. “I know.” Whatever red string they forced themselves to tie around their pinky finger had to separate one day. Even when reluctance settled in. “Like you said, love shouldn’t be as difficult as ours was.” Jungkook shifted so he lay down his back, one arm curled so he could rest his head on top of it.

“I don’t have to leave now though.”

“What, you want more?” Jungkook licked the inside of his cheek as a smirk formed, one of his hands reaching out to gently touch her lower belly.

Belle pushed his hand away with a chuckle. “No…I meant something else.” She pulled the sheets up to cover herself a little, goosebumps forming on her skin when the room brushed a little cold. “Ice-cream. We could get ice-cream.”

A jolt of nostalgia burst through him as he remembered the last time that request was passed between them. Despite expecting a child back then, Jungkook preferred this more knowing Belle was sitting here by her own volition. That was what mattered most. “Yeah…we can get ice-cream.”

Tiny slab of pink and mint down the food line of the city. Belle somehow managed to make his black T-shirt and her sweatpants look strangely put together while he buried himself in his hoodie. They walked inside the cute parlor immediately greeted by a kind boy at the counter.

Making their orders, the couple took their ice-cream cups to a booth at the corner.

Thankfully the parlor was empty since no one bought ice-cream this early in the morning so it would be difficult for them to be spotted.

Journalists eventually grew bored of doing stories on Jungkook and Belle’s ‘tragic love story’ but she knew the moment, a single person saw them, it would be chaos.

“Did you have any trouble these few years?” Jungkook asked feeling a sense of joy in his mouth as the sweet taste touched his tongue.

Belle shrugged lightly. “Apparently there was a hired hitman for a while but he was quickly detained. Then a stalker which lasted for a few months.”

“What did he want?”

“Namjoon found out he was a spy for a gang called Pogpungu Pa.”

“Fucking tongue twister.” Jungkook scoffed. “They wanted a large percentage of my cocaine supplies in exchange for prostitutes.” He waved his spoon. “Told him I didn’t work in that line of business so the Don got pissed.”

“Well he’s also detained. Namjoon’s been very quick in dealing with them. Probably happy to be out on the field again with Yoongi still at his desk.” Belle suckled the remnants of brownie bits from her spoon.

“Why is he at his desk?” His brows furrowed.

“Standard procedure, I guess. Every detective is meant to have a few months of therapy and leave from field work. But I’m pretty sure it’s a new thing that the mayor advised.”

“They’ve been doing a lot of things.”

“A lot of good things.” Belle corrected, narrowing her gaze even though her expression was not completely serious.

Jungkook smiled lightly picking up another small scoop of his ice-cream. “You’ve been doing a lot of good things. The Tokyo fashion week.”

Her eyes almost immediately lit up when the topic was mentioned and Jungkook couldn’t help but feel accomplished that he initiated it. “You knew about that?”

“Saw it in the newspaper. It looked good.”

Belle grinned from ear to ear, eyes shining in the bright lights of the parlor. “Angel helped me with the movement. She wanted to create a shelter for domestic violence victims like her. So I offered to promote it in the fashion shows.”

“Oh yeah Hoseok told me…Taehyung and Angel, they have a kid, right?”

“Yeah…” She giggled lightly. “A little baby daughter.”

“That’s good.” Jungkook nodded with a wide smile. “He’s all okay now?”

“Clean and sober for four years. He—relapsed another time but when they got married and then started trying for children, he never went back again.” Belle murmured still remembering the happiest look on Taehyung’s teary eyed face when he first held his baby. That was all she ever wanted for her brother. True happiness. “I kind have you to thank for that.”

He hummed in disapproval. “Don’t, please—the way I did it was wrong.”

“Yes but everything happens for a reason. I think if that didn’t happen…he might not be here at all.” Belle shook his head. “He also did technically meet Angel in the Sangria House. The only reason we even had her booked was because I met Seokjin at the party with you.”

Strange how time fools you in that way. It makes you feel regretful of the bad things that happened in the past except you could not possibly take them back because it would mean diminishing the good things along with it. Delicate and strange thing time was.

“I would’ve never been free from that place if you didn’t go behind my back.” Jungkook smiled down at the cup. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“Speaking of which…how is it like being a normal joe in the city?” Belle asked with a cheeky glint in her eye as she tapped her fingers against the ice-cream cup.

“Apparently you have to pay for grocery bags now.” He waved his spoon around.

“Yes for recycling and it’s been happening for a very long time.” She smiled.

His bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. “Not from what I remember.”

“Since when have you ever shopped for groceries?”

Jungkook scrunched his nose a little poking into the mint chocolate ice cream to pick out the chips. “Since yesterday.” He mumbled. “But I’m happy…” He nodded letting his words linger in their comfortable silence. “Or at least now I can do things that make me happy.”

“You could travel to Tokyo and Paris, eat ice-cream until your stomach aches…” Belle grinned. “You can get married to someone you love dearly and have lots of children. No more deals though.” She raised her index fingers as a warning.

Jungkook laughed. “No more deals, I promise.” He mixed around his melting ice-cream for a bit enjoying the little swirl. “What about you? What’re you going to do?”

“My therapist said I should take some time off from the boutique when I get the chance.” Belle quoted her therapist mostly but she never really thought about the prospect on her own until she discussed it with Yoongi. “Yoongi suggested we could go to Norway to disconnect for a little while.”

“Yoongi…wait, are you two—”

“No, silly. As friends.”

“Ah.”

“You think if I had a boyfriend like Yoongi, I’d sleep with you again?” Belle scoffed even though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Hey I’m pretty tempting.”

“Not that tempting.”

Jungkook scrunched his nose at her before chuckling as he practically slurped on his ice-cream at this point.

The couple sat in silence for a few moments finishing their breakfast desserts, unable to keep smiles off their faces.

“We go our separate ways now, yeah?” He spoke the truth this time. The satisfaction in his belly along with the warmth in his heart softly stating to him that it was time.

Belle smiled, a slight twinge in her chest but nothing compared to the relief brewing inside. A whisper in her ear telling her it was okay. It was okay to move on. “Yeah. No more looking back.”

Throwing their empty ice-cream cups away, the pair walked out of the parlor towards Belle’s car. Jungkook’s apartment was a few minutes’ walk away. She wanted to drive because it made it that little bit easier to go back home immediately. At this point, they both deserved one thing to be easy.

Belle gave him one final smile before climbing into the car and driving away.

Jungkook didn’t wait a second as he turned on his heel and walked back to his apartment.

This was the true final time they saw each other. They would not turn back. There was no need to anymore.

As soon as Jungkook walked into the room, it smelled a whole lot more different than it did the first time. The only smoke emitting was from the pan exuding a warm, delicious scent. Morning sun beaming through the windows making it look a tad bit brighter and the floors almost shone clean now.

“There you are!” Hoseok announced with a grin. “Did you go out for a jog?”

“Yeah…a little bit.” He answered absentmindedly.

A figure with short, black hair stood at the kitchen counter setting some bacon and eggs up on the plate. She looked up and immediately give him a similar bright smile as Hoseok.

“Ah—this is Rosyne.” Hoseok touched the womans’ shoulder. “Rosyne, Jungkook.” He gestured over to the younger male.

The two exchanged greetings before Hoseok invited him over to the kitchen counter to have breakfast. He wanted to tell them that his stomach was a little full from the ice-cream. But it felt so peaceful when he saw the giggles shared between them while eating, random conversations that no one really cared about but it made them smile.

Jungkook stayed still for a moment watching them so easily be vulnerable and happy around each other. “Hey, you guys want to go to Paris?” He sat down on one of the stools.

Rosyne’s eyes widened a little as the request lingered in the air while Hoseok looked amused but taken aback at the same time.

“Why the sudden interest?” Hoseok chuckled, sticking his fork into some scrambled eggs.

He shrugged. “Might be cool to disconnect for a little while.”

“Prison wasn’t disconnecting enough?”

Jungkook nudged his arm with a light scoff. “You know what I mean. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’ve—always wanted to see the Louvre in real life.” Rosyne raised her shoulders, giving Hoseok an adorable smile.

“Don’t spoil him, Ros.” Hoseok glanced at the both of them for a few moments before letting out a defeated sigh. “We’ll think about it.”

Jungkook did not argue any further after that and began taking careful bites of the breakfast even though it might give him a stomach ache later. The thought of something actually exciting happening this year or the next year made him happy enough to keep going on this new life.

Carefully padding into the apartment, Belle’s footsteps were soft and barely echoed across the walls but there was no use in being discreet. Especially since Yoongi, Taehyung, Namjoon and Angel were all in the sitting room. Bloom sat on the floor completely focused on banging her little drums that Namjoon gifted her on her first birthday.

Once Angel looked her way, everyone else followed suit. Yoongi was the first one to shoot up to his feet and stomp towards the woman.

“What took you so long?” Yoongis’ words sounded more like pleading than anger. “Are you hurt?” Eyes frantically examined her body until his gaze darkened as he stopped at her neck.

Belle hovered her hand over the patch of skin that definitely had a few purpling marks scattered but she kept a calm expression. “Everything’s fine, okay? Nothing happened.”

“No something happened.”

“Yoongi, fuck off.” Namjoon grabbed his shoulder and led him to the side. “Good to have you back in one piece, B.”

As the two men sat near the paneled windows muttering a few things to each other, Belle caught another figure coming towards her from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath keeping her gaze on her brother.

Taehyung looked so much taller now. Loose emerald shirt with golden vectors as opposed to the old black hoodies, his eyes were a little darkened from exhaustion but this time it was to take care of his baby rather than an accidental bender. The serious expression on his face added more to the fact that Belle had her older brother back. He was sturdy in his appearance and confident in his stance. The look of a man who had gone through a tunnel of hell and found happiness at the end of the trail.

“How’d it go?” He asked.

“Pretty civil…” Belle nodded, playing with her fingers a little. “…considering the circumstances.”

Taehyung hummed in approval. “That’s good. And that?” He waved his index finger across his own bare neck while looking at hers. “Good or bad?”

“Good.” She smiled faintly. “Really good.”

He grimaced a little. “Gross.”

“Shut up.”

Taehyung could not seem to keep his serious expression as a light chuckle broke out of him, shifting on his spot to loosen up. “But—no more, right? We’re gonna try to get back up again? Start over?” He would be the last person to ever judge Belle for her impulses. What he did know is that the impulses were not meant to be a constant.

Belle did not hesitate to nod. “I uh—I wanted to go to Norway. With Yoongi…” She glanced over to the side seeing Yoongi give her a more apologetic look which the woman smiled in response. “And maybe you guys too? Get away from the city for a while.” She shrugged. “Might even give me inspiration on the new line.”

He thought on the idea for a moment but quickly had a wide grin on his lips. “Angel’s been talking about going on a holiday. We could talk about it over breakfast.”

“Let me just go freshen up.” Belle patted him on the shoulder before making her up the top level of the apartment to her bedroom.

Being the owner of a prestigious boutique came with its perks when she managed to get a big enough apartment for three people including safety for children. It was in the highly populated areas of the city which is meant to be the best area for the position they were in. With Angel’s first husband and Belle’s connection to the Jeon Cartel, the more witnesses around them, the better.

Walking into her bedroom, Belle had one thing in mind before going to shower as she opened her walk-in closet. On the top shelves a box had been hidden under some folded sheets. She reached out and pulled it towards her feeling the light trickle of dust flow through the air making her sneeze.

Sniffling a little she brought the brown box and sat down on the bed with it. Belle paused for a moment, a very light tinge of dread brushing through her but there was a strength that seemed to power through it. Taking a deep breath she clicked open the box. Two tiny yellow shoes on the right hand side causing her to let out a shaky sigh, smiling a little as a few tears filled her eyes.

Belle held the shoes gently, hugging them to her chest before placing them on her lap. Then her eyes moved from the bracelet to the piece of folded paper. The warmth in her belly soared again taking the letter, unfolding to reveal the heavy promise scratched across the surface. The promise that kept her up at night for this many years. How much words could impact a mind was both fascinating and terrifying.

No more though. It was time. Something her therapist said to her in one session Belle would never forget.

It’s never about one solid destination of healing. You will never know exactly when you were healed. All you can know is when you decide to start or keep healing. That is what’s important. After that, everything will flow by you…in the future, it will all seem like a dream. But you’ll feel so proud of yourself when you look back, Belle. Even more proud than I am of you now. You’ve done so well and I hope you’ll keep healing.

Belle placed her fingers at the top of the letter and ripped it half, letting out a deep of relief as she put them together, ripping it again. Smaller and smaller the pieces became breaking off like petals from the already withering flowers in her heart. A smile widened on her lips as she let out something in the mixture of a chuckle and a sob, tears freely leaving her eyes. Teeny tiny pieces piled on the bed. Helping to remind her that they were just words after all.

With steady hands she gathered them together and threw it into the bin under her nightstand.

Then Belle took the yellow shoes and walked to the living room.

The group were already settling around the kitchen counter when she arrived. Angel had Bloom in a high chair feeding her some custard looking mush which she seemed to enjoy though slightly confused by the taste.

Belle walked over to where the child was and gently placed the yellow shoes on her socked feet. She could not help but grin seeing how it fit perfectly. Everything happens for a reason.

“Those are beautiful.” Angel gently touched the soft fabric. “Did you make them?”

“I got them from the market years ago.” She softly brushed through Blooms’ thin dark hair as the child tried to peek at what her aunt put on her feet.

“We were just talking about the trip to Norway.” Taehyung spoke up leaning against the counter next to Angel.

“Yeah, why was I not invited?” Namjoon pouted a little.

Belle stammered, chuckling lightly. “It was Yoongi’s suggestion…we can all go together. I thought you wanted to do field work for the rest of the year.”

“Still would’ve liked to be included.”

Bloom squeaked in response to Namjoon’s mumble, bouncing up and down her seat.

“Might need a babysitter if Taehyung wants to get laid.” Yoongi mused.

“Ah, language.” Angel covered Blooms’ ears but the baby only grinned wide looking at Yoongi.

“She’s not going to know what it means.”

“Listen, we’ll go together.” Belle silenced the group for a moment. “Namjoon forgets to take breaks from work anyway so it’d be a good way to force him out somewhere relaxing.”

“Norway does have a low crime rate.” Taehyung spoke.

“So it’s settled. We’re going to Norway and forget about our problems for a month.” Angel announced glancing at each one of them for a nod of approval.

Belle grinned seeing the group dive into their conversations about what to do in Norway and what hotels to book or the sights to see. No worries of any impending problem or event that could ruin everything. It was just peace in the loudest way possible. All you can know is when you decide to start or keep healing. That is what’s important.

She broke for her family once.

Now she was going to keep healing for it too.

<< PREV CHAP

#jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

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hizashis-lil-bunbun · 3 years

Text

BNHA Valentine’s Day Headcanons!

Happy first day of February! Some of my Discord friends and I were brainstorming how different My Hero characters would celebrate Valentine’s Day. So let’s give ‘em a whirl! All characters are adults or aged up to be 18+ in these scenarios.

Big thanks to @varnienne, @emmappelle, @sweet-darling91, @donica95, and @katsontherun for letting me bounce ideas off of them. 💖

⚠️MOSTLY FLUFF BUT THERE IS SOME NSFW AHEAD!⚠️

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

SFW

Gotta start with my blonde bby. And the best way I can describe his ideal Valentine’s is BIG and LOUD!

He’s never been one shy away from telling you how he feels, but he’s especially talkative on V-Day. Going on and on about how lucky he is, how much he loves you, etc.

It’s love songs all day, baby! From blasting modern pop songs while he makes breakfast to sweet, old-fashioned tunes that he makes you slow dance with him to in the living room. He’s a true romantic (and a surprisingly good dancer to boot).

And he might even (re: definitely will) serenade you. The man is a musician after all! In fact, don’t be surprised if Hizashi wrote a song just for you.

As far as gifts go, Hizashi goes all out. He’s a hero and a celebrity, with the salaries to match. So you can expect a few big ticket items. Plus, he’s a good listener. If you ever mentioned something you needed/wanted/expressed interest in, chances are it will arrive wrapped up in red and pink paper on the day.

“Hey little listener! Remember how ya said you might wanna try painting? No? Well I turned the spare room into a studio for ya anyways! Maybe you can make me something to hang up at the station, yeah?”

But just because his gifts are expensive and flashy, that doesn’t mean he devalues your own. Hizashi will blubber and gush over anything you give him, from lavish luxuries to a something as simple as a homemade card. Loudly I might add. Make sure to have earplugs handy.

Unfortunately, one of the drawbacks of having a radio star as your partner is that he’ll most likely have to work on Valentine’s Day. It’s even worse if he had teach that day as well. So don’t count on any fancy dinners until after the 14th.

But if you tune into his station on the day (and you will), there will be at least three or four songs dedicated to “his favorite little listener.”

NSFW

Even if he can’t be with you on the actual night, he’s definitely going to make up for lost time. Mood music, candlelight, the whole nine yards. He wants to romance you. To make you feel as good as you make him feel everyday.

Oral and overstimulation are the name of the game, and Hizashi is a giver through and through. He’s happy as a clam once he’s got his face buried between your legs, making you cum for the umpteenth time that night. Seriously, does he ever come up for air?

Praise is also a big thing for him. It flows from his mouth like the sweetest wine. And with his quirk, every whispered word and groan against your body feels just as intoxicating. Good vibrations indeed.

He also loves it when you’re vocal. No love song can compete with the way you cry and moan under his touch. He’ll make you sing for him all night long and into the morning hours.

“Damn, baby. I love you so damn much. Love the way you look cumming on my tongue. Think you can do it again?”

Eijiro Kirishima

SFW

Okay. This boy adores Valentine’s Day! Like it’s his favorite holiday.

And how can he not? Everything in the stores is red! He can stock up on red merchandise for the rest of the year in the span of a week. And believe me, he does.

This means his partner should expect a lot of the cliché gifts on the big day: teddy bears, heart-shaped boxes, and red roses to name a few. Oh, and he’s definitely got a stockpile of cheesy, punny Valentine cards centered around his and his friend’s hero personas.

His favorite is the one that says “I think you’re a Red Riot! Be my Valentine?” But maybe that’s partially because it came from you.

Kirishima doesn’t just shower you with crimson trinkets; he buys treats for everyone! Especially his closest friends. To him, Valentine’s is all about showing the people he loves most just how much he cares. And it’s honestly adorable to see him practically bouncing off the walls in excitement when he finds a little red treasure for this year’s celebration.

“Babe! Look at that red shark plushie. It looks just like me! So manly!”

*proceeds to buy seven of them: one for him, one for you, and one for everyone in the Bakusquad + Tetsutetsu*

But at the end of the day, once all the chocolates and stuffed animals have been given away, he’ll make sure you know there’s no one he loves more than you. He spends the final hours alone with you, eating a home cooked meal and cuddling on the couch. Times like these are his favorite, just being to hold you close and appreciate your presence in his life.

Fair warning though. You’ll probably end up watching some some cheesy romcom, cuz he loves those too.

NSFW

Of course, the red theme continues in the bedroom: red rose petals, red sheets, even a set of red lingerie he bought just for the occasion. Which he proceeds to rip apart minutes after you’ve gotten them on. Hope they weren’t too expensive.

Kirishima tries to be gentle with you, he really does. Savoring your pleasure and letting your orgasms crest and fall naturally. He wants to see you cooing and boneless by the end of the night.

But sometimes he underestimates his own strength and gets a little rougher than expected. Maybe he gives too sharp of a love bite, or squeezes your hips a little too hard. But it’s all done out of passionate love, so you don’t mind too much.

You might actually prefer it if he gets a little rougher.

However, if you wanna get kinky, there is one thing Kiri’s always down for: pulling you over his knee for a good, old-fashioned spanking. His quirk is perfect for it, hardening the palm of his hand just before it smacks down on the soft flesh. It’s like he has a set of built-in paddles. Trust me, if you let him get into a good rhythm, by the end of the night your ass will match the Valentine’s decor perfectly.

“Not pushing you too hard am I, beautiful? I know I can be unbreakable sometimes, but I never want to break you. I love you too much to do that.”

Mirio Togata

SFW

TBH, before he met you, Mirio was a bit of a player (which is kinda canon). Like “has a different date every year” player.

And can you blame him? He’s a total heartbreaker with that (le)million dollar smile and those baby blue eyes. He got so much Valentine’s chocolate from girls in high school, it was sickening! But with you, things are different.

For starters, he’s not so big on material gifts. Giving or receiving.

“How could I want anything more when I’ve got my sunshine right here?”

No, this sweet himbo is all about making memories with his partner! Sharing experiences and spending as much quality time together as possible.

So he plans everything days, sometimes weeks, in advance. Budgeting his time and money to squeeze as much love into a single day as humanly possible.

The moment you wake up on February 14th, he hits the ground running. Quite literally! He’s practically doing laps around your bedroom in his excitement to get the day started.

Valentine’s Day with Mirio turns out to be a marathon of couple activities. Bike riding to a local café for breakfast. Sight-seeing in Tokyo followed by ice cream in the afternoon. He even manages to sniff out a carnival for you to go to in the evening, letting you run amok on the rides and games. And yes, he definitely spends too much money trying to win you one of those giant stuffed animals.

By the end of the day, you’re thoroughly spent and just want to snuggle up next to him. And maybe have a late night snack of chocolate. Mirio is more than happy to indulge you, even offering to carry you home. Anything to be close to his precious sunshine.

NSFW

Despite your sleepiness and aching feet, Mirio insists he has one last surprise to give you. So he asks you to lay face-down on the bed and wait for him. Naked of course.

Once he finds what he’s looking for, he straddles your tailbone with his thighs and squirts something slippery onto your back. You yelp at the cold sensation and that earns a laugh from Mirio. He tells you it’s massage oil. One specifically designed to relieve muscle tension.

It’s like he knew you’d be sore after his day of non-stop adventuring. Almost like he planned it... What a smooth criminal.

It makes sense though. Maybe it’s because his quirk requires him to pass through things, but physical touch is his primary love language. Nothing grounds him quite like having you in his arms, worshiping every inch of your body.

He works you over, kneading at the muscles in your back, hips, and legs with steady pressure and prescision. He even rubs your feet, making the earlier pains melt away into bliss.

You’re almost too sleepy and relaxed to realize one of his hands is creeping up your body until it’s too late. Next thing you know, he’s curling his fingers into you, amplifying the pleasure of the massage in a new way. Like I said, Mirio’s a smooth criminal when he wants to be.

“Feeling good, sunshine? Yeah, I’ll bet you are. You always look so cute like this... just makes me want to kiss you all over. Maybe I will! But I think you’re still a little tense right... here.”

#hizashi yamada #kirishima eijirou #mirio togata #bnha headcanons #valentines #present mic #red riot #lemillion #bnha smut #mha headcanons #mha smut

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lloydshoulddyehishair · 3 years

Text

Home Is Where You Are

Summary: Morro loved his cousin more than anything in the world. Sadly, the rest of Ninjago couldn't seem to share that kind of affection. or In which Lloyd gets stabbed and Morro would like to do nothing more than join forces with his uncle and burn the entire city down.

[Movieverse]

Sometimes Morro wanted to beat up the world. Punch it until its only remains were about the size of a football and then burn it until the ashes of the ashes had ashes.

Sometimes, was most of the time.

But it really wasn’t his fault that the world had to be a stupid place filled with stupid people, that formed a stupid society that had somehow normalized the bullying of a fifteen year old boy, for something he had no control over.

That fifteen year old boy also happened to be his cousin, Lloyd Garmadon, son of evil Lord Garmadon, a warlord who attacked Ninjago on a weekly basis, trying to conquer it.

And while, obviously, everyone in Ninjago had labelled Lord Garmadon as “evil”, their tiny, tiny brains (if brains the size of a peanut could even pass for brains anymore) somehow had come up with the idea that Lloyd was “evil” too. Why? Because he was his son. Simple as that.

No one cared about the fact that the boy had never met his dad, hell, he had never even as much as exchanged a single word with him and Morro wasn’t even sure if Garmadon knew that his son existed.

But somehow that went over everyone’s heads because Lloyd Garmadon was blamed for every attack and every inconvenience in the city – he was easily the second most hated person in Ninjago, right after Lord Garmadon himself, of course.

The thing was, Lord Garmadon had it easy – in Morro’s humble opinion – because the warlord got to attack the city and then simply vanish back into his volcano in the middle of the sea – with no one able to reach him. And with Lord Garmadon being out of reach, Lloyd had to catch all the fists flying at him, all the insults people would throw against his head. The people just wanted to let their hatred and frustration out at someone – and that someone, was his little cousin.

Morro did his best to protect him as much as he possibly could, he loved the boy with his whole heart, he was his whole pride and joy. He was like a light in a dark for him, leading his way, giving him something to hold onto. But sadly, Morro wasn’t always able to be there, when he needed him. He couldn’t always pick fights for Lloyd and he knew that the fifteen year old would rather die than fight someone. His cousin wasn’t much for physical violence.

He understood why, though.

If Lloyd were to snap, it would be instantly used by everyone as some stupid “evidence” that he was just like his father, that he was evil and that he was going to destroy them all and join forces with Lord Garmadon.

Bullshit. The elder hated how stupid and blind Ninjago's citizens were.

Lloyd wasn’t evil, never had been evil, never even did anything remotely evil.

They were the real bad guys. All of them. Hypocrites. How dare they call his baby cousin a “villain-in-the-making” when they were the ones cursing him out, insulting him on the daily, trending disgusting songs about him and beating him up. And what did Lloyd do? He just took it. Took all the insults, took all the punches, never daring to stand up for himself or returning the favor. And why?

Because Lloyd was good.

Too good, for his own good, Morro thought as he looked up at his cousin's face, seeing silently tears streaming over his cheek.

“Tell me who did this to you,” the raven head's voice stern and stable as his hands made his way to his bleeding abdomen again, pushing a tissue on it to try and stop the bleeding.

Lloyd bit his lip, like he always did when he was nervous. His eyes continued to stare at the tiles of Morro’s bathroom, filling with tears once again. He shook his head quickly, blond locks stained with blood falling into his face.

“Lloyd.”

A sigh escaped him.

He loved his cousin but sometimes he just wanted to take him and squeeze his stubbornness out of him.

“This wasn’t a usual attack anymore, Lloyd. They stabbed you! They are getting bolder with their stupidity. You need to go to the police with this, they–”

“‘They’ what?” Lloyd’s head turned to him, looking at him in desperation and anger. “Don’t you get it? The police don't care about what happens to me! They could find me bleeding out on the street and they would just walk over me as if I were–,” the words suddenly seemed to be stuck in his throat, making him lower his gaze, once again, in – in embarrassment? In sadness? He wasn’t sure.

Morro’s eyes widened slightly, once he realized that Lloyd was right.

The police were just as shitty as the rest of the citizens of Ninjago. They already treated him as if he were a criminal, even though Lloyd probably had the cleanest criminal record in the whole city.

Stupid police, stupid people, stupid–

He silently nodded to himself, trying to think of what they were going to do next.

“Okay, no police then, but we need to get you to the hospi–”

“No!” The teen interrupted him once again, which was honestly getting quite annoying. Usually he would be the one interrupting the other. “No hospital! My mom can’t know about this and–” a hiss escaped his lips as Morro pulled the tissue from his wound, dry blood ripping from his skin. “–we can’t afford it. We need to deal with this on our own, it’s not that deep anyways.”

“Lloyd, it’s a stab wound.”

“I’ve gotten away with worse injuries, without going to the hospital.”

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

Morro was quite aware of the dozen of times Lloyd would come back from battle with his Ninja Gi looking way too much like Kai’s because – oh, hadn’t he mentioned?

Lloyd was the Green Ninja, sworn to protect Ninjago from his father. Protecting the people that bullied him. Just another reason he sometimes wanted to burn this city down and go a bit warlord like his uncle – but that would also mean that he would, probably, have to fight Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. So he shrugged his warlord ambitions under the rug.

“Okay, we can deal with this,” the elder bit the inside of his cheek, silently wishing for his dad to be here to deal with this instead.

He didn’t like seeing Lloyd hurt. It broke his heart.

“It’ll need stitches, though.”

He noticed immediately how the younger's palms started to grab the rim of the bathtub he was sitting on, as if his life depended on it, knuckles going white. “Okay,” he gritted out quietly.

He hated this, everything about this. It felt so, so wrong.

Lloyd shouldn’t be sitting in his bathroom, white as a sheet, seemingly near to passing out from blood loss. Morro shouldn’t have to stitch him up because he couldn’t go to the hospital or the police. His tiles shouldn’t be coated in Lloyd’s blood. And for fucks sake, Lloyd shouldn’t have been spotting a stab wound to begin with.

“I hate this too you know,” the blond’s voice was quiet but audible, nonetheless. Morro could only nod as he grabbed his medical kit from the cabinet.

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

"If I had the chance to, I'd kill the people that did this to you."

"I know, that's why I'm not giving you their names," Lloyd's voice sounded a bit too calm, too collected to be talking about the people that had just tried to kill him.

Morro hid his face behind his palms, trying his best not to scream in frustration. "You shouldn't be protecting them like this. They're criminals, they tried to murder you and all you do is– is–,” a groan escaped his lips.

“Lloyd, I swear to fucking god, you can't keep doing this.”

His words made the room go quiet, not one of the teens daring to say another word. The nineteen year old's eyes wandered over to look at his cousin, who was currently busy biting onto his lip, his expression unreadable and Morro worried that he might have gone too far.

The young teen’s head tilted, teary emerald eyes meeting his own. “Do you think I like this?” a bitter laugh escaped him, though it sounded more like a gasp for air. “I don't like this any more than you do, believe me! You have no idea what it is like to wake up and be scared because you don't know what people will do to you! But there's nothing I can do about it and I've accepted that.”

The raven head felt the blood in his hands run cold, grabbing his cousin by the wrists, shaking him slightly. “Lloyd, you shouldn't accept it just like that! You– you deserve better than how these people treat you.”

“Morro, I know you mean well but,” the blond twisted himself out of his grip. “I was hopeful for so long. I tried to believe that people would change and I tried to let them see that I'm not who they think I am but it didn't do anything – it only made me feel worse. There's nothing I can do. I can't fight back, you know that.”

And he hated how right Lloyd was.

He still remembered how, a few years ago, the younger would cry himself to sleep every night because he just couldn't seem to find friends, no matter how hard he had tried. He still remembered how he would cling onto Morro and sob his soul out until he simply didn't have any tears to spare because he thought something was wrong with him. Otherwise the entire city wouldn't hate him, right?

Morro also still remembered the stinging pain in his chest as he had wiped away the smaller's tears and held him close – trying to be as much of a help as he could but still feeling absolutely useless.

So really, Morro was a fool to believe that Lloyd wouldn't stop caring at some point. It had done nothing but worsen the pain.

That didn't mean he had to like it, though.

“Listen, I know I've told you this many, many times before but–,” he looked out the window, onto the city that had hurt them so much. Onto the city that was ruining Lloyd's life. Onto the city that would possibly be the death of him at some point– He pushed the anger, threatening to overflow, back into the bottle of emotions where it belonged. “What they say,” he spoke quietly but with so much venom in his voice that Lloyd couldn't help but wince. “It doesn't matter. Nothing they say matters, so don't you dare put any worth onto their words–,“ anything Morro had planned to say suddenly vanished to dust as two arms threw themselves around him tightly, blond locks tickling his face.

“I know–,” his whisper left the room numb as a sob escaped his throat, his head just pushing itself more onto Morro's chest. “I know and I'm just so glad that I have you and the others.”

He could feel the tears starting to soak through his shirt and started to play with the blond strands of hair, in an attempt to calm his cousin down.

“It's just so much sometimes and I– I–,” the small voice broke and Morro could swear he could feel his eyes starting to sting.

Silent shushing and sobs were the only sound that filled the room from then on. It was almost suffocating, the contrast from his once so happy and bubbly cousin to– well, to how he was now. The citizens of Ninjago had managed to break his spirit in unimaginable ways.

They broke his baby cousin because they were stupid and egoistic, because they wanted someone to let their anger out on and decided to use Lloyd as a punching bag instead of going to therapy or something for their anger issues–

The nineteen year old, however, really shouldn't be the one talking about people and their anger issues, considering how his own bottled up anger at the citizens started to slowly make its way back to the surface once more.

“I would burn this entire city down if I could,” his voice was drenched in bitterness, Lloyd nonetheless found the strength in himself to laugh, making him calm down slightly.

“That seems like something my dad would say.”

“Well, it seems like him and I would agree on that part, then.”

“Mhm.”

Morro looked down to where his counterpart had now comfortably snuggled up on him, his eyes still puffy but no longer as teary like they were half a second ago. He released a breath he didn't know he had held.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could fix this even if he really wanted to. The only way he knew he could protect Lloyd from this city was by simply taking him and running away, going somewhere else where nobody knew them. He knew that that was impossible though. Aunt Koko couldn’t just leave everything behind and even if she could, Lloyd probably wouldn’t even want to leave because of his duties as the Green Ninja – because he was a self-sacrificing fool who apparently never learned to put his own needs before others.

And Morro wanted to be proud of him for it – really wanted to, because his cousin sacrificed his needs for the greater good. It was brave and noble of him and he should be proud. Perhaps the nineteen year old was a terrible person for even questioning it but– Every so often, usually when Lloyd came home spotting injuries which he knew hadn’t come from fighting Garmadon, he wondered if risking your life for a city that couldn’t care less whether you were alive or dead, was worth it – and in Lloyd’s case they would probably be more than thrilled to see him gone.

Well, until they’d notice that they no longer had a Green Ninja to protect them.

Cowards.

“Your angry thoughts are practically clogging up the air. Can you turn them down, for just one second–”

“Brat,” Morro huffed under his breath a small smirk placing itself onto his lips. It vanished as soon as it had appeared. “My cousin showed up on my front porch with a stab wound, I think I have every right to be angry,” Lloyd frowned, letting go of the elder.

“Morro, not this again. I swear–”

“I mean, you never show up and the only reason you did today was because you were bleeding to death. Seriously, am I not cool enough to get a visit by my annoying cousin anymore,” the raven haired teen grinned at the blond with his eyebrows raised, in an attempt to lighten the mood and get rid of the tense feeling that had settled between them ever since Lloyd had sat down in his bathroom.

He could always let out his bottled up anger on that Chen guy from the Cheer Squad. The smaller had told him something about the boy giving him a hard time, some time ago, hadn’t he?

“What? No! You’re plenty cool– I just didn’t– you know school stuff and my dad and–,”, he stumbled over his words making Morro laugh.

“Lloyd, chill,” he said, making his way up to his desk to get his phone and text Aunt Koko. She probably was already worried sick now that he thought about it “I was just messing with you. I know you’re busy, it’s fine.”

He felt the other stare at him for a second, unable to make out his thoughts, just before–

“You miss me!”

He almost dropped his phone in surprise at the sudden statement. “Wait, wait, no– Who told you that?”

“It’s obvious,” Lloyd mused, walking up behind Morro and placing his chin on his shoulder. “You miss me~ Morro misses me~”

For a second he stopped typing, sighing. “Shut up, I see you enough on TV, to not miss you– For real do they ever show something other than clips of the oh-so-great Green Ninja? Like, we got it, you’re cool and all that. Can we move on? I wanna watch the new episode of Starfarer.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Sure are. Bet you wanna be the Green Ninja yourself. Do I have to lock myself in my room when I sleep at night because you might come in and murder me to take my spot–”

“Oh you definitely should because I might come in and choke you to death for being annoying,” he rolled his eyes, sending the text to his aunt. “Besides, I got my wind powers. What do I need a stupid title for anyways?”

“Not like you use them a lot,” Lloyd replied snarkily, already going over to Morro’s bed and letting himself fall onto the, in his opinion, too hard mattress. “I guess that I’m staying the night?”

Morro just nodded, already looking for more comfortable clothes for Lloyd to sleep in. “Sure are. You don’t think that I’m letting you go out alone right now, do you?”

His cousin sighs. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“We saw how that went, didn’t we?” Morro replies a bit too harshly, almost wanting to take it back immediately, but he knew he was right. The sun had already set outside and Lloyd had just gotten stitches, if he was going to be attacked there’d be no way for him to get out of that fight unharmed. So Morro was going to keep him right where he was. With him.

He only got a hum in response, the younger probably being either too tired to take up another discussion on the matter or just not caring enough to try. Either way, he was fine with it.

“Hey sleepyhead!” he called, throwing the pair of joggers and a shirt right at Lloyd’s face, making a startled cry escape the blond. “Don’t you fall asleep on my bed, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“You’re a big meanie,” the young Garmadon mumbled, taking the clothes off of his face but smiling slightly, nonetheless.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna get some water now. If you drift off while I’m away, I will wake you up.”

And true to his word, he left the room, not even waiting for an answer from Lloyd and entering the kitchen, collapsing on one of the chairs, suddenly feeling the tension pushing him down like weights that weren’t actually there.

He buried his face in his palms as soon as he felt his eyes starting to sting.

“Get a grip,” he hissed quietly to himself. He was a Wu for God’s sake. He didn’t cry, that was something for bratty little Garmadon’s with blond hair and no sense of self-preservation, who got themselves killed almost every day and– Fuck.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, which was soon followed by hot tears streaming down his face.

He was angry. Angry at the city for treating Lloyd the way they did. Angry at Lloyd for not being more careful. Angry at himself for not having been there– But most importantly, he was scared. (Not that he was going to admit that to the Green Ninja, who already felt enough like a burden, even though he wasn’t.)

He was scared of losing his cousin. This whole ordeal had started with petty comments and glances, now they actually went out of their way and harmed him physically, stabbed him. Where was this going to end? When would it be enough for them?

Morro gulped. The only answers he could think of for these questions were terrifying and implied scenarios in which he would no longer have a little cousin to be annoyed at, he’d no longer worry if his family would still be whole after yet another Garmadon attack (because it wouldn't be whole to begin with), there’d be no more clips on TV of Lloyd fighting a bit too overdramatically and doing far too many backflips and there would be no more “Hey Emo-Boy, can I crash at your place? I’m bored” texts, hitting him at 3 am every once in a while.

A world without Lloyd would be an empty one, Morro figures. It would be cold and it would be lonely and he would rather die than live through it.

His legs carried him to the sink, filling the glass in his hands, which he didn’t remember grabbing, with water and chugging it down immediately. Maybe he should grab one of the bottles in the fridge for the teen in the other room – aside from blood loss he really did not need to face dehydration as well.

He spent a second leaning against the fridge with his forehead, desperately attempting to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t be an emotional mess in front of Lloyd, especially not now. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who always kept a clear head.

But after stitching up your cousin's wounds you were allowed to be at least a little shaken up, he supposed.

He took a deep breath, opening the fridge and taking one of the cool water bottles, before making his way up to his room and entering it, just to be greeted by– snoring?

For fucks sake-

Morro’s eyes fell onto the boy laying still on his bed, almost about to shake him and send him to the living room to sleep, but instead he froze, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and– Oh God, if his heart hadn’t broken yet it definitely was now.

He had been so focused on his wounds and being mad at the city that he hadn’t even noticed how exhausted Lloyd looked.

He bit hard onto his lip, only watching the boy, his mind suddenly going blank.

The Son of Garmadon hadn’t even properly put the blanket over himself – but hey, at least he had changed out of his Gi. Morro was going to give him credits for that.

Walking up to the nightstand next to the bed as quietly as he could, the Master of Wind placed the bottle he was still holding onto the little table, for the other to find once he woke up.

Seemed like he would have to sleep on the couch, after all. He made a face at the thought of the back pain he was going to wake up in tomorrow, but at least Lloyd would get proper rest for a night. He could be happy enough that the boy would even be able to be here tomorrow.

Before he knew it his hands had already grabbed the blanket, softly tucking his cousin in. If Lloyd could see him right now he’d most likely call him a big sap, which he, maybe, was but it’s not like his counterpart was any better. And it wasn’t exactly like the young Ninja wasn’t testing his sanity on the daily.

He hummed quietly to himself, already walking out of the room again and turning the lights off. His eyes fell onto his sofa in the living room.

“You and me, huh?” he mumbled, looking like he was on the way towards his deathbed.

But sleeping on the sofa was worth all the back pain in the world as long as he did it for Lloyd.

Because that meant that he still had a squeaky voiced, self-sacrificial, idiot cousin to return to.

#ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #saga writes #hurt/comfort #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #ninjago morro #tlnm #movieverse au #COUSIN MORRO #this is all the crabjago servers fault #serpent im looking specifically at you

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Tempting

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,392 Tags: 16+, Mature SFW, Pre-relationship, Fantasizing, Accidentally turned on, Mentions of sex Summary: Aaron and Sophie both find themselves... tempted. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Hey, just wanted to hand off my profiles,” Sophie says as she peeks her head into Hotch’s office Wednesday night. “Any idea when the department will catch up to the 21st century and let us do these on the computer?” she asks playfully, and he smiles, rolls his eyes a bit.

“It’s not the department that makes us do these on paper, it’s me. Morgan has been trying to get me to switch to digital, says Garcia can make us a user-friendly system in her sleep.” She crosses her arms, leaning a hip against the doorframe.

“And you’re resistant because…?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or because I hate change.”

“As long as it's not because you’ll miss seeing my smiling face at the end of the day, turning in my files,” she says, and though it’s obvious she’s teasing, that kind of is part of the answer.

He doesn’t want to be just a figure in his office, silently collecting completed case files with a ping of his computer. He knows they know his door is always open, but it’s sometimes the excuse of turning in their work that leads them there, gets them in the door, and he thinks it’s important to maintain.

“All joking aside, I think it could really benefit the team. If you wanted a beta tester, I’d be happy to try it out; we can get together once a week for a couple weeks to discuss any bugs or issues we find with the system. The others don’t even need to know; I could do my regular cases during the day, stay later once or twice a week and work them on the computer. I don’t mind the overtime, I’ve got nothing going on.”

“You should go enjoy your life, not spend extra hours holding my hand because I’m resistant to change.”

“I want to, though, if it will help. And I said I don’t mind the overtime.” They stare each other down for a moment; he is the first to cave, sighing and pushing a hand through his hair.

“I’ll talk to Garcia, see if she has capacity to work on the program this week.” Her answering smile is almost blinding, and he feels warmth spread in his chest; he's been feeling that a lot lately, always where Sophie is concerned, but especially when she smiles. “Hey, while I’ve got you, do you mind looking at a case with me? I can’t help feeling that I’m missing something.”

“Sure, of course.” She walks fully into his office, around the desk so she’s looking over his shoulder at the open file. Her hair falls in cascading waves around her face before she gets a chance to tuck a few strands behind her ear, and the smell of her shampoo is... tempting, to say the least.

It’s coconut, and jasmine, maybe, a light, tropical scent that makes him think of palm trees, fresh pineapple, warm sand under his feet… Sophie in a bikini, a tiny thing that shows off her every curve… Sophie curled up next to him in a private cabana, laughing softly in the moonlight… Sophie on a soft bed in a hotel room, her bare skin, even darker from sunbathing, a beautiful contrast to crisp white sheets…

“Have you considered that the second unsub could be a woman? That would explain how the victims are being lured from the mall—a woman probably wouldn’t stop in a parking garage at night for a man, but she would for another woman, if she’s in trouble.” She turns to look at him, and he’s shaken from his fantasy abruptly.

“No, uh, I hadn’t considered that. That closes the gap in my profile. Good thinking.”

“That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?” He earns another, softer smile, and he thinks about leaning in to kiss her, how easy that would be. It doesn’t take long to shake that thought away, because it’s almost literally insane, but he can’t deny that he had it.

“Something like that. Are you headed home?” She stands fully, and he’s glad, because that means the temptation is gone. It’s not her fault in any way, all his, but he can’t deny it gets worse the closer she is.

“Not home; the girls and I are meeting around the corner for a drink. Will you be finishing up soon?”

“Probably not, but it’s alright. I have nothing going on,” he says, repeating her turn of phrase. He looks down at his work, and she sighs lightly.

“You could have something going on. Come out for a drink with me.”

“And crash your meeting with the girls?” He’s not entirely certain he’d be welcome, or comfortable, but she makes it sound so easy. Like it’s something he could just decide to do, if he wanted.

“Trust me, they won’t mind.”

“It’s a nice offer, thank you. Maybe another time.” She rests a hand on his desk, on top of his case file so he can’t finish filling out the consultation paperwork, and he has to look up and make eye contact with her, which he’s sure is by design. She’s too good at reading him, sometimes. “Definitely another time. I really do appreciate the offer.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it, Hotch. You need a life outside of this place.” She lifts her hand from the desk, places it briefly on his shoulder, and then heads for the door. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he sighs at her retreating back. His feelings seem to be getting a little too hard to ignore. Their next case doesn’t come until the beginning of the next week. Sophie goes with Hotch to interview a victim’s mother in hopes that they can find the woman who is currently missing before the unsub kills her, but they come up with nothing, which is all they’ve come up with all day.

It’s clear Hotch is not pleased with their progress. He stands outside the car for a moment, looking like he’s trying to compose himself, and he takes off his jacket and throws it in the back seat.

“Damn it,” he hisses when they get back into the car, slamming his hands against the steering wheel; he scrubs a hand through his hair, unbuttons his cuffs, and rolls up his shirt sleeves a bit more angrily than seems strictly necessary. Sophie can’t keep her eyes off of his hands as he pushes the fabric up over his forearms—baring firm muscles covered in thick, dark hair—and when he throws the car into reverse and turns his head, placing his palm on the back of her headrest while he looks behind them, it gets her a little… hot.

It’s nothing new, of course. She has been feeling certain things, where Hotch is concerned—some emotional things, some physical things—for a little while now, if she’s being honest with herself. And she’s usually got the presence of mind to ignore it, or force it to the back of her thoughts, but he caught her off guard and she’s spiraling, now, imagining his hands on either side of her head, on her throat, holding open her thighs. His hands are close all the time, and visible, and the thought of reaching out to touch them is just so… tempting.

She must be making an oh, shit face, because his eyes become more inquisitive, his features a little softer. “What’s wrong?” She’s breathing heavily, and her cheeks feel warm, so she probably looks insane; she just shakes her head and exhales lightly, tries to calm herself.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He looks like he absolutely does not believe her, and she curses herself for the hundredth time for choosing to work around a bunch of profilers; they’re always thinking, analyzing, squinting their eyes at you and trying to figure you out, and it can get really irritating.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says when he’s done squinting. She almost wants to laugh: he’s worried about upsetting her over a minor curse word while she’s literally hot under the collar for him; her chest feels like it’s on fire, always quick to flush when she’s aroused, and she’s thanking the gods that she chose a crew neck t-shirt today and not a v-neck, or the situation would probably be a lot more awkward.

“You didn’t upset me, Hotch, it’s okay,” she insists, and he breaks eye contact to focus on the road.

They ride in silence the rest of the way to the precinct, but he doesn’t move to exit the vehicle after he takes the keys out of the ignition. “I’m sorry again for my outburst. I shouldn’t have reacted that way, at least not with you in the car.” She sits back in her seat, because this is now about more than her embarrassing moment from before.

“You’re allowed to be human, you know,” she tells him, and when it looks like he’s about to argue, she shakes her head. “I know the bureau likes to discourage it, but being in tune with our emotions and other people’s emotions is what makes us the best at what we do. Don’t apologize for the things you feel.”

“I have to lead by example. It’s the best way to set clear expectations.”

“Telling us your expectations is the best way to set clear expectations. You don’t have to pretend to be emotionless. When you’re angry, be angry.” He frowns, looks at her like what she’s saying makes absolutely no sense.

“When I got angry just now, you were looking at me like you were seeing something about me for the first time. Like you were afraid of me.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you, it’s… it’s nothing. I’d really rather not get into it.” His face softens again, and he’s giving her a look that’s usually reserved for families of victims, which throws her off guard.

“I know that victims of abuse can sometimes have a negative reaction to shouting…”

She wants to groan. He’s being so kind, but if he doesn’t let this go...

“I’m not a victim of abuse, and you didn’t scare me.” He still looks guilty, and if that’s what he thinks happened, and that’s how she made him feel? Well she’s gotta come clean sooner than later. She takes a deep breath. “You turned me on, okay? You were angry, and you rolled up your sleeves, and then you put your hand on the back of my seat and it just… affected me. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mutters, covering her face with her hand. Hotch processes that, is still processing that when she removes her fingers from her face. He just looks at her, expression carefully blank.

“Oh. Uh, well. It’s natural; nothing you could have done about it.” She sighs at that, runs a hand through her hair.

“I know, I’m not ashamed of being aroused, or anything, but—we’re working, you’re my boss. The situation is awkward.” He looks at the steering wheel, like he can’t say what he’s going to say directly to her.

“You shouldn’t feel awkward. This kind of thing happens to all of us.” She arches her brow, smiles a little incredulously.

“You’re telling me you, Aaron Hotchner, have been inappropriately turned on on the job before?” He shrugs, nodding.

“Sure, yes.” Her brows rise further into her hairline, not believing him for a second; he sighs at her expression and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Okay. You were in my office last week, leaning over my shoulder to look at a case file, and I could smell your shampoo. It’s coconut, right?” She nods, not sure exactly where the story is going, but she feels herself getting hot again, against literally her every wish. “Well, it made me daydream of the vacation I so desperately want: a drink in my hand, sun on my skin, sand beneath my feet… making love late at night with a breeze blowing through the open patio door.”

“Oh.” Her heart is racing, beating so hard she’s almost surprised the sound doesn’t give her away, and her breathing is heavy, and she thinks he’s about to speak again when someone taps on his window abruptly. He rolls it down and Gideon sticks his head in.

“There’s another body, 482 West Hemlock; you two might as well stay in the car and meet us there.”

“Will do,” Hotch replies, and Gideon nods, steps away from the car. If he wonders why they were sitting there unbuckled for so long, he doesn't show it.

They back out of the parking lot sexy-incident-free, and they’ve gone a few blocks before he turns to look at her again. “Are we okay? I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“No, you didn't. We’re okay.” She smiles softly, actively thinking about anything but vacation sex with her boss.

(It’s surprisingly difficult.)

They process the crime scene, gaining some new insight about the unsub, and before long they’re ready for a profile. Sophie opts to ride back to the station with Prentiss under the guise of letting Gideon and Hotch iron out the details, but really she needs to be as far away from him as possible while working the case, or she’s going to lose her mind.

The rest of the day is uneventful, spent poring over pages and pages of cold case files trying to link other murders to the one that occurred earlier that day. They identify at least 15, and when they literally can’t go on for a minute longer, Hotch calls it and they discuss where to go to grab some dinner.

Italian wins, and Sophie gets a big, beautiful bowl of pasta primavera and a glass of white wine, and it’s almost enough to make her forget all about the day until Hotch catches her eye from across the table, smiling at something Morgan said, and her stomach clenches. She smiles lightly, trying to hide it, but she’s not sure she was able to save face in time. She spends the rest of the meal arguing semantics with Reid, something so perfectly normal that it shouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions.

She feels eyes on her anyway, but she doesn’t look in their direction.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner/original female character #Criminal minds fanfic

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olath124 · 5 months

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I'm still working on it xD when I draw for myself I take my sweet sweet time.

I've imagined that my V would probably climb the black Sapphire on her own simply to strike a deal with Hansen…

Because she doesn't like at all how Reed and Myers are using her (and killing innocent and friendly people in the meantime!) The colonel may be an asshole (and I absolutely think he is an asshole and also a bit of a fascist) but he is an angel in comparison with Myers… or at least if he says he won't harm you he really won't… which is more than what I can say for Myers and Reed (Yes, I liked Jakob and Taylor and I’m still bitter about them!).

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #phantom liberty #V #my v #my oc #oc #black sapphire #kurt Hansen #Solomon reed #Rosalind myers #im still not over it #art wip #wip #v is probably a worse criminal than them!!!!#work in progress

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yakocchi · 4 years

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Becoming a Family With Him, Part 3 // Shuichi, Hikaru, Rhion, Luke, Eisuke

so this came out, as further celebration for the anni. VERY GOOD, much more appreciated than the prior story set lol that one was kind of boring but i get it

they made the kids for all the... kid-less ones, and the eisuke one that used to be VIP-exclusive is now here for everyone to buy (rip those ppl who gacha for it)

my rambling behind the cut (spoilers!!)

shuichi // as ud expect, shuichi has a literal hime ass looking girl (kikyo) for a daughter. she’s only 6, but is pretty calm and ladylike. She even calls her parents with –sama so... ok luckily shuichi does not strip down all the way in the presence of her daughter and only takes off his suit coat. thanks dad

anyway since shuichi has a break coming up, he wants to have a family trip how nice. but then the dang girl wants to go over to see eisuke WHAT when soryu exists and lives a block away? unrelatable, im closing the app anyway eisuke is her first love, which wtf he’s like 20 yrs older than u. even worse, mc says she’s been in love since she was like 3.

shuichi is reconsidering the benefits of democracy in his mind but eventually relents. but then they’re still following the fucc-days rule they set years ago. well, as he says in the story, RULES ARE RULES

blah blah i don’t want to go over everything bc then it’ll be boring reading the story when it comes out in engl right? also im tired bc it’s 1 am and i just want to play toontown in bed but nothing really bad happens. they are a v cute family bc shuichi is a pleasant and mature dad. kikyo and mc even do a little surprise for him at the end and it is very sweet. i feel like out of all the families, this is the most ideal

mad hatter // so they have twin sons named Rui and Kai. Rui is the childlike one that resembles Rhion in personality, Kai is the more mature one that resembles Al. man i forget that boy’s name but u get me i know they only can use stock bgs but it’s killing me that these dang kids get to sleep in what looks like separate king sized beds.

even though rhion is now a father of two, he still acts like... 10. i mean he still horni but it makes me feel weird

later it’s revealed that Ota teaches them both as an art tutor bc they both showed an interest in art. this is cute bc ota is bad with kids in this universe LOL

the ending on this one was weird cuz the kids didn’t show up in the entirety of the last ep bc it was about WORK. so uh... interesting

hikaru // so their son is named akari. haha get it because it means light. like how hikaru also means light. can mc name her kids unrelated to their father or is that against the Geneva convention

this kid actually acts like an actual little boy. like what hikaru would’ve probably turned into if not for the whole sad backstory. the story starts with akari just bringing a dog randomly home one day. he actually saved the dog (it is very cute bc he did not want the dog to cry), and then after a talk they decide to keep the dog as long as akari knows the responsibility of taking care of an animal.

so next day, the bidders come over to their house and everyone’s like woaw a dog. lol they come into their house as guests and eisuke and mamo still demand for beverages, they all suck

akari names the dog... “Light” (Raito) and i want out of this nightmare. Naturally bc Light is an abandoned dog it’s still kind of bad with interacting with things. But then Light suddenly be giving the ( ╹ਊ╹) to soryu bc remember, animals love him. everyone clowns on soryu for being an unintentional dog whisperer and then akari is like “soryu san pls make me ur apprentice” and he gives some advice like approaching it slowly, and talking to it from the front instead of back.

blah blah there’s a situation where Light goes YEET after a Doberman gets all angry and then hides bc then another dog is scaring it. hikaru swoops in to the save the day as the Real Dog Whisperer. ok it’s cute when hikaru actually gets to look cool for once LOL

luke // luke is cute on the bc “pre-story” scene he’s actually pretty open to the idea of having kids; he actually goes “well imo we should think abt it pretty soon, but i wanted to hear ur opinion on it” but then he gets horni. and then he’s like “our kids are going to have your collarbones. awesomeee im looking forward to that” ....ok

ok cut to the actual story and they’re in Japan. Luke’s kid looks... strange versus the others. why are his eyes so big? omg voltage his eyes arent going to be saucers just cuz he half white also the kid’s name is Yuri (Or Urey). They couldn’t think of any other Brit-styled names? Like Harry? Henry? William? Wilfred? hey stan be my princess btw he’s pretty cute, though he gives serious “timid kid that gets bullied in the children’s movie” vibes. He calls Luke “daddy” and mc “mammy/mommy”.

so luke talks about his relationship w/ soryu and eisuke and then yuri is like “i want friends like that” wow cute but also find less ethically-complicated friends

so luke lets yuri meet a young patient of his (haru) so they can be friends. they get along so it’s good. haru gets in critical condition later so luke zooms outta there to do the operation.

LOL but at the end yuri is like, “i want to make more friends. (...) can i go to the bidder’s room from now on?” this boy works fast

And then he’s like “Eisuke-san... please be my friend.” HIS POWER. even eisuke was like :O so then eisuke orders a whole bunch of food and books up to the penthouse. But then yuri’s like “...i like eisuke’s eyes” and everyone’s like oh man that’s gonna be his fetish

Baba: why have u started to have an interest in eyes Yuri: I read it from one of daddy’s medical books Hikaru: wtf u can read that at 4??? (...) Soryu: wat Yuri: um... i want soryu to be my friend too Yuri: bc soryu’s eyes are also powerfully cool...

eisuke // ok this gets an extended ramble bc the more annoying the story the longer i must complain

so you might be thinking, “oh so this is gonna be a flashback in some in media res styled story with your 2 kids, u know in the style of the others” and well, no you just go straight to white screen into the flashback, back when eito was smaller and thus a little more cute. well it’s not really false advertising bc they did say “reminisce” in the description. but i wanted to see eito be a good big brother for a moment! or... less good? man i wanted to see kaito go waaaah like a baby idk i wanted to see him exist

so back to the story they cut to small eito. even as a smaller punk he does fight with his dad a little, just w/ a more narrow vocabulary to work with. tho at this point he’s still pretty sweet so clearly eisuke clowning him day and night was a negative effect on his development. (doesn’t treat his child like a child) (child grows up to a punk that doesn’t respect him) (surprised pikachu) being the son of a billionaire means that this child has to go study at a very young age and listen to MOZART. no child of eisuke ichinomiya will be listening to degenerate bops like lee taemin’s criminal next day they all go to the very fancy school that eito will be attending. eisuke does a speech, but then eito is all like “why is papa over there all the time” in reference to how all the other parents in attendance are having fun with their children, but eisuke is busy talking to other people for business and connections etc. etc. mc kind of has a hard time trying to explain it to eito bc... it’s honestly poor parenting... eiji shows up after arriving late, and he’s like “gramps is gonna be with ya today! instead of papa” which is cute but then she’s like psst thanks for coming and im like oh... so grandpa just didn’t randomly come to the open house for fun he’s just gonna be surrogate dad while real dad is busy... aw... and then at the end eito’s like FUC THIS KINDERGARTEN. eisuke is like “(smh) don’t yell in public. (despite everything) you are still the eldest son of the Ichinomiya family”

and so afterwards it’s clear that eito does not want anything to do with this school. he just sits in the classroom until mc is there to pick him up instead of playing in the courtyard or w/e, wanting nothing to do with the other kids.

so later there’s a hiking trip for the students and both of their parents, and mc asks eisuke if he’ll be available for it. eisuke is like, “i have a business trip that day, so I’ll have to adjust my schedule” and he’s been very busy in the opening of a new business or w/e. mc tells him to not do so much for something like that and that it’s ok if she goes alone with eito on the trip.

it’s the day of the trip, and mc goes alone with eito. she notes that a lot of dads did indeed come along for the trip. she apologizes to eito and says that she did talk to eisuke about the trip before, but he’s simply busy for this day. and im like... but girl, you were the one who told him not to change his schedule for the trip. yes a trip may seem less important than business ventures, but don’t make it sound like you weren’t the one who stopped him. lol. idk why im pressed abt this single line of dialogue bc later she does realize she fucced up there well eito is just like w/e about it and has pretty much accepted that sort of thing

anyway eito goes missing later and one of the kids said that he told eito that his dad (eisuke) didn’t come bc his dad thinks that his work is more important than his son. so eito got mad and ran off somewhere

and then mc finally gets the lightbulb moment that eito... wants to see his dad!! he ran off to go try to see him somehow??? !! wow so sweet

it’s raining like a mf but then in her search for eito eisuke randomly pops out of nowhere. He’s like “ho i did not remember saying that i wasn’t coming” and she’s like “im sorrryyy” and both me and him are like “just find the dang kid”

ok yea they find eito, he starts being a good student, and u start to see where he starts being antagonistic towards his dad LOL etc. etc. lol this story annoyed me so i don’t feel like doing the rest of the play by play orz

anyway thanks for reading my garbage LOL

#kbtbb #kissed by the baddest bidder #spoilers

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st-just · 2 years

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Honestly Vi being an amnesiac with VI tattooed on her face like she's the 6th in some line of orphans who were the subjects of evil science experiments was such an interesting if cliched mystery and it's kinda underwhelming to learn that Vi just stands for Violet.

The shipping discourse is exhausting tho, I for one am happy to see Riot outright confirm it in the show because people have been shipping Cait and Vi in lore for ages now since Cait was so heavily involved in Vi's story. I think Cait and Vi was the most popular ship, possibly tied with Vi/Jinx but that was before it was confirmed they were sisters. Without confirmation people just saw them as rivals with this fun cat-and-mouse game going on and I can see where people might ship that but here we are.

Now they need to confirm Graves and TF like this. We've got a pair of... well, generally criminals? They do a lot of things and we've got Graves the dumb-as-rocks gun-slinging tobacco-smoking gruff loudmouth, and Tobias, the smooth-talking magic-card-throwing twink who tries to sound cooler than he is by calling himself Twisted Fate and sports the posh equivalent of a southern accent.

Now these two are perfect for ships because they're fucking morons, the both of them, and all the best stories with them involve wacky antics, gunfights, bullshitting, and a whole lot of luck. It's all best summarized in the Tales of Runeterra video about Bilgewater. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbJhZW-iN0s

These two morons need a buddy-criminal show, where instead of going around solving crimes and making police look either good or worse, they just go around causing problems on purpose for profit.

Okay yeah when I first saw art of her I really thought the tattoo was VI the numeral too. It really looks more like a creepy lab marking than a self-done prison tat, you know?

And like yeah Caitlyn and Vi have a cute and extremely well executed but incredibly predictable/traditional romance subplot (but gay for once) and are fun enough to watch and like would obviously have been the main ship regardless so from a representation standpoint it's, like, Good that they're canon I guess but I just really truly do not get how angry people (or, well, person, probably? Better than even odds it was all the same anon I guess) people get about it. But yeah shipping discourse generally is a bit alien to me.

Anyway the two dumb pirates have a very fun dynamic (real, I don't know, Jasper and Horace energy?). Also that really is the funnest/best of the shorts I've seen I think. They're all like low-tech Borderlands characters (also oooooh that's where the redhead pirate everyone cosplays is from)

(And you know 99% chance it's just my filter bubble but now that I'm thinking about it it feels like all the really big queer fandom ships that have actually been canon recently have been wlw? Like the closest with two guys I can think of is Destiel. Which lol. So yeah riot should do something with the pirate bros).

#reply #anon #arcane #television #league of legends #long

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missmentelle · 3 years

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Just some small ways that the system keeps people down

When we think about social justice, we often think about it in terms of huge, sweeping reforms that happen on a national level: the nation-wide legalization of gay marriage. The end of segregation. Loving v Virginia. Roe v Wade. Many people only vote in federal elections and only keep up with federal politics, thinking that the federal government is what “really matters” when it comes to progress and human rights.

Federal-level politics and landmark court rulings are important, but oppression often happens in much smaller, less obvious ways. It’s in the fine print of the eligibility criteria for disability benefits. It’s in municipal zoning laws. It’s in bank mortgage eligibility policies. It’s in the enforcement of public park bylaws. The things that make life difficult for marginalized communities often come from local bureaucracy, and look something like this: Disabled people effectively do not have the right to marry.

In the United States, when a disabled person marries a non-disabled person, they gain a spouse, but they risk losing something immensely important - namely, all of their benefits. Currently, the government assumes that a non-disabled spouse takes full responsibility for all of their disabled spouse’s needs; it becomes their job to provide the disabled spouse with healthcare, housing, basic needs and assistive devices that they require, regardless of their ability to actually afford any of these things. Obviously, this is completely out of the question for most couples. Medical costs for a person with complex needs can be exorbitant, and the average person just cannot provide things like private home health services and out-of-pocket medical expenses for their spouse.

Unless a disabled person is marrying someone who is independently wealthy, marriage is often out of the question.

As a result, many disabled people simply have no meaningful access to marriage or the legal benefits and protections it provides. Without a wedding certificate, your partner cannot stay with you in the hospital, access your medical information or make decisions for you while you are incapacitated - something that people with complex medical issues may desperately need their partner to be able to do. International couples may have no means of being able to live in the same country. It may not even be possible for couples to live together at all, as the state may decide that that’s a “common-law” situation and strip away disability benefits even without a formal certificate. The people who are most in need of companionship and legal protection are denied access to it because of cruel and outdated laws that were designed with the false assumption that disabled people cannot desirable partners for non-disabled spouses.

Domestic violence victims can be evicted for being abused.

Some cities across America have implemented “nuisance laws” - these are laws originally designed to punish “slum landlords” who don’t try to stop criminal activity or loud parties in their buildings. In cities with nuisance laws, the city tracks how many 911 calls are made to (or about) each address in the city; if an address goes over their yearly limit of 911 calls, the city goes after the property’s landlord, fining them or even threatening them with criminal charges if they don’t make the calls stop. The point of the law is to encourage landlords to keep an eye on their tenants and evict “problem” tenants that disrupt the neighbourhood, and these policies have definitely resulted in a lot of 911-related evictions. And that’s a problem. Because you know who calls 911 a lot? Domestic violence victims.

These laws have made it so that many people experiencing domestic violence have to choose between “help” and “housing”. If your partner is violently attacking you but your landlord has told you “one more 911 call and you’re out on the streets”, what do you do? How do you navigate such an impossible situation? Many victims simply hold off calling for help unless they’re reasonably certain that their partner is going to kill them, which is incredibly and almost indescribably dangerous, and still results in threats of eviction. Even victims who never call for help themselves can still find themselves out in the cold because of these policies - nuisance laws count any 911 calls made about an address, which means that a well-meaning neighbour calling the cops because they hear screams can cost you your housing. The end result is that an already-vulnerable population are either losing their housing or losing access to lifesaving emergency services, and everyone is worse for it.

It’s worth noting that these policies also disproportionately affect disabled, elderly and chronically ill people. When you are medically fragile, you tend to have increased medical emergencies and a decreased ability to safely transport yourself to the hospital without an ambulance. So if 80-year-old diabetic woman uses her LifeAlert bracelet to call 911 three times in a year because she’s fallen down or having a hypoglycemic episode, she could face eviction for going over her 911 limit and being a “nuisance” to the city.

Redlining has shut black people out of wealth-building for decades. How do you build wealth in America? You need credit. If you want to achieve real financial security, you need to convince someone to loan you large amounts of money at a low interest rate so you can use that money to purchase something that will build wealth for you. Let’s say you only have a little bit of money - you go to the bank and convince them to give you a mortgage (which is effectively just a large low-interest loan) so you can purchase a house for yourself. Once you’ve paid off the mortgage and showed the bank how reliable you are, you can go back and ask them for another loan against your house, and use that loan to buy a business, or a second house to rent out for income, or just save your money while your paid-off first house continues to increase in value. When you eventually die, your kids get all the property you amassed with those loans, and they start life in an even better financial position than you did - they can use that property to get even more credit and invest in even more businesses and property. This is how most American families clawed their way into the middle class after the Great Depression - your great-grandfather buying a house in the 1940s is the reason your parents could afford to pay for your college today.

But there is one group that have been systemically left out of that process for decades, thanks to a practice called “redlining”.

Banks decide whether or not they are going to loan you money by deciding how much of a “risk” you are. In the 1930s, bankers determined risk by looking at maps of their cities and drawing lines around particular neighbourhoods to determine how much of a risk they were. Bankers would draw red lines around predominantly-black neighbourhoods to signal that people who lived in those neighbourhoods were not eligible for credit - this was done regardless of their income. Poor white neighbourhoods could get loans, but middle-class black neighbourhoods could not. This meant that black people could not improve their situations - they could not afford to move out of cramped black neighbourhoods, they could not get the money to start a business, and they could not afford to renovate their houses to sell them at a profit. They were effectively shut out of opportunities that their white peers were granted.

Redlining has been illegal for decades, but the cumulative impact of generations of redlining persist to this day. Experts estimate that an average black homeowner today has missed out on $212,023 in personal wealth because of the impacts of redlining. “Zero-tolerance” policies have harmed marginalized and neurodivergent children without making schools safer.

If you’ve attended or worked in a grade school in the last 20 years, you’re probably familiar with so-called “zero tolerance” policies. These policies emerged as a result of the 1999 Columbine school shooting, and are pretty much exactly what they sound like - in the wake of Columbine, schools began taking an extremely hardline stance against violence and bullying, assuring worried parents that they would not tolerate even the smallest hint of violence. In schools with zero-tolerance policies in place, punishments are extremely harsh - just about everything will get you suspended at a minimum. Get in a fistfight at school? Doesn’t even matter who started it, everyone involved is suspended. Throwing food? Suspended. Shouting at someone? Suspended. It doesn’t tend to matter if you were joking around or if you'd been pushed to the brink by a student who has bullied you for months - “zero tolerance” means absolutely zero tolerance, and you are suspended.

But if you ever actually attended a zero-tolerance school, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that these policies don’t actually have any impact on school safety. What they do accomplish is higher rates of school failure and worse overall student outcomes, especially for marginalized students.

And it makes sense. Which students are the most likely to be acting out in school? Students with ADHD, autism and learning disorders. Students with turbulent home lives. Students in foster care. Students dealing with abuse or trauma. These are the students who need to be in school the most, and need extra support from staff and teachers - instead of getting that support, though, zero-tolerance policies send them away from school for several days at a time, where they are unable to access support and fall further behind their peers. School quickly turns into a vicious cycle; students act out because they’re frustrated, they get suspended, they fall behind in class, which leads to more frustration, which leads to more acting out, which means more suspensions, which puts them further behind, etc, etc. Eventually they become so disillusioned that many of them leave school altogether, putting them at a permanent increased risk of unemployment, poverty, and incarceration.

Parking requirements are making cities unaffordable and unlivable for the poor.

Many cities - like Toronto and Vancouver - have mandatory minimum parking requirements written into their city zoning laws. These policies usually require that all residential buildings have at least one parking space available for every unit of residential housing - if you build a 60-unit apartment building, you need to make sure that you also buy enough land for a 60-stall parking lot or build a 60-space underground parking structure.

When you think about the reasons that housing is unaffordable, “parking” might not be one of the first things you think of, but these laws have huge impacts on the cost of housing, and they negatively impact both the city itself and the working-class people who live there. Parking spaces are not free, especially in major cities like Toronto where land is at a premium - an above-ground parking space in a city costs an average of $24,000, while a below-ground space costs $34,000. Every unit of residential housing has $24-34k in parking costs tacked onto it - whether the tenant needs a parking space or not - and you can bet that landlords and developers are passing every penny of that cost onto their tenants.

Parking requirements also decrease the number of units available, which is a problem, because the best way to keep housing affordable is to make sure that you have a lot of it available. A developer who might want to build a 300-unit apartment complex has to factor in the cost of creating at least 300 parking spaces.... so they might scale back to a 100-unit complex instead. Downtown areas that have huge demand for housing and low demand for residential parking are being underutilized because of zoning laws that were created decades ago and no longer reflect today’s reality. Young people, elderly people and urban poor people are increasingly unlikely to own a car, but they are being priced out of walkable neighbourhoods with good public transit for the sake of unwanted parking spaces.

Food safety laws and public property usage laws are making it illegal to feed the homeless.

“Feeding the homeless” should be one of the most uncontroversial things you can do. Giving food to a person who is hungry is one of the most basic ways that humans care for one another. Everything from cheesy Hallmark movies to the Bible reinforces the importance of giving to others in need. But in dozens of cities across America, you can be fined, arrested or even jailed for giving out food to the homeless.

Cities use different justifications to shut down or even arrest community service workers for trying to feed the homeless. Some pass increasingly restrictive “food safety laws”, stating that charities are only allowed to give away hot food, or that they are only allowed to give away sealed and individually-packed meals, or that they are only allowed to feed homeless people indoors (something that community organizations like mine do not always have the resources to do). Restrictions continue to get tighter every year in some places, despite the fact that there are virtually zero recorded cases of a homeless person being harmed by food they received from a registered charity. Food safety laws can also force restaurants and stores to destroy their unsold food instead of passing it out; some have to go as far as pouring bleach over the food they throw out in their dumpsters.

Other cities have used public property bylaws to ban food-sharing on public property, forcing charities to apply for permits to hand out food (which are rarely granted). Justifications for these bylaws vary - some cities give vague excuses about “safety” while others admit that they’re trying to drive homeless people out of their cities - but the end result is the same. Cities are so desperate to be rid of their homeless populations that they’ll criminalize trying to help the homeless, rather than offering stable, affordable housing solutions.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #social justice #social work #socialjustice #oppression #sociology #mental health #mental illness #poverty #homelessness #homeless #working class #classism #domestic violence

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stillness-in-green · 3 years

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Thoughts on Chapter 314 (and surrounding events)

Being a loose summary of several things I thought about in relation to the leaks, what they say about the series as a whole, a bit of new operating headcanon on the Peerless Thief, and a dash of how fandom is responding to the revelations. Spoilers, obviously.

This chapter makes it quite clear that the HPSC absolutely would have gone in and eliminated the PLF quietly, lethally, and wholly unlawfully if Hawks hadn't reported back the numbers that he did. The only reason the raid involved non-Commission-affiliated heroes at all is because the PLF's manpower was simply too much for the Commission to deal with via their usual methods. I'm both appalled that the disregard for human rights in HeroAca Land is somehow even worse than I thought it was and smug that that tiny little piece I recently posted criticizing the PLF's treatment has turned out to be totally justified and supported by the canon.[1] (Note that this does not absolve Horikoshi of the responsibility to, himself, treat the PLF better than paper dolls tossed into the incinerator of Plot Irrelevance when they cease being convenient to his story.) The fact that the Commission was forced to involve heroes might mean Re-Destro, Mr. Compress and the others are somewhat safer than might otherwise be the case. Because of the involvement of the unsuspecting stooges law-abiding heroes, and because the botched raid became such a huge disaster, there’s far more public scrutiny on this than would otherwise be the case. Of course, "accidents" can still happen,[2] especially in a chaotic environment, but the factors above (combined with Clone!RD murdering the bejeezus out of the Lady Prez) do, I think, suggest that there probably isn't an organized push for quick solutions going on behind closed doors.

I don't think Nagant has been around for a terribly long time or that there was an uptick in vigilantism in recent years—I think the scene where she mentions vigilantes becoming accepted as heroes is just in reference to the early history of heroism. It's in keeping with what Tsukauchi Makoto described in Vigilantes, and forms the basis of the current system—the current system that Nagant was a single cog in a big machine grinding away to preserve.

Speaking of Nagant and the system, it's interesting to me that one of the groups Nagant apparently targeted at the HPSC's behest was corrupt heroes—those who colluded with villains or specifically goaded/incited civilians into using their quirks illegally, thus turning civilians into capital-V Villains in the eyes of the law. One might easily say that targeting corrupt heroes (albeit using a much broader definition of "corrupt") was Stain's whole shtick, but it actually puts me more in mind of the Peerless Thief, Harima Oji. Harima punished greedy or corrupt heroes with theft, and presumably with a measure of declaration and exposure,[3] then distributed their money back to the streets. Someone who ridicules those who abuse their power, and gets away with it for long enough to build a reputation: that right there is a recipe for a folk hero. The HPSC, in whatever form they existed at the time, obviously couldn't let that go on—such repeated humiliations would weaken peoples’ faith in (and obedience to) the system the HPSC was trying to build. At the same time, though, it would also weaken faith in the system to openly acknowledge that system's flaws, to acknowledge that some pretty awful people had found their way into the heroics business specifically for the power and ability to abuse it that the title of Hero afforded them. Public trials would make it a matter of record that some heroes—and, accordingly, heroes at large—did not deserve the public's unquestioning faith. Obviously in a system that was built from the ground up on faith, that was unacceptable. And so Harima was branded a supervillain for exposing the system's flaws, while the corrupt heroes who embodied those flaws to begin with were—and continue to be—quietly disposed of at the HPSC’s discretion.

There's a lot of talk around about how Lady Nagant is stupid, or hypocritical, or delusional, or whatever other dismissive adjective people want to use, because she expresses a preference for AFO's rule over the HPSC's. Firstly, I think it's dubious Lit Crit to fault a character for not being a Paragon of Rationality, especially when they're under the cascading stressors Nagant has been under since she was, what, 13? 14? Forced to live this dichotomy of smiling gallant hero and ruthless covert assassin, had her life threatened by the man who'd taken her in,[4] probably dumped in Tartarus until such time as her trial could be held,[5] and kept in those ghastly, dehumanizing conditions for who knows how long? How shocking, that her objectivity might be somewhat compromised! Secondly, it's not like she's saying that AFO's rule would be a sunny walk in the park. The kanji she uses doesn't even mean "better"; while it can mean serene or tranquil, her more likely meaning is clear/transparent. Her phrasing indicates that she's aware it would be pretty bad; she's simply of the opinion that at least his rule wouldn't be a sham, a pretty lie. It would be bad, but everyone would know it. No one would have these comforting illusions they could lose at any time; if you stepped out of line and got shot in the head by an assassin, well, at least you would probably know you that being defiant was running that risk, rather than never seeing it coming because you'd been told all your life that Heroes Didn't Do That To People. Again, this is a woman whose life was shattered no less than three times by the duplicity of the highest acting authority in this comic.[6] She doesn't have to be Objectively Correct By The Standards Of Ethical Utilitarianism—nor do you have to agree with her choice that because she doesn’t want to live in the Matrix, no one else should get to either—for her opinion to make sense from her own perspective! Thirdly, while I think it's fair to say that the HPSC and AFO actually use fairly similar methods to recruit followers and punish dissenters, we have no idea how much Nagant herself knows about AFO's recruitment tactics other than her own brief experience of it. And while AFO is a controlling and manipulative bastard, at least in his case it's coming from a man who openly styles himself as a Demon King, not an organization positioning itself as lawful regulators of the protectors of society at large while secretly training child soldiers to flagrantly violate every law protecting the human rights and due process of that society's people.

Overhaul's presence is delightful, and yes, he is a victim of Hero Society, if only because Hero Society could have put him in some kind of prison-based rehab facility after Shigaraki was through with him, but chose to dispose of him in Tartarus instead, for absolutely no justifiable cause. I suspect it's only due to Horikoshi not being very interested in the harsh realities of the trauma caused by enforced isolation[7] that Overhaul is the only Tartarus escapee that talks to himself and has dissociated from reality almost completely. Overhaul's maiming was not the fault of Hero Society, nor did Hero Society force him to torture Eri and repeatedly commit cold-blooded murder. But his madness? Yeah, I'm pretty comfortable laying that one at Hero Society's feet, actually. I can’t wait for Deku to have to face the victim that Chisaki Kai has become due to levels of systemic cruelty and negligence that really ought to be criminal—and which, if this were real life, would be.

--------Lately, footnotes are really popular with us!--------

[1] Lady Nagant: *talks about how the Hero Society everyone believes in is illusory, a thin fake over a brutal reality, and that returning to the false simplicity of that status quo will only cause history to repeat itself* Me, two weeks ago: Hero Society will never stop creating its own villains so long as, every time it fails people, it does nothing but shrug and write off the victims as unavoidable, inevitable sacrifices for the greater good.

[2] Yes, I'm still highly suspicious of the "Destro committed suicide in prison" claim.

[3] Compress tells us Harima “preached reformation,” but regardless, you don’t dress up in a modified kabuki costume and waltz midair through nighttime cityscapes raining cash out of the sky if you’re trying to keep your activities a secret.

[4] And her family situation couldn't have been much better than Hawks', if she was targeted by the HPSC to begin with. I would guess she was an orphan in the childcare system, easy to move from whatever alternative care arrangement she was in, be it an orphanage, a group home, or simply mature enough despite her relative youth that she lived alone on government support payments—that kind of thing isn't as unbelievable in Japan as it is in the U.S.—to the HPSC's care.

[5] And given what we learned between this chapter and 297, I doubt she was even allowed to be present for it. Japanese law states that everyone by default is supposed to be present for their own trial, but as in the U.S, that right can be waived if the defendant proves themselves to be a threat to the safety of the judge, court staff and other attendees. And of course, what a threat the HPSC could have painted her as being!

[6] At least until Hori deigns to show us a damn Diet session.

[7] To say nothing of the physical consequences of spending six months stuck in a tiny room with no natural light while frequently being strapped into a straitjacket, of which there should also be several.

#bnha spoilers #bnha 314 #boku no hero academia #hero public safety commission #paranormal liberation front #harima oji #lady nagant #overhaul bnha #my writing?

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mementomori-demimonde · 3 years

Text

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII

Chapter 19

Draped over her knees with your arms bent under your head as a pillow, you genuinely wish the reason for that position would be another entirely.

Not that you’d thought you were the type of person to like impact play before meeting Miranda, but a lot changed since she decided to kidnap you and turn your life upside down: you didn’t think you had so much strength in you, you didn’t think you were too smart with electronics and computer softwares, you didn’t think you weren’t made to fight, you didn’t think you would fall in love with a psychotic killer who liked to push your limits, teach you things, even how to fight, who fucked you and let you fuck her… and there you were, enjoying all those things because Miranda was there.

You’re trying to imagine that this is one of her weird scenarios back in her bedroom, roleplaying god-knows-what, putting a little fun in the punishments she oughta give you for not doing something right. Yet, this is not a game. You won’t enjoy any of this and you know it already.

The pain is excruciating already as it is and it’s only about to get worse.

She tried to be incredibly gentle when she removed the tatters of the shirt you were wearing from your back, but that too sent your skin burning aflame, the welts screaming and making you tear up.

The cool air did little good on your bare skin, the gentle scrape at the base of your neck as Miranda helped you lay across her thighs, close to her lap only a sad consolation. She praised you, but you just hiccupped through a sob and stood silent.

You wish you could reassure her, tell her to not feel guilty because what else could she do there, if not obeying? It was that or bullets in your brains.

At least wounds could heal, and you’re not new to wounds either. You can do it. You can bear anything, she’s made you strong, but you can’t bring yourself to speak to her: there are too many thoughts in your mind.

Victor’s words, for instance.

You know it’s only a bunch of lies, but there’s something telling you that it’s not just a bunch of lies.

Victor is an asshole and he likes to tease and to provoke and you bet he’s only said those things to get a rise from Miranda and awaken something within you that could possibly turn you against her, in the end.

Improbable, but not impossible. There’s still too much to uncover.

You swallow down, fidgeting as you try to find the most comfortable position, but already aware that nothing will lessen your discomfort.

Hidden from your eyes, Miranda unfolds the foil that she’s stuck in the wall a few days ago. She opens up a new bottle and drinks from it - you can hear her swallow in long, rhythmical gulps - the foil rustles in her hand for a moment, then she caps the bottle again and shakes it vigorously.

Your first reaction is to grow tense, you can’t even help it.

“It’s going to sting.” Miranda warns with a low, apologetic voice.

You’d tell her that it’s not her fault, except that it is, in a certain sense. Besides, you can’t bring yourself to actually talk, already so invested with bracing yourself for pain.

Water and salt: she’s going to clean the welts on your back to the best of her possibilities. It won’t be pleasant at all. “Try not to fight it, it’ll only be worse.” She suggests. You don’t really know if you’ll be able to do it.

When she starts to pour, it hurts like hell. She tuts at you, shushes you when the clatter of your teeth becomes louder, but it doesn’t help the searing pain that radiates in your body.

“I’ll kill him,” Miranda mumbles behind clenched teeth, “I’ll fucking run him over with a car and kill him.” She says.

It’s nice to know that she’s unhinged toward Victor because of you, that she would kill him for you, but somehow, it’s not enough to distract you from the pain. It’s the only disinfectant you have access to, it’s supposed to burn, but there’s something terribly wrong in the way it steals your breath away.

You feel like dying, and, at some point, you know you’re unconsciously wiggling, thrashing your limbs in the grasp of a maddening pain, caused by something that it’s supposed to help but that seems only to make things worse. You feel your skin tearing, the salty water seeping inside, overwhelming your body - it’s too much.

You’ve been through a lot in the past few months, and yet, somehow, nothing was as bad as this. Maybe it’s the situation, maybe it’s the fear, maybe it’s the realization that something terrible has happened that involves the person you’ve grown to love, but you can’t bear it.

You let go. You allow yourself to cry. For the pain, and also for something else.

Maybe you’ve passed out. You clearly don’t remember falling asleep, honestly, how could you have fallen asleep?

You’re still draped over her legs, you feel one of her hands carding mindlessly through your hair and on the nape of your hair.

Miranda seems to notice the change in your breathing, or maybe you’ve just moved unconsciously, but your body falls limp over hers, every muscle turned to liquid under her hand and soothing murmurs.

To her eyes, you even might look relaxed. In reality, you don’t have enough strength to push yourself up and put some distance between the two of you.

“It’s done.” She says, pressing her fingertips between your shoulder blades, the other on your tailbone as if to keep you still. “Don’t move yet, the rash is fading, but the welts look rather sore.”

You’re barely listening to her.

You don’t feel exactly fine, but better, besides, it’s not your back that hurts most, but your head. The thoughts swirling in there are screaming louder than anything else.

You don’t care about the welts, you don’t care about the rash nor the soreness. You don’t even care about Victor for putting you in this situation. You don’t care about Victor for putting Miranda in that situation. You care about him because he put those thoughts in your head and now you don’t care about anything else: what is it that you don’t know? What important secret has Miranda kept from you?

“I wasn’t the only one?” You ask without small talks, eager to get it out of you and sorted out before it drives you insane.

Her breath falters. She doesn’t move, but you feel something shifting in the air, in the way she rests her fingertips across your skin.

There’s silence for a long time.

You don’t know if she’s finally given up, or maybe it’s because she feels trapped, with nowhere to go, yet she heaves a sigh, hopefully readying herself to face you, your questions, and possibly the future that lies ahead.

“Nobody ever made it that far.” She says in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard coming from her.

There were others. There have been others before you. The information doesn’t shock you, what does it’s the complete lack of emotion on her part.

“You killed them?” You inquire. The words haven’t even left your mouth yet and you already fear the answer. She doesn’t speak, which already is enough, or very close to the reply you were anticipating and, still, you need to hear it; you need to hear it from her. “You killed other girls? Miranda!”

She flinches at the way you shout her name: demanding, enraged, not allowing room for lies or more silence. It’s new, it would’ve earned you a punishment. Now, it doesn’t.

You feel her muscles tense under you, above, all over.

“It’s my job.” She says, again, emotionless. “You don’t have to be shocked. You know how it started, you listened to my tales, you’ve seen this place and known Victor.” She swallows. “It was my job.” She corrects.

“So, you would’ve killed me.”

“No-”

“Yes. You would.”

Miranda doesn’t reply to that. She can’t reply to that with anything that could make you feel slightly better. You both know that, and you’re grateful she’s not telling lies, nor shying away with some witty comment, or distracting you with anything else.

“I didn’t.” She says at one point. “The point is that I didn’t.”

“Yes.” You agree, slightly confused.

You know there have been others in the same cell, maybe others had managed to get out and endure some of her training, but nobody has made it, in the end.

What makes you different? You’d want to know the answer so badly, but it’s probably too cheesy and close to the nonsense that it’s impossible. It had to do something with a peculiar feature in you, or how fast you learn, or something that you can’t think of right now. But what? “Why? Why didn’t you?”

“Listen,” She lets out a frustrated sigh. You know what she’s about to do: you’ve reached the breaking point, she has no escape and now she’s shying away, “this is not the place, nor the time to-”

“We could die.” You cut her off, virtually grabbing her before she can go and hide somewhere you can’t reach. “Am I right? We could die.”

“Aye.”

“Then talk to me!” Your breath hitches. “Please.”

Hidden from your inquiring glare, Miranda heaves a long sigh. One of her hand hovers on the small of your back, the other trails through the fine hair on your nape, but it’s hardly for your pleasure: she’s using you as a sort of stress relief and you’d gladly let her without complaints. You’d do that in normal circumstances, now you’re more than happy to indulge her to know the truth, finally.

“You know why I chose you.” Miranda says. You nod: she’s told the story already: no bonds, no real purpose in your life; simply the preferable candidate to kidnap and train. “But I never told you why I needed someone like you.” She pauses, clears her throat, her voice is getting hoarse. “You’ve seen this place, you must’ve realized, by now, that I work for Victor. Worked that is. We- we are criminals. Ruthless, cold-hearted, murderous criminals who obey orders for money, no matter what.”

“I know.” You croak out, even just to give her courage. Of course you know she’s not a saint, you’ve known it since the beginning. You have to admit that hearing it from her, the plain truth, is strange and upsetting, but you’ve been preparing for the revelation for weeks.

“I was supposed to collect some information about a very important family. Drug dealers, weapon treaders- the worst kind. I was supposed to get close to them and inside their corporation and get out when the work was done, but to do that, I needed bait. I needed somebody to blame so I could get out clean and alive.” She says in a thin voice. Her fingers get caught in your hair, she doesn’t pull. “I was supposed to train someone and feed them to the lions, but- I couldn’t do it. In the end, I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of me?” You ask hesitantly, fearing that your voice might break the spell. Luckily, it doesn’t. If anything, it seems to comfort her, in some way.

“Because it was you.” She corrects with a small huff. You can feel all the frustration trapped in her words. “I thought I was simply having fun while doing my job, I thought there was nothing wrong with taking the best out of the situation... but things got out of hand. I- I didn’t know what I was doing, at some point, I knew you were getting attached, but I tried to ignore the signals, I tried to dismiss the issue until it was too late. Until there was no space left to back up, and the only way was going forward.” She inhales deeply, resumes the slow caress on the small of your back. Inadvertently, she catches a welt and you do your best not to flinch away at the pain. “I convinced myself it was just fun, just sex, just casual cohabitation with benefits, and then you talked about love... and the bubble burst.”

“I’m sorry-” You murmur, she doesn’t hear you.

“I got- I got scared and I fucked it all up.”

She moves up your back without warning, and your abused skin sets on fire. Your mind was racing already, now, spurred by the blazing pain, is in literal delirium. You push yourself up, ignoring the tightness in your muscles, the ache of your welts, and sit back on your haunches, wincing at the position that has you dizzy, eyes boring into her.

Miranda stares, her gaze a mixture of concern and shyness, and guilt that flashes oh-so-clear in the blue of her eyes, like nothing ever before. Miranda has always been tough to read, but right now, she’s so vulnerable, so exposed that your heart almost aches.

“So?” You blurt out. “I’m scared all the time! I fuck things up all the time, what’s the big deal?”

Miranda chuffs out a chuckle. Her smile is bittersweet when she shakes her head.

“You don’t understand.” She whispers. “There’s no room for being scared in this world, nor to fuck things up. You do that, you’re dead!” She growls, jaw clenched and voice vibrating with the effort. “I can only be cold-hearted and confident and ruthless and strong-”

“No, you don’t understand!” You cut her off, heart in your throat. “You can be all of that at the same time and also allow yourself to be scared. Being scared it’s what makes you different from them, can’t you see it?” You lean forward, panting hard through the soreness in your back, and rest a palm on the floor.

“It’s what got us caught.” She insists. Miranda tries to reach for you, but you flinch back.

“You’re more than just black and white.” You whisper softly, voice so low you even wonder if she can actually hear you. Eyes fixed on the sticky linoleum, you don’t feel brave enough to bear her gaze. You’ve been willing to tell her something similar for ages, and now that it’s time, now that you’ve finally decided to seize the opportunity - because, frankly, there might not be a lot of chances in the future - you feel extremely agitated. It’s now or never. Literally. Besides, what is she going to do about it? Run off? Choke you to death? You’ll be dead anyway. “You’re more than that, Miranda, in fact... you have a whole spectrum of colors within you and you don’t even know it because you’ve been too busy suffocating it for years.”

You find the courage to lift your head, and look at her. She looks beautiful as always, her puzzled face all angles and sharp edges, blue eyes boring into your very soul. You feel exposed, and yet, for some reason, you’ve never felt braver.

“I can see through you.” You sigh, your hands shake. “You let me in, Miranda. It’s too late to push me out.”

There’s a long pause. Or is it a quick one, you don’t really know. The whole room is spinning, your tired brain struggling between processing the pain and the situation at the same time.

“I did, didn’t I?” Miranda snorts, chuffing out a disbelieving giggle as she probably laughs at herself. She breathes hard behind her palms, covering her face, and when she peels her hands away, she cocks her head to the side, her face a mixture of concern and condescending curiosity as she studies you. “I got your point, no lay back down. I don’t have salts if you faint on me.”

You gape at her, but you’re too tired to protest further, so you simply give in and settle on your stomach by her side.

“Do you really think this is the best time to pull out a joke about salt?”

“Why not?” She shrugs.

She’s right. Neither of you knows how much it’s left, and the timing, you have to admit it, was quite perfect.

“I think it’s the first time I’ve heard you joking.” You confess. Surprisingly, even and especially to yourself, you’ve managed to keep your voice even and emotionless. You were simply stating the fact, but you’ve managed to conceal everything that was behind it: even in those horrible times and even more disgusting place, Miranda is still uncovering new little bits of her.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, out of the blue. “You didn’t deserve this.”

“Nobody does.” You reply, a little shrug of your shoulders.

Even if you might have a distorted vision of reality, you know she doesn’t deserve it. Despite what Miranda thinks of herself, no matter how guilty she feels, she does not deserve this.

The woman scoffs, you see her carding her hand through her hair angrily with the corner of your eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here in the first place.” She growls. “You shouldn’t love-”

“Miranda, stop it.” You exhale sharply and her precarious rambling stops immediately. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“Pity.” She mutters, almost automatically.

You can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, but you manage to mask the rejection quite well. You turn your head to the other side, so you’re now facing the wall.

You know you’ve been a fool, you know you’ve just self-deceived for months about the nature of your relationship, you know you’ve hoped and waited for something to finally shift, and it did, but only on your side. Hope… was just a weapon as dangerous as a gun, maybe even worse.

It’s so perfectly clear, right now, so close to actually dying, that things will not change. Miranda will never love you when she barely cares.

After all, why would she? Why would somebody like her love a dull girl kidnapped in a dark alley, drunk, that was supposed to serve as bait?

Of course, it changed a bit. Maybe she’s taking a liking of you, but that’s it. That’s as far as it’ll ever go.

You stiffen when you feel her fingertips crawling up your back, dragging her pads along your spine, minding not to touch any welt or sore point.

You don’t know if she knows what you’re thinking, yet you’re sure she’s sensed your melancholy. She always does.

“It’ll take a while, but it’ll heal eventually.” She whispers soothingly.

“Those are not the scars I’m worried about.” You murmur back.

You’d wear those scars proudly just as you wear hers, if only to remind yourself of those times, of those things you’ve endured and survived together. You know those will heal, one day, leaving simple marks behind, but you’re not sure the hidden ones will too. Anyway, what’s the point, now? Everything seems so meaningless so close to possibly dying while being stuck: impossible to go back to feel nothing, impossible to claim more.

“Everything heals, eventually.” Miranda says, she seems lost in her thoughts and you don’t even know if she’s talking to you or to herself. You’re in no mood to mind looking, right now. “With time.”

“We might not have that, though.” You exhale, let your eyes close. “We might die before anything can actually heal, right?”

Miranda pauses for a moment. She stops her movements, settles her hand on your bruised hip, making you shiver under that hesitant touch. She sighs.

“Right.”

#miranda croft #miranda croft x reader #tfa #the flight attendant #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #femslash

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