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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

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Not Enough

has anyone else just wanted Danny to go completely fucking feral at Dash? anyone?

yeah me too

this is some truly self-indulgent shit y'all

"Hey Fenton!"

Danny slammed his locker shut, sighing as Dash clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

"I'm throwin' a huge ass Halloween party this weekend, ghosts are all about Halloween right? You should totally come!"

It wasn't the first party Danny had been invited to since being outed as Phantom, but somehow Dash didn't seem to get the hint that he wasn't even remotely interested.

"No." Danny snapped, he threw his bag over his shoulder and turned his back on Dash, walking away without another word.

"What's your problem?"

Danny stopped, turning back around with a face of utter disdain.

"Excuse me?"

"I've been trying to be nice, but all you do is just brush me off! Like you can't even pretend to be busy or something?"

Danny stared, mouth halfway open as he tried to find the words to respond.

"Are you actually serious?" he finally choked out, almost too bewildered to be angry.

Almost.

"You're not still mad about all that stuff from before right?" Dash asked. "Like, I don't even do that shit anymore, it's over."

"Is it?" Danny's eyes flashed brightly and Dash took a half step back as the air went cold. "Because I'm pretty sure it was just yesterday that I pulled Mikey out of his locker."

"Well, yeah but that was Mikey." Dash laughed. "C'mon man, I wouldn't do that to you. We're totally cool now, so why you gotta keep blowing me off? You talk to Kwan like it's not big deal, and he used to wail on you all the time!"

Danny took a deep, slow breath, then another.

"Have you considered that maybe it's because I don't like you?" Danny said through gritted teeth.

Dash huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at the ground.

"Look, I get it, I was a jerk, but it's over! I'm actually trying to be nice, now you're the one being an asshole."

Danny looked as though he'd been slapped.

"You're such a fucking idiot Dash." Said Danny, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage. "You can't just treat someone like shit every single day for two years and then expect them to get over it because you invited them to a few parties."

"Then how come Kwan gets to hang out with you?" Dash could feel his face heating up. "You're just gonna let him off the hook? That's not fair!"

"HE APOLOGISED!"

In one thunderous moment, every locker in the hallway slammed open, sending papers and books flying across the floor. The few students still packing up their things got the fuck out of dodge, whether this was a ghost thing or a Fenton thing (was there even a difference at this point?) they wanted no part of it.

Dash couldn't move, his feet felt heavy, he wasn't entirely sure if Danny had done something to him with his ghost powers, or if he was just afraid.

Because he was certainly afraid.

Even after everyone found out, Danny still didn't use his powers at school unless it was a ghost emergency. He didn't use them for pranks, didn't use them to get even, didn't even use them to show off.

But he was sure as hell using them now, and Dash suddenly realised why he was always holding himself back.

He was terrifying.

Danny took a few steps forward, stopping barely an arm's length away from where Dash was rooted to the spot, trembling.

"Kwan apologised to me." He said, quietly this time. "He apologised to my friends, he even apologised to some other kids, and when I told him that I wasn't ready to forgive him, he accepted that and left me alone until I was ready to talk to him again."

Dash wanted to speak, but he couldn't seem to make his brain form the words he needed, it was too busy buzzing with danger run danger get out run run RUN.

"You made every single day of my life miserable for two whole fucking years, and that isn't even counting the bullshit you pulled in middle school. How do you feel right now Dash? Does it scare you to be around me? Does it scare you to be at the mercy of someone that you know damn well can hurt you?" Danny leant in, grabbing a fistful of letterman jacket. "I hope it does, because now maybe you'll have an idea what it was like for me going to school every fucking day knowing that you would be there, ready and waiting to hurt me. Every single FUCKING day."

Dash found himself being thrown backwards, his feet finally able to move again as he caught himself.

"I'm s-sor-sorry." he mumbled, his lips felt numb and tingly and his head swam with panic as he struggled to get the words out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Danny's voice cracked, his face wasn't twisted in rage anymore, his eyes were blue once again, and shining with tears. "Are you really sorry for hurting me? Or are you just sorry that the guy you were beating the shit out of turned out to be Phantom?"

"I didn't... I didn't know." Dash gasped out, he could barely hear his own words, all he could hear was his own heart beating loudly in his ears as he struggled to draw in breath. "I didn't know it was like that, I just thought-"

Thought what? What had he thought? That he wasn't really hurting anyone? That it wasn't that big a deal?

No, he hadn't thought that, because he hadn't thought at all.

"And you're gonna stand here and tell me I'm an asshole." Danny was almost sobbing as he raggedly spat out each word. "Because I won't forgive you for something you never even apologised for. This is the first time you even acknowledged that you were an absolute jerk to me, and you followed it up by demanding that I just get over it."

Dash stared down at the floor, it sounded terrible when Danny put it like that.

"I wasn't... demanding anything." he said, he was embarrassed by how whiny he sounded. "I was just trying to make it up to you, I was trying, I just thought... it's not fair that I can't have second chance. I was trying so hard and all I wanted was a second chance-"

"I DON'T CARE." Danny's eyes were screwed up tight, but it didn't stop the tears of fury from pouring down his cheeks, his voice so shredded with pain it was barely recognisable. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU. I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT. I DON'T OWE YOU A SECOND CHANCE. I DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING. YOU FUCKED ME UP AND YOU. CAN'T. FIX IT."

Dash didn't know what to do. Danny was openly sobbing, his breaths came out in grunts as he couldn't hold the rage and misery back.

He was still standing within arm's reach, Dash cautiously put out a hand, to comfort him? He wasn't sure, but he barely brushed Danny's shoulder before Dash found himself spinning violently and his cheekbone exploded with sudden pain as he hit the floor. Cold hands drew away from him roughly.

"DON'T TOUCH ME." Danny screamed. "DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN."

Dash watched as Danny grabbed his backpack and his footsteps disappeared down the hall.

It was over, just like that it was over.

Dash sat up and touched his face, he wasn't bleeding but he knew it would bruise pretty bad. It hurt, he would be squinting through one eye for a few days.

Danny could have done this to him at any time, he could have done it to him every day if he wanted, and maybe he would, now that he'd done it once.

The thought made Dash feel cold as dread pooled in his stomach.

The next day Dash told people he'd gotten his black eye from playing football, his team knew it wasn't true, but they didn't ask. He kept his eye out for Danny, wondering if he would pop up invisibly and knock him off his feet, or drag him through the floor, or hit him when nobody was looking.

He clung to Kwan's side all day, afraid to be alone.

Phantom could be anywhere, he could get him anywhere, if he wanted to hurt Dash nobody would be able to stop him.

Nobody had been able to stop Dash, and he didn't even have superpowers.

But in the end, nothing happened.

Dash went through the day untouched. Danny didn't even look his way. Not once. He just acted like yesterday never happened.

But it did happen, Dash still had the bruise on his cheek, and the terror set deep in his bones.

In the following days, weeks, months, Danny still never touched him, never looked at him, never talked to him. Dash realised that Danny probably wasn't going to do anything else after all, that maybe he hadn't even meant to hurt him in the first place.

He was a hero after all, he protected people, even people he didn't like. The only time he had ever come into contact with Dash again was to haul him out of the way of a ghost, and he did so with the same care as he would with anyone else.

Danny wasn't like him, he didn't gloat about hurting him, he didn't revel in the fact that Dash was scared of him. He just went about his day, acting for all the world like Dash didn't even exist.

Dash never gave him a true apology, it was clear Danny didn't want one, it was far too late for that.

It left Dash with a sick feeling of unfulfillment. He understood now what Danny had been going through, the pain, the terror, he wanted Danny to know that he was truly sorry, that he really had changed this time.

But he couldn't, because forcing an unwanted apology on him would just make Dash the asshole all over again, he was trying to steal a forgiveness that he could never have.

So he had to find his closure somewhere else.

He stopped picking on Mikey, and Nathan, and all of the other nerds he frequently hassled. He even tried apologising to them, some forgave him, others didn't, and he had to be okay with that. He struggled not to lash out, it still felt unfair, the world had always told him that you were supposed to forgive people when they apologised. It always happened that way on tv, in the cartoons he grew up watching. The mean kid would apologise, the other kids would forgive him, and they would all become friends.

He was realising that the real world was a whole lot more complicated than that, he didn't earn forgiveness just because apologising was hard, he was learning fast that he didn't earn any brownie points for taking responsibility for his actions. He was just doing what any decent person should.

It took him a while to come to terms with that, to stop being angry at people for not letting him make it up to them. For not letting him prove that he had changed.

All it took was to occasionally pass by Danny in the hallways for him to cool his jets and think more clearly. To remind him that he was the bad guy, he was the one who hurt people, that his victims did not owe him anything.

In his last year of school, he had found himself watching the juniors below him falling into the same behaviours, the same struggle for power and control. Pushing other kids around without so much as sparing a thought to how it made them feel.

After a lengthy chat with Mr Lancer, Dash was given permission to pull out younger students from detention one day a week. He would talk to them, ask about their lives, ask about their feelings. He would ask why they lashed out, why they thought it was okay to treat people that way. Most of them didn't have an answer, or simply refused to give one, but he would push, he wouldn't let them hide in ignorance like he did.

Some of them did feel guilt for the way they treated people, and they only needed someone they could talk to who could understand what they were going through, so they wouldn't take it out on whoever was around at the time.

Others would take more effort, they need a far stronger push in the right direction, they were defensive and combative, selfish and unapologetic.

Dash had been one of those kids, he knew they would be hard work, but he did his best. He couldn't help all of them, some were simply unwilling to change.

So he contacted the school-board, he pushed for better protection for students, more programs to help troubled kids, he volunteered to keep running his own counselling groups even after he graduated.

It still never felt like enough.

After graduation he turned down his favoured college to attend one closer to home so he could continue his volunteer work. He joined petitions and rallies for change across entire school districts, he spoke at other schools' anti-bullying campaigns. He'd attended enough of them in his own childhood that he knew they did next to nothing, but it gave him the opportunity to reach out to kids for one on one support.

He found more volunteers for his counselling groups, he helped people start them up in other local schools. It was a lot of work, especially when he was also juggling his college studies. He was taking a major in psychology, it was brutal, Dash had never been good at studying, but he'd decided that this was what he needed to do, this was important to him.

It still wasn't enough.

It would come at him in the night, as soon as he laid his head down on his pillow. He would see the faces of all the kids he hurt, it felt so much worse the older he got, they just looked younger and younger every time the memories came back to plague him.

He had beat the shit out of children. Kids who were the same age as the students he now counselled. He beat them until they were bloody or bruised, he shoved them into lockers, pulled pranks that humiliated them in front of the whole school, and he had laughed.

He'd laughed at their pain.

When the guilt weighed him down, he would begin searching for new programs to volunteer for, new petitions or rallies to get behind, always finding another way to help protect kids like Danny from kids like him.

And to protect kids like him from doing things that would one day haunt them.

He had spread himself thin across every school in the district, barely keeping afloat at college, but it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Kids still slipped through the cracks, schools were still too lenient, there were too many kids, not enough volunteers.

Casper High was holding another anti-bullying assembly. It had been a few years since Dash had attended one at his old school. This year they had excitedly announced that they'd even secured an appearance from Phantom himself.

Dash's blood ran cold, his hands shook as he went over his notes, he was slated to do his speech alongside Phantom's, they would be sharing the stage for a solid 75 minutes, barely a few feet from one another.

When Danny showed up he was already in Phantom form, Dash spotted him discussing emergency exit plans with one of the organisers in the event of a ghost attack.

He was so different from when they were in school.

He was tall, and broad, he stood with confidence and had a good natured charm to him. He was a hero, he was strong, he was brave. He could fight monsters ten times his size with a smirk and a witty one liner. He could take on anything, he wasn't afraid of anything.

He was a kid, running down a hallway, screaming words that still pierced through Dash's mind every time he saw the hero's face.

"DON'T TOUCH ME."

Dash's hands clenched around his notes, shaking so violently that they barely even looked like words.

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN."

"Dash?"

A deep voice cut through the chaos in Dash's mind as cold hands closed over his tremblings ones.

"It's good to see you again."

Phantom was smiling at him, his hands still closed around Dash's.

"Good... good to see you too." Dash mumbled, not able to meet the man's eyes.

Phantom paused before releasing Dash's hands.

"I've heard all about your work." Phantom grinned as Dash finally looked up and met his eyes.

"Yeah." he said, and then before his mind could catch up with his mouth, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, for everything."

Phantom's eyebrows rose for a moment, before he gave a gentle smile and clapped a hand on Dash's shoulder.

"I know." he said warmly. "Thank you."

They gave their speeches, Dash had told his story many times before, the victim that he'd pushed to breaking point, the boy whose words drove the change that made him the man he had become.

For the first time ever, that boy was listening.

After the assembly had packed up and the volunteers were heading home, it was Danny Fenton who approached Dash and asked if he wanted to go grab a beer together.

Dash thought it would be rather awkward, but Danny had plenty of experience socialising with the public, awkwardness slid right off him, and soon enough Dash found himself laughing alongside Danny as he told a story about the new misadventures of the Box Ghost.

He returned to his dorm that night, head still swimming from one too many beers, and he had the best sleep of his life.

He pulled back on some of his volunteer work, hunting for new people to take his place as he focused on college. He was falling far behind, but he would work hard to make his way back. As a volunteer he could only do so much, but with the right education and training, he could do so much more.

The guilt still haunted him, every so often when the pressure and the stress weighed heavy, it would creep back into his mind. It would probably never go away, not entirely, but at least now he had his closure.

Finally, it was enough.

#lula's fanfics #I'm still in a creativity funk so this isn't like #my best work #but I needed to get it out of my system #danny phantom #dash baxter #danny phantom fanfiction #tw bullying

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

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later | m. izuku

➳ tags ;; fluff, confessions, deku is smooth, kissing, fluff, fem!reader implied i think

➳ wc ;; 2.4k (wtf)

➳ a/n ;; brainrot......

➳ plot ;; izuku midoriya listens to you when you tell him to confess to you again later. he’s waited his whole life for you but he doesn’t know how much longer he can

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He thinks to himself often that it has to be you he’s been chasing all this time.

This isn’t so much a revelation to him. It’s nothing like eureka moment, an aha that he uncovers after years of reflection. After all, he’s not the type to know what he really wants.

Which is funny for many reasons but mostly because he’s a hero. He did want that, still does - but it wasn’t really an active choice. It wasn’t the desire to become a hero in terms of glamour and fame but a deep-seated knowing about the fact he had to become one. That the desire to save people above all else was rooted and deeply ingrained in him that there would never be anything that would fulfill him quite the same way.

He finds it more often than not he’s acting out of pure instinct. Something carnal and perhaps other-worldly that pins him to the world in an almost divine way. All or nothing, there’s one way to approach existence and it’s with this unwavering desire to be kind.

He’s always been that kind of person.

But, if he sat down and thought about it, the desire to be with you is perhaps one of his own. It’s one of the only things he’d chase to the ends of the earth.

Izuku Midoriya has loved you since he was 14

The first time he ever confessed to you was when he was 15, about half way into his first year at U.A. It was outside of your apartment - your childhood home. He’d walk you there after his classes, when he caught you returning from your own. It was an awkward and clumsy teenage confession even then but he can remember the details clearly.

It comes to him a series of images. Orange-yellow light that fell over your face, hairs sticking a little your head, trembling hands, ricocheting heartbeats, the sound of cars passing. He wasn’t very confident then, it makes him laugh thinking back at. But he told you anyways, bursting at the seams with his feelings.

“I like you!”

Your first reaction was shock immediately followed with a somber smile. Though he told you he had liked you, it was in the brief moment afterwards that he though there was more to it than that. He wouldn’t call it a rejection, but a wake-up call. You leaned in to kiss his cheek before whispering something back.

“If you mean it,” ― you whisper, hand on his shoulder and eyes heavy ― “Tell me again later,”

With that, you turned on your heel and went home. He wasn’t sure how to feel for a while, because it’s not like you said no. And you kissed him so that had to mean something.

Rather predictably after that, he became so caught up in hero work, it was only natural that you two grew distant. Once frequent conversations became words in passing, spoken quietly to each other. He went off to become a great hero, and you went off to study what you love.

It was a natural occurrence - he knows this now. He wonders what kind of thinking you had to have been doing to know that at 15. The older he got, the more he thought about what you said. How the once vague mention of “later” became a narrow time-frame. Not a moment too soon and not a second too later.

Izuku Midoriya has loved you all of 8 years. For most of them, it’s been a passive yearning. The emptiness of his bedframe and his disinterest. 8 years and he’s tried and failed to love other people. Maybe he was testing if later would ever come.

He’s 22 and he thinks to himself that he’s been chasing the feeling of loving you this whole time. That adrenaline from when you kissed his cheek all those years ago, he wonders to himself if it’s still there

He’ll have to go find out

After a night-out, you are unfortunately sober on the walk home. Work dinners should have a general policy for how much someone can drink, you think. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to shovel your boss into a taxi and remain regrettably conscious through a series of uncomfortable or agitating questions.

It wasn’t like he was invasive but he was.. annoying? And the fact you couldn’t sit through it by downing half a bottle of wine was a real shame . You’re so stone cold sober that your body shivers in the night air. Heels clacking against the pavement, eyes heavy and exhausted. You could endure it, you were finally going home after all.

You’d take a warm bath and hit the hay. Your body yearned for your bed and you don’t blame it. You sigh to yourself, hands in coat pockets.

“Just a little bit more,” ― you sigh, yawning and wiping your eyes ― “A little more and I’ll be...home?”

You were home, the front door to your building. There was an ominous looking figure sitting on the front steps. Your first reaction was to reach into your pockets and grab your keys between your knuckles. Your heart stuttered as you broached slowly. It was too dark to see clearly but maybe he was nice.

“Uhm.. excuse me, sir”

When he turns his head - your first reaction is to flinch. You step back as he turns his head only to grow stiff. A pair of warm green eyes and head of forest green locks await seems to be staring back at you. He gives you a warm smile - standing on his feet.

In a way, he’s unrecognizable to you. Though you see him all the time, Pro-Hero Deku making news, the image of him in your head is permanently small and frail. In front of you now, he’s grown up to be so big. A whole head taller than you and broad. He’s lean but clearly muscular. Intimidating in a sense.

“Ah, you’re home,” ― he says, non-chalant. You’re trying to recall the last time you spoke to him, the last time you’d even seen him. Maybe a year ago now? ― “I wanted to talk to you,”

Your first though is to ask questions. You had so many of them though, you’re not sure where to start. You want to ask how he’s been, and how did he find you, and how’s work going. You want to ask why he’s here after all this time and if following his dreams has made him happy how he hoped. You want to ask if he remember what he said to you at 15 - wondering if he still gets caught up on it like you do.

None of your words seem to string together right so you just shake your head a little, managing your disbelief.

“About what?” you ask. He pauses for a second, rubbing his chin before smiling at you.

“It’s later,”

Your eyes widen as he steps out of the way, using his hands to gesture towards your apartment. You blink at him but his smile is as cheeky as ever. Teasing and unusually handsome. You flush down to your neck before nodding.

“Oh, uhm.. right. Okay,”― you say, walking towards your complex doors ― “C-come on in,”

“You can uh.. take your shoes off at the door,” ― you say, after taking your own heels off and rushing to the kitchen ― “The green slippers should fit you,”

He nods as he watches you disappear to the kitchen. He takes in your apartment with a soft smile. Photos of you with your friends and family litter the entrance way. It’s filled with a soft yellow light, cozy like he’d expect. From below him, he hears a soft purr

A beige cat walks around his legs, observing him quietly before nuzzling against his thigh. His smile grows wide as he squats down and holds his hand for the kitty, waiting for it to approve of him before reaching and petting him. The cat is quick to the jump into his forearms.

“Who’s this?”

He ducks as he enters into the main area of your apartment. Your eyes widen as your usually stand-offish cat nuzzles comfortably in your childhood friends chest.

“His name is Creampuff,” ― you say, mildly stunned ― “He’s two,”

“What a good boy,”

Your heart races as you see him. After all this time, his presence still gives you those nervous butterflies. Maybe it’s because he’s become so attractive. Broader and taller but more rugged to look at.You feel like the floor might swallow you up.

“I’ll.. put on some tea,”

You take off your coat but you’re still in your work clothes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s staring at you. You’re too afraid to look behind you and see, confirm but his gaze is so heavy you’re almost certain. He traces the outline of your body and back with his eyes.

He can’t help but think you’ve filled out some. Even from behind - you look awfully pretty. You look disheveled and sleepy like you did back in highschool, after cramming for exams. A little older now with that same cute expression on your face. It’s hard to hold back or tear himself from you - so he doesn’t try. He just watches as you pour the tea into mugs and let it steep. Minutes pass and it’s quiet but not as uncomfortable as you’d expect.

You return to your kitchen table with two mugs, setting his down on a coaster.

“Careful.. it’s hot,”

He nods, taking the mug in his hands and blowing on it before taking a sip. He hums.

“Ah.. it’s good. Thank you,”

A silence settle between you briefly. Your heart is in your throat, hands trembling a little on the table. When he notices, he reaches for them. This is another of his habits, you think. Comforting people must be second nature to him, but it only makes you more nervous.

“So.. how’ve you been?”

It’s the only thing you can think to ask. He studies your expression for a while. It used to the opposite of this. He used to be the nervous one, stuttery and unsure. You were always confident and steady - he’s sure you still are. This side of you is endearing though. He chuckles.

“I’ve been good. Work is hectic but that’s always,” ― and you’re going to ask him another question. Dodge what he’s really here for, but he cuts you off ― “I’ve missed you though, so I came to visit,”

You can feel it. This tension that presses against your back and makes you sit straight. He has that determined look in his eyes, easily recognizable when you watch him. In interviews and during fights and everything in between - like he knows what he’s going up against. To have it directed at you is so nerve-wracking, you find yourself doling under the pressure of his gaze.

You fidget, voice shaking like a leaf in the wind. He was always too much for to you handle.

“O-oh?,”

He nods, taking your hand in his. He holds it to his lips, kisses your knuckles like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You wonder where he learned to act like this. He’s different but the same. It’s too much for you so you shut your eyes.

He stands until he’s on your side of the table. Rests on the corners edge with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks at you with fondness, an unmistakable affection. After all these years, it’s only grown. Double and tripled in size. No matter how much he would try and punch it down, it never deflates.

He thinks loving you is an act of heroism. The only way he could ever really save himself. 8 years and it feels like you’re old friends. Nothing unnatural or wholly uncomfortable. It’s strange.

“I thought about what you said. About telling you later. This time though,” ― he drops to the floor, crouched between your legs so slightly. He does it to look straight at you ― “This time though, I have to tell you properly so you can’t make me wait again,”

“I wasn’t making you wait,” you insist. He takes your hand in his and you unravel, body slumped. He kisses the palms of your hands, the inside of your wrist and it feels like gravity has no mercy on you.

“It felt like hell,” ― he tells you ― “I can’t sit still anymore so I’m telling you now. Even if you want to run away, I can’t let you,”

You frown, heart rapid.

“That’s not very heroic,”

He smiles.

“Good. I don’t wanna be your hero. I just want to love you selfishly as Izuku and not Deku,” ― he says, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles ― “So tell me you love me back and grant my wish. I waited all this time,”

You’re stunned into silence at his request. Eyes feeling especially water as he leans into you. It doesn’t make sense but it feels right. Your heart is beating - like you can feel all the blood pumping in you and your head feels light.

“You say it so easily,”

He laughs. It’s bright just like how you remember.

“How could you know after all this time? How could you be sure?”

He shrugs. You hit his shoulder at the nonchalance but he only chuckles. He leans in closer to you, inches away from your face.

“I waited for you all this time. Shouldn’t you give me a chance to show you?”

You sniffle as his hands cup your cheeks. His smile is so inviting, how could you refuse him?

“I’d like to kiss you,” ― he pauses, shaking his head ― “I want to show you. Let me,”

You nod as he leans into you. His lips are pillow and soft - touch addicting. You give into him so easily, tongue tied. He keeps you close, hand at the base of your neck. It feels so good, so perfect. You believe him when he kisses you like this With secrets under his tongue, between his teeth.

“Tell me your answer,” ― he demands, soft but stern ― “You didn’t before. I need to hear it,”

You give him an exasperated laugh.

“I love you.. obviously”

Right. Obviously indeed.

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#deku x reader #bnha x reader #writing tag #deku x you #deku x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x y/n

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undermattsun-archive · 3 years

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taste

(skate rat) kawanishi taichi x fem!reader | w.c 3.5k

a/n: SURPRISE it’s a sequel to mouth <3 my original skate rat sin i suppose, and also like my first real fic/drab for the fandom. god bless. as always thank u to @bakatenshii + @sugardaddykenma for putting up with me ranting about this fic (and also putting up with me since mouth)

big big thanku to #1 wife @pomsuki for reading this for me and yelling at me to finish this damn thing <3

18+ university age | pls read ALL warnings

warnings: drugs, public sex, dub/noncon exhibitionism, degredation, humiliation, dubcon, blood, slight injury (it’s a bloody nose), toxic behavior, misogynistic energy? vibes? you’ll know when u see it honestly

reading mouth isn’t necessary but it is appreciated! and pls check out melt + nightingale syndrome for they exist in the same skate rat universe (+ they’re delicious fics) also the people who wrote em r BIG SEXY

There were more than enough reasons to quit Kunimi Akira. He never texts back, he doesn’t go to class, he’s fucked a few of your friends and he couldn’t commit if you paid him. He was simply a waste of time, it was like every second spent with him was another mark ticked off a test, a percentile lowering on your next paper.

But chucking Kunimi would be like trying to sort grains of rice, difficult and damn near impossible. He always knew how to draw you back in and he enjoyed the mind games a lot more than his bored expression would let on.

Despite the impossibility of quitting him you had to at least try, so you swore up and down that hooking up with him at Oikawa’s party some odd months ago was truly the last of it, that you were done with him and all of his irritating skate rat friends.

Which begs the question of how you ended up at the little concrete amphitheater on campus, sandwiched between Hanamaki and Matsukawa on one of the steps, a blunt being passed between the two of them without so much as a second glance towards you.

“Say, when’s the last time you and Kunimi had fun?” Makki’s grin is nothing short of lascivious, a slimy feeling weighs on your tongue as you shrug off a shudder.

“Say, was that ever any of your business?” You retort, snatching the blunt from his lips bringing it to your own and inhaling deeply, revelling at the warmth creeping down your throat and filling your chest.

“Quit it Makki, she’s not gonna fuck you. Kunimi got her ‘round his little finger,” Mattsun coos, taking back the blunt, “besides, heard she’s a fuckin ice queen in the sack. Boooring.”

A sharp inhale keeps you grounded, the sound of Iwaizumi’s board slamming back down onto the pavement reminding you where you are, who you’re with. You’re not going to fall for Mattsun’s little games too.

“Tch.” Daggers prick at your lips, but you bite your tongue knowing that fueling the fire will earn you nothing but a headache. It’s not like you’re waiting for anything, or anyone, stealing a few more hits and leaving would be the best option.

“Oh? Nothing to say? But I heard your mouth was your only redeeming quality.” You focus your gaze on Iwaizumi telling Oikawa to stay out of his way, trying not to let your growing discomfort scare you away. The stubborn refusal of letting Mattsun’s words win only letting a dull ache grow at the base of your skull, prickling further when he and Makki let out low mocking laughs.

“Hey fucknuts!” Your head whips over to see a blur of crimson race by, followed gradually by a few other familiar faces you’ve seen around at parties and on campus.

“God, not these assholes.” Makki laughs as Oikawa makes faces at one of the newcomers. Your eyes drag across the unfolding scene as the number of rowdy idiots grows. You swallow hard, knowing that staying any longer would only cause your headache to further bloom.

“That’s my cue to leave.” You sigh, it’s not like you were waiting for Kunimi in the first place. You weren’t. You were just...killing time.

“Leaving?” Your head tips back to look up at the source of the question, Kawanishi Taichi, of course.

“Yeah, dunno why I’m here in the first place.” You brush off his quirked brow and shove Mattsun hard with your shoulder as you stand up. With a curt nod, you smooth a hand over your jeans, turning on your heel to brush past Kawanishi, ignoring the low whistle that falls from his lips. You make it a good distance down the walkway before the sound of crunching footsteps behind you prickles at your ears as you ready yourself to tell whoever it is to get lost.

“Want a ride?” You let out a huff as you look over your shoulder to see Kawanishi standing so nonchalantly, hands tucked into his pockets as he chews on a toothpick.

“Shouldn’t you be skating around with your little boyfriends?” The comment slips out, followed by your tongue sliding over your bottom lip as if it’ll soften the sharpness of your tone.

“Nah, just droppin 'em off,” his eyes rake up and down your figure as you turn to face him, “where’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your little boyfriend. You were waiting there like a lost puppy for him.” A protest rises in your chest, curbing it when you see a flash of something akin to flirtatious teasing in his normally passive eyes.

“I... I don’t have one.” The words are slathered in honey, punctuated with a flutter of your lashes as Kawanishi takes another step forward.

If Kunimi likes playing all those stupid games, why not play a few of your own?

“Is that so?” His head tilts slightly, you feign shyness, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you smile sweetly at him, confirming your statement with a nod of your head. “My car’s just over in the parking lot.” He tips his head in the direction of the closest lot, before turning to start walking. Without hesitation you easily fall into step beside him, trying to dampen your rising nerves.

Despite the dumb little hookups peppering your dating history, you had only gone so far with most of them, Kunimi being one of the few —and the only one you crawled back to— that you had made the unfortunate pleasure of going all the way with. You keep pushing away at the thoughts of inexperience as Kawanishi approaches an old, beat up, black Corolla, the paint flaking off with dings and dents littering across the body, the impeccably shiny rims on the wheels making you snort.

It was a rather famous car across campus, seeing it around with stupid skate rats crammed in there with the windows fogged with smoke was an almost daily occurrence, especially highlighted by how it’s tied to one too many stories of girls having varying encounters with Kawanishi –and sometimes one of his friends– in said car.

“Wanna smoke or skip to the real fun?” He never minced any words, always up front or just completely skipping out on the conversation. It always made him the best project partner in the odd classes you’ve shared over your uni years.

“I don’t like waiting.” The fuzziness nipping at your spine from the few hits you took earlier were just enough, not wanting to dull your senses completely during this encounter. The bluntness of your answer causes a smirk to play at Kawanishi’s lips as he opens the door to the back.

“Well then, ladies first.” He gestures to the gray cloth seats, you make a point to ignore the questionable stains littered across it as you slide in, trying to focus instead on figuring out the heady scent permeating through the car. Cheap cologne, cigarettes, weed and maybe stale beer, and something that was distinctly him.

Your eyes are drawn to a stain on the roof that looks oddly similar to an eagle, the thought unfinished as Kawanishi practically dives in after you. The sound of the door slamming preempting hands roaming over your body and lips moving against your neck.

“Kawa-”

“Just Taichi.” He clips as he works the buttons of your jeans, a coarse hand working against your spine as he unhooks your bra.

“Eager much?” You laugh as he pushes at your shirt and bra exposing pert nipples to cool air, simultaneously managing to work your jeans past your hips and down your thighs.

“You said no waiting.” With a chaste kiss to your lips he’s maneuvering you onto your stomach, raising your hips in the air, face shoved halfway between the seat and door. You let out a huff as your hand braces itself against the door, while the other on the seat below you, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped setting.

“Mhm.” It’s the best reply you can manage as he grinds his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass, already hard. You can only imagine how many women he’s had in this situation to award all six feet and three inches of himself the ability to move so successfully around in the cramped backseat.

Nimble and worn fingers circle around your hip, dipping down to tease at dampening lace, eliciting a soft moan from you. You push back against him, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out as he curls himself over you to scrape his teeth over your nape. His fingers continue to run up and down against your clothed cunt, pressing at the growing slick spot marking your wanting hole.

“Excited huh?” He mumbles as he skims his tongue against the shell of your ear, you manage a low hum in reply as he slides his hands back up, tugging down the flimsy piece of clothing, exposing your needy cunt to hungry eyes. He wastes no time pressing his fingers against your twitching hole, causing you to wiggle your hips just enough to earn a low chuckle and send the message of just how much you want him, need him.

Without any further hesitation he slips in a finger, your back arching with the realization his fingers are longer than Kunimi’s, chest burning at the fact you could even think of another man in this situation. As if he can sense your wandering thoughts Taichi works in another finger, another following quickly after. There’s no urgency in his movements, each twist and thrust of his fingers methodical, curling in just the right way, making sure to brush his thumb over your throbbing clit to send a stinging pleasure up your spine.

You can’t deny the way he’s taking you apart so sweetly, the tightening deep in your belly achingly sweet, as he starts to thrust his fingers even deeper, tiny gasps and whines starting to grow louder and louder as you careen towards bliss. With a particularly rough curl of his fingers you feel yourself come undone completely, punctuated by a shameless moan.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the fogged glass pulls you out of your blissful haze, still acutely aware of the way Taichi has his fingers lazily twisting inside of you.

“It’s open.” He tugs you back by the hips slightly as he retracts his fingers painfully slow, listening as he unzips his jeans. Your heart races as the passenger door opens, shifting uncomfortably to try to catch a glimpse of who’s slid into the car.

“Oh, so that’s where you went, Mattsun said you were hanging around.” Your blood runs cold, your state of undress tightening your chest as you become painfully aware of the situation you’re in. The passive tone of Kunimi’s voice nips at your skin, tears away at the search of mindless fun that you had tried to pursue with Taichi, filling your chest with raw embarrassment.

“What do you want?” The tear of a wrapper following the question, whatever protest you had silenced by a hand coming down to grip harshly at your ass.

“You have my grinder.” Kunimi slips into the passenger seat, the sound of the glove box popping open making your eyes squeeze shut.

“Yeah well close the door at least.” Your eyes widen at Taichi’s statement, you didn’t want Kunimi to just close the door, you wanted him to leave.

“Whatever. Can I smoke in here?” It doesn’t sound like much of a question, more of a declaration with the ‘can’ and the question mark tacked on for decoration.

“I don’t care, do you?” You crane your head just enough to catch the blasé expression on Taichi’s face, a quirked brow directed more at your ass than you.

“Yeah sweetheart, care if I’m in here while you’re whoring yourself out?” Kunimi scoffs, the irritated tinge to his bored tone making you furrow your brows.

“Oh fuck you.” You start to rise on your elbows, only for Taichi’s hand to land between your shoulder blades, keeping you from moving any further. You let out a huff as Kunimi clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Sorry babe, it’s me who’s fucking you this time around, maybe Kunimi can get the next round.” Before you can even bother with a retort, Taichi drags the head of his cock against slick folds, teasing at your entrance. You let your head hang down, the click of a lighter grating on your nerves more than you would like to admit.

“Please, fuck me, I want it so bad.” The whininess of your voice annoys even you, but if Kunimi wants to stick around and get on your nerves, then two could play that game.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Just like before he slides in slowly, carefully, as if to make you memorize what each inch of him feels like splitting you apart so sweetly.

“Shit.” You exhale shakily as you try to adjust to him, it had been months since you last fucked anyone, since you last fucked the asshole sitting passenger.

He sets a leisurely pace, steady and infuriating. There’s a hand clamped down on your hip, fingers digging in painfully to keep you in place, to establish that he’s the one calling all the shots. You huff, still trying to buck your hips to meet his thrusts. There’s something in his actions that makes you feel greedy, desperate for so much more than he’s offering.

There’s no way around it, you’re completely at his mercy, left taking the shallow, slow thrusts that only makes the desperate ache deep in your cunt grow.

“Hook a finger or two in her mouth.” There’s a pause in Taichi’s motions, letting you finally take a deep breath of the thick weed laced air. “Don’t look at me funny, do it and see what happens.”

You hear a non-committal hum as those devilishly nimble fingers skim past your jaw, a whimper preceding his index pushing past your lips with a harsh tug at the corner of your mouth, the painful stretch of your cheek causing you to clench down on his length.

“Oh? You were right.”

“She’s already broken in,” Kunimi takes a long drag of the joint hanging in his fingers, “no point in holding back.”

It’s as if a flip is switched in Taichi, the statement becoming an immediate challenge as he hooks in another finger beside the other, yanking harshly as the snap of his hips becomes almost painful. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, swirling with the heady smoke defiling the air.

“W-Wait Taichi.” The words are garbled around his fingers, and you’re quickly dismissed as he snakes around his other hand to hook his middle and index on the other corner of your mouth, the stretch in your lips burning as he shifts from the quick paced thrusts to deep, hard strokes.

His only reply is to tug harshly on your mouth as pathetic whines and distored words spill from you.

You can feel yourself start to shake almost violently, still reeling from your earlier orgasm and suffering at the hands of Taichi’s now vicious pace. Each thrust pushing you into madness, each tug of his fingers bringing you back.

“Fuck, fuck.” He curls over you again, sloppily running his tongue up your nape. “You wanna cum?”

“Mhmm,” you yelp at a particularly rough slam of his hips, “please.”

He grunts, moving a hand to grip at the back of your head while keeping his other hand planted on your hip, fingers biting into your hip. There’s no warning as he grinds into you, the hold on your hip finally relenting as he slides his digits back down to pinch at your throbbing clit, the bit of pressure sending you careening over the edge.

“T-Taichi.” Pleasure wracks through your body, your legs tremble violently as you try to move your hand on the door, shoulder aching from holding yourself in place. The second your hand moves, you give into the force of Taichi’s hand on the back of your head, forcing you to slam face first into the door, the impact making your nose sting, blood immediately starting to gush, running down your face and chin.

You’re not sure if he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he continues his assault, the once careful, methodical thrusts turning desperate and depraved as he moves with reckless abandon. His teeth drag across your shoulder, before pulling out completely.

“Don’t need this.” You grip at your nose, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of blood seeping onto your fingers, looking over your shoulder again to see Taichi pull off the condom. You can’t even protest with the way you’re bleeding profusely, pinching at your bridge at a poor attempt of stopping the bleeding.

“Stay still.” In one swift movement he’s plunging back into you, bottoming out immediately, a muffled yell falls from your lips, arching your back as he drives into you with just a few more hard thrusts you feel his seed spill inside you.

For a moment you two stay suspended, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix, making you groan in a twisted sense of pleasure of pain. He pulls out painfully slow, delivering another harsh slap your ass as he sits back.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout your nose.” He helps you flip onto your back, swiping his thumb over the blood trickling onto your lip before shucking off his t-shirt and handing it to you. “Don’t have any tissues.”

“So who’d you like playing fuck toy for better?” For a split second, somewhere between the back breaking orgasm and your nose being slammed into the door, you had blissfully forgotten that Kunimi was still in the car, but now that perfect illusion just had to be shattered.

“Must you be such a dick all the time?” You manage to pull your jeans back up, hissing at the stinging pain in your hips and lower back, ignoring the lewd feeling of Taichi’s cum starting to leak from your abused cunt.

Beside you Taichi manages to tuck himself back into his pants, reaching under the driver's seat to yank out a hoodie reeking of weed and cigarettes.

“Maybe you two should just get together already.” Taichi lets out a low chuckle as he pulls on the hoodie, getting out of the backseat, slamming the door hard before throwing the driver’s door open. You don’t even bother trying to hook your bra back on as you pull your shirt down, letting yourself slump back down and lay across the backseat as you reach up to check if your nose is still bleeding.

“Like hell.” Kunimi twists around in the passenger seat, looking down at you with an amused smirk, offering the freshly rolled joint to you. “You look like shit. I said she was broken in, not to break her more.” He only gets a wry laugh from Taichi as he starts the car.

“Thanks, right back at you.” You sit up just enough, looking at Kunimi expectantly. He shakes his head before twisting the joint in his fingers and placing it between your lips, producing the lighter. Just as he’s about to hand it to you he brings his hand back a bit, grabbing your jaw with his other as he lights the joint. He picks up Taichi’s bloodied shirt, pouring water from a twisted plastic bottle onto it before passing it back to you.

“Cute, blew her back out and you’re doting on her.” You watch as Kunimi moves to sit back in his seat, not even bothering to spare you a second glance as he shrugs. You dab away at the drying blood on your face, ignoring a few of the splotches that landed on the joint.

“Guess I play favorites, drop us off at my place.”

“Us?” You exhale after a long drag, narrowing your eyes at the back of Kunimi’s head as Taichi pulls out of the parking spot.

“What do I even get out of doing that?” You can’t help but nod in agreement of Taichi’s statement, feeling yourself growing annoyed at the way they seem to ignore your entire presence.

“You can fuck her again.” Kunimi offers and you almost drop the joint as your jaw falls open at the absolute nerve of the man.

“Excuse me? I’m right here?” The way that neither of them even flinch at your statement, let alone acknowledge it makes you slump back into the seat, begrudgingly accepting the fact whatever you say isn’t worth shit to either of them.

“Hm.” It doesn’t sound like he’s actually considering the offer, but the quick look over his shoulder as he turns out of the parking lot sends a chill down your spine and your stomach to twist.

“Believe it or not, her mouth’s her one redeeming quality.” The two of them snicker, like two old pals sharing an inside joke.

“Shut the fuck up.” You’re brushed off once again as they toss back a few more comments before Taichi stops at a red light, looking over at Kunimi, then back at you and finally back towards the road.

“Yeah alright.”

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cloudywriter · 3 years

Text

the lost princess of terrasen

rowaelin month - september 7th

prompt: fairytale au - (an anastasia au in this case)

important: okay y’all so i went way overboard with this entire au and it got out of hand so now this might just be a full-blown thing. however, with that whole releation and me going crazy with outlining and writing i could really only have this much of the story out and ready for today but i plan on continuing it!! hopefully after rowaelin month. enjoy this little introduction :)

(cw: brief descriptions of violence)

masterlist, AO3

~~~

At freshly 18, Celaena Sardothien was free. She’d aged out of the orphanage and was finally released to go live her own life, no longer held down in the outskirts of Rifthold. Celaena didn’t want to wait a second longer, the need to leave the horrid place she’d lived the last ten years was ingrained in her bones.

The woman who ran the orphanage, Clarisse, was cruel. From a young age, she poked at Celaena, commenting constantly on her weight or how she didn’t act like a proper young lady. Her entire life up until this point was spent at the mercy of Clarisse and her stern ways. All the girls in the orphanage were treated as maids and dolls for Clarisse to manipulate. But, Celaena made it, counting down the days until her birthday.

Now, here she was, stuck out in the cold. She’d imagined her freedom to be more alluring than this instead she was shaking as she wandered through side streets that led to the heart of Rifthold. She carried with her a backpack barely full of her meager belongings and the too-thin coat on her back. Clarisse didn’t even spare her a hat to keep out the cold so she moved her hair to shield her freezing ears the best she could and waddled along the snowy pavement.

She still had her kingsflame necklace around her neck, though, and that’s all that mattered. Where she had gotten it from she hadn’t a clue. The first memory she possessed was waking up in the very orphanage that would become her prison. Clarisse explained to her that she’d hit her head and a nice man named Arobynn had brought Celaena to Clarisse to be cared for. Clarisse questioned her about her family and upbringing relentlessly but Celaena could not recall a thing. Her mind was blank. For many nights as a young girl, she’d sit upright in the creaky, lumpy bed she occupied and willed herself to remember. She’d cry and scream, banging her fists into her head in frustration when nothing ever surfaced.

The only connection she had to whatever life she lived before was her kingsflame necklace. And she’d follow that kingsflame to the ends of the continent if it meant she’d one day solve the mystery of her existence.

Which led her to the first stop on her journey of discovery, Terrasen. Once Celaena had accepted that her memories weren’t coming back and this was the life she’d have to lead she adjusted. She served Clarisse and went to the small, dilapidated school down the street with the other orphans. There she discovered her love of books and the meager library the school offered became her sanctuary. It was there while she read a book on the kingdoms on Erilea, hoping something would strike her familiar she learned that kingsflame flowers only bloomed in one place, the capital of Terrasen, Orynth.

As a child that discovery was a revelation. Terrasen. Maybe she was from Terrasen.

As Celaena walked she felt her toes growing increasingly numb, Adarlan’s winters were bitter and she was not equipped with the proper wear. Her teeth chattered but she pushed forward, she needed to get passage to Terrasen.

She drew the map out of the pocket of her coat once again and checked the status of her journey. Only a little longer until she was at Rifthold’s main dock station.

The city of Rifthold was big and Celaena felt out of her depth as groups of people swarmed the streets walking to and from their different destinations. It was overwhelming, the smells, the tall buildings, the weather, the noise, the sheer number of people, everything.

Eventually, she saw the lights of the station and she blew a sigh of relief, she hadn’t been very confident in her ability to read a map. She approached a man sitting in a booth behind a sheet of glass, smoking a cigarette.

Celaena stepped up to the counter.

“Hello, sir, I’d like to buy a ticket to Orynth,” she gave him a smirk, leaning casually on the box. She’d learned from many years of coexisting with Clarisse and a revolving door of people that to make it through life you needed a mask. Celaena had crafted her mask carefully and had perfected her act after so many years. She exuded arrogance and confidence so that another soul would never see the scared, lost little girl she truly was.

The man grunted, blowing a puff of smoke from between his cracked lips. “Do you have your papers, girl?”

Her brain stalled. Papers? She cleared her throat, “papers?”

“Yes,” his scratchy voice replied, “you need papers to cross the border.”

Celaena’s heart sank but she kept her expression neutral. “Well, I-”

“Listen, girl, I’m not going to sit here and waste your time so don’t sit here and waste mine. If you don’t have the right documents then I can’t sell you a ticket, simple as that,” he held the cigarette between his teeth.

She searched for some way to turn this situation around, chewing on her bottom lip.

From the shadows a little ways into the dark alley adjacent to the docks, she heard a hissed whisper. “You, blondie,” an old woman emerged slightly from the shadows, beckoning Celaena forward with her index finger.

Celaena looked around, the man in the booth was already back to ignoring her, his nose stuck in a newspaper so she decided to approach the woman. She didn’t have much to lose and Celaena thought if it went south she could take her.

Celaena crept closer, tightening her grip on the strap of her backpack.

“You need papers?” Her voice was hoarse as if her throat was made of sandpaper. Celaena nodded her head keeping her guard up, watching her surroundings out of her peripheral.

“I know who can get you some,” her face morphed into a slight smile that unsettled Celaena more than anything. Celaena furrowed her brows, “who?” The woman tsked at her, her hot breath forming a cloud in front of her face.

“That kind of information isn’t free, my dear.” Celaena had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, everything came with a price in this world.

Celaena reached around to the side pocket of her backpack, fishing out a few coins she had to spare. She’d saved just enough from doing odd jobs to pay her fare to Terrasen. She deposited the coins into the palm of the old woman’s hand, her knobby fingers running along their smooth edges.

“Go a few streets north and into the red brick warehouse with the large windows, you can’t miss it. Ask for a Mr. Rowan Whitethorn, he’ll get you the papers,” she instructed, hoarding the scant sum of money she was given as though they were priceless heirlooms. Celaena turned her head in the direction the woman directed as if she could spot the warehouse from here and by the time she rounded back the woman had disappeared once again.

Celaena huffed and shot another glance at the ticket man, he was still paying no attention, tapping his cigarette out with his finger. She didn’t necessarily want to go on a wild goose chase to obtain these papers but she had no other way of getting them so she breathed deeply and shoved her hands into her pockets and twisted north.

The woman was right about not being able to miss the warehouse. It was a large, old, imposing structure, clearly, it had not been in use for some time now. Celaena crept closer peering into the foggy windows as she passed the front of the building. She couldn’t see anything and was unconvinced she’d find the elusive ‘Rowan Whitethorn’ inside.

Nonetheless, she approached a rusting metal door on the side and pushed it open with her gloved hand. The door protested but it miraculously opened revealing a wide area stacked high with boxes along the walls and corners.

She ventured further into the space, dust and broken glass crunching beneath her boots. She didn’t see any signs of life besides maybe some rats. As she neared the opposite corner what could’ve been a makeshift sitting area came into view, blocked from view initially by a stack of boxes. She approached noting the circle of crates, a dusty blanket, and a few books piled on the side.

She peered at the title of the book on the top of the stack.

The Royal Family of Terrasen. Mixed emotions surged through her body.

“Who’s in here?” A male voice boomed nearly rattling the windows. Celaena shuttered, letting her bravo fill her bones as she heard a set of footsteps enter the space.

+++

Rowan Whitethorn’s life since the fall of Terrasen and the reign of the Valg had been a hell-hole, to put it bluntly. His family fell out of status, his parents were slain in the ambush on Orynth’s castle, and Rowan was left in an unfamiliar land at twelve years old.

A sect of the Whitethorn house had been visiting Terrasen’s court for the holidays when Maeve made her move against the continent. Doranelle crumpled first to her rule and Terrasen followed, the army of Valg she’d amassed was too large to stand against. Adarlan only survived because King Dorian bowed down to Maeve.

Even now at twenty-two, he has nightmares about that evening. The terror he felt as Valg poured into the ballroom and slaughtered the royals. The terror he saw in the princess of Terrasen’s eyes as she was shoved into the kitchens by her nursemaid where Rowan had happened to take shelter as well. He was scared too, running as soon as his father screamed at him to as the Valg slit his throat. He regretted it deeply, leaving like a coward when the palace was invaded. He regretted the cowering he did in the kitchens as well but when the young princess had burst in the doors, tears flowing freely down her cheeks something had come over him. He had pushed her out into the snow yelling at her to run and she did, scrambling to find her footing.

The rest was a blur, the Vlag hurried into the kitchens soon after but somehow Rowan made it out with his life. The same could not be said for many people in the castle that night.

Now, Rowan lived in Rifthold as a thief and doer of other’s dirty work. He longed for the day he could get out of this city of nightmares crawling with Valg. One day, he promised himself, one day he’d have to funds to make it back to Wendlyn and witness what had become of his home.

There was an opportunity, though, that’d heard about from whispers on the streets. Aedion Ashryver. One of the few survivors from Terrasen’s downfall. He chosen to stay in Terrasen’s territory afterward, the country had no real structured ruling now. The old King-Consort Darrow was the closest thing there was to a king but from what he’d gathered the man is old and weak, not the same after the death of his husband, King Orlon. Terrasen had virtually crumbled.

Somehow, Aedion had built up the Bane and gained standing for himself. A standing he was using to campaign to find his long-lost cousin. How Maeve hadn’t gotten wind of Aedion and his plotting and squashed him, Rowan wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, Aedion was offering a hefty reward for the return of his dear Aelin, the nation’s true queen, convinced she was still alive.

Rowan thought the operation was useless. Her body was never found, that was true, but he imagined she’d likely fled into the Oakwald forest and perished from hypothermia not long after. If he could make a pretty penny from returning the ‘princess’ to Aedion, though, he wasn’t above doing so.

All Rowan needed was a young, blonde, and blue-eyed woman he could convince to join his cause and he could coach her to be the perfect replacement for Aelin. Truthfully, he wasn’t convinced this could ever be achieved but it was something he’d contemplated.

Rowan was making his way back to the warehouse he liked to operate his more shady business out of, the biting cold seeping into his clothes. The looming, muddy red-brick building came into view and he pushed the frosted metal door open. Immediately, he was aware that someone had invaded his space.

Small footsteps had disrupted the layer of dusk along the floor. His hand flew to the dagger strapped to his chest as he prowled further inside.

“Who’s in here?” he called out, gripping the dagger tightly by its handle. Once he got far enough into the space he could see a young woman was standing near his makeshift seats.

The first thing he noticed was she was beautiful. Long, golden blonde hair flowed down her shoulders, her skin was pale and her lips had a blue tint to them. Rowan pushed aside all those unsavory thoughts, she was an intruder after all. However, he couldn’t help but study her, she was dressed far too light for the dead of winter, not even a hat on her head.

She looked right back at him, accessing him as he was her. She didn’t look scared to have been caught trespassing, no, honestly, she looked annoyed as if he was interrupting her.

“Who the hell are you?”

~~~

let me know if y’all like it so far and would like to see more, xoxo

#rowaelin fanfic #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #aedion ashryver #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin month #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction

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butterysalt · 3 years

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Thanks For Existing | Sherlock x Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: In order to make a point to Irene, Sherlock goes out of his way to express his gratitude and make sure that you know what you mean to him.

Word Count: 1,504

Contains: Soft Sherlock

A/N: Haha I guess I much prefer writing Sherlock as “only a little bit of an asshole”. Enjoy!

You and Sherlock were in the records room for a few hours now searching for a very specific piece of information for a case. He stood beside you, watching idly as you flipped through the evidence files in the big metal cabinets. It wasn’t as though you had really noticed that he stopped looking around to be able to jab at him.

When you were concentrating on something and your mind isolated itself — your own “normal people” version of a mind palace, if you will — your eyebrows would furrow or twitch and you would gently grind your molars… Like how Sherlock noted that you were doing now.

“Hah!” Your eyes lit up suddenly and a bright grin flashed on your face. You drew out a single vanilla folder, flipping through the papers to check its contents and nodding triumphantly. A small smile crept onto Sherlock’s face as he watched you claim your success and do a ridiculous victory jig in the records room.

You shuffled over to him, still bouncing, waving the flat file at him in a taunting way and playfully bopping your fists into his shoulder. “I found ittt, I’m so resourceful ooooh,” you sang, mocking him shamelessly. Sherlock rolled his eyes at your nonsense and made a deep groveling chuckle that buzzed within his chest. Then he sucked in a slow breath and pondered silently.

“Y/n,” you rose a brow and urged him expectantly as you slipped the evidence report into your bag. “Are you free to get dinner with me tonight?”

You tensed up, snapping your head towards him incredulously. Sherlock stood, anticipating your response. Even for a mechanical detective like himself, you dared to go out on a limb and say he looked a little nervous.

After a few seconds of tense staring, you sputtered to yourself and saw that he was being completely serious. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, readjusting the strap of your bag on your arm and checked the clock.

“Oh… uhm, well, we finally found that bloody file so I suppose I am for the night,” you murmured unsurely, mostly to yourself. Your eyes rose carefully to meet Sherlock’s. It was so nerve wracking to make eye contact when his icy stare was so trained on you. “Where did you have in mind?”

Sherlock grinned, “Oh, just something in mind.” The careful response surprised you and your eyes squinted at him in suspicion. He only winked at you and turned to leave the room. For now, you dismissed his secrecy and followed the tail of his trench coat, pursuing the mystery.

The supposedly super-secret location that Sherlock was taking you to was his favorite hot chips stand. A part of you was confused due to how grand he was hyping up the destination to be. But it was fitting. You’ve known Sherlock long enough to know that chips were one of the only things out of the very few in this world that could get through to him during some of his darkest times.

Both of you paid for your chips and sat on a cold bench on the bridge. The deep vibrant painted sky that the setting sun had cast over London was dispersing into tufts of a dark red and blue. The view was breathtaking.

You never had as much time as you’d like to admit to stop working and appreciate what life had to give. Your heart swelled greatly at the realization that no day ever changed. The birds danced with the merciful breeze, singing a devoted song for another. The water underneath the bridge slapped against the brick structure, ringing special bells and melodies in your ears.

The last yellow light over the horizon was pacing its way down the tall buildings of the city, decorating the glossy towers with dazzling sparkles. And then, the whole world was enveloped by a dark velvety cloak of stars and constellations. For a moment, time became irrelevant and everyone was forced to revel in it. This is what you’ve been missing out on all this time.

“Sherlock?” The detective hummed as he chewed his fresh chips. His eyes remained in front of him, gazing towards the blobs of light dancing in the city across the ocean.

“Why did you ask me to dinner tonight?” You asked warily. Sherlock stuffed his face with another handful and downed it as quickly as he consumed it. He shrugged stubbornly. “I wanted chips.”

A puff of disbelief slipped out and you allowed the growing smile to spread on your face. You rustled your own chips in your tray and began to clench and unclench your hand subconsciously. “... Was that all?”

Sherlock leaned back into the bench, eating in a much more polite manner this time. “It’s a thank you,” he said simply. You frowned and tilted your head in his direction. “A thank you? For what?”

“... Being here,” he uttered before shoving another chip in his mouth. Your eyes widened and you felt your lips parted in surprise. He wouldn’t look at you but rather just continue distracting himself with food. That’s a first.

A warmth grew in your cheeks and you lingered in contemplation before taking a bite of your own chips. You both looked forward, ignoring the silence among the two of you. But the setting was calm. Now that the sun had already set, so did the city.

You murmured quietly, “Well in that case, thank you as well.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him either as you thanked him. You darted your eyes in any other direction and hastily chewed.

Sherlock glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and his lips formed a smirk. Even when you weren’t directly looking at him, he could see the way your eyes sparkled and lit up when he was around you. You enjoyed each other's company and that was enough proof for Sherlock to believe that you really do mean something to him.

“You don’t want to have dinner with me,” Irene asked, but it came out more as a statement.

“No thanks,” Sherlock responded flatly. The woman rose a brow and a sly expression graced her face. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “Oh? Now that’s interesting.” Sherlock kept his eyes closed as a way to actively ignore her but he perked a silent brow.

He could easily hear the smirk in the Woman’s voice. “Are they that special to you?” This made his brows twitch. Despite her personal jabs, Sherlock still refused to look in her direction.

A sultry laugh came from her throat. “To prove me wrong, you, Sherlock Holmes of all people, would go out of your way to play with another one of your pets. You really can’t lose at anything, can you?” Irene chuckled to herself and tilted her head, gazing at the slight facial tremors on his features. “Unless, you want my attention that badly?”

“Excuse me?” Irene grinned and bounced her shoulders. “I’m only stating, Mr. Holmes. It is a mystery how you work. You deny it, but you’re very emotional.”

His eyes were wide open now and glaring at her. He dropped his hands on the chair’s armrests. “You don’t know anything about me, Ms. Adler.”

“Is that right?” She hummed. Irene slowly got to her feet and approached the detective until she was standing in front of him. “You’ll do anything to win, Holmes. Trust me, I know. But is it possible for you to win anything and everything? A very specific person of interest by chance?”

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock said carefully. Irene lowered herself onto his lap and rested against his chest. The man did not flinch nor move away. He stared her dead in the eyes.

“You don’t know how to be intimate with someone. How to satisfy a person. At least not properly.” Sherlock rose a brow, questioning that notion.

Irene flirted and adjusted her position, leaning all her weight against him now. “Believe me, I can see the lechery in your eyes. But you won’t be able to keep them, you know. It's all a game to you. Do you really think that these boring people have the will to put up with geniuses such as you and me?”

Sherlock remained stone in his spot, glaring at the woman straddling him. Irene thought she was effectively intimidating him until he leaned forward, close enough to say words only they could hear.

“You’re not special to me.” Her eyes rose to meet his and she felt a chill run through her. “You’re not different. Not unique nor brilliant. You’re the same as any one else I’ve ever perceived. Just way in over your head.”

Sherlock easily pushed her off his lap then stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away from her. The Woman stood back, staring at his back in shock.

Holmes opened the door to his bedroom and hollered behind him, “Lock the door before you leave, thanks!”

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x gnc #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes fanfic #reader insert #self insert #irene adler fanfic #irene adler fic #irene adler

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hopeymchope · 2 years

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Considering why some of the twists in World’s End Club don’t make retroactive sense

I was recently watching the YouTuber Food4Dogs talk about World’s End Club, and she seemed to suggest at one point that some of the issues with the game’s storytelling may well have stemmed from Apple’s push to release the incomplete version as a sort of “Early Access” game for Apple Arcade users.

A refresher: Typically, if a game is on Apple Arcade, that’s because Apple paid for that. Which means Apple directly gave funding to TooKyo Games for World’s End Club, and they got early access to the incomplete “2/3″ version in exchange.

For this reason, the devs not only saved any Apple Arcade player’s progress at that cliffhanger point — they also created a way for people who’d previously played the Apple Arcade version to skip past the first 2/3 of the game if they later opt to pick up the Switch version.

This is part of the cliffhanger ending that existed in the original Apple Arcade release. It’s also an unlockable extra video in the full Switch version.

However, by doing that, the developers basically locked 2/3 of the game into place. Any big reveals they did in the last 1/3? There was no way to further edit the first 2/3 to make it work in retrospect. If users were going to be playing through 2/3 of the game and then waiting to finish the adventure later, you can’t exactly go back and change what happens in the first 2/3 anymore, can you?

When TooKyo Games eventually finished the game, they would go back and update some of the music for previous sections and remove some glitches as well as adding English VO and new collectibles throughout.. but they didn’t change any text or plot points.

This suggests that perhaps the game’s writing wasn’t entirely locked down when they put out the incomplete Apple Arcade version. Because it’s really hard to square some of the late-game revelations up with some earlier events.

I will not be attempting to explain the giant neo-impressionistic water dog.

Let’s get down to SUPER-SPOILERY business under the cut.

Is it really possible that Reycho was controlled by Pochi (and, occasionally, the “Otherworlder” i.e. the player) throughout the duration og the game? I submit to you that this does not make much sense in multiple scenes.

In particular, please consider this scene from Chapter 1. This is the moment where Pochi proposes to Vanilla and Reycho that they all share their wristband tasks. That way, nobody among them can use those tasks against the others. It seems like a solid idea, except... Reycho refuses.

Here’s the scene (partly as screenshots and partly as text):

Vanilla: And you haven’t been brainwashed!?

Pochi: I’m totally fine.

Vanilla: .........................................

Pochi: Come on, Vanilla. Show me your wristband!

Vanilla: You think I’m gonna say “Sure!” just like that? Tattsun just showed his wristband and he...

Pochi: Here you go... *Pochi extends his wrist towards her*

Vanilla: *reading Pochi’s wristband* “Aniki’s Task: Eliminate everyone besides yourself”!?

Pochi: *pulls another wristband from his pocket* This is Tattsun’s wristband. I picked it up after he dropped it a minute ago. I guess something makes the wristband come off once the person is eliminated.

Vanilla: *reading the second wristband* “Kansai’s Task: Don’t bleed until 7 minutes before the time limit.“

Pochi: See? Do you get it now? You won’t end up like Tattsun if you show us your wristband.

Vanilla: But Reycho still hasn’t shown us what his wristband says...

Reycho: *shakes his head*

Vanilla: I see... so no negotiations, huh.

Pochi: What... that’s not fair, Vanilla!

Vanilla: Why? You were the one that showed it to me! I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you two, but... I can’t show you my wristband no matter what. Anyway, good luck you guys. See ya! *Vanilla runs off*

Pochi: Vanilla! *she leaves* Well that’s it, there goes my strategy. It didn’t seem like Vanilla had been brainwashed, so I thought she’d show her wristband. Well, it is what it is, I guess. Only one thing to do now: Keep everyone from doing their tasks!

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

IN SUMMATION: Reycho. The robot that supposedly has no free will or self-awareness at this time. The robot that Pochi is directly controlling with his phony portable game console. REYCHO refuses to go along with POCHI’S plan.

.........WTF???

Pochi had to know Reycho’s task already when he proposed the above idea. Why did he spend the time to make this suggestion if he himself wasn’t willing to go along with it?! It makes no sense. ............... Unless we’re supposed to believe that Reycho just asserted his own will or something, foreshadowing his eventual self-awareness. .........................Buuuuuuuuuuut if that were the case, shouldn’t Pochi have mentioned this strange occurence later — either to the others or when he’s just alone, trapped in the school and thinking to himself? (Uh, maybe so much had happened by then that he forgot?)

I’ll forgive the fact that Pochi is talking to Reycho alone. That actually happens quite a bit in the game, but I don’t think it has to be a big deal. That could just be Pochi putting on a front just in case anybody is watching them. Or maybe he just got used to treating Reycho like a friend and colleague after a while, so it came naturally.

Regardless, it’s still a bizarre scene in light of later events. And it’s not even the only thing that calls into question how Reycho is functioning.

What about when they all ride away on that massive 12-person bicycle together? Pochi’s game console is stowed away because he’s peddling on the bike and has his hands on the handlebars. Meanwhile, Reycho is... doing the same thing somehow? Without being controlled?

Reycho even thrusts his fist out when Kansai does it!

And what about when we’re told later that all Pielope’s transformations and all of the weird creatures they encountered along the way were just hallucinations that MAIK created - simple illusions? If that’s the case, explain this:

What’s holding Reycho and Chuko up?! Pielope’s transformations were all just illusions, remember?

Shortly thereafter, when Pielope tries to burst into the lead cars to “punish the traitor,” a bunch of the kids grab his giant robot legs and hold him back with all their might. So what the hell are they grabbing if the transformation isn’t really there?

What happens if you get snapped up by the giant carnivorous plants in the first abandoned town? I mean, Reycho can get grabbed and chewed up in that segment, but supposedly the plants don’t exist and are mere illusions. So uh, what the hell is doing that? .... I guess you could argue that since this causes a Game Over, it never actually happens and is non-canon content or something. But it still irks me.

It definitely feels like, instead of writing the whole story out beforehand, Uchikoshi came up with (or just changed his original intent for) these endgame explanations very late in the production process. And at that point, they had no way of going back to adjust earlier sequences.

Don’t get me wrong: These two issues (Reycho being constantly under control and the “illusions” claim) are really my only two issues with the storytelling. I still loved the story as a whole, and there are tons of other events and twists that worked!

But those elements... they clearly stick out.

#world's end club #wec #wec spoilers #too kyo games #tookyo games #writing #kotaro uchikoshi

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

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Lady Luck (pt. 1)

I was so hyped to write this lol. Heavily inspired by Kaiji <3

Tw: mafia mention, unrealistic potrayal of mafia, mentions of threats, implied obssessive behavior (will get more hardcore in the second part tho), mentions of gambling, kidnapping /not reader/

You knew that you were a scum, a lowlife, a miserable loser without much hope in life - that’s exactly why you had no problem joining the deadliest underground paradise and following under the steps of the Lucciano family. They controlled everything - the casinos, the drugs, the guns, the whores, you name it - they provided it. And you had nothing - neither a past, nor a future. But everything changed when the oldest son Thomas decided to help you get out of the mud and step onto your legs - he gave you a home, a friend to return to, a shoulder to cry on when reality felt too painful and harsh, just too much to bear on your own. “Why would you do that for a stranger?” You had asked him once while tipsy, sitting by the hearth, a slight blush adorning your soft cheeks. “That’s easy.” The man had responded right away without giving it much thought. “You remind me of myself.”

You spent long nights thinking about his words but never came to a conclusion - he was born into a powerful, wealty family, so it made no sense for him to have experienced rock bottom the way you had. And his small black eyes displayed such a variety of terryfing emotions - bloodlust, greed, sin and so much sadness. Why would a monster ever feel scared, you wondered.

Working for the Luccianos wasn’t especially hard or even dangerous - you ran small errands for them, took care of the younger kids, helped with insignificant deals, acted as a croupier when their staff was sick or missing or had to be taken care of, but one thing you were thankful for was how they never tried to force you into doing something you would never be able to forgive yourself for. Thomas was kind to you - always so considerate, willing to listen, to understand how you felt even when the worlds you two lived in differed so greatly. He was supposed to be villain of the story, big and scary, demanding, taking whatever he wants without asking and never feeling an ounce of regret about it. And for a while, you were suspicous of the man’s every move - you were desperately waiting for the mobster to fuck up and show his true colours so you could let yourself hate him, despise him. And yet the sweet, sweet moment of revelation never came. You knew, of course, of the many evil deeds the criminal bestowed upon thousands of innocent people each and every day, but you never witnessed it with your own eyes and when the man was treating you like a part of his family, holding you close and giving you chance after chance to prove yourself, it was slowly getting impossible to view him as the bad guy. Perhaps you should have waited just a little longer.

It happened during a warm, spring day. You didn’t expect it, you couldn’t. You had just finished your shift at midnight in the small shop you worked in, which belonged to Thomas’ mother, and were heading to the Lucciano mansion. It had been a particularly long and exhausting day, so you wanted nothing more than to feel the soft, silky, white sheets down your half-naked body while the quiet classical music took you to dream land and back. But upon opening the heavy wooden door, you quickly noticed something was different - there was no music, the big black TV in the middle of the hall was set to camera mode instead of the normal one, and it was awfully quiet. “They must have had to leave the country for a while.” You rationalised. “It has happened before after all.” You kept reassuring yourself while taking a tiny step towards the centre of the room where light was the strongest - it could uncover every hidden little detail.

And then the TV was turned on. You shifted your gaze up, paranoia eating at you from inside out. Soon there was clear image on the massive screen, but what you saw left you speechless. There were hours of footage from your personal life - working, hanging out with friends, eating, bathing. What made the shivers down your spine run cold was a scene where a guy, your boyfriend, was kissing you, touching you, undressing you with his praying eyes. It was nothing unusual for a young woman to have a love life, but this broke the only rule Thomas had told you upon entering the house - you were forbidden from having close relationships with men, especially dangerous ones, and for the longest time, you had no issue living by that as long as you came back to the luxury and warmth the mobster provided for you. Until you met him - a charming, clever member of a local gang. You knew it was wrong and could cost you more than you were willing to sacrifice and yet you still gave in. It was your first time experiencing the highs and lows of love, so who could blame you when it was such a magical feeling, a mixture of adrenaline and opium. Alex made you feel like a real human being instead of someone just existing, leeching off the stronger, wealthier species.

There was a shadow moving out from the corner, playing into your delusions. But soon enough you realised it was all a reality as none other than Thomas walked slowly towards you, clapping his hands dramatically, a sly smirk on his beautiful, scarred face. Did he...

"Congratulations." The man started off, dark eyes set on you, slowly coming closer and closer like a big black hole, ready to swallow you whole. "You went and got yourself a little boy - toy." The criminal chuckled viciously under his breath, making you cringe at the crude nickname he used. The situation felt surreal and yet the fear and panic were already suffocating you, making you dizzy wish regret. "I wish you would have told me though... I never thought someone I hold so important would lie to me." The mobster kept rambling, waving his arms in the air theatrically, while holding a lit cigarette, but never moving it to his lips - it was just a prop, a way to create a thick smoke mist in your eyes. It was finally the hour of judgement.

"What do you want?" You asked, faking confidence, desperate to take control of what was happening. It was a bizarre thing to see your dearest friend act in such a eerie, frightening way, almost treating you like one of his victims - nothing more than an indebted bastard or an unfortunate bystander, unlucky enough to catch a deal unfolding right behind the scenes. It hurt but you had forced this upon yourself and you had to fix it.

"Nothing much, really." Thomas replied, finally inhaling the deadly smoke into his open mouth. He played with his collar for a while, as if you weren't standing there, scared for your life. "I just want to teach you a lesson in obedience, doll." The mafioso continued, circling you slowly, his heavy gaze never leaving your body. You felt awfully exposed even when all your clothes were present, covering every inch of your skin. With a swift snap of his fingers, the man summoned most of the gorillas that worked under him. Two of them were dragging your kicking, screaming boyfriend towards the centre of the room, but a quick punch in the guts managed to quiet him down. He looked terrified, his face bloody and injured, covered in dust and misery. But he was still alive and only that mattered to you.

"I wanted to make this entertaining for all of us." The oldest Lucciano spoke out, his husky voice echoing trough the golden ceiling. He moved over to your lover and harshly pressed the cigarette butt against the exposed skin of his unprotected arm. The man cried out in pain, silently pleading you to help with his big, terrified eyes. And here you were, as helpess as he was - if not even more. "So I decided to initiate a little gamble of sorts, ya know?" Thomas winked at you, smiling with malice. You couldn't help, but recall all the times you two had played poker together, betting less than pocket change. You never understood why the man always got so excited despite winning such small sums, especially when his casinos already did well. But now you could see it clearly - he got off crushing his opponent, taking the victory under their noses. Money meant nothing. As long as he was able to ruin your mood, your life, the man was pleased.

Soft white light lit up the furthest corners of the hall and you saw dozen square boxes, arranged in a circle. It looked harmless enough on its own, still they were stamped with Thomas’ symbol - a dove. You used to wonder why someone in the most dangerous depts of mafia would choose such an innocent, sweet signature pf representation and now the answer was right in front of you - that way it was easier to trick the enemy into thinking they were safe. And how wrong were they.

“As you can see, there are nine wooden boxes in total. They look exactly the same and on top of each one there is a hole.” Thomas stopped to point at them, the raw anticipation flooding his otherwise dull pupils. “Six of the boxes are empty. In the other three though, there are placed some of the most poisonous snakes in the world. One bite and you are dead.” The madman gave a loud, breathy laugh while your boyfriend squirmed uncomfortably in place, restrained by the strong arms, holding him down. “Both of you will take four turns putting your hand in the boxes. After every round the box would be closed off and you would be able to choose only from the remaining ones. ” The mobster grinned widely, looking at your horrified expression. You couldn’t believe that the man was willing to put your lives on the line simply because you had neglected one of his orders. “Now you may be wondering where the suspence is - after all you would probaby manage to hear the hissing from afar and avoid the place it comes from. Rest assured, my foolish little friends. Right now the snakes are heavily intoxicated and absolutely silent - which doesn’t mean, of course, that they won’t attack any soft flesh they see. If you die, that’s on you, but if you survive, you will be rewarded.” Thomas clapped his hands together and his man let go of your lover, resulting in his falling to the ground with a heavy bang. Thomas pursed his lips together.

“Shall we get started?”

#yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere mafia #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere gambling #yancore

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usohtsuki · 4 years

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sakuatsu fic recs!

*possibly haikyuu!! manga spoilers

the world needs to know about these beautiful miya atsumu & sakusa kiyoomi fics - let me know if i’ve missed any must-reads and i’ll update as i find more (last updated 30/04/2020). this does not include incompleted fics.

☆ = nsfw

Different Kinds of Dysfunctional (series) - DeathBelle ☆

(there’s no series description so this is just the description of the first fic)

Atsumu said into the heavy silence, “You can’t say you’ve never thought about it.”

"Thought about what?" said Sakusa.

Atsumu smiled to himself, smug. "You know."

"No, I don't."

"You know. Of course you’ve thought about it. There’s no reason to be ashamed, Omi-kun. I’m a real catch.”

Sakusa was appalled. "You're disgusting."

"You flatter me. I'm not judging you. I can't lie and say I haven't thought about it, too."

Sakusa shifted, slowly, to peer over his shoulder. He wasn’t scowling, but his expression was unreadable. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Atsumu wasn't joking, and he was about to get more than he bargained for.

your highs and lows (series) - astroeulogy ☆

a post-time skip canonverse series born from these two questions:

1. what if sakusa kiyoomi, known too-blunt jerk, is equally straightforward about his soft, tender feelings?

2. what if miya atsumu, resident big fat jerk who doesn't care if his teammates hate him, is too emotionally stunted to notice when his one of his teammates actually likes him?

did you get your wish? - bastigod

"Miya-san, do you have any regrets?"

Atsumu hummed in response. The fabric of his jacket crinkled as he shoved his hands into his pocket. "Getting sentimental, Sakkun?" He sighed. "I suppose after your last tournament is as good a time as any for it."

good is the life, the life is good - fiskanel ☆

From time to time Sakusa wants to empty a full clip into the head of some criminal, chop their head off and to feed the remains to starved pigs. Or avoid feeding and have a ceremonial burning so that he gets the feeling that he has done it himself, with his own hands, because now his nerves are getting the best of him. The first rule of their agency is no killing until other options get irrelevant.

got sunshine in a bag - fiskanel ☆

‘Is everything okay?’ Sakusa asks, running through Atsumu’s hair and trying to catch his breath.

‘Yes.’ In his post-orgasmic bliss Atsumu doesn’t exist as a person. He has a hoarse voice, swollen lips, watery eyes, and his semen is smeared between their stomachs. ‘It's okay.’

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or, the fine art of emotional recognition) - pseudoanalytics ☆

It's stupid. Atsumu isn't a romantic, no matter how many times he's imagined laying Sakusa out and finally really touching him.

So there's no explanation for why Atsumu is constantly stuck thinking about brushing his fingertips against the meat of Sakusa's palms or the prominent tendons in his freaky wrists.

There's no explanation for why doing dishes sets off a warm burn in his ribcage, or why when he smells disinfectant he inhales like he's walking past a bakery.

Yer doin' this to me, he thinks furiously, as Sakusa derails his thoughts with kisses that come more and more frequently now. Yer conditionin' me, and I can't stop it.

School Bus Yellow - yuuki

Atsumu has a crush on Sakusa, and it’s kind of ridiculous how much he likes a guy who wears ugly colored jackets and is afraid of germs.

Though, Atsumu’s probably not all that great himself. He’s still figuring that part out.

in disguise of revelation - wordstruck

“Did you need something, Miya-san?” Sakusa asks. Is this, Atsumu wonders wryly, how thieves feel when they’re caught.

“Omi-kun,” he replies with a slow-blooming foxkill grin. (And he hits a nail on the head — the unwelcome nickname makes Sakusa’s eye twitch just slightly.) “Lemme set for ya.”

Ah, there it is. A flicker of something colder behind that flat gaze, a there-and-gone-again that still hits Atsumu like a lightning strike. It makes his grin widen. Cavalier mischief is his best shield.

“My name,” the other boy says, in a voice of steel under paper, “is Sakusa.”

we are not shining stars - wordstruck

“I wanna see the Shinhotaka Ropeway,” Atsumu explains, as if this is a reasonable explanation for dragging your professional-volleyball-playing teammate out on an impromptu eight-hour road trip to a tourist attraction six hundred kilometers away.

“Uh huh.” Osamu pauses. Atsumu can hear his twin silently contemplating various reasons for Atsumu’s continued existence. “Is Sakusa-kun your hostage?”

“He wants ta see the Shinhotaka Ropeway too.” (This is a blatant lie.)

(Ten days after they lose to the Schweiden Adlers, Atsumu knocks on Sakusa Kiyoomi's door and invites him on a road trip.)

Notice - bastigod

Embarrassingly, Miya Atsumu is the third person to notice his crush on Sakusa.

And it's his crush in the first place.

The Germaphone and the Asshole (series) - metaandpotatoes ☆

(there’s no series description so this is just the description of the first fic)

“The germ thing,” Atsumu says, looking as if he is intensely trying not to care. Eloquent as always. And unexpected, again. An inconvenient turn of events, if the habit persists. Adjustments will have to be made. Reaction times calibrated. Kiyoomi steps back again, what he hopes is an unnoticeable amount.

“The germ thing,” Kiyoomi repeats. Atsumu—headstrong, think-never Atsumu—hesitates. Kiyoomi briefly entertains the thought that he is trapped in a lucid dream.

flowers and all that bullshit - ugaytsu ☆

Atsumu asks for flowers, Sakusa gives him an interesting one.

On Edge - cajynn ☆

Atsumu needs to learn a lesson in patience. Thankfully Sakusa is a very skilled teacher.

Multiples of Two - yuuki

He does everything in multiples of two. The day Sakusa Kiyoomi died, Atsumu checked his pulse twenty-eight times. Okay, so Sakusa Kiyoomi has never died. And Atsumu has never been close enough to Sakusa to be able to check his pulse. So what if Atsumu is just being dramatic again? He’s allowed to be dramatic when he’s in love with a man who has less emotion than a rock.

after hours - novacaelum

"Are you scared of being caught, Omi-kun?"

"No." Sakusa's voice is strong despite his breathlessness, Atsumu smirks and crashes their lips together again.

crushed - strawberrycitrus ☆

"Can you crush a watermelon between your thighs?"

The entire team bursts into laughter, whereas Sakusa looks disgusted by the thought, because of course he would - Atsumu imagines that getting anywhere close to a food product with his legs would probably get him killed on sight.

The watermelon doesn't stand a chance.

show me how - emeraldpalace

Sakusa isn’t sure when or how it happened, but the fact remains: Miya Atsumu has become a comfortable constant in his life.

Black Jackals teammates verify controversial relationship announcement - pseudoanalytics

Despite initial public skepticism, sources close to Miya Atsumu (#13) and Sakusa Kiyoomi (#15) insist the relationship is authentic and not a publicity stunt.

Towers - slice_of_cheesecake

As the second prince of Inari Kingdom, Prince Atsumu has his duties to fulfill. Other than that, his twin brother, Crown Prince Osamu, just can't be bothered with such a troublesome quest, unless it's about food.

There's a nefarious sorcerer that is infamous for terrorizing neighboring kingdoms and Atsumu is given the task to slay the villain. But as soon as he sees the evil sorcerer, he suddenly forgot about his quest. Instead, he makes it his top priority to know more about this mysterious man and how he came to realize that all things are not always what they seem.

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

touch me, hold your hand to the flame, keep it there as long as you can stand - kaashiboo ☆

“I don’t trust you,” Sakusa says, and: “Don’t touch me.” Miya Atsumu does not flinch as grazed joints press against their shoulder, unfolding slowly, grasping onto them. Their breath hitches. Closed eyelids flutter, but don’t open up. “Don’t touch me,” Sakusa repeats, pleadingly, his fingers trembling so hard he thinks he can’t keep this up. Yet, he’s the one putting more pressure into it. Desperately, starvingly, longingly. “I won’t.” Atsumu promises. “I won’t touch ya, Kiyoomi-kun. I won’t.”

you make my heart burn - myhopeisjhope

“What’s up with that awful expression?” Atsumu asked. He leaned against the counter with his hip, looking directly at Kiyoomi, his regular fox-line grin plastered on his face.

Kiyoomi made eye-contact with him then, his eyebrows knotting in annoyance, but Atsumu was too interested in the cute pair of beauty marks above Kiyoomi’s eye to care about the glare that was sent his way.

“What’s up with that awful hair?” Kiyoomi shot back.

And that was exactly when Atsumu decided he liked the guy.

we’re falling out of touch - NovaCaelum

Sakusa loves Miya's hands. They look coarse from playing volleyball for long hours, they curve perfectly and set a ball as if he's reading the player's thoughts. As if he could. If it was true, then he'd know how Sakusa can't drag his eyes away from long fingers, rough calluses...How Sakusa wants to run the pads of his fingers over the shape, memorise it as if he'd never have the chance to do it again.

sometimes we have to wait (it takes time to find you) - ProudHaikyuuTrash

Three times Atsumu falls in love and is left heart-broken and the one time he gets his happy ending.

The Misadventures of Crackshot and Limber - astroeulogy ☆

Six months ago, the hero known as Bloodhound became the latest in a long line of mysterious disappearances. When a sudden break in the case leads his old partner and twin brother to the home of Southpaw, the most famous hero in Osaka, things take a turn for the—strange.

drive me mad (series) - Ceryna ☆

snapshots of a tattoo & motorcycle AU fusion, featuring Kiyoomi with tattoos and a motorcycle, and head-over-heels pining Atsumu.

Heresy - honeybakedgrace

“I’d like to see that,” Kiyoomi jokes, a cheeky grin curling up the corners of his lips. Atsumu closes the gap, slowly, then all at once, until they can feel the other’s breath on their lips.

“It's too bad,” Atsumu trails off, eyes cast onto Kiyoomi’s exposed neck.

“Too bad?”

“Too bad,” Atsumu echoes, “in another life, maybe I coulda shown ya.”

Shades of Ink - DeathBelle ☆

It’s fortunate that Miya Atsumu is such a good tattoo artist, because that appears to be his only redeeming quality. He’s too loud, too cocky, and so overtly flirtatious that Sakusa almost leaves the shop before he even steps inside. But he’s seen firsthand that Atsumu does good work, so he stays and suffers through it.

The longer he's there, the more he thinks maybe Atsumu isn't all bad.

When Atsumu asks for a tattoo from Sakusa’s shop in return, Sakusa knows he should turn Atsumu down. He doesn’t.

What should have been a routine business transaction turns into something more hands-on than either of them expected.

compositional control - almondblossom ☆

Sakusa Kiyoomi hated Miya Atsumu’s smug face, how bossy he was to the staff, and how full of himself he got. Even worse, he was outraged by how good Atsumu looked when he edited the photos from their shoot and how he ended up staring at them long after he was done. He loathed him and his pretty face and how it was all he could think about.

I Heard Your Voice - mrkscafe

Where Sakusa meets Atsumu while at work.

“Hey there, Pretty Moles-kun!”

Don’t turn off the light (I’ll give you what you like) - Liberty_Fede ☆

Atsumu thinks he can tease Sakusa, but gets completely wrecked instead.

three roses and a smile - strawberrycitrus

“I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.

Live A Little - DeathBelle ☆

Sakusa's first mistake is getting on the motorcycle.

The second is his inability to walk away from Atsumu.

just a boy undercover (and a boy with a getaway) - volchitsae

Atsumu reaches out, clearly ready since birth to fuck with people. "Hey, I'm Atsumu Miya. Nice to work with The Lonely Lance." Osamu tries to kick at the back of his knee, but Atsumu is already moving toward Sakusa to get into his space.

Sakusa grasps the tips of Atsumu's fingers with his gloved hand for half a second before snatching it back. The warmth of the leather makes Atsumu's fingers twitch.

"It's Sakusa. I know who you are." Atsumu notes that he does not look pleased at all.

Instantly, his feud with Osamu hits the back burner. Atsumu wants to piss off the living shit out of this guy, 24/7, 365.

godeater - hozier

I’m still waitin’ for the day you consume me whole.

let them eat chaos - mirabilis

Standing between God and Ozymandias himself, Kiyoomi forges the remains of the boy who once challenged the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium and lost.

Saltwater - DeathBelle

“I said I was taking a walk alone.” Sakusa’s voice sounded odd, washed out by the low roar of the ocean. He sounded small, insignificant, and maybe he was.

“Yeah, I heard you.” Atsumu sounded the same as ever, loud and bold and always teetering on the edge of obnoxious. He stepped up beside Sakusa, maybe looking at him, maybe gazing out at the water.

“And you didn’t listen,” said Sakusa. “That’s typical.”

“I listened. I just heard what you didn’t say, too.”

an observational study of the modern desmodus rotundus - firtree

Ever since meeting Miya Atsumu, Kiyoomi's life has been a continuous stream of very unlucky incidents that have bled into a veritable sea of regret in which he finds himself, with no hopes of swimming back to the shore. In short, everything that is wrong with his life can (and will be) be attributed to making the acquaintance of Miya Atsumu.

Or: Some might think that becoming a vampire is the biggest problem that Kiyoomi will ever have to face. Wrong. His biggest problem comes in the form of Miya Atsumu and the crush he definitely does not have on him.

Reaching Through the Screen - cajynn ☆

“Oh my god.” Atsumu looks both shocked and thoroughly amused. “Omi-Omi. Is that porn?”

Euterpe - 09271996

Atsumu does not sing nor spare a glance at the instrument even once. His fingers alone do the wonders. Like a person meditating, only having his fingers move all according to instinct. He plays a hauntingly sad song, if Sakusa would describe it. He is not familiar with it but the way the chords resonate around the room and gives goosebumps to his skin, he knows that if he goes to sleep, it’s going to haunt him.

want you in my room - volchitsae ☆

"we hooked up and now the city has shut down for a week due to a pandemic and now we're stuck in your apartment" AU -- There’s a comfortable quiet while Sakusa butters some toast until Atsumu’s phone starts ringing from where it’s plugged into the wall. Sakusa scoops it up from the desk in the living room and hands it over to Atsumu, who puts it on speakerphone.

“Yo, ‘Samu,” Atsumu says, around a mouthful of cereal.

“Oh, so now you pick up.”

“My phone died!”

“We thought you died. It’s lucky you weren’t murdered. Unlucky for me, I’ve always wondered what it was like to be an only child.”

“You mean, I’m lucky I wasn’t murdered by his dick –“

“SHUT –“

Atsumu grins and shoots at look at Sakusa, who raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of coffee.

take what’s yours and make it mine - claudusdiei

atsumu falls in love four times in his life

(or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

nothing but some heartburn, baby - volchitsae

"your apartment is next to mine and i can hear you and your partner dancing and singing and the bed moving and you two laughing and talking in hushed tones and it won’t let me sleep so i bitch about it to you 24/7 and one day it stops and one day turns to one week and then months and i haven’t seen you smile in forever please let me in, i’ve been knocking for ten minutes" AU

Sakusa is just trying to pass med school.

as you are - waitaminute

Kiyoomi learns that falling for Atsumu is the easiest thing in the world.

bet on it - kambedon

Volleyball players are known for a lot of things.

Intense plays, long rallies, arm-breaking serves—those are only some of the things they are known for. But in Japan, the volleyball players (high school, college, and professionals alike) are infamous for something that no one really expected: their betting pool.

(or alternately, everyone finds out that one of the best spikers in Japan, Sakusa Kiyoomi, is dating someone and they try to figure out his identity while the person he’s dating remains clueless about it.)

two slow dancers - babbito

Atsumu smiles, Sakusas face still downturned in displeasure. It only makes butterflies storm his stomach, the fluttery feeling making him feel warm.

“You wanna know somethin’ Omi-kun?” He asks, Sakusas eyes still bore into Atsumus, waiting for him to continue. “You look really pretty when you sleep.”

my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand - volchitsae ☆

“And that’ll be $27.50,” Atsumu says, fishing out a card machine from one of the bag pockets. “Debit or credit?”

Sakusa pulls out his wallet and pays with a credit card, and Atsumu dutifully packs it all away before extending the bagged blood over the threshold. Sakusa takes them but raises one eyebrow at Atsumu, a silent question at the maid costume and not the regular red and black polo shirt with slacks.

Atsumu fiddles with the bag strap. “Honestly, I was tryin' to come up with a pizza boy porn line, something about having ordered sausage and relating it to vampires, but I’ve got nothin’,” he confesses, which makes Sakusa laugh. Atsumu sees the flash of sharper than usual canines in his smile.

i keep a window for you, it’s always open - volchitsae

Atsumu scrolls around on YouTube, feeling like he's spiralling a little into the odd corners of it when some recommended videos are "I'm a Plague Doctor and You've Been Diagnosed with the Black Plague ASMR" or videos of people eating truly remarkable amounts of food. No judgement (maybe a little bit, he's no angel), but mukbangs make him hungry and whispering roleplay makes his ears itch. A video called "Study With Me: Pomodoro Technique #1" appears and he clicks on it.

The channel's name is endomiphins, and the thumbnail features a view of a man from the neck downward at his desk, notebook and laptop open.

Atsumu presses play. -- Sakusa is a barista by day, ASMR and study YouTuber by night, and Atsumu falls a little in love with both.

#sakuatsu #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #atsuomi #sakuatsu fic rec #haikyuu #haikyuu manga spoilers #haikyuu spoilers #msby black jackals #black jackals #haikyuu fic recs #fanfiction

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

Secure the Stage

Chapter 6: College, Coffee, and a Denny's Confessional

Tw: smoking, dysphoria, mentioned transphobia, and withdrawal

Trying to quit always gave him trouble. That was why he never actually managed to get there. Nicotine did all the things he couldn’t do on his own; calmed his thoughts, helped him organize his ideas, and kept the boredom away. There was more to it than that of course, his life wasn’t so dull that he would smoke just to keep occupied. This, like many of his bad habits, started because he had something to prove. Every male actor that he knew of that had made it big on stage smoked. He had thought if he did it too it would help him, there had to be a reason it was so prevalent in the industry. Moreover, if he smoked maybe if he smoked it would seal his image as an actor not an an actress. Of course, that wasn’t how it went. On some level he knew it wouldn’t, and now he was just another Performing Arts major with a nicotine addiction. Another Arkait with a vice and very little virtue to show for it. One of a set. Smoking made that revelation hurt a little less. It didn’t mean what he once wanted it to, but it meant something and he would take that. It was better than nothing.

So he smoked. When Connor asked him to quit because it wasn’t healthy, he tried. Then things got stressful again and he picked it back up. Markus offered to help so Silas tried again. Then picked it back up. He always came back to it. He knew what it could, and at this rate probably would do to his health, but even that lingering threat wasn’t enough to stop him. He worked his way through a pack about every three days. He sometimes made five on a good week. He didn’t smoke around Connor, and if he was at Richard’s apartment he would head to the balcony. Like a true addict it seemed, the one thing he couldn’t do was quit. It didn’t really strike him as something he did a lot until Richard bought him a custom lighter. His darling little brother wasn’t someone who gave gifts often, but when he did he wanted them to mean something, The gifts Richard gave reflected the person he gave them to. That was why Connor always got different kinds of coffee from him, and why getting an ornate custom lighter instead of something theater related had been such a rude awakening.

Even though he couldn’t quit, he didn’t smoke for a few days just to see if he could after he had been given the lighter. Then the ache got too bad and he started up again, like he always did. He hadn’t tried to quit since then, just bent his life into shape around it. There was no smoking around Alice, Connor, or Kara. If he was around Hank, Daniel, or Richard he could smoke, but only if he did it outside. The school and theater had designated smoking areas. At work he could smoke on his lunch or his fifteen if it was that kind of day. When he was alone at home he could smoke whenever and as much as he wanted to. Then along came Allen. Allen who was just a new security guard. Allen who took genuine interest into what was happening at the theater. Allen who always talked to him on his smoke breaks, but never got too close. Allen who didn’t ask him to quit like everyone else; but offered to be there whenever Silas was ready to try again. Allen who looked into the smoke and saw Silas as he was. Allen who he was thinking about way too often. He needed a cigarette.

One, he thought absently as he took his first drag. Never more than three, he’d told Allen in a blatant lie. He had wanted to make it seem like he had a handle on this. They’d been little more than strangers at the time and Silas still didn’t understand why he had said it. He wasn’t one to let himself be known. He changed faces depending on who he was with, but before Allen he had never lied like that. Usually he would deflect or give a non-answer. He didn’t understand why he felt like he needed to hide from it. It wasn’t like Allen knew that he was struggling with it. He was making conversation with something that was immediately observable. Silas smoked, and he almost always was when Allen came to see him. Silas sighed out a cloud of smoke. He didn’t want to think about this, but it seemed like he was just along for the ride at this point. An observer as his thoughts chased answers about a man he shouldn’t be this stuck on. Maybe a hook up would take his mind off this. Daniel was busy tonight so he would have to look for someone else.

He scrolled through his contacts for a while before he decided that a stranger might be better. There would be less explaining and he wouldn’t be judged as harshly for not letting them stay. There was a lot of reject swiping. He was about halfway through his second when he stumbled across Allen’s profile. Not another of many look alikes, but his actual profile. He choked on his breath. Allen hadn’t really seemed the type, but he supposed it showed how little he actually knew about Allen. What would happen if he swiped to match? Would he get a message? Maybe if they fucked Silas could get this out of his system and move on. He hesitated for a long while before he took a screen shot so he could come back to it later. He called Allen mostly on impulse. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea since he had just taken a screen shot of his profile on a hook up app, but he didn’t want to be alone. He’d moved on from overthinking Allen to things that even nicotine couldn’t help with. This was what he got for trying to quit he supposed. The bad things always got dug up when he did. All things considered though, he didn’t actually expect Allen to answer given the hour.

“Hey Silas.” Allen greeted and in the background Silas heard the thump and click of a door closing. He didn’t really think he would get this far and scrambled to get his thoughts into an order that made sense. “Hey, uh. So I know it’s a week night and you’re busy, but I’ve already had two and I’m debating a third.” Silas sighed to himself. he hated asking for help, it made him feel weak, but he needed it, “Could you maybe meet me at the theater?” There was a pause and Silas began to play with his lighter. “I have classes tonight Silas.” Allen replied, “I can’t just leave. Can you come to the university? I could have you as my guest if you would like.” Right, Allen was a student too. He didn’t talk about it much so Silas hadn’t thought about it when he called. “It won’t be bad for you that I’m there right?” He asked, despite the fact he was already looking for a ride, “I just can’t be alone right now.” “I promise Silas.” Came the gentle reply, “I’ll meet you at the student resources building alright? Let me know when you’re headed out.”

“I’m waiting on a cab right now.” Well, he was waiting for someone to accept his request, but it was late on a week night so his hopes weren’t that high. All else failed he could walk, “So it will be about twenty minutes.” Then, as an after thought, “Sorry for interrupting your classes.” Allen didn’t acknowledge the apology, he never usually did when it came to things like this, “I’ll meet you at the quad then. I’ll bring food and coffee and you can tell me what’s up.” Silas made a distant noise of agreement. Now that he had plans he was made aware of the dysphoria he had been trying to ignore. He lit his third cigarette and debated the merits of getting dressed. He decided against it because the sight of his body would sap away what little energy he had left and he would have a meltdown. He finished his cigarette before his phone chimed to tell him that his ride was confirmed. He put his lighter and cigarettes in his hoodie pocket and made his way down to the parking lot. Apparently he looked quite the mess because his driver handed him a pack of tissues and didn’t say a word the entire ride. When he got to the university he tipped extra and took the tissues with him.

Sixer: I’m here and looking for the building. The Okayest Captain: Alright. I’m on my way.

He found the building he was supposed to meet Allen at with relative ease. The hard part was finding a place that wasn’t crowded. He didn’t want to talk to someone he didn’t know. He pulled out another cigarette and thought about lighting it to pass the time, but the whole point of winding up here was to not smoke anymore tonight. He sighed and tucked it behind his ear just in case tonight wound up being a bust. He rolled his lighter from hand to hand until he noticed Allen approaching him. He put it back in his pocket and stood a little taller. Why he was trying to look so composed when he was on a college campus in his pajamas was a matter of pride. He didn’t want Allen to think he was weak. Allen for what it was worth, didn’t seem to care, and held the can of coffee out to him like this was a normal Monday for him. “Distraction or advice?” He asked, “I know it’s not as good as the hot stuff, but it’s the best I can offer for now.” Silas shrugged as he took the can, “Distraction please. I don’t want to think about anything and my usual distractions aren’t holding their appeal.”

Allen gave a slow nod and Silas felt a little like he was being judged, “Would college classes be enough of a distraction or do you need something else?” “I can try classes.” He replied as he opened the coffee, “I haven’t taken any gen ed classes since high school.” Allen turned back toward the entrance. “My next class is calculus, so we should probably head for the math and science building if we don’t want to be late.” He said casually, like numbers weren’t the bane of his existence. Silas groaned, he hated math, “I’m horrible at math so this should definitely do the trick.” That, or drive him to smoke what was left of his Marlboros. He wouldn’t know until he got there. As polite and helpful as Allen’s professor was, by the end of the class Silas could confidently say he was never going to take another calculus class ever again. It had been enough work that he couldn’t really think of anything else. Allen’s next class when a little better since he had some understanding of psychology and was actually able to contribute. By the start of his last class the ache was back and he couldn’t concentrate. Anxiety, dysphoria, and other unpleasant things prickled under his skin and he wanted nothing more than to chase them away with nicotine.

The thing that made all of it so unbearable was Allen’s concern. He was watching him closely and his worry deepened the usual furrow to his brow. Silas knew it came from a good place, but it made him want to scream. Which in turn made him want to smoke even more. They were headed for the truck when it became too much, “I would kill for some really shitty black coffee.” It took Allen a long moment to reply, “We could go to like Denny’s or something I guess.” “That works.” Silas agreed. He held the firm belief that diner coffee was the best during the smallest hours of the morning, “You can just drop me off if you have other plans.” “I was honestly just going to play games until I fell asleep.” Allen remarked as he unlocked his truck, “Don’t worry.” “Thank you.” Silas said once he was situated in the passenger’s seat. He played with his lighter to help deal with his nervous energy. He made sure not to trigger the flame, he just needed to do something while his thoughts ran away with him again. “Would you like to play music?” Allen asked just before the heavy silence became uncomfortable.

Silas thought about it for a while before he replied, “Uh, sure. You don’t mind if it’s slower stuff do you?” He asked and let out a humorless chuckle as he continued, “I’m not in the mood for loud for a change.” Allen shrugged again and handed him the cord. He connected his phone and resumed the playlist he’d been listening to earlier. For the most part it was made up of quieter songs but they had nice lyrics. Tonight though, it wasn’t living up to it’s title. His thoughts were still racing and he still felt like hot garbage. When they got to Denny’s he paused the music. Allen parked close to the doors and they both got out. He stopped by the smoking cubicle. He could have one cigarette before they went inside. He would be less jittery if he did. He reached for the cigarette behind his ear and then stopped. It felt like he was admitting defeat and that wasn’t something he wanted to do just yet. He shook his head and moved to catch up with Allen. Silas went for a corner booth out of habit. He wanted to be away from the doors and the kitchen to minimize any interactions he would have. He kept his lighter out until someone came to the table. Waitstaff tended to judge him when they saw it and that was something he didn’t want to deal with tonight.

He could feel Allen staring at him. Silas understood why he was concerned, but he wasn’t about to hightail it out for a smoke. Though the constant supervision made it tempting. Allen had every right to be worried though, it wasn’t like Silas had explained what was wrong when he called. He hadn’t expected that Allen would actually want to help him either. Silas let out a frustrated sigh, “Just ask. I can feel you staring at me.” “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Allen immediately back pedaled, “But I was wondering why you called me. You sounded like you were really upset earlier, and it looked like you were crying.” Right to the heart of things then. He grabbed for his lighter as he thought it over. If he was delicate with this it would probably be easier on Allen, but if he was blunt with it he could get it over with faster. He tapped his lighter again the table. Might as well be blunt with it, he would be baring his soul either way so it was probably better just to rip the band-aid off. Maybe Connor had a point, and letting someone in for once might help. There was only one way to find out he supposed.

“Have you ever experienced withdrawal Allen?” He finally asked and the shock written on Allen’s face answered him well enough on it’s own, “It’s painful and it messes with everything else. Those bad thoughts are louder, angrier, and that much more persistent. The bad feelings are that much worse and the only thing that can chase them away is nicotine.” Allen flinched and Silas came to the conclusion that he might have been a little too blunt. “No.” He replied gently, “I can’t say I’ve been through that, but it sounds horrible.” Silas laughed dryly, “Horrible is a word for it.” He took a breath and tried to reign in his frustration. Maybe he should have smoked before they came in here. “I felt weak. I know it comes with trying to quit because it happens every time I try to quit. Then the withdrawal comes as I reminder that I am not half the man I am known to be without nicotine running through my veins.” He sighed and flicked his lighter all the way open, this conversation was making him want to smoke even more, “In the eyes of some I’m not even a real man. Just pretending.” He watched a lot of emotions cross over Allen’s face and he seemed to settle of an odd mix of confusion and relief. Silas didn’t understand why, but he supposed it was better than anger.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” He said eventually, “I know Denny’s isn’t the best place to have this conversation.” “Buy me a coffee and dinner and all will be forgiven.” He joked, “But honestly, thank you for humoring me tonight. It helped a lot.” “I’m glad I could help.” He said with a smile, “Also, knock yourself out. I can give you food in exchange for prying into your head. It seems fair enough.” Silas laughed as their coffees were brought over. He ordered the French toast breakfast and then drank from his mug. Getting that out of his system was fucking exhausting, but if he was honest it almost felt good. “I think not being able to go to my actual classes is part of my issue.” He set the mug down and drummed his fingers against the side, “Having all of this extra time to spend at the theater is nice, don’t get me wrong, but I smoke when I need to think and that might be messing with me.” He sighed quietly and flicked the cap of his lighter open, “I need something to do to keep me occupied. Coffee almost works, but I’ve seen what caffeine dependency has done to my brothers. Whish is better than this probably, but it seems annoying.”

“I mean, it could be a transitional thing I suppose.” Allen suggested with a shrug, “Have a cup of coffee every time you feel like smoking. Would that work?” “I don’t think you realize just how much coffee I would drink in a day.” Silas replied with a laugh, “Though I suppose it would be worth a shot. I could probably afford it with the money I don’t spend on cigarettes.” He rotated his mug to watch the liquid move, “Other than drinking a concerning amount of coffee, this actually might help. Thank you Allen.” Allen gave a mock cheers with his mug, “I’m glad I could help.” “Sorry for going off on you like that.” He said as their food was brought out, “You were only trying to help.” “I pushed you to tell me something you weren’t ready to.” He responded, “Thank you for apologizing though, I appreciate it.” They moved on to lighter topic while they ate. Silas didn’t contribute much since he was still coming down from exposing so much of himself to someone. It dawned on him slowly that he came out during his outburst, and he genuinely hoped Allen had missed it. Most people reacted poorly when they found out. Even if he had heard it, it wasn’t like Silas could take it back.

He didn’t really relax until he was back in the safety of his apartment. Tonight really could have gone worse, all things considered. Allen seemed genuinely interested in seeing him recover. It was a shame really, since Silas’s track record with sticking to good decisions was shit. Case and point being shown when he opened his hook up app again and matched with Allen. What could go wrong? Allen wanted to see the worst of him and this would be the best way to do it. Burn the bridge before Allen could get his hopes up. His phone chimed with a message from Allen, he wanted to know if Silas was doing okay. He put the cigarette from behind his ear to his lips, lit it, and then sent back the coffee emoji. One last moment of honesty before the wall of lies closed in again.

#Secure the Stage #StS #Allen60 #dbh Allen #dbh Sixty #dbh fic #dbh #smoking tw #dysphoria tw #transphobia mention tw #withdrawal tw

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Ten Days - Day Nine

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Smut!

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, domestic Javi, fingering, washing dishes gets a little out of hand

Word Count: 3105

Note: While you nurse a hangover, Javi tries his hand at being domestic.

Read the full series on Ao3

Javi knocks on your door late afternoon the next day. You’ve been nursing your hangover headache most of the morning, lounging on the couch, reading your book and switching back between the news and some cheesy action movie. Around 5 you hear the thumping against your door and groan when you stand and stagger to answer. He stands slouching against your door jamb, a grocery bag in one arm.

“Hey,” he says by way of greeting and doesn’t wait for you to invite him in before brushing past you into your kitchen.

“Hey, Peña, come on in…” you mumble, closing the door. You follow him into your kitchen and flop down in a chair, watching him pull items from the bag. “You know you’re not supposed to be going anywhere, Peña. I coulda gone and gotten whatever you needed.” You see his taut shoulders lift in a shrug.

“I’m going crazy cooped up over there. Needed to get out and get some air. Figured you might need something if you kept at that whiskey bottle after you left last night...” His gaze flicks over to yours for an instant, then settles on the three empty wine bottles lined up neatly next to each other on the counter. He smirks and moves to open a cupboard, rummaging around for cooking utensils. “Looks like I wasn’t too far off.” He chuckles under his breath as he dumps oil into a frying pan and lights your stove. You appreciate the fact that he was thinking of you, but for a moment you’re a tad affronted by the way he’s waltzed in and made himself at home in your kitchen.

“You couldn’t have messed up your own kitchen and just called me to come over and eat?” You grumble as you stand and get yourself a glass of water. You hear him laugh quietly.

“No frying pan.” He says simply by way of explanation. You turn away from the sink at the same moment that as he absentmindedly pivots to grab something, putting both of you awkwardly close to one another, well within the other’s personal space. You feel your face flush and you quickly side step away from the counter, hiding your flush behind your glass as you gulp your water.

“Well,” you say, trying to act normal. “If you’re making dinner, I’m gonna take a shower.”

You practically flee your own kitchen.

***

Within the hour you’re lured back into joining your partner again by the delicious smell permeating your apartment. Pulling your wet hair up off of your neck, you don sweatpants and another old t-shirt (bra included this time!)

“Are you making arepas?!” You call out incredulously as you approach the kitchen, hearing the popping of oil and recognizing the familiar scent of warm cornmeal and fried pork. Your mouth had started watering as soon as you had stepped out of the shower.

“Sorta…” He grunts back. “Didn’t make the dough from scratch but I think it’ll do the trick.” Your excitement at Javi’s choice for dinner is suddenly dashed as you take in the state of your kitchen; your countertop is a small battlefield of ingredients and kitchenware. It appears as though he’s used every single utensil and bowl you own. You shake your head, but appreciate his gesture nonetheless. Flopping back down into the same chair, you take a moment to revel in the feeling of domesticity: you in your favorite comfy clothes, your handsome partner cooking up your favorite snack, existing together in comfortable silence while he works on the food and as you studying the way his back muscles flex beneath his shirt…

You shake those thoughts away as he brings a plate piled with a stack of stuffed, corn flour pockets. You're delighted to see he’s altered the traditional Columbian snack and made it more appropriate for your hangover, filling the creation with scrambled eggs, cheese and beef along with the chicharrón you had smelled earlier. He’s included chopped avocado and tomato on the side to add if desired and you’re impressed by the well rounded meal your notoriously take-out eating, chain-smoking-for-every-meal partner has pulled together.

You tell him as much as he joins you at the table and he shrugs, snorting in self-derision, ducking his head as he digs in, shoveling food into his mouth rather than having to address your compliment. You follow suit and the two of you enjoy your meal over general commentary about the food, idle chit-chat, and cursory work talk. After making a substantial dent in the pile of arepas, you lean back in your chair and yawn, satiated and you rub the small bump in your belly that can only be described as a food baby. Rubbing your stomach reminds you of something.

“Hey! How’re your stitches doing? Is it healing up ok?” You haven't seen his injury since that night on his bathroom floor, but you haven’t noticed him struggling to move or showing any indication of being in pain, so you’d almost forgotten the fact that he had been shot just over a week ago.

Your thoughts stray to that day, remembering the sick bile that had risen in your throat when you had seen your partner flung off his feet by the force of the bullet hitting him, smacking into the ground; the panic that had bubbled in your stomach when you’d dropped to your knees next to him and seen the blood coming from him. Your brain had quickly determined that the bullet had gone straight through the meaty area of his side and had most likely missed any of the vital organs there, but you’d still clamped your hands down on the wound as though willing your hands to keep the blood inside his body. He had writhed and hollered at you to get off of him, but you had refused, screaming at a police officer to call an ambulance. Your panic had not subsided until several hours later when the doctor had told you he was in no danger and would make a quick and complete recovery.

Lost in the frightening memory of that day, you stare blankly at the surface of the table, paying no attention to the way Javi’s eyes flicker as he remembers something, too. You’re distantly aware of his hand reaching into his shirt pocket and retrieving something, but it isn’t until you catch sight of him sharply tossing his head back and gulping a large swallow of water that you realize he’d been moving. He doesn’t look at you as he recaps the pill bottle and slips it back in his pocket. Instead, he grabs both of your plates, taking them to the sink and filling the basin with warm, soapy water.

“You don’t need to do that, Peña, you take care of the counters, I’ll do the dishes,” you protest, dragging yourself to your feet and moving next to him at the sink.

“It’s no big deal.” His voice is low and sounds sleepy. You poke him in the (uninjured) side with your elbow and push him away from the sink with a gentle bump on the side of his leg with your hip.

“That’s not how it works around here, Agent Peña.” You begin soaking dishes in the sudsy water, hyper aware that he hasn’t moved away from you, his leg still brushing yours. He turns so he’s facing you and leans his hip into the counter, studying your profile. You suddenly feel the need to be very focused on the sink so as not to drop a plate.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is even lower now, which seems impossible, and it stirs that thing inside of you that you’ve been desperately trying to control for the last nine days...no...much longer than that. “How exactly does it work around here?” He asks teasingly. You smirk, roll your eyes to distract yourself from the flush you feel throughout your body and jerk your head towards the mess he’d made while cooking.

“The person who cooks never does the dishes. Just clean up your mess over there and bring me those dishes and we’ll call it good.” You feel equal pangs of relief and agony as he moves away from you but you concentrate on washing the dishes. You both make quick work of your respective tasks. As you set to work on the last pan he brings you, he finishes drying the plates with a towel and you’re once again struck by the comfortable feeling of domestic life you feel, standing in your kitchen side by side with him.

Your mind wanders again: when you’re finished, the two of you would retire to the couch and you’d snuggle up into his chest as you watched a movie, his feet propped up on your coffee table and his arm around and you would both sink into sleep. Not long after he would wake you by peppering kisses along the crown of your head, your forehead, your closed eyes and he would whisper sweet nothings to you in Spanish as he picked you and carried you to your bedroom…

A loud plopping clatter sounds and a splash of soapy water spouts out of the washbasin as the pan you’re scrubbing slips from your grasp. You hear Javi chuckle softly next to you and he reaches over and swipes away soap suds that landed on the tip of your nose and directly below your eye. You shiver at his touch and he notices; he pauses midway through pulling his hand back, leaving it hovering for a moment in the space between the two of you. Hesitantly he reaches down and takes your soapy hand in his, lacing his fingers between yours and bringing them both to rest on the edge of the sink.

The feel of his strong hand over yours sends another shiver through you and you can’t look at him, instead keeping your face focused on the soapy water. But you don’t pull away. His hand connected with yours on the counter keeps you in place. You feel your insides start to flutter and burn.

You’re dimly aware of him leaning towards you. You feel his warm breath on your outstretched neck a half second before he places an open mouthed kiss there, on the spot below your ear, where your pulse suddenly thrums a thousand times faster than it had been. You can’t stop yourself from gasping as you involuntarily clench your thighs together against the jolt of pleasure that zaps there, sent directly from the spot where his mouth touches you.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Of course you’ve had other men kiss you on the neck but this...this is HIM. It’s him: with his stupid mustache that tickles along the sensitive skin and the tip of his tongue that swirls and traces the pounding pulse. It’s him: the ambivalent Agent Javier Peña who never seems to care about anyone, but who you know possesses a well of emotion just below the carefully guarded surface of his persona. Him: the sexy playboy whose prowess in the bedroom is the stuff of legends among men and women alike at work...and in the brothels across Bogota. Him: that you have refused to give in to for almost two years of your life, even as you’ve both grown weary and broken and sought comfort from all the wrong places. These last eight days have been merely puffs of air into a balloon, filling it, expanding it...and now this feels like the final push of air that might make it pop...

...You let it pop.

You drop your head back against his shoulder and release a breathy sigh that rises from the very depths of your repressed desire for him, letting your whole body sag back into him. Without taking his lips from your neck, he shifts himself so that he more solidly stands behind you. Your other hand takes on a mind of its own and lifts to stroke the back of his neck, scratching your fingernails softly through the hair at the nape of neck, causing him to emit a sound from someplace deep within him, pressing the noise into the sensitive skin of your neck. He still hasn’t removed his lips from your skin, afraid to break the connection and snapping you both out of this moment that you’ve been crashing towards for a long time.

You exist this way for several seconds, minutes, hours...you’re not sure. You aren’t even conscious of the fact that you’re grinding your ass back into him until he suddenly rips his mouth from your neck and latches his teeth onto your earlobe. A feral growl bursts from his throat as he grabs your hand from the back of his neck and smacks it down beneath his on the counter top as well, caging you between his arms and thrusting his pelvis into your backside, shoving both of your hips forward into the kitchen counter. The feel of him suddenly so roughly pressed against you sends your breath rushing from your chest in a sharp and lusty moan and you freeze for a moment, neither of you moving, save for the soft twitching you can feel along the front of his pants.

Your mouth hangs open and you gasp for a few short breaths. Then you focus on the hand beneath his and move to thread your fingers through his to match your other hands. Gripping him tightly for leverage, you forcefully push your ass back against him: grinding up and down, left and right, forward and backward against the steel outline of his erection. He lets out a strangled cry, rocking his hips along with yours, occasionally snapping his hips forwards to create different friction.

You’re on fire everywhere. Your brain is screaming at you to stop while you still can, but you’ve had enough of that. As you both continue to gasp and push and rub and thrust against one another, the throbbing between your legs becomes too much. Before you can think about it too much, you take his hand and draw it between your legs, pressing his palm against you, moving your hand over his, wordlessly begging him to rub you where you so desperately need. He releases another strangled noise, this one higher and more desperate, then he rests his forehead against the back of your neck.

“F-fu-fuck!” he bites out against your skin. You’ve never heard him struggle with a curse, or any word, so much. You let out a breathy moan in response, moving your hand away as he takes over rubbing you, relocating your hand to where it was previously, carding your fingers through his hair. He trails his mouth to your other ear, taking the lobe gently between his teeth as he did with the other. You whimper when his warm palm leaves the space between your legs. His fingers trail up your abdomen and trace along the elastic of your sweatpants...and stop, there hovering along the hem as his body stills, his mouth pulling away from you slightly, looking at you carefully. You’re both panting frantically and he whispers into your ear: “Can I?”

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, but when you do, you turn your head towards him and nod, leaning back into his body again, your hips squirming in anticipation.

“Say it.” He growls into your ear. You gulp, close your eyes and whisper:

“Touch me.”

His hand is immediately under the elastic, his finger buried inside your wetness, immediately finding that spot inside of you that makes you cry out and thrust your hips forward, seeking more.

He gives it to you.

His thumb brushes over your clit, eliciting more cries and gasps. Soon he adds a second finger into your folds and between the two broad digits and his expert touch with his thumb, you feel yourself quickly rising towards your release, your cries becoming louder, more desperate, babbling nonsense as he brings you closer to the edge. He snaps his own hips forward against your ass in rhythm with his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you, adding quiet hisses of affirmation against your neck, your ears, into your hair. He growls your name as he asks you to cum for him and that’s enough to make you explode, feeling your walls contract around his fingers, your juices surging out of you and covering his hand. In the next instant you feel his thrusts against your backside become shallow and his moans turn into a series of staccato mewls and he presses himself against you and into the countertop, gasping into your hair.

He continues to stroke you with several more long strokes of his fingers as you both come down, the realization of what’s just happened settling over you both. He slips his hand from beneath our sweatpants and rests it gently on your hip, squeezing your other hand gently; your hand had remained threaded with his the entire time, grounding you both together. You can only stare at your clasped hands, feeling your face flush from the reality of what’s just occurred. He moves to press a kiss against your neck again, the same act that had kicked all of this off to begin with and you shy away from him, lifting your shoulder to block his face, pulling away from him and unwedging yourself from between him and the counter. You hear him quietly say your name and he tries to hang on to your hand, tries to pull you gently back towards him, but you snatch your hand away, crossing your arms across your chest and shaking your head, refusing to turn around and look at him.

“I think you should go.” You say quietly after a few moments of silence. You hear him take in a sharp breath, can feel him starting to say something.

But he doesn’t say anything.

You move when he does, keeping the same equal distance between the two of you, heading towards your bedroom on the off chance that he might try to step closer and touch you on his way past you as he leaves. You know if he touches you again you won’t be able to resist him...not now that you know what his touch feels like. You hear him grab his jacket off the back of his chair as you move down your hallway and you lean against your bedroom door, listening for the sound of your front door closing.

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Eight

Day Ten

#javier peña x reader #javi #narcos #javier pena x female reader

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lichlover · 4 years

Note

Okay so this a balance headcanon, and it is technically one I saw in a text post somewhere on tumblr that has been lost to the scroll of my dashboard months and months ago, but. The concept that the reason Barry was on the starblaster in the first place... was because he was some kinda undercover death cultist trying to kickstart the apocalypse... but then it happened and he was like "wait shit this actually sucks" and then has to figure out what to do

please consider donating to my ko-fi!

This was how it was written: Sildar Hallwinter would end the world.

Before his departure, they’d etched his name into the first of the sacred texts; his true name, five syllables destined to strike terror into the hearts of all living beings and their menial existences. It would all perish in the Apocalypse, of course. Everything would. But he and his fellows would ascend in death, as would every record that burned in the Great Blaze of the end times, and the universe would know their history. The true history. The history he would go down in as the Catalyst for the End of All Things, the Second Revelation, the Midnight Prophet for the Last Downfall of Mankind.

The gnome in front of him peered over the angular frames of his spectacles and said, “Barry Bluejeans?”

Sildar Hallwinter had also lost a bet.

But it was no matter, for there was no meager chronicle that would remember him as Barold J. Bluejeans, chief science officer of the IPRE Starblaster. He would be survived only by the destruction set to ravage their world in a matter of months, a Dawning so terrible that it would leave nothing of civilization in its wake. No one would know the name Barry Bluejeans. Everyone would know the name Sildar Hallwinter, and the thought made his stomach knot with such anticipation that he had to collect himself before he could respond.

“That’s me,” he said, and grinned a different man’s grin at the gnome—Captain Davenport of the IPRE, unknowing Chariot to the Catalyst for the End of All Things, the Second Revelation, the Midnight Prophet for the Last Downfall of Mankind. “Reporting for duty.”

Sildar was well accustomed to the dank, ash-streaked tunnels of the Fellowship’s headquarters beneath Ascendant’s Peak, but the IPRE headquarters were sleek and warm, drawing him in with rounded walls and high, arching ceilings. Everywhere he looked, another enormous set of windows opened to the landscape below, as of yet untouched by the Cataclysm Foretold. He wasn’t used to this much natural light, and he certainly wasn’t used to people smiling and waving as they passed. “Another poor soul for the Big One, Dav?” someone called, and the captain waved them off affably.

For an organization completely aware of the end times, and completely unaware of the fact that he, Sildar, would be responsible for their failure, they were all terribly… cheery.

“We’ve already gathered the other crew members,” said the captain, when they came to a halt in front of a nondescript door. “They’re just, uh, through here. We’ll start our first briefing in the next—next half hour, but for now, feel free to socialize. G-Get to know them. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

“Thanks,” said Sildar, and the captain mumbled something under his breath. “Uh, what was that?”

“Oh,” said the captain. “Nothing.” He turned, and it was only then that Sildar’s brain registered the words; it had sounded almost like good luck.

No matter. Sildar opened the door.

“Incoming!”

Sildar yelped—actually yelped—and ducked aside just as a chair flew over his head and exploded against the wall. A shower of wooden fragments and very magical sparks hit the ground in front of him, and he sputtered, wordless, on the precipice of reaching for his own wand—was this an ambush? Had they discovered the truth of his presence already?

“Oh, shit,” somebody said, and a silhouette appeared through the smoke and magical residue. Sildar caught his breath. Perhaps he was dead, then; perhaps one of the wooden shards had caught him through the heart, and the Avatar of Renewal through Annihilation had come to meet him on the threshold of the afterlife. She looked like divinity, at any rate: tall and elegant, with waves of hair that glittered like finely spun gold and eyes that blazed with the last vestiges of power. Eyes that settled on him, and softened instantly. No, Sildar thought. She couldn’t possibly be the Avatar of Renewal, because she looked kind.

“Shit,” said the divine being again. Her ears twitched downward with concern—an elf, then. “Lucky break, babe. You okay?”

Sildar blinked, and found himself at a loss for words.

“Leave it to you to fuckin’ scare the shit outta the newcomer!” A voice like hers rose through the smoke, and as it cleared, Sildar made out four other bodies, all draped in the ostentatious red of the IPRE and squinting into the gloom. The one who had spoken, another willowy elf with even longer golden locks, lifted a hand in the air and snapped his fingers, and all the smoke dissipated at once. “You had to launch it at the fuckin’ wall, Mags!”

His companion, a human who stood taller than everyone else in the room and looked battle-scarred to the bone despite his youth, gestured indignantly at the aftermath. “But did you see how fucking awesome that was? And that was a whole science experiment! Setup—uh, hypothesis, trials, conclusion?”

“Which is?” The elf unspooled two letters into a long, drawn-out drawl.

“That this room was totally used for magic shit! And now we can do whatever we want in here!”

“Um,” came another voice from the window, and Sildar looked over to see a dark young woman with a head of platinum-bright hair, gazing nervously at the set of admittedly impressive scorch marks over his head. “I think if anything, that proves we shouldn’t do what we want in here.”

“Agree to disagree,” said “Mags,” with undue confidence.

“That’s—but that’s not what science is—”

The final figure in the room, a portly dwarf with flowers woven into his beard, shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Look at the impression you just made,” he said. “Going around, trying to kill people you just met—what kind of monsters do something like that?”

The divine being made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh and pushed a few loose strands of hair off her face. “You must be the chief science officer,” she said, and stuck out a hand. “Sorry for the accidental attempted murder. I’m Lup.”

Lup.

“I’m,” said Sildar. “Uh.”

This time she really did laugh—a lyrical, full-bodied sound that he felt deep in his chest. “Tell me we didn’t just knock your name outta your head.”

“Oh, no, it’s, uh—” Lup. She looked at him with a smile so resplendent he had to catch his breath all over again. What did she know of Sildar Hallwinter, the Catalyst for the End of All Things, the Second Revelation, the Midnight Prophet for the Last Downfall of Mankind? What did she know of anything beyond all the light she cast in every direction?

“I’m, uh, Barry,” he said. “Barry J. Bluejeans.”

Here are some things Sildar Hallwinter learns about Barry J. Bluejeans:

He has a penchant for getting into character. Maybe that’s more Sildar than Barry, but there’s something so intoxicating about the drama of it all, especially when no one else knows he’s playing a role. Barry is a bit of a thespian, if he does say so himself.

That said, he’s sort of awkward. More of Sildar’s influence. When you’ve spent your whole life preparing to fulfill your divine purpose in the End of All Things, it’s a little hard to adjust to things like game night and brunch.

He’s smart. Really smart. The Fellowship hadn’t really encouraged science—everything else came second to the teachings of the Apocalypse—but not only is Barry-slash-Sildar naturally inclined for it, he actually enjoys it.

He can’t swim. Sildar can, and rather enjoys it, but it’s a little bit of flavor text he can’t resist.

He’s not half bad at making friends.

The crew of the Starblaster were, of course, a means to an end, and he would develop no meaningful relationship with any of them beyond what was necessary to keep up appearances. That was his mandate, at least. But it was hard. Much harder than he’d expected, really. And despite himself, he—Barry—found it all to easy to laugh at the dwarf Merle’s gods-awful jokes and stay up late to hear Captain Davenport recount tales of grandeur. He let himself be roped into more magic-powered “experiments” (in the loosest sense of the word) with the human fighter, Magnus, who actually seemed to enjoy death-defying stunts with the zeal of someone from the Fellowship. He got to know the soft-spoken but brilliant archivist, Lucretia, and her remarkably meticulous transcriptions. On one particularly reckless night, he joined the long-haired elf Taako on a quest to fill a particularly uppity supervisor’s pockets full of pudding.

And as the Appointed Hour approached, Barry found himself spending late nights in the IPRE labs with Lup, testing and recording speculations on arcane theory and downing enough coffee to drive them to hysterics by dawn. They were all a little nervous, a little sad, a little desperate to sort their affairs before takeoff, but Lup tackled new problems with the kind of determination that demanded solutions. She was the most ingenious person Barry had ever met. And when she sat back from an arcane reaction gone wrong, her hairline blackened with soot and grinning like a caffeine-tripped maniac, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

This was how it was until the Apocalypse arrived.

Barry woke the morning of with a planet-shattering hangover.

He crawled to the mirror and squinted blearily into the glass; thanks to the IPRE’s constant offerings of complimentary coffee and cake and Taako’s singlehanded banquets, he’d put on weight over the last several months, and he’d started to love the gentle resilience his body had gained. Sildar was clean-shaven and angular, but Barry was soft and stubbly. A few nights before, Lup’s gaze had caught on his chin, and she’d told him how nice he looked with a five o’clock shadow.

He’d thought she was joking, but that was just how she was—kind.

He went to his closet and started to mull over which shirt to wear.

The day was dark and still, the sky an unbroken slate grey, and it was just what the sacred texts had imagined: not a living thing stirred for miles beyond the horizon. Even the grass beneath Barry’s feet, as he followed Davenport to the Starblaster’s gangway, had turned an off-color, metallic shade. They said their goodbyes to the Institute, and to the enormous crowd at starboard, and in the eerie light they all looked like corpses risen from the grave. There was something hanging over their heads that felt nothing like the terrible glory the Fellowship had promised; instead it was unsettled, and sickly, and wrong.

Barry swallowed the knot gathering rapidly in his throat and followed his crew up the gangway. There was but one thing left for him to do now—him, Sildar Hallwinter, the Catalyst for the End of All Things, the Second Revelation, the Midnight Prophet for the Last Downfall of Mankind. And then the Hour would be upon them at last.

He left the others on the bridge and walked to the Bond Engine.

The explosives tucked inside his robe were light, and branded with the sigil of the Fellowship, although no one would be able to tell in the ensuing destruction. It was certain to be localized, of course; they were meant to damage the engine and nothing more. He could never deprive himself—or anyone else, for that matter—the opportunity to witness the Terror as it began its First Assault on the world of the living. No one knew quite what it would look like, or how it would feel, but the Fellowship had promised a beautiful ascendancy for all its members. And now Sildar would seal his fate. He would seal everyone’s fate.

“Barold!”

Sildar fumbled an explosive, and it was almost the last thing he ever did. He whirled around, and there was Taako, waving him over from the bottom of the staircase. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” said Barry, faintly. “Why?”

“Cap’n’port wants everybody on the bridge for the launch.” He flapped his arm at the bridge, looming above them against a wall of indiscernible storm clouds. “C’mon!”

“Uh,” Barry said. Suddenly the explosives weighed too heavily in his robe. “In a sec!”

“He means now, Barry! This storm ain’t lookin’ too good!”

No, no, no. Not yet.

But I don’t want—

What does it matter what you want?

Sildar Hallwinter gripped the hem of his pocket.

And Barry Bluejeans whispered a disarming spell, followed by a shrinking charm. Three marbles branded with the sigil of the High Fellowship of the Great Prophecy for the First Revelation rattled in his pocket as he jogged toward Taako and the bridge.

They escaped by the skin of their teeth. Sildar Hallwinter watched his world consumed by a force so uncaring, so unfeeling, that it couldn’t possibly be the Herald of Rebirth for All Things. He watched it rip everything apart—the IPRE headquarters where he’d met his crew, the ice cream parlor he’d braved with Magnus and Lucretia, the farmer’s market where Taako had taught him the difference between parsley and basil, the enormous lake Davenport had taken them sailing on for a weekend, the small garden Merle had kept just outside their dorms.

The horizon, where he’d watched the sun set with Lup.

In the space between planes, Sildar Hallwinter was unmade. And when the threads of his body settled back into place, he caught his breath and thought, Never again.

This was how it was written: Barry J. Bluejeans would save the world.

#mirandatam #ask #the adventure zone #taz balance #ipre #barry bluejeans #fic #mine #GUESS WHO TRIPPED AND WROTE 2.2K #THANKS FOR THIS TRULY INCREDIBLE PROMPT

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makingoutinthemojave · 4 years

Note

This is something i thought of a few days ago, but fo4 companions reacting to the sole survivor taking off their prosthetic leg/arm and hitting someone ( maybe one of the othet companions lol) with it after being annoying.

I wrote a few of these! Feel free to message me if you’d like other companions!

—

Deacon-

“All I’m saying is that if Aliens exist- then why is it so hard to believe there are microscopic robots in all of our food?”

“Ok- Tom- that’s a lot to unpack,” Tinker Tom was in one of his rants again that he would go into while everyone was trying to sleep. However, his ramblings normally got everyone up and talking. Sole always tried to argue with him, which was hilarious to Deacon. “First of all, Aliens aren’t real.”

“Hey now- that ain’t true!” Tom interrupted them, “I saw that UFO the other day!”

“And we’re supposed to believe in everything you see?” Glory takes Sole’s side, lifting her brow at Tom.

“Hey, if the man says he saw a UFO- then who are we to say he didn’t! I believe ya, Tinker.” Deacon scooted from his mattress to Tom’s, patting his back. He loved to side with Tom in these fights- mostly because he reveled in the chance to tease Sole.

“Thanks, Deeks, at least you know the truth.” Tom puts his arm around Deacon, glaring at the other, less believing crew.

“Whatever, ok, Second of all, how did you go from Aliens to microscopic robots?” Sole ignores the idiots arm-in-arm in front of them and brings up their second point.

“That’s obvious! The Aliens make the tiny robots!” Deacon declares in a dramatic voice, and Tom gasps.

“Do you think so? Maybe that’s why they’re flying over the earth- they’ve been experimenting on us!” Tom sounded like he was on the cusp of revelation- and Glory groaned.

“Come on, Tom, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t open your mind to the possibilities, Glory. I’m just trying to be safe!” Tom takes a condescending tone, and Deacon anticipates a shitshow.

“Oh, and being safe means being an idiot?” Glory snaps, and Deacon ‘ooh’s.

“Being safe means suspecting everything! And you don’t suspect enough!” Tom spits back.

“I don’t, do I? Well, Tom, I ‘suspect’ you’re about to get your ass whooped-” Glory starts getting up, and Sole grabs her arm.

“Wait, beat him with this-” Sole grabs at their hip, feeling for something.

“You’re not actually gonna beat me up, Glory-” Tom begins to nervously ask, Deacon recoiling from his friend to prevent suffering the same fate. He’s interrupted by a loud POP.

“WhAT THE FUCK-” Glory yells, jumping back from Sole. Sole then lifts their whole leg into the air.

“Get ‘em with this!” Sole offers the leg over to Glory, and she backs up.

“Woah, Woah- hold on, you can’t just hand your leg over to someone!”

“Yeah, you need to take them to dinner first- at least.” Deacon quips, making Sole laugh. He’s known about Sole’s prosthetic leg for some time and especially knows their tendency to use it as a disciplinary weapon. He’s just glad he’s not the one to receive their calf of wrath at the moment.

“What, do you not know about my leg, Glory?” Sole gestures with the leg while talking, “Damn, I knew I forgot to tell someone. Well, you can still use it to beat up Tom. Here.” They continue to hold the leg to Glory.

Glory thinks for a moment, still trying to take in what had happened. Then she nods. “Ah, fuck it, gimme the leg.” She takes the leg from Sole and turns with a vicious look towards Tom. “I’ll show you just how safe you are-”

Deacon learned a lesson that night. Don’t give a prosthetic limb to Glory when she’s angry. Also, don’t wake Desdemona up in the middle of the night. Both things produce terrible, terrible consequences.

Nick Valentine-

It ended up being a late night in the office and Nick said he’d make up for it by buying drinks for Ellie and Sole. The trio went to the Dugout inn, preceding to the bar.

“Hello, Detectives! What will I be getting for you?” Vadim greeted them in the same, loud way he always did. Nick began to fish the money out of his trench coat pocket.

“Hi, Vadim. It’s gonna be a round for these two. My treat.” Nick pulled out his caps, sliding them across the bar to Vadim.

“Oh, I see…cruising, huh, Valentine?” Vadim graciously took the money, chuckling to himself.

“Excuse me?” What is that supposed to mean? Nick sure didn’t know, but based on the way they scoffed- Sole did. Ellie started giggling as well.

“Oh, come on, Nick…I always knew you were a smooth operator. But shouldn’t you be keeping it professional with these two?” Vadim laughed, turning to grab their beers. Nick thinks he was starting to understand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobrov.” Nick’s internal fans were working in overdrive to keep him cool, and Ellie kept laughing at his sake.

“Oh-hoh, that’s how it is! Well, good luck in your-” Vadim hoots, turning to put the beers on the counter. His remark is cut off by Sole.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Sole suddenly tears their right arm off, whacking Vadim on the back of the head.

Wait. They what.

Ellie squeals, jumping and standing back from the now armless Sole. It takes her and Nick one more second to register the straps and cords coming out of the detached arm.

“You have a fake arm??” Ellie declares, more in relief than anything else.

“You didn’t know?” Sole seems surprised just the same as they were.

“How would we have found out?” Nick defends, staring at them in confusion. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened,

“That’s one way to shut him up.” Yedim chimes up, interrupting their bickering, and making Vadim laugh.

“Yes, yes, sorry for teasing you guys! Enjoy your drinks!” Vadim apologizes and pushing the beers over to the three. Sole puts their arm back on, and they and Ellie grab the drinks.

“Thank you, Vadim. And sorry about the arm.” Sole apologizes, and they walk to find their seats.

“Well, kid, good to know you’re armed at all times.” Nick quips, watching the anguish wash over Sole and Ellie’s faces.

“Oh god- was that a pun? I thought you were better than that, Nick.” Sole cringes and Nick grins victoriously.

“Okay, now you have to tell us what happened…” Ellie nudges Sole, ignoring Nick’s dad jokes.

“Fine, I lost it when…”

Paladin Danse-

“No wayyy!” Haylen shoves sole on the shoulder with her bottle hand, nudging them gently as they put their hands up in defense.

“I swear! I was out of the vault for like, less than an hour and already killing deathclaws!” Sole tries to convince their crowd, shrugging with their beer.

Sole and few other brotherhood members were drinking together on the lower levels of the prydwen, something Danse was completely unaccustomed to. He wasn’t one to do anything out of protocol and wasn’t interested in activities that could lead to said behavior. But Sole, the ever-inviting harpy they could be, convinced him the initiates would benefit from seeing a Paladin more relaxed. “Show them you’re a person like the rest of us,” they said. Sure.

“That would explain your pre-existing combat prowess, charging into that ghoul onslaught when we met.” Danse joins the conversation, taking a sip of his Gwinnett Ale. Everyone looks to him quickly, surprise in the initiate’s eyes. True, he hasn’t spoken at all yet, but they don’t need to treat it like a big deal. Danse tucked his head down a bit.

“Would you call that ‘prowess’ or ‘reckless abandon’?” Rhys, charming as always, chimes up before Sole could accept the compliment. He was always thorny towards newcomers, but he seemed especially so to this pre-war Vault dweller. Danse has handled in-team conflicts before, but when they involved Rhys, it was always more complicated.

“I would call it bravery.” Haylen says, glaring a moment at Rhys and then smiling back at Sole. She was always the compassionate one.

“What’s so brave about almost killing yourself?” Rhys continues to bicker, waving his beer in the air.

“Killing myself? I think I was doing most of the killing there!” Sole teases, always loving to mess with Rhys. Danse wishes they wouldn’t.

“Oh really? I think you ought to remember your place here.” Rhys frowned.

“Should I? Who got the instant promotion? Who’s working directly with the Elder to defeat the institute?” Sole continues to poke his buttons, making the initiates watching “ooh”.

“That’s it-” Rhys gets to his feet, and then does Sole.

“Wait a minute, Soldiers,” Danse quickly hops to his feet to stop the fight, but is interrupted by Sole swiftly yanking their arm off and wielding it like a weapon.

Haylen doesn’t hesitate to scream at the sight, and even Rhys seems spooked.

“What?? Y’all didn’t know I have a fake arm?” Sole reacts with just as much surprise, waving the arm around like it was nothing.

“We had no idea, Soldier, I-I-” Danse awkwardly stares.

“Well, I can tell you how I lost it if Rhys will just shut his mouth.” Sole glares and Rhys does the same.

“Settle down you two.” Danse crosses his arms and gets them to back down, going back to their seated positions. “So, tell us about the arm.”

“Okay, so way back before the war….”

X6-88-

X6 would probably walk in on Sole knocking one of the institute directors on the head with their prosthetic arm and instantly become over-interested. He’d start inquiring about the technical abilities of their prosthetic, what weapons it was equipped with, how it could be improved.

“It doesn’t really have any abilities, other than functioning as an arm,” Sole sheepishly responded to the questions, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“That doesn’t do at all, Sir/M’am. You should see the Robotics branch to get an upgrade. The face of the Institute deserves the best limb enhancers.” And so, through X6’s urging, Sole would end up with a wicked arm. Robotics would hook them up with like…inspector gadget style tricks all in the prosthetic. They’d honestly look part synth, which shortly became Sole’s new favorite thing to trick wastelanders into thinking. Thanks, X6!

#fallout reacts #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 reacts #fallout 4 reacts #Paladin Danse #x6-88 #Deacon #Nick valentine #fo4 paladin danse #fo4 deacon #fo4 nick valentine

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unforth · 4 years

Text

Today in “random shit that got totally away from me,” I just wrote almost 6k of this nonsense instead of anything for Kinktober or my tweet fic. Oops.

So I started thinking about MDZS Harry Potter AUs. Yes, JK is a trash human being but eh HP does still hold a place in my heart so I don't mind putzing with it as long as I never again put another penny her pocket. Anyway, all the HP AUs I've seen seem to be focused on Hogwarts and who'd be in which house, that kind of thing, and it felt all wrong to me because the sects are different schools of thought...that's literally the point...so shouldn't they be different schools? And this is where I took that...this is really more like a fusion than an AU and I've butchered canon and how magic works for both HP and MDZS but oh well, here goes...

(ships: WangXian, SangCheng, Luo Qingyang/Wen Qing, Xuanli until it’s not, Wen Ning/Jiang Yanli, and others)

Wei Wuxian is born a muggle, the child of a witch and a muggle who decide to leave the wizarding world and raise their child without the prejudices and problems that surrounded them and their relationship. However, the world catches up with them, and both die when Wei Wuxian is only 4 years old. He gets kicked into the foster system, and it takes over five years before he's finally brought to a family that seems to be long term - old friends of his mother's and, as he'll learn, old wizarding blood, the Jiang family. Wei Wuxian has shown no sign of being magical to that point but, then, he also had no idea that magic was a thing, and existed outside that paradigm completely. He learns right quick though. His new parents, Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian, are both powerful wizards, and their eldest daughter is already at Jinlin Tower, studying to follow on their footsteps. His foster brother, Jiang Cheng, talks excitedly and sometimes sneeringly about his own expectations of going, and that Wei Wuxian won't be. To say he's jealous would be an understatement, but more than that, he's sorely disappointed, because aside from his occasional arrogance, Jiang Cheng is the closest thing to a friend, the closest thing to family, he's ever had. His new parents are okay, he supposes...certainly better than some he's had...but Yu Ziyuan barely tolerates him and Jiang Fengmian's condescending form of affection isn't much better. Further, Wei Wuxian is old enough that he hears the rumors. People at Lotus Pier whisper that he's actually Jiang Fengmian's child, that JFM loved the witch Cangse Sanren and that he acted on that affection, possibly without her consent. How dark the rumors tended depended on who said them, and everyone made Wei Wuxian wish that he'd never been brought to Lotus Pier, even if he at least was no longer starving.

Anyway. Events unfold, as they tend to do. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng grow close. Jiang Yanli returns from school for holidays and Wei Wuxian quickly grows to adore her. When he's with his siblings he can forget how garbage the rest of his life is, and his hope for the future improves when he accidentally dyes Jiang Cheng purple from head to toe (after JC punched him because he called JC a grape). At first this seems like a dream come true - he can do magic, so he can go to the school! - but as seems to always happen in his life, the good news gets balanced by a heavy dose of bad, as the worst rumor mongers take this revelation as a sign that he couldn't have possibly had a muggle for a father, and their vituperation grows louder, and Yu Ziyuan's behavior grows more abusive.

At least he'll get to leave.

Except going also proves a mixed blessing, as the school is just as much a rumor factory as Lotus Pier is...heck, maybe more of one. The Jin family, also old blood, run the place, and teach according to their own principals. Virtually everyone there is from a long ancient line of wizards, and they all look down their noses at Wei Wuxian for being half blood, and he's bullied a lot, and Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli are bullied by extension, which is even worse. He does his best to keep his head down, but usually fails, since he can accept any amount of hatred heaped on his own head but refuses to stand down if his brother and sister are insulted. His repeated run ins with Jin Zixuan, heir to Jinlin Tower, affianced of Jiang Yanli, and tool douche bag incarnate especially lead to trouble, not because Jin Zixuan himself is so bad...he's a tool douche bag but he's essentially harmless...but his family is less so. His cousin Jin Zixun is especially vile, and the number of encounters with him that Wei Wuxian keeps secret lest Jiang Cheng learn and intervene and experience the same or worse is sizeable.

Still, for all the bad, he's mostly happy at school and it's still better than being at Lotus Pier. Their classmates are from the Jin and the clans that follow them - it turns out the only reason the Jiang are there instead of at their own school is that it's part of the arranged marriage between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli - and while the main clan is full of assholes, their followers include some damn good folk. Wei Wuxian develops an especially close friendship with Luo Qingyang. He also excels at magic, which eventually begins to pay dividends. The first couple years he's there, his classmates have all been doing magic since they were in their cradles and he's racing to catch up, but by the time he's 14, 15, 16, the playing field is more even and those who were cruel to him have mostly been visited by highly unpleasant pay back - if not from Wei Wuxian himself, then from Jiang Cheng or Luo Qingyang.

His 6th year, when he's 17, is a big deal for several reasons. First, Jiang Yanli graduates...and immediately starts an internship at the school's infirmary, ostensibly because she's interested in medicine, actually because no one wants too much distance between her and Jin Zixuan. Speaking of whom, secondly...he's a jackass and a peacock but he has improved with age, and Wei Wuxian can almost tolerate him for short periods of time, especially because his doing so makes Jiang Yanli happy. Jin Zixun is still irredeemable but Wei Wuxian is unsurprised there. But the biggest event is that it's time for the biannual competition between the greatest sects in the world, and this time Jinlin Tower is hosting. Everyone who wants to participate may, and it's basically an Olympics for people in their 6th and 7th years - no one else is eligible. There are competitions in martial arts, wizarding duels, arranged battles against monsters, Night Hunts, races. Each competitor is scored based on their performance, and after each event, fewer people are able to advance to the next round, until the final event is a two-on-two-on-two-on-two battle between the top pairs from each school - Jinlin Tower, Cloud Recesses, Unclean Realm and Nightless City. If two from one school are still standing at the end (highly unusual, generally one is eliminated before the other) then they will fight to determine a final winner, who gets accolades, attention, a mess of flowers, a few medals, at least two marriage proposals...and respect, which is the only one of those things Wei Wuxian gives a shit about.

Wei Wuxian is *determined* to be one of the two - and that Jiang Cheng will be the other. He can think of no better way to show up the haters, and anyway, it sounds fun as hell.

The school year up until the start of the competition, held every spring, is dull dull dull, but finally the long awaited day arrives, and with it come the 6th and 7th years from the other schools and the teachers sent to chaperone them. Cloud Recesses arrives first, punctual to the second, and god are they a snooze fest. Their leader, Lan Qiren, drones on and on during his welcome speech, and his students all stand in lock step and hang on every boring word. When Wei Wuxian has the audacity to yawn, one in particular glares murder at him, and Luo Qingyang explains to him in a hurried whisper that that's the famous Lan Wangji, second son of the family, heir to Cloud Recesses, and widely considered the hands-down favorite to win the entire event.

After them, the Unclean Realm contingent arrives, led by Nie Mingjue, youngest of the current school leaders. They seem very battle oriented, all heavily armed with more than just wands, except for a disinterested young man at Nie Mingjue's side - his brother, Nie Huaisang, Luo Qingyang helpfully explains.

("How do you know all this??" Wei Wuxian hisses.)

("Latest issue of Teen Witch did a profile on everyone favored to win from each school!")

("...oh yeah? What'd they say about me?")

("You weren't in there, dumbass, they profiled Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun.")

("And you trust them to be right about literally *anything* if they think those two are the favorites from here?")

("Shut up, at least it means I know something about the competition we'll face.")

("Will you *both* shut up?" interjected an exasperated Jiang Cheng, "because if not, I WILL curse you for the duration of the welcome...")

Nie Huaisang is fun to watch, because he seems as bored as Wei Wuxian feels, and because he is high enough in the pecking order that no one gives him shit for it. Watching him is even slightly cathartic. But too soon, their school goes to their table - another vote in favor of the Unclean Realm, their welcome speech was short and to the point - and then the Nightless City students step up. Their leader is a sneering youth ("winner of the competition six years ago," Luo Qingyang supplies) named Wen Xu, son of the school's head, because they are so arrogant they didn't bother sending their headmaster. They’re also the only school to send two chaperones, and Wei Wuxian feels an instant connection with the other, an attractive young woman, because the murderous glare she directs at the back of Wen Xu's head is truly a thing of beauty, and grows more intense the longer he babbles bombast, arrogance and stupidity.

Finally, the welcome ends, and the houses share a banquet. There are various "getting to know you" events scheduled, and a prom-like ball halfway through the competition. It’s interesting to see the relative sociability of the different groups as the events commenced. The Lans from Cloud Recesses, for example, keep almost entirely to themselves. They make minimal efforts to mingle but only because they’re expected to. The Nie, on the other hand, are incredibly happy to meet new people, and Wei Wuxian ends up friends with Nie Huaisang almost by accident - there was a bird, a curse backfire, a talking staircase and a gigantic bubblegum bubble involved but the less said in general the better - and it gives him hope for the future. His prospects of staying at Lotus Pier are dim - even if they wanted him there he didn't want to stay, especially after Jiang Yanli leaves for her wedding and Jiang Cheng launches into his duties as heir. Nie Huaisang likes him, and has influence at Unclean Realm, and hints more than once that they don’t share the prejudices of some of the other families since it’s well known they'd been founded by a late-blooming spellcasting muggle. Wei Wuxian is self-interested enough to forward the friendship even if he didn't enjoy Nie Huaisang's company...but he does, and that just makes it so much the better.

The Wens from Nightless City, on the other hand, are a problem. They love to interact...if arrogance, condescension, aloofness and bullying can be called interacting. They don’t even spare members of their own family, and Wei Wuxian saw a lot of parallels to his own treatment at Jinlin Tower in how Wen Ning, Wen Chao's cousin and younger brother of the second chaperone, is treated. Wei Wuxian intervenes more than once to protect Wen Ning - from the other Wens, from Jin Zixun, even from a random Lan once.

Thus do things stand when events finally start. They make for a weird clique - Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Luo Qingyang, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Ning vaguely shadowing them while clearly trying not to get too close. In events where they can aid each other, they do. In events where they can’t, they at least try not to directly act against each other. Lesser names are quickly eliminated from the competition, and the leader board is mostly those who'd been expected, in part because a lot of clan members go out of their way to support their clans' favorite. Lan Wangji, that second Lan son from Cloud Recesses, leads in points, and that’s extra impressive since the Lan are the only clan that AREN’T cheating to help him get ahead. Lesser members of the Nie routinely act to help Nie Huaisang instead of themselves, which is especially absurd since Nie Huaisang himself seems indifferent. The Wen actively cheat, and are sanctioned for it three times, to forward Wen Chao, Wen Xu's younger brother and their clan's favorite. And the Jinlin Tower contingent strives to put Jin Zixuan on top...and Jin Zixun strives to unseat him.

So, basically, it it’s all a huge mess, especially early on when the entirety of all four schools are involved.

The first of Wei Wuxian's friend circle eliminated is Luo Qingyang. She takes it in stride even though it had been a bullshit technicality and Wen Chao's fault to boot, and immediately begins conspiring from outside the competition to help the others. Things proceed apace, event after event, and despite some obvious attempts by lesser Jinlin Tower folk to sabotage Wei Wuxian, he of course still does well, especially at the magical competitions. He hung on through a dismal showing against a giant dog (his phobia’s triggered and it’s one on one so no one can help him) thanks mostly to an exceptional performance during an transfiguration and enchantment event, that he won easily and to everyone's amazement, even beating the unparalleled Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng is doing well too, not exceptional at anything, but never near the bottom, either, which keeps him afloat, and it helps that he never does anything that sinks himself to float Jin Zixuan or Jin Zixun. The ball comes closer by the day, and the events are spaced farther apart later in the competition to give competitors time to heal and prepare, and as more people are eliminated, the ball becomes the premier talk of the group - what to wear, who to ask, who else has asked who and who has said yes and who has said no, all gossip all the time. Nie Huaisang seems especially invested, even though he hasn't been eliminated...he seems to find it fun, while giving zero information about his own intentions as regard a companion.

Jiang Cheng asks a pretty Lan girl, and is turned down, and Luo Qingyang, and is turned down, and at least three other people, with no success. (Nie Huaisang whispers that this is because Wen Chao has threatened to hurt anyone who says yes to him...Luo Qingyang says it’s because Jiang Cheng is an idiot and a dick.)

Luo Qingyang refuses to say who she’s asking, leaves to do it...and returns aglow, saying that the person she'd asked has said yes...but still won’t say who that is.

Wen Ning mumbles that a Jin girl he didn’t know had asked him, and he said yes, and he supposes it’ll be fine. It troubles all his friends, since he’s actually incredibly sweet, but that anyone at all asked him seems to be a shock, and that anyone else might do so - or that he might ask someone he liked, and they might say yes - both are apparently so implausible to Wen Ning that he won’t even consider it.

Wei Wuxian asks no one. It’s not that he doesn’t want a partner at the ball...he does, he supposes...but he can’t find the motivation. He’s worried he got eliminated during the last event, and he won’t find out until the banquet before the ball, when the final 16 competitors will be announced, and the uncertainty is making him jumpy and anxious. So, he dithers, and he supports his friends, and he messes with their enemies, and he takes a dilatory approach to preparing for the next event (a dragon hunt) that he may or may not have qualified for…

...and then Jiang Cheng takes him aside, like, “dude you’ve got to find *someone*!”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause all of the top 16 need a date!”

“Then you’re boned, aren’t you…”

“So’re you! Anyway, you’re wrong, I’ve got someone.”

“I didn’t make it, a-di...I’m sure I didn’t…and wait, you do? Who is it?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“You’re a damn liar, you ain’t go no one.”

“No, I’m set, but you’ll sure look like a dumbass if I’m right and you need a date…”

And, well, Jiang Cheng has a point...so Wei Wuxian keeps an ear to the ground, trying to figure out who is still available. The pickings are slim...there are a lot of hopeful younger students, but...no. Just no. At least a dozen people have asked Wei Wuxian, but he’s turned them all done, and now everyone seems to be paired...and then a few hours before the banquet, Luo Qingyang grabs him.

“Pssst, I heard you need a date.”

“Why’re you whispering? Is it a secret?”

“Ask Lan Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian can only blink at her, because *what the actual fuck.* Lan Wangji is leading the competition, and he’s gorgeous, and yeah, he has a shit personality, but even so he must have had every single person in the school and every other school tripping over themselves to ask. Further, if there’s one person he will definitely say no to, it’s Wei Wuxian, because ever since that first time Wei Wuxian yawned during Lan Qiren’s shitty speech, Lan Wangji has hated him. During every meet and greet, during every event, whenever Wei Wuxian glances Lan Wangji’s way, Lan Wangji is glaring at him, scowling, like Wei Wuxian is a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe...and yeah that DID happen, it was part of the whole meeting Nie Huaisang debacle, but still, Wei Wuxian has been doing decently, and has tried to be nice to the guy, and nothing. Still, Luo Qingyang is incredibly persuasive when she wants to be, and finally, Wei Wuxian caves, if only to get her to leave him alone. Lan Wangji is easy to find, lingering in the common room assigned to his school, sitting and reading, still in the white robes he always wears (the girls all swoon at his miraculous ability to keep them pristine through every competition, and there are running bets on what it’ll finally take to stain them) and apparently indifferent to the frenetic preparations that those around him are hurrying through.

“Hey, Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji shoots that disdainful stare at him again.

“Heard you don’t have a date for tonight, is that true?”

Lan Wangji shrugs, eyes back on his book.

“You know all the top competitors need one, right?”

Lan Wangji shrugs again.

“So, you wanna go with me or what?”

The book crashes to the floor and Wei Wuxian is amazed to see Lan Wangji...react? To literally anything? Ever? By looking stricken, and surprised, and taken aback, and maybe a little horrified?

“Ugh, fine, well if my proximity offends you that bad...at least I can tell Luo Qingyang I tried.” And Wei Wuxian manages his own shrug, turns to walk away...and a hand on his shoulder stops him. Turning...there’s Lan Wangji, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, long hair swooping about his shoulders, crap is he pretty, no wonder he’s got half the school in love with him, no wonder he only finds flaws with Wei Wuxian, just like everyone else, no wonder--

“Seriously?”

...what?

Wei Wuxian nods slowly and Lan Wangji’s expression softens.

“Thought you and she were a couple.”

Shocking thing the first: Lan Wangji spoke. Shocking thing the second: Lan Wangji touched him. Shocking thing the third: Lan Wangji has paid enough attention to Wei Wuxian to have drawn conclusions about his love life. Shocking thing the fourth: Lan Wangji apparently has a personality of some kind? Shocking thing the fifth: Lan Wangji certainly doesn’t appear to hate him??

Too confused to speak, Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“I would be pleased to go to the ball with you.”

Shocking thing the sixth: Lan Wangji ACTUALLY WANTS TO GO WITH HIM.

The entire common room goes still, apparently everyone else is as shocked as Wei Wuxian, and then they break into congratulatory hurrahs.

“Whelp, good, okay then,” Wei Wuxian manages, still too asea to have any idea what the hell just happened. “Guess I’d better go get ready. You too. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

The banquet opens with Jin Guangshan rising and pompously announcing who the top 16 are - among them, Wen Chao and Wen Ning both have made it, and Lan Wangji of course, and Nie Huaisang, and the four from the Jin are Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixun, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian. He’s so amazed he can only stand, and he glances to Lan Wangji...and gets a smile in return??? And what has his day become he has no idea what’s going on!!

After the meal, the first dance is called, and the way people pair off prompts scads of whispers. Jin Zixuan is the obvious one, of course he’s with Jiang Yanli, and neither looks particularly happy about it. Jin Zixuan keeps glancing toward a Nie girl that Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, and if Wei Wuxian didn’t know better (and after the day he’s had, he’s genuinely not sure if he DOES know better) he’d think that Jiang Yanli kept glancing to Wen Ning. Jiang Cheng gives Wei Wuxian a smirk as he and Nie Huaisang go out hand in hand, only to have it fade into stunned wide eyed WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKness when Wei Wuxian goes out with Lan Wangji. It’s clear almost immediately that neither actually knows how to dance, but they both know how to fight, and it sort of translates, and things actually go pretty well.

Dancing with Lan Wangji is nice.

Being near Lan Wangji is nice.

The soft timber of Lan Wangji’s voice on the rare occasions he speaks is nice.

The whole evening is...really surprisingly nice. Memories of all the times Lan Wangji looked at him come back...why WAS Lan Wangji always looking at him? Clearly, Wei Wuxian has mixed everything up monumentally, and he’s starting to wonder if Luo Qingyang suspected as much when she sent him on what he’d thought a wild goose chase, but there’s no asking her, because as soon as the floor opens to the general group so everyone can dance, she’s on the floor with Wen Qing, of all people - it hadn’t even occurred to Wei Wuxian that he could ask a chaperone - and the two are staring adoringly into each other’s eyes and Wei Wuxian would think it insane and weird except that once or twice he realizes he’s kinda sorta maybe vaguely giving Lan Wangji a similar look and what even is his life?

They end up kissing outside the Lan’s common room.

Wei Wuxian has no idea what’s going on but he’s not at all unhappy with the turn of events.

The last couple events are incredibly difficult, the moreso because Wen Chao and Jin Zixun have each either collaboratively or independently decided that this is their last chance to try to get their fiercest competition eliminated. Jin Zixuan loses the next one badly, and Nie Huaisang also seems only too pleased to bow out. The other Wens team up against Wen Ning and he’s eliminated, and almost badly injured, and then they move on Wei Wuxian, and he only holds on by the skin of his teeth...and, he comes to suspect, because Jiang Cheng did something, because that’s the only explanation he’s got for why Jiang Cheng is eliminated even though Jin Zixun bombed one of the events. Eventually, the final 8 are chosen…

Wen Chao and some other Wen.

Lan Wangji and some other Lan.

Two random Nies.

And Jin Zixun and Wei Wuxian.

Intent on preparing even though he knows Jin Zixun hates him, Wei Wuxian approaches him. They’re supposed to work together against the other six, after all...but Jin Zixun won’t even talk to him, so Wei Wuxian assumes he’s actually on his own and does his own preparation. That morning, he’s absolutely sick to his stomach. Rumor is that some students have died in the duels before. It’s no holds barred, no spells off limits, even an Unforgivable Curse would be allowed if someone actually knew one. Weapons, sword-flying, everything is allowed. Wei Wuxian has his sword Suibian, his flute and his wand when he joins the others. They all look fidgety, and the only one who spares Wei Wuxian a glance is Lan Wangji, and he looks concerned. They’ve spent time together as they’ve been able, but it’s been little enough, the event occupying most of their time, and Wei Wuxian was in the hospital for a week after the last event with no visitors allowed.

“Be careful out there,” Lan Wangji murmurs to him, giving his hand a squeeze, and Wei Wuxian can only return the sentiment, but he’s not worried. Lan Wangji has led the competition since day one, and leads it still, and everyone is assuming he’ll win, presumably with his white robes still pristine.

Finally, the final duel starts, and Wei Wuxian realizes immediately that it’s so much worse than he feared, when the Wen opposing Wen Chao eliminates himself, and Jin Zixun ignores all foes to immediately turn on Wei Wuxian, and he loses track of what the others are doing because fighting Jin Zixun takes all his focus. Jin Zixun has been training for this his whole life, and he’s a year older, and whereas Wei Wuxian doesn’t actually particularly want to harm him, Jin Zixun’s every action makes it clear he couldn’t care less if he kills Wei Wuxian. It’s as hard a battle as anything he’s ever done, and it’s only when Wei Wuxian stops pulling his punches (he can hear his friends screaming at him that he’s an idiot from the sidelines) that he finally FINALLY wins.

But the cost has been high.

His qi is depleted. His body aches. He’s bleeding from multiple wounds and from the mouth. Suibian has been tossed from the competition area, and his wand is broken, leaving him with only Chenqing. And he’s got no idea who else is left, who might yet be in his way…

...and oh god, is he going to have to fight Lan Wangji? He won’t do it, no matter what…

...and he takes a step back, and Wen Chao’s voice shouts - he must have been lurking, waiting for the end of Wei Wuxian’s battle, knowing whoever won would be weakest and least on guard immediately after - and the word cruciatus echoes across the suddenly silent arena, and Wei Wuxian squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for agony...and it never comes.

He opens his eyes.

Lan Wangji stands before him, panting with effort, his guqin before himself, his fingers on the strings as he uses his own qi to catch the Unforgivable curse and contain it. The effort of it is clearly great; a cough spurts blood from Lan Wangji’s mouth, staining red down the front of his pristine white robes, but he doesn’t give up, and Wen Chao’s expression contorts as he tries and tries to force the spell through Lan Wangji’s resistance...and then it explodes in Wen Chao’s face, and he screams as the backfire casts the spell on himself.

“Wen Chao - eliminated!”

Lan Wangji collapses to his knees, spells evaporating in a swirl of blue motes. His wand falls to the ground near Wei Wuxian’s feet, and he uncertainly picks it up. It feels odd in his hands, but he’s sure he could cast with it.

“Why?” whispers Wei Wuxian.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“Who’s left?”

“You and me.”

And this is it - his moment. Lan Wangji is hurt, down, bloody and muddy. Wei Wuxian is exhausted and hurt, but he’s up, and he’s got Chenqing, and he could do plenty with it even if he doesn’t want to use Lan Wangji’s wand...and why wouldn’t he want to use the wand?...Wei Wuxian could get everything he wants, the prize, the respect, the marriage proposals, everything...but Lan Wangji couldn’t let Wen Chao hurt him, and Wei Wuxian can’t possibly, can’t FATHOM, hurting Lan Wangji.

“I’m out,” he shouts to the judges.

“Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian will engage in a wizard’s duel to determine a final winner.”

“I won’t,” Wei Wuxian bellows back.

“Eliminate me,” Lan Wangji whispers, for his ears alone. “I always knew you were going to beat me.”

As if that’s not the craziest shit Wei Wuxian has ever heard.

“You’re the brightest young master of our generation, Lan Wangji...it was always going to be you.” And Wei Wuxian realizes he means that in so many more ways than merely as regards the competition.

Because Wei Wuxian feels so much more toward Lan Wangji than he’d ever imagined he could toward anyone, much less toward the supposedly cold and indifferent and aloof Second Young Master Lan.

“Very well,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Lan Wangji closes his eyes. “Petrificus totalus!” Wei Wuxian shouts...and aims the wand at his own feet.

And the next thing he’s aware of, he’s in the infirmary, and Jiang Yanli and...Wen Qing and Wen Ning???...are there, and Wen Qing is leaning over him while the other two have a hushed conversation across the room. Six of the seven other finalists are there as well - the self-eliminated Wen didn’t hurt himself badly enough to need the hospital - and Wen Qing is roughly jabbing at a pierced wound in his side, ignoring his grimace and soft protest.

“You’re all idiots, and this is all stupid, and I have no idea why any of the schools sanction this insanity, and you shut your face, Wei Wuxian, and let me do my job…”

He can’t really argue with her. Everything hurts too much anyway.

So Lan Wangji is awarded winner, but given that he spends that night in Wei Wuxian’s arms, Wei Wuxian is pretty sure that he’s the actual winner. He got his respect, too - beating Jin Zixun one on one impressed a LOT of people, and before the houses all leave to go back to their own clans, Nie Mingjue offers him a job post-graduation, and Jiang Cheng gets all offended since obviously Wei Wuxian will be working for him, and Lan Wangji promises to send him owls every day, and Wei Wuxian lies through his teeth when he assures Lan Wangji that he’ll do the same (it’s not a lie because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows he’s not a fraction well enough organized to actually pull something like that off), and Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang exchange tearful farewells...and Wen Ning stays, which is surprising and excellent, and in amazingly short order, things go back to normal…

...except they never quite go back to normal.

Because Jin Zixuan breaks off his engagement to Jiang Yanli, announcing that he’s too in love with that Nie girl who’s name Wei Wuxian still doesn’t know to consider marrying simply to satisfy his family.

And because as soon as she’s at liberty to do so, in front of the entire assembly, Jiang Yanli stalks across the room, grabs the front of Wen Ning’s robes, and hauls him into a kiss.

And because Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng solve the “which clan gets to keep Wei Wuxian” problem by announcing their own engagement.

And because Jin Zixun graduates at the end of the year, and as soon as he’s gone all the Jin who used to torment Wei Wuxian sheepishly apologize and say Jin Zixun made them - themselves or Wei Wuxian - and while he doesn’t forgive them their abuses, he can at least tolerate being their classmates.

And because Luo Qingyang announces that she’s renouncing the Jin clan, and that she and Wen Qing are planning to ride off into the sunset and start their own clan with two well known independent wizards of their acquaintance, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. They pointedly suggest that Wei Wuxian go with them.

And because Lan Wangji keeps his promise and sends Wei Wuxian a letter every day, and Wei Wuxian - wonder of wonders - succeeds in replying daily, by giving up on the idea of sending letters and instead sending drawings. Lan Wangji loves the idea of joining the new sect.

And because, after graduation, when Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng try to claim him, they find themselves beaten to the punch, because Lan Wangji has already got him heart, soul, body and mind. The two begrudgingly conceded that Lan Wangji can marry him, as long as he’ll continue to be part of all three clans, and help with enchantments and Night Hunts and whatever else.

Wei Wuxian is shocked to find himself so wanted, and does everything he can to satisfy all the claims on him.

It’s a way better life than Wei Wuxian had ever dared to hope for.

And he’s got every reason to think it’s only going to get better and better.

#unforth writes #wangxian #untamed #harry potter #idek how to tag this #or if anyone will read it #but i had fun writing it so oh well #i'll xpost it to AO3 later #the reason i didn't do anything real is that I'm actually kind of fried #did a bunch of construction work on my house #and had to take my mom to urgent care #don't worry she's fine

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Sasquatch: Hulu Docuseries Director on Murder by Bigfoot

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Some legends are so powerful they can never die, but they might be able to kill. That is a pervading idea behind Sasquatch, Hulu’s three-part murder-mystery documentary that explores a strange story of the famous cryptid tearing three men limb from limb on a pot farm in Northern California’s Emerald Triangle.

Fittingly premiering on April 20 a.k.a. the weed holiday “420” the series is told through the eyes of investigative journalist David Holthouse. A man who has built his career chasing monstrous humans, such as Neo-Nazis and sexual predators, Holthouse heard of these Bigfoot murders back in 1993 while laying low to avoid some gangs, and passing time working on the farms in the Redwoods. Now, nearly three decades later, he revisits the region to further uncover the truth behind the story.

Directed by Joshua Rofé (Lorena), and produced by Duplass Brothers Productions (Wild, Wild Country), Sasquatch is more than a monster hunt. It does dig into Bigfoot culture, and features interviews with notable squatcher James “Bobo” Fay (Finding Bigfoot), anatomy and anthropology researcher Dr. Jeffrey Meldrum — and even Bob Gimlin, one-half of the Patterson-Gimlin film, the most famous supposed Bigfoot video ever. But the series is likewise an exploration of the illegal marijuana trade in the Emerald Triangle. A haven to where the hippies of the 1960s counterculture once escaped, parts of the three counties that make up the triangle — Humboldt, Trinity, and Mendocino — have become off-the-grid zones where interlopers might vanish.

While a legend of a potentially killer Bigfoot looms large over the area, crossing the wrong character equally poses a mortal danger, and the documentary conveys that palpable human threat. In this way, Sasquatch is gripping, and full of shocking revelations as it takes the viewer on a journey that’s both an examination of cryptozoology and paranormal phenomena, and a true crime investigation.

Rofé joined Den of Geek for a Paranormal Pop Culture Hour to discuss the series, and how he became connected to Holthouse’s strange tale. In the following interview the director opens up about a childhood fear of the Jersey Devil, and how that fear was nothing compared to the frightening nature of some of the people he had to interview for Hulu’s Sasquatch.

Note: Quotes edited lightly for clarity and length

Den of Geek: There are weird parallels here with Lorena, the Lorena Bobbitt documentary, because you take something you assume people know a lot about, but they really only know part of the story.

Joshua Rofé: It’s interesting, my producing partner, Steven Berger, we sort of started to realize in the last couple of years, that our M.O. is we like a story about a household name, a word that is just part of common vernacular … where you come in with a totally preconceived notion. And by the end of it, hopefully, you will never think of that name or that word the same way again.

Why Sasquatch? Was it your own pre-existing fascination?

I grew up in New Jersey. When I was a kid, we’d go to day-camp in the summer, and it was in the Pine Barrens. I grew up terrified of the Jersey Devil. You’d have one or two sleepovers a summer, where you’re camping out, and [counselors] would take you to the old canteen, which is just an abandoned shed. You think, as a nine-year-old, that this is where the Jersey Devil resides. You grow up and sort of never think about that again but it’s still in your being.

Cut to February 2018. I’m making Lorena, and I have dinner with a buddy of mine, Zach Cregger. He’s one of the executive producers on this show. His parting words to me are, “By the way, you’ve got to listen to this podcast. You’re either going to love it, or you’re going to think I’m crazy for loving it, and it’s called Sasquatch Chronicles.”

Immediately, I just had no interest. Despite what I had been sort of terrified over as a kid, with the Jersey Devil, cryptids were just, at that moment in time, they were not something that I gave much thought to. And he said, “Just listen.”

Culture

The Golden Age of Bigfoot Movies

By Jim Knipfel

What Sasquatch Chronicles is, is people calling up with their encounter stories. The next day, I listened to one episode. By the end of four days later, I’d listened to 11 episodes, and I was not hung-up on whether or not I believed the details of the stories. That was sort of irrelevant to me. What I was immediately taken by and really overwhelmed by was I sensed authentic, visceral fear as through-line with every story, from every caller.

I started to have this conversation with myself. Am I going to make a Sasquatch something? I can’t. I make social issue documentaries. My collaborators are going to laugh at me. And then I got to this point at the end of the week, where I said, “I’m going to make a Sasquatch-centric story. I don’t know if it’s a doc, I don’t know if it’s scripted, but this is amazing. And I’m going to do something.”

In the first episode of the documentary, you reveal David hasn’t told this story before. He has plenty of insane stories but kept this one in his back pocket. Why did he tell you about it now?

Keep in mind, David was working on Lorena with me at the time. I knew that in his experience as a gonzo journalist, he had seen and done a lot of crazy things. I sent him a text, and I just said, “Hey, I promise this is the craziest text I’m going to send you for the next five years. I want to find a murder mystery that’s somehow wrapped up in a Sasquatch story and pursue it as the next project.” He texted me right back. He said, “I love it. I got one. I’ll call you in five.” And then he proceeded to tell me that story from 1993, and here we are.

This is a murder investigation of sorts, and an exploration of this outlaw territory, but you begin with interviews from that Sasquatch community. Why did you find it was necessary to include them? You could just have gone straight to the territory where these murders took place.

If we were going to try and figure out what happened with this Sasquatch murder mystery, we needed to start at ground zero. And ground zero in many was, “Well, let’s understand Bigfoot culture. Let’s understand the history of Bigfoot.” Talking to people who can explain that very credibly, particularly in the Bigfoot community, and also talking to people who when they’re telling you about their experience … it feels authentic. You never for a second think, “Oh, this person is putting me on.” You know that they believe what they’re telling you … There’s a former cop in this who, when he relays his experience, I mean, this grown man is about to cry. He is terrified just recalling it, and it’s very tough to dismiss that.

Can you walk me through the unique challenges you faced as you filmed in this pretty dangerous Mendocino area?

All of the credit for that goes to David Holthouse. That’s his work, that’s his reporting, that’s his skillful and relentless development of sources, and frankly, putting himself in really dangerous situations when there was no camera present.

There’d be moments where we would be up there in Northern California, and maybe the next day was an interview with a Squatcher. Certainly, not somebody in the criminal underworld. [The crew] leaves the hotel, 8:00 AM, to get to somebody’s place. David, that night before, was going to meet a potential source, very much from that underworld and say, “Here’s where I’m going to be. If you don’t hear from me by this time, that’s bad.”

I remember just sitting, wide awake till two, three in the morning, just waiting for that text message, “I’m out. I’m safe. I’m heading back to the hotel. I’m good.” So there was a lot of that, and then there was a lot of, when we were in the places that we were, sort of being overcome with this feeling of, “We better not overstay our welcome, because we’re not welcome here to begin with essentially.” And so, that was a new experience.

Do you think some of these folks up there in the Emerald Triangle, legitimately do believe in the existence of Sasquatch?

Absolutely. There are a ton of people up there who believe in the existence of Sasquatch, and they would base that on experiences they will tell you they’ve had. There’s a line David has in the show, where he talks about the belief in the supernatural up there, meaning Northern California, deep in those woods, running on a higher vibration.

You said that you hadn’t really previously experienced this kind of threat of danger with your work. Was this something that David tried to prep you for?

It was more conversation, sort of as a group, of, “Do we need security?” … Actually, you know what? I haven’t thought about this since it happened. We looked into hiring security. Nobody would go. Nobody would go, and it was something more or less like, if it’s going to go down, it’s going to go down.

I don’t remember David prepping us, so much as those conversations as a group, but I think everybody just understood. I think a big rule for me personally, and my crews, when we’re shooting docs is, somebody’s letting us in their home. Man, I don’t care if you have totally different political beliefs, I don’t care what. Someone’s letting us in their home. It’s like please and thank you, and take your shoes off, and be respectful. It was kind of that on steroids for this, which is, “Oh, and somebody might have an AR-15 in the bedroom, so everybody just behave yourself.”

…And the answers to our original question of, “What happened the day that these people claimed a Sasquatch murdered these people?” Well, some of those people were going to potentially hold the answers.

Let me backtrack a little bit to the hardcore Bigfoot stuff because you do talk to Bob Gimlin as well as Bob Hieronimus, who claims he was the guy in a Bigfoot suit. Did you walk away, finding one or the other slightly more reliable?

Oh, I don’t want to answer this one … I think there are going to be people who are going to believe both of these guys. These guys are in their eighties now, and — we’re going into very mild spoilers, but it’s one of my favorite things in the show, actually — there’s a real rivalry that is clearly decades old between the two of them, and it turns out they live down the street from each other, which is amazing. It’s a wild dynamic between the two of them, for sure. As surly as they get when they can be talking about each other, they’re both the nicest guys. They’re both the nicest guys, so welcoming, so thoughtful.

From that nine-year-old kid, camping in the Pine Barrens, terrified of the Jersey Devil, to now being on the other side of this three-part documentary, what is your takeaway about the power of legends?

Like you were saying, from being a kid who was afraid, camping in the Pine Barrens, to then listening to those stories on Sasquatch Chronicles, and hearing that visceral fear from these folks, to then making this and being in those woods — and feeling fear again. I think fear is a very powerful tool, and legends are often born out of people feeling afraid or wanting to make others feel afraid for specific reasons. And that’s where the real story lies, I think, a lot of times. I’m not coming down definitively on the existence of whatever or not, but people like to wield fear in the name of control. I think that’s where a lot of legends are born, and I personally find that endlessly fascinating.

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Sasquatch, the three-part documentary directed and executive produced by Joshua Rofé, and produced by Duplass Brothers Productions is available to stream on Hulu now.

The post Sasquatch: Hulu Docuseries Director on Murder by Bigfoot appeared first on Den of Geek.

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