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hd-junglebook · 21 days

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It's Always Been You

Part 1 - Word Count 3670

Masterlist

Jack and Y/N had been best friends for as long as she could remember, their lives intertwined like the threads of a tapestry woven by fate. Every day since their mothers met had been spent in each other’s company.

From the innocence of school dances, where the soft melodies filled the air and they'd sway to the rhythm, to the milestones of graduations where the crispness of their graduation gowns brushed against their skin, marking a new beginning.

His hand often found its way to her shoulder, offering comfort during heartfelt moments or playfully nudging her when teasing. Throughout it all, Jack had been a constant presence in Y/N's life, his laughter a familiar sound, and his touch a reassuring gesture.

Y/N's affection for Jack didn't blossom until their freshman year in high school—a tender, all-consuming love that left her breathless, her heart pounding at the mere thought of him. The warmth that spread through her cheeks whenever he smiled in her direction was unmistakable.

She found herself stooping to petty tactics, her hands nervously fidgeting as she whispered rumors about any girl Jack mentioned, her eyes darting around to gauge his reaction, hoping to keep his focus solely on her.

Her body language betrayed her insecurities, her shoulders tense, her posture slightly hunched when around other girls, trying to mark her territory.

She yearned for his attention, her eyes often seeking his across crowded hallways, her fingers subtly tracing patterns on her desk whenever he was near, a silent plea for him to notice her.

Yet, despite her efforts, Jack's gaze never lingered on her the way she longed for. To him, she was nothing more than a cherished sibling, a confidante, and a friend. Y/N's heart would sink like a stone dropped into water every time she caught his eye quickly darting away from her.

Her fingers would nervously twirl a strand of hair, a habitual gesture she adopted when feeling anxious or disappointed. She'd often catch herself biting her lower lip, a subconscious attempt to hold back the feelings threatening to spill out.

Y/N had always known that she wasn't Jack's type, but it didn't make the truth any less painful. As they grew older, the sting of reality felt like a cold gust of wind against her face, sharp and biting. Jack's dream of playing in the NHL became a reality, she resigned herself to the fact that his heart would never belong to her.

When he was drafted, Y/N expected him to leave her behind, to start a new life without the weight of their shared history.

But to her surprise, Jack begged her to come with him, to be his anchor in a strange city where he knew no one.

…

Everyone gathered around the television, waiting for the announcement that would change the course of Jack's life. Luke, Ellen, and Jim had done their best to ease his worries, their laughter echoing through the room as Jack rambled on, his nerves getting the better of him.

Y/N shifted nervously as her vision remained fixed on the television screen in front of her, awaiting the verdict that would change Jack’s life forever.

Her body felt heavy as she leaned against the kitchen island for support, anxiety mounting in her chest with each passing moment as their lives hung in the balance.

The tension of the moment was unbearable, yet she remained silent, praying that the outcome would be positive.

Ellen and Luke had gone all out, decorating the house in the team's colors of red and black. They had invited close friends and even convinced Quinn to come back from Vancouver to support Jack.

The cheering and applause filled the room as the result was announced, filling the air with excitement and joy. Jack’s voice rang above the noise, his eyes searching the crowd for her as his hands raised to his head in disbelief. She had never seen him this excited before, the thrill and joy radiating from him in a way that made her feel a strange wave of happiness wash over her.

The intensity of his gaze swept over the faces, his pupils darting from one to another, the crease in his brow deepening with each passing second. “Y/N?"

The room seemed to spin around him, the bright lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors as he desperately sought the one person he needed to share this moment with.

His heart raced, thudding loudly in his chest, as he desperately scanned the faces of his loved ones.

She was slightly surprised that he had even noticed her among the crowd of people. She had stayed relatively hidden away, standing quietly near the edge of the celebration. She felt slightly touched by the fact that he had called her out, a small smile crossing her face as she stepped forward.

y/n took a deep breath, preparing herself for the impact of his embrace, knowing that it would be both a source of comfort and a reminder of what she could never have. The crowd shifted around them as she moved closer to Jack, the people parting around them as they gave them space.

Jack's eyes locked with hers, and for a moment it seemed like the entire world had come to a halt. His eyes burned with purpose as he moved quickly toward her, his long strides filling the space between them. He slammed into her smaller frame, his arms wrapping firmly around her waist to stead her as he held her close.

She stumbled backward, his warm grasp keeping her upright. His body pressed up against hers, filling her senses with the warmth of his touch. As he held her, she could feel his heart pounding against her chest, the pace matching her own.

The sounds of the celebration around them seemed to fade away as Jack began to cry, his grip on her tightening as he buried his head in the crook of her neck.

The warmth of his body pressed up against her, the feeling of his warmth filling her with an odd mix of joy and heartache. She wrapped her arms around him, cradling him close to her as she held onto him tight, embracing his warmth as she savored the feeling.

"Congratulations, J," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the blurred celebration.

She ran her fingers through his hair, a familiar gesture of comfort that they had shared countless times before. The familiar and almost-automatic nature of the action made her heart ache, reminding her of all the moments they had shared, and all the moments they would never have.

Jack squeezed her tighter, burying himself further into her neck as they remained in a close embrace. His breath came in small hitches, and his body trembled slightly against hers, the adrenaline still coursing through him while the celebration raged on around them.

He pulled back slightly, his hands carefully cupping her face. His eyes were red-rimmed and filled with a mix of happiness and something else that Y/N couldn't quite place. As he leaned his forehead against hers, his breath mingled with hers.

"I couldn't have done this without you, Y/N. You've always been there for me, through everything. I don't know how to do this without you by my side."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, the words she had longed to hear falling from his lips. But she knew that they didn't mean what she wanted them to. Jack needed her as a friend, a confidante, not as a lover. The realization made her throat tighten, but she forced herself to smile, to be the support he needed.

"Come on, don’t get sappy on me,” she choked out, her voice wavering like a fragile leaf caught in a gust of wind. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, the salty taste of them already on her lips. “I'll always be here for you, J. No matter what."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a promise that she knew would only bring her more pain.

While party continued, Y/N found herself drifting further into the background, her silence a stark contrast to the festivities that surrounded her. She watched as Jack was embraced by his loved ones, their pride and happiness evident in every hug and handshake.

The thought of Jack leaving, of not having him by her side every day, was almost too much to bear. Y/N had always been there for him, through every triumph and every setback, but now she felt like she was being left behind. She wanted to be happy for him, to share in his joy, but the pain of unrequited love was a heavy weight on her heart.

…

Once the celebration at Jack's parents' house wound down, Y/N found herself standing in the backyard, the cool grass tickling her feet.

The fading hues of blue and orange painted a mesmerizing picture above, mirroring the tumultuous swirl of emotions within her heart. The gentle breeze caressed her skin, teasing the hem of her dress as it fluttered softly around her.

Y/N found herself lost in her thoughts. Unbeknownst to her, Jack watched from the porch, his own thoughts a whirlwind of emotions.

He observed Y/N, captivated by the way the evening light danced upon her features, casting shadows that seemed to dance in harmony with the gentle sway of the trees.

He sat on the porch steps, the soft glow from the porch light casting shadows on his face, she could see he was lost in thought. The glimmer of sadness in her smile went unnoticed as she watched him, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the palm of her hand.

She settled beside him, their shoulders barely touching. Jack looked forward, his gaze piercing through the distance between them until it locked with hers. jack took her hands in his, his touch gentle yet firm.

"Y/N," he said softly, his blue eyes shimmering with innocence and sincerity. "I need to ask you something."

She nodded, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a drumbeat, the sound resonating in her ears.

"Will you come with me? To New Jersey?" The words tumbled out of his mouth, filled with hope and uncertainty.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around his, seeking reassurance as she searched his face for any hint of hesitation or doubt. Confusion mingled with amusement, escaping her lips in a soft laugh. "Jack, stop playing around, it’s not funny."

His expression grew solemn, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a depth of earnestness. His grip on her hands tightened as well, his fingers intertwining with hers in a firm embrace, grounding her in the moment. "I’m serious," he murmured.

"Think about it, we could leave it all behind for a little while," he continued, his voice soft yet persuasive as he continued. "I want you to come with me. I'll take care of everything, I promise," he assured her, his words wrapping around her like a warm blanket. "You won’t have to worry about a thing out there."

Y/N's mind reeled, trying to process his words. Jack proceeded to try and convince her, his voice filled with excitement. "Imagine the life we could have together, Y/N. A fresh start in a new city, just the two of us. We've always been there for each other, and I don't want to do this without you."

She searched his face, looking for any sign that this was a cruel joke, but all she found was innocebce. Her heart ached, the temptation to say yes nearly overwhelming her. But the rational part of her brain reminded her that Jack's feelings for her were not the same as hers for him.

"Jack, I..." she started, her voice trembling. "It’s so sudden and I haven’t prepared anything. What if we stop being friends or what if..."

He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. "Please, Y/N. I need you. We've always been a team, and I can't imagine doing this without you by my side."

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N's eyes as she struggled with the decision. The thought of leaving everything behind terrified her, but the idea of being separated from Jack was even more unbearable.

In that moment, staring into his pleading eyes, she knew she would follow him anywhere, even if it meant sacrificing her own heart in the process. The desperation in his voice tugged at her heartstrings, and despite the agony of being so close to him yet so far from his love, she couldn't refuse him.

…

Y/N plopped down into her seat behind the glass, the arena buzzing with enough energy to power a small country.

It had been a year since Jack's draft day, when she'd made the brilliant decision to uproot her entire life and follow him to the glamorous state of New Jersey. She scanned the ice, trying to spot her best friend among the sea of red and black jerseys.

Tugging at the sleeve of her Hischier jersey, Y/N couldn't help but cringe. The fabric felt like it had been woven from a blend of sandpaper and poison ivy.

"Never letting Jack do the laundry again," she grumbled, glaring down at the oversized jersey that made her look like a kid playing dress-up in her dad's clothes.

Trusting Jack with laundry had been a rookie mistake, but in her defense, she'd been too busy juggling work and her new role as an unofficial NHL WAG (without the benefits) to do it herself.

The Devils had just taken the ice for warmups, and the crowd was already on their feet, cheering like they'd been promised free beer for every decibel they could produce.

Y/N spotted Jack skating around, his movements so fluid and graceful that she half-expected him to start pirouetting at any moment.

Suddenly, he glided up to the glass right in front of her, a coy smile on his face as he took in her annoyed expression. The girls around Y/N screamed, their shrill voices making her eardrums beg for mercy.

Jack tapped his stick against the glass, a playful gesture that made Y/N's heart skip a beat, "You're lucky you're cute, Hughes," she mouthed, narrowing her eyes at him. His grin widened, and he mouthed back, "You love me."

But then, his eyes dropped to the jersey she was wearing, and an angry pout formed on his lips. "Hey, that's not my jersey," he mouthed, his brows furrowing in a way that was both adorable and infuriating.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, and she silently cursed her face for betraying her emotions. If only Jack knew just how true those words were, and how much she'd given up to be there for him.

But before she could come up with a witty retort, Jack was off, skating away to join his teammates in their pregame rituals.

She leaned back in her seat, resigning herself to a night of itchy fabric, eardrum-shattering screams, and the bittersweet torture of watching the man she loved chase his dreams while she cheered him on from the sidelines.

…

The Devils and Hurricanes were locked in a fierce battle, the scoreboard showing a frustrating tie that refused to be broken. The tension in the arena was palpable, and Y/N could feel it thrumming through her veins as she watched the players slam into each other, their skates carving intricate patterns on the ice.

Her gaze was fixed on Jack, his #86 jersey a beacon amidst the swirling sea of red and black. He lined up for the faceoff, his body tensed like a coiled snake ready to strike.

Even from her seat, Y/N could see the fierce determination burning in his eyes, the set of his jaw that spoke of an unbreakable focus.

This was Jack in his element, a force to be reckoned with, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the sight of him.

The ref lowered his arm, the puck balanced on his fingertips. Y/N held her breath, her fingers digging into the armrests of her seat.

The arena seemed to freeze, suspended in a moment of anticipation that stretched on for an eternity. And then, with a flick of the ref's wrist, the puck dropped, and all hell broke loose.

The ice exploded into a whirlwind of movement, players slamming into each other with the force of speeding trains. Sticks clashed and skates flashed as they battled for possession, the puck zipping back and forth like a bullet.

Y/N's eyes strained to keep track of it all, her heart in her throat as she watched Jack dart and weave through the chaos.

He moved like a man possessed, his skates cutting through the ice with a grace and precision that left her breathless. Jack dodged checks and spun past defenders, his stick a blur as he fought for control of the puck. Y/N's pulse raced as she watched him, her body instinctively leaning forward as if she could somehow will him to victory.

The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity as the two teams clashed. Jack's face was a mask of concentration, his brow furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

And then, with a burst of speed that left everyone in the dust, Jack broke free. He charged down the ice, the puck clinging to his stick like a magnet.

Y/N's heart soared as she watched him go, her breath catching in her throat as he bore down on the Hurricane's goalie. This was it, the moment they'd all been waiting for, the chance to break the tie and seal the victory.

Y/N gripped the armrests so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her entire body tensed as she watched Jack close in on the net. The arena held its breath, every eye glued to the ice as the drama unfolded. And then, with a flick of his wrist that was almost too fast to see, Jack sent the puck flying, a black blur streaking towards the goal.

The final buzzer sounded, and the Devils left the ice victorious. She made her way down to the locker room, her heart racing with anticipation. She couldn't wait to see him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him how proud she was.

…

Her heart skipped a beat as Jack walked into the locker room, his eyes instantly locking with hers. The rest of the world seemed to fade away as he made his way towards her, his tall frame towering over her smaller one. His hair, still damp from the postgame shower, fell into his face in an unruly mess that somehow only added to his charm.

"Hey, pretty girl," he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down Y/N's spine. The term of endearment rolled off his tongue with an ease that spoke of familiarity, and Y/N couldn't help but melt a little at the sound of it.

She looked up at him through her lashes, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Hi, love," she whispered back, the words feeling both natural and thrilling at the same time. Around them, the locker room buzzed with activity as Jack's teammates celebrated their hard-fought victory.

"You were amazing out there," she murmured, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I'm so proud of you, Jack."

He grinned down at her, his eyes sparkling with a mix of joy and adoration. "I couldn't have done it without you, Y/N. Knowing you were up there, cheering me on... it means everything to me."

Y/N's heart swelled at his words, a lump forming in her throat.

She felt like she was floating on cloud nine, until the sound of footsteps echoed through the locker room, and Y/N felt Jack stiffen in her arms. Reluctantly, she pulled away, her eyes fluttering open just in time to see a tall, stunning woman enter the room.

The newcomer was breathtaking, with golden hair that seemed to shimmer under the fluorescent lights. She moved with a grace and confidence that was almost otherworldly, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of inadequacy in her presence.

It was like looking at a living, breathing goddess, someone who belonged on the pages of a magazine or the silver screen.

As the woman drew closer, Y/N's heart began to race, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. She glanced up at Jack, searching his face for any sign of recognition or explanation, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the approaching figure.

The woman came to a stop beside them, her full lips curving into a smile that was both dazzling and unsettling. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she took in the newcomer's flawless features, her porcelain skin and piercing blue eyes. It was like staring into the face of perfection, and Y/N felt a sudden, irrational surge of jealousy and fear.

"Jack," the woman purred, her voice like honey and silk. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Y/N's world tilted on its axis, her mind reeling as she tried to process the implications of the woman's words. Who was she? What did she want with Jack? And why did Y/N suddenly feel like an intruder in her own love story?

The air felt heavy with tension and unspoken secrets, and Y/N's heart raced as she struggled to make sense of it all.

She looked up at Jack again, silently pleading for an explanation, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. Instead, he cleared his throat, his voice strained as he replied, "Daph. What are you doing here?"

The woman – Daph, likely Daphne - laughed, the sound like tinkling bells. "Can't a girl surprise her boyfriend after a big game?"

And with those words, Y/N's world shattered, the pieces falling around her like shards of broken glass. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

…

@ivy-34 @rebelatbay

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hs-transfusion · 3 months

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> ARADIA MEGIDO

HEMO: Fuchsia (#99004D) TROLLTAG: ariolatesAftermath [AA] SIGN: Piari, Sign of the Vengeful STRIFE: 2x2dentkind MODUS: Sacrifice LUNAR SWAY: Prospit MYTH. ROLE: Sylph of Doom LAND: Land of Glaciers and Ruins

AA: there is n()thing the v()ices have been inc()rrect ab()ut as ()f yet

Once upon a time, Aradia was a worthy candidate for the ALTERNIAN THRONE. That was before she was SACRIFICED to her lusus B'AHBLAHK as part of a VICIOUS REVENGE CYCLE. She now roams Alternia as a GHOST, diligently working to SET THE EVENTS OF SGRUB IN PLACE, along with a few detours to PETTY ACTS OF REVENGE.

At present, Aradia has NO INTERESTS beyond being a COSMIC PLOT POINT. Before her ill-timed demise, she had a strong passion for HISTORY, working hard to maintain her PERSONAL MUSEUM of STRANGE ALIEN RELICS. She also had a fascination with THE WORLD OF THE ETHEREAL, knowledge that has served her well in her LITERAL AFTERLIFE.

Aradia's SACRIFICE Fetch Modus requires her to sacrifice a NEARBY ITEM to retrieve something from her sylladex. Thankfully, her WORN-DOWN PALACE is filled to the brim with RANDOM CHUNKS OF RUBBLE she can use as cannon fodder.

Aradia's lusus is dubbed B'AHBLAHK, BRAYER OF THE BLEAK. A massive, curled mass of TENDRILS AND HORNS, this eldritch sea-goat threatens to extinguish ALL EXISTING TROLL LIFE should its voice be raised too loud. It is said that anyone naive enough to MAKE A DEAL WITH IT will get whatever they wish for, but at a much steeper price than expected.

The Land of GLACIERS AND RUINS is an arctic area, covered in DECAYING RUINS OF AN ANCIENT CIVILISATION of consorts. Though they may have lived to see The Sylph through her personal quest, it seems denizen THANATOS didn't see fit to maintain a world for a player that has ALREADY MET THEIR END. Or perhaps that's just a defeatist attitude on his part...?

Aradia's ancestor is known as HER IMMORTAL OPULENCE, otherwise known as THE IMMORTAL. Though most fuchsiabloods live for FREAKISHLY LONG TIMES, HI() has lived longer than any other empress by a landslide. In fact, unbeknownst to many, she has walked the soils of Alternia on its VERY FIRST DAYS, witnessing each and every significant event in ALTERNIAN HISTORY personally. Alternia's bloodthirsty environment was influenced by her for nothing more than SHEER ENTERTAINMENT VALUE.

#homestuck #transfusion au #aradia megido #hiveswap #bloodswap

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formulaforza · 1 year

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miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—01. all american girl —word count: 6.4k —warnings: none :) —a/n: this is queued so I'm sound asleep right now but trust when I wake... I will be throwing up about having posted this

It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and the kindergarteners at Robinson Elementary are getting picked up from the gymnasium and taken to their classroom to start their day. It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and their teacher, Chris Elliott, is running four minutes late to the first day of the U.S Grand Prix. Her fingers flatten down stray flyaways, working in tandem with the extra strength hairspray she found in the back of the Walgreens beauty aisle last night. Her makeup is strewn about in chaos atop the stark white marble countertops, a single folded piece of toilet paper in the trash can, remnants of her lipstick kissed onto the fibers.

She played it safe on the outfit today, still hasn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what the dress code for this race is supposed to be. Her Dad has been no help–he can get away with wearing jeans and a short-sleeve button-up just about anywhere he goes. More is expected from her, though. Three days, three outfits, always walking the line between casual streetwear and Kentucky Derby without a fascinator. She settled for something painfully classic and American, figured a European sport would be eating up the concept of everything being bigger in Texas. Levi’s, a white tank top, and a beat up pair of cowboy boots should do a good enough job at letting anyone curious know she’s authentically American, without screaming out for attention. That’s the goal for the weekend; blend in and keep Dad company.

Dad, who is not-so patiently tapping his foot against the floor, watching pre-race coverage of the Dixie Vodka 400 on his iPhone 7, is a guest of honor for Ferrari this weekend. It was a classic Bill Elliott commitment, one he makes and then forgets about until he’s getting sent an email a month ago to remind him. One he makes when he forgets his son is racing the same weekend. That’s how Chris ended up here with him, instead of her Mom or instead of Chase or Chandler. They’re all in Florida for the Cup Series. Well–Chandler isn’t. Chandler’s at her hot-shot job in the big city living her life blissfully away from racing.

She can count on a single hand the amount of times her dad has missed a Cup Series race in the years since his retirement. Even if he’s moved on from driving the track, racing is in Elliott blood. It comes easier to them than breathing does. Chris won’t be the first to admit it, but she's the NASCAR nepotism equivalent of a Baldwin baby. She’s no Kennedy, the first-families of NASCAR are closer to the Petty’s and the Earnhardt’s, but, you ask a NASCAR fan about the Elliott Clan and you’re sure to get an earful. Champion, Hall-of-Fame inductee father, supergenius transmission and engine mechanic uncles, and a superstar fan-favorite older brother, the Elliott family racing history spans generations of fans.

Never the Danica Patrick-type, Chris has always preferred to watch the races rather than compete in them, but she still grew up at the track and was always up for a trip to visit her dad at the auto-shop.

“Mums,” her dad says, peeking his head around the corner into the hotel bathroom. It’s a stupid nickname, Mums, Chrysanthemum. She’d roll her eyes if it was anyone but Bill still calling her by it. “We gotta go, darlin’.” Chris nods at him in the mirror, flattens her hands along her thigh and tucks one final strand of her bang behind her ear, and then they’re finally leaving the hotel for the track.

It’s a strange kind of first for Chris, in that it’s not really a first at all. She’s been to COTA before, multiple times. Hell, she watched in the garage when Chase won the inaugural Cup Series race here in May last season. She’s even been to the U.S Grand Prix before, back when it was still in Indianapolis, when Chris was too young to remember if it was big or if she was just little. She’s used to the crowds, spends almost every weekend with upwards of fifty-thousand people, but this? This is the kind of crowd she can’t fathom being among, and it’s only Friday. If it takes them an hour and a half to get through traffic on a practice day, she can only imagine what the next two mornings have in store for her.

“No antics today,” Bill tells her in the car. “They’re not like us. Trust me, I know.”

Last time you went to one of these races, you were still a driver, she wants to tell him, but doesn’t. He doesn’t take well to the implication he’s an old man. Walking into the paddock with a yellow pass hung around her neck, FERRARI-GUEST-17 and a picture of the team logo popping up on the screens at the turnstiles, she’s beyond taken back by the pomp and circumstance of it all. She’s barely through the entrance and she’s already spotted half a dozen people who could buy her without it making a dent in their pockets. It’s nothing like walking around a NASCAR track. There isn’t a single Bud Light knight or backs sunburnt into American flags or t-shirts turned muscle tanks. It’s just… rich people. Lots and lots of rich people.

In the Paddock Club tent, Bill manages to find a couple of his old buddies. Guys he raced with back in the day who’ve turned up for whatever with whoever this weekend. It’s unsurprising, stock car racing is nowhere near as exclusive a club as Formula One. They aren’t any of the guys Chris remembers being a part of her childhood, none of them pseudo-uncles in the way some other drivers were. You’re all grown up, they tell her, note her height and her features and one of them even asks if she’s in college yet. She plays along, pretends she remembers them fondly and that they haven’t been on the recipient list for the annual Elliott family Christmas newsletter for the past thirty or so years. His buddies are much more comfortable talking about Chase, anyways, about his racing and his fiancee and his little boy than they’ve ever been talking about Chris or Chandler. The concept of a quote-en-quote girl dad wasn’t such a thing in the nineties.

Chris makes small talk with one of the wives. They can’t be that far apart in age, she’s definitely of a different generation than her husband. Gross. Chris lets the woman lead the conversation; she talks about the polka dots on her skirt and Chris’ cowboy boots that are, apparently, perfectly authentic.

They separate from the group of former NASCAR drivers and their child brides within the hour. Bill has to be in Ferrari hospitality by one o’clock for a special meeting. He’s still not sure what he did to get selected for this specific group of people who get to do a hot lap with one of the Ferrari drivers, but he isn’t about to ask any questions that might get him out of it. He sets off to hospitality and Chris sneaks out of the paddock and into the rest of the track.

There’s only so much to see inside the paddock. Hospitality after hospitality after hospitality, just in different colors with different modern structures with pictures of different cars. She wants to experience the event, not just the rich people who can pay their way into the upper echelon of the pinnacle of motorsport. If she’s going to be on her own for an hour and a half, she might as well be fully and truly on her own.

She ends up in the beer garden. More specifically, the bar tent. You can’t separate a NASCAR fan from the Natty Light. The pass around her neck gets her into the VIP area of the tent, which… feels like an antithesis of itself. Her phone buzzes in her back pocket when she’s waiting on her bottle from the bartender. It’s her dad.

Brad Pitt is here. Crazy.

She makes quick acquaintances with a couple who looks about her age. She compliments the girl’s denim jacket and then she’s in. The DJ is playing country music with a techno backtrack at the other side of the tent and they all three spend a good fifteen minutes trying to decide if they love or hate the set. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” the guy says.

“It’s definitely not the best, though,” Chris winces, spots a Ferrari pass hanging with the VIP one around the girlfriend’s neck. “Are you guys here with Ferrari?” She asks.

“Oh, “ she says, looks down at the pass and fiddles with it for a moment. “Yeah, Will’s a golfer and they invited him for a tour and to do this golf event with ESPN.”

“Oh, that’s sick!” Chris nods. “Have you guys ever been here, or is this your first time?”

“We’ve come every year for…” Will starts, looks to his girlfriend for the rest of his sentence.

“Four years,” she nods. “What about you?”

“This is my first time,” Chris explains, leaves out the technicalities because she barely cares about them, doesn’t expect a stranger to even half-care. “My dad’s here with Ferrari, and I’m here to babysit my dad.” She laughs.

The woman nods, makes a quiet ah sound. Will asks for clarification. “You guys lose each other, or something?”

Chris nods. “Or something.”

Charles sees her before he hears her. She appears in his peripheral on the top floor of Ferrari Hospitality, moving swiftly through the groups of strangers with a confidence that makes you think she owns the place. He half-prepares to excuse himself from his current conversation–not that he’s understanding more than forty-percent of the words coming out of this guy’s mouth–to take a photo with the short brunette bee-lining it over to him.

“Excu–”

“I think I saw Brad Pitt on my way here,” she says, and the man he’s been talking to for fifteen minutes laughs. Oh, he thinks, that’s mortifying. She’s not here to intrude on his conversation and ask for a picture. She’s here with this guy.

“This is my Chris,” Bill says.

“Hi,” Chris says. Chris. Chris. Chris is a woman. A woman extending her hand, thin and well manicured with a single ruby ring, for him to shake. “Chris.”

“Charles,” he says, hesitates. “You are not what I was expecting.”

There wasn’t much he understood from Bill Elliott during their hot lap, not that Bill didn’t talk. Charles just didn’t have the focusing capabilities to drive the car in an entertaining way while also deciphering the thick southern drawl of the man sat in the passenger seat. It was thick, heavy, and sounded like maybe he’d smoked a pack a day for a few years. That, or he was straight-up making up words in a bit that only he was in on. One thing he did understand, though, was the kids’ names. I have three, he’d said, Chandler, Chase, and Chris. He’d assumed all boys. Chandler, Chase, and Christopher. Christian. Cristiano. The last thing he was expecting was a beautiful girl with a firm handshake.

“You were expecting me?” She asks, and her voice is a million times easier to understand than her father’s.

“No, no. He just,” He gestures absently to Bill. Chris doesn’t break eye contact. She has wonderful eyes. “I thought Chandler, Chase, and Chris are three brothers.”

“Oh,” She laughs like it’s not even close to the first time she’s had to follow behind her dad and correct the miscommunication, and a piece of her bangs falls loose from its tucked position behind her ear. She fixes it without thought. “Well, you’re one for three.”

She asks Bill about the hot lap, asks if he had fun and he laughs. They’re very laugh-oriented people, he’s noticed. Laughy and almost intimidatingly good at holding eye contact. He’d always heard Americans had an issue with eye contact, and if that really is the case, these two practice their active-listening skills enough for the rest of the country. Their kindness is in their expressions, soft eyes and small smiles that keep you from feeling like an intrusion on the conversation. He notes all of his findings internally, categorizes them together as if he’s spent the last ten minutes looking at anyone but her.

She’s horrendously his type. It’s painfully apparent with every passing moment. The hair and the face and the build and the smile. Just, God.

“Why didn’t you do one?” He asks, “A lap?”

“The need-for-speed bug skipped the women in my family, unfortunately.” She tucks her hair again. He wonders if she’s growing it out or if she always keeps it at such a length that it’s just too short to stay where she wants it to.

“We could go slow,” he offers and she chuckles, closing her eyes long enough to roll them without him actually seeing them roll.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” He’s never been good at flirting, always found it off-putting in the beginning, trying to walk the line between what one person finds fun and another person finds horribly uncomfortable. Once the dust settles, he can manage, but making those first few moves? He might as well be a deer in headlights. Semi-truck headlights.

“I don’t know,” she says, drags out the vowel sounds and he’s oblivious to whether or not she can tell he’s only making this offer as a chance to spend more time with her. He’ll get an earful for it, no doubt, but if she agrees it’ll be worth it. Bill chimes in, eggs her on with a guilt trip. You should do it, don’t be a party-pooper. Charles wonders if Bill can tell he’s flirting with his daughter. Probably not, he’d bet. “Okay,” she says, and his stomach does a celebratory flip. Before he can say anything more, Mia is pulling him off somewhere. He hadn’t even seen her coming, but he fills her in on the walk.

“Domani c'è un'aggiunta al programma dei giri veloci.” There’s an addition to the hot laps schedule tomorrow, he says. Mia glares at him and he pretends not to notice, flashes her a toothy-grin as an unapologetic apology.

When she’d agreed to do a hot lap with the gorgeous racing driver standing a foot away from her, she assumed it would be forgotten the moment he stepped away from the conversation. She never would have agreed to it if she actually thought it was going to happen. Chris was sorely mistaken though, when later that afternoon, a man dressed head-to-toe in Ferrari red finds her to gather her information. 1:10, he tells her through a thick Italian accent, be in hospitality at 1:10.

It was wonderful, really. Perfect, fantastic, great, legendary. This is an amazing opportunity. She isn’t going to regret agreeing to this, no chance. Even for the queen of optimism, this one is hard to put a positive spin on.

There is no underestimating just how much Chris hates going fast. She’s never liked it, spent the majority of her childhood getting carsick in a vehicle maxing out at forty miles an hour. Her sister and brother used to think she was faking it just so she could always ride shotgun. She’s not even allowed to drive the car if she’s with her dad or her brother because they can’t bear it. To her, a speed limit is just that, a limit. To everyone else, it’s a minimum.

Her only hope is that she doesn’t vomit all over an expensive supercar at 1:10 tomorrow afternoon, or worse–the cute guy driving the car.

In the meantime, she can distract herself with the Green Day performance and remind herself that only so much can happen in five minutes. Anyone can survive five minutes.

– – –

They eat the continental breakfast at the hotel the next morning. Bill has pancakes and Chris has cereal because, as she’ll tell anyone, there’s just something about cereal from a plastic container. She’s also three coffees ahead of where she was this time the day before, all of her nerves personifying themselves as desperation for caffeine. She’s responding to a work email on her phone while Bill has a call with Chase.

Somewhere on a race track in Florida, Chase is calling between practice and qualifying sessions. They talk every day during a race weekend–Bill and Chase–and it’s almost never about racing. Her dad might drop an occasional that’s not what I would’ve done or a well, that looked like fun, but that’s usually the end of race-talk. They used to fight like cats and dogs about driving when Chase was younger, so much so that Chris’ mom banned them from talking about racing inside the house for three straight years. The who of them are better now, now that Bill’s been able to let Chase find his own way and go through his own racing journey.

“Your sister is doing a Hot Lap today,” Bill says, and Chris can hear Chase’s laughter from the muffled speaker.

Bill and Chris are driven to the track on Saturday because traffic is so bad. It’s hot and windy and Chris has her window rolled down the entire drive, her fingers dancing through the dry air. She’s always loved the heat, the sun shining down on her skin, kissing her in a million different places all at the same time. She loves the heat, and the heat loves her.

The morning flies by. They start the day with a tour of the Ferrari garage, where they’re introduced, or re-introduced, to their drivers. They end up with a couple other very important people hunched over Charles’ car while he explains how much pressure needs to be applied to the brake pedal for the car to actually brake. Bill eats the semantics up, cars and their mechanics run thick in his blood, braided deeply into his DNA. Chris, however, has always enjoyed the more delicate things in life; the pink hair bows and the dollar store makeup kits and spinning herself dizzy in a flowy summer dress. She never spent exorbitant amounts of time at Dad’s engine shop or Grandpa’s Ford Dealership, it just wasn’t in her lane of interests. She sips another coffee–her fifth of the day–and listens attentively to Charles talk, bites her smile at his wild gesticulations. He’d make a good kindergarten teacher, she thinks, with his huge personality.

When the whole tour group is being shuffled out of the garage to be replaced by a new set of prying eyes, Charles makes a passing comment. See you later for the world’s slowest hot lap, he remarked, put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze as he moved past her.

She doesn’t know why, but she’d convinced herself that it wouldn’t actually be him she would be doing the lap with. It was qualifying day, after all. Surely, he had about a million and one better things to be doing than driving a random girl around a track a few times. She figured it would be a driver, but not one of the drivers.

After lunch, she makes her way back to Ferrari hospitality, to where she was told to be waiting at 1:10. She’s the only person who looks like they’re here on instruction. Nobody else is nervously picking at their cuticles or vibrating in place as a reaction to their seven coffees that morning.

She spent the night before grilling her dad about his experience, forcing him to give her a moment-by-moment breakdown of everything he remembered happening, from the safety briefing to the conversation afterwards. But, when it came time for Chris to actually do hers, there was no safety briefing warning her about the million different ways she could die. Instead, the same man who’d tracked her down the day before escorted her from the top floor of hospitality to the bottom, out the back into what she can best compare to an alleyway, and then to a red supercharged Ferrari.

Charles is there, talking to what appears to be a personal photographer and another man dressed in Ferrari garb. She re-introduces herself for a third time in twenty four hours. “I know your name, Chris,” Charles says, smiles and shakes her hand anyway. She doesn’t like the way her brain reacts to him saying her name like it belongs on his lips.

“Duh,” she laughs, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Right,” she nods. “Yeah, sorry.” Charles laughs out a sigh, cocks his head and smiles. Chris bites her tongue not to apologize again. It’s a reflex. She puffs out her laugh and shrugs.

If she manages to make it out of these couple laps with her life and the contents of her stomach still intact, she’s sure to still look like a clown–a fact she realizes as she pulls the tight helmet over her head. She’s worn racing helmets a handful of times, but it’s not muscle memory to her in the way it is to him. It takes her a minute to tighten the chin strap just right and despite his genuine offer to help her, Chris turns him down and blindly works her fingers under her neck until it’s just right.

“Why don’t you get a fun Hot Laps helmet?” She asks while she fights with the strap.

Charles knocks on the side of his helmet with his knuckle. “Custom fit. Safety reasons.”

Chris knows, she was just messing with him. She nods like she never could’ve guessed that was the reason. “My safety doesn’t matter?” She comments, pulls the strap tight for the final time.

“You think I’m going to crash?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I would never crash with Chris Elliott in the car.” There he goes again, saying her name all annoyingly French and nice and easy.

“Whatever,” she says, turns away so he can’t see her squished cheeks flush pink against the polyester. He opens the passenger side door for her, knocks his knuckle on her helmet this time, and horribly mocks both her words and accent before shutting the door behind her.

Chris has her seatbelt buckled before he can get around the front of the car and into his seat. Her leg bounces anxiously against the floor mat. Charles starts the car and moves to shift into drive, but stops short. “Are you scared?” he asks, and in a moment of vulnerable honesty, she nods. She’s more than scared. She’s terrified, and despite his brief attempt to reassure her that it’s going to be fun, her leg is still bouncing when they peel off from the group already awaiting his return.

A hot lap, she’d come to learn in the last day or so, would be more accurately referred to as hot laps–plural, multiple, several. Three, to be exact. One out lap, one push lap, and one cool down lap. Three laps. Hot laps. They should really start referring to it as a plural.

The best thing she can compare it to is a roller coaster. The turns share the feeling you get at the tipping point, right before your body thinks you’re free falling. Her stomach is left behind three turns back and it never really catches up to the car once they start. The straights are like that first hill, fast and crazy in a way that pulls from her lips screams she hears before she consciously chooses to release. It’s like a roller coaster, if the person sitting next to you is completely unaffected by the ride and spends the entire time trying to carry out a conversation with you between your screams and their giggles. It’s like a roller coaster, if the cart never leaves the ground.

On the cool down lap, when they’re going at a speed that allows Chris to pick up her soul when they drive through turn four, he asks her if she’s single. It comes at her from left field.

“Are you flirting with me?”

He laughs, takes a hand off the wheel and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes!”

“Oh,” she says softly. If he notices the surprise in her tone, he doesn’t mention it. “I am.”

“Can I get your number?” She swears that his fingers are shakier than before as they hover over the paddle shift. They were sure-footed just minutes earlier, she’s sure of it. She’s sure of it, but there’s no way it’s a genuine observation. There’s no way she’s making him nervous.

She laughs, because what on God’s green Earth is a European Formula One driver going to do with a small town American girl’s phone number?

“I’m not abandoning my dad for a hookup,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, repeats the question. “Why do you want it?”

“Because, Chris Elliott,” she wants to scrape the way he says her name out of his voice box and pin it in a scrapbook. It’s like a tick, the way it burrows into her skin. Nobody should be allowed to make her name sound like that. “You are a very beautiful girl, and when a guy sees a beautiful girl, they act like an idiot and ask for her number.”

“Oh, my God,” she giggles, shakes her head and looks out the window like it might ground her, or like it might reveal that she really is in some fever dream state and none of this is real. She’s not even in Texas, maybe. That’s how insane this whole conversation is to her.

“Too cheesy?” He asks, grimaces. She shakes her head, holds her hand out for his phone.

“Just cheesy enough.”

When they get back to where they started, someone asks Chris if she’d had a good time. She nods, flattens down the static-electricity charged flyaways on her head and tells them yes, even if she’ll be just a little bit nauseous for the rest of the day. It’s not a lie, either, she did have fun. She was scared out of her mind, but in a way that makes her happy she did it.

They pose for a photo together in front of the car, the picture snapped by the only guy with a camera around his neck, the only one besides Chris not covered head to toe in Ferrari branding. When they pose, Charles’ arm wraps around her lower back and, almost like he remembers himself in the middle of the action, his hand doesn’t close around her side. Instead, it hovers just beyond her body, open and stiff and flat. How gentlemanly. “Good luck tomorrow,” she says.

He nods his thanks, “I hope I see you around this weekend,” he adds, and then they go their separate ways. Good thing, too, because she’s still blushing over it when she gets back to her dad in the Champion’s club. Bill is too distracted by the live feed on Chase’s qualifying laps on his tiny phone screen to notice Chris’ presence, much less the coloring of her cheeks. He qualifies third and they celebrate quietly with drinks from the bar and FP3 on the big screens.

They stumble into more NASCAR old-timers while in the Champion’s Club and Chris spends the time fifth-wheeling their conversations about Chase and watching the second half of qualifying on one of the TVs.

She doesn’t really understand the format of the weekend. In theory, she understands the basics, didn’t have to read Formula One for Dummies on the plane ride over, but the intricacies of it are beyond her. In NASCAR, drivers are split into two groups and then are only given, at max, two laps to set their qualifying times. It varies depending on the track that weekend, but it always hits some of the same points. From what she can gather from the low-volume televisions mounted on every surface around her, F1 is definitely different.

They head back to the hotel directly after qualifying to ‘beat the traffic’ which is code for Chris is still nauseous and they’re both feeling a little too heat exhausted. They stop for dinner on the way back, at a barbeque place right by their hotel. Bill orders the chopped brisket with potato salad and Chris gets the pulled pork sandwich with a tomato zucchini salad.

Chris has been really busy with work, with settling into the new routine with her new group of students, and Bill wants to hear all about it. She always struggles in September and October, feels inadequate every time the other teachers find their footing with their new class weeks before she does. It’s the first time alotta ‘em have been in a school, Bill reminds her and she shrugs it off, tries to find something more upbeat to talk about.

Chris and Bill have really gotten close over the past couple years. Growing up, she and her sister Chandler were massive daddy’s girls, had him wrapped around their little fingers from the moment they came into the world. But, when Chase started to really take racing seriously, the girls lost a lot of their dad to their brother and spent the majority, if not all, of their time with their Mom. As a teenager, Chris did what all sixteen year old girls do and rebelled against any and every rule in the book. While Chandler was touring colleges and getting 1550s on her SAT and singing in the church choir, Chris had other plans. Whether it was stubbornly refusing to clean her half of the shared room with her big sister, ratting Chase out for coming home at 2am drunk, or sneaking out of the second-story window to go out with her all-too-old boyfriend, she tested all of the waters. It wasn’t until college, until she moved away to Athens and was out of the house for the first time in her life that she realized just how important family was to her. She’s been attempting to make up for lost time since.

That night when she plugs her phone into the charger and shuts it off for the night, she realizes she’d been half expecting a late night text from Charles. It didn’t come, and disappointed isn’t the right word for the tiny little pit in her stomach because she wasn’t really expecting anything to come from typing her number into his contacts. It’s not disappointment, it’s something closer to acceptance or rejection, maybe. It’s not like he would’ve been searching out anything but a hookup, anyways, and Chris made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t into that idea.

She would never hear from him again, and that’s how it should be. The whole interaction turning into anything but a story she can tell in a couple months when she’s drunk would be entirely too complicated of an outcome.

She doesn’t let herself think about it any longer, leaves her phone face down on the side table and tucks herself into bed.

– – –

Traffic on race day is true-crime inducing. They’re driven, again, escorted and still spend an hour and a half in the backseat of an SUV. Bill and Chris watch from the VIP stands and Chris has never seen anything like this, especially not at COTA. Even Talladega and Daytona barely hold a candle to this spectacle.

If she has one critique, it’s that F1 should really hire some B-List at best celebrity to scream drivers, start your engines! At the start of the race like they do in NASCAR. It would really add some flare, she thinks.

She and Bill share Chris’ airpods, one in each of their ears listening to the NASCAR broadcast. Charles starts twelfth, for whatever reason. She can’t be bothered to look into it, knows it’ll probably be a penalty she doesn’t understand and she’ll be tumbling down a rabbit hole before she knows what’s happened to her.

While it’s not Chase’s best race–he finishes fourteenth with a single sigh from Bill–Charles puts on a show, fights his tires all the way up into third.

They watch the podium celebrations on the TV screens and nobody looks happy to be up there. They look miserable, almost, and she understands it to an extent. It’s hard to have energy after a race, she’s witnessed it first hand more times than she can count. It’s hard, especially at the end of the season. Burn-out is real, but still. They look bored. She didn’t know spraying champagne could look so tired.

Bill grumpily flies them home to Georgia late Sunday night. He’d wanted to wait until Monday morning, after all the billionaires and their super-jets take off right after the race, but Chris refused to miss another day of work this early in the school year, not when she was already going to be missing time in December for her brother’s wedding.

Bill’s been flying planes since before any of his kids were born. His most recent purchase is a Cessna Conquest II that he uses to fly the family around for short distances. In another gene that skipped the females in the family, Chandler, Chris, and their mom all prefer to be passengers. Chase, however, followed in Dad’s footsteps once more in becoming an avid aviation fan.

By the time they take off, any thought Chris had of getting a text from Charles has faded far into obscurity. He’d probably gotten dozens of numbers from girls this weekend. He was probably at a club somewhere right now still pulling women. Women more his type, probably. He seems like he’d be more into the refined type, the girls without the ‘cheap’ accents who were all worldly and spoke seventeen languages fluently and had long legs that carried them down runways across Europe every other weekend.

Little southern girls get texts from little southern boys, that’s how it goes. That's how it’s always gone, and Chris is beyond naive to think anything different for even a moment.

She grades papers on the flight home. Purple pen, because she thinks that color is fun and red is too cruel to grade with. Puffy stickers for everyone, even the kids who aren’t anywhere near the right track because she doesn’t want anyone to feel less than just because they struggle a bit more. Chris has always been a firm believer that the student is never the problem. If someone isn’t learning what she’s teaching, she needs to adjust the way she teaches it to cater to their learning style.

It’s her job to teach them, not their job to learn.

Joris has been laughing at Charles from the hotel room armchair for fifteen minutes now, beyond entertained by his best friend’s restless pacing, providing absolutely zero aid to his current predicament. This act has been going on for some time now. Charles, pacing for five minutes before pulling out his phone and typing up an opening message to Chris. Each time, he starts to read it out to Joris and then stops himself short, deletes it, and paces for five more minutes.

Hey, Chris. This is Ch–no, that’s stupid.

Sorry it took me a minute to text–absolutely not.

What’s up? It’s Charles, how–someone should just stop him from speaking to women all together.

There’s half a dozen renditions before Joris breaks. “Mate? What is your problem?” He finally asks. “It’s just a girl.”

“I know,” Charles sighs, “I know.��

“Then why can’t you send her a text?”

“Because.” He doesn’t really know why he can’t land on a message, why everything he types sounds entirely too casual or formal or nothing at all like what he would say to another human being. This isn’t a problem that he’s used to having. It’s the in-person flirting that fucks him up, not the texts and DMs and comments. She was just… he doesn’t know what she was. She was just. End of sentence.

It’s no help that he doesn’t know American texting culture, unfamiliar with how long he’s supposed to wait to send a message or what he’s supposed to say in the opening text.

“Here,” Joris says, holds his hand out for the phone. “I’ve got the perfect text.”

“Don’t send it,” Charles warns, but passes the phone to his friend.

“I… won’t,” Joris says slowly, struggling to multi-task. He doesn’t type for more than a few seconds and then hands the phone back to Charles, with the message already sent. Charles’ look of sheer panic is met with a smile and a chef’s kiss from Joris.

She turns her phone off while Bill is shutting the plane engine down in the hangar. Because of his love of aviation, Bill had bought some land out in the woods a couple decades ago and turned it into the family’s private airstrip for their planes. Elliott Field, they coined it, stored all their extra vehicles out on the property. She slips it into her back pocket as her and Bill disembark and lock up the place, and the entire time she can feel it vibrating, the notifications from the hour and a half flight catching up now that she’s on the ground again.

It’s not until she’s in her car that she checks them, pulls her phone out to plug it into the aux and play some music for the drive back to her house. Right at the top of the dozens of notifications is a message from an unknown number with an unfamiliar area code.

[one unread message] the notification reads. She unlocks her phone to check the message.

She closes the messages app on her phone and opens up Spotify, shuffles her favorite playlist. She doesn’t reply to his text, doesn’t know if she wants to or even what she might say back. She’s sleepy, more than ready for bed after a long weekend in the sun, excited to be back with her students bright and early tomorrow morning.

The text from the cute race car driver can wait for another day. An issue for tomorrow, maybe.

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alkhale · 9 months

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i know it might have been mentioned before, but if it hasn't been touched on already, could we pretty pretty pls see what a marine au for memos would look like? who would Hoku work for? would she ironically make for a good marine?

The following AU takes place in a timeline where Hoku did eventually join the Marines. After spending time on Dawn Island with Luffy, when Hoku sets off on her own journey, reuniting with Ace, meeting Hack, etc, only after fixing up Mayman/meeting Kid, does she seek out Tsuru and decide to take her up on her offer to become "an upstanding marine" and to avoid Luffy

(The scene with Shanks below takes place sometime 3D2Y post-time skip)

Hoku decides to play at being a marine because she (1) finds them constantly in the line of fire and at risk of work hazards (2) believes there's something specific she can do from the inside of the institute she'd like to explore, mainly helping other Pokians and maaaaaybe making things a bit easier for a certain king of pirates (because she knows she can always quit!) (3) it will help her avoid being a pirate with luffy and being involved further in the main story

Despite this plan, she still seems to run into one too many pirates

"What's your relationship with Straw Hat Luffy?" "Who's that?" "Our men saw him trying to kidnap you onto his ship! Was it for ransom?" "He just wanted me to try Sanji's new dish."

"But you're a marine, we're supposed to be capturing pirates?"

"I didn't see that in the handbook."

"But you never read the handbook!"

Hoku underwent rigorous training with Tsuru, mainly under the tough old lady's jurisdiction—this helps her particularly avoid discipline from several other marines. There have often been requests for her to join other commands, some from marines who want to teach her a lesson, others from marines who genuinely have fun working with her

When Tsuru isn't training her, she's being worked to near death by Garp

She has one of the highest disciplinary records in academy history

Some cadets don't understand how she can get away with getting into so much trouble, sometimes a marine grunt will see her being forced to clean out an entire base's cafeteria while someone supervises and they're like?? again??? how is she not in impel down?? tried for mutiny??

Some people eventually get the memo—it's favoritism/abuse of power/strangely good luck in some occasions

Some marines don't like it one bit, they have it out for Hoku, she doesn't really care

Garp never, ever stops talking anyone's ear off about how his beautiful, adorable granddaughter is going to be one of the best marine's the world has ever seen

Tsuru has unofficially officially made herself Hoku's grandmother in a way. She and Garp often have petty fights over Hoku stories. They fight a lot over who's squad Hoku has to be on

Over the years, she's actually made enough contributions and done quite the number of great feats, enough to land her at captain level, (rear admiral candidate at Tsuru and Garp's behest) but Hoku sometimes keeps her petty officer title, keeping the perks that come with captain status and the likes

She doesn't mind abusing her power and shrugging off her responsibilities

Whenever she's assigned missions where she has a whole squad to take care of, the marines assigned to her are usually wary, uncertain and thinking they're unlucky

Until they actually work with Hoku and are like??? we're doing work today? did we just bust this human trafficking ring? did we just liberate an entire island stuck in a pirate tyranny? and other times they come, asking her what their job is for today and she's just like? go home there's nothing to do

If they really bother her, she'll send them off to different islands and countries that need help. "Go distribute these supplies to here." "They asked for someone to help rebuild their village." "Put those dumb ships to use and go delivery this to them."

Hoku has made her way around several different bases, under several different chains of commands, (she is now infamous) usually on a sort of temp job kind of borrowed basis, but officially she's under Tsuru's wing

Smoker has gone through several different stages of mental strife and grief with Hoku, originally being distrustful when the criminal who blew up a base in Tretar became a marine, then becoming somewhat determined to help mold her into a damn good marine, then to becoming strangely fixed (obsessed) with either being in charge of ensuring she receives punishment/is not mistreated for her origins within the lower ranks, and they are even sometimes seen gambling together on occasion. They have a funny relationship these two, Hoku's too lazy to try to understand it.

Her outfit as a marine is a lot like her original, however she wears a black top instead of white and with black pants. Her jacket is white instead with her usual accessories, and the only thing that helps people actually identify her as a marine is the standard issue marine cap she wears

Hoku has also secretly become a huge collector of wanted posters. It originally started small, just taking the wanted posters of people she cared about, but now it's spiraled into a full-on sizable collection where she has different versions of wanted posters, original prints, first roll-outs and etc. She trades with Bradnew and other marines and hangs them all up on her wall or keeps them safe in a minted book

Hoku often abuses any and all of her rights as a marine. She's really, really good at being a bad marine.

"Hey, did you hear the news?"

The petty officer looked up from where they'd been tasked to dust and clean the entire meeting room to perfection. Several other cadets and chore boys had been called from the barracks, each ordered to ensure that the following few rooms that would be in use for the meeting would be ready at a moment's notice.

For what meeting? He had no idea.

"No," he said, because he didn't know. There was so much gossip going around base these days he could hardly keep up. "What was it?"

First there'd been the rumor that one of the Four Emperors of the sea was on the move about the Grand Line, cutting and going as he pleased. Any movement from an Emperor was grounds for mass panic. Then there'd been talk that newly appointed Fleet Admiral Akainu had almost burned another ranking marine alive. Less serious and more on the interesting side, word was floating around that the Vice Admiral Smoker was seeing someone, which was juicy gossip in its own right because Vice Admiral Smoker?

"Apparently he's always following her around," someone said.

"He requests transfers and is always grumbling about them, I think he's worried they're going to end up with someone else—"

"Even Captain Tashigi seems to be aware and they're always—"

For today, however, it seemed something different was brewing amongst headquarters. Other officers were making a ruckus while the upper brass seemed particularly miffed—which usually only happened if it involved someone outside their scope of power influence doing something they didn't like—

"One of the Seven Warlords is visiting HQ!"

The petty officer blinked, opening his mouth before closing it and then finally deciding on his next words, "Well, that's big news, but it's not unheard of news man. They're required to come for summons."

The petty officer shrugged. "Especially people like Bartholomew Kuma or First-Son of the Sea Jimbei. They're always on time."

"No, no, you don't understand," the marine looked around as though someone would hear before motioning for the petty officer to come closer. He rolled his eyes, leaning over the table. "It isn't just any of the Warlords... It's Hawk-Eye Mihawk!"

The petty officer dropped his broom, turning to his fellow marine. The other man looked smug now. "Dracule Mihawk is coming to HQ?"

"That's what I'm saying!"

"You should've said so sooner!" the petty officer scooped up his broom, renewing his cleaning with vigor. "He's not just a regular Warlord—that guy never responds to his summons! Never!"

"See what I mean! This is big news! Why now? What do you think convinced him to come?"

"It must be something big," he said, shaking his head as the two of them not-so-discreetly made their way to the wide windows overlooking the base's dock. They'd get a full view of the elusive swordsman this way. "Do you think they're mobilizing for something?"

"I don't know, man. Think they'll let us sit in on the—"

A loud clamor came from the ground level beneath them. The two marines quickly looked at each other and then pressed their faces up against the glass. Their fellow officers below them were rushing around on the docks, forming into greeting lines and looking sick with nervousness. One man seemed to be praying.

It was understandable behavior, to be honest. Dracule Mihawk was known for being an unknown man and more often then not he'd felled one too many marine ships simply because they'd been in his way.

"I see his ship!" the marine beside him said. They pressed harder to the glass, squinting for the full view. "Always gives me the creeps. Who sails around in a coffin?"

He thought about telling his fellow officer that there was quite the number of weirder ships out there, but the sudden silence below them made the two of them pause. They glanced to each other and then back down.

The dock had gone eerily silent. Marines shook at the knees while hardened captains and a single vice admiral waited to greet the Warlord of the Sea.

One figure, however, suddenly came into view along the dock, sticking out like a sore thumb compared to the rest.

Her bright white hair fluttered absently with the wind, tugged this way and that as she paced up and down the dock, looking out across the ocean. She skirted the edge of the pier, however, just shy of the water with her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets.

"Who the hell is that?" the marine beside him said. "And why isn't she falling into line? What's her rank?"

"That's..." the petty officer caught a full view of the woman's face now, freezing at the infamous half-heart curving around her eye. "Cap—Serga—Lieute—" he paused, uncertain of her current ranking now. "Officer Hoku!"

"Hoku?" the marine looked confused, "who the hell is that?"

"Officer Hoku!" the petty officer repeated, looking at the man in shock. "You haven't heard of her? Vice Admiral Tsuru's right hand woman, the officer who blew up over ten marine bases—"

"She blew up our own bases?"

"It's a long story—the woman who apparently violated the nefarious Trafalgar Law—"

"Violated?"

"I heard what she did to him was so disgusting, even the officers near her threw up themselves! The one who fought Fleet Admiral Akainu's authority multiple times, got caught gambling in Crocodile's casino, vandalized a whole part of Marineford—"

"And she's not in Impel Down?" the man said, aghast. "Are you sure she's on our side?"

"Oh, sure. She's been credited with busting the largest human trafficking rings in history! She's also brought in multiple heinous pirates, and on multiple occasions they say she's been able to deescalate several run-ins with huge bounty pirates like the Straw—"

"I guess it makes sense why they're sending her to meet someone like a shichibukai," the marine said thoughtfully. The petty officer paused, a bit offended he didn't get to finish Hoku's infamous and notorious list. "Need a crazy officer to handle a crazy pirate, right?"

A commotion finally broke out below them. The vice admiral waiting to oversee the whole affair was shouting at Hoku now, lecturing her about her lack of respect. The white haired marine simply took a seat on a wooden crate, picking at her ear and absently flicking off toward the vice admiral's feet.

The marine gaped while the petty officer stiffled a laugh with a cough.

"Look, it's him!"

Hoku seemed to have thought the same thing, turning sharply from the vice admiral and jumping to her feet. A single, haunting figure of a man stepped out from the edge of his coffin. His coat flared out dangerously about his heels, wind catching against the fluffed plume atop his head. Cadets started to shake at the knees at the sight of the man—

"Mihawk!"

The cadets around them went completely pale, jaws growing slack as Hoku flew across the dock, taking off with a flying leap and sailing through the air, arms and legs oustretched.

Dracule Mihawk did not move. He remained, still as a statue as the marine promptly wrapped her arms and legs around his head. The vice admiral's jaw dropped to the floor, one hand reaching for his saber uselessly.

Mihawk remained still, allowing Hoku to situate herself as she rubbed her cheek over the top of his hat, laughing with a sound so sweet with joy, it made the petty officer flush. She turned around, keeping herself wrapped completely over his head.

The rest of the marines continued to stare, waiting for Mihawk to throw her into the water or cut her in half.

"I didn't know you were coming to visit!" Hoku said happily, eyes shining with affection. "What's it for? You get called in by the brass or somethin'?"

"It was a whim." Mihawk neither cut her nor tossed her into the ocean. Instead, the man simply began to walk with perfect ease, toting Hoku along as though she were an added weight to his hat. "I will be departing shortly."

"Already! You've got a stay for at least a bit! Actually, aren't you hear for a meeting?"

"I heard of no such thing."

"Oh, cool then! Why don't we grab something to eat?"

"You mean to spar?"

"I-I never said that! Eat! I said eat!"

"Come, then. We shall take up arms—"

"Wait, wait, wait!"

The petty officer quickly began to add another feat to Hoku's growing list. The marine beside him continued to gape.

- - - - - - - - -

"Hmm," Hoku's brows furrowed in thought, fingers moving in a rhythmic, soothing motion. "This isn't a bad idea, right?"

"It's a bit cramped."

"Right, right, sorry about that. Just give it a few more minutes. Those guys out there are runnin' around like chickens without a head."

"Aye."

Hoku's fingers flexed. Her cheeks flushed a bit as she cleared her throat. As subtly as she could, she pressed herself tighter to the figure squeezed into the armory closet beside her. He made no move in protest, simply shuffling a bit to accommodate her and Hoku felt her cheeks flush.

"Do you need more room?" he asked.

"No, no," Hoku cleared her throat. "Sorry. Mind if I get a bit closer."

"That's okay," he said kindly. "I don't mind."

Hoku sneakily reached her arms more around his waist. He turned again in her arms and she felt her heart hammer wildly now, cheeks flushed as she slowly, carefully pressed her cheek against him.

Hoku shut her eyes in bliss. Soft. Like a cloud. And so warm. So, so warm. Ka. I don't mind staying like this for another hour—

"Shambles."

Hoku let out a squawk of surprise, her and her companion ripped clean from the closet and appearing hovering in the air for a moment. A thin film of blue surrounded the two of them, Hoku's arms and legs wrapped shamefully and scandalously around the other as her eyes went wide and then they both crashed onto cobblestone floors.

Hoku groaned, a second flick of someone's fingers leaving her on her ass before a pair of long legs. She rubbed her tailbone, looking up with a disgruntled frown as dark, brooding eyes gazed directly back at her.

"Traffy," Hoku greeted casually. "I didn't know you were here."

Law gave Hoku one long, withering look before he glanced over to the mound of soft white fur collapsed on the floor still, his fluffy cheeks flushed a soft pink.

"Were you taking advantage of Bepo?"

Hoku coughed. She refused to meet Law's eyes, fiddling instead with the top of his boot.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Captain Hoku!" Hoku blinked, looking around the side of Law's legs as a crowd of marines skidded to a halt before them. "Shall we arrest these fiends?"

"Nah," Hoku sighed, standing up as she dusted herself off. Law tipped his head to the side, regarding her coolly. "No need."

"B-But they're pirates!"

"I didn't see anything." Hoku turned on her heel, giving Bepo a wink. The polar bear's cheeks flushed a brighter pink and she grinned, saunteering off. "Let's head back to the ship—"

Tattooed fingers enclosed smoothly around her wrist. Hoku blinked, once, twice, before she glanced down to the larger hand engulfing hers. She followed it up to a calm, unreadable expression, dark, half-lidded eyes slowly meeting her own.

Something devious flickered, like a dark little shadow across Law's face.

Hoku paled.

"On an island surrounded by marines," Law said slowly, his voice low, curling around her ears. "I suppose we ought to take a hostage for safe passage, right?"

Hoku grinned nervously.

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

"Cap—Officer Hoku! Officer Hoku!"

Hoku sighed, forcing her eyes to remain shut. Sunlight warmed the exposed skin of her belly, whispering temptingly to urge her into a well-needed nap in a rare moment of peace. The island they'd been called to investigate had seemed to resolved itself, no more terrorizing, plundering pirates and simply happy, cheerful townsfolk.

She didn't know what good luck had helped them out, but she wasn't about to complain over a free chance to kick back on the island before HQ called them back. They weren't expected for another week—this was the perfect chance to slack offcget some rest.

Hurried footsteps still rushed her way. Hoku kept her arms behind her head, lounging over one of her drawn hammocks. Usually ignoring them for awhile did the trick—

"Officer Hoku!" the marine finally panted, wheezing as she skidded to a halt beside Hoku. "Cap—Hoku! It's an emergency!"

Hoku kept silent, turning onto her side.

"The—at the docks," the girl panted. Her eyes were round with fear, knees shaking. "Docks!"

Hoku continued to sway peacefully in the sun.

"A ship, docked!" she inhaled a great breath of air.

"It's one of the Four Emperor's of the Sea—Red Haired Shanks!"

Hoku slipped out of her hammock, slamming face first into the wood below her. The marine jumped, hands flying to her mouth as Hoku quickly shot to her feet, nose red from her fall and eyes wide in disbelief.

"Who?"

"Red Haired Shanks!" the marine cried. Hoku's jaw went slack, eyes round. "O-Our men are currently in a perimeter around him! Apparently he's been spending time on this island for the past few days and—"

"They're doing what?" Hoku squawked. "Our orders are to never engage with Emperors unless ordered—oh for—ka!"

The marine opened her mouth to deliver the most pressing part of the news, but Hoku was already running past her, racing faster than she could ever hope to catch up to.

"And he's..." the marine started weakly. "Asking for you..."

Hoku skidded to a halt before massive blockade of blue and white bodies. She scowled, quickly forcing her way through, barking out quick and concise orders as her men whirled around, eyes widening at her appearance, jumping in and shouting left and right about emperor, what do we do? and Captain Hoku, stay back! This man is—

Hoku let out a screech as she tripped into the clearing, finally pushing past the wall of bodies.

A single arm reached out, a hand wrapping gently around her arm to hold her steady.

Hoku froze, her eyes shooting up.

"Dove," Shanks said, voice thick with fondness. "It's been awhile."

Hoku's traitorous heart fluttered at the sight of that slow, cheerful grin. She pointedly coughed, dusting herself off as Shanks' eyes flickered with amusement, stepping back, fingers lingering slightly on her arm so she could straighten herself.

"Pirate," Hoku said casually, the hint of a tease in her tone. Shanks raised a playful brow in turn. "As... what rank am I right now?"she turned to her men behind her.

"Just an officer, ma'am!"

"As commanding officer," Hoku crossed her arms over her chest. Shanks hand fell back to his side, fingers curling slightly. "I'm obligated to ask what one of the Four Emperors of the Sea is doing in this humble town."

"Well," Shanks glanced over his shoulder, back toward the dock where the Red Force was waiting. He could sense the playful jeers of his crew over the lip of the bow. "Miss Marine... It isn't a crime to be stocking up on some supplies and catching a short break now, is it?"

Hoku pretened to think his words over. Shanks' eyes glimmered with mirth.

The marine surrounded them continued to gape, frozen in disbelief.

"It's interesting timing," Hoku said. Shanks hummed for her to continue. "We were originally here on a distress call, but just as we were about to dock, we found out the issue had already been taken care of..."

"What luck," Shanks said with a grin. "I suppose that leaves you with some time to perhaps... relax yourself, aye?"

Hoku's mouth parted to retort and then she paused. Hoku blinked, looking up at Shanks in stunned surprise as she tried to make the little click of what she'd just heard in her head. But when he says it like that... no, wait. There's no way he'd know—huh?

Shanks watched the gears turn, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know how hard you marines are always working—"

"Hoku!" Shanks eyes flickered to where a man broke the ranks of the gathered crowd, shoulders squared with whatever confidence he'd mustered. Shanks regarded him easily, expression relaxed as he approached Hoku. "We should retreat! We need to leave immediately and report the situation back to HQ!"

Hoku turned back to the marine. "It's alright. It's... a bit of a long story, but you guys know how it goes these days. He's—"

"Not like one of the other pirates!" the marine continued, gaze fearfully flickering to an amused looking Shanks and back. "With the others we understood, but this is an Emperor of the Sea! Cap—Officer Hoku, we should go!"

"I know, I know," Hoku appeased. "But don't—"

A different marine broke the ranks now, reaching out a grabbing Hoku's elbow. The first marine looked shocked while Hoku remained nonchalant, expression cool.

Shanks' gaze slowly flickered to where his fingers pressed indents into her skin.

The marine scowled viciously. "I ain't gettin' fired because of—

Shanks simply glanced over the top of Hoku's head.

Hoku's knees buckled for a moment, trembling under the sheer force until she quickly rightened herself, looking up at the pirate before her in disbelief.

Left and right the marine officers behind her dropped to the floor like flies, foam spilling out of some of their mouths as they crashed onto the ground. The man who'd grabbed Hoku in particular had been the first to collapse, hacking and clawing at his head before he fell face forward, pale and ashen. Hoku watched all of them, jaw going slack until not a single man was left standing, wiped out in a manner of seconds.

Warily, she turned her gaze back to playfully dark eyes, already watching her in turn.

"...even I have to say," Hoku began slowly, "that was a bit much, don't you think?"

"I never said I was a patient man," Shanks said almost sweetly, but his tone was sly and his eyes crinkled at the corners, shameless. "Now, Dove..."

Shanks offered her his arm, lips curling at the corner into something mischievous. His eyes watched her, half-lidded and almost lazy.

They burned, never leaving her face.

Hoku felt her pulse racing beneath her skin, forcing herself to appear relaxed.

"Shall we catch up a bit?" Shanks said, a slight husk to his tone.

"...I could threaten to make quite the arrest you know," Hoku said, only because she needed time to calm down.

Shanks tipped his head to the side, seeming to humor the thought. He hummed then, shutting his eyes as though going a step further and imagining the scenario. He turned his arm toward her, offering his wrist.

"I suppose I could come willingly," he said lightly, his words curling all about her, "If it were a beautiful woman like you... but I'm afraid I've only got one hand to offer..."

Shanks grinned impishly. "You'd have to cuff me to yourself."

Hoku snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. Shanks laughed, a full, cheerful sound. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Well, I suppose it could be quite a bit to handle."

"More than you can handle?" Hoku grinned.

Shanks' eyes glittered then, like a ripple, and Hoku felt a thin shiver run down her spine, like the playful drag of a fingertip ghosting along her back.

"I don't know," Shanks murmured into her ear, leaning down. "I'd have to find out for myself."

Weakly, Hoku hooked her arm through his, making the decision for him.

Shanks laughed, a bellowing, heartfelt sound. He pulled her along into his side, his cloak flaring out behind them, almost wrapping around Hoku as they made their way down to the port.

"Aw, dove, don't pout. I promise I won't bite."

"You might lose a tooth or two if you try that."

"Dahaha! I thought you'd be sweeter since it's been so long! Is this any kind of reunion?"

"I was never sweet to you."

"Mmm, what does a man have to do to get a woman out of his league to give him a smile half as sweet as the ones she gives to that brooding—"

"Ten million beli," Hoku said on instinct. She paused then, suddenly growing pale as she half turned to Shanks, stepping a step back but unable to get very far with her arm still hooked through his—Shanks let her go a little ways away.

(But not very far.)

"Actually, wait, I take that—"

"Why, dove," Shanks laughed, grinning almost boyishly. "I suppose that could be easily arranged—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Hoku grumbled, trying to force the embarrassed red crawling up her neck to disappear. Shanks watched the dark flush along the nape of her neck with half-lidded eyes. "I know that amount ain't much these days to an Emperor of the seas—"

"It isn't that," Shanks said lightly, his words curling playfully. Hoku blinked, looking back up at him curiously.

Deep red stood out brightly against the expanse of white. Strands of Shanks' hair tickled against the side of her head as Hoku froze. Shanks leaned down, curling around her, smoothly tucking her against his side—the action forced Hoku to bend a bit, back arching ever so slightly as Shanks' lips brushed against her ear.

Hoku caught a glimpse of dark eyes beneath crimson strands. They curved, playful as always at the corners, but still a shudder threatened to run through her—the light press of Shanks' fingers on the side of her hip—when did he move his hand—

"You're worth much more than that, dove."

Hoku swallowed. She meant to say, "Oh, yeah?" but the sound that came out instead was a soft, slightly shaky, "Mmnh?"

Shanks hummed in affirmation, his eyes absently sliding behind her. "But I suppose it's easy to forget that when you've been surrounded by men who don't quite..." his gaze swept over the passed out, foaming marines at their feet, "Know how to value a woman properly, aye?"

Shanks paused briefly, brows raising slightly in surprise as he glanced down to the slender, scarred fingers now examining Gryphon, slid clean from its sheath. His sword rested with care in Hoku's hands as she inspected the current status of the blade.

Her eyes were half-lidded in faux disinterest, expression cool as she absently met his brightening gaze.

"And a heinous, shameless pirate would know better?"

"Hmm," Shanks grinned, walking the two of them back deeper into port. He remembered there being quite the delicious chef charring food in an open fire pit by the port.

"I suppose we'll have to find out."

-the shanks was too self-indulgent, anytime i think of writing a little bit of this man, he manages to steal another paragraph from me

#memos #memos au #hoku #shanks #trafalgar law #monkey d garp #tsuru #shakku #hola #shanks you man you #let this be a teaser #to an update i swear #tysm for your patience #i hope it was a fun read #monkey d luffy

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zoriwuff · 3 months

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In search of safety

I haven't gotten around to writing the royalty update on my last lore bit, but I wanted to start on where my oc comes into play. Not entirely self-insert, this AU has storytelling background based in very old role playing from upwards of 10 years ago.

Here are some notes on how this pairing came to be:

This AU takes place after an alternate ending to the Canterlot Wedding (not my writing, the original rp was not something I had any say in at the time. The following is based off very old Tenebris Dawn forum posts) -Cadance and Shining Armor did not stay together after Queen Chrysalis's takeover. Shining failed to rise to the occasion in her defeat and was quickly denied at the altar. Cadance was disappointed in how things played out, and sought out solitude after the traumatic experience. Shining Armor left to stay with Twilight after these events.

-Twilight was tired of Shining's depressed freeloading and pushed him to socialize around ponyville and find some friends. Word had gotten around as to why he was here, and it quickly turned away a lot of potential companions. He did find his place with Big Mac, Spike and Discord after awhile.

-Feather Blade originated in the Everfree forest. (her lore has changed to match her form as a pegasus but this was all written in 2014) She was (possibly) left at Zecora's hut as a newborn and grew up learning the ways of the forest from a very young age. Made friendly with the timber wolves, understands many basic to advanced survival skills, and gained a well fitted immune system for life in the woods.

-Being somepony detached from petty pony drama, Feather was completely unaware of Shining's late status and relationship history. He was enamored by her lifestyle, being someone who grew up in a more upper class environment. They bonded after many of his attempts to flatter her, and eventually he took to staying in her hut more often than staying with Twilight.

-Feather didn't initially have a proper understanding of romance, but she knew what emotional abuse was. (was held captive as a slave "lover" by a stallion with a darkened heart, also directly based off 2014 rps) Whatever Shining was, he wasn't a threat or a burden. She didn't understand what she felt for him until after a widespread infection broke loose. She's been working hard to keep him safe ever since.

-Shining has done his best to keep Feather protected, but hasn't had much strength since getting bitten by some strange creature. Feather was able to collect some supplies to keep them both healthy shortly before the hut was overrun. She keeps him medicated, and no infection has taken root. They're both currently on the move to find shelter and refuge in a safer area of Equestria.

-Feather and Shining have only briefly made contact with Discord prior to him taking off with Fluttershy. Nopony else knows their whereabouts. The two of them have avoided most populated areas in trying to steer clear of infected. Feather has been able to take sky watch for short periods of time to see if areas of civilization are safe, but quickly returns to stay with Shining. So far their travels have yielded no reward, but hope is not lost.

#mlp infection au #mlp infected #mlp #mlp fim #shining armor #mlp au #feather blade #zoriwuff #digital arwork #mlp wandering tree au #swamp fever

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qprstobin · 1 year

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home back to you - pt 1

So my friends knew this was coming - finally posting the first part of the Steve/tommy/carol post S2 fic ❤️

Summary:

Steve’s fight with Billy is exactly the kick in the pants Tommy (and Carol) need to make amends with Steve. Now if only Steve and his weird security detail full of bratty middle schoolers made it easier to talk to him. The Steve/Tommy/Carol post-s2 fic that no one has been asking for but me <3

AO3 Link | Pt. 2

Minor tw: some ableist language, tommy badmouthing Jonathan and Nancy (tho this is NOT a bashing fic), the S2 shower scene being weird as hell

Tommy thought that Billy Hargrove was the best thing to happen to Hawkins High since Steve Harrington ditched his throne (and Tommy and Carol along with it).

Billy was wild in a way that was hard to match, sending fire thrumming through Tommy’s veins and scorching the hole that Steve had left behind. He was making things exciting again, shaking up the social hierarchy in a way that Tommy felt (or well, Carol pointed out) he could use to his advantage. It didn’t take long for the two of them to be practically attached at the hip, reminding him of earlier, easier days.

(Days he was trying hard to forget.)

A part of him was also watching how Billy circled Ste- Harrington, like a hawk circling its prey, reminding him of the nature documentaries he liked to watch when he was sick. It would worry him, maybe, the look in Billy’s eyes, if he wasn’t hoping this would be the thing that truly unseated Steve. That made him return to normal, drop Wheeler and come crawling back to him and Carol.

(He thought that Steve would’ve broken up with Nancy months ago, they’d never fought for this long before-)

Tommy came to regret that sentiment after everything played out.

It started at practice – well, if Tommy was being honest with himself (which he was trying to get better at, with mixed results), it likely started from the first moment that Billy laid his ice blue eyes on Harrington, that night at Tina’s party.

He hadn’t noticed it then, not as drunk as he was pretending to be but drunker than he really meant to be, thrumming with adrenaline (and something that felt strangely like attraction, though, that didn’t really make any sense) as Billy in one fatal blow, beat Steve’s record and became the new Keg King.

Tommy had felt bad about how excited he was, knowing that Steve, Carol, and him had worked hard to learn how to hold their liquor. That didn’t stop the petty part of him from being happy about it.

Not only was the new kid already putting Harrington in his place, maybe this would be the thing that caused Steve to turn (his) their way again. Cause him to care about his reputation a little more. He’d worked so hard for it – they all had – he didn’t get how he could just drop it so easily.

(How he could drop them so easily.)

Tommy was so sure this was the first step in finally pulling Steve’s head out of his ass – (show him that he and Carol didn’t need him) – that he introduced Billy to him that night.

Like he said, he didn’t realize it then, but that was the real start of it.

The start as he remembered it was at basketball practice the next day.

Billy was… competitive with Steve on the court.

Which, of course he was, Ste- Harrington managed to stay aloft in the social hierarchy, despite dropping all of his actual friends because of his place on the basketball team.

Basketball was the biggest sport in the school, in the county, and not just because everyone around was a fan of the Hoosiers, though that definitely played a part. Back when they were still sophomores, Tommy and Steve had helped lead the school to its first championship in years.

Steve shot the winning shot and got the keg king title at the after party, in one fell swoop securing his place not only in the Hawkins history books but also his spot at the top of the high school’s food chain for the rest of his high school career.

The next year they made him captain, and Harrington was good at being captain. Though he spent most of his time with Wheeler and even Byers (which, really? The guy that his almost-girlfriend cheated on him with? He was preferable to Tommy and Carol? His best friends since grade school?) he still made sure to dedicate time to the team, both on and off the court. And the team respected him for that.

(Tommy had to respect him for that, too. Even if it wasn’t fair that the only time Tommy got St- Harrington was when they were hanging out as a team.)

If Billy could unseat Steve on the court and with the team, his reign would be all but guaranteed. So, it made some sort of sense to Tommy as he watched Billy push their captain around, get in his face, yell at him to ‘plant his feet’. Tommy could see that Harrington wasn’t at his best, almost seeming hungover.

Thing was, despite how gone Tommy himself was, he knew that Steve hadn’t drank much that night. Aside from the fact that losing his Keg King title wasn’t enough to lure him into doing his own keg stand, he’s pretty sure he saw Wheeler hitting the punch bowl more than Stev- Harrington was. Especially when it led to a loud argument in Tina’s bathroom.

Even if he had been blackout drunk, Tommy would be able to tell when Steve was trying not to cry.

(He’d have to ask Carol later if it was possible to be emotionally hungover.)

The predatorial posturing was interrupted by Wheeler appearing at the door. Normally, it wouldn’t be odd to see her at practice. Tommy had seen her working on homework (gross) on the bleachers before, and even would occasionally pop in when doing a story for the school paper, but she had never interrupted like this before, with frustration visibly leaking off of her.

Ste- Harrington sighed and followed her out, waving to the coach. For once, he didn’t look like he was literally walking on air when approaching her.

“That Harrington’s girl?” Billy asked, sliding to a controlled stop next to Tommy.

He responded without thinking, “Not sure she will be after today.”

Billy threw his head back and let out a mocking laugh. Tommy flushed as he watched the sweat from Billy’s mullet trickle down his chest. He forced himself to look away as Coach blew the whistle.

–

Two days later Tommy got his confirmation.

“Wheeler isn’t here today, again,” Carol said, appearing beside his locker as he closed the door. He didn’t jump, used to his girlfriend appearing out of nowhere. “And you’ll never guess who else is missing.”

Tommy’s mouth dropped.

“No.”

“That fucking creep, Byers.”

Seemed like Tommy had been right. Steve and Wheeler had broken up.

(If they hadn’t yet, Steve sure wasn’t going to take her back this time. Talk about turning into your parents-)

He felt suddenly energized, riding on a high that carried him all the way through to afternoon practice. Especially with the way Billy’s eyes lit up at the little piece of gossip.

He decided to follow Billy’s lead on this, waiting for him to bring it up to Harrington. During practice, he mostly shoved the other around, taunting him and generally running circles around him. Tommy could tell that Harrington’s head still wasn’t in the game, and it reflected on the rest of his scrimmage team. They trounced them.

(Tommy almost felt bad about it, but the bitter part of him didn’t.)

Coach pulled Steve aside, probably to try and figure out ‘what the hell was up with him’, and the rest if the team hit the showers. Tommy and Billy both drew the short stick, getting some of the last shower slots, which was… not a problem exactly.

Tommy preferred to shower last, normally taking a little extra time to shoot hoops and shoot the shit. The less time spent in the locker room around his naked teammates, the better. Why would he want to spend time around a bunch of naked guys, anyway? Though, it was more time spent loitering around in his gross clothes than he really wanted.

Anyway, he wasn’t sure why he felt so uneasy about it.

Steve (Harrington dammit) still wasn’t done talking to the Coach by the time Tommy and Billy were finally able to get under that sweet, freezing water. He lifted his chin up towards the spray, savoring the feeling, letting it center him. His eyes were clenched shut, so he didn’t get soap in them.

(Not for any other reason at all.)

Right as he was ready to get out, Steve finally entered the showers. Tommy’s eyes popped open just in time to see the smirk crawl across Billy’s face.

“Don’t sweat it, Harrington,” he said, wiping water from his face as he stared intensely at their captain. “Today’s just not your day, man.”

“Yeah, not your week,” Tommy was quick to add on, eager to rub his newfound knowledge in his face. “You and the princess break up for one day, and she’s already running off with the school Creep.” He leaned around the shower pole to make eye contact with Steve.

Steve just stared at him, a note of confusion on his face before his eyes flickered down to his fancy soap impatiently. Surprise and glee flooded through Tommy.

“Oh shit, you don’t know,” he said, unable to keep his grin from growing. Steve continued with his routine, trying to ignore him. “Jonathan and the princess skipped yesterday. Still haven’t shown.”

His former best friend was refusing to look at him, but Tommy could see the way his mouth had tightened. He leaned against the pole, as close as he would allow himself to get in that moment.

“But that must just be a coincidence, right?”

Steve glanced at him before he grabbed his even fancier shampoo. The brief moment of eye contact was almost too much for Tommy. Steve kept his expression cold and uncaring, but Tommy knew him well enough still, could see the pinch around his eyes. The distaste. They were standing too close.

Tommy couldn’t stop the laughter that burst out of him, one part mocking, the other veering into hysterics, and turned away to grab his towel.

He didn’t really pay attention to what Billy said after that, trying to get his head on straight, but he couldn’t miss the way Billy’s mouth wrapped around the words “pretty boy”.

–

The town had an eerie feeling hanging over it that weekend.

He stayed over at Carol’s house all three nights. It was only meant to be one or two, but then both of her parents got called into work because of some sort of weird flu or food poisoning or whatever was going around.

Neither of them were fans of sleeping alone, though neither of them would admit it.

(Not that they really needed to admit it, after knowing each other this long, dating for this long. They didn’t need to waste time on pointless conversation.)

A pack of wild dogs seemed to be roaming through the woods, filling it with feral sounding snarls and leaving trails of debris everywhere. Tommy thought it was odd how they seemed to come out of nowhere, but it wasn’t uncommon for people to ditch animals on the side of the road, so didn’t give it too much thought.

Come Monday morning, the strangeness continued when Billy pulled up to school quieter than normal, rage hanging from his shoulders. His little sister wasn’t in the car with him for once, but Tommy just figured she was sick or something. He didn’t completely understand their family dynamic, honestly.

“Man, what happened to your face?” he exclaimed in surprise once the other man drew closer.

Vicki, who had been chatting with Carol, gasped dramatically and ran up to him, clucking her tongue and simpering at him. Billy put up with it, but didn’t have as heated of a smile to give her as he normally did, to her agitation.

“Had to teach someone a lesson,” he grunted, throwing his around her as something of a consolation. She huffed a little but snuggled up to him anyway, accepting the unspoken apology.

Privately, Tommy thought that it looked like someone had taught Billy the lesson, not the other way around. He wondered if it was Steve, and was privately impressed. He didn’t know Steve had it in him to go after someone like that, but maybe he’d been right. Maybe Wheeler ditching him was the kick in the pants he’d needed all along.

Tommy couldn’t wait to see what he might do, might say, when he got to school that day.

But Steve wasn’t at school that day, he didn’t show up to school that entire week.

He would’ve been worried, but Steve didn’t need him to worry about him anymore. He’d made that clear.

(Tommy was worried anyway.)

That week, he distracted himself by spending time with Billy. There was a sense of unease around the man at all times, but it lessened slightly as the week went on. Tommy could tell that he was fixating on him a little bit, more than he had with anyone other than Carol (or Steve) in ages.

Carol thought the whole thing was funny, giggling with Vicki and Nicole over milkshakes as Tommy, Billy, and whatever other members of the basketball team they dragged along with them were their normal rowdy selves. She knew how Tommy could get – had known him since he moved to this god forsaken town.

All that to say, he was feeling pretty good, despite the conspicuous absence of Harrington at their practices.

That peace was shattered the day he came back.

Tommy didn’t actually see Steve during the actual school day on Monday, but he did see the ripples that were sent through the student body. Whispers filled the halls, but cut off abruptly when Billy walked through them.

Carol’s lips were pinched at lunch, but she refused to tell him why. Wanted more information before she told him. She hated not having the full picture.

Looking back, it wouldn’t have mattered if she had told him. Nothing would have prepared him for seeing Steve that day.

Tommy stopped short when he saw Ste- Harring- Steve shuffling out of Coach’s office that afternoon. He had sunglasses on, but they couldn’t hide the rainbow mosaic on his face, a mix of purples and blues and yellows and greens – bruises all in different stages of healing. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck.

Tommy felt like he’d been hit by a truck. What the hell had happened?

Billy wouldn’t have done that, would he?

“Steve?” he called out, unable to stop himself from saying something. Ignoring the fact that that was the first time he had called Steve by his first name in literal months. He wasn’t really concerned with that right now, not trying to hide how much he cared. Not when Steve’s face looked like that.

Steve turned, his hair flopping limply. It was obvious he had done something to it, but not much. He never let it get this… lusterless in public. His face scrunched up, obviously squinting despite the sunglasses.

With a sigh that seemed to be masking a tired groan, Steve said, “I’m not in the mood, Hagan.”

Tommy knew getting last-named shouldn’t hurt (he and Steve had been doing it for months at this point, wielding it like a weapon every time they bothered to talk to each other), but it did.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, pushing down the hurt and unconsciously echoing the same question he asked Billy the week before.

“What do you think?” Steve scoffed, tossing his head back like he always did when rolling his eyes. This seemed to be a bad idea, since he immediately rocked back forward with a wince. “Your new best friend broke a plate over my head.”

Tommy reared back. “He did what?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” he said, sounding incredibly bitter. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Probably didn’t want to admit that the only reason he wasn’t arrested for being a fucking psycho is because Hopper had other things to worry about.”

There seemed to be a strange ringing sound echoing through the halls, and it confused Tommy until he realized it was just his ears.

Billy did that?

Tommy didn’t want to believe it, not only because it just didn’t make sense (it made perfect sense, Billy had always seemed a little off to Tommy but he was too obsessed with him to care-) but because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

People got into petty fights all the time and normally no one was that fucked up at the end of it. A couple of bruises, maybe a broken nose or a black eye, something for the girls to coo over and for other guys to be subtly impressed by, knowing that guy was a guy that shouldn’t be messed with. The worst fight he’d seen happen was when Creepy Byers lost his shit on Steve the year before.

(Tommy wondered for a second what it was about Steve that made guys lose their gourd over him, but shoved that thought out of his mind.)

This- this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

This wasn’t what he wanted.

Steve seemed to take his shocked silence for some sort of answer, because he sighed quietly to himself.

“It’s like talking to a brick wall, I swear,” he said, walking past him with a hand on his temple, massaging around the bandage he was only now noticing.

He moved aside to let him pass automatically, not sure how to get his mouth working again. Steve started towards the entrance, but paused suddenly, turning to call one last thing to his former best friend.

“Be careful around Billy, Tommy,” he said, using his first name for the first time in a year. “He’s more dangerous than you think he is.”

Pt. 2

#stommy #stomarol #steve/tommy/carol #steve harrington #tommy hagan #carol perkins #stranger things #st fic rec #my writing #writing tag #mean girl trio #mean girl trio au

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respectthepetty · 7 months

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Petty why are you doing this to me?! Why are you bringing back History 3: Trapped. I haven't found a way to be over them and I dont see us getting a sequel anytime soon.

You've read my tags @25shadesoffebruary. You know I want HIStory 18: Freed RIGHT NOW! It's been over four years since Tang Yi walked into the prison.

FREE MY MAN ALREADY!

I am begging Kiseki: Dear to Me to use its four year time jump to bring my man home to me! Especially because I wrote this entire post about how food and specifically birthday cake is being used in Kiseki to show love, and this was a special trait of HIStory 3: Trapped.

So when I wrote my post, I got all in my feels about both shows.

And it's strange in a way because Taiwan constantly offers us this connection between birthdays and love.

Taiwan offers us this symbolism constantly, so when Thailand did too, it really hurt me in Moonlight Chicken and Bed Friend since Moonlight Chicken also showed the importance of food as love, and Bed Friend made that connection to childhood trauma the same way HIStory 3: Trapped did.

Special shout out to Korea's To My Star for making that connection to childhood trauma as well.

So know that I'm ALWAYS thinking about HIStory 3: Trapped like I'm Shao Fei watching Tang Yi when he should've been doing his damn job instead.

That's me, when I should be focusing on other shows, I'm thinking about my number ones.

Kiseki: Dear to Me has already given me so much, but if it could give me my final boss, Tang Yi, on top of my newest obsession . . .

This show will ascend to holy territory.

Because I'm a sucker for gay (mafia) men sharing meals and love.

Especially the ones who put tracking devices on their lovers.

#HIStory 3: Trapped #Kiseki: Dear to Me #please give me tang yi #I'm begging you #what do I have to sacrifice to get this?#I'll do anything #let them eat cake together #and celebrate birthdays together #and be in love!#HISTORY 18: FREED WHEN?!#WHEN I ASK?!

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inchidentally · 4 months

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It wasn't me who started crying when I read that Lando and Oscar would one day stop being teammates. This is a strange feeling my body went through. Why did I cry? Why? Oh my God! I don't think I want to experience that.

oh babe trust and believe we're all ???? at how much Lando and Oscar as teammates has hit us it's wilddd <3 they've done absolutely nothing performative or loud but apparently massive amounts of mutual respect is the absolute best drug out there for us.

(under a cut to keep out of teams' tags)

considering how evenly matched Lando and Oscar have been this season and Lando saying over and over again how Oscar has pushed him to be better I'd say we have one of the fairest shots of them deciding to stick together at McLaren beyond 2025 as anyone on the grid apart from Charles and Carlos. I only don't put Lewis and George in there bc no one but Lewis knows how long he's going to stay in F1 and their bond is primarily professional. they like each other for sure but they're in very different positions in their careers to say the least.

but Charles and Carlos are a really good example of two drivers who've found an incredibly solid bond and mutual respect riding out extremely tough times and wildly varying fortunes. the fact that both of them are equally eager to remain with Ferrari in spite of everything is at least in some part because they know their relationship will never become one of the things hindering either of their careers. there have been plenty of moments where outright rivalry or preferential treatment could have altered their dynamic but it never has. they see each other as totally unique drivers with very different careers and can keep all of that rivalry drama out of it (including Carlos' gd family doing their best to try create it w the help of shit stirring fans). Charles and Carlos fully expect the other to fight for the championship as much as the other will but there's no existing history or personal pettiness to muddy that into a problem.

and while it's a totally different dynamic, that's exactly the kind of 'mutual respect above all' type relationship we can see with Lando and Oscar. and to me the fact that Oscar spent at least the previous 8 years getting to know Lando from a distance, plus the fact that Lando has always been so open about his mentality and his mental state, is so specifically helpful to their dynamic. especially because they're so close in age and Lando not being the type to wield his F1 experience over someone else or get all cocky about it. and I think that's specifically in response to how much Oscar chose to let Lando be at the forefront of visibility and demonstrably positioning Lando as The Star. I would NEVER have imagined that Lando would respond so positively and supportively to a rookie teammate winning a sprint win before him. I don't mean that I think he would've been a jerk or petulant, I mean that my expectation was for that win to become a permanent wedge mentally between Lando and Oscar. but nope, he genuinely actively warmed more to Oscar even more after that <3

good god I cannot shut UP but what I'm saying here anon is that we should honestly just not bother thinking about the end of 2025. there's as much likelihood that Lando and Oscar will look at RB and Mercedes and think nah I'm better off here at McLaren as there is either of them going elsewhere. bc driving Max's car or dealing w Toto could easily not be worth it - esp since McLaren seem to have a steadier upward trajectory than say, Aston Marton (so much would have to change for AM to be a forward career move for Lando or Oscar).

quick fic side note but I'm absolutely dying to have the time cleared to read Superdense Neutron Star/Post Supernova bc god I can tell that fic is going to live with me

but the easy, non-compromising relationship they've already formed considering that they're both young and hungry is SUCH a strong pull for staying together at McLaren. Oscar is happy for Lando to be whoever he needs to be and that means Lando will only get higher and higher in the rankings. Lando has responded to Oscar's deference off the track by giving him praise and respect that means any of Oscar's currently unknown to us but inevitable insecurities are taken care of. while no one can say what will happen we can at least say that we've got the best setup for them staying together!

there's also of course the obvious: Lando being so deeply embedded at McLaren and getting star treatment that he wouldn't get anywhere else - and the fact that Oscar took a massive gamble to get to McLaren and has been watching Lando's career so closely for so long. sometimes a career can take so many unfair hits that someone like Alex Albon finds at least temporary stability with a Williams but hope to move on. sometimes a driver can be shrewd and organized enough to get themselves into exactly the right spot like Carlos with Ferrari but he doesn't have complete security. but sometimes it's entirely possible that a young up and comer (or two) finds exactly the right fit from the start of their F1 career and succeeds for years and years!

and looking even further ahead to when they're both closing in on like 30 everything in F1 will be so different that I can't even fathom it so I'm just choosing to not bother! it's like how I see ppl in IG comments saying they hope Oscar marries Lily and I'm like ??? I just see married ppl as SOOOO different to college age that I don't know how people can make those leaps but maybe I'm just super immature lagfljafjh

side side note that while I'm absolutely positive Max and Lando would be horrific in every sense imaginable for Lando, I do occasionally enjoy imagining Oscar there at some point simply bc he's the only driver I can imagine giving RB pause. he's so smart and adaptable that he'd fucking dominate immediately in that car and they'd be braindead to not think hmmmm, this guy is (for example) only 25 and Max is almost 30 - maybe we should let Oscar choose a few specs for himself and see what happens. he could match Max in car smarts, focus and ambition but oooops he also has a sense of calm under stress that Max will never have. Max could openly despise him and it wouldn't affect Oscar's performance at all. and oohhhh to have Oscar be the one to topple the ivory tower nepotism at RB with a nailbiter of a WDC decision in the final race? to see what Max does in response to that? to have Alpine fanboys throwing chicken tendies at the wall watching Oscar's podium where he's also celebrating the championship? ohhhh fuck that's a tantalizing thought.

SORRY lol I really do not see that happening I just find that image so fucking hot. I don't actually want to see Oscar having to deal with RB in reality.

#inchreplies

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honey-minded-hivemind · 2 months

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For the 🖤Heart of the Villain/ess/ex💔 AU, I think I've figured out how I want it to go:

It will have the characters as different nobles, who all have.a different class/type of magic they are born with, which is their family aurum (my word for magic for this au). The head noble families are themed after the Seven Heavenlu Virtues and Seven Deadly Sins, but with a twist: Each house has one Virtue and Sin ( which are called Auras and Umbras). Reader is part of the noble family who fall under Lust and Love (their House/Family is called the Passio de Amorluxuria) (I think it translates to Passion of Lovelust). Their family has been known to have powerful auras and umbras, but has a dark creature tied to them, their purest or darkest form, the dragon... Reader, in their first life, due to their hatred of the Protagonist and the wrongs done to them, was killed in cold blood. And with each new life they lived, no matter what they did to turn the tides and to get a better life,they always failed. Their own friends, their own family, rivals and teachers, even complete strangers, would murder them, or the Protagonist would, claiming Reader to be the evil beast which each house feared, whom they swore to destroy... And with each new life, each new timeline, Reader's dragon form grows smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker, as their love for other people and beings and their lust for life and power wither away...

Yet when they reach their 20th life... They decide they've had enough.

Forget making friends or keeping them! Forget their family, who ignore them and have killed them all for the love of a stranger. Forget their backstabbing peers and double-edged teachers and that awful, horrifying Protagonist...! This time, they aren't getting involved. They will not spend another lifetime wasting their few short years of life trying to please impossible people or to curry favor with their peers or to deal with that stupid Protagonist. This time, they will focus on themself. Their own aura and umbra, their own power, their own riches and objects and projects. Why waste another (literal) lifetime doing the sme thing over and over again with no reward? No. That's over and done with. Leave the drama and pettiness to the others; this life is about Reader now, and they intend to make the most of it!

Except... over the years, as Reader grows from a small child into a kid, then to a preteen and to a teen... something weird happens. For once... people start act... strange. Less cruel and dismissive and in "love" with the Protagonist... yet more "interested" in Reader... Trying to find them, to talk to them, to even befriend them... It's... odd. And Reader doesn't like it. Dear Primora, even the inane Protagonist joins in on it! This new change isn't welcome, and Reader is having none of it. They reply curtly and to the point, they stick to themself, they have an entire room dedicated to just their experiments that they spend their time in, writing the results down to hand in at school (sadly they couldn't escape school this timeline...). Yet they have kept up the act of an arrogant, aloof noble with a dark family history, as they can't tip anyone off to their knowledge of the timeloop in case they aren't the only one aware of it. And most people buy it... but then they start to look closer, listen more to their tones and chosen phrases than to the front they put up... Reader isn't sure what's going on, but they won't let themself be tricked again. They won't let themself die just to sate the monsters around them...

Meanwhile...

The Platonic Yans have realized that the Reader they thought they knew isn't the Reader they're used to (they aren't aware of the timeloops, they just find the changes in Reader odd. Their subconscious/inner selves noticed Reader changing past what they'd always been, and so they themselves are starting to notice setting is weird with them; that they aren't their usual self that they know). Their friends/lackeys/tag-alongs aren't sure why they're being pushed away. Did they say something? Did they hurt Reader somehow? No matter what they do to keep Reader as their friend/comrade/boss, they just- drift away, slowly cut contact with them. And it hurts. And they aren't sure what happened to cause it. Reader's family is unsure why they're bothering showing interest in Reader, as they've always been a needy disappointment to them, to their family... Yet... They start to notice Reader actively avoids them. Reader doesn't bother to seek them out anymore, which is strange. Reader always wanted to show then something or ask questions, so why aren't they visiting them around their manor? They hardly see Reader at dinner, and if they do, Reader simply takes their meal with them to another room, or forgoes eating for their... whatever they do... What DO they do? Have they never actually... known what their kid/sibling/relative does when they can't see them? Reader passes up talking to them or having their monthly scheduled talks with the older members, leaving them waiting and wondering what has gotten into them... And now they start to feel... concerned? Worried, for once? That they know nothing about their own child/sibling/relative, not even the basics. And they feel guilty over it. Reader's rivals and peers and teachers find their behavior odd over the years, as when they expected a competitive, arrogant, social butterfly, they instead have an apathetic, cynical child/teen, who is still the one to beat, yet... weren't they... weren't they not always like this?? Weren't they loud and outgoing and boasting and sociable, a person who loved life and lusted for power and aura and umbra? Who is this person they have instead?! They're unsure of what to do, but they don't know how to approach the issue. Something tells them to get closer, to offer an ear or hand or some advice... but they're not taken. And now they know something isn't right...

So, Reader is building their own power and umbra and aura, hoping to keep themself strong enough, so that should their draconic form come to light, they'll be prepared to fight back, and win... Their form is small, weak, at first... But with their new lust for a better end, for a full life... They slowly grow... And so too, does their umbra...

Yet in the background, the Protagonist watches, waiting... And they hope to see if they can't have this poor, lonely villain/ess/ex of the kingdom as the next loyal dog at their beck and command...

But even still... their powr isn't as absolute as they think it is... And this time... Reader's going to win...

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #🖤villain/ess/ex of the heart💔 au

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bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

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"Cleaved In Twain." Danny Jonson/DBD Ghostface X AFAB! Reader.

SO it was Lottie or the amazing @lucifers-horror-harem birthday yesterday! And I wrote her a lovely little Danny fic, she has a more personalized version but you lovely people get a reader insert version to enjoy! I hope you all love it! Let's get into it!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.2K. Danny Johnson/DBD Ghostface X AFAB! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Obsessive Danny. Stalking. Breaking And Entering. Voyeurism. Chase. Predator/Prey. Degradation. Dirty Talk. Fucked Up Praise. Rope Play. Restrained Punishment. Spanking. Reader. ManHandling. Knife Play. Threats Of Harm. Actual Harm. Blood Play. Spanking. Punishment. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Unprotected Sex. Dub-Con. Threat Of Death. Actual Death. Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

---

Love is a funny thing isn’t it?

There are movies and tv shows, books and podcasts, and tons and tons of songs, stories and more about the subject spanning back as long as human history has, and part of that is because trying to capture that feeling and articulate it to others is difficult as hell. The person to person experience of it is so varied, the differences can be vast or minute but all of them are there and valid, and yet, even with all these clearly laid out examples of what the conceptual idea of “love” is, he is damn sure he has never experienced it in any of the ways people have claimed that they have.

Danny doesn’t think he is capable of feeling it, not like he thinks he is missing out on anything, not when he has other things to fulfil him.

It isn’t like he doesn’t feel anything though, you make him feel some pretty big things, just ones that weren’t conventionally or typically appropriate. He got those intense feelings from a job well done, and from a victim well stalked and eventually skinned. He loved the thrill of being able to sneak around and view every sordid detail of a person’s life without them being the slightest bit aware of his existence. The getting to know you stage was always a total joy, finding all the little quirks that make a person unique, nailing down schedule, habits, before really going in, revealing himself and going in for the kill.

He has been watching you for, God, months. The window placement you have going on makes his job very easy.

You aren’t the only one he has been watching however, he normally has multiple irons in the fire while narrowing down who was worthy of his attention and who he really wanted to fuck with. You were interesting in how unassuming you were, the way you behaved at home, so quiet and looking so domestic, he couldn’t help how the thought got him so excited. He would get thoroughly amped up to choose a night, one that you would think is any other evening, and then come in and tear your whole life apart, end it, slash and cut until you are unrecognisable and that sad little life you called yours would be no more. Learning all he could about a life before he ended it made it all the sweeter.

Months of build up and tonight is the night, boots laced, hood up and knife sheathed and he was ready for an evening of fun ahead. He’d planned his way in over a month ago, found the easiest way one afternoon when you were out of the house.

It was late, after midnight, he was inside and ready as he will ever be to strike, he doesn’t think he is a nervous guy, a little too prepared and confident to have that kind of petty thing holding him back. Nerves are what the person on the end of the knife feels, not the one brandishing it.

Now, sometimes, no matter how much planning is put in, how much care is taken and how well he gets to know a victim, at times, they can be unpredictable.

He didn’t count on you getting up to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen and you and he staring at each other from across the hall. Him about to go to your bedroom and you standing just outside your door, hand still on the knob. You were just slightly shocked to see the strange man, over six feet tall and clad in black and leather and a mask and holy shit what were you going to do?

A beat and then you did something he wasn’t counting on tonight, you ran.

He wasn’t planning on a chase, he was planning on tying you to your bed while you were still passed out, and just ripping into you, cutting you from- Well it doesn’t matter because right now you were fucking booking it and he wasn’t going to let a small deviation like this stop him from being able to salvage his night and your murder.

As he started after you he thought it would be easy.

Ten minutes later when he still didn’t have a hold on you he thought otherwise, where the fuck did you learn to run like that? And that mouth of yours! You actually threw a few choice insults his way when you had locked yourself in the bathroom, he managed to get the door open but you still got around him, he wasn’t expecting any of this from meek little you and frankly it was pissing him off.

Well, not just pissing him off, you catching him so off guard, being so different than he was anticipating, than what he thought he knew you to be, it was, annoyingly hot.

He finally got you in the kitchen, cornered you, had you on the tiled floor on your back, his knees to your shoulders, holding you down firmly. Slight uptick in his breathing just as yours had from all the exertion, but now he’s got you.

Eyes locked up on that ghostly white mask and true while you felt fear, there was another feeling brewing inside of you.

The struggle in you stopped in short order when he forced his knees down harder and you groaned, your head tipping back against the floor and he said with a strong point, “You,-” A shake of his head with a breathy laugh he said your name and then, “- are a hard one to get a hold of.”

He sighed, “I wasn’t counting on that.”

A hard swallow and you asked, “How do you know my name?”

“That’s your biggest concern? Not how did the big scary man get into my house?” He asked and you had to give it up, he had a good fucking point. He spoke before you could, “I learned your name a while ago, been getting to know you, watching a while.”

“Watching?” You asked and he hummed, he sounded amused as he pulled out the coiled rope he brought,, “I like to watch, what can I say? I know what I like.”

A creepy, stalker with a voyuer kink, you really lucked out, didn’t you? When it rains it pours.

He reached down, began to secure and tie your hands together, movements practised and confident, “I had the whole thing figured out but then you just had to give me the run around. Do you know how fucking annoying that shit is?”

He tightened the ropes and you winced at the bite of them into your wrists, he didn’t stop, his tone was sharp, venom practically dripping from every syllable, “I didn’t think you had it in you! I thought I had you all fucking figured out but you managed to really surprise me. But, funny thing about me that you’d have no way of knowing-”

He leaned down and said the last part, his mask almost an inch away from your face, “-I don’t like surprises.”

He was angry, legitimately pissed off but still, very into this, he didn't want to let on to it, the last thing you needed was to know that small tidbit, he was hard as hell and as soon as you felt that it might just give it away. He pulled back, finished tying up your hands and he was still talking, “Who the fuck do you think you are that you think you can get away with acting like this? Fucking up MY night?”

“YOUR night?” You asked incredulously and he said, “Yes! My night! I’ve been planning this for you don’t even want to know how long and you are acting like a fucking brat and ruining this, your body, this body-”

He reached out, a leather glove clad hand reached out and gripped your throat, your whole body tensed under him, your breath caught and his other hand latched onto the blade’s handle. He unsheathed the blade and brought it down, “-is merely where I am putting my fucking knife, a vessel for my art and for my entertainment, it is not actually about you but what YOU, give to ME in this exchange.-” The knife was pressed right under your jaw as he squeezed your throat and he gritted out, “Stop being selfish and making your murder all about you.”

He stopped, he was so focused on how angry he was, on verbally berating you that he was only just now focusing on your expression and more importantly how it had shifted. You were flush, pupils dilated, panting and you were squirming, thighs rubbing together and it struck him, he tested it. He squeezed your throat and your eyes rolled back with a moan and he laughed, “Holy shit you are into this!”

A very nervous laugh spilled out, you rushed to defend yourself, “Ha! What? No! God, no-”

He pressed the blade closer and you whine pitifully and he accuses, “You are!” You try to protest more but he talked right over you, “Oh my fucking God, and here I thought I knew you! What else are you hiding from me, hmm? I’m gonna have to figure it out for myself because you are clearly no help.”

He moved off of you and he let go of your throat, he started to manhandle you and paw at your body to manoeuvre you, he knew it hurt, he wasn’t being anything near gentle but you were loving it, leaning closer. He said it in this fascinating combination of delighted and mocking, “Freak, you are a total fucking mess.”

He sighed and when he looked up, seeing something that gave him an idea, “You know, I’m still annoyed from before, I think you deserve some serious consequences.”

A questioning sound leaving you and his hand came down, a hard hit on your ass, a barely held back moan from you and he said, “Shut up, idiot.”

He got up and said firmly, “Stay slut.”

Like you could go anywhere even if you wanted to when he forced you face down ass up with your wrists tied, you were exhausted from the chase earlier too so even if you were unencumbered and in a better pose, any chance at escape was nil.

You heard him get something from off the kitchen counter and then he was back on his knees beside you, he put whatever he got down and then both hands were yanking your thin pyjama bottoms down over the curve of your ass. Another laugh rings out, his fingers hooked in your panties and he tugged, you feel his thumb rub over the crotch he had to practically peel off of you, “You’re fucking drenched-” He sing songed out the last part, reminding you again of the obvious, “-you love this.”

He was right. Your cheek was resting on your forearm, face burning with shame, you did fucking love this. How he chased you, talked to you, taunted you verbally and with his knife, spanking you, somehow he managed to tick all your boxes without even realising it at first. You feel the smooth leather of his glove on your ass after he let go of your panties, and another hard hit, another jolt of pain, “So! What else are you into?”

You keep your mouth shut and he tsk’d, “You could hardly shut up when I was chasing you and now you clam up. Shame. I guess I’ll have to figure it out all on my own…”

A pause, tension inside you builds and he says, “I did notice you seem to enjoy my knife, so I got to thinking, and it’s not always true but in the case I think that maybe bigger-”

You now know what he got from your counter. He stole the meat cleaver from your knife block and was now holding it in your line of vision, “-is better.”

A shiver ran through you before the whisper of, “Wha-what are you gonna do with that?”

He laughs, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The cleaver is pulled back and true to his word you weren’t left in the dark for long about what he had planned with it. You feel a hand resting on your lower back, and then feel it, the large plane of ice cold steel meeting your bare ass cheek and you yelp in pain and shock. Another hit and then another and the pained sounds change, shift, and yep, you are into it and it is obvious and you are totally fucked. He is using the cleaver as a makeshift paddle to punish you, it was extremely painful, unrelenting, covered a ton of surface area in one hit, he was strong and could put a lot of power behind it too.

“You’re dripping down your thigh.” You feel him wipe some of it up, “Maybe you have more potential than I thought, disgusting thing that you are, I wonder what else you’d be into.”

Another hit and a much bigger shock of pain to your system, the edge caught you when he pulled back, he cut the back of your thigh, right before the meat of your ass started and you hissed, a suck of your teeth as tears welled up, voice wavering, “Did you cut me?”

You asked it without thinking and he laughed, “Oops.”

Another hit and you moaned, fingers curl, you wish you had something to hold onto and he didn’t fucking stop. The guy clearly had experience with knives, you are sure the cuts that he continues to give you are all on purpose, the pretending they were an accident was part of the bit.

Between your legs, the backs of your thighs were a total fucking wreck, slick and sweat and blood, you were crying into your forearm’s sleeve and he hadn’t stopped with the creative insults, and you were loving every fucked up second of it.

“How many hits was that?” He asked and you were still crying into damp fabric and he repeated himself, louder, “I asked you a question, whore.”

You were supposed to be counting this whole time? You sniffed, lifting your head slightly, “I-I wasn’t-I-”

“You didn’t keep count?” A hard hit, you cried out in pain and he admonished you further, “Fuck. You are totally useless.”

He brought the cleaver down, hard, right next to your head, he cracked the tile in the process, the sound and action made you jump. “Awe, scared?”

Not wanting to piss him off further, you say, “Yes.”

His response was only one word but it’s all he needed. “Good.”

Hands were back on you, “Look at all this.” His fingers trailed through the dripping blood he drew from you earlier, and then he managed to do something to surprise you, glove covered fingers dragged up through your folds and you gasped in shock. After so much pain the sudden rush of pleasure hit you like a ton of bricks and stole all the breath from your lungs.

A moan crosses your lips as his fingers dropped back down, he rubbed your clit, the slickness of your blood acting as lube as he touched, you leaned back, closer to him and he said, “You’d never guess how depraved you are just by looking at you.”

His digits slide back up, two fingers delve inside and he starts to finger your own blood into you, a loud moan tears out, your head falls forward as he hooks his fingers and finds that sweet spot inside that makes you gasp. He sounds very amused as he teases, “Too easy.”

And you feel him press his hips forward and you feel how hard he is, “You feel what you’re doing to me by acting like such a little nympho? Taking all this with an arch and a moan, you are so fucked-”

He continued to rock his fingers inside of you, focusing on that same spot and you are taken by all of this, head nearly spinning from how tonight has gone, the lingering pain, the searing pleasure, weak, you felt very weak. Fingers fucking in and out, his thumb stroking tight circles around your clit making your writhe.

His fingers leave you rather unceremoniously and you whine, another hit on your already bruised ass and you sob, he spits out, “Stop bitching.”

You hear his pants opening and then feel him press to you, hard and unbelievably hot. “Got any cute comments or complaints?”

A weak shake of your head and he asked, “You want it?”

You did, you nod with a bite of your bottom lip and he said, sickeningly saccharine, “Course you do.”

Thankfully he didn’t make you beg but he seemed pretty riled up too. His hips slam forward, making you take him all at once and you cry out against the floor, the sudden burn and stretch overtakes but there is no time to linger, his hips move, no time for you to adjust.

“Fuckkk-you act like such a slut but you don’t feel like one.” His hands gripping your hips, he started to really take, fucking into you quicker, harder. It’s disgusting, filthy, you feel like it too, he was your stalker, he broke in here to kill you for Christ’s sake and you are getting fucked dumb by him and you were…

Living for it, loving it, of course you were.

You have given up any pretence of pretending that you aren’t into it, not like you can hide it, he can feel you clenching on him, hear you moaning, feel you moving back onto him. “You are so stupid-”

You agree, unthinking, just concerned with the pleasure coursing through you, steadily building, the mix of it with the pain from every slam of his hips into your ass, aggravating the cuts, making them weep more blood was doing everything for you. “M’ so stupid-”

“You wanna know why?” He asked, another thrust punctuated with a moan and you bite, “Yea-yeah, God, yeah.”

“Because you think I’m still not gonna kill you-”

You gasp, dragged ever closer to the edge and a loud moan is pulled from him, followed by a laugh, “Fuck! You just clenched THAT hard from the threat of death. It’s got me wondering something-”

He reached out, he picked up the cleaver and leans over, his chest to your back, his hand comes around, he holds the cleaver to your throat and he says, “I wonder how hard you’d squeeze me if I cut your fucking throat right now.”

He pressed harder and you couldn't stop it, eyes squeezed shut, you can barely hear it through the haze as your orgasm overtook, positive it might be the last thing you ever do, him taking you cumming as consent, he asks the obvious, your body has already sealed your fate, “You wanna find out?”

Again, Danny doesn’t think love is for him, doesn’t think he can feel it. But swinging that cleaver with a little force, slashing into your throat, causing it to break open before you’ve come down from your orgasm. Blood pouring out over the blade, over his wrist and down onto the tile, your cunt still twitching and then seizing impossibly tight on his dick while he is buried balls deep, making him unable to pull out, is pretty fucking close to what he imagines love feels like for “normal people.”

Cumming in a victim at the moment of death is the ultimate high, he thinks he might just never top it. If you were still alive or conscious or able to hear him he’d thank you.

#BHF writing #Happy birthday Lottttie #Danny Johnson x reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #Enjoy the filth

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klbwriting · 2 months

Text

Our Strange Duet

Chapter 4 - Help From Hoping

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: violence, blood

Summary: Jason goes on patrol, gets hurt, and shows up at YN's place, just like old times

Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @amberpanda99

But still I can't help from hoping To find someone to talk to Who likes the way I am - Waitress

The Narrows was active tonight. Dick was off in Bludhaven, dealing with a gun running deal involving Two Face so Jason was on his own, patrolling the area on what was apparently, the busiest night for petty crime in history. He didn’t mind the downtime, and by downtime he meant punching some muggers, maybe cuffing a few of Maroni’s minions to a lamppost, but he was getting bored tonight, itching to go to YN’s place. He had hoped maybe around 1AM he could have checked on her, not waking her, just making sure her windows were secure. God out of context, and even when she had given him permission he sounded like a stalker. He might as well cuff himself to a lamppost. He got the drop on a drug sale to a couple of young-looking teens, approaching, making sure to look as scary as he could, moving the gun he carried so it glinted off a floodlight over the alley door of a nearby club. Scare the teens into not seeking out the drugs and the criminals into leaving the kids alone. The kids took off, but the drug dealer wasn’t exactly frightened. He laughed, producing a knife. Jason glared.

“Dealing to kids is pretty low, even for scum like you,” he said. He could see the dealer roll his eyes, not bothering with a retort. Jason fired, intending to injure the dealer, get him cuffed somewhere as well, but the guy moved, throwing his knife. It was well thrown, slicing through a weak spot on Jason’s arm, right where his protective shoulder padding met the armor on his arms there was gap and that’s where the pain lanced through him. He didn’t flinch, approaching the now dead body of the dealer. He knelt down, frowning at the sight. He hadn’t meant to kill this guy, not that he was heartbroken over it, but he was worried. It was a less than a minute fresh kill and yet the body was…melting, skin dripping, blood that was almost a purple color seeping from the wound. Jason reached to where he kept some evidence bags and collection devices on his belt, getting some skin samples and blood drops to take back to Dick. Something was weird about this body, and he didn’t want whatever it was to sneak up and bite them in the ass because he didn’t do his due diligence. He heard sirens nearby and took off.

He was climbing a fire escape, wanting to get to a rooftop to contact Dick when he felt the pain from the cut in his arm. O ya, that was still there. He winced and sighed, getting to a secluded spot and removing his helmet. He looked at the cut, seeing it took very red around the open wound. He couldn’t wait to get this taken care of or if would definitely get infected and he hated infected wounds. He was 13 the first time he got one and it had made him violently ill for a week and he never wanted that experience again. He put the helmet back on and took in his surroundings. There was a safehouse nearby, or there was YN’s place. It was an easy choice. He dropped by her window, the ledge barely enough room for him to fit, but he made do. He knocked and the light came on. Her face appeared, looking freshly awakened, but still alert. She saw him and opened it, letting him climb in. By the time he closed the window and curtains again she was back with a large first aid kit.

“Do you need help getting the gear off still or have you made that part easier?” she asked, and his heart stuttered. It was just like old times, she was ready to just help, no questions asked. He pulled off the helmet and she took it, setting it gently on her dresser. He moved to his arm, removing his armor there and then hitting a button on the back of his neck that had the chest and shoulder protection loosen. She grabbed the front, pulling it off him, quietly working like this happened every night. She did have to help with his shirt, getting it over his head.

“Maybe could have just cut off the sleeve…” Jason said but quieted when he saw her looking at him, her eyes crawling slowly over his skin, taking in ever muscle, freckle, and scar. He smirked a moment, glad he still could get this reaction from her, then he blushed as he thought about her, what she would look like, feel like, so many things he normally only let himself think about when he was alone.

“Get on the bed Jason,” she said, and he startled for a second, blanking on why she was asking him to do that and then thinking of about one thousand things to do in that bed with her. “Be easier to stitch up your arm if you’re laying down. He turned a shade of red he didn’t know existed and laid down, letting her angle his arm on a towel so that she could get a better look at it. “I took some low level EMT classes over the summer in case I ever met up with you again…”

“So that’s why you have a first aid kit the size of a dishwasher,” he said, grunting a little as she disinfected his wound. She chuckled before shaking her head and getting the needle and thread ready.

“No, I bought that the day after we started talking again, knew it was a matter of time before you showed up bloody at my window,” she said, starting to stitch him. “So, what was it tonight? Assassins? Mutants? Rogue nun?”

“You’d be surprised that nuns are very violent,” he said. “But no, a drug dealer. He was selling to some kids, I was going to shoot his shoulder, injure him so I could cuff him somewhere for the cops, but he threw a knife at me, ended up killing him. Then he melted…” The needle stilled for just a moment, but Jason noticed.

“Melted?” she asked, waiting a second too long. He frowned, side eyeing her as she tied off the stitches, putting everything away to be cleaned before bandaging his arm. She moved to put things away, but he grabbed her hand. He was ignoring the question gnawing at his brain now.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I know I can’t just drop in like this anymore, I’m not your boyfriend or anything…”

“Jason, you’re my forever, you never have to ask to come here, I will never shut you out,” she said, looking at him. “Boyfriend, friend, whatever, you can always come to me.” He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “Um, so before, you paused…”

“The melted people thing?” she said quickly. He nodded. “I just know that Maroni is probably involved, and it makes my skin crawl. The only thing I really know that he told me in the brief time I was speaking with him, was that he had something new that he was going to implement, something to make sure his drugs were able to be the only pills people wanted. I’m not sure what it is or how it works though.” He nodded, sitting up more as she sat down on the bed next to him.

“Thank you for the information, I’ll talk to Dick about that later,” he said. She reached out, brushing hair behind her ear and she leaned into the touch before catching his hand and holding it.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, can you stay for a little bit?” she asked. He nodded. The city could be burning, and he would take a few minutes for her, no matter what his vigilante drive told him, if she needed him, he was going to be there. She got up, grabbing some papers from her desk, sitting down again, showing them to him. “I wanted to find the mysterious donor to thank them for trying to help my mother and for setting me up back here in Gotham. Be honest with me, did you or Dick do this? Is this corporation that is listed at the official ‘donor’ one of yours?” she asked. Jason took the paperwork, looking at the bank statement and then the letter. His eyes caught on the name of the company, Plostast Holdings and his heart stopped. ‘The last stop Jason, where you were when I found you, and the place you’ll be when you are old enough to be a Wayne and not just a Robin’ Bruce had said, laughing at his own lame anagram. Plostast was where Jason would be able to make a name for himself, turning the company into whatever he wanted, something for after Robin so he could keep helping people. Jason’s vision was tunneling, and he felt himself falling.

“Jason? Jason!” YN was calling. He moaned softly, eyes opening. She was over him, staring down at him, worry creasing her forehead. “Are you ok?” He must have passed out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you would react like that.” She helped him sit up again, feeling his face and looking into his eyes, making sure he was all back. He could feel he was sweating; his head was aching at the moment.

“Do you have any pain pills?” he asked, he needed something, or he wasn’t going to be able to focus on getting back home. She nodded and reached into her kit again, getting some headache meds and giving him water. He took them and drank the glass, trying to organize his thoughts. “Bruce…that’s who the donor was,” he said finally. Her eyes widened.

“Why? Why would he do any of that? Have you talked to him?” she asked, already knowing that he hadn’t. He shook his head again. “Why would he help and not talk to you about it?”

“I don’t know, not like he cares about me at all,” he said, fists clenching. He felt her hand on his cheek, turning him to look at her again. “Green?” he asked. She nodded. He tried to will away the anger and rage that came to him at the thought of Bruce out there, butting into Jason’s life but not coming to him directly. Why do it this way? To draw him out?

“I will go to Bruce, talk to him. I will make sure he knows I will pay him back; I don’t want any of his money, not when it should be spent on you,” she said. Jason leaned to her, his head falling to her shoulder. “He doesn’t get to abandon you and then try to buy me. If I had known…”

“You would have taken the money anyways,” he said softly. YN turned to look at him, almost offended. “I would have forced you too, to go and help your mom. I know the treatment didn’t work but at the time it was hope and you needed it and I would do anything for you, including telling you to take Bruce Wayne’s money.” She smiled softly, looking at him. He looked at her and he wasn’t sure when the moment shifted. One second, he was looking at her, glad for her to be there with him and the next he needed to kiss her, for her to know that he still loved her, that he still wanted to be hers. She must have felt the same because in an instant their lips met and she was holding him, one hand in his hair, the other on his back, his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, going from deep and passionate to soft, little kisses traded over several minutes of just smiling and whispering to each other. He barely noticed when the sun started to peek into the room.

“You need to get home, Dick will be worried,” she said softly. He nodded, looking at her, a question on his face. “I won’t be kissing anyone else if you’re worried about that, who could I possibly kiss that would live up to Jason ‘Red Hood’ Todd?” Jason smiled and nodded, pulling his shirt back on and getting his gear back on again. She went, grabbing the helmet from the dresser. She kissed him again before he put the helmet back on and headed out the window. The morning was bittersweet, mixing the feeling of getting what he wanted, YN back into his arms, with the confusion of Bruce. He didn’t know how he felt, but he needed answers.

#jason todd #jasontodd #red hood #redhood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #strangeduet

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