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reobsessed · 10 months

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Sickness In His Care

Pairing: Reader X Karl Heisenberg. Content Warning: 18+, Mentions of sex but no actual sex in the story itself, Reader X Karl Heisenberg fic, slight humour. Can't think of any other warnings but please let me know in the comments if I missed anything. Summary: You'd been seeing Karl Heisenberg for a while now and had since started staying in the factory. However, one day you come down with a fever. Expecting him not to care you do your best to avoid him but you find yourself at a loss for words when he tries to take care of you. This is just a short one, inspired by my current illness. Wanted to write about a sick reader being taken care of by Karl =p Hope you enjoy! Might add more one-shots to this series later. Thanks again to Suri for editting and reads!

Your body was racked by coughs and splutters, occasionally drowned out by the sound of heavy machines whirring. You did your best to fall asleep but the oppressive heat of both your fever and the humid factory air wouldn’t allow for that. How Heisenberg worked in this, day in, day out boggled your mind. You had a lot of questions concerning that man.

With no such luck in drifting off, you flung your legs over the side of the makeshift bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself, for modesty’s sake. You made your way to the main elevator and adjusted your underwear while you walked.

Despite their inability to see, you felt intimidated beneath the many dead eyes of the factory. They’d long since had the life and humanity extinguished from them, but much like a porcelain doll, their eyes followed you across the hall.

Unfortunately you weren’t wearing any shoes either. They’d been discarded halfway across a room, (you couldn’t remember which) when he’d accosted you from behind several nights before. He did that sometimes, he’d enter a room irritated, ranting and raving about his ‘life’s work’, Mother Miranda or some other insignificant event. Then as he would throw his coat to the floor he’d come up behind and bury his face in the crook of your neck. It was his silent plea for attention, the only release in his life that didn’t coincide with destructive violence.

Things would get rough sometimes. Tumbling around with shrapnel and a dirty man who never left his basement certainly had its risks; but at the end of it all, nothing ever went outside of your comfort zone. Cruel and ruthless Lord Heisenberg was capable of some decency, if only in that regard.

Memories of the prior night filled you with excitement. You brought your hand to the swollen cluster of love bites mapped across your chest and neck. You’d returned the favour, and left a colourful array dotted across his neck, ensuring they were in full view of any who encountered him. You hoped to God he got called into a family meeting sometime soon. With an impish giggle you clicked the button on the elevator and ascended to the top floor. You hoped he was anywhere but his office, but unfortunately your luck had run out around the same time you’d met him.

As soon as you opened the door you were greeted by his side profile, head in hands, slumped over a diagram on the table. Probably sulking again.

“The fuck are you doing in here? I thought I told you not to bother me while I’m working.” He let out a puff of cigar smoke. Didn’t even have the decency to look at you. Dick.

As per your usual pettiness you ignored him and made a beeline for the door at the back of the room. Suddenly you toppled backwards as a thin chain of metal wrapped itself around your wrist, not intended to hurt you but to stop you from going any further. However, he’d miscalculated and hadn’t noticed your sickly state until after you’d begun to tumble backwards. As you fell to the ground, he steadied you with more offcuts of metal.

“The hell is wrong with you?” he raised his voice, a combination of tiredness and confusion.

Metal clattered to the floor as he stood up. With a rough grip, he pulled you upright and turned you to face him. He studied you intently, glasses slipping down past his nose. You stared into his eyes, watching as anger dissipated into uncharacteristic worry.

Heisenberg was never good at concealing his emotions, especially not his anger and now this too, apparently.

“I just wanted some fresh air,” you croaked.

Cigar smoke choked your already irritated throat and you began another coughing fit, you tried your best to turn away but his burly arms held you in place. You were shocked that he didn’t seem to mind when you spluttered all over his stained work shirt but then again, you’d covered him in worse things.

“Forgot humans get sick, haven’t been sick in over forty years.”

“Certainly starting to get sick of you.”

You couldn’t see his eyes behind the blackened glasses, but you knew he was rolling them.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He grabbed your arm and shook it. “What do you do when one of these gets sick?”

“Well, I was hoping to avoid you turning me into one of your new toys, but I guess that’s up in the air now,” you sniffed, swallowing a large glob of phlegm stuck at the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he sneered at you, now holding you away from him at arm’s length.

“I can’t help it,” you spat, attempting to pull yourself free. “And besides, have you smelt yourself recently?”

“Wait a minute, I have something for this!” His grip slipped from your wrist and fell into your hand. You let out a nasalled grunt as he dragged you across the room to his desk. After rummaging around with one hand he pulled out a dusted bottle from the bottom drawer. “This should do the trick.”

Your nose wrinkled when you looked at the awaiting bottle. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and much of the writing had worn off the label a long time ago, based on the few remaining letters you assumed this used to be some kind of ‘medicine’. You turned it over to see the date ‘1923’ printed along the bottom.

“Yep. I’ll be better in no time with this.” You swivelled the bottle, watching as black ooze splashed against the sides. He had a triumphant grin on his face and you couldn’t bring yourself to ridicule him further. “Right, well I’m going outside.”

“Dressed like that?”

“What are you, my dad?”

He pulled the blanket around your shoulders and touched a gloved hand to your forehead.

“You’re cold.”

Stifling yet another cough, you laughed softly.

“How can you tell? You’re wearing gloves, you buffoon.”

He wrapped you in an embrace, only when held in the stillness of his arms did you realise that you’d been shivering this entire time. Had your fever turned to chills? With his arms still around you he pulled you over to his chair and sat you in his lap, presumably so he could keep working.

“So… you not gonna turn me into a Soldat after all?” you laughed nervously.

He brought the cigar to his lips. “Bad materials.”

You slapped his chest playfully and turned to nestle yourself in his arms. Usually after sex you’d push him away, the man radiated far too much heat in the already sweltering factory, but you were currently thankful for the warmth. It must have been awkward trying to work around the mass of your body, but he didn’t complain. As the two of you sat together you came to the realisation that he wasn’t doing any work at all, and that in reality, all he wanted to do was sit with you in his arms while you recovered.

Fuck.

Somewhere along the way the two of you had lost yourselves. What was supposed to have been a one-night stand had spiralled into weekly hookups, and from there it had turned into shared space and something akin to actual concern for one another. You were filled with a sense of dread, but you pushed it down in favour of sinking further into his chest. Before you drifted off, you could have sworn you felt the brush of his lips against your hair.

A bitter sweetness churned your stomach. You felt a unique longing, beyond anything you’d ever felt for anyone else. Sex and desire had become secondary in favour of a new want; if only you had more time to spend in comfortable silence together.

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x oc #re8 karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg x You #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil #re #my fic #reader fic #re village #fanfic

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hooked-on-elvis · 2 months

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"WE THRIVE ON CRITICISM"

A LITTLE BIT ON THE CONTENT OF THE "ELVIS MONTHLY" MAGAZINE

This os one of the hundreds of articles published on the Elvis Monthly magazine. "Elvis and the twisted knife" by Louise O. Spencer, published on the September 1960 issue (No. 8).

It's a great article this one but, naturally, some parts of it called my attention the most, like this one:

(...) Another woman, columnist, whose bitterness is so violent that she heaps her vituperation on any hapless head who comes within her line of dislike, berated him and his fans. "He has no talent, cannot sin and used his body gyrations to excite the wrong emotions in the young." She stated his fans are immature, neurotic, not normal, ignorant and just plain silly. (...) We know and have known all along the wonderful and generous things Elvis had done for him family, friends and neighbors, and fans. His giving and kindness is done with sincerity, without ostentation, it is done impulsively, lovingly. And no-one will ever know all the generous things he did for his buddies in the Army. But what's the use? Let them rant. Let them rave. Elvis can stand it, and so can we. Remember our watchword: WE THRIVE ON CRITICISM.

Now, aren't these words unbelievably contemporary? This was written in 1960! It feels like an embrace to us, a friendly support from people who knows what we still have to deal with. Being an Elvis fan is not easy. We constantly face the need to defend him from all misinformation spread over the years. The second you say you're a fan there's judging glances on you. That's so annoying, so unasked for, so stupid. I felt like sharing this with you, fam. Let's keep going. Our boy deserves us to defend him whenever necessary. After all, he gave us everything he had in his heart. ♥

Credits to Keith Flynn for the dedication, generosity and great effort uploading issues of, among others, "Elvis Monthly" magazine on his website, as well as many other precious files. This above is not the full article where the words come from but it surely worth your time reading it fully. If you'd like, go to keithflynn.com and look for the September 1960 issue -- No. 8.

FURTHER INFORMATION

The "Elvis Monthly" magazine was founded in 1960 by an English fan, Albert Hand. It was part of the material meant for one of the English Elvis Presley Fan Clubs members (Official Elvis Presley Fan Club of Great Britain). The magazine was very welcomed by the Elvis fans at the time since reports tells fans could only get better information on Elvis before the magazine came along through newspapers, tabloids and/or generalists movie magazines which weren't always reliable or had information delivered as often as fans would like it to be. Subscribing to Elvis Monthly was a good way to keep themselves updated on what was going on in the King's career and life. The magazine was very dear to the UK as well as World fans, but also to the Americans themselves.

Albert Hand met Elvis in some occasions, one of them being in 1962, visiting him on set while Elvis was filming "Kid Galahad". Unfortunately, it seems Albert passed away in 1972, taking from information I got through Elvis forums discussions. The Elvis Monthly magazine kept going for more 28 years after Hand's passing but it was put to rest in early 2000. I found a satisfying explanation on the reasons why on elvisnews.com. Albert had a few other publications apart from the Elvis Monthly, other 100% Elvis as well as more generalists ones on the entertainment world as a whole and its stars.

Elvis and fan (and author) Albert Hand, founder of the Elvis Monthly magazine, first issue published in February 1960. In the pictures, Albert is meeting Elvis on set of Kid Galahad. Albert, surely, published in one of the 1962 issues (special edition "Meet Elvis") about his meeting with EP. His introductory words were so relatable! Look:

Hi there! Now this guy Elvis Presley… I suppose you've heard of him. He's the feller who makes films in threes, has fan clubs by the dozen, sell records by the million, and makes hearts flatter by the billion. No doubt you're one of his fans. You KNOW you are but one of many; you KNOW he's never heard of you; you KNOW if you changes to being a Jimmy Crockett fan overnight your absence wouldn't even be noticed… and yet you feel -- very deeply -- that Elvis is one of your closest friends. You fight for him! You praise him! You love him! You'd DIE for him! And yet you are just not able to explain to anyone why this should be so. Well, I guess it's about time you really met him. Perhaps not in person, but at least through the intimate pages of this picture-strewn book. He's a wonderful person, this Elvis Aron Presley. He's all that you think he is, whether your laudship for his lordship be as a singer, as an actor, as an entertainer, as a good-looker, or as a man. I know. You see, I really have met him … Albert Hand

#“let them rant... let them rave”#we will always stand by elvis #♥#elvis fans #elvis fandom #elvis presley #elvis the king #the king of rock and roll #60s elvis #elvis monthly #elvis library #elvis magazines #60s magazines #vintage magazines

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magnoliacharmed · 10 months

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Acting Up

18+, Stone Cold Steve Austin x Shawn Michaels | Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels one shot

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Tags: Alcohol use, Referenced drug use, angry sex, facial, jealousy, light enemies to friends, a little bit of hartbreak

Word count: 3144

Summary:

Steve Austin is getting tired of Shawn Michaels' attitude backstage. --- “It was Bret that broke the Heartbreak Kid's heart. If I'm gonna be honest, I didn't even know you had one.”

Shawn was really fucking annoying. In every way possible that a human being could work Steve’s nerves, Shawn did it. When people pointed out how good of friends they could be, Steve took notice. They did have a ton in common, from being from the same state to drinking habits to taste in women. They really should’ve been the best of friends.

But Shawn decided to Shawn it up backstage. He started throwing his status around making all kinds of crazy demands. His temper was at its peak and everyone suffered because of it. When he wasn’t ranting and raving he was half way to passing out due to his excessive use of pills. He could barely get his words out when he had to speak, his normally animated voice slurred and monotone. It was embarrassing. So no, Steve had very little interest in being friends with Shawn. That ship had sailed. Maybe one day down the line if Shawn got it together they could just drink a beer and watch some college football…

Shawn didn’t really give a fuck if Steve Austin liked him. That wasn’t his problem. All he had to do was go out there in the ring and cut a few good promos with him. If they got along after the fact, that was great. If they didn’t, fuck him. Shawn had enough friends. Friends who really liked him, too. Friends who hung on to his every word and were always willing to party all night with him. Even when his other friends left to go to WCW— well he didn’t want to think about that.

Sure, he still saw Kevin and Scott and Sean around. Whenever WCW had shows nearby they all met up at the closest bar to catch up on life. It just wasn’t the same as it used to be. With the way WCW was on fire, they were so up in the clouds that little ol’ Shawn was not as much of a priority as he used to be. He actually considered jumping ship to WCW too and was strongly encouraged to by them. Then Vince McMahon got in his ear like usual singing sweet words and promising him the world, so he stayed put at WWF. With each passing day Shawn wondered if that was the right choice.

He wasn’t the only one backstage thinking about leaving. Bret Hart had some shocking offers thrown his way by Eric Bischoff, offers that could have had him and his family set for life. McMahon started to counter with his own exorbitant counteroffers, which made Bret feel very wanted. They weren’t as good of a deal as Bischoff’s and it made Bret sit down to think about what he was still getting out of staying with the WWF.

If you would’ve asked him earlier in the year…? With no hesitation or second thoughts, Bret would have said Shawn was the reason he’d stay. Despite the surface level similarities Shawn and Steve had with each other, Shawn and Bret had a lot more in common. Things they would’ve never realized they shared until late nights spent together. The pair of lovers didn’t know how well they got along until they were stuck in hotel rooms with one another. Night after night of forced proximity led them to taking steps further into the physical territory, something that scared Bret shitless. None of it seemed new to Shawn. He guided Bret through some clumsy first sessions that eventually led to the best and most intimate sex he’d ever had in his entire life.

Of course as soon as Bret began to start falling for Shawn, Shawn began to act up. Bret couldn’t understand where the sudden switch-up came from. It’s not like he’d changed on him in any way. He wasn't as touchy as Shawn could be and would occasionally distance himself from him. That was just so any rumors wouldn't get started, not because he didn't care for him. Bret didn’t know how to react when Shawn got unhinged with him. He started claiming that Bret was just using him, that he was only around to use him as a toy. No matter what he said or did to convince Shawn otherwise he just couldn’t break through. So he stopped trying at all. As much as he liked Shawn’s personality and the way he arched his back up for him, all of that just wasn’t worth the drama. After their final explosive last argument the two of them iced each other out and only interacted when forced to.

At this point in his career Shawn didn’t care about being well liked. He didn’t have to be well liked by everyone. He had his crew. McMahon was still surprisingly on his side no matter what problems he caused amongst everyone. His supply of drugs and alcohol was flowing. He’d be fine without boring Bret Hart. There were plenty of men around who wanted Shawn. They would fuck him six ways to Sunday all day and all night. Bret may have been an amazing lay but he wasn’t that good. Shawn could find someone else in a heartbeat.

“Michaels, what the fuck? You’re still back here?” Steve appeared at the doorway of Shawn’s dressing room. He’d been walking around the arena looking for Shawn for what felt like forever. No one thought to tell him he’d still be in his dressing room because he was usually a lot better about getting to gorilla on time.

Shawn took the last few swigs from his bottle of whiskey. His eyes bounded over to Steve, first to look at the pissed off look plastered on his face and then to look down at his oiled chest.

“You dress like shit, Austin.” Burp.

“Man, this ain’t a damn fashion show. It’s wrestling. Get your ass together and let’s go, we’re on soon.”

“I’m together, I don’t need anyone telling me to get it together. Especially not you.” Steve was hot when he was mad. Well, Shawn thought everyone was hot when they were mad. It turned him on to know he could make someone that emotional over him.

Steve was surprised at how alert Shawn still was after having that whole bottle to himself. It only served to make him more angry. It’s not like he was about to pass out or was stumbling over himself. He was barely fucked up! The alcohol only heightened his bad attitude. He just wanted to be defiant. And for what? Just to say he got him upset?

“What is your problem? You’ve been even more of a bastard these last few weeks and you’re starting to make my job a lot harder. What, you’re mad the ring rats ain't chasing after you like they used to?”

Shawn shook his head. The groupies had lost their appeal a long time ago. If anything, he liked playing the groupie now. He liked being the one in awe at someone so much bigger and stronger than him. His cock twitched at the thought of Bret tossing him on many a hotel bed. Unfortunately, Bret truly was the best there was. It pained Shawn to admit how hard he got when he thought of him. He was just so good at knowing when Shawn wanted to be fucked versus when he wanted to be loved . Shawn’s eyes got even glassier thinking about the way Bret got in his ear during some particularly intense nights—

“Michaels!”

Shawn felt reprimanded. Almost like he had to straighten his posture and stand at attention at the way Steve said his name. So bossy.

“Lemme tell you something, Steve. The rats like me just fine. They always will, as long as I keep giving this to them.” Shawn grabbed at his crotch and laughed out loud. Drunk idiot.

“Yeah, right. So it’s not the ladies, huh? Must be someone backstage, then.”

Shawn’s face flushed. The bad thing about being out of his mind so often was that his emotions were harder to conceal. He was sure his erection was already extremely noticeable. Now he was blushing so badly his whole face was red.

“Oh it definitely is.” Steve laughed at him. “I knew it. The boys back there had been sayin’ some things but I didn’t pay them any mind. Now I know it’s true. Aw man, Shawn.”

Shawn’s chair hit the floor with a loud clatter when he got up to get in Steve's face. His breath was huffing out of his nose and his eyebrows scrunched up. He didn’t feel like being the punchline to anyone’s joke tonight.

“So the fuck what if it's true?”

“So the fuck nothing, I don’t give a shit.”

Shawn was deflated at Steve's acceptance. He was itching for a real fight. The pent up anger deep within him had been coming to a head in the last few days. There was no way he would win with Steve one-on-one and he knew it. It was probably for the best that he didn't start something he couldn’t finish.

“Okay. Yeah, it was one of the guys.” Shawn cleared his throat and took a few steps back from Steve.

“One of the guys…”

Steve had to really think on that one. It would be easy enough to believe that Shawn had hooked up with Hunter since they spent so much time together. That was too obvious, plus they were still good friends. Could’ve been Undertaker. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised by that. He opened his mouth to give his final answer when he recalled the way Bret Hart spoke of Shawn one evening while they stood at the catering table.

“If he wasn’t so pretty no one would’ve put up with his shit for this long.”

Realization struck Steve like lightning. Bret had said that comment with no semblance of jealousy in his voice. There was no hate either. What Bret did sound like though was a scorned lover. There was a lot of bitterness present within him. Steve didn’t even think twice about it at the time. It all made sense after a few minutes of thinking.

“It was Bret that broke the Heartbreak Kid's heart. If I'm gonna be honest, I didn't even know you had one.”

The anger started bubbling in Shawn again. He wasn’t even sure if it was at Steve or Bret this time. It came back with a vengeance.

“Actually, it probably didn’t go that way. Knowing you, you probably did something to piss him off and he got tired of you. You broke your own heart.”

Steve’s raspy voice saying such perceptive words was enough to send Shawn over the edge. He was back in Steve’s face again and ready to get in that fight, ass whooping be damned.

“Can’t even imagine the two of you together. I guess it does make some sense. Two crybabies in love with each other. I’m sure you were the one cryin’ more though. Even looks like you’re about to right now.”

“What is all this? You picking on me for a reason?”

“Yeah, because of your little love affair with Hart you’ve been even more of an asshole recently. You’re fucking everything up for me. If you don’t calm down soon I’ll make you calm down.”

“You can’t make me do shit.”

Shawn could not believe how fast Steve could move. He was thrown over the arm of the dressing room’s couch, face pushed into the cushion in a flash. One of Steve's hands pressed into his lower back while the other reached forward to push Shawn’s pants down, then his own. Shawn’s body squirmed with anticipation and the primal urge to run away.

“Bret said you were pretty. I’d never really thought about it before, but he was right. You are pretty. From all that hair on your head to the tattoo on your ass.”

Shawn was unable to handle anything Steve just said, from Bret calling him pretty to Steve agreeing with him. Shawn didn’t even think that Steve swung the other way and now here he was bending him over. In his self-absorbed mind he chalked it up to being so sexy that even straight guys wanted him.

“What the hell is going on?!”

“Seems like you can’t function if you aren’t getting fucked right. If I gotta be the one to do it since Bret doesn’t want you any more, so be it. You’ll be on your best behavior by the time I’m done with you.”

Shawn pushed himself against Steve and wasn’t disappointed by what he felt. Steve's dick rested heavily between Shawn’s ass, a pretty picture Steve would be sure to remember. He’d had a few fumblings in his past with men but never anything with someone as attractive as Shawn. Along with his pretty face, Steve had to admit that Shawn’s personality got him going in that kind of hatefuck way. Even when he was being a terror, something about the way he strutted around like he was the Prince of the WWF made Steve want to put him in his place. Nothing would be better than beating Shawn in the ring and making him submit in bed.

Shawn had a lot to say to Steve, he was going to give him a real piece of his mind as soon as we able to push him off—

The words died away immediately at the sensation of Steve pushing into him. It hurt at the start, the only thing lubing him up being the spit from Steve’s mouth that he’d rubbed on to himself. He was fucking huge. While he’d gotten used to Bret’s length over the months, Steve was a lot more girth. Shawn’s eyes crossed as Steve pushed himself deeper. The arch in his back threatened to fall.

“You better keep yourself up the whole time.” Steve ordered him. He had no plans of being gentle with him. He wanted to see how much Shawn could take. It turned out that it was a lot more than he expected.

Shawn writhed below with every hard thrust of Steve inside of him. Heat bloomed across his skin and creeped up past his neck. It was a gorgeous sight to see him all fidgety and needy. Punched out moans were followed out long, dragging ones when Steve slowed down and went arched himself deeper. Shawn liked to whimper, he noticed. It was cute.

Shawn's long hair flung itself back when he raised his head to readjust his position. It was hard to keep himself steady on his elbows with the way Steve kept pounding him into the cushion. Eventually he gave up and let himself fall into it. The fight was drained out of his body, he was ready to get what he deserved. Steve’s fingertips dug deep into the tanned flesh on Shawn’s hips, his pace already stuttering. He was just so tight and… eager for him. Like he was everything he had been waiting for.

Shawn managed to get his arm under himself to stroke his aching cock. As soon as he touched it he was ready to come, he was so sensitive. With the movements of Shawn reaching down to touch himself he managed to push himself even farther back on Steve. The breaths he exhaled were shaky as he matched the pattern of Steve’s thrusts to his own strokes. It only took seconds for Shawn to spurt out long ropes of his come onto the couch below him. His legs almost gave out when he finally released. It didn’t help that Steve had fucked him right through it. Shawn mumbled incoherently to himself while Steve kept going. On top of the alcohol making him stupid, Steve’s dick was also contributing to his blank state of mind.

Watching Shawn come was a sight to behold. His whole body contracted when it happened. His babbling after it was so weirdly attractive that Steve knew he was close too. All of a sudden Shawn was pushed off of Steve and onto his knees on the floor.

Steve was a sweaty mess. Anyone looking at him after the fact might have though he just got done with an iron man match. It dripped down from his head and into his eyes. He quickly wiped it away with his free hand while stroking himself with his other. There was no way he was going to miss the sight of this.

Shawn blinked at him with big, wet eyes. God, he really was a crybaby. The smile on his face could only be described as delirious. Steve groaned when he came, hot spurts covering Shawn's lips and cheeks and nose. The most impatient man in the world would have waited an eternity if that’s how long it took for Steve to finish stroking every last drop from himself. He got a lot of enjoyment at being able to stare up at Steve's body.

“Alright,” It was taking a minute for Steve to catch his breath. “You gonna stop being a dick now?”

Shawn nodded in a daze. He so badly wanted to walk out of the room with Steve’s come still painted all over his face and find Bret just to show him that someone still wanted him. Doing that would guarantee that he’d never get to feel Steve inside of him again, so he restrained himself.

“Good.” Steve walked across the room to find a box of tissues to clean himself up with, then threw it in Shawn’s direction. He was impressed he still had the wherewithal to catch it even after getting his world rocked. “Stick around after the show, we’re gonna get a beer.”

“Okay.” Shawn could barely stand, let alone walk. He was happy he didn’t have to actually wrestle tonight. Steve waited for him at the doorway while he made his way over slowly. He was completely blissed out and easygoing and it made Steve laugh on the inside. Who knew it’d be that easy?

The two men talked casually with each other as they walked out of Shawn’s dressing room and down past Bret. He was standing in the hall building up courage to work things out with Shawn when he saw them exit the room. Instead of the usual look of contempt Steve had for Shawn, he instead looked relatively happy. Shawn himself was the most relaxed he’d seen him in a while, not since one of the last times they’d had sex…

Oh, shit.

Bret felt his heart drop into his stomach as soon as Shawn smiled his way. The skin by his former lover’s glittering blue eyes crinkled when he laughed at whatever story Steve was telling him. The Heartbreak Kid had struck again and with Stone Cold Steve Austin of all people. No, this wasn't over yet. Not if Bret had anything to do with it.

#bret hart x shawn michaels #bretshawn #stone cold steve austin x shawn michaels #shawn michaels #stone cold steve austin #bret hart #hartbreak #wrestling #wrestling fanfic #wrestling smut #magnoliafanfic

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maniacwatchestheworld · 1 year

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Some Brief Propaganda

Fellow Tumblrites and Bat-enthusiasts. I come to you today asking for you to find it on your heart to vote for Gilda Dent in this latest Batman Sexywoman tournament held by @batman-heritageposts. If you stood with team Two-Face during the Batman Sexyman poll, I would hope that you can understand why I feel compelled to campaign for Gilda as well. I love her and she's absolutely radiant. If you voted for Two-Face before, I would hope that you can find it in your heart to vote for Two-Face's beautiful wife who can and will murder you as well. u.u

But to sweeten the deal a little, I have written something for all of you eager voters today. A little fanfic about Gilda and Renee. If you vote for Gilda, I will consider writing more of it. So without further ado, here it is.

(Sorry if I botched Renee's writing a little. I'm more familiar with Gilda and her various incarnations than Renee, and I haven't gotten around to consuming any media of Renee as the Question yet, but I tried my best!)

---

It was a series of murders. In Gotham City, that’s what always seems to start it...

They were just like before. A killing. Once a month. Every time, a holiday. A calling card relating to that holiday left behind at every crime scene along with the weapon- a gun with a baby bottle nipple used as an improvised silencer. With his more flashy antics in more recent years, many people had forgotten. But those of us on the force when it all started didn’t. There were two primary suspects. Calendar Man or…

But Julian Day was safely locked away in Arkham Asylum, ranting and raving, angry over how he was being copied. Again. Just like the first time. Which just left Holiday.

He had broken out again. He seemed to be a master at that. Some were certain that he only ever went to Arkham Asylum because he wanted to be there. Everyone knew that he had connections on the inside. And he had resources on the out. People weren’t even surprised when Harvey Dent broke out of Arkham Asylum these days. The killer had to be him. He was Holiday after all.

After everything he put me through, everyone recommended that I stay away from the case. I convinced everyone that I had. But it was a lie. I had to get involved. I would bring him in, and no one would have to know that it was me. But then something unexpected happened.

Everything went according to plan. I knew who he would kill next. I made contact. We would set a trap together. Make it easy for him. Just as he would go in for the kill, I would stop him. Trap him.

I had expected him. Harvey Dent. Two-Face had to be the killer. But what I didn’t expect was her…

She managed to get away. No one else realized... But I know what I saw. This Holiday wasn’t Harvey Dent. It wasn’t Two-Face. Holiday was a woman. And I recognized her.

Her name was Gilda. Gilda Gold. I had met her a handful of times before, but always in passing, and never for long. She used to be his wife. Back before he was Two-Face. Back when he was still Gotham City’s District Attorney. Reports said that she had moved away from Gotham. Apparently she was back. But why? And what was she doing? Had he put her up to this? It didn’t sound like him. He had spoken about her before. Not very much, but it was clear to me that even after all of these years, he still loved her and thought the world of her. Albeit in his own way. But what would I know? I don’t think I’ll ever understand his particular brand of crazy. But if he hadn’t put her up to it, that left a much more disturbing question. Was she a copycat killer? Or even more disturbing... It was a question that I intended to answer one way or another.

I found where she was living. Some cheap apartment in the Narrows. If I had to guess, she had moved in a hurry. Just as well. This was a neighborhood where people didn’t tend to ask questions if they knew what was good for them. Give the neighbors enough incentive, and they would turn a blind eye to just about anything.

It did occur to me just how ironic it was. Me stalking his ex-wife after what he- It didn’t feel good sneaking into her apartment.

It was supposed to be a quick in and out. Find the evidence. See if he had gotten in contact with her. Get out.

This first room that I had snuck into seemed to be a workshop of some kind. Tools, vices, odd objects here and there. A detail about the crime scenes came to mind- the guns left behind at the crime scene had serial numbers that had been manually filed off of them. Could this be where the guns came from- where their numbers had been filed off? But as my eyes adjusted, even stranger shapes began to take form… Faces in the darkness.

Wood, stone, clay… The materials were different, but the faces… These busts… She recognized them… Here among the tools and odd, half formed shapes was a collection of statues of him.

How old were these statues anyway? Where did she get them? Some of them were disfigured, made horrific just like the man they were modeled on, yes, but others… They looked just like he did before…

“Some of my best work. They're a little old now, but I still think that I did a really good job of capturing him. What do you think?”

The voice startled me as a light was flicked on. She wasn’t supposed to be here. How did she manage to sneak in so quietly? This was a mistake. I’d been caught. I should leave before she has the chance to-

“I thought that you might track me down. It’s alright, I’m going to do anything to you. If anything, I would like for you to be my guest. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you took a seat.”

I could only watch as she moved towards a stool that stood near the center of the room upon which a slab of wood rested. The upper half of the block had a shape carved into it that resembled a human head. She took a chisel in hand before skillfully carving the shape into a more refined form.

“The Question, right?”

I had to shake myself from a trance. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her biceps. She was wearing short sleeves and coveralls, and her arms were just as sculpted as the statues around us.

“W-what?”

“That’s what they call you, right? The Question? I try to keep up with the kinds of people that Harvey associates himself with these days- you can never know when one of them might try to use me to get at him after all- but I have a harder time keeping up with the heroes. But I think I’ve heard of you before. And you’re The Question, right?”

“Y-yes. Let me-” I let out a deep breath. “You seem to have quite the obsession with your ex-husband.” I motioned towards the statues I had been examining before.

That seemed to make her pause. “Maybe you could say that…”

“If you aren’t then what’s with all of the busts of him over there?”

“Work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a sculptor. And Harvey... He used to be my muse. He was my favorite muse. That’s why I wanted to marry him.” She leaned back with a smile of fond memories on her lips. “He was always so beautiful. My Apollo. But then everything with the gangs happened and… Well… You know.”

“But you keep sculpting him?”

“Well… He’s still my Harvey. He’s still my perfect muse. People may not think so anymore- he might not think that he’s beautiful anymore… But he is. He’s never given me the chance to tell him… Always rejects the idea outright when I’ve tried. He thinks that he’s hideous. But a few scars like that was never enough to scare me away.”

“Didn’t you divorce him?”

“... Yes. But it was only at his insistence. He’s afraid of hurting me. He’s certain that as long as I stayed in his life, that I was in danger. Always just one bad coin flip away from killing me… He begged me. I couldn’t say no to the way he looked at me… So I accepted. I filed the divorce papers like he asked. But that doesn’t change anything. If he needs space to recover, that’s fine with me. But I still love him. I don’t think that I will ever stop loving him… Even if he…” She drifted off, but it wasn’t hard to catch her meaning.

“... He’s not worth it.” I couldn’t keep the tone of bitterness out of my voice.

“Perhaps not. But I’m willing to wait.”

“And what if after all this waiting, he doesn’t love you anymore?”

“That’s alright. He may have been my favorite muse, but he isn’t my only one. I may not want to move on, but if he’s gone on without me, I can go on without him.”

What a perfect little wife. Loyal to her man until the end. At least until he wanted to do away with her. But that just left the question… But before I could ask it, she said something that I wasn’t expecting.

“You’re beautiful.”

Obviously that had taken me by surprise. “W-what…?”

She turned the block of wood she was sculpting to me. The resemblance to my face was uncanny.

“How did you…!?” I put a hand to my face to make sure that the mask was still there. The smile she gave me made my heart skip a beat.

“When I saw you the other day… I thought that you must be beautiful. I had to sculpt you. So what do you think? Is it close? I can’t make out the specifics, obviously, but with the way that the fabric pulls over your face… I can make out the shape of it all. The cut of your chin, the curve of your cheekbones, the angle of your brows, your nose… Your lips… I wanted to see it for myself… But I can only guess what your eyes look like… I would simply love it if you let me see your face…”

I paused.

Was I actually considering…? No. I came here with a purpose. I had questions and I needed answers. What was I doing letting myself get distracted like this? I had a job to do! Even if she was pretty, and her eyes…

“When was the last time Two-Face got in contact with you?” I asked.

Turning the block of wood back to her, she seemed to consider it for a long moment. “I believe that would be the last time I visited him at Arkham Asylum. He’s lousy at keeping in touch with me these days. Too busy with his criminal enterprises and whatnot. It’s up to me to try and contact him. But that’s difficult when he isn’t at Arkham Asylum. But I do try to visit when I can.”

She still loves him… And she still visits him at Arkham Asylum. The thought of it made my stomach churn. I had visited him at Arkham once. It wasn’t because I wanted to see him or keep him company or anything like that. I was on a case and had questions that needed answering. I was certain that he could answer them. That was all.

He had once told me that he loves me. The feelings were never mutual. He said that he wanted to be with me and did what he could to try and prove his ‘love’ to me. His fucked up version of it at least. And all along he had this woman waiting for him? Still loving him after the kind of monster that he became? It made me feel sick.

“So you’re saying that he didn’t put you up to killing Thorne last Tuesday?”

“What would make you think that?”

“Well, he’s Holiday. Why else would you want to try to kill a well-known gangster like that?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“Am I obligated to? I’m not under oath right now, and even if I was, I have the right to not incriminate myself. And while I don’t intend on pressing charges, you did still break into my home. Are you wanting a confession out of me? Why? So that you can try me? Given your method of receiving any such evidence or confession, it would hardly be admissible in court. Unless you want to claim that you’re an officer of the law, in which case, I’d like to see a warrant.”

That brought a smile to my face. “Leave it up to the ex-wife of a lawyer to make this difficult.”

“Oh, that’s not Harvey’s advice speaking here. But I can get another lawyer on the line if you’re wanting to make this difficult. They always told us that a lawyer that defends themself in court has a fool for a client, and I know plenty who will defend me in my place.”

“Us?”

“Would you believe that I graduated from Oxford?”

“With an art degree?”

“And a law degree.”

“And you chose to be a sculptor.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I was good at it- practicing law that is. But I was never quite as driven in the same way that Harvey was… He needed to practice law- to prosecute and punish criminals just as much as he needed to breathe. And if we wanted to start a family, at least one of us had to stop and make time for it. I had my sculpting, and I could still do that at home, but Harvey… Well… I don’t think that he could have stopped himself even if he tried.”

“Must have been difficult…”

“For others, maybe. But I didn’t mind per se. I knew the man I married. He was doing what he had to. And he was doing good.”

“Until the day he took it too far.”

Gilda let out a laugh. “You mean the Holiday killings?”

I was taken aback. “You disagree?”

“Now that’s a question, isn’t it? Harvey was always held back by the law… We had talked about it, you know. He said that if the Maronis and the Falcones just up and died, it would make his job so much easier. There would be so much less crime in Gotham. Maybe for once he would have some free time and then… Well… Maybe we could finally have that family he had always wanted… But then again, maybe that was never my story to tell.”

“Not your story to tell?”

Gilda seemed to be thinking in the silence. “Do you want to know the true story of the Holiday killings?”

“... Yes…”

“Why?”

“... Maybe it’s more to satisfy my own curiosity than anything else... And I want to know how you’re involved.” It was an ugly bit of honesty.

“... I could tell you everything. Things that the police got wrong. Things that Batman doesn’t even know. The truth that only Harvey and I know…”

“Batman…? He’s wrong about-?” I don’t think that I had ever heard Batman being wrong about anything like this before.

“I don’t think it’s his fault, mind you… Harvey spun a convincing story that everyone wanted to believe… And so they did... I think that it’s just easier for Batman to accept that only Harvey could- ... Maybe he just didn’t want to get his heart broken twice… Or maybe too much damage had already been dealt, and he’s willing to let Harvey carry all of the pain and guilt on his own since he decided to take responsibility for it regardless… He always was a good friend…”

“A friend…?”

“Maybe more. Harvey was certainly interested. Maybe I was too.” That raised another question, but before I could ask it, she spoke up, breaking the forming thought. “How about this. You can have my confession. I’ll satisfy your curiosity. But in exchange you satisfy one of my curiosities.”

“And what would that be?”

“You let me see your face.”

I hesitated. This would be stupid to agree to. I couldn’t just compromise my identity like that. What she was asking was too much. “... Okay…” But I still agreed to it. I think it was her eyes that made me want to agree. Very pretty… So innocent, almost doe-like. And yet still intelligent and containing some sort of depth that I couldn't quite make full sense of. That and all the questions that I knew would go unanswered if I just let this go.

The way that she smiled at me made my heart beat just a little faster. Some part of me thought that it was worth it just to see that smile.

“Harvey was never the Holiday killer. I was Holiday.”

“How…!? Why?”

“It’s been so long… The how is fuzzy even for me. But as for why… Maybe it was because I loved him… Maybe if the biggest perpetrators of crime in Gotham City were dead, then my Harvey could have some free time and we could start a family… Or maybe it was revenge for what those families had done to me, and I just wanted to see the darkness inside of Harvey finally come to light, not caring if he got hurt in the process. Or maybe it was to pursue the kind of justice that Harvey was never able to accomplish for himself, always being restricted by the confines of the law… They deserved to die for the crimes they had committed. All of them. Regardless, it’s not really my story, is it? And if it’s not my story… Why do my reasons matter…?”

There it was again. Her saying that this wasn’t her story. “Why do you say that?”

“That this isn’t my story?”

I nodded.

“That’s simple. When people talk about the Holiday killings, that Long Halloween, what do they say about it? That it was what finally made my Harvey snap and become Two-Face. That it was his origin story. Or maybe it’s the story of how Batman lost one of his few first allies and closet friends… And he doesn’t have many of those, does he? I may have been the killer, but if the story is about how Two-Face came to power or how Batman lost a friend, then is it really my story? Or am I just a bit player in it? What do my reasons matter if the story is not and has never been mine? In the end, people always fall back to their image of me and don’t think that my story is worth telling… A worried, crying housewife that’s waiting for my love to come back to me… A victim of my husband’s insanity and crimes… And now what will you see me as? Just a killer? Does anything else about me matter if I’m just another killer in this city? Maybe that’s all I can ever be. Two-Face’s killer wife… Nothing more…”

“... Do you really believe that?”

“What else is there to believe…?”

The look of resignation and despair on her face made my heart sink in my chest. I thought that she had to be wrong… Surely… Surely there was more to her than just being a killer… Surely her story mattered to someone out there in some significant manner.

I glanced to the statues that surrounded us. She was an accomplished sculptor. She was a lawyer… She still loved that monster of a man even after all this time and all the crimes he did… I remembered the way that he used to talk about her… Even now he still thought about her sometimes… And maybe she was one of the few things that could save him...

A thought occurred to me. Maybe what I was seeing in her were the same things that drew Two-Face to her... Or maybe they were the same things that drew him to me. The idea of it made me feel ill. But another part of me thought that he was stupid for letting a woman like this go and slip through his fingers when she still clearly loved him. A lucky man. But too stupid to see what he had.

But even if I expressed these thoughts out loud, I didn’t think that any of them would offer her much consolation… But maybe I could do something that would make up for it… Maybe there was at least one thing I could do to bring a smile back to her face.

I approached, getting closer to her until she was in my arms. It was my turn to keep up my end of the bargain. “Would you like to do the honors?” I asked, and her face seemed to light up. This was a stupid move for certain, but seeing her face light up from resigned despair like that… It made me feel simply wonderful. Maybe that’s what she was good at- her secret superpower. Making otherwise intelligent people be stupid for her and somehow still making it feel rewarding…

“Can I really?” she asked as if she hadn't expected that I would actually let her see my face, and I chuckled.

“Of course. You gave me your confession, Holiday. Now it’s time for me to keep up my end of the bargain.”

She brought a hand to my mask and touched it, feeling the fabric. Taking her hand, I guided her fingers to the edges of the mask where she could peel the fabric away from my face.

I could feel her breath escape her once the cloth was removed and my face was revealed to the light.

“I was right. You are beautiful.”

After a compliment like that, of course I had to let out a chuckle. “I’m not the only one…”

She started blushing. “I feel like I’ve seen you before somewhere… Maybe in my dreams?”

Now she wasn’t the only one blushing as I began to laugh outright. “I thought that you were loyal to Two-Face.”

“He isn’t my only muse.” She pretended to put on an indignant expression, but there was a playfulness to her movements. “Has anyone told you that you would make for a gorgeous Lady Justice?”

“I can’t say that anyone has.”

“Speaking of… I think that I recognize you now… You’re that police officer, aren’t you? Officer Montoya, right?”

“Police commissioner these days, actually.”

“Oh! Well congratulations on the promotion, then! Very naughty of you to be going out on the town dressed like this then.”

“Caught me dead to rights.”

But the air of laughter was stifled by tension upon what she said next. “... You’re the one he fell in love with, aren’t you…? You’re Renee...”

I had to look away from her. Even if I didn’t say anything, it seemed that she understood.

“I… I see… I’m so sorry… You didn’t deserve to be… I’m sorry. I assume that’s why you decided to take on the costume to investigate these killings?”

I nodded.

“... I wish that I could make it up to you…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to make it better if I can.”

“Is that what makes you still love him after all this time…?”

“Maybe… Maybe I can’t help it. I mean, he can hardly help it either… Maybe I’ve always been a fixer… Maybe I just can’t give up on someone even when they’re beyond hope… Maybe that makes me stupid…”

“Or maybe it makes you a hero the likes of which Batman and I could never hope to be… Maybe it makes you courageous and faithful.”

That smile was back, even if it was faint now. “Harvey told me about you, you know. He said that you were kind to him… And for someone like him, that means a lot.”

“Well, he completely misunderstood it.”

“I know… Maybe a part of him knew… But then decided to ignore it… It doesn’t make it right. I don’t know if anything ever could… But I’m glad that you still showed him kindness in a world that can have so little of it.”

Her smile was captivating and if I had something to say, it was soon lost in her eyes. They were eyes that shone with clear intelligence and were bright, reminding me of the sky on a clear day.

“Or maybe… Maybe I can make it up to you…” I only barely heard her mutter the words before she pressed a finger to my lips and I fell completely helpless to her charms.

I could see her leaning in closer to me and I couldn’t stop myself...

---

Remember to vote for Gilda in the Batman sexywoman tournament held by @batman-heritageposts, and maybe I'll write more!

#batman #gilda dent #renee montoya #the question #the holiday killer #holiday killer #gilda gold #gilda gold x renee montoya #batman sexywoman tournament #holiday #batman-heritageposts

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kuroshirosb · 3 months

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The World is Ours To Pick and Choose So

Cyrus Theron can’t really say he hated things, or loved too for that matter. He remembers when he first took Jupiter under his wing, Mars and Saturn too, all three of them would individually quiz him on what he hated or loved.

Jupiter Bellatrix would ask about entertainment, Mars Betelgeuse would ask about nourishment preferences, Saturn Rigel would ask about human behaviors. None of them would get the answer they wanted from the man who saved them, the man they would follow to the ends of the universe.

Even Charon Saiph would quiz him on his opinions, but his questions… were different.

“How do you feel about Sinnoh Champion, Cynthia Rutherford?”

“How do you feel about the three chosen children?”

“How do you feel about the universe?”

Cyrus could not give the scientist an answer he wanted. He simply crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows. All he could manage to answer was, ironically, “I have no answer.” Charon let out a small, ‘harumph’ before returning to his work under Cyrus’s watchful direction.

Charon would then tell him some weeks later, “For someone who’s devoted his life to becoming what is basically god, you having no opinion on those subjects is contradictory. I won’t question your integrity though.” For someone who’s so devoted to him, Charon had quite the mouth on him, Cyrus noted. But he didn’t say anything, half because Saturn already started chiding away at him for merely doubting Cyrus’s motivations.

—————

In truth, Cyrus did have at least one answer.

According to Sinnoh mythos, when Arceus was creating the world, its ultimate gift, its ultimate miracle, was the universe itself. What enables life for humans, and life for Pokemon, the grass they stand on, and the water they drink, the joy they laugh, and the grief they cry. Merely being alive in this beautiful universe was Arceus’s ultimate gift to you as an individual.

Yet Cyrus stands in front of Jubilife City and watches as parade floats march down the city and music blares and is sung with people’s full hearts out, thanking Arceus for even letting them be alive. But what has Arceus done for them? He can feel his heart freezing as the hollow delight they celebrate happens before his eyes.

He could only think of his parents, how rejected and hollowed he felt when he saw their looks of disdain. It was just as he saw Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn all in times of need, so vulnerable, where no one but he was willing to give them ground to stand on, save them. What kind of miracle gives people something that makes them vulnerable, causing everyone so much strife? Miracles are supposed to be perfect, so why are people struggling?

How can he feel joy in a so-called, incomplete miracle, that gives them emotions and attachments, a thing that distorts the world in every which way?

But it could be fixed, he could make it into something perfect, something worth celebrating. He just had to remove emotion from the world.

For now though, the universe was an empty miracle with no meaning. That was a definitive fact Cyrus knew for sure.

—————

In truth, Cyrus never met the chosen children once. He couldn’t really make an assessment of the three with only stories to go off of. Murals that rant and rave about how these children were unstoppable in the face of the end of the world, and will come back years later to save the world again and protect it eternally after. More miracles that are blessings to the world. He figured they were something to watch for, dangers that will step in his path every which way to prevent his plans to become a god.

However, this changed when he first made eye contact with knowledge’s tribute in Solaceon Ruins. A young boy writing down the unknown alphabet, researching and recording what knowledge he could extract from the world like the curious child he should be. He wondered if he knew his role in the world. He wondered what his perception of knowledge was, was it simply knowing? Or did it go further than that? Surely Uxie’s champion must know, and so he interviewed and battled him.

He disappointed him greatly though, as when he asked him questions about knowledge, the boy could only answer encyclopedic ideas. All he had was simple observations of the world with a lack of understanding. He could see from the way he interacted with the Unknown already, how he watched at a distance. All he was, was a smart kid who was coincidentally the professor’s aide. He may be smart, but how far will simple knowledge take him in life? How could he defend this world when he struggled to beat such a weak team?

He questioned what made him embody knowledge in the first place. A young boy who was only smart for a kid, not knowing anything someone with ties to the world should know. Surely even he was smarter than him, Saturn was for a fact.

So he walks away, the Unknown clearing a path for him in what he assumed was fear, although perhaps it was something else. He doesn’t turn back when the boy yells for him to wait, not giving the boy a chance to ask his questions. It doesn’t interest him that much anymore.

His encounter with willpower’s tribute in Celestic Ruins wasn’t anything to write home about either. The girl’s natural blue hair, and tired, dreary eyes, she was a one-for-one image of the girl in the ruins behind him. He wondered if she knew, but knowing or not, he decided to test her worth as Azelf’s champion both in battle and an interview.

However, she disappointed him greatly as she struggled against a team that wasn’t even at its full power. Her Prinplup, just a few levels shy of even evolving, seemed to want to collapse just as much as Murkrow wanted to, before it succumbed to the water pokemon. But if he wasn’t at his full power, how could she protect the world? Were the other children just as weak as her?

He questioned what made her embody willpower in the first place. He could tell from her answers that she was a simple girl who follows what the adults want of her, with no real wants of her own or desire to pursue things for herself. He could hear in her answers, she was someone who was once just like him, someone who was once just like Jupiter.

So he walks off, allowing the girl to see her prophecy for herself. He doesn’t stay to see her reaction, no matter how curious it may make him. Although, with dreary eyes like hers, it probably wouldn’t be any interesting.

He finally encountered his most detested champion to the world, the thing that distorts everything in this world, the emotion’s tribute. An energetic, rash boy who runs around with little attention to his surroundings. In fact, their encounter started when the blonde boy knocked into him. Of course a kid wouldn’t be enough to knock him over, but it still was mighty rude. The boy’s yelling about fines and other trivial things gave Cyrus enough time to get a good look, recognizing him as the blonde on the wall. So he quickly shifted the conversation, challenging the boy to a battle and questioning his ideas.

But he, just like his two friends, disappointed him. Although maybe he shouldn’t have expected anything of emotion given how much it ruined this world. His rash ignorance and yelling, it was almost as though there wasn’t anything there but energy. And that energy would turn into annoyance in the coming conversation, especially after his lost battle. He couldn’t do a lot to a less powerful team, and such an explosive boy had very little to say about emotions.

He questioned why Mespirit thought he embodied emotion in the first place. He clearly didn’t have consideration for others, and was so reckless and explosive that Cyrus thought he was the antithesis to what everyone should seek with emotion. Someone without control, someone unlike Mars.

So he walks away with his assessment on the final child, not turning an eye to the boy yelling at him to come back and pay up his fine for bumping into him. He had no interest in what else he had to say, he’s already seen enough.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised anymore when the world legends lie about miracles, these three children clearly weren’t. They were simply, unremarkable children. He couldn’t wrap his head around how the lake guardians could prefer them over people like his admins. These weren’t worth being celebrated, just as the universe wasn’t worth being celebrated.

But while he’d fix them in his new universe too, he needs a child to join him.

Perhaps he could get emotion, given its easily exploitable nature, to join his efforts. How ironic would it be to see him turning these so-called perfect miracles against each other to ruin each other. Cyrus decides that, truly, he thinks these don’t mean anything.

They’re nothing but empty, only miracles in name.

—————

Cyrus knew Cynthia Rutherford since they were in college together. She always seemed to glow, no matter what, even in the dark, even in the rain. She topped all her classes, and won every battle. Rumors were always passed around about who she really was, some said she was just a prodigy, others tossed around the rumor she was Arceus’s favorite. The called her a living miracle.

Of course, the latter seemed like a stretch to Cyrus. But they didn’t talk outside of some “sorry”s or “excuse me”s. So years after college, and years after Cynthia was crowned champion of the Sinnoh region, he was confused when she shared her secret with him.

Cynthia was chosen by Arceus, it was watching down on her, and she sees visions of the end of the world caused by him. She says she wants to save the world, but more importantly, she wants to save him. By then Cyrus was already well on his way to accomplishing his goals, so he wondered why she “wants to save him.”

It’s peculiar of the resolute woman he heard of, you would think she should kill someone where they stand if it means destroying life as they speak in her eyes. But she didn’t do that. Instead she declared her goal, and walked off. It ticked him off, but he wouldn’t let it get to him, stop him. He’ll let their war be one-sided.

Yet every time she could manage, she tried to appeal to his goals, only the two battling when she decided she needed to appeal a different way and got desperate. Of course she pummeled him, she was the world champion, but everytime she let him go.

How could she? Arceus clearly wouldn’t be showing her those images if it didn’t want her to strike him down where she stood. Yet she didn’t do anything. It irritated him. If she was so obsessed, why didn’t she just order Garchomp to just end it already? Was she looking down at him?

Truly a waste of power, Arceus was a fool. He’ll show it what power is like, what a true miracle is like. He didn’t need its power to become like a god, he’ll become one all on his own.

An empty miracle is meaningless after all, which is just what Cynthia’s blessing was.

—————

Now as he watches the world distort and destroy itself, the chosen children screaming for their friend lying in a pool of red, and Arceus’s tribute standing with a horrified mouth agape, Cyrus questions why his team had concerns about his plan succeeding. The world that was supposed to be perfect, undeniable, with four tributes to stop him every which way, was bested in just one single bullet into one that was so easily manipulated.

Truly, this world, these children, and Arceus’s blessings were nothing but empty miracles.

And here, he watches them suffocate in its own blood.

#ashe’s writing #cyrus theron #cynthia rutherford #dawn lyre #barry cygnus #lucas aquila #charon saiph #jupiter bellatrix #mars betelgeuse #saturn rigel #in truth I probably already uploaded this here but I literally cannot find it #thanks tumblr search system #so here I am reuploading it potentially #i just really like this one

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autisticsupervillain · 2 years

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Honestly, the more I think about the dynamics at play in Papyrus vs Homelander, the more I like it.

The thing is, Homelander has never, ever met anyone who is as uncomplicatedly good as Papyrus. And I genuinely don't know how he'd react to it. Sure, he may very well take it as just Papyrus "being an idiot", but let's pretend Homelander wins for a minute. How would he react to someone he just murdered genuinely, wholeheartedly believing he could do better even as he faded to dust? Would he mistake it as a plea for mercy? Would he just stare in confusion? Genuine goodness is sonething so alien to Homelander that I can't tell if he'd dismiss it out of hand or be completely gobsmacked by it.

Hell, the same goes for if Papyrus wins. When Homelander's soul shatters to pieces and the last thing he hears is a horrifed "I'm so sorry!" what will he think of that before his mind goes dark? Will he be outraged by the pity? Will he feel guilt for the first time in years and the last time in his life?

All his life, the pure good hero has been nothing but a public performance for Homelander. I wonder if he'd ever even realize that such a person could actually exist, even if it's right in front of him.

I'm not saying Homelander would ever be redeemed as a result of this fight. He's loooooooong past that. He gleefully jumped down that abyss years ago. But it'd still make for a fun dynamic and contrast.

I'd love to see this fight animated. Homelander would smugly threaten Papyrus during the set up only for Papyrus to just... not get it. Much to Homelander's frustration. Homelander would call Papyrus a slur and Papyrus would just politely lecture him about why that's problematic and he shouldn't use that word anymore.

As for the fight itself, Homelander's mounting frustration with Papyrus's antics should be a big part. He's both bewildered and pissed about his seeming inability to kill this dumbass skeleton. Papyrus's genuine encouragement, both to redeem himself and improve his fighting skills, only frustrates him further. Not to mention people would be cheering Paps on as a hero the whole time, as Homelander is obviously trying to kill them, which would enrage an egotist like Homelander even further. I can see it all culminating in a villainous breakdown where Homelander rants and raves about slaughtering the whole underground only to get hit by the one bone needed to kill him.

While I believe both can one shot, Homelander can laser incoming projectiles while Papyrus can just dodge with his speed. So it's possible to keep that dynamic in a drawn out fight. It can also lead to some funny moments where Homelander tries to block a blue bone only to get confused when it goes right through him without leaving a mark because he wasn't moving.

Finally, Papyrus would be devastated by his victory. He will never at any point have any intent to kill Homelander but he simply doesn't know one bone is all it'll take. Papyrus will be so happy to finally get a hit in only to be horrified when Homelander's soul shatters and he drops dead with a confused look on his face. Sans is going to come home to see Papyrus crying over the body of a lifeless Homelander in the middle of a destroyed Snowdin, being comforted by all the grateful monsters whose lives he's saved.

Someone, please animate this, I need it.

#fictional throwdown fridays #homelander #the boys #papyrus #undertale

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whythewords · 2 years

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Days 227 - 266: Oh, to be in your care

These are getting fewer and further between huh? There's also no point mentioning that every single time, huh?

Well, I started school again.

It sucks.

I had a sinking feeling that this final semester was all of a sudden going to be unlike the other three and crawl by slowly...but looking at the last three weeks from a distance, I'm pretty amazed that there were three of them. It doesn't seem like it'll be too difficult but also doesn't seem like it'll be a cakewalk. I think I mentioned it before but at this point I'm just antsy because I'm over it, I'm ready to work now. I've done the co-op thing...twice...essentially doing the same thing I would do if I was hired to work there as a regular employee. Speaking of which, co-op ended and prospects at the city seem good based on what was said to me and about me. I'm still not sure if that's where I wanna end up but it also may be one of the best spots I can be while I figure out what's next. So that's pretty cool.

So yeah, I finished that, started school, caught COVID....

Yeah.

Fucking shit caught up to me.

I had been on a college campus for a couple of weeks, trying to mask up and be safe obviously but that'll only get you so far. Unclear if I was patient zero in my household as my dad got it a day or two before I did but I could have brought it back and not shown any symptoms. So the whole Chammas clan here in the apartment got infected. Luckily, mom and dad are both double-vaxxed, double-boosted and the worst of it seemed to only last about two or three days for them. Mine has been lingering though. I missed all my classes this week but luckily all of the material (aside from the live lecture) is still online, I have at least one class that was already fully virtual and a friend from older classes and my last co-op who was kind enough to talk me through today's coding lecture over WhatsApp as it was happening. I daresay I was more productive this week while sick at home than I was the last two while I was on campus. It's almost as if there's no actual reason for any of us to be there except for the fact the college wants us buy their shitty food and pay exorbitant parking fees on top of the already ridiculous tuition costs. Capitalism gon' capital. But let's move on from that since I've ranted and raved about it to family and friends over a voice chat between coughs enough this week.

Well, come to think of it, there's not much else. Oh...I guess I filed for divorce since the last post. Yeah. Fuck. That happened. We met at the courthouse. Filled out some paper work. Got some stuff notarized. Went back to her house...shit, okay. Pause. It IS her house. Why did I debate whether to refer to it as my OLD house? I guess technically both are true. *sigh* See how psychologically fun this whole process is? Anyway, yeah we went back to her house and re-signed and dated any of the paper work we had looked over a few weeks before and then I took it all home and filed. The process supposedly takes about 6-8 weeks (it's been 5) and that's assuming that we did everything correctly. At this point, I'm just praying I don't get an email back from the superior court saying "sorry try again" or I will lose my god damn shit. The process shouldn't be this hard....it's already hard enough emotionally.

Okay...fuck it here it is.

So she was late to the courthouse. We had to queue up and take another number after I had already been there for close to an hour. I was furious. I did my best to remain calm. She was apologetic. But god it was just...a microcosm of the worst parts of our relationship. I spent the whole rest of the time thinking how glad I was going to be when this process was all over, how this time might ACTUALLY be the last time I had to deal with this shit...and I just....couldn't fucking hold onto it. Maybe my heart knew it wasn't worth it. Maybe I'm past the point of caring, of investing too much of myself in it, and that's probably the healthier thing.

Before I left, I stood at the doorway awkwardly, said goodbye and then gave her a hug, and instinctively gave her a kiss on head. We just froze there for a second in a fucking depressing tableau.

I've said time and time again that this was all meant to happen, and I still believe that. I've said we're both gonna move on from this and do so much better for ourselves and by ourselves, and fuck I believe that with all my heart. But as has happened numerous times this year, and will certainly happen a few more before the year is through, loneliness has tendency to kick you right in rose-coloured nostalgia. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about giving her a shout when I got COVID just to hear her sympathize and remember what it was like when someone other than mommy and daddy were taking care of me.

It's funny, I started this series of sort of journal entries at the beginning of the year, to document my progress, the first new year since leaving my marriage and my home. And moreso than "look at all the progress I've made," I Iook back on everything so far and say "look how it's still hard, but I'm still moving forward." "Look how it's still hard but I'm still here."

I don't remember where I heard it recently but "two steps forward, one step back is STILL one step forward." So that's it. This is gonna be the pattern. Slow progress forward, but mostly more of the same. More of the same until it's different.

#life of joe #not so daily journal

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phantomwitch16 · 2 years

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Marvel x Encanto Part 2

Common Gifts

Mirabel and her husband would rarely ever leave Colombia to come and visit since it was difficult trip for them but had made an effort to come visit them after Jessica and Issac disappeared.

They didn’t know Vic as well as they would’ve liked before Issac and Jessica went missing. The three got along very well when chatting with each other and were too wrapped up in their own lives until the Humberto was found alone in the site where they were working in.

Mirabel was devastated upon learning about their disappearance and was believed that the two of them were alive and out in the world somewhere.

Since their disappearance, Mirabel had thought back to that time when she left Encanto. She would think back in her parents position. She had left without saying a word. She wondered if what her own mother felt when she left.

It wasn’t the first time Mirabel thought about this. Usually Bruno was the one who would comfort her about these thoughts, but since his death, she had been stewing in these thoughts for a couple of years.

For a long time, Mirabel was fairly oblivious to the fact that there were more people with ‘gifts’ in the world. Whenever Humberto was ranting and raving about some heroes, she assume that they were from some television program.

She knew of the super heroes but always assumed they were similar to Iron Man or Ant Man. Mainly because she thought that the Madrigals were the only ones who had the ‘gifts’. She didn’t know that miracles happened more often than she thought.

She learned about mutants, magic users, etc., after Humberto was brought back to his family after he was kidnapped by Norman Osborn for several months.

Mirabel was very shocked and uncomfortable upon learning that Humberto had superpowers. For a time, she thought he must’ve received a gift from the casita but was surprised and relieved to learn that it came from the amulet.

After that, she became more conscious of the super powered beings in the world and it made her realise that Madrigals weren’t so unique as she thought. And that some gifts can in fact be a curse for others as she later learned when she heard a bit about her grandson’s new friends.

Avengers Academy & Arena

Mirabel was initially against Humberto going to Avengers Academy as she had already lost her daughter and son-in-law and Humberto had already gone missing when he was kidnapped by Osborn.

Her pointed was further proven when she learned what happened while Osborn had kidnapped him and the other kids.

She finally relented when Humberto pointed out that it was not just him who was kidnapped and hurt by Osborn.

It also helped that the Academy was also based in California where Gloria and the twins lived and could visit him or vice versa.

When Humberto left to go to Avengers Academy, he talked to her every week or so through video calls.

The others in the Academy knew about her and he would talk about her to the Academy students who were curious enough to ask.

Some, like Brandon, met her by crashing the video calls, to which they personally witnessed her cinnamon roll soul.

Mira was aware that Humberto like Jeanne but didn’t say much when the two were in a relationship.

She wouldn’t say she didn’t like Jeanne, she did, but she didn’t think that Humberto and her were compatible.

After the events of Avengers Arena, the dinosaur stuffed toy that she made when he was five became a comfort item for him whenever he would wake up from a PTSD nightmare or having a panic attack.

His eyesight would later started to fail and needed to get glasses. He opted to get ones similar to Mirabel, which only made him look like a perfect mix of his great grandfather, Bruno, Vic and Isaac, which shocked Mirabel more than it should’ve.

He didn’t like wearing them often and would usually use his powers to make his vision clear. Which usually makes his eyes look bright red and it unsettles some people upon first noticing him.

He only wears the glasses when he’s home alone or feels so exhausted where he’s not bother to use his power.

Since the Arena, Humberto hasn't been great, even after the fiasco that happened with Sarsen.

He felt weak and somewhat responsible for what happened to his friends and the deaths that happened. He saw himself as an unfit hero who couldn’t do anything to protect his friends or the others involved in Arcade’s stupid game.

These thoughts weren’t new as they spawned from several setbacks starting from his parents’ disappearance and continuing well after the Academy closed. These thoughts reached high after he found out he couldn’t have kids.

Things only got better when he went back out to being a hero and reconnecting with a few of his old friends from the Academy.

#encanto #marvel x encanto au #marvel #mirabel madrigal #humberto lopez #Avengers Academy #avengers arena #My posts

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semisgroupie · 2 years

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hi again! anon that sent that ask about bleach (i.e. orihime, etc) here. i think it's important to note that she really wasn't strong at all at the start (she has the potential, but her disposition doesn't allow her to make use of said potential - further explanation will become a spoiler lol sorry - unless in certain situations), so while there is truth to the the damsel in distress thing (she isnt this OP character with buffs after all) it was amplified in the show especially by the studio's removal of scenes that were pivotal to showing she isn't this dumb klutz (but instead adding non-manga scenes between ichigo + rukia?? the studio personnel were their shippers istg). she does work her way up tho, doing her best haha; unfortunately, the manga author sucks at writing female characters, especially the lead/key ones (not only orihime, but she gets the worst treatment) :< not surprising tho as it was written in a time where female characters were reduced to such roles

once you get deeper into the manga, you'll most likely see how much of her characterization (in terms of development?) was wasted. i want to talk about it more lmao but i dont want to spoil your reading experience.

can you feel how much i love her? i related to her so much as a kid, like "oh shit im the weak link but gotta do what i need to to live" hAHAHA i hope im not coming off as someone forcing you to like her or anything, but i hope you see beyond the show's portrayal (which is really hard btw lmao they literally made it that way) of her character? it pains me everytime someone talks shit about her when talking about bleach (anime) & disregards the manga because "we have more people on our ship anyways" + "even the (then) studio hates her" :<

anyway who's your favorite character?? mine was chad as a kid, i think even until now in uni lolololol

have fuuuun! I'll be looking forward to your ramblings about the series, if ever you'll talk about it (no pressure, pls) on here :> stay well and safe!!

Hiya love! And yeah I think that if the anime did stick closer to including those parts instead of just pushing a rukia and ichigo ship I think there would be more love for orihime. It’s just annoying to see that so far all she seems is like an emotional klutz. And then with all the other female characters they’re just overly sexualized (Matsumoto is the main one I’ve seen sexualized like crazy)

But I can’t to talk to you more about it once I start the manga! Eee I’m so excited to start it

And you’re not forcing me to like her. From the moment I first met her I liked her, I think she’s an angel but I want to see more than just what’s being portrayed.

My favorite character is such a tough question! I love Renji Ishida Chad and Ikkaku. I can’t choose one at all 😂. Oh and I absolutely love Yoruichi she’s so badass

Oh yes I’ll definitely rant about bleach more and since my semester is ending soon there will be tons of rants and ravings

#q&a with the host 🎤#lovely anon #guest visitor 🎟#omg thank you so much for sending all this #it makes me want to read the manga that much more #i shall call you orihime lover bc she deserves love with all the slander I’ve seen

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years

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12. All About Bilbo from the POV of...Thorin

And FINALLY I’m done. Thank you guys so much for all the notes/comments/reblogs/etc. I appreciate each and every one of you. If you haven’t been keeping up and want to see all 12 POVs, you can click on the masterlist here or I may just go ahead and post them to AO3. Please enjoy the long awaited Bagginshield conclusion. 😉

***

Thorin knew after the battle, after laying in that healing camp, after finally being free to have thoughts not consumed by his treasury, there was only one edict he could make as his first one as king: the hobbit had to stay in Erebor. An advisor, a cook, a gardener, he did not care what occupation he took. He would invent a position if he needed to! He just needed Bilbo by his side if he were to be of any use to the mountain. Of course, convincing the hobbit of this was easier said than done.

In all fairness, Thorin could have gone about it a lot better than all but demanding he stay. The hobbit ranted and raved, he seemed on the verge of lashing out physically (which Thorin would reluctantly admit he would have deserved), and he spent several long agonizing nights in Dale. Finally, Bilbo came back to inform Thorin that he would be returning to the Shire, he would be allowed six months to make his choice, and Thorin would respect it. Balin had to remind Thorin it would be within his best interest to accept. Thorin couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he needed Bilbo to know just how much he appreciated him before he left.

It was their first real conversation since the Battle. Thorin made his apologies and explained just how much the hobbit’s unconventional wisdom was needed both in his kingdom and to the king personally. In return, Bilbo expressed his fears during Thorin’s goldsickness and why exactly he turned over the Arkenstone. It was far from fixed, but it did go a long way towards regaining their former friendship. The hobbit would cite it as what finally convinced him to come back just under two years later. It should have been the happy ending Thorin had been waiting for. He never would have guessed just how wrong he was.

“I’m going to kill him.” Thorin growled.

“You’ve said that before.” Balin reminded patiently.

“This time, I’m really going to kill him. Whose idea was it to make him ambassador to the elves anyways?”

“I believe that would be...yours, Your Majesty.”

Thorin had no energy to deal with Balin’s misplaced amusement as he marched towards the hobbit’s room. He pounded on the door making sure this time that the sneaky burglar couldn’t claim not to hear him.

“I’m not answering if you’re going to be in a mood, Thorin Oakenshield.” Came the muffled response.

“You approved further negotiations after I told you I would not go to that despairing Mirkwood if my life depended on it!”

“Yes, I remember the conversation vividly.” Bilbo sighed.

“Then why…!”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Balin interrupted. “Perhaps the hall is not the appropriate setting for this discussion.”

Thorin glared at his friend and advisor before turning that look onto the door before him.

“Let me in.” He ordered.

“Only on your word that you will quit raising your voice to me.” The hobbit conditioned.

“I will raise my voice if I please! I AM KING!”

“And with that winning attitude, who could forget?!”

“By Mahal.” Balin swore softly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Thorin silently fumed as he glared at the stone before him. Any that claimed dwarves were the most stubborn creatures on Arda clearly have not met Bilbo Baggins. Thorin took a deep breath to center himself before trying again.

“Master Baggins, will you please let me in so we can discuss this in private?” He all but hissed.

It was silent for a moment before the door swung open to reveal the curly haired hobbit who was currently sitting as the bane of Thorin’s very existence.

“There, was that so hard?” Bilbo answered snidely.

Thorin’s fists clenched at his side, and Balin rolled his eyes before turning to go the other way.

“I’m done with the two of you. Fetch me when you’ve figured it out or someone’s dead.”

Thorin gladly slammed the door on the traitor, leaving him and Bilbo alone. However, now that he had the hobbit before him, he found himself unfortunately speechless. He loathed that. As if his mere presence could steal all Thorin’s words away. His rather impromptu first words upon their meeting came to mind. Clearly, he was wrong about this burglar of senses.

“I’m not apologizing.” Bilbo began, crossing his arms. “They asked for a show of good faith from Erebor, and frankly I couldn’t see a reason to fault them.”

“You couldn’t?” Thorin raised a mocking eyebrow. “Clearly you remember our last stay in their wooded halls differently from me.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed with a scowl. “See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. If you want this alliance to work, you’re going to have to bury past slights. Goodness, I couldn’t even imagine what the Shire would be if we held onto grudges the way dwarves do.”

“And I can’t imagine the state of my kingdom if I allow flippant hobbits to not hold people accountable for their actions!”

Bilbo pointed a finger at him. “You’re shouting.”

“A'lâju Mahal (Shame of Mahal)! You are...irritating!” Thorin bit back.

“So you’re saying people shouldn’t be forgiven?”

Just like that, the fire that had been steadily building in his breast was snuffed out. Still, Thorin Oakenshield did not bend completely.

“I believe there is a difference when that forgiveness is desired.”

“And I think Thranduil fits the bill...in his own way.” Bilbo shrugged under Thorin’s disbelieving look. “He’s let his son go, he’s lost Tauriel to Dale due to his actions, he’s gotten back the gems he’s been denied. I think he’s ready to make amends. I’m not saying we have to pretend he’s not hurt us. I’m just saying, it would be a good show of...neighborly airs to meet with him and see what he has to offer.”

There was logic in the hobbit’s words, even if Thorin did not want to hear them. And that simple thought probably was the single summary of all their hard feelings as of late. He turned to leave before he had to accept any more difficult truths.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He spat.

The long disappointed sigh that followed him cut quicker than any blade.

***

The journey to Esgaroth where they would spend the night before continuing into the dreaded woods the next day was...tense to say the least. Even Dwalin was uncomfortable, and that was saying something. The inn was a welcome sight if only to get an ale and free Thorin of the abrasive atmosphere surrounding the hobbit. The man who owned the inn was tripping over himself to welcome the King of Erebor, and when Thorin was finally allowed peace in his own room, he was reluctant to leave. However, that ale was calling his name, and he waited long enough that surely the hobbit’s final meal was complete to avoid any awkwardness.

That was too little credit to the brilliant burglar. He waited until Thorin was sat down at the bar halfway through his ale before he appeared at Thorin’s elbow as if out of thin air.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Bilbo demanded. “In fact, what possible excuse could you have to be angry at me if you are in fact angry?”

Thorin was choking on the amber liquid that had rushed down the wrong pipe.

“Well, you see…” He edged around his persistent cough.

“Need I remind you, I’m only doing the job you gave me. Going back further than that, I’m only here in Erebor because you insisted I be.”

“If you would just let me…” Thorin growled only to be interrupted again.

“Is this some sort of punishment for taking the Arkenstone? You lure me back with words of forgiveness and then argue with every single decision I make when I’m only trying to help…”

“IT’S BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! You confounded creature!”

Thorin nearly sighed in relief to finally see the hobbit’s mouth had stopped moving. It was as he took in the widened eyes and nervous stance that his words were able to catch up to him. His hands shook as his eyes darted around the significantly quieter room.

“You love me?” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin didn’t want to have to deal with this in front of all these men and dwarves, especially Dwalin’s irritating smirk. Grabbing the hobbit’s hand, he led him into the hallway where it was a little more private.

“You love me?” Bilbo repeated once they were alone.

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was one secret he had hoped to hold onto for a little while longer. Not that he was never going to act on his feelings, just he was waiting for a little more time to pass. For the chasm between them to be bridged stably once more. But they hadn’t been able to stop arguing! He certainly didn’t expect Bilbo to accept him right now, but he also would not lie to him.

“Yes.” He answered, holding steady for the ire that was sure to erupt.

Instead, the hobbit all but flung himself at the dwarf king, his mouth immediately meeting Thorin’s. It was abrupt, it was warm, it was wet, and it was wonderful. When Bilbo pulled away it was to utter a phrase he never even allowed himself to hope to hear.

“Thorin, take me to bed. Now.”

The dwarf’s jaw dropped at the invitation and the open lust dilating the hobbit’s pupils.

“Wait. Now?” Thorin repeated, his mind whirling but not connecting.

“Now.” Bilbo asserted as he wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck to kiss him again.

“Shouldn’t we...discuss...this?” Thorin persisted through their kissing, rather stupidly in his opinion.

One that seemed to be shared by the hobbit if his sigh and impatient glare were anything to go off.

“Discuss what?” Bilbo demanded. “I love you. You love me. I’ve bloody been waiting for you to do something about it for months. Now are we going upstairs...or would you rather we postpone until after our meeting with the elves?”

Thorin all but slung the hobbit in his arms making his way as quickly as he could to his bedroom. The sly, conniving, extremely frustrating hobbit. And finally, finally he would be his.

#follower event #all about bilbo #bagginshield #thilbo #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield

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natromanxoff · 3 years

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22 - Cars & Queenie Days

Hi there Queenie people.

What a strange little weekend this one turned out to be. Let me start by saying that most of my stories seem to have something to do with alcohol, but we were all a hell of a lot younger then, and I for one cannot do that anymore, well not all the time. Although a few days ago an old friend made a guest appearance, the Kurgen was let loose on the streets of Bondi which seemed to start a string of Queen type events. It all started about midday on Saturday when a friend of mine phoned and suggested lunch, what a fantastic idea as it was a lovely hot sunny day, so we met in a nice place with a garden and ordered the first bottle of wine, and it was the Linda Lovelace of vino, it went down very quickly and easily. During the course of the afternoon I phoned my mate Steve and said he should join us, which he did at about 8pm, and we finally moved indoors to have dinner, after sitting in the sun and guzzling wine for the last six hours, and needless to say I'm pissed so we ordered some more food and what turned out to be the last bottle of plonk for the evening.

Half way through dinner Rebecca decided she was to out of it to continue, and wisely went home, leaving the Kurgen and his mate, who has decided he's gonna catch up with me, what a good friend eh, but him getting drunk means me becoming a complete gibbering idiot. After dining we moved next door to the bar where the whisky was flowing very rapidly and the idiot telling one barmaid she looked like a cheap hooker, while swearing his undying love to another. Oh, get me another drink Steve, I think I need one. It finally gets to 1am and time to head home, it's been a long day, and while trying to negotiate the 10min walk I was complaining that my right leg wouldn't work, usual drunken crap.

What has this got to do with Queen I hear you ask, well, apart from the fact that a million years ago I worked for them for a while, not very much. Steve and myself eventually got back to my place and I got phoneitis and I had the need to speak with everyone from my dodgey past, so, phone book out and lets go. Pride of place went to Mr Deacon who was lucky to be speaking on the phone so the Kurgen, after two tries, couldn't get through. Time up for you pal, next. Broughie. He always calls me when he's legless, now it's his turn to try and decipher what I'm on about. When I got through to Trip I can remember saying, "Where the f*** are you?" And do you know what, I have no idea what the answer was, though he did say they cancelled a couple of shows, and everyone was having a great time. This is fun, lets spend some more money. The next call started with, "Mr Taylor, it's Mr Taylor here." Sorry Rog, but you did pick up the phone. I did tell him I'd listened to his new stuff on his website and it's the best stuff he'd done in years, and I have an awful feeling I said that I didn't like 'Happiness,' but he did say that he reads my memoirs, so if you get to see this Mr T. I'll try and be a bit more sober next time I call.

Jacky followed, phone was busy (No it wasn't, we were out, you left a message!!) , gotta move on, I'm on a roll now. A new game, lets try and track down my ex in LA, no luck, thank god, and with that my new accountant Steve took the phone away from me, thanks dear boy. He clears off around 3 and I hit the sack and descend into a coma. Ring ring.....ring ring. Its 9am, who the f*** is phoning in the middle of the night, so, with head pounding I track the phone down and had to raise a bit of a giggle, it's Broughie and now he's pissed and he told me that in nearly twenty years of knowing me, that is the worst he's ever heard me try and talk, to which I reply that this is the worst I've ever felt.

Spandau's Tony Hadley was the next person I speak to, what a diamond geezer, always nice to chat with him. Sunday was a non-existent day with a phone that had no sympathy for me and kept ringing, amazingly it's still in one piece. A wet Monday and I'm still feeling a bit iffy, but come afternoon I receive a package in the post, I like little surprises, so when I walk in and turn the radio on Bo Rap is playing, and when I open my pressie it's from the ever gorgeous Jacky who has very kindly sent me RT's Electric Fire. You know what I mean, his new CD not the electric fire out of his bedroom. I'm glad I told him it was great, cause it is, in my humble opinion, possibly the best thing he's done. That was a hell of a lot of words just to say " go and buy Electric fire and put it in the charts, you won't be disappointed".

I was chatting with Greg Fryer, the fireplace restorer, and we're both looking forward to the Australian convention in a few weeks, although I might be drinking lemonade as I made the idiot promise that "I'm never drinking again". Some time ago somebody asked me a question which went something like, "When you were in the studio with just Roger or the Cross, was it a bit of an anti climax after working with Queen as they were such brilliant musicians." I don't know if I'm missing something here, but as Roger was a solo artist, a member of the Cross and also in Queen, surely that must make him brilliant. Well, whatever your name was, no it wasn't boring it was mostly fun. When he was producing other acts I must admit that I did a lot of sitting around doing bugger all, and I every act were ok as people, though once Jimmy Nail had a hit he did get a rather large ego and changed into a real prat.

Virginia Wolf had two old buddies of mine in the band, Joe Burt and Jason Bonham, so when we went to Ibiza to record it was party time from start to finish, though Jason did go overboard a bit, so to protect us more than him we sent him back to England. I was only involved in one Cross album, Shove It, and that was just going to be another RT solo album so he played all the instruments himself.

I think I've mentioned before that we drove the Bentley to Montreux, well this was the time. The plan was to spend three or four days in Montreux recording then go to Gstaad to write some more songs. That was the excuse because we had a huge chalet there and the idea was to do a lot of skiing and a bit of writing, which is exactly what we did. It was in Gstaad that Roger came up with the idea of forming a band, and after a hard day on the slopes we would sit around at night working out a plan on putting a band together. On the subject of Bentleys and Gstaad I feel obliged to tell you just how much bad luck RT has with his cars.

When he bought his first Range Rover he claimed "You can park them on a sixpence." We had to tow him out of a ditch. His Ferrari burst into flames on his way to the south of France, and his Aston Martin also burst into flames. He hardly ever drove the Bentley, it was my baby and I loved it and never had any problems. Dominique decided she was going to join our little ski trip and was coming to Gstaad, now don't get me wrong, I love Dom, a fine lady, still is, it's just that I didn't fancy the hour drive down the mountain and then the hour along the motorway to the airport. On the day of her arrival RT surprised me by saying he was going to pick her up, that'll do me, drop me off at the chair lift and have a nice drive. A very pleasant afternoon was spent on the piste so when I get back to the house I'm ready for some mindless computer games, and while in the middle of shooting some aliens the phone rings and it's Dominique asking where Roger was as he's not at the airport to pick her up.

The only thing I can say is for her to hang on because he left in plenty of time so he should be there, and I'm back to saving the world. Hours later the door flies open with Roger ranting and raving and saying something about F-in-cars. What's his problem? I look out the window and in the driveway is a VW Golf, so the obvious question is, "Where's the Bentley?" When his lordship finally calmed down he explained that when he got to the motorway there was a blizzard, so he had to have the windscreen wipers on full, but the one on the drivers side came off, so he stopped the car and was groping around in the snow looking for it, and he found it and put it back on. So far so good, except a couple of miles further on it came off again, and this time it was nowhere to be seen. Now try and picture the situation. Swiss motorway, lots of snow falling, very expensive black Bentley and a very famous pop star hanging out the window while driving so he can wipe the snow off the screen so he can see. Not a very good look at all.

On arrival at Geneva he took the car to the Rolls Royce dealer to get fixed, and it wasn't long after this that I said my final goodbye to a trusty friend. Roger on the other hand said Good F***ing Riddance. I have an equally pathetic driving story when we were in Rio, this time it was the two of us, a convertible and one hell of a lot of rain. Next time might be right to tell you how we put the Cross together from the first ad. onwards. Before I go I have a question for Jacky. Do you remember all those bacon sandwiches we had at the auditions? That's it for now Bye

Crystal

#queen #queen band #the cross #the cross band #roger taylor #john deacon #dominique beyrand #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 13

Thump

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n goes on her first and only mission at HYDRA with Bucky

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, death

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

This was the first mission I was assigned to with the Soldier. And I had a strong feeling it'd be the last. The Soldier's mind seemed less distant, clearer recently. I never complained, of course, as it meant two things: one, I actually had someone to talk to here that didn't want to either murder me or rape me and two, he was really fucking good with his dick when his mind was sharper.

We were currently holed up in a train carriage, which was stacked ceiling-high with wooden crates all marked 'stock'. Stock of what, neither of us knew. We had sneaked on, jumping onto the top of the train as it passed a hill we'd been waiting for. Once on top of the train, the soldier helped me into the back - which is where we currently are. It appeared like he'd done this a hundred times before - and one thing I did pick up on was his hesitance while scaling the side of the train. I didn't think much of it - I for one was nervous as shit when we were simply clinging to the small ladder down the end of the back carriage.

We were huddled close, the coldness seeping in from the mountains surrounding the track, the chill in my flesh making me shiver slightly and lean further into the Soldier. His arm was thrown over my shoulders, his own teeth chattered slightly but I could tell he was trying to appear unaffected by the surging weather.

I took the time to replay the briefing for the mission in my mind. Sneak in, stay discreet, use the vents to find the room with the politicians in, take them all but one out, frame the one who remained alive. God I'm happy I'm not doing this alone.

We had a plan. We would sneak in through the back entrance after sniping the two guards that were meant to be stationed there. From inside the door, just a meter to our left was easy access to the vents that we could crawl through for 50 minutes and we'd be directly above the room they were all set to gather in at 18:00. Once there, I'd use my voice to bring them into a state of unawares, from which The Soldier would shoot them all except one. I'd then use my powers to convince the left over that he was the one who did it and the Soldier would give him the gun that was used.

From there, I'd sneak down and take photos of the files they were discussing - HYDRA hadn't told us what they were but I was sure it was something that would deeply concern them - and then we'd leave the way we came.

Simple enough, really.

"You seem on edge." I commented, observing the way his eyes never remained in one place. "Something bad happen here?" I prompted when he only looked at me.

"I- I don't know." He came back with, eyes boring into mine. "You know the plan, right?" He asked, eyes still locked on mine like magnets. I nodded, humming in affirmation. "Good, I don't know if they'll fight back or not, so be ready." The soldier said, head tilting towards my waist in gesture of my belt that wrapped around the black tactical suit, holding various knives I could throw and a small, but powerful, gun.

I never liked using the gun, I always found the loud noise distracting. I preferred knives, and as my aim was particularly good whilst throwing them, I had little need for a gun unless I ran out of blades. But that seldom happened.

The temperature seemed to change, warming only slightly. A subtle thing that very few would pickup on, but as trained assassins you learn to notice the subtle things. I today, I knew this temperature change meant we'd entered the city. The pollution and bustling of people always increased the temperature, and only by a few degrees but when you were freezing your ass off, you tend to notice the discrete change.

"Time to get our asses moving." The soldier muttered before rising to his feet, offering me a hand as he did so.

"Let's get this show on the road." I murmured once on my feet, standing back as the soldier wrenched the door at the side of the carriage open.

"Roll once you land, it'll make the impact less brutal." He commented before he was diving from the train, landing with a smooth roll over the gravel, which crunched beneath him. I took a deep inhale, leaping from the carriage with nothing but hope that I'd land it rather than end up dead in the process.

My eyes sprang open as I landed, shock rolling through me as I realised that I was alright. A wide smile beckoned my lips, curling them upwards into a grin and I pushed myself from the floor and up onto my feet.

"That was the easy part." The soldier assured me as he walked towards me, my smile instantly dropping and his face falling into a hard expression. I new that face - it was his mission face. One that meant no more messing around, because shit was about to get real serious and real dangerous.

"Let's go." I said, beginning to walk towards the mass of buildings. The soldier followed quickly, directing us to slip behind the first block of apartments we came across so no one in the city would see us.

As we snuck our way to the centre, we flattened ourselves against the wall - melting into the plentiful shadows. As we approached our target, I felt the soldier's hand wrap around my bicep, pulling me back.

"Stay here. I'm going to get higher ground. When you see them drop, continue on and get into that door." He ordered gruffly, and before I could agree he was gone.

I crouched down slowly, now aware with how close we were to the two security guards that any sudden movement had the possibility of catching their attention. I leant into the side of the building, observing the two men as they blatantly ignored their surroundings. We're they trying to make this easy for us?

I felt a sneeze rise in my throat, that tangy feeling settling over my nose as I covered the lower half of my face with my hand. Try as I might, I couldn't prevent the unwanted noise, the small sound catching one of the guard's attention.

"Over there!" He hissed, tapping the other on the shoulder furiously in order to get their attention.

"What is it? I can't see anything." They dismissed, clearly trying to turn back around before the first guard yanked his attention back. I stayed as still as a statue, for once extremely glad that I was completely clad in black.

"I heard someone. Over there." The guard exclaimed, pointing almost directly at me. I held in my breath, eyes widened as I sat petrified. That's when my weight shifted, a small twig I didn't know was beneath my shoe snapping under the pressure. I stopped myself from wincing, the snapping noise echoing and completely giving away my position.

"There they are! Quickly, shoot them!" The second guard shouted, pointing at me as the first fumbled with his belt. I took the opportunity, pulling a blade from my belt as quick as I could and preparing to throw. But two pained shouted caught my attention, my gaze raving to see the two men sprawled on the floor, foreheads pierced with bullets.

My gaze drifted upwards, the soldier crouched over the top of a clearly abandoned bridge, gun in hands and still pointed towards them. A scowl was etched on his features, the lower banks of his face now covered by an ominous black mask.

I snapped from my trance, darting along the back of the building until I reached the door. Once I reached it, I cursed under my breath, realising it was locked as I tried to tug it open. I sighed in frustration, reaching into a pocket on the side of my leg and pulling out a pin.

I crouched by the door again, trying to not be caught a second time as the piece of metal wiggled around in the key hole until I heard the soft, tell-tale click that signalled the door had unlocked. I stood up, tucking the pin back into my suit and moving to open the door. As I slowly tuned the handle, edging the door open enough to check inside, the Soldier appeared beside me.

"Great job." He deadpanned, eyes cold as he glared at me.

"Hey! It wasn't my fault, blame the gardener that decided daisies were a good idea!" I retaliated in a whispered-shout.

"Just shut up and go." He demanded, brushing past me and into the building once he realised it was clear. Once I'd collected my thoughts as called him a wanker under my breath, I pushed through the door after him to be met with the sight of the soldier's muscles bulging as he tried to pry the vent door from the wall as quietly as he could.

The metal clanked gingerly as he removed the door, placing the vented slab to the side of the now-clear entrance before turning to me and gesturing for me to follow. I got to my knees, crawling through the hole in the wall and placing the vent back in place behind me to lower suspicions.

We crawled through the vents stealthily, the concentration on us apparent as we both counted the meters. I almost crashed straight into the soldier's behind when he abruptly stopped, so I assumed the vent we needed to take out the plan was in front of him. He climbed over it quickly, so we were either side of the slats in the floor.

The soldier looked at me, bringing a finger to his lips as one of the politicians went in a rant.

"It's ridiculous! They expect us to vote on this and we don't even have all the information!"

"Well maybe if you'd read the file, you'd know the answer to all these bloody questions you keep asking!"

The soldier pointed a finder towards the men below us, before moving the same fingers so it was pointed at my mouth. I gave him a curt nod.

The tune flowed from my lips freely, easily, as I began humming. I almost stopped when I saw one of the men tense through the vent, knowing we'd been caught and probably executed or something. But when his shoulders relaxed my fear dissipated, the song falling from my continuously.

I noticed the metal plugs now in the soldier's ears as he leant over the vent, which he'd now pried open and had slid toward me slightly. His gun was pointed down the space he'd created, eyes cantered in on presumably one of the targets. Then he fired, and I flinched as I heard a hollow thump as the body slipped limply to the ground.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The man who had tended remained alive, still relaxed and eyes glazed over. The soldier motioned for me to move, pushing the vent conger completely out of his way before jumping down into the room, the expected thud as he landed never coming. Wow, this man really is light on his feet.

Maybe he should've been a ballerina, that little voice in my head sung, a smug smile drawing over my lips at the thought of the Winter Soldier in a tutu.

I snapped out of it, following him down and landing crouched, almost disappointed at the tiny thud when I landed.

I barely noticed I'd stopped singing until the burning pain in my shoulder pierced through my thoughts.

"Get down!" The soldier shouted, shoving my down my my good shoulder and taking a lethal shot to the remaining politician's throat. He fell the the floor with a garbled cough, the splatter of blood across my cheek making my wince. The soldier chucked the gun to the table, scooping up the files and pushing them desperately into one of his big pockets on the leather he wore before yanking my up via my arm. "We have to hurry." He gritted through clenched teeth, using two clasped hands under my foot before hoisting me back into the vent.

He all but jumped up after me, replacing the grate before placing two hands on my cheeks to centre me. Hot tears ran down my cheeks, my breathing fast and uneven and my eyes refusing to meet him.

"Hey, look at me," my eyes found his, "I know you're in pain, trust me." He said, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips as the words tumbled from his lips, "but right now, you're running on adrenaline and we need to take advantage of that. So you're going to turn around, and you're going to crawl to the end of this vent and get out of the building. Quietly." He instructed, and I began nodded. I went to turn around, but he used two gloved, metal fingers I redirect my head to him. "It's nothing personal." He said with a pitiful smile before whipping a few hanker chiefs from his pocket and stuffing them into my mouth. "Bite down on them if it hurts." The soldier clarified when I gave him a confused expression.

...

The sound of the alarm seemed to follow us and we ran, my hand clutching my shoulder as my big down aggressively at the cloth in my mouth. The soldier was behind me, making sure I didn't fall behind with my injury.

The blaring noise of the alarm stressed me out, knowing that they were probably looking for us making my pick up the pace despite the burning in my shoulder.

"There!" The soldier exclaimed, my eyes low finding the black car that we knew would be to pick us up. As we approached the end of the alley we walked down, the soldier over took me, sprinting forward to hold the door open for me.

I stumbled into the back of the car, being ushered farther in as the soldier climbed in behind me and slammed the car door shut.

The vehicle began moving, the chauffeur barely paying kind to us as my chest heaved and a scream broke through the cloth in a muffled shout.

The panicked look on the soldier's eyes is all that I could focus on, his mask off now and his lips moving but I couldn't seem to hear him. Black crept up on me, clouding the edge of my vision as it invaded my senses.

...

"Someone's finally awake then." The displeased chide of the General filling my ears as my eyes fluttered open.

"You have to leave her alone! It wasn't her fault!" The soldier's voice said desperately, I could hear the worried tone edging his words.

"Quiet. She's the reason you failed your mission, Soldat. I won't have it happen again." The general snapped, my vision fully in focus now.

The general was stood before me, my hands strapped to the ceiling and my toes barely touching the floor. The pain in my shoulder screamed at me, but I could no longer feel the sickening wetness of my blood dripping down my back. They must've taken me to the medic on the flight home.

"Please, don't you think she's endured enough? She was shot for god's sake!" The soldiers reasoned, and I could see him fighting against his restraints. But the general ignored him.

"I think you're memory is getting too sharp. I'll be sure to get you reset once I'm done." He dismissed, a wince finding me as three guards filed into the cell. "Make her pay." He barked, standing back.

The guards grinned sickeningly, my eyes widening as a scream of protest trying to escape the silencer as I caught sight of the bats in their hands. It felt like the air had been punched from my lungs when one of the bats made contact with y stomach, and I already knew the area would be bloody and bruised when they were done.

"And don't stop until she passes out."

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Note

If you're still doing it, and if you feel inspired with the character : Bakugou Katsuki and the song "From Now On" from The Greatest Showman.

You can write with another character if this one doesn't inspire you!

Send me a song and a character (still open)

Ohhhh I love this!! Pro hero!Bakugo who let all the fame of being number 2 get in the way of his relationship me thinks. Thanks for sending this in 🥰

Bakugo used to love the fame and attention that came with being a top hero.

He used to love the way people would scream his name with stars in their eyes when they saw him; the way the idiots in suits over at the HPSC would congratulate him on his incident resolution rate; the way the press would sing his praises; the way his name sounded after the words Number Two Hero even though he’d much rather hear it after number one. He loved it all.

But you?

You fucking hated it.

You always said it was the worst part of hero work. The fans, the paparazzi, all of it grated on you. You hated that since Bakugo had cracked the top 10 you two couldn’t go on date night without getting blinded by cameras. You hated going to HPSC galas in an expensive outfit you’d never wear a second time, sipping overpriced champagne even though you’d be just as happy with something a tenth of the price. You hated that you couldn’t go on social media without seeing speculation about your relationship and your sex life literally everywhere or even worse hundreds of people all stating exactly why you weren’t good enough to be with the Bakugo Katsuki. But what you hated the most was the way Bakugo loved it; the way he preened under the praise, his chest puffing up with pride, ego absolutely blooming under all the superficial attention; the way he’d kiss you in front of paparazzi just so the headlines would be filled with mention of you being his. The rest you could deal with but it made your skin crawl how much he’d change when the public’s watchful eye was on him. At home he was the man you fell in love with, but the minute you left he regressed to the obnoxious asshole you’d first met during your first year at UA.

It was a recipe for disaster and in retrospect Katsuki really should’ve seen the break up coming. He can barely remember what had set off the argument in the first place, probably another gaudy headline or crude Twitter trend about the two of you. You’d been upset about it, raving about invasions of privacy and feeling violated and he’d been dismissive, the way he always was when it came to these things.

“It comes with the territory, just fuckin’ get used ta it already,” he had scoffed.

“The issue is you encourage it Katsuki! You care more about the fame and how good it makes you feel than you do how that added scrutiny makes me feel!” you fired back.

“Why can’t you just fucking deal with it??”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

“Well maybe if you did your fuckin ranking would be better!”

It was a low blow. Bakugo knew it then and he still knows it now. You try so hard to be the best hero you can be, but at the end of the day popularity plays a nontrivial role in the ranking system and being the “““just average””” significant other to one of Japan’s biggest rising stars isn’t a recipe for popularity.

“Get out….”

Your voice had been dangerously low. He’ll never forget the way it managed to sound both terrifyingly lethal and devastatingly heartbroken.

“Shit, wait (y/n) I didn’t mean that I-”

“I said get out!” you had yelled, voice quaking with pent up emotion as you started shoving him out the door. If he really didn’t want to move he could’ve easily resisted but at the time he’d been too shocked to even try, reeling backwards and letting you force him back into the hallway of your apartment building.

“Talk to me when Bakugo Katsuki comes back, I’m fucking sick of Pro Hero Dynamight,” you had said before promptly slamming the door in his face.

In the month that followed Katsuki threw everything into his work, taking longer shifts and pushing himself harder so that by the time he got home he was too beat up to feel the aching pain in his heart and too exhausted to notice his apartment didn’t feel like home the way yours did. He ignored the pitying looks from his friends, brushed off their concerned words and sympathetic gazes with grumbled “I’m fine”s and eye rolls. He filled the hole you left in him with the praise and admiration of the adoring public.

And then came the day you’d been warning him about since he first became a household name.

“The Cost of Victory: Pro Hero Dynamight destroys city during villain chase”

The story matched the headline, tallying up all of the damage he’d caused to buildings and other public property while trying to apprehend someone’s half ass attempt at recreating nomu. As shoddy as the thing was it could take a fucking hit and there was no denying the collateral damage was decently expansive. What the article failed to mention, however, was the amount of damage done before Bakugo had arrived on scene. It made sure to comment on the number of casualties in the incident but conveniently left out how much larger that number would be had Katsuki spent more time worrying about some stupid hunks of metal over catching the damn monstrosity and saving civilian lives. He guesses “Pro Hero Dynamight does his best despite being out gunned and having zero back up at his disposal” isn’t as catchy or clickworthy of a headline.

The very same websites showering him in praise just a day or two before now viciously rip into him. He can’t take a step outside his apartment without seeing article after article shredding him to pieces or getting a camera shoved into his face asking for comment on the criticism. His Twitter feed is full of former fans deriding him for falling short of perfection, calling him a narcissist, a showboat, a fucking menace to society as if he’s the sixteen year old kid chained up at the sports festival all over again. So he stops leaving his apartment entirely.

Kirishima is the one who finally gets him out again. The bar they go to is small, further away from the downtown area than most people are willing to stray. Between that and the fact it’s still relatively early in the evening, they have the place to themselves. The only other soul is the owner/bartender who seems entirely uninterested in the fact that Red Riot and Dynamight are patronizing his establishment. It’s perfect, giving Bakugo the space he needs to rant to his best friend. And rant he does. He lets it all pour out while he paces: the frustration, the rage, the disappointment, the guilt, until there’s nothing left in him except an aching sadness that has nothing to do with the fake fans and shitty headlines. “Y’know what the worst fuckin’ part is?” he rages, face red from bellowing for the past lord knows how long and tears already welling in his eyes at what he’s about to admit. Kirishima barely has time to ask what the worst part is before Katsuki is choking out around a frustrated sob “I wouldn’t even give a shit if I still had (y/n).”

Kirishima is out of his seat and pulling his friend into a hug in an instant. He lets Bakugo shake apart, doesn’t mind the tears soaking into his shirt or how tightly the other man is gripping onto him. He stands solid and firm, the same way he always has and always will for Katsuki until the sobs turn to hiccups. “They’re worried about you, you know,” Eijirou finally tells him. “Yea? How the fuck you figure that Shitty Hair?” Bakugo grumbles miserably into his shoulder. “They’ve called me every day since the article came out to check on you,” the red head admits and it’s enough to make Katsuki stiffen in his hold, scared to hope. “Really?” he asks, voice gruff but quiet. “Really. So are you gonna go to them or what?”

You’ve been staring at your phone for at least an hour, debating whether to call Bakugo or not, when a knock on your door snaps you out of your pained contemplation. You pull the long sleeves of the hoodie Bakugo gave you for your birthday down over your hands as you move to answer the door. Imagine your surprise when the very man who’d been plaguing your thoughts is the one standing outside your door. He looks rough. His hands are shoved into his pockets, back hunched over, face red and puffy, and even though he hasn’t looked you in the eye yet you can tell his are red rimmed. He’s been crying, you realize, and it breaks your heart a little. “Ya just gonna stand there or can I come in?” he asks and it snaps you out of your thoughts again. “Right yea sorry come in I guess,” you say, stepping out of the way to let him in.

He’s almost twitchy, like he wants to make himself comfortable the way he always used to but can’t. You wince a little when you realize it’s the correct assumption to make. Still he doesn’t say anything, he just stands there looking somehow simultaneously out of place and like he never left. “What are you doing here?” you finally sigh. “You said talk to you when Bakugo Katsuki came back and he—or I—or whatever did,” he mutters and a pang of something that feels suspiciously like guilt hits you at the words. “Oh… Is—is that all you wanted to say or?” He glares at a distant point over your left shoulder, presumably collecting his thoughts, before he finally meets your gaze. “Look I-” he breaks eye contact again, growling a little in frustration at himself as he continues to struggle to find words. You don’t say anything though, knowing he needs to work through it himself. “Things have been pretty shit for me lately,” he finally admits. You can’t help but scoff at the comment although one look at him and his pained expression has you regretting it. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Sorry, yea, keep going.”

He huffs before continuing and even though he still won’t meet your eyes you can tell how difficult this all is for him.

“Look things have been pretty fuckin’ shitty lately with everyone and their goddamn cousin in Japan hatin’ me but it’s made me realize some shit. I’ve been so fuckin’ focused on chasin’ the fame and the fans or whatever that I kinda forgot about the important stuff…”

He only trails off for a moment, steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say next. It’s almost funny how much it reminds you of him right before a big fight.

“But from now on,” he starts, finally meeting your gaze, puffing out his chest as if daring you to challenge whatever’s going to come out of his mouth next. “From now on I’m not gonna let all that stupid shit blind me alright? I promise, from now on I’m only focusin’ on the real people in my life, not the goddamn extras. Ok?”

His eyes are blazing as he finishes and it literally takes your breath away.

“Ok.”

“Ok, then….” he trails off, his eyes slide away again as his confidence wanes, “then can I come back home again?”

Your heart shatters and forms anew at the words as you find your feet moving before you’ve even told them to. You throw yourself into his arms, pulling him close, the jagged edges you both left in each other the night you broke up re-aligning and mending themselves. “Of course you can Katsuki, I’ve missed you,” you sigh, each word wrapped in relief and joy. “Fuckin’ missed you too dumbass,” he huffs back, although you don’t miss how wet it sounds. When you pull back it’s only a fraction and only so you can reel him in for a gentle kiss, pouring every missed I love you into it so there’s no room for doubting if you’ve truly forgiven him.

It’s a promise. A promise to do better from now on. And Katsuki means every single second of it.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @oliviasslut @black-rose-29

#hhrequests #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bnhacity

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fishtre · 3 years

Note

Oh lord your work has honestly has got to be one of the things that truly cemented me into being a Jason fan when I started to enter the fandom. I just wanted to ask; Has Dick or Bruce ever seen Jason (or even Jessie; im a fuckibg lesbian for her) while they were at a low point? Or have they ever seen something in Jay's behavior that seriously made them stop and think for a moment?

Oof-!!! o-okay. I wasn't ready for this. So many responsibilities??? Thanks and welcome! XD

*****

> Have they ever seen something in Jay's behavior that seriously made them stop and think for a moment?

This goes for Jay and Femjay

For Dick: No. Dick and Jason aren’t close. They know each other through Bruce who is this deforming prism between them: lingers even in his absence. This + a lack of a relationship = Dick's empathy sleeping where Jason is involved since day one. Meanwhile, Jason just doesn't trust Dick nor expect his sympathy as the replacement goldfish Bruce picked up (or the outlaw Jason later become). They avoid/ignore rather than seek/antagonize each other (unless the situation demands violence). Hence, it’s not granted Dick could recognize the moment for what it was and not chalk it up as “classic Jason”.

As for Bruce: short answer is YES. Their whole history is paved with moments where Bruce has (usually late) epiphanies about Jason and himself. And this’ pretty much how Jason got benched after a rapist went flying through a balcony to meet the concrete twenty floors lower.

More to say, so long AF rant below the cut. Mostly about canon interpretation I use for characterisation + some side notes about Femjay at the very end. The essential is above tho.

Starts with “Batman the Cult”:

Aka Batman goes missing while investigating an underground sect that kidnaps homeless people. When Jason finally finds him, Bruce is a drugged, tortured, half-raving mad man on a pile of corpses who've been living in the sewers for weeks. Jason tries to bring Batman to his senses and at the surface but he's so damaged in and out that Robin has to guide him back home like a lost child. Eventually they get surrounded by the cult members. After a "it was an honor to meet and fight with you sir" Robin got outflanked. Begs Bruce to help as a crowd of drugged hobos tries to literally tear him apart. Jason is like 14-15yo and it takes these three "adult fears" in a row (child going “yolo” + child protecting the powerless adult + watching child get almost killed) for Bruce to finally fight back and save the day.

Which brings us to the following event: The rapist and the balcony :p. Bruce can't prove if Jason committed the crime or not so the act in itself isn't the point. Jason admitting he didn't try to catch the falling rapist, no feeling remorse to potentially causing someone's death is what alarms Bruce here.

Between the Cult and this, for me it's definitely when Bruce first gets blessed with many epiphanies; 1) Jason’s attitude toward death, his or the crooks' lives, his soldier-like devotion to Bruce during the Cult is alarming. 2) Turns out Jason have different opinions regarding Justice, the right to redemption or vigilantism. Opinions that are pretty irreconcilable with Bruce’s. 3) He's not shaking the grip Gotham has on the boy at all (his reason or excuse to take Jason in at first.) 4) Jason's indulging Bruce and playing by his rules because love and respect (he hopes), not because Jason understands or believes in Bruce's methods or share his creeds. 5) He may had been emotionally compromised when he took in Jason (as Dick accuses him to be) and had been making thing worse for the boy, failing Jason as a mentor/guardian and an adult.

As the “greatest detective”, it weighs on Bruce that he ultimately failed Jason in knowing the boy and providing what he needs; his guilt and irresponsibility catching up to him all at once. From Bruce’s perspective, this has cost a man's life and Jason’s “innocence”, simply because he (or anyone) didn’t manage to see Jason for who he is; a more troubled child than he or Dick ever was, and that despite having all the clues in the world to figure it out. In result Jason and Robin are benched. Jason dies before Bruce can find what he should do. That's it. UTRH could be seen as Jason at a low point I guess. But special mention to when Bruce "walks away" to not choose between Red Hood and Joker before aiming a batarang at RH's gun, Jason sits down in silence and simply gives up; resigned to wait for the bomb to blow up, not caring if Bruce or Joker get away or die with him. A stark contrast to how determined and mouthy he's been until then. Jason "accepts" what he sees as Bruce's choice: that Joker is more or equally as important to him than Jason. Bruce has to pull him away from the worst of the blast so it's fair to say that he must notice. It doesn't manage to make Bruce stops and thinks, but the conclusion to that story on Bruce's side this time is that while Jason is back and alive, the event in UTRH achieved to kill the boy he knew and lost.

As for femjay, here a bit more trivia just for her AU:

Dick first thought after discovering that new Robin was a tomboy, whom Bruce also addresses or presents as one 90% of the time does alarms him a bit in the midst of his confusion. But when he half-questions Jason about it, she mocks him about this incident and shuts him off with a "none of your beeswax". Fuming, Dick brushes it off as being some kind of pervert game between Bruce and Jason, be it Bruce trying to replace and hurt him, introverted misogyny, lesbian culture or whatever. None of his beeswax. He doesn't look deeper into it. He leaves Gotham and only comes back for her "funeral". As a general rule, looking into Jason- related stuff and not minding his business when she is involved, always ends up biting Dick in the arse.

Bruce never really brushes the subject of what Jason may have done or not in order to survive on the streets for two years or why her parents gave her a boy name. He takes what Jason gives him on this (which is little) and doesn't pry into it further since Jason's medical checkups are fairly good and promising. Jason is a girl who prefers to blend in as a boy and Bruce plays along, secretly relieved because Bruce has no idea how to deal with a pre-teen/teenage girl. So yeah; he's scared and this is a blessing for him and she looks happy like that. Bruce avoids using pronouns to avoid confusion himself (which is partly why Dick got so confused by Jason's gender when they first met).

Nobody but Alfred realizes she starts corseting herself with bandages and a sports bra by the end of second year at the manor. Or that she buys pads and razors on the dozen with who knows what money since she asks for nothing. Old-fashioned Wayne's British butler is barely more at ease with Jason's womanhood than Bruce, but Al does take the initiative to give her an allowance so she can buy underwears when she first arrives. He simply raises that allowance to cover her new needs with a cryptic and awkward explanation. But because Jason doesn't know how to choose a bra she sticks to what she knows, aka; keeps wearing a sports bra and flattening her chest as best as she can while residing at the Manor. By the time she comes back as Red Hood, Jason is too curvy to hide so she doesn't. Also; Talia... While she still was only trying to use Jason against or to win Bruce back, she's appalled to learn what Jason used to do to her breasts, and took pity of her. She forcefully take Jason out shopping for her first actual bra at 17-18 yo and teach her some more basics.

#reply #jason and the curse of the anime tiddies AU #aye 2/10 answers answered #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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luxekook · 4 years

Text

the golden boy | jjk

» pairing: phys. ed. teacher!jk x biology teacher!reader » genre: enemies to lovers, smut » summary: the new physical education teacher insulted you the moment you met him, and you’ve given him hell ever since. if only you didn’t think that he was the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen and that he was so much fun to play with. » word count: 2.5k » warnings: 18+, cursing, switch!jk, dom!reader, jk says something dumb, sexism, reader is a bad bish, jungkook is whipped, declarations of ownership from kook lol, smut (slight noona kink, oral (f receiving), biting, hair pulling)

» request: @jeonstime said: JUNGKOOK + COCKTAIL PLZ

as part of the bangtanhq drinks and drabbles challenge

“And this is Dr. (Y/l/n), the head of our science department and biology teacher. You’ll be working closely with her to create the Sexual Education curriculum,” Principal Kim introduces you to the newly hired P.E. teacher. “(Y/n), this is Jeon Jungkook.”

You nod at this new arrival, extending your palm towards him. Jungkook is attractive as hell, if you’re being honest with yourself. Your eyes flick over the lean muscle of his body and the wide-eyed beauty of his face. It’s too bad you are swearing off men for the time being after a particularly bad first date last week.

“I thought you would be a dude,” He mumbles after a long pause, looking you over in confusion. Your nostrils flare as you rescind your hand before Jungkook can even move to shake it.

“And why is that?” You fold your arms in front of your chest. You have faced incredulity before from a plethora of men - and women - about your chosen career path. Most women and minority groups in STEM fields have. It is part of the reason why you have forgone the route of lab work like a number of your fellow doctoral graduates in favor of high school education. You want your young students to feel empowered to become epidemiologists and astronauts and brain surgeons no matter their gender, their race, their sexual orientation.

And you want to eradicate the exact kind of reaction that Jungkook is giving you. Your glare is ice cold and absolute as you pin it on him. Kim Namjoon, your principal, is facepalming from beside this new boy and is looking at you with pleading eyes to diffuse the situation. But, fuck that noise.

“I-I don’t know?” Jungkook finally blurts out, running a strong hand through his mess of chocolate brown hair, “I’m sorry, (Y/n).” His cheeks are flushed prettily, and you almost cave. You almost assure this Jungkook that his remark is nothing new. You almost begin to picture tugging him into the hidden closet on the third floor and— You cut off that train of thought.

“That’s Dr. (Y/l/n) to you, Mr. Jeon,” You turn to leave, pausing briefly to look at the duo of men over your shoulder, “Welcome to Bangtan High School.” With that, you stalk down the corridor. Your heels clicking emphatically as you leave the infuriatingly handsome and ignorant new hire in your dust.

You miss the longing sigh and the heart eyes that Jungkook sends after you. You miss Namjoon placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and saying, “You royally fucked up, kid.” And you miss the way Jungkook scrunches his nose and pouts forlornly, “I know…”

The beginning of the school year arrives the following week. On the first day, you make sure to pick an impeccable first day outfit that screams ‘I’m a fucking badass bitch, and I will end sexism as we know it’. Of course, it’s an impossible task for any outfit to achieve, but your knee length black dress and black Louboutin heels come pretty damn close.

When you enter the doors of the high school at 6:30am, you look ready to kill. And when you lay eyes on Jeon Jungkook exiting the teacher’s lounge with a steaming hot mug of coffee looking like a snack, you think you just might. As soon as you start down the hallway towards him, Jungkook looks up at you and subsequently chokes.

You smirk, maybe you wouldn't have to get your hands dirty after all. “Morning, Jeon,” You sashay past him to enter the lounge he just exited. Unfortunately, he follows.

“G-good morning, Dr. (Y/l/n),” Jungkook says softly from your side as you prepare your own cup of caffeinated bliss, “I wanted to apologize for last week.”

You face him, eyebrows raised as you wait for him to continue. He blushes under your undivided attention and mumbles, “I’m really sorry. I realize that I sounded like a complete sexist asshole, and that isn’t me. I hope we can start over?”

God, he’s giving you the most adorable puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. His curls are in complete disarray once again with one falling just so perfectly over his forehead. It’s honestly unfair that he looks this good at this infernal hour. Just for that alone, you let him sweat for a few more minutes as you turn back to finish making your coffee.

Finally, you address him, “Apology accepted.” He smiles widely, his eyes gleaming, and he opens his mouth to say something. You can’t have that. You place a finger over his plush lips and move closer to him, “But let me just say this. If you ever, ever say something like that in front of my kids, I will end you.” You grin wickedly up at him as you try to ignore just how good his lips feel under your finger and how much better they would feel on your—

“Good morning, Jungkook! Good morning, (Y/n)!” Vice Principal Kim Seokjin scurries into the teacher’s lounge somehow looking like he just woke up and stepped off the runway at New York Fashion Week simultaneously. “Happy first day of school!”

You pull your hand away from Jungkook’s mouth, grab your coffee, and head towards the door. “Back at you, Jin. Bye, Jeon,” You kick open the door with your heel and shoot them a small smile on your way out.

You miss the way that Jungkook adjusts himself in his low slung track pants. You miss the way Jin shakes his head amusedly after your departure and tells Jungkook, “That one’s a hurricane wrapped in a deceivingly cute package.” And you miss the way Jungkook nods absentmindedly as he licks his lips, ideas forming in his head…

The first weeks of school always fly by for you with new faces to learn, new courses to prepare, new material to deliver. You love every minute that you spent with your students.

But, you hate every last second that you spend hearing about the amazing new P.E. teacher and how handsome and sweet he is. It seems that everyone, aside from you, is completely whipped for Jungkook. Even your own students bring him up in your classroom, telling you about the new physical fitness regimen he has them on and raving about how cute he is.

Don’t even get you started on how much you despise seeing Jungkook in the hallways, in the teacher’s lounge, in the cafeteria. He seems to be everywhere you go, almost as if he tracks your location. He even pops his head into your classroom during your free period to say a shy, soft ‘hello, Dr. (Y/l/n)’ that sends you into a feral state each time.

Fuck, what is it about him that makes you go insane? One day last week you had even walked past the gym and had stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of a sweaty Jungkook wiping his face with the hem of his t-shirt. It had been a whole lot of abs and a whole lot more fuel for your fantasies.

It absolutely doesn’t help that you constantly catch him staring at you - your body, your legs, your mouth. You had even overheard him ranting to the media teacher Kim Taehyung about how sexy you are when you ignore him, how he wants you to like him, how he longs to please you.

You are at the absolute end of your tether - especially because you and Jungkook are supposed to begin constructing the Sex Ed. curriculum together soon. Just the thought of discussing anything sexual with the boy gives you way too many dirty ideas. You decide that you might as well just rip the bandaid off so to speak, and so the next time you spot that curly head of his wandering past your classroom after school, you gesture for him to come in with your pointer finger.

Jungkook’s eyes widen as he stumbles into your classroom. “Shut the door, please,” You say, getting up from your desk chair.

“Am I in trouble?” He jokes as he follows your orders. You glare at the tempting expanse of his back, his tapered waist, his tight ass.

And so you cannot resist teasing him. “Hm, do you want to be in trouble with me, Jeon?” You smirk at him as he faces you once again, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Maybe,” Jungkook mumbles. He fiddles with one of the rings on his fingers, a nervous habit no doubt.

You slowly walk towards him, your hips swaying. Stopping inches away from him, you grab his hand to stop his movements, “You’re a restless little boy, aren’t you?” You flip his palm over and place your hand in his, reveling in the size difference.

“W-what are you doing, Dr. (Y/l/n)?” Jungkook looks at you like he isn’t sure if he should run or kneel at your feet. You hope you can convince him to choose the latter.

You shift closer to him still and bring your mouth to his ear, “I’m playing with you, Jungkook.”

A whine bubbles up from his throat, “Say my name again. Please. I’ll do anything.”

You drop his hand and step away from him. Moving back to your desk, you prop yourself up on it and cross your legs. Your pencil skirt rides up just enough to show the garters of your tights. Jungkook chokes. You grin.

“I know you will, Jeon,” You continue to smile as he scowls at the use of his last name, “I heard what you said to Tae. You want to please me?”

Rather than be embarrassed like you thought, Jungkook swiftly approaches you and sinks to your feet. How divine. He gazes up at you with a mix of lust and hope, “Yes, more than anything, Dr. (Y/l/n).”

You slowly uncross your legs, giving him a glimpse of the lace that lies underneath your skirt. “Call me (y/n).”

His eyes widen further than you thought possible as he nibbles on his lip, “O-okay, (y/n).”

“Good boy,” You purr, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. Jungkook leans into your touch, sighing.

Hesitantly, he looks up at you, his pupils blown out, “Can I touch you, (y/n)?”

“I suppose,” The words barely pass your lips before his hands are on you. His touch is tentative at first, running his hands slowly up your calves. He surprises you by placing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, and for once you’re mad at yourself for wearing your favorite garter set.

His touch becomes more assured as he moves higher, his fingers digging into your thighs, his mouth placing hot kisses higher and higher. And before he can move his fingers over your panties, you tug his head back with your hand tangled in his hair.

“I don’t think I gave you permission to touch me there, Jungkook,” You frown, feigning disappointment.

His pout is fierce in response, “But, (y/n), you’re so wet. You smell so good. Please let me taste you. Let me make you come. I’ll make you feel good, I promise. Please.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You sigh, “I can just call someone else who I already know will make me come hard.”

Jungkook bites your inner thigh, and you moan before you can stop yourself.

“You’re mine,” He glares up at you, “You’re my scary smart noona. Your orgasms belong to me.”

You push him backwards by placing the sole of your heel on his forehead, “And when was this decided? And why was I not consulted?”

“It was decided as soon as you looked at me,” Jungkook says like that should have been common knowledge, “And I didn’t tell you because I thought you would reject me.”

“And you don’t think I’ll still reject you?” You arch an eyebrow.

“No,” Jungkook grins, his hand coming up to grab your ankle, “I think you like me.” He tugs your leg over his shoulder, bringing you closer to him. His gaze flicks between your pussy and your eyes.

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re so infuriating. I can’t understand why I like you, but I do. Despite your terrible first impression, your annoyingly cute ass has gotten my attention.”

Jungkook’s grin is blinding, “So you do like me!”

“Against my better judgement,” You sigh, your lips twitching as you can’t help but stare fondly down at the smiling boy between your legs. “Now, are you going to please me, baby? Or just stare?”

Jungkook lunges forward, hitching your thigh further over his shoulder and pushing your underwear to the side. Barely pausing to breathe, his hot mouth is on you, closing over your clit without warning. You hum in pleasure, and Jungkook pauses to grin up at you.

“So responsive, noona,” The honorific rolling off his tongue, “And you taste so delicious. You’re so wet for me—”

You groan, “Jungkook, for the love of god, shut up and make me come.”

Jungkook sends you one last shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at your pussy, up and down. His mouth finally returns to your clit, sucking it between his lips and swirling his tongue around it.

Your hand once again winds its way into his curls, pushing him harder against you. He moans into your pussy.

The sight of the boy you’ve lusted after and slightly hated for so long being tongue deep in your pussy practically pushes you over the edge already. God, why hadn’t you done this sooner? You think to yourself as Jungkook brings his fingers up to your folds and parts them.

His tongue sinks into you, your hips buck slightly against his face. His other hand comes around to steady you - and to grab your ass. Jungkook’s tongue flicks in and out of you, and you feel the heat building up.

“Jungkook,” You moan, hand tugging at his hair, “Harder, baby.”

Your words have their desired effect as he replaces his tongue with two of his fingers and places his mouth back on your clit. You moan as his fingers curl inside you, the rings cool to the touch as they brush your walls. You come with a gasp. Jungkook continues to fuck you with his fingers and his mouth, carrying you through your orgasm.

He licks up everything you give him, and when you gently push him off you, he licks his fingers clean. “Well?” Jungkook leans back on his heels, “Are you going to need to call anyone else after I made you come like that?”

“That depends,” You laugh, “Are you going to keep making me come like that?”

Jungkook nods, his gaze dead serious as he says, “(Y/n), noona, you’re never getting rid of me after that.”

“Oh my,” You tease, “Whatever did I get myself into?”

And his answering smile is breathtaking.

#bhqdrabbles #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #btsnoonanet #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts smut #jjk smut

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