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levworship · 3 years

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cw: dom!reader, fem reader, mommy kink, degrading, dirty talk, oral (fem rec), slight mind break, reader is a lil manipulative. just a bit. probably had errors

summary: you find out while on another blind date with one of mina’s friends that kirishima is just the man for you. he wants to be used, and you’re more than willing to use him.

word count: approx 2.9k

“fuckin’ mina. i’m gonna beat her ass.”

this wasn’t the first time your best friend has tried to set you up with one of her friends. and honestly, knowing her, it more than likely wouldn’t be the last time, either. “but he’s so nice” she’d promise, or “she’s just a little shy,” and perhaps the most common line of “you just have to be a little patient with them”

patient my ass.

your damn patience was beginning to run thinner and thinner the longer you sat waiting at the table for your date to arrive. you’re used to mina’s friends not being the most punctual, but to not show up at all? it was almost insulting. here you were, taking the time out of your busy day to spare some of your sweet time with some rando and—

“hey there, beautiful.” your eyes quickly tore away from the spot you’d been staring at for the past few minutes during your internal rant. part of you wished you hadn’t, because you damn near stopped breathing. typically, you’d never allow a man the satisfaction of hindering you speechless, but fuck. the man before you stood tall and strong, the white fabric of his dress shirt clinging onto his muscles in the most delicious way possible. his hair was slicked up in a style that you could only describe as goofy, and his smile? it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but to toss away the piping hot insults you’d been preparing to shoot his way.

“sorry i’m late. was searching all over town to find these for ya. i know mina said they were your favorite, and well—“ pulling his arms from behind his back, the red-haired man handed you a comically large bouquet of flowers. were they your favorite? no, not at all. but you couldn’t help but to be flattered anyway. “had to look all over town for them. turns out they’re actually pretty hard to find around here. can you believe that?” he chuckled to himself as he scratched at the back of his neck. an unfittingly cute gesture for a man of his build.

you grin sweetly as you grab the bouquet from his large hands, setting them down on the table in front of you and batting your lashes. “these are very beautiful! thank you so much, ...um?”

mina always purposely hid the names of her friends away before setting you up, mostly in fears that you’ll end up googling them and find some not so pretty things, just as you had that time when she tried to set you up with katsuki bakugou. (you noted to yourself that day, stay away from him at all costs.)

“ah- eijirou kirishima!” he filled in for you and held a hand out for you to shake. your eyebrows shot up in realization, leaning forward a bit on the table to shake his hand. you don’t miss the way his eyes shamelessly drift down to your cleavage when you do so. the sight made you laugh.

now you saw why he seemed so familiar at first glance. you’d heard mina talk to you about him on numerous occasions. big, handsome, and dumb. that’s how you’ve always perceived him from listening to her stories and descriptions. and if there was one thing you actually enjoyed about a man, it was how simple they could be. perfect for a woman with your desires.

you open your mouth to return his introduction, but he’s already cutting you off with perhaps a little too much eagerness. “and you’re y/n? did i say that right?” he quirks an eyebrow. “uh- i may have asked mina about you already. a lot.” he flashed you a sheepish smile.

talking to him felt like being a kid in a loaded candy shop. he’d be in the palm of your hand in no time.

the rest of dinner went on moderately better than your previous experiences with these stupid dates. kirishima was a bit of a talker, but you didn’t mind listening if it meant you got to watch the way those puppy dog eyes lit up a little more every time he’d begin telling you a story from his hero work (turns out you were just really behind on the latest hero news), only to quickly become side tracked by one details of his story and trail his way to another mini rant.

finally, you figure you’ve had enough of him rambling. it was time to cut to the point. “does it get lonely?” you asked him suddenly, trying your best to hold in a smile at the way he looked at you confusedly. “i mean- not really? i’m a hero so i’m with people all of the time-“ “that’s not what i meant, red.” hearing you refer to him by his hero name sent visible chills down his spine. just the effect you were wishing to have on him. something about your change in tone knocked him from a highly energetic and charismatic sweetheart, to a blushing and stuttering mess who suddenly couldn’t sit still in his seat. and from just one question, too?

he was almost too good to be true.

“no? i-i mean, yes but... i dunno. i’m busy a lot, a-and i don’t really have time for... yaknow.” “what kind of women do you like? in bed, i mean.” you managed to knock his brain around for a second time as he fumbled around his head for an answer.

“i-i guess it depends?” “hm? what do y’mean?” the way he continued to respond to your nasty questions had you licking your lips. you wanted him. badly. in the most selfish ways possible.

“depends on what the chick is into. i mean- they usually like when i’m on top. but..” you don’t respond this time. instead you look at him expectantly and wait for him to continue his previous statement. something about seeing such a grown man grow so embarrassed that quickly does something to you.

“i guess i wouldn’t mind... having someone take control for once?”

everything from that point felt like a blurred flash. you quickly abandoned the bouquet and called for the bill (which he so generously covered for the two of you) and were stumbling out of the door in no time, speedily walking all the way to your humble apartment. the door had just swung open when you were already shoving him inside.

kirishima spent nearly the entirety of the walk psyching himself up for this. did you know he wanted to experiment with this? had mina told you? how would mina even know? did he even really want this? because by the way he was struggling to catch his breath and connect dots in his mind, maybe he’d gotten too far ahead of himself.

but it was too late for that now. you’d already shoved him all the way down the hall, into your bedroom, and onto your bed before he knew it. you were fierce and impatient. and honestly? he found it quite intriguing.

“red...” you drew him back from falling into his thoughts once again, dragging your knuckles across the rough skin of his cheek. “i said, are you sure you want this?” and he swears he’s never nodded faster in his life, already grabbing onto your waist and hoisting you onto his lap. “yes! yes, i’m sure. please y/n?” and with that, a thread in you snapped.

you pushed him roughly until his head rested comfortably against the pillows, muttering a quick ‘stay’ as you began to fumble with his belt. you’d barely even touched him, yet he still lied staring at you with those same big adoring eyes. he was just too cute for his own good.

it made you want to wreck him.

you practically ripped away his pants and boxers before gently palming at his cock. you had expected him to be big, but not this big. he was long and thick, your hand barely managing to wrap completely around it. wordlessly you crouched down and pressed a gentle peck to his swollen tip, the precum that’d gathered there now sticking deliciously to your lips.

kirishima was getting so restless above you that you could’ve mistaken him for a virgin, hands fisting at your sheets with countless pleas tumbling from his lips. “so impatient, cutie. dont you want to be taken care of?” “i do! i do!” it seemed as if he was completely unashamed of how desperate he must’ve looked right now.

but rather than provide the sweet sweet release you knew he was craving, you tsked and backed away from his cock. much to his disappointment. “you know something, red? i didn’t take you for the selfish type. want me to make you feel good when you haven’t even touched me yet? and i thought you were a gentleman...”

kirishima thrashed below you, fingers digging hard into your hips. “i’m a gentleman! i’ll be a gentleman! i promise!” his lip wobbled cutely. you almost felt bad for having to deny such a pretty face.

almost.

he observed closely as you leaned back on your knees, sliding down the straps of your dress and tugging until your lacy bra was revealed to him. you were going to be the fucking death of him. you couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the way he eyed your chest. “i’ll tell you what.” you said as you reached out and pressed a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet your intense eyes.

“be a good boy for me and maybe, maybe, i’ll let you touch. deal?” and kirishima nodded giddily. truly an obedient little thing, he was.

you gave him a large smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before patting him on the cheek, moving up to straddle his face and... shit. you weren’t wearing any panties under your dress. the smell of your arousal right in front of his face nearly made him overload, wanting nothing more but to bury his face between your legs until you’re heaving and begging for a break. but he had to be good for you. wanted you to rake your fingers through his hair and call him your good boy while he plays with your pretty tits.

“well? dont you want a tas—” you gasp when his mouth is suddenly on you, every sense of restraint abandoned as his tongue slid across and pressed against your poor clit. it was messy, no real technique behind his frantic movements, but he still had your eyes crossing and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head as ear muffs, his fingers squeezing and prodding at the flesh to keep himself grounded.

the sounds that came from your cunt and his mouth were embarrassingly lewd, the sound of his slurping making your entire body go hot. you were so close to losing your composure and letting him have you the way he wants, but you couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. not when you’ve been craving this for this long.

“kiri..” you couldnt tell if you were whispering or yelling at this point, brain all scrambled from the amount of pleasure you were receiving. you nearly doubled over from the vibrations of the small ‘hmm’ of acknowledgment he gave you. your fingers tangle themselves in his stiff red locks, holding his face still to allow you to grind yourself on his mouth just the way you wanted.

your breath hitched in your throat each time his nose bumped against your clit, his tongue buried deep in your hole as he was desperate to taste all of your juices. you could already feel your orgasm creeping up on you..

“oh, shit! just like that. good- fuck! such a good boy” the praise sends him into a frenzy, now using the pad of his thumb to rub viciously at your clit as his tongue fucked into you so nicely.

“‘m cumming, cumming, oh my god!” you’re hunched over now, eyes screwed shut when your orgasm suddenly rips through you. kirishima’s tongue continued its assault on your spasming pussy, the overstimulation becoming almost unbearable. you tried everything to get him off of you to make it stop. tugging his hair, lifting yourself up- but nothing seemed to be able to separate him from you until you literally shouted his name.

he released you in an instant and allowed you to back away to fully take in his form. everything about the sight was downright sinful. your juices covered the entire lower half of his face, and his hair remained matted with sweat against his forehead. and most delicious of all? he still looked hungry. you nearly said ‘fuck it’ and climbed back on top of him again...

but he needed to be punished.

and it seemed that he knew this too, because the moment your eyes met he was already begging for mercy. “‘m sorry! p-“ “i thought you promised you’d be a good boy? yaknow, i��m not exactly a big fan of liars, red. how could i let you have me when you can’t even follow simple instructions?” he’s silent at this point, eyes glued to the ground with an unreadable emotion splayed across his face.

you huffed as you climbed off of the bed, standing on wobbly legs with your back turned to him. you shook your head as you quickly slid your dress back into place. you originally planned on leaving it at this and sending him home, and perhaps you’d consider giving him a second shot if he begged you pretty enough. but kiri had other plans.

he wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but when he realized that you were planning on leaving him like that he couldn’t help but to jump up, gripping onto your waist once again. “kiri! what are you doing?” “please.” he whimpered into your ear, hard chest pressing into your back and his painfully hard cock rutting against your ass.

you probably would’ve collapsed right there if it weren’t for his tight grasp. “please don’t leave! ‘m so hard for you. want you so fucking bad. i’ll do anything, just- please let me cum. mommy.” the word rolled off of his tongue so sweetly, so heavenly, you couldn’t stop yourself from shoving him back onto the bed and tearing off his shirt.

you licked your lips when he was left completely bare to you finally, hand already working at pumping his cock. “suck a dirty boy. men like you are scum, you know that? getting so upset that you didn’t get your way after being so disobedient? i should tie you up and edge you for the rest of the night just for that” he began to mindlessly shake his head, muttering quiet a ‘no, no..’

“however,” you began to drag your fingernail across his chest, playing with the hairs that rested there, “think i’m gonna let it slide this time. well, only if you thank me properly..”

“thank you mommy!” the way there wasn’t even an ounce of hesitation or shame in his voice had you clenching around nothing. denying him any longer was beginning to be just as much torture to yourself as it was to him. biting down on your lip, you grabbed his cock and started pressing the tip to your entrance.

you began to feel as though you’ve managed to completely break him, watching as he continued to sputter out ‘thank you’s even as you struggled to take his cock in your dripping cunt. the stretch was nearly unbearable at first, but you were never one to back down from a challenge.

you weren’t going to stop until you knew you’ve completely broken him down into a blubbering mess for you. until you were the only thing he could think of. until you had him quivering and begging just for you. the thought of making him into your slave had you bouncing on his dick with energetic vigor.

kirishima was a sight to behold, too. eyes crossed and occasionally fluttering shut, panting like a dog as every bit of his stamina oozed out of him and he had to hold himself back from cumming too quickly.

at one point you caught his eyes glued on to the way your covered tits bounced while you rode him, still clad in your tight dress. you smirked devilishly before reaching behind your back and unclasping your bra, tugging it down with the dress once again and toying with your puffy nipples for his viewing pleasure.

that seemed to be the final straw for kiri, as he was now bucking up into you like a horny mutt. “gonna cum so hard, mommy. please let me cum in you. g’nna fill you up so good. wanna make you a mommy. i want it- i want it- i want it...” with all of his babbling you weren’t quite sure if he was aware of what he was saying right now, but the lewd words still had you spiraling closer and closer.

“cum in me, baby. be a good boy for mommy and give her your babies, okay?” you told him as you gripped his face in your hands.

and like the obedient little thing he is,, he did exactly that.

thirsts and requests for haikyuu and bnha are open.

#kirishima smut #bnha smut #mommy kink #boku no hero academia smut #mha smut #i’m so sleepy jesus #glad i’m finished doe #my hero academia smut #.chiyo’s works #.chiyo’s works bnha

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givemethatgold · 3 years

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 4

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x Reader Warnings: Injury, swearing, mentions of ptsd and drug use Length: 2k Notes: Hello my Freaky Darlings! I was watching The Martian while writing this and didn’t edit so bear with me and forgive errors!

Part One, Two, Three

Damn your stubborn pride. Damn it, and your swollen wrist, all to hell. Now that you were back at home, nursing your previously ignored injury, it was easy to forget why you had felt the need to work through the pain. Prime harvesting season was ending and all the old farmers in town were predicting an early frost. Knowing how this would destroy any unpicked apples, you had worked hard all day.

Frankie had grumbled at you once, an hour into the workday when he saw you emptying your half-full basket into one of the tractor-pulled bins. You didn't feel like explaining your stupid injury, or risk drawing his memory to when you eye-fucked him, so you just grumbled back an assurance that your total count would be the same.

He was slightly more attentive than usual, and you were worried he had read more into your glances than you had meant. Because, you still hated the guy, right? His... what was it again? Arrogance? Yes! That was it.

Not wanting to encourage any more misconceptions, and still trying to hide your damn swollen wrist, you worked through your breaks and barely stopped for lunch.

Frankie had finally put his foot down when Jacquie had arrived with stew and biscuits for dinner, forcing you off the ladder and stashing it away to make sure you didn’t get the idea to head up again that day.

You had successfully hidden your swollen wrist from him but knew that Jacquie had a much keener eye. So while you were remiss to leave the company of your friend you begged off dinner, citing exhaustion, and went home.

Now though, with a meal that paled in comparison to Jacquie’s cooking, and your bound wrist on ice, you wished you had stayed.

That is until you remember the moment when you had stared at your boss's lips for an inappropriately long time. With a groan, you decided to leave the dishes for tomorrow, just wanting to bury your head under your blankets and try to bury your embarrassment as well.

The sound of rain pelting against the window woke you a few short hours later. You would have just gone back to sleep but the memory of leaving a few windows open forced you out of bed. By the time you made it downstairs, the gentle rain had turned to a downpour of sleet and you could feel the cold air blowing through the house.

Your mind immediately went to the orchard. If this storm got any worse, a sizeable section of un-picked trees would be rendered worthless. Grabbing your boots and discarded coat off the floor, you rushed to your truck with freezing rain stinging your face. It wasn't until you were near the end of the driveway that you realized you hadn't closed any of the windows.

That wasn't what caused you to slam on the brakes, though. Frankie's truck had just turned down your driveway, fishtailing around the bend as he barely slowed down in his hurry. Seeing you at the last minute, he braked hard but the slush already accumulating on the ground caused him to skid. The impact wasn't hard but your smaller truck wouldn't be road-worthy any longer.

Wrenching your doors open and coming around the assess the damage Frankie was swearing while you were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frankie called to you from across your crumpled hood.

"Me? ME?!" You countered, voice becoming shrill from panic and stress. "What the hell are YOU doing?!"

"Coming you help you and save your damn house from this storm!" He yelled back, giving a little jump and waving his arms out of frustration. It would have been comical under different circumstances. "This is gonna flood your fuckin' house!"

"Your orchard!" You were hollering now "This is going to ruin the rest of the apples!"

Jerking his head back Frankie looked at you with confusion, "What the hell are you worried about them for?"

His query forced you to stop and wonder that for yourself.

"I-" you stuttered, feeling a little silly "I don't know? Are you really going to argue with me though?! We've wasted enough time..."

Heaving a sigh, Frankie jerked his head towards his truck and growled, "Get in."

In a desperate bid to save as much of the fruit as possible, you and Frankie laid tarps down under as many trees as you could. Shaking the branches caused the ripened fruit to fall and you just prayed the rest would survive the sudden storm which had now turned to snow.

Working together you dragged each tarp towards the tractor and took turns driving the filled bins into the barn. It wasn’t a heated cab but still a nice respite from the blizzard.

By five a.m. you had done as much as possible and the adrenaline that had once been surging through the both of you had long faded. The snow had now slowed to a light drizzle but the ground was a slippery, muddy mess, as so were the both of you. Once Frankie noticed the shivers that wracked your body he ushered you into the barn and up the side stairs into his loft.

“It’s not much but it’s enough.” was his way of welcoming you into the space. It was cozy but lacking in luxuries or personal touches.

While Frankie got busy making tea and warming soup in the kitchen you explored the loft. It was one large room broken into three basic areas: his bed in one corner with a small bathroom just off the side, a kitchenette along the opposite wall, and a couch flanked by rocking chairs faced a fireplace at the end. Making your way over to the fireplace you intended on getting a fire going but were distracted by the photos decorating the mantel.

“You served?” Your voice came out sounding loud and strained, not at all the casual way you had intended. Frankie had been gruff with you but never unkind, however, seeing photos of him in uniform instantly raised your hackles. It was an automatic response from being reminded of your husband and you hated it.

Shaking the thought of Brad from your mind, you realized Frankie hadn’t answered and was just standing next to you, staring at the photos with a blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried” you spoke softly, not wanting to spook him from his reverie.

You had seen that far-off look on your husband’s face when he had been home between tours. It had always been best to stay quiet and out of sight when he had gotten like that.

Frankie took a sudden step in your direction. That movement, mixed with the current memories swirling in the forefront of your brain, caused you to reflexively throw your arms up to cover your face. Hot tea spilled out of the mug Frankie had been passing to you and immediately burned the skin on your hands and arm.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out, immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Tears were spilling down your cheeks and you had instantly curled up, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Shhhhhh, no, nononono, shhhhhh” Frankie was frantically trying to reassure you while simultaneously trying to get close enough to assess how bad the damage to your skin was. He seemed to know that you were feeling unsafe so he made himself small and lowered himself to the floor. “That was completely my fault, right? Can I see?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath you calmed yourself enough to see the warmth and worry in his eyes. Your heart immediately constricted for an entirely new reason when you noticed his posturing, how he had made himself smaller than you and had his hands out wide where you could see them, waiting for you to show him the severity of the burns.

This man had dealt with PTSD before.

Nodding, you reached out both hands for Frankie to take and tried to swallow the embarrassment you felt from your little breakdown. That emotion was quickly forgotten, however, when Frankie finally got a look at you and noticed, for the first time, just how swollen your wrist was.

“What happened here?” he asked, sternly “Were you working all day like this?”

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, trying to pull your hands out of his firm but gentle grip, “just a little mishap from this morning. Don’t worry, though, I was able to work just fine.”

He let out of huff of frustration. “You think I’m worried about how many apples you picked? Jesus Christ, you must think I’m the biggest asshole around.”

“No,” you said quietly, still trying to calm down but also wanting to relieve the tension, “that title belonged to my husband. You,” you continued, ignoring the way his head snapped up to your face then back down to check your bare ring finger, “are just the biggest grump around and it’s intimidating.”

Frankie was silent again and watched his jaw tic as he digested this new information. He was still staring at your hands, cradled in his. The bright red hue of your skin must have jarred him from his thoughts because he quickly but carefully stood up, pulling you up with him, and ushered you towards the kitchen. As you sat on the counter with cold tap water flowing over your burning skin, Frankie flitted about searching for salves and gauze to protect the skin once it had been sufficiently cooled. You tried to reassure him that you would be fine but he wasn't hearing it.

He was talking now, hadn't stopped rambling, but of nothing consequential. You had a feeling there were a lot of secrets stored in his heart but knew you weren't in a position to be trusted with them. You found yourself wishing that you were. You hadn't realized you were nodding off, the strain of the past 24 hours finally catching up on you, until Frankie had called your name for the fourth time. He was, respectfully, keeping his distance not wanting to startle you again, but hovering close enough by to catch you if you slumped over in your doze.

"Come on," he murmured sleepily, "let me take you home. We're not getting any more work done here for a while so take a few days to rest."

"Oh Christ," you guffawed in a very unladylike manner, "how did I forget?"

"It looks worse in the light of day." Frankie chimed in, ruefully.

The two of you sat in the idling truck staring at the crumpled hood of your poor truck, which was inconveniently blocking your driveway.

"I'll call for a tow."

While he was on the phone he climbed out of the cab, assessing the damage and trying to figure out how much this was going to cost him. A few minutes later he made his way back into the warmth of his truck, "He won't be here till tomor-". Frankie let the sentence trail off once he noticed you'd fallen asleep, bundled up in the fleece jacket he had lent you. Sitting back in his seat, watching the sunrise dance across your face, Frank took a moment to think about everything that had transpired in such a short amount of time.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat, he figured he'd let you sleep for a few more minutes before making you wake and have to walk the rest of the way to your house.

"As I live and breath..."

Jacquie's jubilant voice woke the both of you with a start. It was evening and Frankie's truck had been idling in your driveway for nearly 8 hours with the two of you passed out cold in the cab. At some point, you had shifted and were resting against Frankie's chest, his body turned toward yours and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"Mark!" She continued to yell, "You owe me fifty bucks!"

PART FIVE

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #Frankie morales x you #catfish x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #catfish x you

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ghostburs-blue · 4 years

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Gas Station Coffee

Summary: y/n and reid are literally oblivious lmfao, classic best friends to lovers trope

Warnings: angst if you squint, lots of fluff! some kissing though

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: i really hope you like this guys!! i’ve worked for the past 4 hours straight on this asjdhnaksdjh <33 this has not been beta-ed! im tired, please forgive me if you notice any spelling or grammatical errors. much love!

Spencer stepped into the bullpen with his favorite tan coat slung over his arm, eyes immediately casting towards the desk where he knew you sat. A small smile played across his lips as he saw JJ leaning over your shoulder, pointing and laughing at something on your computer screen. He watched, entranced, as you looked over at JJ and grinned before doubling over in fits of your own laughter.

He found himself walking towards you as if he couldn’t control his own actions. His feet brought him directly in front of your desk.

You glanced up at him, eyes beginning to sparkle when you realize who it was. “Spence!” You squealed, and it was all you could do to stop yourself from launching at him.

With an amused “woah!”, Spencer’s arms engulfed your frame, stumbling backwards ever so slightly. He buried his head into your hair, inhaling the smell of your rose shampoo.

You pushed at his body ever so slightly, signalling him to give you some space. He stepped back, taking in the sight of your blushed cheeks and slightly ruffled hair. Heat rose to his face at the thought of you looking like this under him-

“Spencer?” Your voice cut into his thoughts, and Spencer refocused onto you waving a hand in front of his face. You smiled at him, pure happiness filling your gaze. “JJ just left, you guys have a case,” you explained, laughing at the frown that now adorned Reid’s features.

“Ugh,” he groaned, pulling you in for a quick hug and forehead kiss before dashing towards the round table.

You stood, stunned, hand slowly rising to the top of your head. Did Spencer just give you a kiss? You thought, astounded. You sat down again, though you still felt like you were in shock. You eventually got to work, though the feeling of his lips pressed against your skin never faded.

15 minutes later, you noticed the team quickly leaving the conference room, everyone heading to their desks to grab go-bags before making their way to the airstrip.

You noticed Reid grabbing his duffel from under his desk, and you gently placed a hand on his bicep. He looked up at you, flushed.

Before you even said anything, he responded. “California,” he whispered. “We’re going to California.”

You tried to hold in your disappointment, but judging by the softness overtaking Spencer’s gaze, you assumed it was showing. It was his turn to grab your hand, and you ignored your heart beating furiously in your chest.

“It’s so far,” you whispered, sadness lacing your tone.

He offered a tiny smile in an attempt to comfort you. “I know, I know,” he replied. “But we can call any time I’m on break, okay?” He reassured you.

You nodded, fully knowing you never call him on breaks because that was the one time he could sit in solitude.

You pulled him in for a quick hug, punching his shoulder slightly as you break away. “Go be a hero,” you laughed, attempting to mask your dread. He chuckled in response before grabbing his luggage and walking away, not looking back.

You watched with a heavy heart, only turning when you heard Garcia calling your name, asking for help with some files.

A few days passed without any contact from Reid. You had assumed your regular position in Garcia’s office, ranting to her while playing with one of her many bobbleheads as she listened and gave you advice as you spoke. It was a comical sight, really; you lay in a chair that you had reclined back as far as possible with a pink feathery bobble in your hands as you spoke, while Garcia spun her chair in circles and gave you advice to your life problems.

The topic in question today was Spencer. To be fair, the topic for the past few weeks had been Spencer. Garcia was sure he liked you back, but you were too scared to make a move or ask him about it.

“Does he like me or does he not?” You exclaimed, frustrated. Penelope had stopped spinning, and seemed to be trying to tell you something. “Like honestly, it’s not hard to stop sending mixed signals!”

You quickly quieted down as you glanced over at where Garcia sat, eyes ghosting over the computer screen and widening as you met the faces of four very amused agents.

Garcia groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “$10 to whoever can guess who y/n was talking about first,” she joked, and the group laughed. You bowed your head sheepishly.

Thankfully, Reid wasn’t there; he and Rossi had gone back to the M.E. to get some tox screen reports. However, JJ, Emily, Hotch, and Morgan very much were there, and were very much trying to hold back their smirks.

You zoned out as you heard Morgan and Hotch discussing a possible unsub with Garcia, instead thoughts racing with what could have been.

What if Reid had been there? What would he have done? Would he have thought you were talking about him?

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts; you knew enough about psychology to know stressing about something that didn’t even happen was just setting yourself up for failure.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, though your cheeks still burned with shame every time you thought about what had happened a few hours ago.

You made it home fine, pushing the door open with your key in the lock. You sighed as you slid off the small bag you took to work; there were some extra files you needed to take care of that you weren’t able to finish at the office.

It was nearing midnight when you finally finished working through the pile of paperwork. Your eyesight blurred slightly as you tried to focus on the clock in front of you. Cursing, you realized you had forgotten to put in your nightly contacts.

Stumbling to the bathroom, you placed the tiny pieces of plastic in your eye and blinked in an attempt to clear your vision.

You groaned as the fluorescent lights in your bathroom suddenly became too bright. A hand came up to shield your eyes, making your way to your bedroom. As you fell onto the bed, your phone started to buzz next to you. You let out a sound of frustration as you grabbed it and lifted it up to read who was calling you at this hour. Your eyes widened as you read Spencer’s contact name in bold across the screen.

Scrambling to pick up the call, you exhaled a sigh of relief as you heard a croaking voice say, “y/n?”

Worry overcame you once again, however, when you noticed how tired and sad he sounded.

“Spencer? Are you okay?” You asked quickly. You did some math in your head before realizing it was well over 3 am in California. “Why are you calling me so late?”

You were met with silence on the other end of the line, permeated with the occasional sound of sniffles.

“Oh, Spence,” you whispered into the receiver, feeling your heart break. “What happened?” You asked, though in your heart, you already knew the answer.

“We couldn’t save him,” he quietly cried, and you could feel your body yearning to comfort him.

“Baby,” you whispered, not thinking before you spoke. Your breath caught in your throat, but Reid didn’t seem to notice or care. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Reid was full on sobbing on the other end of the line at this point, and you felt tears rising to your own eyes as you listened to his heart wrenching cries.

You continued to whisper sweet nothings into the phone until he calmed down, still hiccuping slightly.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay baby?” You asked, worried for him and his well being.

“Can I video call you?” You could barely make out the sound of his voice, but you nodded quickly before realizing he couldn’t see you.

“Uh- yeah, yeah of course Spencer,” you murmured. In an instant, you received the video call request on your phone. You quickly accepted, letting out a small gasp as you met Reid’s red rimmed and puffy eyes.

“Could we please just-” His voice broke slightly, and your chest ached for the poor boy even more. “Could we please just stay on call? For- For the night?”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. Reid asking to fall asleep with you over video call wasn’t unheard of, but had only happened a few times before.

You tended to stay awake until you were sure he was asleep, but you never told him that.

So that’s how your night ended, watching the face of the man you loved as he slowly drifted off to sleep across the country, instead of in your arms like he should be.

The case ended soon after that, the whole team opting to leave immediately instead of spending one more night in California.

You and Garcia waited like normal at the office for them to come back home. This time, however, you were a little extra nervous. Maybe it was the video call a few nights ago, maybe it was the slip up in front of your coworkers. Whatever the reason, you were antsy, constantly shifting your weight back in forth between your feet and fidgeting with your hands.

You were in the middle of a staring contest with the ground when the sound of the elevator door opening caused you to look up. A small smile spread across your face as you saw Penelope practically run towards Morgan. You gave a quick hug to everyone else, but faltered before you got to Spencer.

He offered you a tired grin, the eyebags prominent under his eyes.You frowned slightly, sizing him up. His clothes hung a little more than usual on his already lithe frame, causing you to tut disapprovingly.

“Mr. Reid, how much did you eat over the course of the past week?” You asked, crossing your arms across your chest. The members of the team who hadn’t already dispersed laughed, knowing Spencer was in for a scolding.

Reid shook his head, a smile making its way onto his features. He stepped forward and practically engulfed your body, catching you by surprise. “I missed you too y/n,” he whispered into the hug.

The team had a mandatory day off after every case they finish, meaning they could all sleep in as much as possible. This normally meant you would spend the night at Spencer’s apartment, waking up to the sight of his adorable bed head and sleepy voice.

This night, however, was much different. Reid practically never left you alone the whole way back to his apartment, whining when you attempted to remove the hand he had placed on your thigh while you drove the both of you to his apartment (you had deemed Spencer unfit to drive after the long flight).

Even when you fell asleep next to him in his large bed, his arm managed to snake its way around your waist, legs looping around yours.

The next day came and went; Spencer continued to be clingy and you continued to let him. You knew it was rare when he would let his guard down, and you wanted to make him feel as comfortable around you as possible.

The next morning you woke up, feeling more tired than usual. You picked up your usual coffee from your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop, sluggishly hauling yourself to work.

If anyone seemed to notice your strange demeanor, they didn’t say anything. You got through about half of the day before you realized something was wrong; you hadn’t seen Reid at all yet.

So, leaving the large stack of files that needed sorting behind, you set out to search for him.

You had almost given up all hope for trying to find him until you rounded the corner to Morgan’s office. You heard voices echoing, and you could barely make them out through the closed door.

You quietly creeped to the door, placing your ear against it as you strained to understand what they were saying. “But what if she doesn’t like me?” Your heart dropped slightly. That was Spencer, you were sure.

“Kid, you’re going to be fine. Just do what I told you to, and everything will turn out alright.” That was definitely Morgan.

He didn’t like you. He liked a different girl all along.

You choked back a sob as you quickly ran to the bathroom, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth to stifle any noises as you made a mad dash for a stall.

You stayed there, crying quietly, for at least 10 minutes. You thanked the Gods above that you had decided to wear minimal makeup that day.

You attempted to dry your face as best as possible with the toilet paper in the stall (gross, you know), before finally emerging from the bathroom.

Because your luck was just fabulous that day, you practically slammed into Spencer’s body as you were exiting the restroom.

The moment Reid took in your puffy and disheveled appearance, you knew you were done before. You tried to maneuver around him, but for such a skinny person, he was quite strong. He grabbed your arms and turned you to face him, gently lifting your chin with a single finger to meet his gaze. You almost crumpled right then and there.

“What happened y/n?” Spencer asked, voice soft and full of concern. Your mind raced to come up with a lie.

“My uh- my childhood dog died?” You offered weakly, internally beating yourself up. A childhood dog? You didn’t even have a pet growing up! You thought to yourself, making a mental note to get better at lying, especially to Reid.

Something shifted in his gaze, and he stepped back abruptly, letting your chin drop without his finger to push it up. Confused, you looked at him, only to find a cold stare looking back at you. You instinctively drew your hands around your body; you did it every time you felt scared in a situation.

You thought you noticed a flicker of something in his gaze, but you couldn’t be sure. Reid gave you a tight-lipped smile, then swiftly turned and walked away. You were left staring at his retreating figure, extremely confused.

The next few days were, to put it lightly, hell. You hadn’t texted or called him in forever, nevertheless actually spoken to him in person. It seemed like he was purposely avoiding you; you couldn’t figure out why.

At this point, you had had enough. You slammed your pen down on your desk, marching over to where Spencer sat hunched over some paperwork.

“Reid,” you started, coldly. He looked up at you, poorly masking his shock. You never called him Reid, ever. “We’re going for a walk, leave your stuff.”

You turned and headed to the glass doors without checking if he was following you. Sure enough, you heard the soft padding of his footsteps behind you.

You walked into the elevator, holding it open for Spencer to come in too.

When the doors closed, he turned to you. “So, will you finally tell me what’s happening?” He asked, clearly confused.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” You asked, still staring straight ahead. You could see him opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of the corner of your eye. He clearly hadn’t expected you to be so… blunt.

“I- uh- what?” He stammered.

You turned to face him with a no nonsense expression. “I said what I said. Why have you been ignoring me, Spencer?”

His face turned sheepish and red, and he ducked his head as he muttered something. You frowned, not catching what he said.

“Huh?” You asked him to repeat it.

This time, you could make out the words.

“Derek told me to,” he murmured, ashamed. You frowned, still not following.

“What do you mean?” You asked, the pieces not clicking together in your mind.

Reid sighed. “I asked him for girl advice…” He started.

Your eyes widened, and your hand flew over your mouth. “No,” you whispered.

At this point, you both had reached the ground floor of the building already and had exited the elevator.

Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

It was your turn to be embarrassed. “Remember when you saw me crying a few days ago, and I said my childhood dog had died?”

Spencer nodded.

“Well-” You started, only to be cut off.

“That was a lie,” Reid stated, surprising you. Before you could say anything, he went on. “You didn’t have a childhood dog, much less a pet of any kind. Your mom is scared of animals,” he said. You continued to stare at him with your mouth open.

“How did you…” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the question.

“You told me the first time we ever hung out outside of work,” he replied, shrugging like it was nothing. “I remember things, you know.” You nodded, smiling to yourself slightly. “So what exactly did Derek tell you?” You asked, curious.

“He told me to play hard to get. You know, ignoring texts, not talking to you, etc.” Reid explained, and you nodded. You were going to kill Derek.

Spencer sighed, and put out a hand to stop you from walking. You turned to face him. “Look- I don’t know how to see this but I really like you. Like, like like you. A lot,” he stammered. You giggled slightly. It wasn’t everyday that you heard the famous Dr. Spencer Reid stumble over his own words.

“Spencer, I like like you too,” you laughed.

“Really?” He whispered, eyes hopeful.

“Really, you confirmed,” amusement present on your features. Without a second to spare, you leaned in and captured his lips in a perfect kiss.

You two broke apart after a few seconds; Spencer’s chest was heaving. Whether it was nerves or he was out of breath, he couldn’t tell.

You two walked back to the bullpen, hand in hand and happier than you’d ever been.

You cursed as you pushed through the glass doors, holding a hot coffee in one hand and an unwrapped Ring Pop in the other. You turned and looked for Spencer with a smile on your face.

You and Spencer had been dating for 3 years, and you were extremely content to spend the rest of your life with him.

You were currently wearing his extremely oversized sweater, the sleeves so big on you that they dangled past the tips of your fingers. You were also sopping wet from the rain outside.

It was a cold winter day in Quantico, meaning lots of rain. It was around 7 pm, and it wasn’t uncommon for the team to stay until 9 to finish going through and completing case files.

Spencer had wanted coffee, but you knew how much he hated the break room coffee. Oddly enough, Reid loved your local corner store turned gas station’s coffee. Even though there was a thunderstorm outside, you had made the trek to the store to pick up a steaming cup of joe (and a Ring Pop for yourself).

The beautiful sounds of pure laughter fell upon your ears as your gaze rested upon your very own Spencer Reid. His face was stretched into a wide grin as he gazed at you.

You made your way over to him before he grabbed the edge of your (well, technically his) sweater and pulled you towards him.

“I got coffee,” you waved the hot cup tantalizingly in front of his face, prompting him to lean in and kiss you deeply.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt yourself smile.

“I know,” you whispered back teasingly. You placed the coffee and Ring Pop down on his desk. Immediately, Reid pulled you into a warm embrace.

You two stayed like that for who knows how long, simply enjoying each other’s presence as you buried your head into his collarbone. He held you oh so tight against his chest, as if he was your shield against the evils of the world.

You leaned up and began to pepper his face with kisses, making him squirm and laugh slightly. You were glad the rest of the team was sitting elsewhere to finish their papers.

You suddenly noticed Spencer pull back from you, lifting you up and placing you on the chair he was sitting on.

You closed your eyes, frowning at the loss of your personal heater. Opening your eyes, you were surprised to see Reid wasn’t in front of you.

Looking down, you could feel your heart start racing.

Spencer was on one knee in front of you, a stupid grin on his face. Instead of a ring, he held your untouched Ring Pop in his hands, cradling it as if it were made of glass.

You gasped, eyes filling with tears.

“These past 3 years have been the best of my entire life, y/n,” his voice cracked slightly as tears streamed down his face. “I know this is a Ring Pop and this is out of the blue and you’re probably extremely unprepared-”

“Shut up,” you cut him off. He looked up at you in surprise. “What?” He asked.

“Shut up,” you repeated. You slowly pulled yourself off the chair, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss, one that you hoped would explain everything.

Your salty tears mixed together, creating a briny taste as your tongues clashed.

Spencer broke apart first, gasping for air slightly. “Is that a yes?” He asked, breathlessly.

You grinned, leaning back in. “Yes,” you whispered against his lips.

Reid slipped the candy onto your finger, making you giggle. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you laughed, pure joy flowing in your veins.

“Me too,” Reid admitted, causing you to kiss him once more.

A loud thud followed by a scream echoed throughout the room, causing the two of you to jump apart and look around, alert and ready.

Garcia stood at the entrance to the bullpen, a mess of files laying scattered at her feet. Her eyes darted between the “ring” on your finger to the amused look on your guys’ faces, causing you to laugh loudly.

You held your hand up, pointing to the ring, shaking it slightly. “I’m getting married!” You squeal.

Penelope matches your energy, running up to give you a hug. The sound of footsteps rings through the large room, causing you all to look up.

“We heard a scream,” Morgan explained, worry covering his features. You laugh, once again pointing to your ring.

“I’m going to be a married woman!” You exclaim. Suddenly, you and Spencer were both being bombarded with hugs, and “congratulations!” resounding in the air. Rossi clapped Reid’s back with a “so, a Ring Pop, huh?”, causing you all to laugh.

You looked up at Spencer’s face, smiling to yourself.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way, you thought to yourself.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reader x spencer reid #bau x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #criminal minds fandom #y/n #reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #roo’s fics

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sunsoothed · 3 years

Text

hair(care)

remember this post? yes i wrote the fic. with some angst and backstory as a treat! family bonding time and people learning to love. the ao3 summary is "Yohan first learns affection through money, then oil." which i think is really really funny.

word count: 1696

read on ao3

apologies for any errors, and enjoy!

The first time Yohan tries, it is before everything. He’s allowed to err here and there, require an entire braid to be unwound and redone. He’s allowed to experiment with the clips and the ribbons and decide when the act is complete and present his art to his niece and his family. Elijah is rightfully fawned over, cheeks bright and smiles brighter, holding onto her uncle and hiding her face in his shoulder with glee.

That was, of course, before everything.

If Yohan has touched a hair on Elijah’s head since, it is only to make a promise or only in her sleep.

The doctors will take care of you, don’t worry. Samcheon is here. I won’t let them hurt you any more than you already have been.

Midnight, in that agonising few months of hospital rooms and the claustrophobic rehabilitation centre. When Elijah is able to perceive nothing but her breath, Yohan, hands reverent; soothing his own fears through comforting his niece. Things will be okay. We’ll be fine. A few grounding breaths are never enough, not after he learns what those monsters took from his niece.

And when Elijah cries. When she first asks after her mother and father, why they aren’t by her side, why is it just samcheon everyday? When Yohan’s tears ring before hers, for the first and last time. I’m sorry, so is declared. I’ll fix this, so is promised. He holds her as close as he can permit himself to, and vows to burn down this world if she asks him to.

Elijah, once, four years since, on her tenth birthday, asks him, “Can you help me?”

Yohan will pretend like he hasn’t been starved of hearing those words. He follows her to her room, honoured of her trip halfway across the house.

“The girls at school,” Elijah fumbles about, wringing her hands together, “that… they wear their…”

He stands in her doorway, somewhat uninvited, waits for her to finish.

“They wear their hair, kind of… like this,” Elijah mimics some variation of a hairstyle best she can, two locks of her hair held in her hands, the parting off. “I was just…”

Yohan, unfortunately, understands little. “Do you need a haircut?”

Elijah’s hands fall, as does the thin hope upon her features. “It’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I only called you because ahjumma wasn’t in today. It’s fine.”

Yohan blinks. “I can help if —”

“It’s fine,” Elijah hisses. “I was mistaken.”

If there is any chance of that ever happening again, time will have to be reversed. Elijah turns twelve, and things change, and Yohan notes his laptop has been hacked.

He buys her a cake for her thirteenth birthday that finds itself smashed against a wall and a demand for no such recurrence.

Yohan will never disobey her. Not with things that she can control.

So he buys no cakes, but buys her a building and channels the affection he allows himself to feel once a month in an allowance that shocks Ms Ji despite the lifetime she’s spent in this family.

Once, there is a package of hair care products with their usual shipment of essentials, which Ms Ji makes a show of putting in Yohan’s way. When he relents, it only takes a tilt of head to the east of the house for her to get the hint. He never knows if Elijah uses them, but the list goes on to include some products out of the large batch he’d purchased, and Yohan considers buying another building.

On her sixteenth birthday, Yohan asks, “Do you want to have a birthday party?”

Elijah asks, “Who will we call?”

Yohan nods, for that is an apt answer.

When Kim Gaon comes, Elijah hates him more than usual. That, Yohan had expected. What he hadn’t was that this hatred would melt away faster than ice when met with fire.

The frist time Elijah sports a more delicate hairstyle than the usual ponytail, Yohan thinks it’s a trick of the light. But she turns her head when retrieving cereal, and her hair is still parted that way and a short braid runs from behind her ear into the clipped-back hair at the back of her head, and Yohan pauses to stare.

Instead of their noncommittal acknowledgement of each other each morning, he asks, “When did you…” and gestures to the back of his head.

Elijah shrugs, looking over at him impassively for a moment before pursuing her breakfast once again. Kim Gaon slides into view, grin perpetually etched into his face, asks, “Elijah, did it stay?”

To which Elijah smiles back, and now Yohan’s eyebrows remain shot up.

Kim Gaon continues to talk, “It’s experimental. We’ll try a different style tomorrow. Your hair’s long enough to make an intricate bun.”

Yohan ensures Elijah watches him conspicuously eye the both of them.

“Kim pansa,” he says, breaking the moment. “We need to go to work.”

The next day, and the day after that, Elijah wears her hair in different styles. Once it is a high bun with some small braids, once it is a different parting and a new set of clips. Yohan observes critically over breakfast as Elijah holds her head a certain way to ensure it doesn’t fall into her food, and thinks, how impractical.

She catches him looking, so she hoists a sour look, to which Yohan responds with an exaggerated tilt of his head, aiming to mimic her.

“Don’t make fun of her,” Kim Gaon’s imposing voice interrupts. “Elijah looks fantastic today.”

Elijah beams. Yohan is disarmed of a biting reply for he hasn’t seem her teeth take on anything but a stubborn baring of power in front of him. He spends the rest of the day replaying it.

When things so south and north again, when Elijah acknowledges, begrudgingly, that her uncle did not have it out for her father, Kim Gaon mediates harmoniously.

He spends an evening making them both chase the cat around the house.

It’s an inane idea, even Elijah hates it, but he tells them the reason Kkomi starts throwing things off their desks at four in the morning is because she’s understimulated, and that even a cat needs to exercise.

So it’s Elijah’s job to get her rilled up enough to run — in a cat’s terribly comic way — away from them, and Yohan’s to ensure she keeps running around.

He’s insane, is what Kim Gaon is. Elijah’s more than sure this borders on some ethical offense. Yohan sure seems to find some pleasure in making the cat scared for her life.

Gaon congratulates them both with a mid-evening coffee and snack break. Elijah actually, voluntarily, asks for Yohan to pass the plate of biscuits across, and thanks him — thanks him! — when he does.

Before they all retire to bed, after another shared meal, Elijah calls for him from down the hall.

“Yohan!”

He turns, maintaining what he thinks is a smile.

“Can you try and get some coconut oil?”

“What for?”

Elijah scrutinises him, gauging how he doesn’t understand something so obvious. “For my hair.”

Yohan nods, still not on the same page, but very much wanting to be. “I’ll get it,” he assures.

He doesn’t blink twice at the astronomical shipping price.

It’s a tall bottle, imported and primly packaged, that greets Elijah when she returns home from her weekly ice-cream run with Gaon.

She eyes it, suspicious, before their resident busybody stands in her doorway and says, “Oh, bujang-nim actually bought it for you.”

Elijah blinks at Gaon innocently. Yohan does listen to her sometimes.

“Material wealth,” Gaon seems to understand. “We’ll put it in your hair tomorrow, okay? Keep it in for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Yohan voices, having just turned the corner, dressed as he usually is at home.

“What are you doing here,” Elijah mutters, shooting a scowl at Yohan as he stands in her doorway as well.

He scowls back, never one to back down from a challenge, as Gaon goes on about the benefits of oiling hair behind them.

“Don’t pull,” Elijah hisses.

“I’m not,” Yohan insists, but puts less force into his actions nonetheless.

Gaon and Ms Ji are monitoring them, mirroring each other with their arms crossed and leaning against opposite sides of the doorway.

Yohan sections Elijah’s hair into three parts after brushing through it, the fine-toothed comb surprisingly sparse of broken hair.

“Gaon has been helping me take care of it,” Elijah had explained, when he errantly asked. “What, did you think I’m some sort of wild animal?”

Yohan carefully collects some oil in his palms, completely foreign to this, eyes flickering up to Gaon for guidance. Gaon is absolutely no help.

So he trusts his instincts and starts at Elijah’s scalp, rubbing oil in, and ends with oil down his forearms and Elijah’s hair in a thick braid. She’s fast asleep.

“That means you did a good job,” Gaon whispers to him.

Yohan would smile, but such affection hardly suits his face. He pats Gaon’s face with an oily hand, leaves him spluttering, and grins to himself as he tries to wash the oil off.

It barely becomes a routine, because despite Gaon’s somewhat vast knowledge on hair care and what Elijah read online, washing oil out of your hair can be a nightmare. But Ms Ji and Gaon have observed their two sulking overlords interacting with an increasing frequency, even if it is sometimes just to disagree about an arrangement of clips or parting of hair.

Gaon had supposed, somewhat, that his bujang-nim had at least an understanding of style. In his discussions with his niece, though, when somehow colour schemes and draping becomes relevant, Gaon admits he’d underestimated Kang Yohan.

Later Elijah will decide she wants to dress for dinner as well, and Yohan will be the only one diligently obeying the formality. So much so that he will leave a guest in the company of the villainous home to attend to his niece’s requests. No one will ask about the pink bow in her hair, but it’s more than enough for Yohan to know that he tied it up.

#the devil judge #the devil judge fic #tvn the devil judge #kang yohan #kang elijah #kim gaon #is there a tag for the fam #lawful family #(?)#idk #whovie writes

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 years

Text

OPM Manga Chapter 139 Review: Abyss

Story: Unexpected Blast

Perspective matters. From our perspective last chapter, the hole that should be a hole is full of a curled up figure. We start the chapter with Flashy Flash, Saitama and Manako trying to make sense of something in the blackness. Try as Manako might, she can bring no light to bear on whatever’s out there. They’re interrupted in their investigations by a voice. This voice invites them to touch the cube and let it grant them their wishes... if it wants... like the world’s worst genie.

For more see under the cut! This is a long one!

Before they can consider the terms the infernal cube is offering, what happens but your regular rip in spacetime that just so happens to deposit the much-mentioned but never seen hero, Blast? He grabs the cube, spins it on a finger and off it vanishes into another dimension, along with the outraged shrieks of the being who wasn’t finished tempting Saitama’s little troupe. Blast is nice enough to take them to the surface, although not before explaining that time is running slow in the hole. So don’t expect Flashy Flash and Saitama anytime soon.

...I must confess I’m distracted by Flashy Flash’s ass and heels.

Anyway, back to the now. Directly on the heels of Orochi being cast down, we watch the heroes who weren’t part of the monster-bashing festival acting as the rearguard, but mostly spectating. Well, Child Emperor isn’t spectating -- he’s deep in a personal crisis from having erroneously excluded Genos and Bang from participating and wants Zombieman to take over command. As Sweetmask pooh-poohs the idea, Zombieman demurs, pointing out that the boy’s ability to admit error and seek to understand make for the capacity to improve.

AND THEN! FATALITY! Zombieman shoves Child Emperor out of the way just in time to catch the fireballs of Homeless Emperor, ugh.

The rearguard is under attack, but unfortunately no help is forthcoming as everyone else is transfixed (metaphorically) by Tatsumaki transfixing (literally) Orochi using the former Subterranean city as a skewer. It drives Orochi into the earth, twisting and smearing him as it goes, until he finally expires in front of an altar where there’s a mural depicting a suspiciously Orochi-like figure receiving sacrifices. Gee, I wonder what that means? Orochi dying where he was born, always sweet.

Well, the scumtastic monsters collectively known as the cadre are finally bubbling up to the surface. They’ve conveniently waited until their boss has taken the punishment and tired out the really big scary heroes they don’t want to tangle with. This is going to get nasty.

Meta: Evil Space Lawyers and other beasts

You didn’t read the small print

I don’t know the anon who wrote to me to point out that the confiscation that ‘God’ spoke of is exactly the same as the word used when He took away Homeless Emperor’s powers and that it’s a legal term He used. Evil Space Lawyer indeed. Setting up and executing unilateral contracts without notice.

We don’t know much about God yet, but so far, the people who we do know He’s ‘helped’ have been exceptionally homicidal freaks acting out of a deep-seated hatred of humanity who’ve been all too willing to use their powers to inflict sickening harm on the world.

Keep spoiling his fun, Blast!

You know, I’m pleased to meet the coolest uncle in the world, Blast, but honestly, there isn’t much *to* him. At least, not yet. Sure he’s cool. It’s great to see that Blast really is an exceptional hero who can spoil ‘God’s’ fun -- at least better than he can kill off giant monsters. Yes, it’s neat to see that he has a means to get around to the unlikeliest of places. Yes, it’s nice to look at his eyes and realise that Blue is telling no more than the truth (characters in OPM usually are). But okay, and? So? I’m sure that he’ll be back, and when he is, we’ll have more reason to care.

I do enjoy the detail of showing how he’s been ageing over time through the discrepancies between characters’ memories of him and how he is in the present day.

Sitch really was just telling the truth when he said that Blast was someone who wouldn’t be ordered around. I’m not wondering either at Sekingar saying that Blast is semi-retired and only a handful of executives can get hold of him. It all fits.

I freaking love that the various jack-in-the-box reveals are being destroyed and turned into more organic story-telling. ONE has the space, he may as well, as it also clears the way to do deeper storytelling about both the OPM world and its denizens.

Sit down, be humble

Man, the small but interesting changes between how Flashy Flash’s Very Bad No Good Day unfolded in the webcomic and the manga continue to amuse me. He’s been buried in an undignified position and dug out by a pair of clowns. His beloved Instakill has been murdered by a hyperactive midget with a twitchy index finger. And now the worst thing of all, not feeling like he’s the fastest thing on the planet has happened now once, but TWICE.

Heh, I wonder who Flashy Flash will take his wounded ninja pride out on.

Oh, the humanity!

Parentification is when a child is pressed into the role of taking on adult responsibilities to make up for unreliable adults. It’s been a big problem that Child Emperor has been struggling with and I was both heartbroken and hopeful to see Child Emperor admit that the impossible position he was in was, in fact, impossible. I wouldn’t call his decisions bad -- under the circumstances, with no one by him to advise, they were the best decisions he could make. The outcome of the decision was just very unhelpful.

I was more than a little sad when the upshot of Zombieman’s kind words boiled down to Child Emperor still being left carrying the can.

Speaking of humanity, it’s a gimme for web comic readers that Amai Mask is speaking without turning his head to look at Zombieman. So far, he’s been able to hide his shame from everyone, that he’s turning into a real monster. But for how much longer?

In passing

Fun little thing. As Manako lights up the world, just look at Flashy Flash’s body:

A second fun thing: Child Emperor’s memory of Genos being a mix of actual observation -- the lack of spikes -- and what he preferred to remember. Choosing not to remember that he was naked, good boy!

Btw, between Flashy Flash, Saitama, and Blast, that’s three of the four known cape-wearing heroes in one room. Nice!

#OPM #meta #long #review #Blast #Saitama #Flashy Flash #Child Emperor #Zombieman #Amai Mask #'God'#the mystery of the cube has an answer #and it's good to meet the character Blast behind the mystique

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

intermission • v | moonshine

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jihope + seokjin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: homoerotic tension (?), delulu shippers, seokjin is a nosy motherfucker (as per usual) → words: 7.3K → a/n: it’s been,, ten million years,, sorry to my fox rain readers but let’s just say my brain has been a smoothie for a while but now!! it is still a smoothie but perhaps a little chunkier ;w; anyway, we love jihope in this household,, and seokjin,, is seokjin,, we love him too

— • masterlist | prev | intermission v | next • —

In a small studio apartment somewhere close to your university campus, notoriously handsome and oh-so-talented Kim Seokjin wakes up in cold sweat, his heart beating a mile a second and a chill running down his spine. “There’s been a disturbance in the force,” he mutters lowly to himself, a drop of sweat making its way down his razor-sharp jaw.

He had been in the midst of a wondrous dream wherein he, the universe’s protagonist, was being showered with praise and adoration after the sensational debut of his autobiographical documentary. Men and women alike were at his feet, peppering his heaven-sent toesies with the worship that he deserves. Everyone was there, even you had been there, his self-declared rival! But just as you were about to reach the head of the line, lips puckered and ready to go, Seokjin was ripped away from his kissies without warning.

You, of course, were not the reason for his mind-bending, earth-shattering, cock-jizzing premature arousal from his slumber. No –– Kim Seokjin does not wake up prematurely, for every moment of his life is a beacon of perfection. Only events of the most catastrophic order were able to wake him up from his slumber, so whatever cosmic force caused him to awaken must’ve been no joke. He had to take this seriously, as it might mean thousands of lives were at stake.

Seokjin jumps to his feet with a flourish, his entire body oozing grace, so much so that it would make any grown ballerina cry. He rushes to unplug his phone from its charger, unlocking it and immediately going to search through his social media accounts. As he scans through the tweets and posts, his well-trained eye sifts through the dreary and the mundane, his only intent to find whatever it is that might forewarn him of a natural disaster.

His follower count is stable. His engagement graphs show that his posts are at an all-time high. To any other novice, this might have been a sign that his gut feeling had been nothing but a fluke. Surely, nothing is wrong in the universe? But no, Seokjin is not some mere amateur! He wouldn’t be as successful at being a prick celebrity social media influencer if he didn’t have the reflexes that he did. He has to keep searching and pick out any little thing that might indicate that something was amiss.

It takes a hot minute (three hours to be exact) for Seokjin to find it, but he does. And oh, his intuition had been right: this was a level nine catastrophe. To give you an understanding of what that might mean, then here’s some context to scale: a level eight catastrophe would be if you ever found that he might have had a crush on you when you first met each other; a level ten catastrophe would be if Kim Seokjin lost all his followers overnight and was forced to relinquish his title as an Instagram baddie. So yes, level nine was dire, if not almost life-threatening.

The evidence?

...

To the untrained eye, it might look like nothing. But to a delulu devoted JiHope stan? This was a living nightmare.

Oh god, the signs are all there! The context, the timestamps, the emojis… They all made sense in Seokjin’s complicated maze of a mind. Like a seasoned detective, he’s able to connect all the dots to make a valid hypothesis that yes, JiHope is in danger of breaking up*.

[Addendum: Please note that JiHope has never dated before. Kim Seokjin is a lunatic and the constraints of reality do not apply to those of his kind. Please read the rest of this report with that in mind. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

“FUCK!” he exclaims (with feeling), dropping to his knees as he cries (with feeling). The signs are all there: something is causing a rift between his two favorite homos* from staying together and he, as the chosen one, must do something to save them before it’s too late.

[Addendum: Well, technically he’s right, but Jimin is bisexual at the very least, but that’s a matter of semantics… But that’s pretty much as “factual” as Kim Seokjin is ever going to get, so let’s take that as a blessing. Noted by: Min Yoongi (again).]

He can’t jump headfirst into this madness, however. He needs a plan; not only did it need to be foolproof, but it also had to be undeniably fabulous and downright heinous. Seokjin never did see himself as the morally right hero from those dreary Marvel comic books despite the allure of their skintight spandex and ostentatious capes. No–– Seokjin is of a higher calling, one where the hero needs to pull his dirtiest tricks in order to save the day.

Which is why Seokjin finds no error in his ways when he decides to stalk Jimin and Hoseok throughout their day, trying to pinpoint which clogs in his JiHope machine need oiling and lubing.

Nothing is ever too much for Kim Seokjin. In fact, he’ll go out of his way to follow them to their homes if he has to, but luckily (for Jimin and Hoseok), he doesn’t need to go that far. In fact, it’s a downright fucking miracle that his intuition from this morning had been correct, made apparent by hour ten (10) of his stalking misadventures:

It’s nearing five in the afternoon. Kim Seokjin’s patience and determination has been put to the test before, but never like this. He could never ever imagine himself setting foot in this damned place, what with its overflowing abundance of knowledge, nerds, and public displays of integrity. He nearly gagged the moment he took one step in the library, and not even the thought of seeing Jimin and Hoseok together was enough to settle the bile climbing up his throat.

To make matters worse, you were there too. Not that Seokjin particularly cares (he does) that you are, but there is something… annoying about seeing you just sitting there, teaching Hoseok like it was normal*.

[Addendum: It is fucking normal. As per usual, Kim Seokjin is a dipshit who has never worked a day in his life and does not understand the notion of helping others study for their courses. To this day, I can’t understand how he’s passing his classes, though I’m kind of afraid of finding out how. Some things are better left… unsolved. Noted by: Min “I’m-not-paid-enough-for-this” Yoongi.]

He had been busy following Jimin around before this, but he was forced to change targets when one of his adoring fans had distracted him while asking for an autograph, causing him to lose track of Jimin entirely. It was of little consequence, however, given that he knows that Jimin was also going to be tutored by you later on anyway, so he just hopes that Jimin doesn’t do something stupid while he’s out of sight for the time being.

Normally, he’d try to find out where Jimin was going next, but the hardest part about following Jimin is that he didn’t have a fixed schedule like Hoseok did. Even Seokjin didn’t quite understand what Jimin was majoring in, and he prides himself in knowing every single detail of both their lives. But for now, it didn’t matter; at least Seokjin was left with one schedule to follow, so it made sense to just let Jimin be and go to wherever Hoseok was probably at the moment.

When Seokjin had finally located him walking out of his last class, Hoseok hadn’t appeared all that different from his usual demeanor. A bit dazed maybe, but that could be brushed off due to the essay he had to cram for that morning (a fact that Seokjin had learned through various connections). He walks lazily to the nearby library where he would be meeting you, and with a heavy heart, Seokjin follows suit.

You were already there when the two of them arrive. Seokjin is lucky when your eyes train automatically on Hoseok, ignoring him completely. In any other scenario, Seokjin would’ve felt incredibly scorned by this. He would’ve immediately stomped over to where you sat, making sure to announce his presence to you and everyone else within a fifty-foot radius. But today was not an ordinary day, so Seokjin is forced to hold his tongue and save his bitchin’ for another day. And so, he quietly slinks away to a seat a few tables away, his contemptuous aura causing all the previously seated students to vacate the table in a rush.

Much to his chagrin, it feels like Seokjin has just wasted an hour as he watches the two of you being productive (Seokjin lets out a shudder), not even bothering to film your tutoring session due to how little information he was getting. The only point of interest is how pissed off you seem, though it’s not like Seokjin has ever witnessed you in any other state anyway. He watches as Hoseok’s sunny disposition slowly chips away at your foul mood, and to his awe and surprise, sees you crack a smile just as the hour was about to pass.

It isn’t like that was important to Seokjin, though. So what if he noticed that you were happier with Hoseok around? It’s not every day that Seokjin catches you in a good mood (and he reluctantly admits that it’s always nice to see you smiling, even if his presence unfailingly causes a deep-set frown to appear on your lips.)

That was of little importance, he told himself.

Seokjin had hoped that when Hoseok’s tutoring session would end that he might manage to see him and Jimin cross paths. Unfortunately, it seems like Hoseok has other plans as he quickly shuffles his things into his bag, looking apologetic as he waves a hasty goodbye to you. You and Seokjin gaze at the empty spot he has left in his wake, both of you knowing even without Hoseok’s admittance that this rift between him and Jimin was far deeper than either of you had imagined.

Seeing Hoseok so skittish has a terrible effect on one’s psyche, and Seokjin feels despair growing in the pit of his stomach at what might be an unsalvageable situation for the JiHope community.

“Nonsense!” his inner-voice (that suspiciously sounds like you) chastises, whacking him with a proverbial rolled-up newspaper. “There is no such thing as unsalvageable when it comes to the magnificent Kim Seokjin!”

“You’re right,” Seokjin says (out loud), slamming his fists on the table. The jittery librarian’s assistant by the front desk jumps up in surprise, but Seokjin pays him no mind.

Seokjin is so immersed by his own internal monologue that he doesn’t notice the aforementioned librarian’s assistant leave his station with a small handwritten note clutched tightly in his hand. Seokjin also doesn’t notice when he speaks to you with pink dusting the apples of his cheeks before returning to his desk, sans note*.

[Addendum: I’M SO MAD WHY DOESN’T ANYONE NOTICE FUCKING JUNGKOOK??? NEXT TIME I SEE SEOKJIN IT’S ON FUCKING SIGHT HOW DARE HE NOT SEE MY LIL BABY WALK TO HIS ***** AND FULFIL ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS? I’M GONNA KILL YOU KIM SEOKJIN! (Angrily) Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

It doesn’t take long for Jimin to arrive, and he’s kind of hard to miss with how loud his entrance is. Seokjin nods in approval as the younger enters the drab library with an astounding flourish, complete with his hair gently flowing in the (nonexistent) wind and hips swaying to the (nonexistent) beat.

None of this out of the ordinary, especially with how unfazed the general library populace was to Jimin’s commotion. What is a little different, however, is the beaming, oversaturated, downright diabetic smile on his face, complete with his signature eyes creased into their cute little crescents.

It isn’t that Jimin wasn’t a naturally sunny person; on the contrary, his kind and gregarious personality is what drew Seokjin into shipping him with Hoseok in the first place. But there was something about this level of overflowing giddiness that is a bit… disconcerting, for lack of a better word.

Even you appeared to be dumbstruck by Jimin’s odd mood. You squint curiously at Jimin, taking his worksheets from his hands without another word. Seokjin covertly takes out his phone to pretend to take a selfie, but proceeds to tape the whole tutoring session for him to review later that night. He strains his ears to try and catch the bits and pieces of your conversation with Jimin, but he’s left high and dry when he realizes that you were the type who actually liked to whisper at the library, further foiling his plans.

“Dammit,” he mutters to himself, hastily shoving his “textbooks” into his sling bag as he moves to a table slightly closer to the two of you. He doesn’t bother unpacking them again on the table, foregoing the pretense that he was actually there to “study” when in fact he had goals much loftier than those of an ordinary university student.

He carefully adjusts his camera, trying his best to stay out of your and Jimin’s view. He cranes his head forward as far as he can, face crumpling (handsomely) from the strain.

Seokjin had missed it when he was busy relocating to his better position, but it seems like you had finally gotten fed up with Jimin’s strange behavior. He only sees Jimin look shocked by your irritability, but that quickly fades away as his previously dopey smile comes back at full force. Knowing you, your eye is probably twitching right now, but Seokjin attributes that to the stick permanently stuck up your ass.

“It’s, umm…” Jimin looks extremely bashful all of a sudden, and Seokjin makes sure to zoom in on his face for better analysis later. There’s a slight pause, and both you and Seokjin wait for Jimin to continue. “Do you know… uh…” He takes a deep breath, blushing all the while. “Y/N, you know Lee Sera, right?”

Since you’re faced away from Seokjin, he doesn’t get to see what type of reaction you might be sporting on your face. He has a guess though, and that’s mostly because he already knows what Lee Sera means to you.

Seokjin only just saw the forum post this morning when he was going through his social media. Since he was one of the only people who actually knew you were the author, he’d known from the get-go that Lee Sera had probably written that post revealing herself as the author as a way to get easy clout. Nothing annoyed Seokjin more than people getting more famous than him, so he was honestly a strongly-worded call-out post away from revealing the truth to the masses, but was eventually stopped by the thought of your desperate face from days ago.

As much as Seokjin was a slut for drama, even he isn’t that mean. He can be mean in other ways, such as by putting an ugly filter on your face as he continues to videotape you without your consent. Case in point:

“What?” you say, almost shouting. Unbeknownst to you, there is a pooping baby currently superimposed on your forehead. The film looks shaky at best, but that’s all because of how hard Seokjin is shaking from trying not to laugh.

“Do you know if she likes anyone?” he replies, still dreamy. The AR pooping baby is also on his head, but Jimin manages to pull the look off.

Seokjin waits for your explosion to come, but he underestimates your self-control because he completely misses the next few words you say from how calmly and quietly you speak, though he only imagines that you must be on the way to a mental breakdown soon enough.

The calm before the storm, Seokjin thinks giddily to himself. He could always post your mental breakdown on Youtube for a couple thousand views. C’mon… let’s go viral, baby!

Jimin watches you eagerly from the sides and waits for your response, but you’re too busy short-circuiting right in front of him to give one. Seokjin almost feels sorry for you, but he’s too busy trying not to burst into laughter as it is. God, you’re such a fucking sad mess.

Lucky for you, your timer goes off to signal the end of your tutoring session, and Seokjin notices the way your shoulders slacken with relief. And Jimin seems to have forgotten all about his query because he’s started to pack his things already, humming softly to himself. Once he finishes, he pulls out his phone to read something on his screen, tapping away through his social media as he waits for you to say goodbye.

You’re too busy packing away your own things that you don’t notice when Jimin’s eyes begin to bug out, his mouth dropping and his nostrils flaring with the intensity of his breathing. When he scrolls a little bit further down, he lets out a sharp gasp, catching you and Seokjin off guard.

Jimin has just seen the post, didn’t he? Either that, or he saw porn on his timeline, though Seokjin doesn’t think that would excite Jimin as much as the former would. You seem to guess the same, judging by how stiff you become at his exclamation.

“Y/N! Y/N, she–– she’s––!”

Your fight or flight instincts activate, and Seokjin has to scramble after you as you powerwalk out of the library, desperate to get away from Jimin and his revelation. Unfortunately, you’re not entirely in your best shape right now, so it would be an absolute miracle if you were ever to outpace Park “abs of steel” Jimin. Jimin continues to titter beside you, unaware of the waves of tension running rivers down your form.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she? And she’s so humble to have kept quiet about the whole thing, too. Wah, she’s so…” Seokjin hears Jimin say, and he has to stop himself from snorting at how blatantly love blind Jimin seems to be. Seokjin isn’t anywhere near as good as you when it comes to writing (though he hates to admit it), but even he knows that Lee Sera isn’t as capable as you are. Jimin must really be a sucker for bitches in tight skirts and basic nude pumps because honestly… Why have the knock-off when you can have real Gucci?*

[Addendum: Hey it’s me again… Just wanted to say… Why is Seokjin lowkey kinda making me wanna ship him with Y/N… This is for real weird… Stop this… I’m scared… Noted by: Confused Min Yoongi.]

“I never really paid it much attention, but now that I’m rereading the poem… she’s so talented.” Jimin continues to gush, and you look half a second away from painting the walls with your vomit. Your head is bowed, so you don’t notice when the library doors open and a student in a loose white shirt and flowy black pants enters, looking as far removed from the environment as Seokjin did. “It’s no wonder it blew up so much, she’s such a gifted––”

“Who’s such a gifted what?” the new intruder asks. Kim Taehyung stops right in front of you in all his indie glory, and the sudden apparition of another of one of your “muses” must have frayed your unraveling mind even further. Seokjin is already turning his camera to your face with a dramatic pan left zoom, the pooping baby filter still on your head. It slips a turd onto your grimacing face.

Jimin, ever the sweet himbo, has already forgotten about you and instead rushes over to Taehyung with the news. “Tae! The author of that poem you’re always raging about––”

Seokjin watches with interest as Taehyung elbows Jimin strongly in the gut, a strong blush coating his cheeks.

Jimin continues, undeterred. “The author of the poem, it’s Lee Sera! I know I always ignored you when you talked about it, but now…” Seokjin has already stopped listening in favor of watching the way Taehyung’s expression slowly morphs from bashful embarrassment to careful indifference. His eyebrows raise even further when Taehyung’s gaze sweeps towards you, unwavering despite the animated prattlings of his best friend beside him.

Inch-resting… Inch-resting indeed…

Seokjin leaves then, not wanting to be caught by any of you as he slinks away unseen. He stops his recording, an array of thoughts swimming through his head as he tries to piece together the puzzle in front of him. He’ll need to follow you, Jimin, and Hoseok again, and he knows in the pit of his stomach that the tsunami is fast approaching.

x x x x x

And so, Seokjin follows the three of you around like a parasite, waiting for any of you to drop the ball on him. It’s the next Monday now, and he’s still not any closer to witnessing the “climax” of his JiHope prophecy. While he is aware that Lee Sera is undoubtedly going to be the catalyst for breaking his ult ship, he can’t exactly fix the problem unless something wrong happens first.

Of course, he could always slip a laxative into Sera’s disgusting tummy tea when she isn’t looking, but Seokjin finished using all of them up when he slipped them into your breakfast a few weeks ago. Plus, drinking tummy tea is punishment enough, so he’ll hold his punches for now.

Seokjin has a strong feeling that today is going to be the day where something finally shifts. He doesn’t know why he thinks this, though he likes to tell himself it’s a God-given gift of JiHope senses, but he digresses.

He’s starting to lose hope in his trusty JiHope senses, however, when he watches another fruitless tutoring session between you and Hoseok. Man, if not for the fact that Seokjin was a delulu JiHope shipper, he’d totally be the type to shove Hoseok down the toilet in middle school. That dude… he’s too smart and studious for him, and Seokjin is always threatened by anyone who can get a score above 4 in an exam.

Hoseok leaves in a rush as per usual, and Seokjin has since figured out that it wasn’t because the English major was keen on rushing back home to jack off. Hoseok’s eyes search around frantically as he exits the library, like he’s afraid of running into a certain someone. It causes Seokjin’s grip on his pencil prop to tighten, so much so that he snaps it in half when he sees it happen for the third session in a row.

The situation in the JiHope fandom is much worse than he can ever imagine, and Seokjin resolves himself to fix it no matter what. He’ll even ask you for help, if worst comes to worst.

Hoseok practically leaves a dust trail in his wake, hurriedly vacating the premises just as you say goodbye. Just as Hoseok leaves, Jimin enters the scene with his signature bubbly laughter echoing through the rows of shelves. Seokjin turns his head towards the sound, but he can feel something is amiss already. There’s… someone with him.

I can smell the cheap drug store perfume all the way from here. Seokjin sneers to himself, crinkling his nose as the sound of another pair of footfalls confirms his suspicions right away. When he turns to look at you, the look of utter rage and disbelief on your face is almost enough to make him forget about the horrendous stench of Lee Sera.

Sera tears herself away from Jimin when she catches sight of you, and Seokjin’s heart clenches when he sees the utter look of confusion replacing the grin on Jimin’s face. She was just draped over Jimin’s arm a few seconds ago, but the complete 180 definitely must have bewildered the poor lovesick fool.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lee Sera craved the attention she was being given after coming out as the “author” of the poem, though Seokjin finds her neediness distasteful. As someone who loved being in the limelight, Seokjin didn’t go around taking other people’s credit for his success! Clearly, he was the better one (as he always is in any situation).

Anyway, point stands: you look like you’re about to shit yourself from anger. Seokjin isn’t really listening to the conversation between the two of you, instead focusing on both of your body languages. Sera is playing the role of the remorseful peasant, begging for reconciliation from you, the ireful landlady who refuses to watch another second of her quivering lip.

It’s all very dramatic. Even though Seokjin is mostly recording the fight for analysis purposes, he’s probably going to keep the video for archival purposes as well. The rage, the hurt, the chaos… Seokjin could turn this entire narrative into its own wildly popular musical! He would obviously play himself as the omnipotent, all-seeing jack-of-all-trades, and you’d probably be played by some hag he can cast from the street. Seokjin can almost feel the Tony award jutting up his ass.

Slap! Seokjin jerks to attention and his dreams of his musical fade as he watches, slack-jawed, at the aftermath of your rage. The sound reverberates so loudly that Seokjin feels his ears ringing. In his surprise, he instinctively turns off his camera, ready to go and join stop the fight. Before he can take a step forward, however, a whirlwind shoves past him in a blur, but Seokjin already knows from his lean form that Hoseok had come to intervene. Seokjin hadn’t even noticed the lilac-haired boy was still around the library, but it doesn’t matter now that he’s here to save the day like the bishounen protagonist that he is.

Hoseok holds you back, but it does nothing to quell your anger. “How could you say that to him!” you cry, arms struggling to free themselves from Hoseok to throttle Sera. You look a bit like a rabid animal, teeth bared as you squirm in Hoseok’s hold.

To the side, Jimin chokes up in silence. He’s begun to regain his senses, limbs shifting as he prepares to escape. Seokjin doesn’t miss the shine in his eyes, tears forming and threatening to fall. He turns on his feel, high-tailing out of there without another word.

Hoseok says something into your ear and you nod mindlessly in response. He lets you go, watches as you chase after Jimin. His jaw is set, fists clenched by his sides, but he doesn’t make a move to follow. He takes one last look at Sera’s bamboozled expression, tuts angrily to himself, and walks away in the opposite direction.

Seokjin is speechless.

What the fuck was that? Seokjin isn’t a stranger to the current happenings of your sad love heptagon, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. It probably could have been solved much sooner if you just confessed to him already, but he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the drama*.

[Addendum: She literally does not have a crush on Seokjin. If she did, I’d block her immediately. I didn’t raise Y/N for her to fall in love with this psychopath. PLEASE. Signed: Min Yoongi.]

No, Seokjin isn’t confused about the whole Sera thing. What he’s more confused about is why Hoseok isn’t going to comfort his boyfriend lover homie like he’s supposed to! Something must have caused a rift in their friendship, and Seokjin is determined to find out and fix this mess once and for all! There’s no need to fear for Seokjin is here!*

[Addendum: “Hallelujah!” said no one ever. I hate this dude. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

x x x x x

After spending an inexcusable amount of time planning and plotting later that night, Seokjin comes to campus early the next day to put his incredibly profound plan into motion. Lucky for Seokjin, he’s equipped with a myriad of skills that go beyond that of acting and being a nuisance, so it comes as no surprise that he’s quite handy with Photoshop. He uses his Amazing Incredible Fantastic Photoshop skillz to their limits to print out a dozen or so fake posters for a new dance exhibition on Saturday.

Why? Because Seokjin is a genius of course! He knows for certain that Jimin will want to attend the exhibition to cheer himself up after the whole Sera debacle. He always did like watching the university’s dance club from the windows, always wistfully looking but never joining even though he COULD dance if he WANTED to but of course he wouldn’t! Because his beloved Hoseokie-hyung wouldn’t be there to be his partner and it’s all very sad and romantic, yadayadayada… Long story short, Seokjin is whipped for this BL trope and he will die on this hill if he has to!

However, Hoseok is going to be a bit harder to bait... He’d never be caught dead attending a dance exhibition, so Seokjin has to scavenge the last remaining brain cells he has to think of an event that Hoseok would want to go to. He settles on making a fake poster for a book signing by Pi Ness Hughman that is “mandatory” for all English Literature majors to attend. He even goes the whole way and makes a spoof e-mail to send to Hoseok, and no, Seokjin will not be explaining how he did that because he might be bordering on being a criminal, but that doesn’t mean he wants other people to be criminals too. That’s just how great of a person he is!

And what does any of this have to do with anything? Well… He’s going to lock them together inside a classroom and hope that they solve their differences there. Is Seokjin certain that his plan is going to work? Not at all. Is it more likely to use this as an excuse to get inspiration for his upcoming 100K slow burn enemies to lover fic that he’s been planning on starting? Absolutely.

Point of the matter is that Team Kim Seokjin never loses, and he’ll still end up on top even if everything goes to shit, and that is honestly all that matters.

Seokjin proceeds with his plan, going as smoothly as he can. He places the posters around areas that he is sure the duo would pass by. He also makes sure to accidentally “misplace” other posters and advertisements on the cork board that might serve as distractions, but you didn’t hear that from him. He watches stealthily from the shadows, carefully keeping track of their movements to make sure that they see the posters and that everything goes according to keikaku*.

[Addendum: Hey, it’s Yoongi again. I just wanted to say that I saw Seokjin when he was doing this because I caught him taking down some of the ads near my residence, and let me just say that his version of “making sure they see his fake posters” is literally just shoving the papers in their faces and then running away as soon as he can. So, I guess he did succeed on what he aimed to do, but was it moral? Was it just? Well, dear reader… I’m leaving that judgment up to you. (Tiredly) Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

It’s Saturday afternoon and Seokjin has just finished setting up his “trap” when he hears footsteps approaching where he was. He quickly jumps inside a nearby utility closet, keeping the door ajar to observe the upcoming interaction. Seokjin doesn’t even need to look to know that it’s Hoseok who has arrived first, always notoriously strict when it comes to scheduled meetings. He begins to worry, realizing belatedly that Jimin is the exact opposite of Hoseok when it comes to things like this, and while that makes for a good fanfic couple trope, it doesn’t really help Seokjin in this case.

He watches Hoseok peek into the classroom, brows scrunched in confusion as he must wonder why nobody seems to be at the supposed book signing. He snatches the poster from inside his satchel, squinting at the meeting details that should say that his class was supposed to meet at this very much abandoned classroom in the Law building. For how smart Hoseok is, he certainly didn’t question the sketchiness of the venue that Seokjin had chosen.

Hoseok taps his shoes against the linoleum floor, lips pursed as he debates on what to do. Just as Seokjin is about to blow his cover and just shove Hoseok into the classroom himself, a loud bang resounds from the end of the hall. They both flinch, looking over to see a head of red hair zooming towards them.

Jimin is dressed haphazardly in a ripped jean jacket and comically short shorts – you wouldn’t be able to tell what season it was based on his clothes alone. He looks like he’d just jumped out of bed, what with the noticeable drool stain still caked around his chin. He grinds to a halt in front of the classroom, breathing heavily through his mouth and still not yet aware of the company he has found himself with.

“Jimin? What the fuck?” Hoseok exclaims, staring incredulously at him. Jimin finally looks up, pausing in his heavy breathing to stare back.

He straightens up, pointing an accusing finger at the elder. “GASP! What are you doing here?”

Hoseok points his own finger. “Did you just say ‘gasp’ in real life?”

“I asked you first!”

“I asked you second!”

“Well,” Hoseok coughs awkwardly, gesturing to the empty classroom mindlessly. “I’m supposed to be here for a book signing, but I feel like I got a fake ad by accident.”

“Hah! Foolish of you,” Jimin snorts, nose high in the air. He procures his own fake poster from his short pockets, presenting it to Hoseok. “You must be Miss Steak Anne, because this classroom is supposed to be where a dance exhibition is being held. I knew you wanted to watch them dance! You’re just trying to cover up your embarrassment!”

“What?” Hoseok splutters, snatching the poster from his hands. He reads it, narrowing his eyes at Seokjin’s masterpiece of deception. “Dude. The poster is fake too. They spelled ‘dance’ like ‘dunce.’”

Jimin takes it back, slack-jawed when he sees that Hoseok was right. “What the fuck,” he says. He groans, smacking himself in the face. “I’m the foolish one now!”

Before Hoseok can retort, Seokjin chooses that moment to burst forth from his hiding place. “Hello, boys!” he greets, not waiting for a response. The two boys jump in surprise, but they don’t even have time to scream before Seokjin promptly shoves them into the classroom. He clicks the lock in place, grateful that he scouted this place during his first year in case he’d ever need somewhere to lock his unsuspecting classmates in*.

[Addendum: Me. It was me. He locked me in there when I told him JiHope was the worst ship on campus. Y/NKook for life! Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

“Hey! Let us out!” Jimin yells from behind the door, his tiny fists banging uselessly against the door. Seokjin cackles maniacally from the outside, doing a funny dance through the frosted glass window.

“Not until you guys fix whatever angst bullshit you have going on! I’ll be back in an hour. Until then, homos!” Seokjin singsongs, skipping away from the mess he created. But not to worry, dear readers, for Seokjin had planted microphones all over the classroom in advance so that we may all be privy to the ensuing drama/hotness courtesy of JiHope! Oh, how incredibly big-brained of him! The following is a transcript of the aforementioned recording because, as you know, Seokjin always wins.

Transcript by Min Yoongi:*

[Addendum: Paid-slash-blackmailed, by the way. I would never do this willingly. He knows too much about me… It’s sickening but also he offered to buy me chicken nuggets and I’d be an idiot to decline that. Anyway, here’s this pile of shit. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

[0:00] *heavy banging from Jimin’s tiny baby fists*

[0:10] Jimin: Ugh, this shit BLOWS! *proceeds to stomp around like a baby before sliding to the ground with a thud*

[0:20] Hoseok: Well, it could be worse. We could have been kidnapped by a serial killer.

[0:25] Jimin: I’m pretty sure Kim Seokjin categorizes as one, but go off.

[0:30] Hoseok: *grumbling* I’m just trying to lighten the mood.

[0:35] Jimin: Oh wow, thanks soooo much. This is all your fault, by the way. Can’t believe your dumbass got bamboozled by Seokjin.

[0:40] Hoseok: How the fuck is this my fault? You were fooled too! And will you stop sitting like that? I can see everything with how short your shorts are.

[0:45] Jimin: Oh, and now you’re going to police how I dress? Bitch, people would be honored to see my nuts! They’re prized nuts!

[0:50] Hoseok: *snorts* Sure, if you say so.

[0:55] *there is a short pause and you can hear Jimin’s heavy breathing* Jimin, mumbling: Taehyung says my nuts are great…

[1:00] Hoseok: Well, Taehyung is an idiot. He probably says that shit to everybody.

[1:05] Jimin: *gasps* TAKE THAT BACK! HE’S MY FUCKING SOULMATE!”

[1:10] Hoseok: Oh, he’s your soulmate, is he? Guess you like throwing that word around to just about anybody, huh? Because last time, I remember you calling me your soulmate!”

[1:15-6:15] *literally just five minutes of silence* *you can hear Jimin crying a little bit but it’s obvious he’s trying to hold it in* *Hoseok (?) or maybe Jimin is pacing around*

[6:20] Hoseok: I, uhh... *hesitates some more* I didn’t... Mean to say that.

[6:25] Jimin: *starts to laugh hysterically* Fuck…

[6:30] Jimin: *slams his tiny baby hand against the wall again* Fuck!

[6:35] Jimin, choking up: You didn’t mean to say what? That we really were soulmates? That we used to be best friends?

[6:40] Hoseok, quietly: Jimin... No, I meant––

[6:45] Jimin: What do you mean, huh? I can never understand you. You never explain yourself. It’s always a guessing game with you and I just end up getting my feelings hurt because I always make the wrong assumptions, isn’t that right?

[7:00] Hoseok, choking up: Of course not. You’re right, I’m stupid and––

[7:05] Jimin, yelling: That’s right! You are fucking stupid! You’ve been stupid since day one and I can’t believe I wanted to be friends with you! *sniffles loudly* And I’m even stupider for still wanting to be friends with you.

[7:20-7:30] *there is a long silence except for the sound of Jimin’s heavy sniffling*

[7:35] Hoseok, sighing: I know that I don’t deserve to be your friend. I’m ashamed. I’m so fucking ashamed. There isn’t a day where I don’t regret not telling you about giving up dance all those years ago. I should’ve been more open with you.

[7:50] *Jimin stops sniffling* Jimin: Yeah. You should’ve. You should be. Asshole.

[8:00] Hoseok: And every time I try telling myself that I should apologize, I’d just get cold feet. It got even worse when you started hanging around Taehyung more... And I just... Lost it.

[8:10] Jimin, laughing harshly: Oh? So you were fucking jealous? Please.

[8:15] Hoseok: It sounds childish, but yea. I was.

[8:20] Jimin, quietly: Oh.

[8:30] Hoseok: And then when I saw you hanging off of Sera’s stupid little finger like a lovesick fool, it... It really fucking messed me up.

[8:40] Jimin: Oh my god. Was that why you’ve been so moody these past few days? Holy shit.

[8:45] Hoseok: When you put it that way... Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I’m really not a feelings guy, you know? I’m always just supposed to be the happy-go-lucky sunshine guy.

[9:00] Jimin: You’re allowed to feel, you know? Get rid of that toxic masculinity bullshit you have going on. This is why we fucking drifted in the first place!

[9:10] Hoseok, laughing hoarsely: Yeah... You’re right. *sound of a body sliding down to the floor... Hoseok must have sat beside Jimin*

[9:30] Jimin: We are literally so stupid. Do you realize how dumb our arguments sound? We’re being so childish, and for what?

[9:40] Hoseok: *sighing* I know… I’m the asshole here. I know what I did and I’m the reason why our friendship shifted. I’ve never been considerate to you and now…

[9:50] Hoseok: You probably hate me. And I used to tell myself that it’s better that you moved on but I know the reason why you never applied for the dance program is because of me.

[10:00] Jimin: I mean, yeah. That’s true.

[10:05] Hoseok: Wait, the asshole part or…

[10:10] Jimin: Pretty much everything. Yes, you’re the asshole. Yes, you ruined our friendship. Yes, I didn’t apply for the dance program because of you.

[10:15] Hoseok: *sighing* And you probably hate me, right?

[10:20] Jimin, softer: No, of course not. I could never hate you, hyung. Hell, I thought you hated me! You never hang out with me anymore! I literally only started taking those tutoring lessons from Y/N so that I would have an excuse to see you sometimes.

[10:35] Hoseok: ...oh. I didn’t know… I guess I’ve been a little bit too self-absorbed.

[10:45] Jimin: Understatement of the century, hyung. I just fucking miss you, okay? *sniffles loudly* God, I am so sick of crying all the time! First that shit with Sera, and now this…

[10:55] Hoseok: *panicking* Shit! Jimin-ah, please don’t cry… I’m such a fuck up! Why do you even want to hang around me?

[11:05] Jimin: Don’t you get it? You’re my best friend! How could I just erase years of friendship over what? Just because you don’t wanna dance anymore? Listen, I know I always pester you to go dance with me again, but I’d be more than happy just having you as my friend. I don’t care about that shit anymore! I just want you to look at me without looking so fucking guilty all the time.

[11:35] Hoseok: Well… I still want to dance. All the time, believe me. But… I can’t go around wasting my time when I made a promise to my dad.

[11:45] Jimin, hesitantly: Your… your dad?

[11:50] Hoseok: Yeah. He told me it was his greatest wish if I followed in his footsteps and became a teacher… I’m sorry, Jimin. I couldn’t just let my old man down like that. I…

[12:00] Jimin: Oh my god. You idiot. You fucking dunce. You dick for brains.

[12:05] Hoseok: What the fuck? What did I do now?

[12:10] Jimin: Have you ever considered… that you could teach shit other than English? Huh?

[12:15] *Hoseok.exe has stopped working*

[12:20] Jimin: Oh my god! I have a fucking feeling your dad meant he just wanted to see you teach kids, not necessarily become an English teacher like he was! You fucking stupid piece of shit!

[12:30] Hoseok: I… literally didn’t think. How the fuck..?

[12:35] Jimin: Are you literally just telling me right now that we could’ve escaped 3 years of stupid misunderstanding if you just hadn’t been an idiot? Give me a break! How the hell do you think you’d ever become a teacher?!

[12:50] *there is a pause before the two of them start laughing loudly*

[13:00] Hoseok: Jesus. Guess I really am the asshole, huh?

[13:05] Jimin: You think? Ugh, maybe getting locked in a classroom with you isn’t so bad after all…

[13:10] Hoseok: Speaking of… When do you think Seokjin is gonna let us out of here? I kinda need to piss and as happy as I am to be your friend again, I don’t think I wanna relive our toddler years together either.

[13:20] Jimin: *snorts* Gross. *shuffling* Hyung! Stand here! I’m gonna climb you and try to open the latch to the window over there. Shouldn’t be that far of a jump. Then I’ll just open the door for you.

[13:40] Hoseok: Jimin, are you insane? That could be dangerous! Let me do it.

[13:50] Jimin: You and what? Your skinny ass? Please! Do you see the gloriousness of this ass? I can get us out of here in no time.

[14:00] Hoseok, whispering: Assuming you can even squeeze through the window…

[14:05] Jimin, yelling: EXCUSE ME? I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THIS ASS HAS WON ME MANY FREE MCDONALD’S HAPPY MEALS IN MY DAY––

End of Audio

x x x x x

Yoongi pauses from his typing to recheck the file, making sure he hadn’t accidentally paused the recording. When he sees that the audio does end there, he leans back into his chair, letting his headphones fall back to settle around his neck. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text to Seokjin to ask what happened to the two stupid lovebirds.

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astrodances · 4 years

Note

May I please request Donald and Gyro staring in Wed me from the meme? Fake marriage please as I am a sucker for that trope.

Hi anon! I’m so sorry this took so long, only for it to be this silly. And since last year’s duck bomb happened and we got Della’s canon return to Earth and Donald going to the moon, this is completely AU. Still, I hope you enjoy!

AO3 link here!

__________

Sweet Hearts

Gyro’s day had started out ordinarily enough––for him, anyway.

Wake up at his desk after another all-nighter, squawk at the clock when he realized how late––or early––in the morning it was, and automatically shuffle over to the coffee machine.

Then, back to being the world’s greatest inventor.

It was several hours later into his morning work that Gyro found himself making his usual trek to the vending machine on the ground floor for a pick-me-up Pep when he heard a chorus of voices climbing up the stairwell from across the garage. He didn’t think much of them, until they became clearer and he caught the last of one of their sentences.

“…flavors that you could pick from! Who in their right mind would choose black licorice first?!”

“I think it’s pretty good…”

Gyro barely registered the second voice as being Donald’s as he turned around and marched towards the group, ready to protest in defense of black licorice. It was the best flavor! Anyone who thought otherwise needed to get their taste buds checked.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted as passed in front of Mr. McDuck’s limo towards the Duck-McDuck family, catching sight of his boss, Donald, and the rich nephews. “Black licorice is the greatest flavor, and I have the data to back it up! So you can just––Della?”

No wonder he hadn’t recognized the voice of the opposition––he hadn’t heard that voice in over ten years, when it was younger and so eager to explore where no duck had gone before. But there she was, standing in the feathers before him, one leg now metal and a spirit emboldened into her eyes: Della Duck was back.

“You’re back!” Gyro, in an uncharacteristic wave of joy, held out his arms, partly to welcome her home, and partly to beckon her closer to look her over for the sake of scientific curiosity. After all, even though he hadn’t known where she’d been specifically, she’d gone to space! This was definitely worth further study.

But his enthusiasm was halted in its footsteps.

“You.”

That new spirit he noticed before blazed into a fire, and suddenly Gyro found himself in the direct path of that infamous Duck temper that he hadn’t missed.

“I was stranded on the moon for ten years with nothing but black licorice OxyChew to keep me alive, thanks to you!”

His scientific curiosity took over for a brief second yet again. “Oh! You got to test OxyChew in the field? Tell me, how long did the––”

A furious squawk cut him off. Della lunged at him and gave chase, and he ran, dodging between the limo and employee vehicles and the garage’s support beams, until he finally weaved back to the family and clung to the shoulders of the first person he saw, swinging around to hide behind them and use them as a shield.

Gyro barely had time to take stock of just whom he had grabbed onto as Scrooge and the red nephew tried their best to hold Della back from tearing him to shreds, all her pent-up disgust of his favorite flavor coming to the surface. And then, what came out of his mouth next surprised even himself.

“N-Now, you wouldn’t harm your future brother-in-law, would you?”

Everyone froze, and Gyro could feel the shoulders of the person he was holding tense up––Donald’s.

“My what?”

“Her what?!” Donald echoed his sister.

The sentiment reverberated through the rest of the family and into Gyro’s mind, and he cursed himself. But if it had gotten Della to stop and think twice about killing him, well, he wasn’t going to backtrack any time soon.

Summoning a little more confidence with a clearing of his throat, Gyro straightened up and slid his arm casually around Donald, who was sending him looks of baffled confusion from the corner of his eye.

“That’s right! Donald and I are going to get married! Isn’t that right…sweetheart?” Gyro rocked into Donald’s side, trying to make them appear to be a happy couple. Before Donald could refute his claim, however, he cut him off. “Really, Della, you must have expected there to be some changes while you were gone.”

While he hadn’t meant that last statement as an attack, Della still appeared a bit caught off-guard, having to owe up to the reality of her absence. “Well, yeah, I suppose so… But this? You two are engaged?!” She gestured in disbelief to the two of them.

“What can I say?” Gyro laughed nervously, surprised the lie had gotten this far. “We bonded over our mutual love of black licorice, and the sparks just flew from there like a 75-watt bulb!”

Della stared them both down, suspicion mounting again. “Alright then, future brother, if you guys are getting hitched, I want to see the ring!” She started to reach for Donald’s left hand, but Gyro slipped his into it first.

“Oh, well, you know, I don’t wear my ring during work. Experiments and electricity and all that. One zap from the wrong conductor coil and then we’ll really have sparks flying!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Della waved her hands about, now seemingly more invested, and pointed at her brother first, and then Gyro. “You proposed to him?!”

Realizing the error of his ways a second too soon, Gyro turned to Donald and squeezed his hand as a desperate plea, all while smiling in the hopes of appearing to be a happy couple. Donald, meanwhile, was slowly crushing the life force out of his hand.

The seconds seemed to drag on forever as Gyro became more and more convinced that Donald would break the façade, and would let Della continue her chase, and then splish! splash! boom! he’d be having to break his way back into his lab from the bottom of the bay.

Just when Gyro was about to fold under the pressure himself, Donald let out an inaudible sigh and plastered a nearly comical grin on his beak. “Indeed I did! I even wrote him a song and played the guitar for him and everything!”

Gyro tried to hide his wince at his partner’s own embellishment, knowing full well just how…unique Donald’s songs were, and instead nodded along like there wasn’t a doubt that he’d been swept off his feet. He even convinced himself to try to lean over to give Donald a peck on the cheek to really sell it, but one death-glare of don’t you dare… stopped him in his tracks.

A few more agonizing seconds passed as they waited for Della to buy it all, and when she finally did, Gyro found that he could breath again.

But just as soon as Della turned into a happy, congratulating sister for her twin, she turned to Gyro and pointed from her eyes to his. “Don’t think this means I won’t still have my eyes on you, Gearloose. You break my brother’s heart, and I’ll break your lab in half.”

Biting back his own comeback, Gyro swore, “I wouldn’t even dream of it!”

“Yeah, Della, we’re in love, and nothing’s gonna change that anytime soon!” At Donald’s own declaration, Gyro blushed and resisted sending a look of shock towards him. Donald then waved his family on, saying, “You guys go along. I just need to have a quick talk with my sweetheart.”

They both waved as sweetly as possible as the family boarded the elevator to the rest of the Money Bin, and once the floor indicator reached the fifth floor, Donald dropped Gyro’s hand and all pretenses and turned abruptly towards him.

“So, sweetheart,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

Gyro held up his hands in a thankful surrender and backed up a few steps for good measure, not wanting to get hit by the other infamous Duck temper. “Okay, okay. I panicked.”

“I’ll say.” Donald crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? You know how your sister can be!”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

A few awkward moments passed as the sense of danger eased out of the room, and Donald quietly admitted, “If anyone asked, I only went along with it because of love.”

Gyro sputtered, losing his sense of balance. There was the second time Donald had mentioned love between them, only now, no one else was around.

And yet when Donald caught sight of the flustered mess Gyro had become, he started laughing. “Love of black licorice, ha!”

As his fake partner-to-be carried on, Gyro collected himself, but still found his heart racing. He had that one coming, but even so…

Shaking off the thought, he conceded, “Fair enough, you deserved that one. But can I ask you for one more favor?”

Donald eyed him up and down, and, in a moment of good humor, said, “It can’t be as bad as what you just put me through, so…sure?”

Gyro nodded his gratitude and folded his hands behind his back, keeping his eyes on the pavement below him. “I know you’re going to have to explain to them all later on that it was all a scam and that we’re not really getting married, but can you wait for, say, a day?”

“I guess so. Why?”

“Because as soon as Della finds out, she’ll come after me again, and so I need to hide.”

After a moment’s consideration, Donald nodded his full agreement. “Smart idea. Where are you going to hide?”

“The moon.”

#DuckTales #Donald Duck #Gyro Gearloose #Della Duck #my fanfics

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lockdownuk · 4 years

Text

Lockdown Diary Part 8

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 211: I stayed up till 5am last night. The last thing I watched was Ronny Chieng, a Malaysian comic in the states. It was a Netflix comedy special and bloody funny. Other than that, a quiet night, nowhere near as fucked as Friday night. As I type, I am about to finish off spicy af sausage cassserole for tea and watch a film - all quite sedate. I’ve work tomorrow, after all!

Day 212: Every time I try and watch something on Amazon Prime, it errors or doesn’t load so I have to uninstall and reinstall, which is a pain the fucking arse. Glad I don’t pay for it. I watched half of the Tom Hanks film last night, A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood, based on a real life children’s TV actor. It’s good but weird. I’ll finish it tonight. Jo Broom called and told me (well, reminded me of, actually) some good info, especially about insulin lasting 4 hours and the liver producing sugar for when you wake up). Day 213: I didn’t watch the rest of that Tom Hanks film last night, doing so right now. I got a call @5.30pm from Tall Tom asking to pop round which he did (social-distancing at the front door). He dropped of a canvas print he’d ordered of on eof my pictures from FB. Fucking gobsmacked! That’s how much he likes them. I am still in shock. What a brilliant thing to do! Day 214: Finished A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood last night, I enjoyed it. Today has been standard. Half way through the third week back from furlough and, while I am still very glad to be working, I now also relish pasrt of being paid 80% for fuck all! My walks have been tentative today, I have done something to my right ankle, it feels sore but OK when walking at pace. My phone and Google Fit are playing up - I am suddenly walking 8km/h! Day 215: Phoned Dad - Rita sent an email a couple of days ago telling of a lump in his ear which he had removed and they are going to check for cancer. When I spoke with him it was usual dad - nothing to worry about. He spoke very highly of the staff at Stamford Hospital where he had it done. They took skin from his nesxk to put on his ear lobe where they performed the op. I had pie and veg tonight. It’s a real change and I am stuffed as I type this. SB pee-ed me off at work big time late this afternoon. Diary updated! Day 216: Dan’s in court today for his drink driving escapade. I think he’s pleading not guilty - I’m not sure, neither has he been each time I have talked to him about it. It was scheduled at 4pm and he’s meant to let me know how it went. As I type, it’s just gone 9pm. Fuck knows what’s happening. I guess he’ll let me know in his own time. Meanwhile, work was OK, nothing hectic, I am on my first Friday beer, just about to eat meatballs and pasta and watch Taxi, a film written by Luc Besson. End of my 3rd week back and it’s a bit like I wasn’t furloughed for 6 months!

Day 217: I switched off that Taxi film after 30 minutes. It was bollocks. Dan got a 20 month ban (reduced to 15, if he does a course, which he says he will) and £1100 fine. At least it’s over and done with now. I got up at gone 2pm today. I have to cut this late sleeping habit out at the weekends. That being said, it’s 8.40pm, just about to dive in the shower, eat and then get on it. Clocks go back later so I’ve an extra hour to play with!

Day 218: Still managed to stay up stupidly late last night, up at before 1pm (but in real terms, that’s just before 2pm!) Had a video chat with Fog - I was meant to go up to his yesterday to listen to the footy but, ‘cos I was up so late, I didn’t. Anyway, during our chat, we’ve decidied to go to Honolulu when it’s safe, specifically to go to McDs. It was a bizarre conversation - I can’t actually remember the details!

Day 219: The lady (I think it’s a lady) from the Oundle Chronicle emailed to say she didn’t think William (the student) has contacted me (he has but is fucking useless), so she’s found some questions for me to answer and wants me to pick my favourite 4 (hi-res) photos. I’ve written a couple of paragraphs that answer her questions and I was to pick photos that have had the most likes on FB - finding that info out, without trawling back over my posts, is easier said than done! Got the car tyres sorted today - an advisory from the MOT that Julian did last week.. I do like Oundle Tyre and Exhaust centre. Work was fine. Marke had to deal with Eileen Baxter and chatted to me about it. I had it all the week before last. She’s delightful but the least IT savvy person I have ever known in a workplace whereby a computer is integral to the role!

Day 220: I’ve been doing press-ups and toe tocuhes after each exercise for a little while now. 7 press-ups, doesn’t sound much but when I did it before and rapidly increased the numbers (up to 22), it played havoc with my shoulder which I thought was becoming frozen. So, I will icrease the amount slowly. I can just about touch my toes now. When I started, I barely got past my fucking knees! Work was standard today and I had an interesting chat with a recruiter about a job at Jagex, a computer game firm responsible for Runescape which is, apparently, a big deal. Posh playing tonight. At one point, when leading at home to Burton we were top. Now it’s 2-2 with minutes to go and we’re third with fucking Lincoln top. Day 221: I sent an email to Shirley from HR (re) asking about the salary discrepancy between mine and Mark’s. She’s going to talk to me tomorrow about it. I had a lomng chat with Barrzy tonight, always good to catch up and reminisce. I’ve just had two sausage rolls (on the cheap shelf from Co-Op, Dauphinoise dotatoes (ditto), mixed green veg and onion gravy for tea and I am fucking stuffed.

Day 222: Typing at gone 4pm on day 223! Had a meet with Shirley. No dice on the pay until it can be reviewed next year. All pay reviews are on hold. She explained that the salary offer was based on available budget rather than a pay grade or bench mark. Day 223: Typing this very late on day 224. Usual Friday. Work, beers, bed at 5am. went up Fog’s for a couple and watched Train to Busan. Day 224: I swore blind, when I woke and got up (2.24pm) I would have a day off from exercise. Stair climb and 10km walk done! Leigh from Oundle Chronicle messaged chasing my answers for the article. Last night, someone posted such great pics on the Oundle Chatter group that it makes me think twice about posting my photos. I tell everyone I just point and snap with my phone camera and, while it is the phone camera, I do so much pissing about with Google photos I feel like a con, it doesn’t sit well with me. Made lasagne for tea. Fucking lush - lardons, scothc bonnet and an Oxo cube really helped, I think. It’s 11:44pm as I type, 15 mins and I’ll deliver K’s birthday card. Not sure what I am hoping to come out of that, really. Just can’t let go! Day 225: Stupidly late one again last night. Up at 2pm. I’ve responded to Leigh at the Oundle Chronicle - why I make it so hard, I do not know, I really overthink some things. Eye appointment tomorrow, 9.50am, which Sam, Mr. Minos’s secretary offered me when she called on friday. Sueanne was very cool about it when I checked it was OK. So, now I am fretful of what will happen! More lasering, I reckon.

Day 226: Eye clinic was not great. I need lasering in my right eye, so that will be both eyes. Mr. Hussain, the consultant that ive seen loads including today, explained that the field of vision is affected that it can mean I am not allowed to drive. In one eye it doesn’t matter, in both the DVLA will order a test and, if the field isn’t wide enough, means I won’t get a license to drive. Shit! K WhatsApp to thank me for the card plus some ‘chat’ which ended uninvitingly (i.e., end of conversation!). I just replied that I was glad she liked it (the card),

Something is up with my left thumb, it’s sore by the nail, as if it’s ingrowing, but it isn’t. Fuck knows what it is and it’s really bothering me, very painful. Pretty shit day, all in all. Day 227: Called the surgery about my thumb and Dr. leijsen called me back, asked some questions about the photo (I had to take a pic and send it in), including whether there’s any pus, and then said she’ll prescribed anti-biotics. Later today, it started to leak pus, and feel better! But, it’s still not right so I’‘l take the course. Looks like I have got an interview for the IT support job at Jagex, got a call from the recruiter today, just need confirmation. Spoke with Shirley from HR about the fact I might not be able to drive in the future. She was pretty cool about it in a kind of cross-that-bridge way and suggested I run it past Sueanne.

Day 228: Spoke with Sueanne about my impending eye lasering which is on Friday ay 3.30pm, the hospital called to let me know, she was very cool about it and even suggested I take Monday off! More importantly, she spoke of the non-driving as no factor to worry about job wise, especially as we are all WfH nowadays. I have an interview at Jagex, well, Zoom, but it is on Friday, 1pm.

Day 229: Told Mark at work about the lasering adn potential non-driving. I think it shocked him a little. I am worried about tomorrow, big time, although it’s just lasering - I’ve had it done before. I cannot wait for this time tomorrow (9.40pm). I have been trying to concentrate on preparing for the interview but it’s all too easy to get distracted. Day 230: Interview went OK. Eye appointment was horrible but bearable. The doc wants me to book in for more laser but, only so it can be reviewed and ‘topped up’ if need be. Better than a going for a check up and having to book another laser appointment thereafter. It’s near enough 9.00pm and I am going to enjoy a bear or two.

Day 231: No after affects to speak of from the eye appointment but I know lasering has occurred. It’s like I haven’t got the full set of cells recieve information from yje pupil. It’s intangible but still perceptible. Great walk today, took some cracking photos - very pleasing. More booze and draw tonight and, hopefully, up tomorrow before the 2.20pm wake up time of today. Posh beat Oxford away (1-2) in the FA Cup 1st round.

Day 232: 2pm by the time I got out of bed. I’ve got to curb this habit. Missed calls from Dad but answered one from Rita just before going for a walk when I promised to phone tomorrow. Day 233: I think SB wa surprised was at work today. I ordered two rugs (from irugs.co.uk). They are 8x5″ and were 75% off, £58 ea. One for under the table (desk) and I put one in the spare room. Hopefully keep the house a tad warmer. Getting into Barry on Sky Comedy. Barry’s a hit man. It’s darkly intriguing. I took a couple of pics of a solitary poppy today, icuding a couple of macros. They turned out OK so will post one on Wednesday (11/11). Talking of photos, two people (one is Alison Brighty) asked for a jpeg of one of the photos I posted on Saturday so they can get it printed.

Day 234: Spoke with dad today, let him know the situation with my eyes which, I think worries him, so I hate to do it but, also, he needs to know, just in case.

Day 235: The poppy pic I posted was very well received, over 160 likes on the Oundle chatter page and Jo Langford wants the original (why she can’t take it of FB?) to print off, which is nice. I am working on Saturday - gotta attend a meeting at 8am. FFS! SB also agreed for me to back on call, cool!

Day 236: Average sort of day. I really wish I wasn’t working on Saturday! OH, Dan messaged...first I’ve heard from him for over two weeks...he’s got two days of so he can watch all the US Masters which started today, and was good watching. So, not that average a day afterall, now that I think back on it. Day 237: Woke up at 9.14am today, yikes! Messaged with Dan a lot as he is home watching the US Masters...told him abbout my eye issues and the fact there’s a chance of losing my driving license. Also, in a silly facebook post and comments, about me not being able to drink tonight ‘cos of work tomorrow, Scottish Ricky asked if I was OK. I replied, not really, meaning that I’m pissed off I can’t get pissed. He messaged to say if I ever need to chat. Fucking great bloke. I rang him to let him know I was not being serious on FB and we chatted for 30 mins or so. Top man. still, it does remian that I am missing a beer this Friday - roll on tomorrow night!

Day 238: Work thsi morning was OK, finished at midday. Watchung golf, having abeer or two right now (just gone 8pm). Posh lost away to Crewe 0-2. Day 239: Up at 2pm after a good few drinks last night (and some silly video posting on FB of me trying shit lager - Corrs Light - with hot sauce). Just settling down to watch Dustin Johnson win the Masters - he’s -20 with 2 to play, no one near him.

Day 240: I ordered some slippers from Amazon that arrived today. They were also returned today. I’m destined to never find a decent, non-expensive pair.

DJ did win the golf.

I watched Jojo Rabbit this evening. A first class film.

#diary #Tumblr diary #lockdown #COVID19 #lockdownuk

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kryptaria · 5 years

Text

What Will They Reboot Next?

(Saw this on Facebook, couldn’t resist...)

One of these days, Crowley would learn to think before acting. That day, unfortunately, wasn’t yesterday, when he’d finally talked Aziraphale into getting himself a phone that wasn’t a Bakelite antique attached to a landline.

He’d just wanted a convenient way to text the angel (though he dreaded the conversation about emojis he was certain loomed in his future like the Second Apocalypse). He hadn’t expected this sort of chaos -- whatever this was.

“Explain this! Right this instant!” Aziraphale demanded, brandishing his new iPhone[1] with such vigour, not even Crowley’s demonically sharp eyes could see what was actually on the bloody screen.

It wasn’t an error message. There was an actual picture there; that much, Crowley could see. But a picture of what?

“Explain what?”

“This!” was Aziraphale’s unhelpful response, accompanied by a wave reminiscent of the angel brandishing his old flaming sword, which set off all sorts of post-apocalypse stress reactions in Crowley.

He lashed out, not to harm[2] the angel, but to catch him by one perfectly starched cuff. The wardrobe-based assault froze Aziraphale in mid-brandish, letting Crowley’s eyes[3] finally focus on the screen.

“Oh,” Crowley said, jerking his hand back, though the screen remained rock-steady and regrettably in-focus. He doubted Aziraphale had any idea who was in the photo on the left[4], but the right...

“‘Oh,’” Aziraphale quoted, the word punctuated with the faint rustle of unseen wings.

Crowley couldn’t hide his guilty flinch. “It’s not my fault!”

“Not your fault! Crowley --”

“Look, it was when you were doing inventory, all right?” Crowley protested. “Three weeks, it took you. What was I supposed to do?”

Aziraphale huffed. “You said you were going to celebrate averting the apocalypse!”

“I was!” Crowley shrugged, giving his best innocent[5] smile. “I went to Los Angeles. There’s this --”

“How does your going to Hollywood end with this?”

Crowley shrugged again, saying, “Look, you’re the one who started it all, with the whole Hamlet thing. I took a couple of acting classes[6], and next thing you know, a director got me mixed up with this ‘David Tennant’ fellow. Poor chap can’t act his way out of a paper bag, if you ask me, but he somehow made it into weekend seminars at the Royal Scottish Academy --”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue and waved the mobile, making Crowley flinch again. “That’s not what I’m talking about -- although we will discuss that later,” he added ominously, bringing the whole flaming sword thing to mind again.[7]

After six thousand years of lying to Hell and, more recently, helping to avert the Apocalypse through sheer incompetence, Crowley knew when to shut up, and that moment was now. So he did.

“I’m talking about” -- Aziraphale scoffed, nose crinkling up in a positively adorable show of distaste -- “reboots.”

That nose-crinkle tore right through Crowley’s demonic defences. Despite six thousand years of vaguely-unswerving dedication to evil, he felt his mouth curl up in a sappy, slightly serpentine smile. “Reboots?”

“It says so right here.” The mobile screen flashed again, not that Crowley bothered looking. “They’re rebooting Batman.”

“Yeah?” Most of Crowley’s thoughts had melted into a puddle of goo, thanks to that nose-crinkle. The tiny corner of his infernal brain that was still working had just enough processing power to be impressed that Aziraphale hadn’t pronounced it in two words: bat man.

With a sigh of pure exasperation, Aziraphael crossed his arms, something he never did[8]. “You’re responsible for the concept of rebooting franchises every other year.”

“I wouldn’t! That’s all humans.”

Aziraphale lifted a brow sceptically. “You happen to go to Hollywood, and coincidentally there’s a Batman reboot, starring you?”

“Sure, if you put it like that, it sounds bad,” Crowley admitted, “but it’s not like they haven’t rebooted that particular franchise a hundred times already --”

“Five,” Aziraphale corrected primly.

Crowley blinked.

Aziraphale shrugged, glancing away. “I researched it.”

Crowley gave an unprecedented second blink. “You researched it?”

“I -- I have a whole back room full of comics,” Aziraphale said, still avoiding Crowley’s gaze. “Pristine first editions, all of them. I couldn’t not look into them. Have you any idea how much those things can be worth?”

“So what you’re saying is, you can afford to pay for an around-the-world cruise?” Crowley hinted, hoping to escape further discussion of reboots.

Aziraphale sniffed. “As if I’d sell any of them. I don’t even leave the door unlocked for browsing without appointment.[9] Just think of all the people getting their grubby fingerprints on the covers, dog-earing the pages...”

Crowley grinned, safely back on familiar ground. “Yes, wouldn’t want to imagine that sort of thing happening in a used bookshop.”

Refusing to be diverted, Aziraphael said, “Reboots, Crowley. Specifically Batman reboots. I sense your demonic hand at work.”

“My demonic hands were nowhere near this reboot,” Crowley said, heroically resisting the temptation to suggest anything about any of his parts, demonic or otherwise. “I was trying to tell you, I was in Los Angeles for a nightclub, that’s all.”

“A nightclub.” Aziraphale scoffed. “My dear Crowley, we’re in Soho. What could Los Angeles possibly offer that you can’t find right here?”

“Oh, angel...” Crowley smiled, plucking the mobile from Aziraphale’s fingers so he could slither up close. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to Los Angeles.”

Aziraphale did that full-body wiggle he always did when Crowley got too close, as if he were making a show of being too polite to back away.[10] “Of course not. It always seemed a bit... trite. And full of Californians.”

“Well, yes. It being in California and all,” Crowley pointed out, pretending to dust some lint off Aziraphale’s lapels.

The casual touch got the angel to finally uncross his arms. His hands landed unerringly on Crowley’s hips, fitting perfectly in place like a key made for a lock. The touch was every bit as warm and inviting as the shelter of his wings had been the day of that very first storm.

And the bolt of lightning that shot through Crowley as their eyes met made that first storm seem like nothing more than a drizzle.

“What’s so special about Los Angeles?”

It took Crowley a moment to remember how to speak and even longer to remember what they’d been talking about. He definitely couldn’t remember when he’d wound his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders. That sort of thing was happening more and more these days, not that they’d actually discussed it.

They probably should have done, but they were, after all, hereditary enemies. They just happened to be hereditary enemies who were on their own side now, not anybody else’s.

“This nightclub you found?” Aziraphale prompted.

“In Los Angeles. Right.”

Crowley nodded, wrenching his brain back from its dazed meandering. He was a demon, which meant he specialised in doing the wrong thing, but he’d once been an angel, and he’d recently done the right thing, with excellent results. Bracing himself, he decided to give the right thing another shot and, as humans put it, use his words.

After all, if you thought about it, they’d been on their own side for a lot longer than anyone realised. Six thousand years longer.

“Maybe... we could go together?” Crowley suggested, shifting from the casual accidental hug to deliberately running one hand up over Aziraphale’s nape.

The angel’s blue eyes went as wide as the infinite skies over the Garden of Eden.

A shiver passed through Crowley’s wings. He threaded his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls.

The sound Aziraphale made wasn’t one humans would have heard, if there had been any in the bookshop to witness this moment.[11]

A couple centuries’ of drama study had taught Crowley that this was, in fact, The Moment. He had to play it cool. Six thousand years of studying humanity meant he’d seen The Moment played out countless times. He had a whole repertoire of possible reactions and responses to choose from, even if this was the first time he himself had ever done any Seizing of The Moment.

But Aziraphale Seized first, moving his hands from Crowley’s hips to the small of his back, and suddenly there was no measurable distance between their corporeal forms at all.[12]

“Ngh,” was Crowley’s very un-cool response to his angel’s first real embrace.

Unruffled[13], Aziraphale said, “This nightclub you visited...”

What’s a nightclub? Crowley thought for a few eternal seconds before remembering. (Aziraphale’s hair was very soft. Had it always been that soft?) It took even longer for him to shuffle through his memories of every nightclub he’d ever visited[14] before he finally remembered the latest one.

It had all the usual features -- low lighting, dancing on tables, lines of humans desperate to make it past the bouncer -- but also enough alcohol to get even a couple of eternal beings plastered and a gorgeously tuned grand piano.

Besides, the only one allowed to play said grand piano could also be trusted not to snitch to either side if a certain angel and demon ended up in a dark corner booth. Together.

“Crowley?”

“Sorry,” Crowley said, tightening his arms before Aziraphale could think something had gone horribly wrong and pull away.

Smiling like an angel[15], Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s eyes and asked, “What’s this nightclub called?”

Bargaining like a demon[16], Crowley countered, “Do you believe I’m not lying about the whole reboots thing?”

“My dear Crowley...” Aziraphale tipped his head into Crowley’s palm and sighed. “Yes. I believe you.”

Warmed all the way through, Crowley said, “It’s called Lux. Want to go?”

Eyes sparkling with delight, Aziraphale said, “I’d love to. Just let me fetch a nicer tie.”

Thoughts of a wardrobe full of tartan and taupe filled Crowley’s thoughts, but he didn’t protest. It wasn’t as if the bouncers would get in their way, and once they were inside... well, he’d burn that bridge when he came to it. “You do that, angel,” he said, reluctantly stepping out of Aziraphale’s arms.

And as Aziraphale bustled off to find a new bow tie (leaving his mobile behind[17]), Crowley got out his own mobile and hastily composed an email to his agent. If all went well, he anticipated some scheduling conflicts in his future. That around-the-world cruise was waiting for them, after all.

...

[1] Aziraphale pronounced it “eye phone,” with a distinct pause, but Crowley was taking baby steps in introducing the angel to technology.

[2] Never to harm.

[3] He’d never quite got the hang of limiting his vision to only the mortal spectrum, which was the real reason he kept wearing his sunglasses. These days, no one would look twice at his eyes, except to compliment him on his contacts.

[4] Crowley had never suggested anything as absurd as sparkling vampires, though he was happy to take credit. He did, however, write a disclaimer -- in all caps -- that he was NOT responsible for Fifty Shades of anything. Hell’s response had been “That came from the Other Side,” though Crowley had never figured out precisely which angel to blame.

[5] Despite six thousand years of practice, he wasn’t very good at it.

[6] “A couple” meaning a couple hundred, but eventually he got the hang of it.

[7] There’s a reason the Almighty had posted Aziraphale to guard the Eastern Gate, and it wasn’t for his snazzy fashion sense. Under the mild-mannered bookseller was the sort of badass angel who made Crowley’s toes curl, though Crowley would never admit it.

[8] Aziraphale’s usually-upright posture had nothing to do with his angelic nature and everything to do with not straining the seams of his favourite jacket.

[9] The “Employees Only” sign on the door meant no one knew about the collection, which saved Aziraphale the trouble of scheduling any appointments.

[10] The fact that Aziraphale always ended up even closer to Crowley was a coincidence absolutely no one believed, especially not God.

[11] Only one entity witnessed it, and Her only reaction was to sigh and say, “Finally,” in a Voice that made no fewer than seven prophets across the world faint, overcome with Divine Vision.

[12] Other than their clothing, a thought that occurred to both corporeal entities and their incorporeal observer, with varying levels of frustration.

[13] Metaphorically and literally. Aziraphale had, in fact, taken a few hours to meticulously groom his wings after he’d finished inventory. He was just waiting for the right moment to show off to Crowley.

[14] His favourite would always be an underground club in Night Vale, with its singing crystal walls and eldritch DJ playing the screams of those lost in the Void, but he didn’t think Aziraphale would like it there.

[15] Actually, angelic smiles tended to be cold, shallow, and feral. Aziraphale was smiling like a human, which made all the difference in the world.

[16] Demons are terrible at bargaining by design. Humanity is perfectly capable of tempting itself without any outside help.

[17] A habit he’d already developed, despite having the mobile for less than a week.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ficlet #unbetaed #posting to AO3 later

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

Text

Cerebus #3

Time for some good chafing gags!

I love Cerebus. Once I began buying the monthly issues, I stuck with it until Issue #300, no matter how bored I had become with Cerebus's explication of Genesis. I stuck with it because it had entertained me so much and because I loved the idea of a comic book series with a character who grows and changes and eventually dies as an old, decrepit, huge delusional mess. Or was he delusional? Yeah, I think he was. By the end, I think we're supposed to realize Rick was the protagonist? Whoops! I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm still in the issues where I don't have to think too hard about anything and can just sit back and laugh at jokes about chain mail bikinis and a woman who will only fuck somebody who overpowers her physically! What I meant to say before I interrupted myself like usual, I kept with the series because I loved so much of it. Not all of it, of course. Who could love all of it?! Dave Sim was writing things that kept himself interested and wasn't too worried about, say, keeping the audience that loved Church & State while writing Melmoth, or expecting people who loved Guys to be enthusiastic about Coming Home. I appreciated this comic book so much that it's the only reason that I kept purchasing monthly comic books as I entered my thirties. I had gotten to the point where my brain was having too much trouble remembering all the different comic book story lines with a full month long gaps between each twenty-four page bit of story. So at some point just past the year 2000, I decided I'd stop reading monthly comics altogether after March 2004, the final issue of Cerebus. After that, I kept up with Fables and Walking Dead via collected editions. But I was done reading monthlies (until The New 52 somehow dragged me back in to do that blog project!). So yeah. I was (and still am!) a huge Cerebus fan. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to be critical of the series and the writer. Dave Sim makes a lot of mistakes and I'm going to have a lot of fun pointing them out! You might not think they're mistakes but I ask that you hold your comments until the end (you know, my review of Issue #300!) because why would I want to argue on the Internet with other huge comic book nerds? We're the worst! One person I'll never criticize because I don't think they ever do anything wrong: Gerhard! That fucking work horse nails it throughout the entire series! Nothing much to say about Deni's "A Note from the Publisher" since all she says is how she has nothing to say. I was hoping she'd admit to rubbing one out over one of Dave's finished Red Sophia pages but my horrible male nerd projections about how women act once more didn't come to fruition. How is it everything I learned about women from female comic book characters turned out to be so wrong?! I refuse to believe it's because most of them were written by men. Men are so rational and logical! They wouldn't have steered me wrong!

I should probably do a little research on Frank Thorne.

Frank Thorne was best known for his work on Marvel's Red Sonja. Yes, I lifted that directly from Wikipedia. But I typed it myself! Another thing I learned from Wikipedia (I'd do more research than just Wikipedia but I don't want to wind up on YouTube where I'll not only learn about Frank Thorne's artistic history but also that the American Democratic party runs a pedophile sex traffic ring and also something about cannibals? I mean, it sounds like something I'd like to believe!) is that Thorne wrote a book called How to Draw Sexy Women. So, you know, he's probably one of my heroes? Frank Thorne is currently 90 years old and he might have the most adorable picture of anybody on Wikipedia.

I want to be best friends with him right now. Six year old me would have been over the moon in love with him (I had a Grandfather Fixation when I was really young that probably had nothing to do with my father leaving when I was two).

This issue not only introduces Red Sophia but also the wizard Henrot. That's an anagram of "Thorne"! Red Sophia is an anagram for "Hi! Do Rapes." I don't agree with that at all. I'm just the anagram messenger. I'm also not suggesting that Dave Sim knew what he was doing anagrammatically! I mean with the Red Sophia anagram. He definitely meant the Henrot/Thorne one! Cerebus has returned to civilization but now needs some quick cash because one thing Cerebus always needs is quick cash. He's only wealthy a few times and those times don't usually last long. He goes to see Henrot (who allegedly gets his power from two of the five Spheres of the Gods! So now we kind of know more about those things even if it is just a rumor) to question him about any paying mercenary gigs.

You might think the missing word in Henrot's dialogue was a mistake by Dave Sim but later we'll probably learn in, I don't know, Issue #143 that Henrot's first language is Borelean to account for this seeming error.

Cerebus doesn't usually take assassination or torture jobs because he finds them distasteful but he needs the money. Sure, he'll take any job that has him killing people in battle or invading private wizard's towers to murder the owner and steal the owner's stuff. But assassination and torture? So wrong! Once Cerebus takes the job, he learns that he was to take Henrot's daughter, Red Sophia, along with him. The target besmirched her honor so she needs to watch him die slowly and painfully. Is this where the MeToo hashtag goes?

Red Sophia drawing tutorial: Draw some big tits, some big lips, and a big mass of hair. Connect them with some kind of woman shaped lines. Ta-da!

Red Sophia chatters incessantly and dances around while Cerebus carries all of the gear. It's funny because female characters get to represent all women instead of being a unique character! Ha ha! Women really do talk a lot, right? And they're always all, "Carry my purse for me!" And guys are all like, "Stifle your emotions like a normal person! Carry your own purse! Stop dancing around whimsically and try to act tough and cool like regular people do! Play some sports already! Take care of me like you were my replacement mother!" In the "A Note from the Publisher," Deni wrote that since the first issue (remember the first issue? So many issues ago!), Dave had wanted to write a story where Cerebus interacts with a female. She doesn't say Dave wanted to write a female character. He just wanted Cerebus to interact with a female. So I guess that's what this is! Cerebus interacts with a female stereotype who is also a sex fantasy. Not because she's hot but because she constantly tries to fuck Cerebus throughout their adventure! What sword and sorcery reading nerd didn't dream of that three or four times a day in a dark room? I'm being harsh on Sim because it's more fun than lavishing praise on him. You can tell Sim realizes the inherent problems with Red Sonja because that's the bulk of his parody. The problem isn't Dave's take on the character; the real problem is simply the character Red Sonja! In 1978, Sim was already commenting on the ridiculous armor artists draw on women (there will be chafing jokes!)! And in this story, Dave Sim expresses how ridiculous it was to create a female character who was raped and then given great fighting skills by some Goddess with the catch that she can never fuck a man unless he beats her in fair combat. Just looking at it from a guy's point of view, I'd probably be all, "You know what? I don't want those powers. Could you maybe just strike down the asshole who raped me and let me not have to attempt to beat up every woman I'm attracted to?" Is that enough hot takes on Red Sophia? Cause I want to get to the part of this review where I can admit that I fucking love her so much. Later Cerebus meets Elrod who is really just Foghorn Leghorn. I'm pretty sure Red Sophia was less Red Sonja than Pepé Le Pew. I know, I know! There are probably some sensitive reasons why I'm not supposed to like Pepé too! But he was my mother's favorite Looney Tunes character! Anyway, I can't blame Dave Sim for making his first female character about 75% stereotypes of women. He's still a young writer! You've got to give him about another 183 issues to really clarify his stance on the interactions between genders! I'm sure it'll be more layered, nuanced, and rational.

Cerebus might be an Earth Pig but he's not a chauvinist pig. He doesn't take sexual advantage of Red Sophia here; he just makes her carry all the gear. It's a good joke that I'm ruining by explaining it instead of scanning in the punchline!

Just for comparison, let's take a look at a modern interpretation of Red Sonja by Ed Benes. I bet just that artist's name alone gives male comic book nerds a chubby. Not a full on hard on though. Those are probably reserved for hearing the name "Frank Cho."

What do they teach in art school? Women can turn 180 degrees at the waist? Not that I'm complaining! Dark room, here I come!

Oh shit. I forgot I was reading this comic book! Okay, um, so Red Sophia attacks Cerebus for besmirching her honor. Or Cerebus attacks Red Sophia for knocking him into a bush with her ass. Maybe it's a little bit of both. Anyway, Cerebus defeats her so Red Sophia begins throwing her ample bosom at Cerebus every chance she gets. Cerebus is not interested for some reason. Maybe it's because he stuck a sword in his vagina when he was younger? That happened, right? Or was that a flashback about him having his period? Now that I'm thinking about it...what the fuck is this comic book? I think maybe I hallucinated some of it! Cerebus isn't a fucking slut, man! He doesn't just fuck any hot woman whom he defeats in battle! He needs to fall in love and/or get completely wrecked on Peach Schnapps. So he has no interest in Red Sophia. I suppose a woman trying to kill you is a bit of a turn off. And then later, when she gets you into a fight with Thugg the Unseemly, it's less of an aphrodisiac than you might think.

I think Borelean might be Red Sophia's first language as well. I mean, she is Henrot's daughter.

The Letterer part of Dave Sim has already fucked up twice this issue. I bet he was too busy having his sword and sorcery fantasies in a dark room to pay close attention to the script. This is probably why Dave Sim eventually gave up masturbation. Later, Red Sophia feeds Cerebus granola and it totally cracks Dave Sim up. He said so in the Swords of Cerebus essay! Didn't you read it? I, for one, prefer the joke on the following page about Cerebus being a cannibal. Or an aardvark who eats human meat, anyway. I think that's close enough to cannibalism. We learn later that aardvarks can have offspring with humans so I feel like the aardvarks in this book are less sentient funny talking animals and more severely deformed human beings.

Red Sophia's tent. If this we were well into Mothers & Daughters when this tent made an appearance, I'd think Dave purposefully drew it this way. Since we're only on Issue #3, I think he was just feeling horny when he drew it.

If at any time during this review I've referred to Red Sophia as Red Sonja, just remember that English is my second language. I'm Borelean. I apologize to Dave Sim for earlier suggesting that Red Sophia was simply a bunch of female stereotypes mashed together into a character. As I said, I love her. I figured I probably started loving her after she makes several more appearances but I'm pretty sure this is the page where I knew needed more Red Sophia in my life.

How can you not be completely charmed by the "I'm pretty good at hand-holding" line?

This is a good reminder that I shouldn't be judging early Dave Sim by Issue #186 Dave Sim and beyond. He should always get the benefit of the doubt and, even after #186, he should retain it. I need to be reading the material both with fresh eyes as if reading it for the first time and with the knowledge of the whole in an attempt to understand it better. This scene is just so fucking charming that I hate that it might be ruined for many people based on their "knowledge" of Dave Sim. I put knowledge in quotes because, really, how many people who think of Dave as a misogynist have actually read Cerebus or Tangent? How many have just heard they're supposed to despise him because he's been called a misogynist? I mean, sure, you just have to read a bunch of his Biblical explications to understand you're dealing with something other than neurotypical! But it'd be nice if more people came to their Dave Sim conclusions themselves instead of just jumping on the bandwagon. I'm not saying people who think he's a misogynist aren't automatically wrong! Dave thinks they are but come on. He eventually gives out a lot of slack with which to make quite a few nooses to hang himself with. Um, okay, back to not judging Cerebus based on future Dave's rants about the Marxist/feminist/homosexual axis! Cerebus and Sophia finally reach the target where Cerebus discovers that the target, Tanes Feras, loves Sophia. And just like that, he figures out how to get rid of Sophia while also torturing Feras (possibly to death? Time will tell!). He commands Sophia to marry Feras because she must do whatever he asks. Sure, she thought it would involved his super long tongue and her metal-chafed butthole. But that's the great thing about love! It doesn't care what you want. Henrot seems to accept this conclusion for now. He'll definitely be back later. And so will Red Sophia. I can't wait!

The map of Cerebus's world by Deni's brother, Clovis. He ran out of ideas when he got to "Ocean Sea."

I'll have to remember to keep referring back to this map throughout the series. Although I'll probably only need it for the first twenty-five issues. And then maybe after Mothers & Daughters. Nothing noteworthy in Aardvark Comment this month. Just some Canadians saying things like, "Glad to see a Canadian comic book from Canada about Canada!" Which is confusing because I didn't realize how much of Cerebus was representative of Canada. I've really got to rethink my Canadian stereotypes. Now I'll be sure to picture Canadians as 50% Cerebus and 50% Joey Jeremiah. Cerebus #3 Rating: B+. Sim's art remains a bit more on the amateurish side than the professional side. But that's to be expected. Already you can see improvements in the consistency of Cerebus's look and I think maybe his snout is already getting shorter and girthier. This was the first issue where he drew a woman so I can't fault him for drawing a blow-up doll in a chain mail bikini. Why would I? I'd never fault anybody for drawing a blow-up doll in a chain mail bikini! I also just thought up a new category to search on eBay. This issue begins to show where Sim really excels: his characters. The first two issues basically highlight Cerebus dealing with a few generic characters. But Red Sophia (and Henrot to a lesser extent) captures the spotlight this issue. Ignoring some of the shallow aspects of her character creation (if you even believe those exists. Don't take my super-professional critical opinion on it!), she's really rather charming and a competent foil for the Earth Pig. Just knowing that she's the tip of the iceberg in the gallery of recurring characters excites me more than those fantasies I keep having in my dark room.

#Cerebus #Dave Sim

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

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S.T. REWRITE - S2:E1; Chapter One, MADMAX - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

As the town preps for Halloween, a high-scoring rival shakes things up at the arcade. Will begins seeing strange visions as the anniversary of his disappearance creeps up.

Warnings: an instance of self harm TECHNICALLY. I don't know if I can even call it self harm but it is not out of depression, but it is for demonstration. Regardless I felt the need to warn you guys in case this might be a trigger to some of you. If you are concerned it might be, i will put a signal [▪▪▪] at the beginning and the end of the instance if that makes sense? Sorry if it's weird i just have never dealt with this issue before and i don't want to trigger anybody. Also, unedited and most likely filled with grammatical errors

[FLASHBACK]

"Come on!" The giggles of the girl were softly carried through the trees.

Will Byers and Y/N Henderson were lightly jogging through the woods to the infamous Castle Byers hand in hand.

"Okay, okay" Will laughed, trying to catch up with the girl ahead of him. It had been a few weeks since coming home from the hospital after his disappearance, and Y/N Henderson had yet to share her secret with him.

She insisted that she wait until they could talk in private, so Will had suggested Castle Byers, even though he was still uneasy about the woods since the incident.

Here they were, rushing through the trees to the makeshift fortress in the woods.

He had never stopped trying to pry any sort of information from her prior to this, but she wouldn't break.

Sure enough, the familiar flag and sign of Castle Byers came into view and the two ducked inside.

Will fought the shutter that creeped up when he took a look around. The last time he had been here was in the Upside Down.

When it got him.

But when he looked at Y/N, it was different. He was still spooked but he felt grounded with her here with him.

They both took a seat, her in her normal spot. Her having been over so many times, Castle Byers had become their thing, their hideaway and she had her own corner with some of her comic books and other things of hers.

"So what is it? Is everything okay?"

She chuckled weakly and looked down, her nerves began to stir. "Yeah, everything's fine, but uh, it's weird. I'm not gonna lie, it's very weird."

Will's brows furrowed but his curiousity was peaked. Silently, he urged her to go on.

She took a deep breath and began.

"So, do you remember all that stuff we told you about that girl who helped us, El? And how she had... abilities?"

He considered this and then nodded his head. Ordinarily, he would have difficulty believing it but after the whole ordeal he went through, anything seemed possible at that point.

"Well, I think - I think it might be better if I show you."

[▪▪▪]

Before Will could ask what she meant, she took a steep breath and exhaled pulling out a small pocket knife. She awkwardly opened it and hesitantly brought it up to her palm.

Will's eyes bulged and his face went pale and he frantically reached to stop her, sputtering desperately trying to find the words to tell her to stop. But it was too late. With a sharp hiss she dragged the blade across her palm drawing out a thick stream of blood.

"Crap, Y/N, what the hell was that? Are you okay?"

[▪▪▪]

Will began to look around frantically for something to stop the blood and settled on a discarded piece of cloth that tore from the ratty sheet that was used for the entrance the fort.

He quickly pressed the cloth to her palm and she hissed once more, glancing up at him, smiling and thanking him. She gently took the cloth and applied pressure for a few more seconds and then wiped the remaining blood away and set the cloth aside.

She shifts nervously taking a long inhale through her nose and closing her eyes.

She clenched her bleeding fist and Will watched with bewilderment as her brows furrowed slightly and body tensed for a brief moment.

Though only moments passed, Will took the opportunity to gaze at the girl before him. And although her face held a stern look of concentration, it had sense of emotional vulnerability.

It took everything in him to pry his eyes from her face and to focus on her hand and while nothing seemed to present itself as unusual he knew nothing would be the same somehow.

His heart began to pound against his chest, and then it happened.

Her fingers slowly unfurled and Will gaped at what he saw. Blood still stained her fingertips and palm but the cut itself was gone. Like it had never existed.

"Wh- I- How did-?"

"I know, even I still can't believe it. And no, I don't know for sure how I got it, technically, but, there's more,"

Will clung to her every word as she retold the story of her encounter with the bad men, only this time including every detail. All the way up to what the white haired man said to her as they tried to take her away.

It fell quiet for a moment and Will spoke up.

"So, do you think, do you think that place, is where you come from?"

She bit her lip nervously and met his eye, nodding her head.

"I mean, it's gotta be right? I can't think of any other possible explanation for it. And what's even more terrifying to think about is, if that really is the case, would I have grown up like Eleven? I can't even begin to imagine how awful it must have been,"

Y/N grew quiet and Will hung his head, sparing a glance at the girl.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up,"

"No, no," she laughed weakly.

"No, it's okay. This is huge, it's hard not to want to ask questions. And I'm sorry you couldn't find out until now, but I couldn't risk anyone else overhearing or finding out or anything. And I made the others promise not to tell you. I figured it should come from me,"

"No, I'm glad it did." He smiled. "So, how much did they freak out?"

Y/N laughed as she recalled the memory, explaining how after everything calmed down they bombarded her with questions and wouldn't let it go all as she wore a fond smile on her face. It soon fell as their laughter died down and she grew more serious.

"Will,"

"Yeah?"

Will felt his heart break for her.

"Will, you faced a monster that week. Spent every moment running and hiding. But in a way, we did too. Those men were," she paused, caution even in her next few breaths."Will, they terrified me. He terrified me. The bad men. I just... I can't get the way he looked at me out of my head. Or... what he called me.

And, I knew that if they got ahold of me - if he got ahold me - he could make me disappear forever. I mean, Jesus, they made and dumped a fake you in the quarry, Will. We buried you. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if things turned out any different than it did,"

Everything she had said was true. They all faced their own horrors that week, and it left scars that even she couldn't heal. Wanting desperately to console her, he reached out and took her hand in comfort.

"The point is," she wiped away the remaining tears and looked at him. "Will, you need to promise me that you aren't going to tell anyone. Especially my mom. The others know, obviously, can't risk anyone who isn't already involved to know, it puts them in danger."

"Don't worry, Y/N. You're secret is safe with me."

She smiled thankfully at him and the two of them shared a brief moment of peace which quickly turned to silence that needed to be filled.

"So, can you do it on command? You know, the wave thing?"

She smiled shyly and shook her head.

"No, it's rare, and pretty much happens on it's own in really bad situations"

He smiled at her and she chuckled.

"What?"

"I bet you could."

"Could what?"

"Learn to control it. I mean, look what you did with your hand! Imagine what you could do with your other powers,"

"You know, this might sound weird, but then again, all of this is weird," the two chuckled and she continued.

"But, I think all this might connect to my bizarre luck with plants. Like, who knows? I could be the next Poison Ivy," she joked.

Will breathed out a light laugh and nodded head. "Totally,"

The two smiled at each other and butterflies stirred between the two.

They both held each other's gaze and then Will speaks up.

"You should try. Practice your powers, I mean. You could do great things,"

"Yeah, I could, couldn't I?" Y/N giggled, a confident smile on her face.

She laughed and rubbed her hands together before reaching her hand out and gently placed her palm on the dirt ground and closed her eyes.

It was at that moment Will could have sworn he saw the smallest bit of movement-

[END OF FLASHBACK]

||Will's POV||

"Will?"

"Huh?"

It took a moment to come back to reality.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry." I mumbled halfheartedly.

"Hey. What did we talk about, huh? You've got to stop it with the sorries."

"Sorry." I quickly realize what I said. "I mean, yeah, I know"

"And listen, you know, there's nothing to he nervous about, you know."

"Just tell 'em what you felt last night and what you saw. Hey, I'm gonna be there the whole time. So it's gonna be okay. Okay?"

I couldn't help but think of Y/N, and what they would do if they knew about her.

And I didn't even want to think about the possibility of them knowing about her and the fact that they could take her away at any time.

I shook my head subtly, trying to rid myself of the awful thought.

The anxiety was creeping up on me again and I rested my head on the side of the window, looking out at the open road ready to let my mind wander.

+ + +

"Sir Will, how are you? Mom? Pop? Let's take a look, see what's going on here," Dr. Owens entered the room. He greeted me, my mom and Hopper who always came along to support us.

Dr. Owen's sat down next to me and begins looking through my file, stirring up conversation as usual. "I see you shaved off a pound since we saw you last. Must be making room for all that Halloween candy. What's your favorite candy?"

I lightly shrugged, clamming up a bit not used to the sudden spotlight.

"Desert island candy, if you had to pick on?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, life or death situation, what would you pick?"

"I guess..."

Mom mouthed Reese's Pieces.

"Reese's Pieces."

"Good call. Good call. I'm more of a Mounds guy, but I gotta say, peanut butter and chocolate, come on, hard to beat that. All right, so tell me what's going on with you. Tell me about this episode you had."

There it was.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and I felt a chill run down my spine at the recollection.

"Well, my friends were there and then they just weren't, and I was back there again."

"In the Upside Down?"

I nodded my head.

"All right, so what happened next?"

"I heard this noise, and so I went outside, and it was worse."

"How was it worse?"

"There was this storm"

I could still see the flashes as clear as day.

"Okay. So how did you feel when you saw the storm?"

"I felt... frozen."

《• • •》

I trembled as I stared at the monster in the sky. I could hear the faint echo of her voice.

"Will?"

It's staring at me. The shadow.

《• • •》

"Heart racing?"

"Just frozen."

"Frozen, cold frozen? Frozen to the touch?"

"No. Like how you feel when you're scared, and you can't breathe or talk or do anything. I felt... I felt this evil, like it was looking at me."

"It was evil?"

"Well... What do you think the evil wanted?"

"To kill."

"To kill you?"

"Not me." For the first time since he questioned me, I looked him in the eye.

"Everyone else."

My heart was pounding against my rib cage, and my palms were sweating.

I felt mom squeeze my hand.

"Do you want to tell him what you told me, baby?" She whispered.

I frowned for a second as I looked to her before I knew what she was talking about. It was a small detail I didn't even realize had happened until I was telling her about my episode.

"I remember hearing, very faintly," I took a breath, hoping to subtly stop my quickening heartbeat. "I heard this voice. My friend. She was the only one I could kind of hear."

"So your friend was with you when you had this episode?"

"Yeah," I mumbled avoiding eye contact once more.

"Is this regular for you? Can you normally hear others outside of an episode?"

"Never. And I wanted to hold onto it for as long as I could but I was too scared."

"What were you afraid would happen, Will?"

"It saw her," I could feel the color drain from my face.

My heartbeat quickened. I didn't want them to know about her. But if what I am about to admit out loud really is true, that means she could be facing an even greater danger.

"Was she there with you?"

I shook my head. "No, but I could barely hear her. Like she was calling to me from a distance. And I wanted to follow that. I thought maybe, if I did, the episode would stop but-" my eyes were beginning to burn, I hadn't realized I was fighting back tears.

"It's okay, take your time," Dr. Owen's said.

I took another deep breath and managed to swallow the lump in my throat.

"But I couldn't let myself,"

"And why not?"

"It saw her," I looked the man, unable to hide the growing fear in my eyes. "It saw her as a threat."

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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The Tragedy of Bruce and Dick and Jason...and Tim...and Damian...and, well, you get it

I maintain that Dick’s history with juvie and the system is actually crucial to understanding his and Jason’s dynamic, not to mention the reasons Bruce took Jason in at all in the first place.

Its usually described as though Bruce took in all his kids because they reminded him of himself in various ways, but that’s not really true. With Dick, yes, its been clearly canonized this was his motivation. He looked at Dick, who does look a lot like Bruce, especially when they were both younger, and saw a mirror of himself when he was a kid and had just lost his parents. He eventually took Dick in because he wanted to keep Dick from turning out like he had, consumed by his mission, his need to keep bad things from happening to other people, like had happened to him. To make sure Dick had more to his life than just that. He wanted a do-over in a lot of ways. Raising him was a way for Bruce to kinda see how his life would’ve turned out differently, how he would’ve ended up, if he’d taken a different path, if there’d been someone who understood his pain and the intensity of his drive to DO something with all the emotions his parents’ death left him with.

Yes, of course Bruce had Alfred, but its also been clearly laid out in the comics that Alfred - for as much as he saw Bruce as a son - just couldn’t relate to him in the same way Bruce could to Dick. He never really understood Bruce’s need to become Batman, he just went with it and supported him anyway, because he’s Alfred and that’s what he does. His kid wants to dress up like a giant bat and go fight crime? Well, okay, lemme get my sewing machine, guess he’s gonna need a costume.

And then with Tim, well, Tim came to Bruce, not the other way around, and they’ve always had an understanding because they come from very similar backgrounds. Same social standing, similar environments....Tim was neglected by his largely absent parents, not actually orphaned (until later), but Bruce definitely saw reminders of his own self-imposed isolation in Tim’s parentally-imposed isolation. There’s similar links and parallels between Bruce and Damian, Cass and Duke.

Jason was always the outlier.

Bruce never took Jason in because he saw a reminder of himself in Jason, (with the exception of Jason’s anger, which he could relate to on many levels, sure). But Jason’s story really has zero parallels with Bruce. Bruce met him when he was stealing the tires off the Batmobile. Both his parents were still alive, even if they weren’t exactly nurturing influences. He came from a wildly different social background and upbringing, was foul-mouthed, angry, bitter, vindictive, petty. Hell, he didn’t even actually look anything like Bruce, the way we tend to joke about Bruce taking in boys who look just like him. Originally, Jason had red hair. Bruce dyed his hair when he made him Robin. The idea that Bruce took Jason in for the same reason he took in his other kids, because he saw himself reflected in him, saw what he could’ve been if his life had gone a little differently, it just doesn’t work. On any level. There’s no scenario in which Bruce ever could have lived any version of Jason’s life. No scenario in which Jason was only a few degrees removed from Bruce’s own personal experiences.

No, Bruce took Jason in for one reason and one reason only - because he looked at him and saw Dick Grayson. He saw the boy Dick Grayson could have grown up to become if Bruce hadn’t taken him in, if Dick had been left to rot in juvie or elsewhere in Gotham’s corrupt system. If Dick had fallen through the cracks without anyone to catch him, the way Jason clearly had.

Forgetting where Dick came from, ignoring his original backstory, completely obliterates Bruce’s entire motivation for adopting Jason. And it completely erases Bruce’s real role in the trainwreck that became his relationship with both Jason and with Dick, not to mention the original relationship between Jason and Dick.

Because Bruce fucked up, big time, when he took Jason in. Oh, not that he shouldn’t have done it, but in the WHY he did it, and the fact that he never really acknowledged this and nobody ever really called him out for it. With Dick, Bruce was trying to give him a better life. Even if he fumbled and went about it the wrong way, his motivations were still pretty pure. Bruce was aware enough on some level of his own flaws, his own deep-seated dissatisfaction with his own life, to genuinely want to steer someone he saw himself in from going down the same road, making the same mistakes. A huge number of Bruce and Dick’s early conflicts were essentially Bruce frustrated that he didn’t know how to get Dick to stop making the same mistakes Bruce himself regretted making. Not getting that it still had to be up to Dick whether or not he did, that the choices ultimately had to be his.

But with Jason....Bruce’s motivations were not so selfless, and they were not nearly as self-aware. Bruce took Jason in pretty much in the immediate aftermath of his biggest fight with Dick ever, when he fired Dick as Robin and basically kicked him out...entirely out of an emotionally stunted sense of self-preservation. The idea of Dick being hurt, of losing him if he died, it terrified Bruce so completely that he pushed him away, as though if he lost him on HIS terms, deliberately, that would somehow be better, it’d hurt less. Except it didn’t. He regretted it immediately, but he didn’t know how to fix it without owning that he’d fucked up, without explaining to Dick WHY he’d done what he did, allowing himself to be vulnerable and admitting just how terrified he was of losing him....and Bruce just was not capable of that at the time (as if he is now, even).

And so then he’s out fighting crime one night and returns to the Batmobile, to find some scrawny little kid stealing the tires off it. A kid who wasn’t remotely apologetic, who was defiant, and ballsy, and not about to be intimidated by even the goddamn Batman, who swung his tire iron at this giant dude in a Bat costume, spitting and kicking and screaming as if he had the slightest chance of winning. It didn’t matter to him that he didn’t, couldn’t, Jason Todd was going down swinging. And in that moment, you can not tell me that its himself Bruce Wayne saw. That he looked at Jason and saw any version of himself or the kid he once was or even one he could have ended up as.

Nope, he saw Dick Grayson, the tiny little acrobat who’d guilt tripped him, HIM, into letting him dress up in bright yellow and green and run across rooftops taking on bad guys twice his size, villains he shouldn’t have had a prayer of defeating but did anyway, because he just refused to accept an alternative as reality. He saw the kid a young, angry Dick Grayson could’ve grown up to be if he’d been left in juvie, if he’d never had anyone else take him in and show him the kindness he thought he’d never see again after his parents died. He saw the Dick Grayson who’d been originally consumed not with Bruce’s desire to pursue justice, but with a desire to pursue REVENGE. I know everyone tends to view it as the other way around, but that doesn’t actually check out. Even in the backstories where Bruce finds the actual killer who murdered his parents, Joe Chill, Bruce’s own views on killing restrict him from every taking revenge rather than just making sure he goes to prison.

Not so, with Dick. Another element of Dick’s original backstory that everybody largely glosses over, even if they do technically keep it in mind - Dick Grayson wasn’t born this pure, virtuous, glowing saint that so many fans and other characters make him out to be. The exact specifics vary in the different versions of his backstory reboots have resulted in, but in the vast majority of them, this is a kid who ran away and ruthlessly hunted down his parents’ murderer, Tony Zucco, and who usually had every intention of killing him if Bruce hadn’t stopped him. Dick was old enough to know right from wrong, murder is bad, blah blah....he just didn’t care. And Bruce didn’t stop him by making some compelling argument or showing him the error of his ways, he didn’t tell him anything Dick didn’t already know. Essentially, what all those various takes on the Zucco plot boil down to is Dick only really refrained from trying to kill Zucco, settling for bringing him in, because Bruce wanted him to. Because Bruce was the first and only person to show Dick any kindness since his parents died, and THAT is what Dick clung to, that was what he didn’t want to lose.

(A little off topic, but additionally I’ve always maintained that Dick doesn’t have this obsessive anti-killing stance that most people make him out to, being even more rigid in it than Bruce. This is the guy who has an extremely complex relationship with Deathstroke, who’s mentored Ravager, who is the closest sibling relationship Damian has, not to mention his relationships with Huntress, Midnighter, Tiger, etc - all people who have killed many, many times, and often without remorse. Yes, Dick broke down after his role in Blockbuster’s death, and he had a panic attack immediately after killing the Joker, before Bruce resuscitated him - but if you ask me, this isn’t because his personal morality doesn’t make allowances for killing, its because deep down he’s still insecure about his place in Bruce’s life, and that HIM killing someone, specifically, could cost him his father’s affections. Which is a TOTALLY different thing from being too good or pure to kill, which is how he’s often painted as by writers and in fandom).

Anyway. Point being, the surly, defensive kid Jason Todd was when Bruce met him was absolutely someone Dick Grayson, orphaned circus kid remanded to juvie and likely to have fallen through the cracks and ended up on his own if Bruce hadn’t intervened, could have ended up as. And so while Bruce had looked at Dick that first night at the circus and seen the potential for a do-over for himself, the road not taken, with this cemented on the night he steered Dick away from killing Zucco and instead prioritizing (Bruce’s personal view of) justice.....Bruce looked at Jason that night in Crime Alley and saw the potential for a do-over for his relationship with Dick, with the son he’d driven away, possibly for good.

And herein lies the fuck-up. Because while I do believe Bruce eventually grew to see Jason as his own person and love him on his own merits, for himself, and not just as Dick 2.0, he took too long getting there, and hurt both Dick and Jason way too much along the way. All because he’s too much of a control freak to just accept that it was these tendencies that’d driven Dick away, that HE was the problem. Yeah, Dick contributed, sure, but Dick was the child. Bruce was the parent. It was always his responsibility to suck it up, swallow his pride, and be the one to reach out and repair the damage he’d caused by pushing Dick away. But because Bruce has so much trouble admitting where he’s done harm, he couldn’t do that. He’s this weird dichotomy of self-aware and willfully blind. He has no problem seeing his flaws when they exist in a vacuum. When they’re ones nobody’s getting actively getting hurt by in the moment. But because so much of his personality is centered around his all-consuming desire to protect his loved ones, keep them safe at all costs, ensure that he doesn’t lose them the way he lost his parents.....over and over and over again in the comics, he proves incapable of recognizing when that very same desire is the thing that’s actually harming them. He took in half a dozen kids who all shared a need to fly, to spread their wings, and time and time again kept falling in the same trap of trying to clip those same wings because he was equally terrified of them falling.

But because Bruce was so willfully blind to his own role in hurting his son, couldn’t reconcile his desperate desire to keep Dick safe with the realization that he was the one doing Dick the most harm.....he HAD to convince himself that Dick was the problem. That if he, Bruce, had made mistakes, that they were mistakes that he’d done along the way, places he’d gone wrong in raising Dick, resulting in Dick growing up to be this person Bruce could no longer relate to, no longer see himself in, that he couldn’t be a father to. And so, with Jason, he saw a chance to do it all over again, and do it right this time. Fix the mistakes he’d made the first time around, be a better father, make sure Jason didn’t grow up to be the man Dick had grown up to be, the way he’d once set out to make sure Dick didn’t grow up to be the man Bruce had become.

And so he created this trap that Jason and Dick had no chance to avoid falling into. There was no way around it. Because unintentionally or not, he’d pitted his two sons, two brothers, against each other before they ever even had a chance to meet. He’d made it a competition that both were doomed to be stuck in even as neither could EVER hope to actually win. Dick was screwed because he could never hope to beat the kid that Bruce had essentially replaced him with, not when Bruce had only done that because due to his own fuck-ups, Bruce had decided Dick needed replacing, because their relationship was beyond repair. And Jason could never hope to beat the kid that Bruce had taken him in to replace, because he was from the get-go pitted against Bruce’s IDEALIZED image of his first Robin and son, the person he WANTED Dick to be, and who didn’t actually exist outside of Bruce’s refusal to admit his own fault in his fractured relationship with Dick.

The very things he did that were GOOD for Jason, healthy, helpful, empowering....at the same time, HURT Dick. He adopted as his official son and heir within months of meeting him, even though he didn’t end up adopting Dick, his son of over ten years by that point, until years after Jason died, long after Dick was already a grown adult. And this was a good thing for Jason, at first. Bruce DID love Jason, had already by this point started seeing all the ways Jason was his own person, not a second Dick Grayson, and being officially adopted gave Jason a sense of security and certainty in his place there that he desperately needed. Problem is, Bruce only adopted Jason so quickly and easily because he recognized that this was a mistake he’d made the first time, with Dick. That it’d been a mistake putting off adopting Dick, that he’d always backed out of showing Dick the adoption papers he’d had drawn up for YEARS by that point. All because Bruce was afraid of rejection, that if he tried to insist too hard on being Dick’s father, tried to actually draw comparisons between himself and Dick’s first father, the idolized John Grayson, he’d come up short and get an answer he was afraid to hear. It was easier with Jason, since Jason had never had a good relationship with his own biological father and had zero problem rating Bruce the clear winner in any competition between them.

But of course this hurt Dick at the same time it helped Jason, because he HAD always wanted Bruce to officially adopt him, and it was his own insecurities that kept him from broaching the subject and asking why he hadn’t. The very fact that Bruce knew to do this with Jason, that it’d been a mistake not to push it with Dick, was because on some level, Bruce did know that Dick wanted this, needed this even, and that his own fears of rejection were baseless paranoia.....there’s no way to avoid this compounding his issues with Dick, because it meant that on some level, Bruce had once again denied Dick something he desperately needed and craved from him. A clear indication of their relationship, where Dick stood with Bruce, how Bruce viewed him. Ironically, at the very same time this proved that Bruce’s fear of Dick rejecting him were baseless, it proved that Dick’s insecurities WEREN’T baseless, because his place in Bruce’s eyes WASN’T entirely secure. He COULD be replaced.

And there’s the irony of Jason’s nickname for Tim. “The Replacement.” Only it was never actually ironic, so much as it was insightful. Born of Jason’s own insecurities. Because long before Tim came along, in the original family drama that was Bruce and Dick and Jason.....JASON was the original replacement, and they all knew it, only Bruce refused to admit it. Kept trying to act like it was all in Dick and Jason’s heads, even while every choice he made with the two of them just hammered in the reality that it WASN’T. Neither of them was stupid. They were the original sons of the world’s greatest detective. Trained to be observant and insightful. To read between the lines. They knew damn well that everything Bruce did with Jason was only because Bruce had decided (at the time) that his relationship with Dick was beyond repair. Unsalvageable. He’d essentially given up on Dick as a son, written off any possibility of having the father-son relationship he’d always secretly wanted to have with Dick, all because he refused to admit he was the one standing in the way of that and refusing to accept the man Dick had grown up to be, differences of opinion and all....and so had started over with Jason.

And Dick saw exactly what Bruce was doing, cuz Bruce isn’t exactly subtle when it comes to his personal relationships and his emotional issues. So it pinged every single insecurity Dick had ever had, and HARD. And once Jason saw Bruce and Dick interacting and heard the nature of their arguments, he saw exactly what Bruce was doing, and began second-guessing every good thing about his and Bruce’s relationship, wondering (with validity) how much of it had happened while Bruce was wishing it’d happened with Dick. Which of course pinged every single insecurity Jason had ever had, and HARD.

So from the moment Dick and Jason met, with a few rare exceptions where they were able to see past the Bruce-sized elephant in the room and view and interact with each other on their own merits, as their own persons, and just be BROTHERS, rather than dysfunctional sons of the world’s most repressed dad....Bruce and Dick and Jason were all locked in this never-ending cycle of Hurt, Rinse and Repeat.

Bruce adopts Jason. Jason is glad. Dick gets mad. Jason realizes why Dick is mad, and now Jason is mad.

Bruce makes Jason his new Robin. Jason is glad. Dick gets mad, because Robin was his mom’s personal nickname for him and not remotely something Bruce was ever the right person to give away. To make Jason his new sidekick, sure. But not with that name, the name Dick chose to honor his relationship with his mother. Jason realizes why Dick is mad, and now Jason is mad.

Bruce is happy when Jason calls him Dad and encourages it. Jason is glad. Dick gets mad, because Dick never felt encouraged or safe in calling Bruce Dad, even when he wanted to, because Bruce never encouraged it or even hinted it was what he wanted because Bruce was insecure and afraid Dick just didn’t view him that way and would never want to call him that. Jason realizes why Dick is mad, and now Jason is mad.

Over and over and over, every single damn thing Bruce did just compounded the harm he caused both his sons in doing it. All because he refused to just admit what he really wanted all along, and actually WORK at making a reality - to be a father to both Dick and Jason, and have both of them view him as such.

And that’s the tragedy of Bruce and Dick and Jason. They all wanted THE EXACT SAME THING ALL ALONG. But only Bruce could make it happen. No matter how much Dick and Jason wanted it, no matter how they raged at each other and blamed each other for not having it, Bruce was always the only one who could actually make them the family they all wanted to be. Because he was the parent. He was their dad.

And if you want your kids to accept you and call you and love you as their dad, you gotta do the goddamn job. Instead of calling do-over every time you fuck it up.

So of course Jason felt threatened by Tim when he came back, and of course he resented Tim, and called Tim “the Replacement.” Even though Bruce hadn’t actually sought Tim out as a replacement for Jason, there was no way for Jason to know that and no reason for him to believe it when told it....because Bruce had done this all before. With him! Every time Jason lashed out at Tim with that name, it was his own insecurities talking, his conviction that he’d been relegated to the same backburner he’d once seen Bruce shove Dick to, that he’d once insecurely expressed smugness about, when he could point to Bruce’s open affections as proof he was loved, but now knew exactly how it felt. But it wasn’t like Jason could take comfort in the fact that Dick was now welcomed back in the manor, that he was at Bruce’s side again. Because Bruce STILL had never acknowledged where he’d fucked up. In the wake of Jason’s death, Bruce and Dick eventually repaired their relationship....but only because DICK did the work. Was the one to reach out and make it happen, with Bruce so grief-stricken over the loss of Jason he didn’t have the obstinacy to KEEP pushing his remaining son away when he came bearing an olive branch.

But even with that, Dick and Jason at least were still painfully aware that should never have been Dick’s job to do that. To step up, be the bigger man, the more mature adult, even though he was the child in that relationship. Dick did so because it wasn’t worth it to him to insist on being in the right, even though he was. He eventually decided he’d rather have Bruce in his life on Bruce’s terms than not at all. But it was never his responsibility to do that, and that means Jason was never in the wrong to refuse to do that. To make it easier for Bruce, and coddle his own father when every child of Bruce Wayne’s has just as much trauma as he ever did, and he has no excuse for not doing the goddamn work of pulling his head out of his ass and giving his children what they need from him. Some actual honest, sincere, and UNSHAKABLE certainty that no matter what, he is their father and always will be.

And without that, the cycle was always doomed to repeat itself. First with Jason and Tim...because Tim might not actually have been a replacement for Jason in Bruce’s eyes, the way he’d unintentionally ended up making Jason a replacement for Dick. But without Bruce ever actually owning up to the mistakes he’d made with his two eldest, there was no way to address the fact that Jason’s insecurities here were NOT baseless, that he had actual reason to worry that this is exactly what had happened. There was precedent.

And then it happened again. Because by the time Damian came into their lives, Tim - who also is not an idiot, and easily the most detective-like of Bruce’s first four sons - had been firmly entrenched in the family drama for some time. The Tragedy of Bruce and Dick and Jason had for a few years now been the Tragedy of Bruce and Dick and Jason and Tim. He, like Jason before him, had had a front row seat to Bruce’s obstinate refusal to admit his role at the center of this tragedy, and so clearly could see Bruce’s patterns and how his selective doling out of favoritism went hand in hand with who Bruce currently viewed as beyond repair, in terms of father-son dynamic at least.

So just like both his older brothers before him, Tim viewed the newest Wayne son as a threat, and a replacement. And just like both Dick and Jason, he wasn’t wrong to do so. He wasn’t RIGHT, either, but that doesn’t mean he was wrong. That his fears were baseless. And so this time, just like when Tim had been the newcomer, circumstances were different, but the end result was the same. Bruce hadn’t sought Damian out, and Damian hadn’t come to him in the same sense Tim had. But once there, Damian received the lion’s share of Bruce’s attention as Bruce attempted to forge a bond with him, and so this time, it was the transitive property in reverse. Tim saw Bruce behaving in the way Bruce always did when a new son came into his life and occupied his focus, with tunnel vision - because Bruce always defaults to tunnel vision when committing himself to a new endeavor - and Tim reverse-engineered from there the belief that he’d been replaced and thus must have done something wrong, had somehow been lacking. Because that’s the pattern in their family. Without exception.

(Among the boys at least, Cass always having been exempt from this fucked up little family tradition due to being the sole girl and never a Robin, thus occupying her own little niche that had no direct competition, unlike the boys who always ended up locked in that same competition Bruce had initiated with Dick and Jason so long ago.)

And thus it became the Tragedy of Bruce and Dick and Jason and Tim and Damian. With again, always, the painful irony being every single damn member of this family wants nothing more than the exact same thing - to be a family, and equally secure in that knowledge.

I honestly don’t know how much this pattern has repeated with Duke, as due to not reading DC much since even before the nu52 for the sake of my blood pressure, all of my knowledge of Duke comes from fandom and fanfic. Which is more than enough to make me love him, but means I don’t feel comfortable including him in meta currently, because I don’t actually trust fanfics and issues synopses to have the same interpretation of the characters and dynamics that I’d have if I read them myself. (Seriously, I’m a little ticked off at how it took me like three years to learn that Duke’s a meta, even, which is extremely interesting information and something I was very interested in knowing, and am side-eyeing the hell out of a lot of fandom for how long this bit of NON TRIVIA took to show up on my radar. Like, its not exactly a small detail, if so many ppl leave that out like what the hell else is getting left out of fandom takes on Duke and his character and story? Ugh, I can’t believe I gotta start reading DC again, u guys let me down, why would u do this to me, ur the worst).

Anyway. Thought this was gonna be a little bitty post about how much Dick and Jason actually have in common and it ended up a Bruce Why Are You Like This essay. That actually sounds about right though.

The end!

(For now.....)

#batfamily meta #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce's kids deserve a bruce wayne who goes to therapy and actually learns stuff about himself

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woosey-woo-shitposts · 4 years

Text

Guns and Roses

(Obey Me! Mafia!AU)

This au's concept originated from this user

Parts of this storyline are loosely inspired by Mafiatell (An Undertale Mafia AU) written by Staringback, adapted into a comic by Cutthroat-Jutsu which was later voice-dubbed by Vade.

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This narrative was written in first person to minimize the use of MC's pronouns for your enjoyment, however I ask you pardon any errors because I am inexperienced in this writing style.

As a matter of fact, I loathe it. But I wanted to make this a fun read. I did this for you.

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"You have got to be kidding me!" I snarled as I observed the wrinkled notice in my hands. Of course, the one time I get a good night's sleep, my landlord gives me a demand to pay extra for this month's rent! That was my biggest pet peeve: when they demanded money but never chose to specify WHY. As far as I knew, this wasn't a matter of protection fees, this was him taking advantage in the cruel world we all lived in.

I can't wait to get out of this town. Every cop, politician, or anyone else in some position of power was corrupted by selfish desire. As for me? I'm just someone living on my lonesome in a piece-of-crap apartment on a singer's wage. Oh-- yeah. I sing and dance if the price is right. If you dress nice and pile on enough make-up, you might make it out here. Unfortunately, I never made it past the low-life bars that paid a somewhat survivable wage. Now I had to lose all my leftover money on this in order to not get kicked out by my greedy landlord. My friends taught me to never respect someone who wears sunglasses indoors! What a mess...

I know what you might be thinking: "why not find another place to stay?" And my answer is-- this is the cheapest place around--even with that "living fee" my landlord was forcing me to pay IN ADDITION to this month's rent! Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about it! Thanks to a certain gang that controlled the area, it was hard to find a living space that didn't put you in debt because of the additional "protection fee" that all tenants were charged. All this city cared about were money and power and control. Sometimes they went hand-in-hand.

After a few moments of pacing, I finally went to my room to pick out some clothes for tonight's gig. That was the best I could do for now.

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Heavy on the eyeshadow, bright red on the lipstick. That's what the club owner asked for before I retreated into the bathroom to apply it all. If I had a say, I'd be going without the skimpy flapper girl dress, but that's what they wanted. For whatever reason, though, the club owner seemed more... tense than usual. I've seen low-life thugs and lesser members of the local gang in this club during my past performances, so it couldn't be that. What if it was someone more important...?

"Showtime in 10, darling~!" The owner hollered from the changing room door, snapping me from my thoughts as abruptly as they arrived in my head. He was attractive to say the least, although I could go without them opening the door and leering in. It was almost like they were trying to sneak a peek at me every time. Even if that wasn't bothering me, I felt this knot twisting in my gut, telling me that something big was going to happen tonight as I fixed up my hair to the best of my ability.

I could hear my shoes clicking against the wood flooring as I approached the stage. To my right was a small jazz crew: a trumpet, and a saxophone player... although one looked to be a kid in height, especially with how his blonde hair was styled. He looked far too short for the clarinet he was playing. The other gentleman was tall and muscular with darker skin. He also had a calming air about him, like a long lost friend of mine. To my left was someone on the piano, cracking his knuckles and poising his hands over the ivory keys. I've never seen him before. He was slender with white hair, but I couldn't see his face from where I stood as I adjusted the height of the microphone. However, my attention was drawn to the the pianist that stood from his post to investigate who was standing in the crowd.

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"Would you look at that?" A gentle, yet playful voice uttered before he turned to face me. He was tall, probably 5'11, with steely gray eyes and pale skin that was almost as white as his hair. Of course, I wanted to introduce myself, but my attention was drawn to the slightly parted curtains he was peeking through.

I squinted out at the dimly lit bar, scanning the tables. As I suspected: there were mostly low-life criminals drinking their worries away, however I noticed a menacing aura wafting from a far corner of the room.

Draped in shadow, there looked to be three men whose eyes seemed to glow with an inhuman glint. The first man seemed to be the tallest out of the three: dressed in a jarring red suit with a black tie and a golden chain linking his collar and his suit. His hair surprisingly looked even redder than the clothes on his back. Then there were his eyes, glowing like yellow-hot coals that matched the shimmering gold chains he wore.

On the far end of the table was a slender looking gentleman wearing a mint green jacket over a black vest. His eyes were shimmering emeralds, although I was more focused on how he patiently was sitting by, more focused on their surroundings than the men he was sitting with.

To his left--sitting between him and the man in red--was another man, sitting barely as tall as the first, yet sharing the same if not a more menacing aura than the figure in red. He had a more standard looking suit with a red vest and tie with a black suit jacket resting on his shoulders. His hair was black, swooped partially to one side more than the other with a hint of silver fading from the tips. I also took notice of his black gloves. He must've gotten his hands dirty in the past. Then there were his eyes. Those eyes were a shade of red that almost blended into the lighting of the room from what I could see from the curtain. Even so, I could feel a sudden piercing sensation when I felt like I was being watched. Before I could figure it out, I hastily closed the curtains and returned my attention to the pianist.

"That... that was Diavolo, wasn't it?" I questioned with a quiver of my lip. I heard that the gang leader of this area was a man who dressed in red as to hide how much blood covered his hands.

"Wow, even small town singers know him?" The man questioned in a teasing tone.

I narrowed my gaze at him in a cold glare. "Know /of/ him. I've never seen him in person, let alone pictures of him."

The pale man shrugged off my glare, keeping an almost foxlike arrogance about his demeanor. "Well, consider yourself lucky if you survive the night. Rumor has it his gaze can curse the weak of mind."

Right when I parted my lips to snap back at him with something- that club owner called from behind us.

"Get in position, you four!" He said in a hushed shout, signaling for the performers to get ready to start their number.

I bit my lip with growing anxiety before the club owner waved at me from back stage before offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing what seemed to be "break a leg". All I could do was nod curtly to acknowledge it until the curtains swung apart, temporarily blinding me with the stage lights.

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I had to admit, these musicians had talent. It was easy to keep in pace with them through the first number. As I removed the microphone from its stand, I danced about, letting my clothes sway about until the crowd cheered and called out to me. Even so, I felt that knot in my stomach. As my motions slowed, I noticed Diavolo and the other two men looking my way... whispering. It left me unsettled.

My dancing slowed to a stop as I returned to my spot by the microphone stand, but I kept with the upbeat tempo until the song ended. Those catcalls and whistles erupted into proud cheering where I stood. Still, my gaze fixated on those three figures, my gaze briefly locking with Diavolo's as a quiet gulp swallowed back my anxieties.

With a forced smile, I waved to the crowd. "I see a few unfamiliar faces tonight. I hope you enjoyed the music." I chuckled lightly to myself. "This next one is dedicated to a special guest tonight." Even though my body was fighting against a terrified tremor, my eyes met with those monsters again before winking in their direction.

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The crowd fell silent in appreciation of the next song, although, to a mixture of relief and fear, I saw Diavolo leave with his entourage of two. A few thoughts came to mind as the second and final song ended before the cheering became muffled behind a closed curtain.

"Bravo, darling~!" The owner rushed in to hug me, catching me off-guard. "Beautiful singing as always." He chimed as he twirled me about.

"Easy, Asmo." The saxophone player interjected, quickly separating me from the overexcited club owner. "A lot just happened. Give them some space."

The rosy-haired man blinked, taken aback by that remark. "If you insist. Darling, you're free to go. I left your pay in the changing room." He smiled in fake innocence as I walked past him and off the stage. In the corner of my eye, I saw Asmo glancing over his shoulder in... concern?... as I went backstage and back into that changing room.

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The room was pitch black when I stepped into it. Odd, I don't remember turning off the lights when I left to perform. I took a few steps into the room in order to find the light switch, using what little light that came in from the hall until--

Click...

My heart suddenly sank into my stomach the moment the door shut behind. Immediately afterwards, the light was switched on and a hand brought itself on my shoulder the moment I thought about running for the door I came through.

"I don't think so." A gentle voice mused. A side glance revealed a white silk glove gripping my shoulder. Even if it didn't look strong, my body refused to budge against it. Then, however, my attention was brought to a towering man in in a red and black suit. That tall, dark, and mysterious guy Diavolo was talking with. My heart was racing a mile a second as he stood up and approached me. Is this it? Is this how I die?! My eyes went wide as they locked with his.

The moment he brought his hand up to my chin, I let out a sharp gasp-- I couldn't help myself... I was scared for my life! I found myself tensing up as he forced me to look him in the eyes. Those dark red eyes were much more intimidating up close.

"Tell me, human." He began, voice deep and low. It wasn't even a whisper, but it was quiet enough to have the same effect on me. He tilted his head, glaring angrily down at me before he spoke. "Why were you looking at Lord Diavolo?"

TO BE CONTINUED

#obeyme #obey me! one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #mafia au #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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jojotier · 4 years

Text

(Tsukishima+a Dog fic, ch6 - Dr. Seaweed)

It wasn’t that anything really dramatic happened, or that Tsukishima wanted to lose touch with Igogusa. It just sort of happened.

He’d joined the Self Defense Forces primarily because he didn’t actually have any other aspirations for himself. It wasn’t that there were any special benefits he specifically was going in for- the healthcare provided was the same as anywhere, really, and he didn’t really have any interest in trade school. The interest rates for borrowing money were shit too. But, on-base housing meant he didn’t have to go through the trouble of trying to find a place. It was either that he try to find an apartment while hiding the money from his father, or go homeless while looking for one, so there wasn't any time to think about it.

Igogusa had offered to just let him stay with her until he was able to find someplace, but forcing himself on her when her parents were threatening to cut her off was too much for him to even think about- so he just texted her a quick, ‘sorry :(‘ and flew out of Sado.

There were a few turbulent weeks after that where Igogusa yelled at him for the asshole move of just jumping ship, but after that things mostly seemed to stabilize. He settled at the base in Osaka and she’d gone to university for a degree in biology.

They used to text a lot, and sent each other letters, whenever Tsukishima had enough leftover from paying utilities for his apartment on base. Then, they texted less and less. Igogusa forgot his birthday, and in turn, he’d forgotten to wish her a happy new year; they apologized and continued to text even less.

By the end of two years, Tsukishima and Igogusa had officially drifted too far apart to remember to tell each other when they got a new phone number.

At the time, it’d stung, of course, but that was just life. People drifted, and usually, they drifted away from him. It didn’t really bother Tsukishima at this point. Seeing Igogusa again after all this time, though, was still a shocking and pleasant surprise.

“Your dog is fine- promise,” Igogusa hurriedly said, grinning a little while looking down at Nugget sitting in front of her with a dopey little smile on his canine face, “He’s absolutely adorable!”

“Thank you,” Tsukishima said, to which Nugget croakily barked at the praise and at Igogusa holding out a hand for him to sniff. Apparently not sure whether to ask if she could pet him, she pulled her hand away, rubbing the back of her neck.

Hand lifting to her mouth, Igogusa said, “I just. Wow- it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“About a decade, yeah,” Tsukishima said neutrally, trying to rein Nugget back in from where the pitbull was sniffing around at Igogusa’s red heels. Igogusa winced a little, and alright, that. Might not have been the best choice of words, in hindsight. He caught himself before he could think any meandering thoughts about 2020 and hindsight, mildly horrified by the prospect that he was edging closer and ever closer to making dad jokes. Not that he knew what those were like either, but- “I thought you were still down in Honshu?”

“I haven’t actually been on the mainland in years,” Igogusa said, eyes lighting up. “Though, I did just move in, here…” Adjusting her bag and starting to move without even waiting for Tsukishima to get his rowdy little boy under control, she was already starting to walk and talk. Tsukishima followed after, with Nugget trotting along in front of them with stubbed tail wiggling.

“That’s a coincidence- I just settled down here, too,” Tsukishima said.

“I see! I was wondering where you ended up getting off to,” Igogusa said, single visible eye crinkling at the corner from her smile. “You were still on that base, right?”

“I didn’t actually leave it until a bit ago, either,” Tsukishima said, tactfully deciding not to mention the deployment.

“I figured as much- I don’t think I ever saw you come back to Sado,” Igogusa said before pausing. Tsukishima, who didn’t really know what to say to that, just didn’t. The silence dragged on for a few moments as they, somewhat awkwardly, walked in the vague direction of the university. Shit, Tsukishima still had those papers… In front of them, Nugget paused in his little bouncing jig and looked over his shoulder at his master.

Despite the excitement of seeing her again, there was still something a little distant about the interaction. They were starting to catch up, but it didn’t… rekindle anything. Not really. If anything, they were just falling back into the motions.

Either way, it felt strangely immature to still be calling her by that childhood nickname. Her actual name was Shizue.

“Ah, well,” Shizue quickly said, trying to dispel the vaguely heavy atmosphere with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand, “I guess being on base was at least a bit exciting, right? Lots of things to do, disasters to clean up…”

“A bit, yeah,” Tsukishima nodded, idly wrapping the black fabric of the leash around his palm in another loop. “Not much opportunity to slack off.”

“It’s better to keep yourself busy anyway, I think,” Shizue said laughingly, a comically haunted look crossing her face. “It was the same way back in grad school… all those papers...”

“Yikes,” Tsukishima couldn’t really imagine it- then again, he couldn’t really imagine himself passing any kind of entrance exam in the first place, or being able to wrap his head around whatever went on in a doctoral program. Maybe if he’d actually studied as a teenager instead of just coasting by and getting into fistfights he might have had a chance, but as it stood, it was too late for that.

“It wasn’t too bad, though- most of it was lab work anyway,” Shizue said, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Plus, once I was stationed back out in Sado, there were all sorts of new ones!! I don’t think I’ll ever see a centrifuge that ran that cleanly again…”

“It’s amazing how far technology has come with those,” Tsukishima said as if he knew what Shizue was talking about. He did not, in fact, know what she was talking about. He’d never even heard the word “centrifuge” until this conversation. Shizue paused on the street corner and was looking away, so maybe he’d have time to quickly google that. She looked back and Tsukishima hastily shoved his phone back into his pocket as they crossed the street, quietly apologizing to the younger man he’d accidentally elbowed while doing so.

“Mhm- and it helps, since samples tend to be rather fragile, you know, with the ice baths and boiling baths,” Shizue continued on with a pep in her step. “But once all that DNA gets beaded up, it’s worth it!! Especially since even minute little nucleotide sequence differences can mean totally different structures- it’s the difference between Gracilaria bursa-pastoris and Gracilaria coronopifolia- ah,” Shizue finally paused, glancing at Tsukishima, “sorry- types of red seaweed. If there’s even a little error it could screw the whole thing up, and then examining the underlying mechanism behind the hydrocolloid agar in its cell walls gets tricky because what if the sequence that got destroyed was the one that informed the messenger RNA? It’s all very delicate work...”

“So you ended up doing… genetic sequencing?” Tsukishima was really grasping at straws here. He understood maybe a third of what she was saying- otherwise, she may as well have been speaking an entirely different language. It didn’t help that he’d basically forgotten all of his high school biology class. He might have just used that as a free period that year actually, now that he thought about it. “Genetic sequencing of igogusa, right.”

“Yes!” Shizue clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face, “you do know that igogusa is actually parasitic, right?”

“Oh- not really, no,” Which made Tsukishima want to kick himself for mentally calling her Igogusa, now- had he really been accidentally comparing her to a parasite?

(Had everyone back in their hometown been comparing her to a parasite…? The thought of it, knowing that most of the others in town weren’t nearly as dense as Tsukishima was, made his blood boil. Quietly tightening his grip on Nugget’s leash, he quashed that down.)

“So you have to wonder, why do we keep it around, really?” Shizue continued, wrapped up in her explanations with a passion that Tsukishima had… never really seen from her. Not even when they were kids and talking about leaving the island together. “It’s edible, of course, but no one really wants to eat plain seaweed anymore- we can extract the agar from it for food, but you can also extract it from Gelidium species- and species like Gelidium sesquipedale is clonal, so it’s easier to harvest and isolate,”

“Right,” Tsukishima said passively.

“Well, it turns out that Gracilaria species like igogusa could have antiviral properties against JEV!” Shizue finished triumphantly, turning fully to Tsukishima and walking backward so that she could have room to look him in the eye. “Right now, anyone who doesn’t have the vaccine can be at real risk for developing the symptoms of encephalitis, and there’s no actual medication for it- with this, we may be able to combat the infection, especially if it turns out that it can help with the neuroinflammation. There’s no concrete evidence that the inflammation specifically will be reduced, but…” She smiled, “I have a hunch.”

Weren’t we just talking about seaweed…? Tsukishima mentally pondered as he said, “That sounds- really good. It’s impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” Shizue’s smile widened, and with a small pang, Tsukishima realized that this was maybe the most that he’s ever seen her smile. That was good- it meant that she was much happier where she was now, conducting her experiments and possibly laying the groundwork for some medical breakthrough or another.

Smiling back a bit, Tsukishima nodded. “Yeah.”

A loud bark from Nugget startled them both as he hopped from one front paw to the other, looking impatient. Glancing around, Tsukishima saw the glowing sign that informed him they’d arrived at the university. Shizue looked back at Tsukishima sheepishly, bowing her head. “Ah, sorry- I took you all the way out here when you probably have other plans…!”

Nugget shuffled closer to lean his whole body against Tsukishima’s legs, panting. Tsukishima idly bent down to scratch behind one of Nugget’s ears as he said, “It’s no trouble- I needed to come here anyway.”

“Is that so…?” Shizue tilted her head, “I didn’t know you were a student, Hajime- you might have been in one of my classes!”

“I’m not- I’m actually one of the guards,” Tsukishima said, reaching into his bag to pull out the papers. “I didn’t realize you were going back to school,”

“Oh, no, I’m not a student either,” Shizue smiled, “I’m actually here as a professor with the biology department.”

“Oh.” Tsukishima blinked, caught somewhat off guard. Well, it made sense- it’d been ten years. More than enough time to become an academic doctor. Maybe even a medical doctor on top of that? It seemed that Shizue had some stake in the medical field- he’d have to ask… “Congratulations… Actually,” Wait. What exactly was the name on those seaweed studies?

Glancing at the papers in his hand, He caught ‘Dr. Suzuhara’ scribbled hastily along the top. Granted, Suzuhara wasn’t an uncommon last name- but even so, he felt pretty stupid, not even connecting the dots as Shizue was speaking.

Shizue tilted her head a bit. Tsukishima held the papers out, “Would these be yours, Dr. Suzuhara?”

Shizue looked at the papers blankly for a moment before snapping them up into her own hands with maybe a little too much force, eyes widening. “Oh… oh, goddammit,” Shizue cursed, cheeks flushing red as she shoved some of her hair out of her eyes. “They are, they absolutely are- I am… so sorry, Hajime?” She touched her face, flustered, “I thought I left these in my office-!”

“They were actually in Dr. Inoue’s last lecture hall,” Tsukishima said, mildly amused. Nugget huffed and pressed tighter into Tsukishima.

“Then I probably left them when we were having that welcome party…” Shizue muttered, mostly to herself, and Tsukishima’s eyebrows raised.

“You brought your research notes to a welcome party?” Tsukishima questioned. Now that Shizue mentioned it, there had been at least one or two suspicious brown stains on a few pages that, rather than smelling like chemicals (which would have been expected), smelled more like soy sauce… And wasn’t Doctor Inoue a literature professor in the first place?

“Well-!” Shizue opened her mouth, trying to defend herself, paused to try and find the words, and when she couldn’t, just said, “... Everyone else did it too…”

Shizue’s face was flushing redder by the minute, and Tsukishima decided to cut her at least a little slack. They both were equally terrible with handling embarrassment- that hadn’t seemed to change. “I guess I wouldn’t understand- I’m not the professor here.”

“True…” Shizue said, slowly calming down before lighting up a bit, a serene smile on her face. “But since we both work here... I suppose that means we’ll just be seeing each other more often, right?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Tsukishima said, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from tilting up a bit in a lopsided smile.

Shizue’s smile was infectious as she slipped her phone out of her pocket, typing in her passcode. “Here- add me on Line,” So Tsukishima took his own phone out and they exchanged numbers again for the first time in a little less than ten years. With that done, before Shizue could open her mouth, Nugget whined even louder and flopped over onto his side, resting his chin on the pavement.

“Ah,” Tsukishima said, getting a glimpse of the time, “Nugget’s tired,”

“Pfft-!” Shizue bit her lip, raising a fist hand to her mouth to politely cough into it.

Tsukishima squinted a bit, “I really don’t understand why that’s so funny to people. It’s just his name. I didn’t choose it...”

“I know, I know,” Shizue said, raising her hands placatingly. “It’s just a name I didn’t expect any dog of yours to have, I guess? If you’d have named a dog, I mean.”

“What do you think I would have named him?” Tsukishima asked, somewhat incredulous.

“Honestly?” Shizue said, tilting her head to the side in thought, “You can’t name for beans, so you’d probably have just named him ‘Dog’.”

“I-” Tsukishima paused, trying to think of another, less direct name. His eyebrows furrowed. “Shut up.”

Shizue laughed lightly at that, dimples showing in her smile. “You’re the same old Hajime as ever, I see…” She looked down at Nugget, “In any case- I’ll leave you two alone tonight, then. But don’t think you’ll be getting off the hook that easily!” She suddenly pointed at Tsukishima himself, poking him in the chest lightly with a single finger as she stepped closer. “I was just talking about myself today- next time, I want to hear what you’ve been up to.”

“I already said, didn’t I?” Tsukishima said, fiddling with the leash in one hand.

“Not really, no- I want to hear you really talk about your life over the past few years,” Shizue said, taking a step back and smoothing out her skirt. “So look forward to that, alright?”

“I’m already bursting with excitement,” Tsukishima said flatly.

“I know you are,” Shizue said, finally turning. “Good night, Hajime,”

Tsukishima watched her go a few steps, a little surprised. For a moment there, he thought that she would have hugged him… “... Good night.”

For a few seconds, he watched her retreating back entering into one of the campus buildings. For a moment, Tsukishima imagined gently setting Nugget’s leash down and giving chase, just to wrap his arms around her and say, “You know, I really did miss you.”

But, Tsukishima didn’t do that. Instead, he gently tugged on Nugget’s leash.

Nugget whined because he was grumpy and a little sleepy, but eventually rolled up to his paws and stretched out, getting ready for the walk. As Tsukishima started back the way he came, trying to avoid the glaring sun that was piercing into his vision now that he was walking towards it, he found himself wondering if he had ever actually done… anything.

Speaking to Shizue and seeing her find her passion, find something to contribute to and devote herself to wholesale only made him realize that he still didn’t have anything like that himself. There wasn’t anything, in particular, Tsukishima wanted to do, even though his discharge meant he had nothing but time.

Even thinking about hobbies, he was drawing a blank. He read, mostly, or sometimes watched television, or cooked- but it wasn’t as if he was devoted to anything. He didn’t want to really do anything with it… Which, thinking back on the last ten years, has always been the way things were. All Tsukishima had aspired to was to merely exist- have enough food and shelter to not end up on the streets, or worse. Back in Sado…

As it stood, Tsukishima’s life had exactly zero impact. He’d been a pretty bad kid and raised hell as a teenager, but never enough to actively traumatize or ruin anyone’s life. He’d become a soldier and tried to pull himself onto the straight and narrow, mostly providing disaster relief through the JSDF, but it wasn’t as if he excelled at it or anything. Any other recruit could so exactly what Tsukishima had done.

The only impact he had right now was on his therapist, giving him a client so that a more emotionally fucked up patient didn’t have to cross their threshold just yet. Even that could have been accomplished by any kind of anonymous person.

In every respect, Tsukishima was perfectly average. There wasn’t anything of substance to him, and he had no skills that could be especially praiseworthy. He wasn’t even motivated enough to finish high school properly.

Still. That was going to be a pretty boring thing to tell Shizue. Glancing down at Nugget, he let out a breath, running a hand down his face. “... Maybe I should take up Russian or something. What do you think?”

Nugget, being a dog and therefore not at all understanding Tsukishima’s internal monologue nor the ordeal of existence, had no objections. So, Russian it was.

#golden kamuy #tsukishima hajime #igogusa #fluff #modern au #fanfiction #my writing #behold! the chapter that induced a minor midlife crisis in me even though im only 20

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