#i am frothing at the mouth in rage fuck that guy

[prosk8r]

Andrew Jackson WORST president for a fucking million reasons but my personal bone to pick is stewardship theory

[asmolbirb]

.

[boywifesammy]

s5e11 sam, interrupted is THE EPISODE. it’s a fucking cinematic pipe bomb. watching it is like chewing on glass and swallowing propane. it is wonderful, it is amazing, it is EXCRUCIATING and i love it. allow me to explain.

(under the cut because i ended up rambling lol)

like, yes… it is extremely ableist. it is extremely offensive. it is an overdone harmful caricature of psych wards and horrific to watch but that is EXACTLY what makes it so good. i’ve never seen spn as a horror show but man this episode?? the psychological distress of it, the unease, the dereality??? it has me frothing at the mouth.

as someone who has tics and PTSD i have first hand experience being labelled as Crazy so that’s the lens i’m coming at this from. this episode is most definitely not a reliable source for mental health info but the way they portrayed martin’s character kinda got me. him stuttering over certain words, his general paranoia, how they clearly address that he went through a deeply traumatic event but that he’s still useful as a hunter even though he can’t do the things he used to before. i don’t think the writers intended for this episode to be viewed the way i did but man i am shaking it around in my cranium like a snow globe.

just the first few minutes of it is insane. dean acknowledging that sam was high on demon blood and that the apocalypse wasn’t his fault. seeing the absolute absurdity of the show in perspective with real life. dean admitting to his psych doctor that he's an insomniac, alcoholic, and incapable of holding long-terms relationships with his usual blase nonchalance, then immediately clamming up when she hits him with the "let's talk about your father." ??!!! i know dean is The daddy issues character but i love when they call him out like that.

and how can i Not point out the blatant assault and objectification… wendy forcefully making out with both sam AND dean. them both getting probed by the fucking monster of the week not even 10 minutes into the episode. SAM BEING TIED DOWN. i cannot explain to you how much i love seeing him restrained. the moment i saw sam tied down and angry i literally vibrated out of my skin that boy must be helpless and restrained more often it is beautiful.

on a sort of related note: high sam. yes. just yes. the little nose boop. him telling dean I Love You. getting all emotional about how much he cares about his brother. the themes of his autonomy being stripped. him being drugged up against his will when he’s a recovering drug addict????? INSANE.

also one thing that really stood out to me was dean being diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic with narcissistic personality disorder and religious delusions. which, yes, is inaccurate, but seems more like a misinterpretation of his PTSD symptoms. dean isn’t schizophrenic but he IS paranoid and he’s trained himself so thoroughly to weaponize his feelings that even to HIMSELF he seems narcissistic, when he’s really just scared and desperate. he externalizes his self-hatred as this overfed bravado but it’s because if he was honest about how he felt about himself the guy would simply fall apart.

expanding on that note… sam&dean meta on how they react to trauma & grief. dean immediately clams up and becomes anxious and terrified. he shrouds himself in so much false confidence but he genuinely hates himself so fucking much. so much that he just sits with his pain because he thinks he deserves it, while sam wants to externalize. he’s angry and that scares him because of what’s in his blood but the truth is that he has every right to be angry. he wants to be gentle but he has so much repressed rage that it bursts out of him and leaves him terrified in the aftermath. dean on the other hand wants to be angry but he’s so scared and critical of himself that he shuts down.

and the ending. my god the ending. dean telling sam to wrap it up and stuff it down. it’s excruciating to watch because dean’s advice is fucking shit but it’s also heart-breaking because it puts into perspective just how much these boys have on their conscience.

they PHYSICALLY cannot deal with their trauma. it is so awful and overwhelming that they could not function if they remembered it, so they forget about it. they push it down. they hide it away, and it’s so fucking refreshing to have an episode that acknowledges that they do that because THAT IS A TRAUMA RESPONSE. it is quite literally a SURVIVAL tactic. people who are severely traumatized will wipe their memory of traumatic events because they cannot function with it in the peripheral. this is a clear manifestation of sam and dean’s PTSD and how when they’re faced with these problems, their emotions take over and they completely lose themselves, whether that’s due to fear or rage.

the horror of this episode isn’t the wraith. it isn’t the silly little monster sucking out people’s brains. it’s the thing inside you. it is the imagery of these people hanging or with slit wrists being passed off as suicidal because they’re mentally ill. it is the ugly truth of trauma and the ways it twists your memory and self-worth. it is the inherent belief that someone is worthless if they are psychotic or paranoid. it’s the way the episode puts that perspective on sam and dean, shows them what it’s like to hallucinate and drags up their own repressed memories and puts them on full display. it is TRULY horrifying and it is GRIM and NASTY because it is about the human psyche and the horrible ways it can be twisted. it’s a fucking phenomenal episode if you can read the subtext and get past the whole “scary psych ward bad” wrapping.

[rhysismydaddy]

Hey love, I adore ur nessian fics and was wondering if you could bless us with some Cassian being super hurt/sick and nesta taking care of him(fluff + hurt/comfort yknow)?Ooh and nesta giving him a pep talk when he says he feels worthless-bat boi needs some comfort -(nesta bathing cassian scene for bonus points). Thank you so much! hope ur staying safe and healthy!

thank you <3 hope you’re doing well, too

___________________________________________

Nesta leaned a hip against the doorframe of her bedroom, frowning when she found it empty. “Cass?”

No answer. 

She still searched the place anyway, since he was bad to play music in his headphones too loud and never hear her. She went to the bathroom, kitchen, living room, and even out the back door of her tiny place, but to no avail. 

He wasn’t here. 

Which was odd, considering he wasn’t allowed to drive, and he’d been here when she left for work. 

She grabbed her phone and called him, but no answer. 

Annoyance bloomed as she threw her shoes back on and snatched her keys, then drove the five minutes to his place. By the time she got there, the annoyance had blossomed into full-on irritation, so she didn’t bother knocking, just used the key he’d given her a year ago and marched in. 

When she found him in his bedroom, she paused, and all that pent-up anger whooshed right out of her. 

Beneath the mass of purple bruises decorating him, he was white as a sheet as he struggled to get his sock off. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain, but didn’t stop until his hand grabbed his foot.

Nesta rushed over, kneeling in front of him. “Cass, you’re going to pop a stitch. What are you doing? Why’d you leave my place?”

He didn’t say anything, just pushed her hands away when she tried to help. 

“Cassian-”

“I’m fine, Nesta,” he snapped, grunting as he ripped the sock off and started on his pants.

“Clearly,” she shot back, standing and crossing her arms. 

She’d been taking care of him for almost two weeks, and this was the thanks she got?

He got the sweats off easier, and her heart pinched as the cast over his broken knee was exposed. With brutal efficiency, he wrapped it in the extra-long trash bags they’d bought at the store, then reached for the duct tape.

Noticing it was a little too far away, she grabbed it and handed it to him.

Golden eyes surrounded by black shot to hers, and she took a step back at how angry they were. “Jesus Christ, Nesta, I’m not an invalid. Stop mothering me.” 

Taking a shaky breath, she nodded and stepped out of his way as he used his uninjured leg to stand up. She knew it was self-hatred and the anger of being injured, not that he was actually pissed at her, but it still hurt.

She’d known his recovery would be difficult, that it would test their relationship, but it was still a shock to her system to be on the receiving end of his rage.

It was horrible to watch as he used the wall to hobble to the connected bathroom, but she maintained her distance and kept quiet. 

But no matter how mad he’d be because of it, she couldn’t stop herself from rushing to him when he started to fall. 

Nesta reached him just in time, catching him around the waist and bracing him as he started to tip forwards. But he was over two-hundred pounds of solid muscle, and though she slowed him down, she couldn’t stop him entirely. 

Her back slammed into the wall next to the tub, the air getting knocked from her lungs in a harsh breath. 

“Goddammit,” he growled, pushing off the wall with one hand and all but throwing himself into the bathtub, somehow managing to keep his wrapped up leg from getting wet. Water sloshed over the sides, but he didn’t seem to care.

Bracing an elbow on the edge, he put his head in his hand and avoided looking at her for a long time. 

She could feel the rage inside him building, feel him turn it on himself. 

“I’m sorry, Nes,” he murmured a few minutes later, still not looking at her. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, coming over to sit on the space behind his head. She ran her hands through his hair, pulling his head back until his eyes met hers. “I know you hate being injured, but you have to stop being so hard on yourself Let me take care of you.”

“I don’t like you seeing me like this.”

She scoffed. “How many times have you taken care of me?”

Cassian shook her head. “That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t. And it isn’t why you’re so upset.”

She knew there was something else causing him to lash out. He’d been injured before, but he’d never acted like it was anything besides a mild annoyance.

His gaze shuttered, but there was such pain, such emptiness in his eyes. She couldn’t take it. 

“Cassian, please talk to me,” she pleaded. “Don’t... don’t shut me out.”

It had taken her forever to open up to him, and she couldn’t stand the feeling that they were moving backwards. 

His head dipped forward, and she released his hair with a sigh, letting him go. 

She was about to leave, give him some alone time, when he said, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Her heart started to pound, and his gaze shot to hers like he could hear it. “Work, baby. Not you.”

Nesta nodded but stayed quiet, giving him time to figure out what he wanted to say. 

“I don’t know if I can go on another tour, watch men die all around me, get shot and almost die for a cause I don’t believe in.” He looked down. “But I can do it, and I feel like I’d be letting my men down to stop.”

He was in the Marines, and his platoon had hit an IED and been ambushed in enemy territory with no backup. Cassian had fought his ass off to get every member of his unit out alive. 

His knee had been broken in the explosion, but he’d gone back for his injured partners, not even stopping when he got shot in the shoulder. 

He’d saved six people.

He’d always been driven by duty, by honor, but hated that it was now causing such turmoil inside him.

“Oh, Cass,” she murmured, stroking his curly hair away from his face softly. 

“But even if I do quit, I... I don’t know who I am without this, Nes. I’ve been a Marine my whole life; it’s all I am.”

She scowled down at him at that. “Cassian Azara, if you think that’s all you are, you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

His mouth opened to answer, but she shouldered on. “You are the most selfless, generous, kind, hilarious, handsome, and intelligent man I’ve ever met. All of those things make you a great Marine, but you’re more than some random military title. And if you don’t want to be a Marine anymore, then quit.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You’ve saved those guys’ asses more times than I can count, and while no one will ever be as good of a leader, someone will step up. You’ve done six tours; no one would blame you for choosing yourself. Do what you want, not what you think you need to.”

“It’s all I know how to do,” he murmurs, looking away from her, but not before she caught the shame in his eyes. 

“No, it’s all you’ve done.”

“What do you mean?”

She put a palm on his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “You enlisted when you were eighteen. You’ve never done anything besides be in the military. But that doesn’t mean it’s all you could do. You could do a million things”

Some of that darkness left his eyes as he looked up at her. “Like what?”

Nesta shook her head incredulously. “Just with your training alone, you could be a personal trainer, teach self-defense classes, or fight professionally. You graduated at the top of your class; you could go to college and study anything you want. You could be a mechanic like you were in high school. You could fly a rocket to the fucking moon.”

Cassian’s lips twitched. “I don’t know about that one.”

“I do. NASA would be lucky to have you.” He didn’t look quite convinced about the point she was making, so she said, “Baby, with your personality and that face, you could sell car insurance to the Amish.”

He laughed in surprise, and the sound soothed the ache in her chest. 

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “And with how fucking stubborn you are, you’ll be the best at whatever you choose. You can do anything you want. Now say it.”

He looked down at his broken knee and muttered, “I can do anything I want.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Now say it like you mean it.”

His eyes rolled back up to hers in amusement, even as he said confidently, “I can do anything I want.”

She smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “Yes, you can. And whenever you need reminding of it, just tell me.”

“I love you,” he said against her lips, making her smile. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed, still grinning. “Now shut up and hand me the shampoo. You smell worse than you look.”

He threw his head back and howled with laughter, then splashed her and handed her the shampoo. She worked some of it into his hair, the froth slick beneath her hands, and moved his head to lie against the edge of the tub. 

Nesta kissed his brow, knowing that whatever they went through, they’d do it together. “I love you, too, Cassian.”

[celoica]

who did that to you?

characters → billy hargrove/steve harrington, jonathan byers, nancy wheeler, robin buckley

rating → mature

tags → setting - post-s3, everyone lives, the gang has ptsd, murder, established relationship

notes → i was profoundly affected by a shawn james and the shapeshifters cover, apparently.

Billy drove through the night because his parole wasn’t up for another three months.

He’d been good about it, too, up until that moment. Checking in, pissing in a cup while someone breathed the same air as him, showing up to work even when his boss was being a cunt. It was simple shit. Following the rules wasn’t that hard when he had Steve primed for a promotion across state lines when it was all over.

That was the thing, y’know? Billy would have done anything for Steve. Walk the straight-and-narrow, be a good little once-Christian boy. He could do those things because Steve asked him, sweetly, on his knees with his lips kissing Billy’s cock.

Being good was overrated, he’d decided, halfway to Hawkins when his hands cramped from how hard he held onto the steering wheel. It was for suckers who didn’t understand how the fuck the world worked. 

Nice guys didn’t finish last but they did get their heads bashed in by backwoods, sister-fucking rednecks who lost at a game of pool a week before their next pay. A little too much alcohol, a little daddy issues, and a swing of a pool cue a few dozen times had left Steve on the ground.

Jonathan met him at the border of Roane County, agitated and shifty, a warm buzzing in the back of Billy’s head like he’d drank too much tequila. 

“You’re jittery,” Billy said as he stepped out of the car. 

Jonathan uncrossed his arms and crossed them again, shook his fingers near his elbows. “Hard not to be when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Fuck off, Billy. You know what. Nance could feel you all the way through New Mexico. She was vibrating all night.”

Billy shrugged and rolled the keys in the palm of his hand. He was itching to get back in the car. “I’m in a bad mood.”

“You feel like you’re going to kill someone.”

Billy smiled, all teeth, and felt something other than deafening rage for the first time in thirty-three hours. “I am.”

———

In Hell, they’d been bonded.

One moment Billy had been sitting in the passenger seat while the Mind Flayer played car crash victim with his life and the next he had been swallowed whole in a memory. When he woke from it, it was frigid and dark, and a girl with curly hair had been holding his hand.

The next they’d been running for their lives while Harrington and a chick in a matching Scoops uniform had screamed for them to run.

It had been like that until Nancy—of all fucking people, the Wheeler girl—had dug her way into Hell with them, armed with a shotgun and a crazed look in her eye. Jonathan had been the icing on the cake, keeping the tear in the world open until they’d dragged their sorry bodies back through to the warmer side.

Robin called what they’d done unspeakable. Billy didn’t have a problem speaking about them; the problem was forgetting. There had been gnawing hunger underneath for over three hundred and sixty-five days, and then the hunger had been replaced by a burning chill in their bellies, mouths full of decay and whatever else they could get their hands on and didn’t spit out.

Eating the flesh of a demon did things to you, they’d all learned. 

———

It was too sterile.

Billy rubbed at his nose and said, “Give me names” over Steve’s prone body, and watched Jonathan waver while Robin frothed at the mouth for blood.

“Billy, you can’t ki—” She cut herself off, lowered her voice and whispered, “That’s not going to fix this.”

“Won’t it?”

“Steve needs sleep and rest.”

“Then we don’t bring him,” Robin said, bouncing on her toes. 

“You can’t—!”

“I can do what I want,” Billy said, and looked down at Steve. 

Vibrant purple licked its way over his eye, shadows stretching over to his mouth. They’d had to stitch the side of it, little black knots that would hurt to kiss him.

“Be reasonable, Billy.”

“Steve wouldn’t want this,” Nancy said. She poked an elbow into Jonathan’s side and said, “Tell him! He can’t do this.”

Jonathan crossed his arms again, shifted from foot to foot. Robin raised her eyebrows. “Yeah,” she said, “Tell her how you feel, Jonathan.”

“Don’t read my mind. It’s fucking rude.”

“Rude or not,” she chided, harsh, “I have a point.”

Nancy swiveled to look at Jonathan, mouth open. “You can’t seriously think this is okay.”

Jonathan’s face twisted. He held his hands up. “They could have killed him.”

“You can’t be serious,” she hissed, grabbing his hand and shaking it like she could shake sense back into him. 

“Have a lovers’ spat, whatever,” Billy said, and dug his car keys from his pocket. “Come or not, I don’t care. I’m going to deal with this.”

———

Robin’s hands shook too much to finish the job.

They’d been twitching since the moment Billy had knocked on Allan James’ house and broken his nose as a greeting. They’d started shaking while Billy dragged him by the ankles into the old Hawkins’ lab, strapped him to the table in the derelict hospital wing and broke Allan’s hand with a hammer.

Billy sent her out when she started crying.

“I have children,” Allan whispered, choking on his own spit.

“I don’t care,” Billy said, and swung the hammer down again.

———

There wasn’t blood under his nails when he went to the hospital but he might as well have left his blood-soaked shirt on, left his hands unscrubbed and picked clean. 

Propped up in bed, hair slicked by water like the suave fucker he pretended to be, Steve still looked small. Tiny. Insignificant. Like the way he could sniff out a life like a bloodhound didn’t make a difference or make him special; like death could knock at his door anyway.

Billy stood at the foot of the bed. “You’re not allowed to die.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“It was supposed to be a bachelor party. In fucking Indiana. That shouldn’t kill you.”

“It didn’t,” Steve insisted.

“It almost did.”

Steve said nothing. He inspected his nails, the white paint on the walls, the chittering birds outside his window. Someone paged for Doctor Connolly to the nurses station.

Billy wondered if forgiveness was still in Steve’s repertoire when Steve sighed and said, “Is it taken care of?”

Billy breathed through his nose, paused, tasted the blood and dirt of the last five hours in his mouth and asked, “You’re not mad?”

“I’d do the same,” he said, and cleared his throat. “For you. I’d do the same for you. Always.”

[meigh-day]

Obligation (Tendou x Reader) - Part 13

———————————————————–

Title: Obligation

Pairing: Mafia AU Tendou x F!Reader

Characters: Includes characters from both Shiratorizawa and Seijoh/Some OC background characters

Includes: Swearing, Guns, Knives, Violence, Blood, Torture

Status: Complete

Word Count: 1.6k

Previous Next

———————————————————–

So far Tendou had only seen the pictures but as he scrolled through a video loaded. It started off with a shaky angle but slowly your form came into view. You were still propped up in the corner of what he assumed to be a van, eyes closed and head bowed. A figure moved across the screen and then knelt before you, his back was to the screen, short blonde hair the only distinguishing characteristic that could be made out at the moment.

"C'mon doll, why don't you wake up and have some fun." He cooed out in an attempt to coax you awake before reaching a hand out. He pressed three fingers and a thumb roughly into your cheeks and pulled up so your face was now facing towards the camera. Your lips parted from the pressure on each side of your face, so he decided to take the opportunity to stick his index finger inside your mouth. He wiggled it around, dragging the pad of his finger across your tongue, a visible shiver ran through him.

"Dude, don't be a fucking pervert..." The camera holder spoke, obviously uncomfortable with the turn this had taken. The blonde man turned his face slightly, giving the other a side eyed glare before pulling his finger out and wiping the saliva he had gathered across your cheek and chin. With a sigh the man released your face and stood, the video cut as your head started to fall to the side once again.

The next few pictures showed you in a new setting, this time on the bare floor of a room. The way you were crumpled up on the ground almost made it seem like someone had just dropped you in a pile on the floor and walked away. Finally, Tendou was facing the last two videos, he wanted to stop watching, it was equal parts heartbreaking and enraging to see the state you were in. Yet, he had to see, he needed to know what happened next, he needed to see what they had done to you. Tendou was absolutely frothing with rage after seeing that disgusting goon stick his vile finger in your mouth.

The next video is short, only about 15 seconds. You are seated in a chair, your arms and legs bound to the chairs arms and legs. Your torso was held fast to the back of the chair by more restraints. At first your face is angled down and away but at the sound of your name, you stir. Your head was throbbing and your body ached, someone was calling out to you but the lights just seemed so bright so for several seconds you just glance around in confusion, blinking rapidly as you try to shield your eyes. You want to cover your eyes with your hands but you can't seem to make them move. It takes a few more seconds for you to realize you can't move, your eyes widen as you realize why. As the room comes into focus, the realization hitting you, you look up in the direction of the phone. The last thing Tendou sees before the video cuts is you, wide eyed as tears slip down your cheeks.

For several seconds all he can do is stare at the screen, the final frame of your frightened face frozen on his screen. This was all his fault. Despite not know for certain why you had left, there was no doubt it was connected to the way he had treated you over the last few days. As a result you were now in danger, you'd already taken at least one hit according to the bruises on the side of your face and then that thug had put his hands on you. There was one final video left, all he could hope for was that you were in one piece and alive at the end.

This video is longer but you are now awake, a neutral expression on your features, a similar expression to the one you had given Tendou the day before.

"Why don't you say hello to your fiancé, little cutie?"

You lift your gaze to the side, looking to the person who was speaking just out of frame. "Look I don't know who you think I am but I don't mean anything to him or anyone else." It hurt to say the words out loud. Words that others might have cried out in desperation, hoping the lie would be believed. However, you knew those words to be true and what you were about to say would have had you in tears if not for the perilous situation you currently found yourself in. "I'm just....some girl he got saddled with." You hoped using the cruel words Tendou had said, the very words that had broken your heart, would prove to these thugs you were speaking the truth but as a grin spread on the mans lips, you knew it had been futile to even try.

"Now now, no need to be so modest Y/N..."

This guy was really irritating, an odd thought to have while being captured for sure but it was true. This whole situation was terrifying but also just really annoying. How had they even known where to find you? Had they just been lurking around town on the off chance you went for a midnight stroll? You sigh, shaking your head as you glance away. "You do realize it's an arranged marriage, right?"

"And?"

You look back over at him, narrowing your eyes a bit as if you were confused. "Are you stupid or something?" The words just came out and before you had time to regret what you had said the man was suddenly in front of you.

"Stupid?" His voice was low, an edge of anger in that one word. His back was to the camera but it was easy to tell that he was a tall and well built, his short cropped hair initially seemed light brown but as he moved it almost looked pink at times. He glowered down at you. "You should learn to watch your mouth little girl." Before you had time to brace yourself he had already completed the swing. Pain flooded your senses as your mind worked to sort out what had happened. Really all he had done was slap you across the face but the force he had used had your vision spotted with white. Blood appeared a moment later on your lips a small bit trickling down your chin as you tried to focus again.

"Now, why don't we try this again." His hand grabbed onto your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he leaned down. "Beg like the bitch you are for that psychopath to come save you."

You grimace as he holds your head still, your face still burning with pain. As you slowly began to center your gaze on him, a smirk pulled at your red stained lips. "Drop dead asshole." His fingers dug into your cheek causing you to wince in his grasp. It felt like he was going to crush your jaw in his hand but after a moment he let go and took a few steps back. "This obviously isn't working. Shido, give it a shot." He turned and disappeared off camera. For a moment you were sat alone on the screen, head still throbbing as tears, you hadn't realized you'd shed, dried on your cheeks. Footsteps could be heard approaching and soon you were join by another man. He was shorter and slimmer than the previous guy, with black wavy hair that hung in his eyes. As he approached you, a sadistic grin stretched across his lips, it was hidden from the camera but your eyes widened slightly upon seeing it. He knelt to the side of your chair and all you could do was watch as he pulled the bandage off your finger. He slide the pad of his finger across the still healing skin, his touch was gentle at first but soon his thumb was being driven down causing you to yelp out.

"What the fuck...get off me!" You hissed out, trying and failing to pull your hand out of his grip. The restraints held your arm fast to the chair, severely limiting your movement. The man looked up at you with such perverse pleasure at your reaction it had you wishing you'd been able to remain silent.

"So pretty...." He whispered, returning his gaze to the wound on your finger. He pressed down into again, an involuntary hiss leaving your lips. As if what he'd been doing wasn't bad enough, he decided to amp it up. He placed one finger on either side of the injury and pulled viciously in opposite directions. His grip was crushing and no matter how you wriggled your hand you couldn't get free of his grip.

"Sto-AHH!!" As the skin finally gave away, blood welled and quickly began to weep, gathering in your palm. You threw your head back, eyes closed shut as you let out a short, frantic, shriek of agony.

"Enough." The man from before commanded from off camera, the man at your side frowned but let go of your hand and retreated out of frame. Tears spilled across your cheeks as you trembled in silence, sparing a brief glance up at the camera before looking away. You looked almost ashamed, embarrassed for letting them get to you. You hated that they had made you scream, you felt weak and humiliated for sitting here crying. The screen went black signaling that the video had come to an end.

Tendou was shaking, darkened red eyes shifting upwards. Yamagata had seen this look before, whatever had been on that phone must not have been good, he'd only been able to hear a few snippets but it sounded bad.

"Boss..."

"Round up the team. I'm gonna talk to Jin and Reon. We either take care of Seijoh now or I do it myself."

[spainkitty]

TGCF Donghua Ep6 Final Thoughts

I'll start with Positives:

1. OMG OMG OMG WTF THAT MOMENT?? THE MOMENT. GUYS, WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE MOMENT

First, San Lang's Embarrassed and Shy Face!!

Then, the HAT AND TIME FUCKING STOPS

*Cue Original Cinderella Song: "So This Is Love"* EXCUSE ME IM BLUESCREENING RIGHT NOW

Mag.fucking.Nificent. My friend and I just keyboard smashed at each other for 10 gorramn minutes

2. THEY HERE! MY BEAUTIFUL LOVELY GIRLS* ARE HERE!!

*Because she's a she in this scene, I'm calling her a girl. As my friend put it, she "shall Trans my gender as I please". Would y'all say she's enby??

BANYUE DARLING!! SHE HAS BRAIDS SHE HAS FUCKING BRAIDS WITH LITTLE BLUE RIBBONS. EXCUSE ME WHILE I SOB IN A CORNER OVER HOW ADORABLY SMOL AND FIERCE MY GIRL IS RUNNING AROUND WITH HER HANDS LIGHTING UP IMHDLAGSLSB

What? No wink?!? I've been rOBBED, but gosh darn if she isn't the CUTEST damn Wind Master. Look at that smirk. Babey KNOWS, Babey SEES

3. I love the look of the desert city they arrived in. I'm SURE it's supposed to look Xinjiang-ish? Those "NPC" walking in the streets looked Muslim and not Han Chinese. (Which means... BanYue is half-Uyghur?!)

Negatives:

1. Pacing was... weird...?? just weird...

2. The timing of the lip syncing was ALL OVER the place. Several times Xie Lian spoke or replied to someone, but the other person's mouth (usually San Lang, but one time I remember Fu Yao) moved instead. very disconcerting

3. Fu Yao and Nan Feng.

Don't get me wrong, I am a HUGE Nan Feng fan. I adore him. (And I honestly dislike Fu Yao, sorry not sorry) But Book 1 Nan Feng was not a favorite. It took me a while to warm up to him because he was: hotheaded and overused that Caps Lock. It took a while to see where all that was coming from and that he was honestly a trustworthy and Good Boy, just a tad dumb. Sorry, babe, you so dumb. By Book 3, I loved him, but Book 4 made me RIDE OR DIE for him.

Somehow, the donghua gave Nan Feng's worst traits all to Fu Yao and Fu Yao is... unrecognizable now. I didn't like him, but only because he was cold, expressionless, and Book 4 backstory made me froth at the mouth in RAGE over the choices he made. His "I'm better than you because I'm covering up my deep seated insecurity and the idea that no one will ever truly respect me despite all evidence to the contrary from Xie Lian so the more I secretly respect and admire you, the more I'll secretly HATE you" attitude just annoyed the ever loving shit out of me. He's a neg. Not a hot blooded, emotional loudmouth, he's a sarcastic, cold-masked neg. The Fu Yao of TGCF donghua is not that character.

I love Nan Feng's softness, the sadness and deep respect for Xie Lian that he can't hide. He honestly looks torn and broken-hearted in certain scenes and it knifes my HEART

But if Nan Feng were written more like he SHOULD be, like in the novel, with his hotheaded responses and quick temper, those soft, broken moments would mean SO MUCH MORE.

But honestly, the one done dirtiest is Fu Yao. That is NOT the cold tsundere with a massive chip on his shoulder that this fandom seems to LOVE (going by what I see in the tags, FY is a big ole fave, so I just scroll past casually). It's like they took the Best and Worst parts of Nan Feng's personality, split it into two characters, and slapped Fu Yao's name on the Worst one. ????wtf???

[witchyrem-ains]

Reader x Beetlejuice: Body Positivity

“Babe babe babe, I am in a big ol bad mood and I’m in need of some Beej/plus size!reader shit. Like, I’m talkin a badass, confident plus size reader who’s getting bullied in public and Beej thinks he’s gonna have to step in and teach those punks some manners and she’s just like “nah. I got this” and LAYS INTO THEM and Beej gets kinda (REALLY) turned on by it and then 👀👀👀 pls and thank I love you v much”

This prompt was originally sent to @sapphic-florals from @beetlebitchywitch. 

My interest was piqued and I decided to write a “Reader x Beetlejuice: Body Positivity” fic for myself. It’s inspired by personal experience.

---

(Cursing, Li’l Shits saying Immature Bullshit, Gender Neutral)

You’d always been self-conscious about your body. Making avid efforts to avoid your reflection in mirrors and windows, buying clothing that wouldn’t draw too much attention to your “problem areas”, trying to hide who you were under paper-thin armor that would have been easily shattered if the right person made the wrong comment about your body. 

Lately, though, you hadn’t been feeling quite as meek and vulnerable as you used to. You’d met someone, someone particularly special: Beetlejuice. “The Ghost with the Most” as he called himself; he wasn’t particularly tall, rather stout, had patches of moss growing across him, bright green hair that shifted in color with his mood, and was most certainly dead. 

Even if he couldn’t remember how he died (or if he died at all) death didn’t seem to slow him down. Beetlejuice was vibrant, bursting with bravado and vigor with all that he set out to do. Even if he failed he bounced back with a smile and with you on his hip his smile had only grown brighter. 

Being dead meant that not everyone could see him, you could, and some of his friends in Connecticut could as well, but not many others. This made you feel special as Beetlejuice was yours and you were free to indulge in his undivided attention and adoration at a moment's notice. 

You’d been pumping yourself up to walk into the department store. 

“Babe, it’s easy,” he sat beside you in the car, “You walk in, you walk out,” He rolled his wrist, opening his hand and presenting you with his bright gold eyes in his palm, “Eyes on the prize hot stuff.” 

“Beej!” You laughed, nudging his shoulder. With a “pop” his eyes rolled back into their sockets.

“I know it’s quick. It’s just… the clothing section. I have to walk past all those mirrors to get what I need.” 

Beetlejuice sighed, “Yeah I know they make you nervous… but we’ve been working on this,” he gestured to his problem areas and yours, “Together. You’ve been feelin’ better, I’ve been feelin’ better. Y’know? You just make a quick dash in and we’re home in 15 minutes tops banging it out.” 

You laughed again, “All you think about is sex… a toaster could make you horny.” 

“Only if I saw my reflection on it.” He slicked backed his hair and shot you the double-guns, his cheesy smile winning you over and you felt like you had gathered the courage to go into the store. 

Walking towards the store your ghostly boyfriend floated behind you, setting off a few car alarms, popping all four tires of a Maserati, and stealing a license plate that read “MMM BBQ” all in all; a pretty normal day out with Beetlejuice. 

You’d gone through the entrance with your head low to avoid your reflection and proceeded directly through the clothing section, eyes forward. 

What you didn’t count on was a young man stomping his feet behind you in sync with every step you took. You hardly noticed him, kids being kids, or whatever. 

Beetlejuice wasn’t so fond of this kid’s behavior and with a snap of his fingers, a mannequin fell in front of the young man, preventing him from following either of you two any further. 

You marched further into the back of the store, Beetlejuice meandering behind you as he stopped to ogle the treasures in the jewelry department. 

Again, the young man appeared, this time with an entourage of his equally obnoxious peers. You paid them no mind, continuing forward, but noticed that they were making a mess of things and making snide comments about women in the store. 

You retrieved your prize, exactly what you wanted. Clutching it close to your chest, you were elated, just one left and it was all yours. 

“Oh, shit guys! It’s pulling me in!” The young men were back, and one of them walking backwards towards you. You raised a brow, What the Hell? 

“This fatass got me in their orbit! I can’t escape!” 

The entire world stopped on a dime. 

It finally dawned on your what had been happening, the stomping behind you was the young man creating a mock-earthquake, the snide comments were about your body, and now these little bastards had teamed up to target you personally. 

“Want a twinkie, bitch? They’re on aisle 12!” 

“This pig fell off the farmer’s truck!” 

“I didn’t know the Pillsbury DoughBoy was in town!” 

The group cackled amongst one another; unbeknownst to them that a raging demon was frothing at the mouth behind them. Beetlejuice’s hair was red and threatening to burst into flames with the sheer rage he felt towards these little bastards. Looking up you noticed cracks appearing in the roof, Beetlejuice was going to crush these young men alive and as remotely satisfying it would have been to let them die you raised your hand, signaling Beetlejuice to calm down. 

“You know what you little shits?” You turned to them, “I am plus size! I am overweight! And I’m fine with that!” 

The young men looked cluelessly amongst each other. 

“I am fat! But you’re all worthless, brainless little fucks! Targeting people in a god damn department store? Ran out of people to bully on the playground?” You stalked towards them, “You think you can talk to me like shit and get away with it? No. This isn’t some stupid little fantasy where you fuckers get to walk away scot-free. This is the real world and I’m in control of my world and my space, and you don’t get to tell me how to feel!” 

Looming over them and stalking after them, each young man peeled away opting to hide in the aisles and racks, “I am loved! I am happy! I am in control and you hopeless, worthless, useless little fucks will rot for the rest of your lives knowing that you will get called out on your shit!” 

The last young man stood alone, cowering just a few feet from you, “And now it looks like you’re all alone. You were strong when you had your little friends and now you have nothing left to say?” 

He was silent.

“That’s what I thought. I am fat. But you’re absolutely nothing.”

You took your intended purchase and stormed off, leaving the young men shattered in your wake and your demon boyfriend’s hair glowing bright green. 

“Babe!” He swept you off your feet the second you were outside the store, “That was amazing!” Beaming ear to ear he kissed your face, “I can’t fucking believe it! You destroyed them! I mean seriously! They were shaking! I’ve scared some shitty Breathers in my day but Hell you didn’t even need to rip your face off to do it! You just… did it! I’m so proud!”

You chuckled and hugged him back, “Well, I thought… ‘What would Beetlejuice do?’ and I knew you’d be angry… so I took all my anger and made it into something constructive; to defend myself. I deserve to feel good about myself even if those little fuckers don’t think I deserve to.” 

“You’re absolutely right Babe.” 

 You went to the car while Beetlejuice stood behind for a moment, watching the young men awkwardly shuffle out of the store toward their bikes. With a snap of his fingers, he vanished, and their bikes were instantly compressed into a tangled, lumpy cube and ball.

[qobiin]

the weight of names

pairing: todobakudeku (bakugou x midoriya x todoroki) 

genre: fluff, angst | soulmate au 

word count: 4000 

summary: izuku gets his soulmark late and bakugou wants to hate him for it. then they meet todoroki and things get out of hand fast. 

part one of marked (ours) 

quirkless.

that is a label all the other kids plaster him with. it hurts, but it hurts more when kacchan goes along with it. kacchan who izuku thought was his best friend.

it isn't fair, but izuku quickly figures out with his face smoldering in the dirt of a playground that life isn't fair. it will never be fair for someone like him.

but he'll work hard anyway because he wants to be a hero. just like all might.

markless.

another label izuku soon figures out will be held against him too. as if his life wasn't difficult enough for him.

kacchan comes into their classroom, boasting about his soulmark appearing the night before and everybody swarms him, wanting to see. it has been years since izuku has been able to call kacchan his friend, but even he can tell that kacchan is uncomfortable, that he doesn't want anybody looking, doesn't want anybody to know who it could be.

their teacher walks in right then and izuku isn't imagining it when kacchan relaxes as everyone returns to their seats and he is left alone again. but he has to be imagining things when kacchan looks over his shoulder and glances at izuku before he huffs indignantly and swivels back around to stare at the chalkboard.

it's strange, but izuku doesn't really care why kacchan looked at him or who kacchan's soulmate is. at all.

but then kacchan stops taunting him, stops shoving him into walls, and cornering him every chance he can get. the most kacchan does now is yell "fucking deku, you nerd!" whenever izuku happens to come within five feet of him.

izuku does not want to know why kacchan is backing off now, yet he knows that it has to do with his soulmark.

other kids in their year start getting their soulmarks too and izuku quickly finds himself at the center of his classmates crowding around him, pestering him with questions about his mark because he's the last one to get it in their classroom. everyone wants to know and maybe izuku should bluff and say that he does have one, but he doesn't want to think of the moment when someone will force him to show it and find only unmarked skin.

so he tells the truth and tries to pretend like it doesn't bother him. some of his classmates feel bad for him, but one boy named asahi - if izuku remembers correctly - laughs cruelly and says loud enough for people standing at the classroom door to hear, "quirkless and markless. you really aren't good for anything, deku."

and then bakugou katsuki bursts across the room and throws asahi into a wall, screaming at the top of his lungs what a waste of space asahi is and how his parents must have cried when he was born because of how fucking ugly is. izuku almost wants to get involved, wants to pull kacchan away from the fight before explosions get involved, but there are no sparks in kacchan's fists and his expression is livid.

izuku sits at his desk, stunned, and promptly pretends like he does not exist when teachers flood in and pull the two boys apart. there's a lot more yelling and kacchan is screaming curses at the top of his lungs and izuku doesn't get it.

kacchan hates him for being quirkless, why would he defend him to such a degree? why would he react this way to someone insulting him when kacchan has insulted him more times than izuku can count?

(izuku knows why he just doesn't want to admit it. not yet.)

kacchan gets suspended for two weeks and asahi one, leaving izuku to deal with all the attention the fight warranted. people want to know why bakugou acted like that for deku of all people if asahi was only telling the truth since everyone and their mother has heard bakugou say almost the exact same thing himself. it doesn't make any sense to anybody.

except to those who corner him and ask him if he's bakugou's soulmate. izuku stays silent and goes home with a heavy heart and queasy stomach, refusing to think about it.

when asahi comes back, he avoids izuku like the plague and practically disappears when kacchan returns.

in homeroom, kacchan glares at asahi before glaring at izuku and then pretends like neither of them exist. plenty of their classmates want to ask bakugou what they have been asking izuku about in the past two weeks, but no one dares. although kacchan still pretends like izuku doesn't exist, izuku cannot shake the feeling that is only the beginning.

he should have enjoyed the quiet when he had it because middle school brings back kacchan's anger, but he doesn't hit him anymore, not like he used to in primary school. kacchan taunts him at every opportunity, cursing the fact that they are both aiming for ua. izuku takes it though, knowing that he's getting off easy when it comes to kacchan.

and then he gets sick enough that he's out of school for three days. after school on the second day, his mother knocks on his bedroom door and tells him he has a visitor.

izuku doesn't know who would be willing to come and visit him, but he tells his mom to come in anyway. she opens the door and izuku almost falls out of bed when he sees kacchan standing behind his mom, a container in his hands. his mom is confused, but izuku gives her his best reassuring smile and sags back into bed when she shuts the door behind her. kacchan hasn't said anything and izuku doesn't know what to do at all, but he guesses trying to figure out why kacchan is here might do some good.

"h-hi kacchan!" izuku squeaks, nervous beyond belief. "what are y-you doing here?"

kacchan scoffs and shoves the container at him, frowning when izuku doesn't move to take it. "brought you soup, you fucking idiot."

izuku winces, already regretting letting his mom leave. "w-why?"

"take the soup before i blast you into little pieces, fucking deku."

izuku takes the container and sits up, feeling his stomach turn with the motion. kacchan steps forward and steadies him, ignoring when izuku flinches at his touch.

"i don't think i'm up for eating right now," izuku pants, nausea rolling through him like a wave.

kacchan still has a hand on his shoulder and izuku panics when it starts to warm dangerously. "what? is my soup not fucking good enough for you!"

izuku flinches again. "i'm going to throw up, kacchan. because i am sick. please don't make me eat it."

"fucking fine! don't eat it!" kacchan shoots back, stepping back to give izuku room. "how the fuck did you get sick anyway, you idiot?"

"don't know," izuku breathes out, trying to will his stomach not to riot against him. "mom thinks it's a cold, but i think it's probably food poisoning."

"it's probably from that thing the guys in math forced me to eat," izuku says in a rush when kacchan opens his mouth to ask how did stupid fucking deku get food poisoning in the first place.

kacchan stares at him in shock for one point five seconds before his hands start sparking and he looks like he is about to explode in the middle of izuku's room. "who!"

izuku stares at him, his nausea now forgotten. "i-i don't know their n-names."

"well, i'm going to grind them into fucking dust. they're fucking dead, do you hear me, deku?" kacchan spits out, practically frothing at the mouth.

"why do you care so much?" izuku whispers, unable to tear his eyes away kacchan's.

it takes kacchan a while for his rage to simmer down into something manageable, but once he does, he glares back at izuku like he's an idiot. "have you gotten your soulmark yet?"

izuku blinks, not understanding what that has to do with their conversation at hand and reeling at the fact that this is the first time he's heard kacchan say something that doesn't include a curse word of some kind. "what?"

"i said," kacchan growls, "have you gotten your fucking soulmark yet or not?"

ah, there's the good old kacchan izuku has known since he was two and a half. "no? i mean, i stopped checking a while ago. every one knows i'm markless."

kacchan starts pacing across his room then, obviously angry and annoyed and a whole bunch of other emotions izuku probably can't even guess, but he still doesn't get why kacchan is here anyway. then he stops and turns around, coming back to the bed to stare at izuku again.

"i'm gonna show you mine," kacchan says, fists clenched at his sides. "and then we're going to check you for yours."

"i don't think-OH MY GOD! put your shirt back on!" izuku panics as he waves his arms in front of him, his eyes shut tight.

"i'm showing you my fucking mark, you idiot," kacchan rushes to say, turning around so izuku has a clear view of his back. "just fucking look, deku. please."

izuku slowly uncovers his eyes, wary and not knowing what to expect.

it's his name across kacchan's shoulderblade. his name written in somewhat neat handwriting and a todoroki shouto that looks more like a scribble on the other side.

izuku feels like he's dying.

but he turns and lifts his shirt anyway, feeling the dread build up within him, waiting for the moment kacchan will explode because izuku is markless. markless and quirkless. the world truly isn't fair.

gentle fingers press against his shoulderblade and the snap of a camera. izuku looks over his shoulder to find kacchan holding his phone out to him, a picture of izuku's back filling the screen. he takes it carefully, breath catching in his throat when he sees the names on his back. names, not one, but two.

izuku isn't so markless after all.

"oh my god," izuku breathes out, handing the phone back when he looks over his shoulder again. "oh my god, kacchan."

kacchan puts his phone away but keeps his hand on izuku's back, right over his own name. "you're a fucking idiot, deku."

"i'm sorry."

"what the fuck for?"

izuku shrugs, reaching for his shirt when kacchan lets his hand fall away again. "for getting it late."

"why the fuck is that your fault, you fucking idiot!" kacchan vibrates with tension, staring at izuku as he puts his shirt back on and turns around. "i should be the one to say sorry."

"what for?"

kacchan grabs his hand and squeezes it tight. "for hitting you. i'm a fucking idiot for doing that."

izuku shrugs, sure that he should be more responsive to an apology he never expected to get. "it's fine, kacchan. i just think i need time. for all of this. and then we can start looking for our other soulmate."

"it's not fine... but okay."

they spend the rest of the day watching all might videos. kacchan goes home before dinnertime and comes back again the next day when izuku is still absent from school. he leaves before dinnertime again with an empty container in his hands and izuku's number saved in his phone.

at school, kacchan starts hanging out with izuku every chance they can get together. word quickly gets out that izuku is no longer markless and kacchan is still angry at just about everything in the world, but he's learning to be kinder when it comes to izuku. kinder, in general, would be better but izuku doesn't want to think about the consequences of the moment kacchan would lose his cool and blast anything in a two-mile radius. this way is easier.

in their last year of middle school, kacchan gets trapped by the blob villain and all izuku can think is not him!

kacchan throws a huge fit about having to be saved by his quirkless soulmate in front of the pro heroes who swarm them as soon as the villain has been apprehended, but afterward, when they're walking back home, kacchan pushes him against a wall and kisses him swiftly on the mouth. he mutters his thanks and then leaves without another word.

izuku starts walking home as soon as his heart has restarted and is so distracted by the kiss that he doesn't notice all might standing in his way until he almost crashes into him. and after that, izuku can't really think straight at all once the training begins.

he spends his mornings with all might, days at school, and afternoons with kacchan to study for the entrance exam. they're both still aiming for ua and kacchan has already told him that he's going to pulverize izuku if he doesn't manage to get in.

all might gives him one for all not too soon after that and izuku is torn between letting kacchan know or keeping his soulmate in the dark. he gave his word to all might, after all, but his soulmate is his soulmate and kacchan will kill him if he finds out from someone other than izuku that he has a quirk now.

school ends and summer begins, but izuku is too busy training and studying to notice that. the entrance exam closes in on him and he forgets entirely about telling kacchan that he isn't quirkless until he's standing in the practice arena with all the other kids trying to get into their dream school same as him.

he saves uraraka in the end and kacchan explodes with fury. izuku tells him everything about all might and his new quirk when he comes to visit him in the infirmary later that day and almost cries when it looks like kacchan isn't going to believe him. all might steps into the room then and confirms his story because he never really expected izuku to keep this secret from his soulmate of all people.

(izuku truly feels like an idiot after that.)

kacchan calls him a fucking idiot, but he walks him all the way home afterward anyway and when he gets his acceptance letter, he lets himself into izuku's home and barges into his room to announce it. izuku smiles and shows him the message from all might about his own acceptance and kacchan kisses him again.

the rest of the summer is still filled with training, but it helps to have kacchan there. izuku is getting better, but he still hasn't used his quirk since the entrance exam.

school starts again and izuku is relieved when he and kacchan both end up in class 1-a. kacchan had gotten there early so when izuku walks in, he's part of the crowd of students who stare at him. the boy with glasses who was rude to him at the beginning of the exam loudly introduces himself to izuku and kacchan is beside him in an instant when izuku tenses.

he looks angry, but that's a constant state of being for kacchan so izuku isn't too worried about it. he stutters out his own introduction to iida and forces kacchan back into the seat he claimed as his own, noting the fact that a boy with two-toned hair sitting in the back of the room looked up sharply when izuku said his name. izuku sits behind kacchan and tries to keep his head down as the other students start talking up a storm, bugging kacchan now.

izuku grabs the back of his jacket when it looks like he might surge forward and start a fight, but the other students catch on and back off, running to their seats when the teacher shows up. roll call brings one surprise.

the boy with two-toned hair is todoroki shouto and he can't tear his eyes away from izuku and kacchan.

izuku doesn't get a chance to talk about it with kacchan until later that day once he's left the infirmary. kacchan is waiting for him in front of the school, looking sullen and confused all at once. izuku takes his hand and they start walking home, kacchan telling him about todoroki walking up to him once the bell had rung.

todoroki wanted to know if they were soulmates, and kacchan had taken his shirt off for all their classmates to see the names on his back. now all of class 1-a knows. izuku winces, putting his arm around kacchan's waist in sympathy as they continue to walk.

they'll have to handle the situation with todoroki somehow, but, for now, trying to get into the swing of things at a new school with new classmates sounds good too.

they make new friends and todoroki doesn't approach either one of them again, but he doesn't stop staring at them whenever they hold hands or kacchan calls him a fucking idiot or even when kacchan brings him a whole bento box for lunch. izuku can guess about half the things todoroki might be thinking about how he and kacchan act and he wants to do something about it, but kacchan tells him to wait until todoroki is ready, to not push things.

and that kind of advice is all nice and good until the villains attack them during a training exercise and they all get separated. izuku has to focus on fighting the villains facing him instead of worrying over his soulmates and almost cries in relief when they catch up to him just as all might comes crashing in to fight a nomu. most of what happens next is a blur but he can hear kacchan's cursing and todoroki's startled cry when izuku jumps to all might's aid to face off shigaraki.

he might break a few bones here and there but at least he and all might and all of class 1-a are alive. that's what counts.

kacchan yells at him while recovery girl tends to his and all might's injuries and goes home when izuku falls asleep.

the sports festival happens soon after and todoroki tells izuku about his father, endeavor. izuku is beyond outraged by the treatment his soulmate has had to go through and he marches them straight to kacchan who explodes right on the spot. they run into endeavor just a few mere moments later and izuku has to hold kacchan back from attacking a pro hero.

izuku convinces todoroki to use the full power of his quirk during their match and takes his defeat with dignity as kacchan yells at them both from up above. later, kacchan will be frothing at the mouth because todoroki didn't want to go all out with him as he did with izuku and unjustly wins first place while izuku watches and laughs at them both for being so stubborn.

they follow todoroki around after that and badger him with questions, trying to get to know him. todoroki endures their poking and prodding and asks quiet questions of his own in return. izuku already considers him a friend, but he knows it will take more time for kacchan to think that as well so they study and eat lunch together and the first time kacchan brings enough bento boxes for the three of them to eat at lunch, izuku kisses him in the middle of the cafeteria.

not a good idea when he catches sight of the look in todoroki's mismatched eyes and he flushes as he returns to his food, letting kacchan yell at him when they are walking home after school. todoroki still treats them the same way the next day at school though so izuku apologizes to him in private and starts holding todoroki's hand whenever he allows him to around school. kacchan is obviously jealous of their progress and decides to one-up izuku by kissing todoroki in the library one afternoon.

todoroki kisses him back, but they never speak of it again and he still won't let kacchan hold his hand.

things are normal for a while until summer hits and more villains attack and kacchan gets kidnapped. izuku is half out of his mind, crying at all hours of the day when he thought he had left that phase back in elementary school. todoroki starts hovering over him, starts actually talking to izuku and asking questions. questions about bakugou, questions about him, questions about how izuku intends to get their soulmate back.

izuku doesn't realize he's been holding out until todoroki calls kacchan their soulmate and suddenly he's kissing him and pulling away to cry again.

he's a mess and rightfully so.

at least todoroki doesn't hold it against him once they've rescued kacchan and izuku ends up being plastered to his side at all hours of the day, anxious to have him out of his sight. they don't get to see todoroki a lot after that and then each other once they begin their internships with a pro hero, but he still shows up anyway when izuku sends him coordinates and they face down stain, the hero killer.

izuku is scared, but no one is going to hurt his friend or his soulmate and he takes his punishment in stride once it's all said and done. apart from their visit from the chief of police, the hospital is quiet until kacchan barges into their room and screams at the top of his lungs about how stupid his idiot soulmates are and izuku sags in relief to see him whole and unharmed but with a weird hairstyle that he wants to run his fingers through and mess up thoroughly. he quiets as a nurse walks in, but glowers at the two of them as iida is rolled away for even more tests.

he waves to his friend and then it's just the three of them.

"you're fucking idiots, the both of you. i've been waiting all fucking night to see you two because they wouldn't let me come up until you'd been moved into the appropriate ward and whatever other fucking bullshit they kept talking about," kacchan growls, the fire in his eyes roaring.

izuku sighs, holding his scarred hand out for kacchan to take. "sorry for worrying you, kacchan."

"i wasn't fucking worried! how could i be when both of my idiot fucking soulmates went and ran off to face the hero killer! i wasn't worried at all, fucking deku!"

"we're sorry, bakugou," todoroki speaks up, his solid voice ringing in the air as he gets out of his hospital bed and approaches izuku's. "but now you how we felt when you got kidnapped."

"so what? this was fucking payback? are you two even more fucking stupid than i thought?" kacchan roars, shaking with his anger and his worry.

izuku takes todoroki's hand and looks at both of his soulmates when he says, "kacchan, it's us. we have no interest in payback. iida was going to get killed and i couldn't stand by and watch my friend die. i wasn't going to let our soulmate die either, kacchan. you know that."

todoroki startles at the casual way izuku claims him as theirs, shifting his feet as they all wait for kacchan's response with bated breath.

"you're both still fucking idiots. who the fuck do you two think you are trying to die on me?"

"we wouldn't do that," todoroki mumbles, his cheeks flushing pink as he reaches out and takes bakugou's other hand. "it's us three or not all. we wouldn't do that to you, bakugou."

"shut the fuck up," kacchan growls back, but there isn't any heat behind it and izuku grins at his soulmates.

he's happy to be alive and to have them both, but he's even happier when kacchan drags him up and kisses him fiercely before turning and doing the same to todoroki. happier when todoroki gapes at him and dips down to quickly kiss izuku when kacchan only glares back and then smirks when the two pull apart.

because after all, it's the three of them or nothing at all.

a/n: please remember that my requests are open!

[serenagaywaterford]

'#i am so upset at tht about this lol #(mostly cos yeah reality is that. but i'm watchign fiction dudes. gimme some character journeys. gimme development. gimme hope. #this flatline they have serena on just isn't good storytelling. straight up.)' -- i agree. & the idea i hate the most is that moss & the tht crew might have had a boner over whitford joining them & decided to give him what could have been serena's arc. the architect of the damn colonies can turn out decent but serena can't. GOT IT

“the architect of the damn colonies can turn out decent but serena can’t. GOT IT”

this is probably what drives me the most mad about the choices they made for characters in s3. lawrence literally–unequivocally and by his own admission as well as multiple other characters–created THE FUCKING COLONIES: prison labour camps where ONLY women go to suffer excruciating pain and rot from disease and DIE. he also, unarguably and explicitly, created THE ENTIRE ECONOMIC SYSTEM on which gilead relies on for its propagation and survival.

without HIM, gilead would NOT exist. and this isn’t a little thing. it’s like, it literally would have fallen apart without his massive contribution. (sure, maybe they would have found another genius economist with a penchant for brutal misogyny but as it stands, they didn’t have one. and HE STILL helps gilead survive.)

but uwu, he makes jokes and doesn’t do the ceremony and loves his wife so WHAT A GREAT GUY! LET’S GIVE HIM A RELUCTANT REDEMPTION ARC!!!!

i fucking loathe him. and he was shown multiple times even in s3 what he thinks of ALL women, and that isn’t fucking much. he’s gross. “i love my wife” YEAH sure buddy. fuck you. if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have created an entire system where she gets fucked right over to the point she kills herself. cool beans, dude.

s3 was all about lawrence and june being reluctant allies and her working her dumbass moves on him, and that bullshit handholding at the funeral FOR THE WIFE THAT JUNE BASICALLY KILLED??? please just let me vomit in my mouth a bit.

he is not a good guy. he is not a nice guy. he does not like women. he does not care about them. he’s a pathetic little misogynist that she looks out for himself. but omg look how conflicted he is about the ceremony!!! UWU PRECIOUS BEAN, TOO PURE FOR THIS HORRIBLE WORLD!!

it’s like fandom/the showrunners are just salivating over male characters to woobiefy.

meanwhile MEANWHILE there’s a female character, the second most developed character on the entire show with the second most amount of screentime (prior to mid s3 anyway) and already a foil to june and “villain”esque character theoretically capable of change, but hey, no. let’s ignore the entire trajectory serena was on for the latter half of s2. let’s even ignore early s3 and all that set up. let’s just FUCKING FLATLINE her and make her 100% obsessed with a baby. it’s not like that storyline was already wrapped up in s2 and she’d moved on by early s3.

all so june could have some ~exciting plot of winning over lawrence and oooooh look it’s bradley whitford. what a great guy. he’s so funnieeeee and nice. 

it really does feel like they aborted serena’s arc for the sake of inserting whitford into what should have been serena’s journey of gradually coming to terms with her involvement in gilead, her own overwhelming guilt about her involvement (which i would like to point out is LESS than lawrence’s contributions. just so we’re all on the same page). and i know miller has said he “doesn’t believe in redemption arcs” (bullshit. that’s pure bullshit. they exist whether you believe in them or not, for one thing.) but lawrence’s character has been doing EXACTLY that. and all the fandom is frothing about how amazing he is blah blah blah. fucking miss me with that. i will NEVER root for a man who has done that to women and is a KEY player in gilead. he didn’t just help invent it, he CURRENTLY still sustains it. he seemed to have little concern for ANYBODY even at the beginning of s3. yet still he’s a hero. (at least the character is like “oooh i’m not a hero” which kinda sounded totally insincere to me. the same way people throw pity parties for themselves.)

but god forbid a problematic female character portrayed by a fantastic (but lesser known) actress gets the same generosity. and what’s even crazier is that the audience was generally in favor and excited about serena joining june in the resistance prior to s3, and even in the beginning episodes of s3. based on social media anyway.

but no……….

i just….

it infuriates me how they chose to give what could have been a decent character arc for serena to lawrence instead (and to take that from yvonne and hand it over to whitford cos he’s just so great. rolling my eyes so hard.). and everyone is just like “yasss king! we love you!! what great guy for saving those kids!!! yay redemption for lawrence! i love brad whitford so amazing give him an emmy!!!” 

i get they need to keep serena around and in some sort of conflict for june. 

actually no. i don’t get it. i don’t think it’s necessary at this point to have a female adversary of that degree for june. i think she could easily be a complicated/conflicted ally, or at least not a direct enemy of june’s. the SYSTEM is evil enough and produces enough conflict on its own. june no longer needs the personification of it and neither do we. just… ugh. stagnating the MOST complex character on the show (fight me. serena as a character was more complex and dynamic than june.) for the sake of throwing her in some stupid sideplot that had nothing to do with the protagonist, and made her entire story arc stall into a dead stop was a dumbass fucking move. the whole fred thing dragged her the fuck down cos there was zero acknowledgement or exploration of the actual dynamic of the domestic abuse cycle which was PLAINLY visible in early s3. instead it was just NICHOLEEEEEE!!!!! GIVE ME BABBY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MUST HAVE BABBY!!!!!!!!!! every single character motivation serena had in s3 was a fucking sexist trope about women and baby fever. (not that they wrote june much better but this rant is about the shit they pulled with serena.)

there is no depth to any conflict anymore. and what drives me even crazier is that the few scenes with june and serena are still 100 times more interesting because of the pre-existing chemistry and dynamic they still have. but instead we’ve just got the same fucking scene of june/lawrence over and over for 8 episodes. “ooh is he a friend or foe? oh i will manipulate him! he is an ally! oh maybe he’s a foe, or friend, or foe, or friend?! who cares!! look how he lubs childrens! uwu!!”

they seem absolutely intent on keeping serena a villain, to the point of total irrationality. and the only way to do that is strip her character of any nuance and give her a singular and stupid motivation and pair that with a really boring and flat subplot. cos, organically, the character WOULD develop and learn and change, but since they’re fucking obsessed with not giving her anything even resembling “redemption” for some bullshit reason, they’ve thrown her entire narrative arc under the bus and just left her there.

and people wonder why i have no interest in s4. it’s cos of this shit. why the fuck would i be interested in watching yet another season of serena doing fuck all? (ooh a trial? BORING and guaranteed to make no rational sense. back to gilead? what for?! they’re never going to let her change/grow anyway!)… and june being painted as some saint and saviour, despite being not that much better anymore. and Lawrence being lauded as a goddamn hero for doing the very fucking bare minimum for no real discernible reason we’ve seen other than june’s oh so amazing ~wiles. like please.

i can’t stand june anymore. i fucking loathe lawrence (to me, he’s just nick 2.0). i don’t care about fred. moira and emily who? and am butthurt about what they’ve done to serena’s character journey (and can’t see that changing if miller, moss, & co. are so itnent on keeping her “evil”). so s4 doesn’t seem that fun to me.

and the fact everyone seems to have a hard on for whitford, including cast and crew just makes me angry. sure, give this dude all the good shit. take it away from the amazing female actors and just give it to him. why not? THT is male-run anyway and IT SHOWS. he should have been a minor character, not the focus next to june. (don’t even get me started on how fiennes gets second billing in the credits before yvonne cos i am so livid every single time i see taht.)

whatever, THT. whatever. bye. ugh.

wow anyway that was a rant i didn’t expect to make. thanks anon for drawing that out. i think i’ve been sitting on it a while lol.

i have a lot of rage.

[krystalreverb]

Crown Prince

here we go guys yet another let's do this

laslow's pissed you guys watch out because laslow is P I S S E D

this is a quick little implied sexy fic because I feel bad about not having wifi at home so I had to lug my computer to my boyfriend’s house to post my terrible fanfiction, my endings are crap, but here you go

CW: violence, blood, implied sexual content

Laslow had just sat down to eat. This was not what he needed this morning. It was 5:30 in the morning, and Laslow just wanted to eat. But here he was, listening to a group of obviously extremely stupid wyvern knights chattering back and forth simply inches from him at the next table over. A shadow passed, but did not alert Laslow.

“I'm just saying, for a guy who's supposed to be leading us, he doesn't do a whole lot of his own work, does he?”

“I mean, he's supposed to be the prince, but he's like, totally stiff and harsh. I don't think there's a person alive who's seen him smile. He's like one of those Hoshidan automatons, all lifeless and stern.”

“Ahem.” Laslow finally interrupted.

“Oh, great. It's the prince's little lapdog. What, gonna cite us for a little talk?”

“I may do more than cite you if you continue. Prince Xander is a bloody fucking saint, and you lot have no idea what he's been through.”

“I'm just saying, he could lighten up a little.”

“Could you, in his circumstances? He's responsible for hundreds of thousands of soldiers. You lot included. I have seen him hunched over his desk at 4 in the morning, reviewing troop orders. I have seen him at his worst, and you lot don't deserve the mercy of his smile.”

“Listen to this guy! What a load of shit. You're his personal retainer, of course you're obviously sleeping with him.”

“Excuse you!” Laslow stood. “I don't appreciate this attack on my character, or the attack on his! I suggest you smarten up and recant before you see exactly what I mean!”

“Come on, then! Tell us! What makes the high and mighty Prince Xander tick?”

“You lot have no idea what it's like. Do you have any idea how much a crown prince sacrifices? You sacrifice your happiness, your freedom, your very soul again and again, shielding pain, because without you the army would crumble, and your kingdom along with it. Do you know what it's like, coming back from a raid limping and bleeding, but having to put on a smile because showing weakness would be a death sentence?” Laslow was almost frothing at the mouth with anger. “Prince Xander sacrifices so much of his personal freedoms and liberties just so you lot all stay alive through the next day! Without him, I have no doubt you will all fall to some sniper's arrow in the middle of the night. Do you have any idea what he's been through? I don't think you do!”

“Alright, now you're just getting mouthy. He's a prince. He has all the money and power he could ever want. Who wouldn't be a little fucking happy with that? And he still shoves people away. You can't talk to the guy! He just brushes you off.”

“He doesn't have the opportunity to be happy about that! Don't you understand?”

“Name one person he hasn't shoved away and alienated because of his machismo fuckin' harshness.”

“He still has me!” Laslow roared. “I am by Lord Xander's side day after day. I haven't taken a bloody day off in months because this war is still raging. I, too, have stayed up far beyond a healthy bed time helping him. Lord Xander makes it a requirement that both of his retainers know how to sign his name properly. He simply is loaded with too much work to do it all himself.”

“Ha ha ha! Such a dutiful little lapdog! Tell us, does he reward you? Tickle your ivories, late at night?”

Laslow swore he felt a vein in his forehead threaten to burst from stress. He gritted his teeth.

“Alright, I'm going to give you to the count of three. If I don't see some recanting, I'm going to recant your fucking noses into your skulls. One.”

“Really? You're gonna fight all of us? In case you haven't noticed, numbnuts, there's ten of us and one of you.”

“Two.”

“He's really gonna do this. Alright, boys, form up. Let's show this little pampered poodle who the real men in this army are.”

“Three.” Laslow's fist launched into a soldier's nose, knocking him clean off his feet. Blood sprayed from his ruined nose. Laslow jabbed out an elbow, slamming one guy in the side with it, making him double over. He flipped his fist up, smashing him in the face and sending him reeling backwards.

One guy got behind Laslow and locked his arms above his head. To retaliate, Laslow jumped high, curled up, then slammed back down with enough force to throw the guy over his head and into the far wall, breaking both of the poor bastard's arms in the process.

The mess hall burst into chants of “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

The knights started playing dirty, coming at Laslow two or even three at a time. One-by-one, Laslow knocked them all unconscious with well-placed punches to their heads, one after the other. It was almost a beautiful dance, the way he flipped and spun around the knights trying to hit him. Not a single hit was landed on Laslow. Soon, Laslow was surrounded by a squad of fallen wyvern knights, broken and bleeding. Laslow's fist dripped with blood, not all of it his own. Laslow looked up.

He locked eyes with Xander.

Laslow bolted, running out of the mess hall, abandoning his breakfast.

“Laslow!” Xander called, but it was too late. The mess hall quieted into a dull murmur of shame at their behavior.

Xander went running after Laslow. He found him, washing the blood off his hands in the kitchen's sink. “Laslow.”

“I'm terribly sorry you had to see that, milord. I didn't know you were there.” Laslow said quickly.

“Laslow, you were defending my honor. I'm not upset.”

“I just punched out ten Nohrian wyvern knights with my bare hands, and you're not upset?”

“I'm mildly annoyed it resorted to violence but they kind of had it coming. I suppose I should be grateful I have such a dutiful and strong retainer.”

Laslow chuckled. “It's strange, a bit. I have such intimate knowledge of what it takes to survive in wartime. It isn't easy. Those knights seemed to be under the impression that you're untouchable, infallible, like you're something more than human. You're a human being, milord, regardless of your status, we're all the same in the end, just a sack of bones and meat. And I saw many of my friends die in war. Every day I had to put on a smile, just so my dearest friends would keep up morale on the battlefield. Everyone looked up to me for strength. And here I am, a foreigner trying to make my way in Nohrian society.” he rambled on for a bit. “But I... I heard them, and I... just snapped. How dare they? You do everything for them. Your very soul is fractured, and you're doing everything you can to hold it together. If they can't see how much you do to ensure their survival... then maybe they don't deserve it. No.... no, I shouldn't say that.” Laslow shook his head and fished around in the kitchens for something he could use to dress his wounds.

Xander stepped forward, removed his gauntlets, put them on the counter, and gently took Laslow's hands in his, murmuring a healing spell as he ran his thumb over Laslow's wounds softly. The  glow of the magic washed over his flesh and his bloodied knuckles were slowly healed, skin and muscle knitting back together over the wounds.

Laslow breathed a sigh of relief. “I truly am sorry you had to hear that.”

“Shhh.” Xander hushed him gently. “You've shown great strength and conviction of character. You only hurt them to defend me. Those knights, when they wake up, will be subject to a court martial for insubordination.”

Laslow took a couple deep breaths, but couldn't hold it, and broke down sobbing. Xander rushed forward and gathered him in his arms, giving him an armored shoulder to cry on.

“I'm s-so-sorryyy.... I c-can't.... I'm such a fucking fraud....”

“What do you mean, Laslow?”

“You o-o-ought to k-know the truth.... can we speak somewhere more private?” Laslow sniffled.

“Of course. Come with me, we can speak in my study.” Xander took Laslow's hand gently and took him to his study, locking the door behind them.

“Okay.. Okay.... Okay. Here it is.” Laslow broke down and explained everything, from the origins of his birth, to the tremendous battle with Grima, to being sent to Nohr and fighting for Lord Xander. “So you see, m-milord... I know what it's like, to be the pillar of strength for an army. To give up my own freedoms and happiness so that others may live. It's not easy.”

Xander slowly processed what Laslow had just told him. He was a prince, working under another prince. “....It appears you do.”

“I'm sorry, milord. At first, coming here was a job. But over time, I've grown attached. I could never and never will abandon you, my lord.”

Xander nodded slowly, still processing everything. “You've had such a fraught life, and you are still choosing to defend mine?”

“Absolutely. Until my dying breath, milord. I don't care if I die tomorrow or live another hundred years. As long as you would have me, I would be by your side.”

“But you were once a crown prince yourself.”

“Please. I told you about the war. There's nothing left of my home country. It's a barren wasteland. I'm not the prince of anything anymore.” Laslow shook his head. “Gods.... I'm just so angry. How dare they insinuate that you're not doing everything you can to help them?”

“I like how it's my honor you're defending and not that they insinuated you were sleeping with me.”

Laslow snorted. “Ha! How little they know. They think themselves regular detectives, they do. But they've missed so many clues.” He stepped forward, and Xander pulled up his chin just enough to kiss him deeply, pulling him into his arms.

“Perhaps they know too much.” Xander murmured against Laslow's lips.

“Would you have me take care of them, my lord? I can make it clean. I can make it look like an accident. Assassination is sadly one of my numerous wartime life skills. I can even set Peri up to do it. Nobody will dare court-martial her. Not unless they're willing to be messily parted from their flesh.”

“No.... No, don't kill them. Let them wonder. Let them fester.” Xander said. “Wouldn't it be grand? And they still don't know a single thing for sure.”

“You're so devious, milord... it's quite stunning.”

“I would hope so.” Xander kissed him again, and Laslow melted in, double-checking that the door was locked behind them before climbing up onto Xander's lap in his study chair.

“Strip me bare before you, milord. I am yours, and only yours. Only you get to see the scars I bear.”

“Yes....” Xander breathed softly, hands reaching up to unbutton Laslow's uniform shirt with practiced, deft fingers and sliding it off his shoulders and onto the floor.

The next time Laslow caught those ten knights (now reduced in rank and confined to the castle for an indeterminate period of time), they couldn't even look at Laslow, quiet and ashamed of their defeat. Lucky for Laslow, as he was sporting a rather large hickey on the side of his neck just under his jaw, not quite fully covered by his disheveled uniform's high collar. Laslow looked satisfied and pleased with himself, and when Xander strode in for lunch, Laslow simply gave him a smug look, and Xander smiled.

[count-demonlord-of-decadence]

A WEEK OF RAGE

Monday;

I go to my auto mechanic to pick up my British racing green Mercedes Benz E55, I’m having the sound system upgraded. It’s been in for four days, which is two too many in my opinion. When I arrive the first thing I do is confront the employees, but they either pretend to not speak English, or refer me to the owner who isn’t present. I opt to wait for him in the lobby.

It’s 152 minutes later when he arrives in an admittedly nice cream colored Audi TT. He’s Bahraini and dressed like a Miami Vice villain and reeks of One Million by Paco Rabanne. When I confront him he assures me he’ll light a fire under his guy's asses; but for an extra 30 dollars my car would be moved to the top of the list. He says it grinning, like only an idiot wouldn’t take this “fantastic” deal. I don’t know if it’s his odor, the wait or the effrontery of his offer but I succumb to rage. No hesitation or warning, just a quick palm strike to his nose. It’s not hard enough to break it but the left uppercut to his body that follows has no such restraint. As he topples towards me, I clinch with him and knee him right on his heart. Based on the sound he made, I believe I broke his sternum. I deliver an elbow strike to his fifth vertebrae before I let him fall into a sobbing, whimpering, writhing mess on the floor.

Then I remember that it’s the middle of a work day. Six employees and two other customers witnessed the whole event. No one lifted a finger to aid him, they didn’t even call the police. In fact the two customers applauded. One of the employees who pretended not to speak English tells me in perfect English my car will be ready in half an hour. Two other employees carry their employer into his office. As I sit down to wait, one of the two customers, mid 50’s with a full head of white hair, asks that employee, who we all now know speaks English, about his car.

Tuesday;

There are few fast food restaurants near my job, so I tend to frequently visit the same Jack In The Box on work days despite the nigh contemptible service. Whenever I go I always the same thing, Ultimate cheeseburger, no ketchup or mayo and a raspberry ice tea with no ice. There were three people ahead of me but the wait was minimal I order, pay and wait. Thank Hecate for smart phones, otherwise I’d either have to watch them make the food, watch the patrons and learn why every proceeding generation said they weep for the generation that followed or enter a near comatose state.

My order number is called and I grab the cup and bag and try to hurry away but bump into the guy who ordered ahead of me. He’s six feet four inches tall, muscular, in his late 40’s, dressed in red and blue Fubu, with a haircut and mustache that implies military. He returns to the counter and says, “Hey dicklips you fucked up my order.” This prompts me to check my order and sure enough, there’s a Jumbo Jack in the wrapper. The employee, about 22 years old, lanky; with hair, makeup, tattoos and piercings suggest he’s an emo college dropout who only got this job so his suburban sycophant parents didn’t kick him out of a house they’d never own because of predatory lending practices. I calmly walk up to the counter as he tells the complaining customer, “Better luck next time.” Before the customer can say another word say, “Excuse me, but you seemed to have made a mistake with my order as well.” To which he responds by throwing his hands up and loudly proclaiming, “I am so triggered right now!” and walks away. The other cashier, a hispanic woman in her early 20’s with a muffin top, looks at me and the other complaining customer, rolls her eyes and waves up the next customer just so she doesn’t have to deal with us.

“Can you believe this shit?” He asks me. To which I whisper, “No, I can’t” I’m staring at emo boy in the back talking to one of the food preparers. He’s just as young, emo, tattooed and pierced as the male cashier, but shorter and heavier. He looks like he plays drums in emo boy’s garageband that’s never had a paying gig, but they swear is gonna be big one of these days. I can tell by their gesticulations and body language that they’re not debating who fucked up our orders. When drummer boy gives us the two finger salute I snapped just like I did at the car mechanics.

I’m over the counter and advancing upon the two with hostile intent. The two just stare at me as if the law or the gods are going to stop me. Emo boy takes a palm strike to the nose that overtly breaks it. His drummer takes a kick to the crotch that, based on his reaction, hit some sort of genital piercing that maims his penis. He drops instantly, screaming, writhing and clutching his crotch. Emo boy is looking at the blood on his hands and proclaiming, “You can’t just do that man! I’m gonna sue your ass off! You’re gonna go to jail!” An uppercut to his diaphragm prevents him from saying anything else. I then try to shove his head into one of the deep fryers. He stops himself with his hands, but they’re slick with his blood and falls to his elbows. The blood and tears dripping from his face cause the grease to pop. He starts rapidly apologizing, telling me he’ll do anything if I don’t hurt him anymore. He seemed sincere. I knee him on his kidney and let him fall to a clearly dirty floor.

Muffin top has the building’s phone in hand, undoubtedly calling the police. I unfold my pocket knife and throw it at her. It hits her in a manner that damn near severs her thumb, causing her to drop the phone and yelp. The flying kick that followed hits her just below the collarbones slamming her into the wall. Her head bounced off the wall in a manner sure to result in a concussion. She falls to the dirty floor in a manner sure to result in a concussion. I hang up the phone and notice accosting the young lady seemed to earn me the crowd's ire. Though they’re hesitant to do more than whisper their disapproval and covertly call the cops. Still, I take the time to make a ultimate cheeseburger, no ketchup or mayo, and take a third pound of curly fries on my way out.

Wednesday;

After work, near my British racing green E55, I'm confronted by a man I've never met prior. Short and athletically built wearing sky blue shorts and shorts, no socks. Boxer shorts were dark blue with red pinstripes, white tank top a size too small. He also wore a white do rag and a faux silver chain. He claims I was disrespecting his girl. His manner and dress rule out law enforcement and organized crime. I plead ignorance, he tells me not to play games. I inquire to who his girl is, he insists I know who she is. I recommend we talk this out like adults, he asks if I don’t think he’s a man.

Now I have no clue what this is about; the one thing that’s clear to me is he’s looking for violence. Given the week I’ve had and the lack of security in the parking lot I was tempted to break every bone in his face. Still I thought diplomacy best. I offered an empty apology and promised to never do it again. This seemed to enhance his malevolence. He hikes up his shorts and proclaims he aint no bitch.

“Eviscerate him! For he is wicked! By wicked my mean contrary to your will!” screams the homicidal beast that dwells in the hearts and minds of only the most disturbed individuals. “Unveil his skeleton so he’ll be truly naked before your perfection! They say a sound like wailing winter winds can be heard if…”

I shake the voice out of my head; feeling this has gone too far I try to leave but a loud voice distracts me. “Kick his ass Dreshawn!” It belong to my coworker Maybelle, skinny, great ass, bad hair weave and six years younger than I am. I’d once told, Taj Pierce I bet Maybelle goes ass to mouth. I guess it got back to her.

It’s like when a parent says, “I just looked away for a second.” because the next thing I know I’m exclaiming, “That’s what this is about? Better run home to mama while you can Gay-shawn.” with far more spittle than needed.

“Wha’cha say bitch ass n-...” The sentence was supposed to end with a right hook to my jaw, but instead was easily countered with the most basic of aikido shoulder throws. Unfortunately he hit my British racing green E 55 breaking the driver side mirror. I just got it out of the shop, and have to find a new mechanic; these two facts send me into a rage (despite it being my fault). Dreshawn is on his feet, clearly in pain, clearly embarrassed. He throws two left jabs I’m out of range for followed by an overhand right so telegraphed I intercept it with a palm strike. I hear it fracture his wrist, but don’t give him time to acknowledge the injury. I follow the palm strike with a right hook that lands on his left eye, a left hook to his side, a right kick to his left knee that buckles on impact and a left Hisoka style uppercut to his jaw.

Maybelle exclaims, “OMG!” and tries to rush to his side, but I freeze her in place with the right look. She looks around and cries for help, knowing none will come. Dreshawn picked his moment too well. He’s failing to scuttle away from me mumbling, “Look man I didn’t want any trouble.” Through a dislocated jaw.

“What?” I exclaim while producing my brand new, never tasted flesh before pocket knife. “Clearly you were looking for trouble you pencil dicked cunt!” I’m frothing at the mouth and advancing upon him, “I gave you every chance to walk! And did you? Did you!?” I’m in striking range now, twirling the knife between my finger. “If you don’t answer, I’m going to cut your eyeballs in half. Now did you walk away?”

“NO!” he cries unable to hold back the tears. “Why?” I ask menacingly. When he responds with, “What?” I kick him on the appendix, raise the knife and scream, “Why didn’t you walk away!?”

“I don’t know!” He cries, “Because I love her, and I want to protect her. She means the world to me and…” I step on his throat to silence him. “Wrong,” I hiss, “You did it because you thought I was an easy target. If I six foot five, 250 lbs of alpha male you would’ve thought better of it. You’re the type of shit that runs from the strong and preys upon the weak; like a pedophile.”

This reignite his desire to fight, so I let him up. He stands on shaking legs and puts his dukes up. His jaw isn’t dislocated, a severe hematoma was growing on his chin. He clearly said, “I don’t need no chicken shit knife.” I close the knife and toss it to him so he can easily catch it. “The difference between me and you is you think you’re strong whereas I know.” I snicker.

He throws the knife at my face saying, “Muthafucka I said I don’t need no chickenshi…” The spin I use to dodge the knife ends in a roundhouse kick I plant on his right hip. He drops and screams like it’s broken. I kick him 20 times, most landing on his arms and legs. Needless to say, he has no fight left in him.

Maybelle has fallen to hysterics, “Oh, my god! Why did you do that? You didn’t have to do that! Why? He wasn’t gonna do nothing. Why you do that? Oh my god! You didn’t have to do all that!”

This simultaneously disgusts and enrages me. I dash to her and throttle her shouting, “Of course I didn’t have to do that! I gave him every chance to walk away and he didn’t! Because of you whore! If it wasn’t for bitches like you half the inmates in Attica would be free! But no, you wanted to see me put in my proper place. Well congratulations shit-louse! Here it is, a the muthafuking top of the food chain!”

“Let her go or so help me…” Dreshawn croaks. The sadistic grin I shoot him reveals the depth of his mistake. I puch Maybelle four times in the stomach, like I’m trying to abort a pregnancy. I let her fall to the ground in a whimpering heap. Dreshawn stands, roars, charges at me for three strides before falling disgracefully. He crawls to me and when in range, I drop an axe kick that dislocates his left shoulder. Then I make sure he has a good view as I fondle Maybelle’s tits, cunt and ass; over then under her clothes. I wipe the shit her asshole left on my fingers on Dreshawns face. He’s cursing me and making promises and threats that convince me I’m better off just killing him then and there. So I retrieve my knife just as a security guard arrives. I just say, “I don’t know what happened. Someone seems to have hit my car.” and quickly drive home despite his insistence.

Thursday;

With my car being repaired again, I had to take the bus to work and I was go out of the way to not lose my temper. On that very bus, I saw a attractive rubenesque girl. She looked young, but with a body like hers few would mind. I give her a lascivious look, take my seat and check instagram. The woman sitting behind her exclaims, “You stay away from her you pedophile! You got reason to be after girls like that! You should be ashamed of yourself! Have you no self control? You’re just like those Hollywood elitist. Wanna be Harvey Weinstein. The next Anthony Weiner everyone! I should call the police on your child molesting ass!”

Like everyone else on the bus, I do my best to ignore the woman; despite the fact that this diatribe continues for the entire 17.5 minute bus ride. When I get off the bus I thought I was rid of her. Oh how I was mistaken. It seems her tirade was directed at me. She declares she shall follow me everywhere I go and let them know what kind of person I really am. She looks like a 58 year old Anita Sarkeesian, except she African American, dressed in a black and gold outfit one only sees at red carpet events in New York circa 1973.

It’s a two kilometer walk from the bus stop to my job with nowhere to stop along the way. I assumed she’d give it up after half a click. Again I was mistaken. She had the resolve and stamina to make the walk and continue to verbally berate me  the entire time.

After approximately one kilometer I’d finally had enough and snarled at her, “Look bitch you’re free to tell my bosses whatever you want, but I don’t have to take this verbal abuse from the likes of you.”

“Bitch!?” she exclaims. “Who you callin’ a bitch? I got your bitch right here! I’ll show you a bitch!” and she swings her rather large purse at me. I dodge the purse twice but then a left cross comes at me. The punched is dodged but then I run into a fire hydrant. Thinking she has me cornered she swings the purse again. I use aikido number seven to evade and shove her into the street. The driver of the 18 wheeler slams on the brakes but still hits her, only hard enough bruise though. She looks at me and screams, “Muthafucker! You did that on purpose!” to which I scream, “You goddamn fucking right I did!” brandishing my knife and foaming at the mouth. “You better thank your god that loves little boys asses I don’t come over there and finish what I started!”

She’s aghast. She looks at the driver of the truck and shouts, “Did you hear what this muthafucker said to me?” The driver calmly replied, “Ma’am, do you need me to call an ambulance? If not, would you mind getting out of the street? You’re holding up traffic.”

I hurry to work beginning to suspect something might be seriously wrong with me.

Friday;

I picked up my British racing green Mercedes Benz E55 from the shop after my shift. To celebrate getting through the day without accosting or maiming anyone I stop in a drug store to buy beer. On my way in I coldly ignore a man asking for change. I purchase a tall can of Sapporo and a six pack of Hangar 24 orange wheat. On my way out that same guy is by the exit and asks loudly and clearly for spare change. I say, “Sorry.” without breaking stride or even looking at him; but he follows me saying, “Oh c’mon man, I saw that big fancy car you drive. I just need some change to get some food. i got kids to feed. Where’s your empathy brother? If we all just helped each other out this world would be a better place. C’mon man what would Jesus do?”

It was like a switch was flipped. Despite the fact I’m at my car and I’ve already unlocked the door. I could easily just get in and drive away and be done with it. But I’m just so overcome with pure rage. I drop the bag I had to pay for, whirl around and grab him by the front of his shirt and scream, “How ‘bout I dish it out in increments of five!” and punch him in the face while counting by five. At 25 he falls and I go with him so as to keep punching him in the face. At 100 I notice he isn’t moving anymore. Several people are filming with the cell phones by now. Undoubtedly some have called the police. I take the back streets to my house and park in the garage. I get drunk and fall asleep with my hand on ice.

Saturday;

I contemplated taking the day off to lay low and my hand still hurt. But, I can’t afford that. The work shift passes without incident and I elect to stop in a diner for a fried chicken dinner. It was crowded, but that was to be expected given the time, day and location. I’m sitting at a table making an appointment to see Dr. Ayane Tsunemori my psychologist as my food arrives. I take a sip of my raspberry iced tea with no ice only to discover it is a mr. pibb with no ice. I start for the registar when a commotion in the dining room distracts me. A college age blonde girl has fallen after going into convulsions. Her family is shouting for help, as pink foam begins to gurgle out of her mouth. The father (has anyone ever told him he looks like actor Dominic Keating?) is on the phone in tears coordinating with employees. I rush over and grab the hysterical mother and ask what her daughter ordered. After a violent shake she says, Fried chicken dinner and a mr. pibb with no ice.” She broke down into tears at the end, it’d be the last meal her daughter ever ordered.

Knowing she’s been poisoned, I look around. Assassins have to confirm the kill first hand. I see him two meters out the door. Blue jeans, Dark off greyish pseudo black t shirt. Walking nonchalantly to nowhere. A guy making sure not to get noticed or call attention to himself. He’s not even on his phone. I give chase. He’d only gone one building over and stopped in an alley lit with orange streetlights. Despite the horrible lighting I recognized this man.

“Old Painless? Of the 36 Wu-Dang Killers?” I ask as a show of respect.

“Bingo!” He smirks, “And you are Demon Lord of The Syndicate.”

“It seems our reputations precede us. ”I say while cautiously closing the distance between us.

“Hence the poison.” He shrugs, “Shame they mixed up the drinks. Now I have to dispatch you the old fashioned way.”

“I thought through...various yakuza and triad alliances and such that we were allies. At least not enemies?”

“Cheng Ling-Li says otherwise.”

I pull my pocket knife, I need no more words. He laughs, “I need no weapon to kill a man such as you!”

I attack, at first my blows are easily parried before a quick counter attack disarms me before I hit the concrete, spring back up and attack. He evades two punches, a spining backfist and an inside crescent kick before counterattacking with a quick yet stunning jab to my nose, spins behind me and hits me with a double fist attack. I get up and come at him with a telegraphed flying axe kick that’s a feint to get him into punching range. He dodges the right backfist and catches my straight left I didn’t think he saw coming and hurls me to the concrete. He strokes his beard and laughs at me.

I slowly get up. I’m literally and figuratively seeing red. I felt the rage erupting like a volcano. I wanted nothing more than to rip him apart and eat him myself! That’s when it occurred to me; there are no coincidences. Everything that happened this week, all the incidents; they had been his doing. A well planned and orchestrated maneuver to cloud my mind and judgement, thus negating my most potent weapon.

I yell, “I’m gonna rip off your head and shit down your neck!” and come at him with wild, looping hooks he easily dodges. I goes for the easy body shot I left open for him and to his surprise, I block and counter with a quick jab to his nose followed by a sloppy shoulder throw. Old Painless is up and no longer in the mood to play. But words and memory fail to accurately describe the intricate manner of our battle. I, having switched from Systema to Daitō-ryū Aiki-jūjutsu, him a master of Xin Yi Liu He Quan. You’ll have to fill in the blanks yourself. I can say had the event been recorded it’d easily be the highest viewed video ever.

Just as signs of injury and frustration began to show in Old Painless, a spotlight illuminated us indicating someone had called the police. We were detained The found no contraband on either of us and neither of us had active warrants. Neither of us wished to press charges nor did either of us require medical attention eventually we were released without charges, though separately.

Sunday;

I woke up bruised and sore but still kept my appointment with Dr. Tsunemori. I tell her of the weeks events, omitting everything that incriminates myself. She suggests I take a mini vacation. Go see a movie, try out a new restaurant, go golfing; something like that. And since that new Honduran bistro Kristoff Select told me about is closed today, I elect to see the latest Star Wars film. I had planned on taking a date to see it with me but c’est la vie…

After trailers for the new Vin Diesel movie and something that looked much worse starring Kellan Lutz and Geena Davis, I go to the toilet so I don’t have to go during the film. In the restroom are three Hispanic men, writing on the walls with black permanent markers. The first was a dead ringer for actor Robert LaSardo in Tiger Land, save he was almost four foot ten inches tall with his shabby brown boots on. He wore a wife beater and sagging jean shorts that exposed boxer shorts that were once white, but now a lighter shade of pink.

The second was just as tall as I, though at least 30 kilos heavier. He wore an Ezekiel Elliott jersey and blue jeans that sagged despite his girth. He’s in his mid 20s and has a jail grade buzzcut. The last was a lad of no older than 17. He was short, like the first guy and of average build. He wore a white Kobe Bryant jersey, matching shorts and a black hat with the word ’OBEY’ in white stitching. He has maybe a dozen hairs growing from his upper lip.

I glance at the vandalism, wonder where were these guys three days ago and move on to a urinal. They have a hushed but audible conversation about what to do now and The oldest of the three convinces the youngest this is his chance to earn a rep. I finish and move to the sink to wash my hands while the oldest gives me a ‘You think you hard?’ stare forged in US prisons.

I’m drying my hands the youngest one tries to sucker punch me. I simply side step and let him punch the paper towel dispenser. I then shove him into the largest of the three, who advanced in anticipation of the sucker punch landing. He says something like,

“What? You’re gonna disrespect the hood?” and comes at me  with his fists up, leaning back. It’s an outside leg kick to his right knee followed by an inside leg kick to the same knee and he buckles. I finish him with an uppercut and pose stylishly afterwards to intimidate the other two. It doesn’t work. The teen comes at me with three sloopy crosses that I easily avoid and lead him to the electric hand dryer and aide him in hitting face first twice.

The third guy, the one that remained conscious, laughed at hs fellows, out his hands up and says, “I’m not looking for trouble. These two wanted to be big men and I tried to warn them.”

I snicker and say, “So you can lord the day they got their asses kicked trying to impress you over them? Or make up some lie about how you saved them? How you whipped my ass while they were unconscious? Sorry partner, can’t do. You gotta get worse than the others.”

When I’m done with him he’s unconscious, has a bruised kidney, three cracked ribs, a broken left orbital bone and both his left canines and his upper left lateral incisor are missing. I then pull down all three of their pants to make it weird for who ever finds them. I managed to enjoy the film despite the constant anticipation of an usher or police officer pulling me from the theater. But, they never did.

[ghostmartyr]

Okay. Let’s try this again. But healthy-like.

...Which, since it’s me, means religious stuff. I understand if reading about how I want to blow my brains out is easier to stomach.

Things are bad, but not insurmountably bad. I have a solid support system. The monetary side of that support system scares me to death, but nothing has gone away yet. Even if it does, I am supposedly devoutly religious enough to believe in miracles, and believe that divine intervention is very literally the only reason any of my life has been possible.

There’s no reason to think that’s going to change. The fact that I don’t find that entirely comfortable is between me and God, and the more energy I put into that, the more it’ll be okay. Life is bad enough that only a miracle can save me, and I believe in miracles. That’s like the opposite of a problem.

In theory. Practical application of said theory is lost somewhere between wanting to shoot myself and deciding to announce to the general public that I want to shoot myself. Every time I point out to myself that my faith says I’ll be okay because God’s always there for me, another, deeply cynical part of me points out that He was also there for me when I had sepsis, and if I’m being honest, that was the most horrifying experience of my life.

Knowing that I can come back from anything really just fills me with existential dread, because you know, I have seen a fair share of ‘anything,’ and I don’t care for it. I don’t want to know that I can survive anything. I want to be safe from anything happening to me.

Historically, I am the person who ends up eaten by a whale. Or I guess it wasn’t actually a whale? My Bible literacy is made of fail, but the point is, me and God are still in the “Do I have to?” phase of our relationship.

The current unwanted task is living.

To which the answer is no, I don’t have to keep living. However badly I screw this up, there’s an eternity waiting for me, and I can flip the switch whenever I want.

This life doesn’t have an eternity. It’s a unique, temporary, instant of existence.

Putting off forever for one more sliver of that instant, just to see where it goes, isn’t that hard. I do it by accident all the time. I go to bed, and wake up breathing.

I like my bed. It has a tiger bedspread. It’s thinner than it used to be, and I can’t make myself make the damn thing, but it’s snug, it’s mine, and I don’t see a problem with it. I feel pretty confident in saying that death would irrevocably change the interaction I have with my bed.

It’s temporary, so I should make the most of it. No one else is going to care about my bed or how my bookcase is organized, and even though I have days I don’t care either, there are days when I do, so what the hell.

Everything hurts a lot right now. I have zero control over the physical. Again, miracle needed, so I can just relax and coast and. you know, suffer. A lot. A real awful lot. An unfair lot.

...Yeah, no happy silver lining answers for the bad days or moods. They’re bad, I tolerate them badly, and I scare people. But I’ve been having a bad day for months now, and it hasn’t stopped me from doing things that aren’t so bad. Infinity War was amazing. I wrote 9000 words of a hs au my brain is convinced no one cares about. Several people have told me they enjoy it, so I know my brain’s lying about that, but believing that no one cares means that, while no one’s cared, I’ve written 24k words of story in a handful of months. Story I kind of dig. All while being horrifically depressed.

I think that turned into a silver lining answer.

Fuck, I don’t know, man, if I’d offed myself I wouldn’t get to write about Ymir wanting to bang a cheerleader, and that’s clearly the pinnacle of what I should be doing with my life.

I can never remember any of that during the bad times, and that sucks, but hey, maybe writing it down will make the memory a little deeper.

So, uh, positives.

Despite certain inclinations, I have not actually committed murder. Every tiny setback right now feels like the end of the world, but being able to wake up in the morning and hate the world would seem to indicate that it’s still there, so it’s just a very, very bad feeling, not real.

I have very little concept of what’s real or not, since my emotions sort of exist in peekaboo limbo. Babies have no concept of object permanence, and right now, neither do parts of me. On the one hand, awkward, on the other, it means that the tempest of rage is only summoned when provoked. Yay team.

Less positive, it is not good that suicidal rage has developed as a coping mechanism to doing slightly poorly in a video game, and once it’s started, it’s hard to shut off. I get it. I don’t feel like a person, so I judge myself based on accomplishments, and because of my health, those accomplishments are things like doing slightly okay at a video game, and I’m letting my entire sense of worth hinge on that. Along with other external factors.

This is bad, and unhealthy, and since I hate myself, I’m probably going to keep doing it. Not in a, “oh you scamp, haven’t you learned yet?” way, it’s just entirely possible that the fact that I can sometimes aim in a video game is really the most positive thing I can say about myself some days, and I can’t see a way to delicately switch myself over to understanding that it really doesn’t matter without losing one of my few bright spots.

But I am clearly overly investing in certain things, and I need to get into the habit of just turning the damn game off if it’s making me that angry. I know the moods come on fast, and I know I have delusions of conquering them before they go anywhere, and sometimes, I even break through the other side.

Oh well. I don’t like feeling like that. I hate that feeling enough that I should get into the habit of cutting my losses at the first sign of self-loathing. I know I feel like there is nothing else I can do with my time, but there is. I can watch anime. I can play other games. I own a game where the entire strategy revolves around killing yourself. I love it, and it keeps failure entertaining. I have other outlets.

Also, obsessive cycles have tripped me up my whole life. This is just one more, and it needs to be handled the same as all the others. No, it won’t be fun, and maybe I will be bored out of my skull, but that’s better than frothing with rage.

And I really should be watching more anime. I don’t know what it says about my mental health that I am actively avoiding things I have a long history of loving, but I’m guessing it’s nothing good, and even if I can’t fix the underlying problem, I can address the symptoms. Go watch more cartoons. Write more. Any day now, I can lock myself in my room and finish my Lego X-Wing (Poe’s, so it’s black, and so very badass, and no, I don’t know why it’s been collecting dust, but again, I’m sure it’s a sign of nothing good).

So the argument that I need to keep doing the things that make me angry is moot, because it isn’t actually all I have. It just feels that way, and all of my feelings are wrong and damaged, so I should stop listening to them.

...In a healthy, rising above way. No a repressing way. That is at least half of the reason posts like these end up happening.

None of this is really making me feel better right now, since I’m in a moment where I’m less than sure I have feelings, but that isn’t the point. I learn better when I put things into my own words, and I haven’t been taking care of myself lately. I don’t know that it’s even possible for me to do better than I have been, but the end result is the same, and the end result has me really tired.

This is like a benign to-do/ponder list. Maybe it will make an impression, maybe it won’t, but at least one more time, I went through the motions of trying to sort life and its greys out instead of painting the whole thing black.

Hopefully that something something. I dunno, I’m kind of a wreck, and I lost my perceived point more times than I want to count. I think I’m done here.

Except for saying thanks to the people who responded to the more... head explodey post. I’m bad at saying thank you, and letting people know how much they mean to me in general. I get embarrassed. Usually, when I hit my meltdown point, I know, on some level, I will find my calm again. Receiving kindness when I could have kept my mouth shut and gotten over it makes me uncomfortable. Especially when I know it’s probably going to happen again. People help me out so much, and with such regularity, and it kills me that it’s not enough, because it’s more than I could have ever asked for. I don’t know how to say thank you without feeling ashamed the next time. It’s like I failed, and dragged all of you down with me by letting you believe you helped me.

When that’s a really, really incomplete view. It helps. It always helps. It isn’t the magic bullet, but it always means the world, and it always bolsters me for whatever the next thing waiting for me is. I really wish I could say that more often, because it would be great if you guys could know it. But, you know, shy. Cagey about being vulnerable. Suicidal ponderings okay, heartfelt appreciation of someone’s value is overly mushy and something to fear. Obviously.

Also, I’m me. I let loads of stuff go unsaid because with the important things, there are times I feel it strongly enough that the thought of bringing it back to earth where you need to tell people that it exists for them to know that---unspoken understandings shade a lot of my relationships. Then I end up horribly insecure because I don’t know how many boundaries I made up or we actually both agree on, so I don’t know why I keep thinking it’s a good way to treat people.

What I mean by all of that, is thanks. For being a large part of why I’m still here. I wish less of you knew what I was going through. I hope things improve for all of us, and I hope we’re all around for a good long time to share the evidence of that.

[dabiapologist]

[MY HERO ACADEMIA FANFICTION]: It Surrounds You

Written for Kinktober 2017 Day #1

Prompt: Scent Kink/ Olfactophilia 

Rating: E/NSFW

Word Count: 2.9k 

Pairing: Shigadabi, Shigaraki Tomura/Dabi

Tags:  Day 1: aphrodisiacs/olfactophilia, Im not sure which this falls under cause it's a little of both?? idk??it's kind of a loosely-based concept though handjobs, aphrodisiacs, olfactophilia, scent kink?? Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary: 

It’s growing on him, that godforsaken smell.

He always knows when Dabi is nearby; his arrivals and departures are announced and preceded by the smell of something burning. It follows him around like a black cloud, a sinister smell that reminds Tomura of the incinerators at morgues or funeral pyres.

Dabi is a walking funeral pyre. 

Read it on AO3

He had tried, sincerely, he had tried, not to take notice of them or anything that even remotely had to do with them. The small bar was suddenly a busier place than it had been, what with the arrival of the duo; the creepy high school girl who was always eyeing him like she’d slit his throat the second he let his guard down, and grin through it to boot, and the rude zombie guy whose real name he still didn’t know aside from a shoddy alias.

They were here, and he hated it.

Kurogiri was right; he did need them and their abilities to expand his organization. But that damn well didn’t mean he had to like it.

Or them.

Especially him.

He was a freak in every sense of the word. But admittedly, yeah, he was intrigued. Within the safety of his mind and his thoughts, Tomura could safely say that there was the slightest modicum of curiosity. After all, even in a world of super-powered people, it wasn’t every day you stumbled upon someone like Dabi, villain or otherwise.

“This is a bar, right? How’s about a drink?” Dabi drawls in that low, emotionless voice of his. Tomura clenches as Dabi pushes himself off the brick wall he had been leaning against and, shooting him a passive glance, not seeming to care if he minds or not, slides into the empty seat directly next to Tomura.  

He didn’t have to sit there. There were five empty seats directly to his right that he could’ve parked his carcass on instead of next to him. But, Tomura quickly realizes, behind that seemingly emotionless facade, Dabi hides an irritatingly antagonistic personality.

Kurogiri slides over a glass of something dark and presumably strong by the smell of it.

“You seem like a bourbon-type.” Kurogiri says, and the shapeless void that is his face morphs into something that could almost be called a smile.

“Yeah, sometimes.” Dabi replies.

Tomura watches the exchange from behind the hand on his face. His eyes follow Dabi’s hand as it reaches toward the glass, follows it up to Dabi’s face, watches the Adam’s apple marred purple bob slightly as Dabi downs the liquor in one go.

Tomura caught himself wondering more than once what story lay behind the burnt, purpled skin, held together with surgical staples. And at this moment, he caught himself wondering just how it was that none of that liquor was seeping back out through the parts of Dabi’s chin and cheeks that were bound together.

It still irked him that Dabi’s very first words to him were that he looked gross. Had Dabi looked in a goddamn mirror lately? At least Tomura could say that he didn’t look like a walking corpse.

“Something on my face?”

Dabi turns to him in the stool; of course it was the stool that squeaked, and the sound makes Tomura’s eye twitch. Apparently noticing this, Dabi, for the first time since joining their little motley crew of evil, gives him a faint smirk. “You’ve been staring at me since I sat down. Am I not allowed to drink?”

“I don’t care what you do.”

“Oh?” Dabi intones idly as he fishes something out of his weird leather fanny pack. “It seems like you do.”

“You smell burnt. It’s disgusting.”

“Shigaraki Tomura!” Kurogiri all but shrieks, already set to intercept another fight. But Dabi doesn’t move. He eyes Tomura for a second before shaking his head and going back to what he was doing, laughing to himself. He brings a cigarette to his lips-- figures that the low-life had a box of cigarettes in his stupid pack-- and flicks it with his finger. It ignites with a dark flame at the end that quickly fades to a normal orange-yellow.

“I have a flame-type quirk, so it’s not that shocking.” A deep inhale. In the silence of the bar, Tomura can hear the faint sound of the cigarette paper singeing. It’s annoying. “Heh, and you had the nerve to say I’m the rude one.”

Dabi exhales thoughtfully, hooded blue eyes still focused on Tomura. “I’m amazed you can smell anything from behind that corpse hand you have stuck to your face.”

It takes everything Tomura has not to wrap his hand-- five fingers-- around that smug, crusty throat and disintegrate the man right then and there. But a firm but worried look from Kurogiri stops him from carrying through with the obvious intentions in his movements. Dabi notices it, too.

A crinkled note in an equally crinkled hand slides across the bar. “For the drink.” Dabi mutters, cigarette dangling from his lips. He leaves the room. But not before Tomura can catch another horrible whiff of burnt flesh and cheap cologne.

*****

It’s growing on him, that godforsaken smell.

He always knows when Dabi is nearby; his arrivals and departures are announced and preceded by the smell of something burning. It follows him around like a black cloud, a sinister smell that reminds Tomura of the incinerators at morgues or funeral pyres.

Dabi is a walking funeral pyre.

The smell envelopes him, invades his nostrils long before Dabi makes his full presence known. He slinks into the bar, hands crammed in his pockets as usual, Toga bouncing and giggling at his heels, practically frothing at the mouth about someone’s blood or something. Tomura can’t be bothered to listen to her insanity, especially when Dabi, in that infuriatingly low-key way of his, shamelessly invades his personal space yet again by taking up the seat next to him at the bar. It’s not long before a bourbon is sitting in front of him and a cigarette is dangling from his lips.

The man smokes like a chimney, but that’s hardly the worst thing about him, so Tomura slides to the left a bit and remains silent.

The familiar smell of cigarette ash blends with Dabi’s natural smoky... musk, in his nose and Tomura gags noiselessly behind the hand covering his face.

He’s saying something at the moment, something about Yuuei’s security measures, but Tomura isn’t really listening. It’s unusually warm in the bar; he feels clammy and demands that Kurogiri turn the air down. Kurogiri eyes him strangely, but does it anyway.

He doesn’t really notice a change and it bugs him a lot.

*****

It always seems warmer here now. And it doesn’t take Tomura long to realize it’s because of Dabi.

The man runs hot; sitting next to him really is like sitting next to a human furnace, or something vaguely resembling a human, Tomura supposes. But it’s raining today and it’s cold in the bar, so Tomura doesn’t mind it as much.

“You don’t complain about my smell anymore.” Dabi says suddenly.

“Fuck off.”

Dabi turns to him. Smooth tanned skin and scarred purple run side by side, splitting his face into a Glasgow smile that only seems to grow more menacing when Dabi actually smiles, exposing teeth.

“No need to be so hostile, you know,” Dabi drawls around a lazy french inhale, “Just making an observation.”

The heat in the room only seems to grow as Dabi turns to face him fully in his seat. “You seem a little pent up, Shigaraki.” He says bluntly.

Tomura can feel his temper starting to rise. In the few short weeks since they’ve joined together, Dabi has made an art of igniting the metaphorical flame under Tomura’s bottom, bringing his temper to a nice, even simmer.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Dabi’s expression remains annoyingly impassive. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

He does. Of course he does, he’s not stupid. And he’s certainly not that naive. Dabi’s expression still doesn’t change, but Tomura can see in his eyes that Dabi knows he’s lying. And he can see, in the way the corners of Dabi’s eyes crinkle and the hoods of his eyes drop, and in the way that faint smile curls into something in the realm of seductive, that Dabi has no qualms about humoring him.

“...I guess I’ll just spell it out for you then.”

The smell of smoke and charred flesh fills Tomura’s nose as Dabi leans in, and his heart skips in his chest when he feels Dabi’s warm breath puff in his hair and teeth tug at his earlobe from behind warmer than normal lips.  

If it was warm before, the bar might as well be on fire now.

His face is burning, his ears are burning, his fingers are twitching. Tomura curls his hands into fists, quelling the urge to kill the other man.

“You...you piece of shit…” He hisses, hand inching towards Dabi, who slides back into his seat, seemingly unfazed by the creep of certain death looming over him in the form of a spidery, twitching hand.

The fact that Dabi clearly doesn’t love himself should’ve been readily obvious, but now, it all but bowls Tomura over the head. The nerve, the absolute fucking nerve.

Dabi calmly downs the rest of his drink before sliding the glass over to a speechless and awestruck Kurogiri, who had witnessed the entire exchange and subsequently the audacious --and frankly suicidal-- move, and wanders out of the bar without even glancing back. Toga bounds out after him, giddy and psychotic.

It’s not until the door to the bar closes that Tomura finally snaps back and releases a loud cry of pure rage before smashing the glass that Dabi had been drinking from against a wall and storming out of the room.

*****

Fuck.

Just like that, it became a fucking association.

It’s two days later and Tomura is sitting in front of his computer, quietly seething at this realization.

He scratches at his neck, growling. That bastard. That no-good, motherfucking bastard.

Tomura can’t even be around him now. When Dabi enters one room, Tomura swiftly and noisily exits. Sharing the same airspace with Dabi is already way too close of proximity now.

The smell, the stench, of the other man drives him up the wall. But it doesn’t drive him up the wall in a way that Tomura is okay with. Before, it disgusted him on a purely visceral level. Now it disgusts him for an entirely different reason. The smell of smoke and burning bodies wells up in his nose and his mind. His eyes drift shut as he fingers his earlobe, the sensation of Dabi’s teeth softly nipping at it still very fresh in his mind.

The thought of it brings an unfamiliar and unwelcome heat to his face and his neck and ears. His heart lubs out of rhythm in his chest. His cock twitches in his pants.

Tomura wants to kill the first person he sees. He really hopes the first person he sees is Dabi.

He scrolls past a news article; a random spectacle downtown with some small time villain and those damned Yuuei first years.

The smokey smell has not dissipated, and it’s really bothering him. Tomura remembers once, when All for One explained to him how powerful memories and associations based on smell can be, and if his master said it, obviously it must be true...

... but still.

His room smells like it’s on fucking fire now. And it's a problem, because, well... he doesn't hate that.

“Didn’t know you guys actually had WiFi in this dump.”

A pair of hands like burning coals smooth down the front of chest, slow and indolent, like a jungle cat stretching out for a nap. Dabi all but collapses onto him, chin resting on the crown of Tomura’s head as he wraps his arms around Tomura’s neck. Exactly the person he didn't want to see. He catches Dabi's reflection in the computer screen, it's one of very subtle amusement.

“Get the hell off of me.” He seethes, jerking around in Dabi’s unwelcome embrace. Dabi clucks his tongue, and another first since they’ve been forced to endure each other’s company: Dabi laughs.

“You’re avoiding me, Shigaraki.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Every time you see me, you run. Man, I didn’t think you’d spook so easy…” The amusement hanging in Dabi’s tone nearly sends Tomura into a rage. Somehow, miraculously, he fights the urge down by sitting on his fingers, making sure to keep his thumbs out so that the chair doesn’t disintegrate out from under him and make this already uncomfortable situation into an all out fiasco.

“I’m busy. Go away. Take the little crazy nymph with you and go patrol or something.”

Tomura can feel Dabi smile into his hair. The room suddenly feels twenty odd degrees hotter, and Tomura isn’t sure if it’s exclusively because Dabi’s body is resting solidly on his back. He can practically smell the heat coming off the other man in waves, and it makes his breathing hitch embarrassingly. He doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know that his whole face is pink, and in the privacy of his room, he doesn’t have his hand to shield his face from view. Or at least, what was the privacy of his room.

“She can function on her own, you know. Just because the old man brought us at the same time doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip.”

"All the same, I'd like you get the hell out of here."

"Ah, I see. You're you still sore about what I said the other day."

Tomura growls, fingers itching to grab Dabi by the face and watch him crumble. But before he can respond, Dabi keeps talking, still draped over him like they're married or something. What the fuck.

"The fact that you're still this upset about it basically proves that it's accurate."

"I'm going to murder you."

"You can try. And regardless of whether you succeed or not, you're still only proving me right by attacking me."

Tomura spins in his seat, nearly knocking Dabi over onto the floor. "Why the hell do you even care?" He snaps.

Dabi calmly turns him back around, and, to Tomura's annoyance, puts himself right back where he was before, namely leaning against Tomura. "I don't, really." He says simply, "I just get bored, sometimes. And... well,"

Rough lips brush the back of his neck. Tomura tenses at the sensation. “To be perfectly honest," Another kiss behind his ear. “You kinda seem like you need it.”

Tomura jolts when he feels a hand dip between his legs and cup his crotch. He hadn’t even noticed Dabi’s hand move; it’s kind of hard to notice anything presently but the way Dabi is wrapped around him, teeth grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, already tugging his half-hard cock out of his pants.

Frankly, Tomura has half a mind to elbow Dabi right in the face. But the thought fades the second Dabi’s palm squeezes over the head of his cock and he starts to pump it slowly. The crude staples running along Dabi’s palm make for a strange but pleasant sensation, one that Tomura quickly finds himself being unraveled by. Tomura swallows thickly, trying to fight down any noises that might escape him. Like hell he’d give Dabi the satisfaction. But the scent of the other man, like a smoldering ember, and the heat enveloping his body... it’s all Tomura can do not to come completely undone under Dabi’s ministrations.

He fears he might eventually grow fond of it, at this rate.

They’re cheek to cheek now as Dabi leans his head into the crook of Tomura’s neck to get a better a view. In the corner of his eye, Tomura catches Dabi’s teeth snag his scarred bottom lip, and the breathy little hiss of pleasure he lets out as he pumps his hand faster does not go unnoticed, either.

Dabi’s good at this. Way better than Tomura would’ve ever given him credit for, given their disastrous introduction and general disdain for one another. His hand moves with the confidence of experience; much different than Tomura’s clumsy attempts at masturbating himself when the urge arises, while simultaneously trying not to accidentally disintegrate himself cock first. In that respect, he’s secretly grateful that Dabi noticed his… needs. All five fingers are definitely integral to achieving the desired result, and it’s definitely better when someone else does it for you.

It’s not long before Dabi has him on a steady but slowly climbing gradient. Down the hall, he can hear Kurogiri talking with the girl with blood and the knives. They’re loud enough that they drown out Tomura’s broken gasps and moans that seem to echo in the small room.

Through it all, Dabi doesn’t say a word. Even when Tomura groans his name, coming in fast, heavy spurts into his hand and the computer desk, the other man is oddly silent. It’s not until Tomura is coming down from the high of his climax and is tucking himself back in that Dabi finally talks.

“You sound cute when you come.” He says casually, wiping his hand off.

"Shut up." Tomura mutters tersely as he stands on shaky legs. He grabs a hold of the desk for support. Dabi watches him, amused.

"You okay there?"

"Shut up." He repeats, but there's no real bite to it this time around. "...We should keep this between us."

"Naturally."

"I'll see you in there. We have plans to discuss."

"Fine. See ya." Dabi turns to leave, hands crammed in his shirt pockets. The scent of smoke and ash leaves with him, and the second he's gone Tomura already misses it.

[oh-ishouldnt]

The favorite - part 01

The favorite - part ½ | Jack Maynard | imagine

Word count: 2123

A/N: The name Kirstie is being used.

More imagines here | Requests are open! 

“I’m just going to take my wallet, Y/N.” Conor said to you. “It won’t take 5 minutes, I swear.”

“For your own good, Conor, I really hope you won’t take too long to come back” You warned, snorting as he opened his front door.

“Jack isn’t even at home, Y/N/N, you’ll be fine” Conor promised.

“Oh, yeah, he would be the first to leave the place, right?” You remembered, calming down instantly.

Conor nodded his head and you two entered the house together, finding the exact opposite from what Conor have said: Jack Maynard was on the sofa watching TV.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked seeing Jack’s head turn to you.

“This is my home, Y/N. I guess I live here?”

“No, is not.” You hit back. “You moved out.”

“Okay, guys, you work the things out, I just need to get my wallet.” Conor asked, he gave up of the whole Y/N vs. Jack a long time ago.

“Yeah, but my name is on the rent’s contract, so technically I still live here.“ Jack answered, ignoring his brother.

"That’s a waste of money, isn’t it?” You commented, crossing your arms and supporting your weight in one leg near by the door. Where were Conor? Gods, where the fricking wallet has gone? “But I guess it suits you… You’re a waste of human being, so…”

Jack was pissed off already. At first moment, he thought yoj would be a really nice girl, all his friends only said funny and interesting things about you, yet when he met you, you were a pain in the ass and continued to be since that.

“Shut up and get out of my house, Y/N.” Jack commanded.

“Sadly to you, this house also belongs to your brother, as you might forgotten, and he…”

“Is going to take his best friend out on her best night ever.” Conor completed your sentence before you and Jack started fighting for real and ended killing each other.

Conor took your arm and drag you to the front door as you almost froth of rage.

“You look beautiful in this tight red dress by the way, Y/N!” Jack yelled as you and Conor were leaving.

“I can’t say the same to you, Jack!” You yelled back.

You and Con started walking down the street to get some food somewhere before hitting the nightclub, both of you freezing in the night, especially you because, after all, you were using just a dress and a jacket.

“For God’s sake, Y/N, when you and my brother will start to get along?” Con asked and you almost feel bad for him.

“Well, the day he stop being an asshole will be a great day.”

Conor sighed, his life would be so much easier if you two just stopped being little kids who stole each others toys on the playground.

“I thought you guys could, somehow, stop acting like this through the time… I was wrong”

“Yes, you were.” You told, starting to get angry with Con, because by the way he sounded, it seemed you were the villain. Of course, Jack was his perfect little brother.

“I don’t get it.”

“What?”

“Why you and Jack hate each other.”

You automatically responded: “I don’t hate Jack.”

Conor looked at you and frowned.

“Oh, no! That little scene back home was a demonstration of love!”

You rolled your eyes, sometimes Conor’s sarcasm was just annoying.

“Fine.” You grumble. “I hate your little brother.”

“My little brother?” Conor laughed “His older than you.”

“Your little brother still.”

“I never called him little brother.” You raised an eyebrow for him. “Not for real!”

“Whatever, Conor.”

“Honestly, why do you hate Jack?”

It was your turn to laugh: “I’m surprised you don’t know this answer.”

Conor was genuinely confused.

“I should know?”

“You should guessed by now.” You shrugged. “But no one did it yet so you must be alright… Maybe I’m just not good at pointing my reasons for doing the stuff I do.”

“Yeah, you’re not.”

“Shut up, Maynard.” You said. “Let’s grab some food, I’m starving.”

Later that night:

You said to the taxi pull over, it seemed that this building was the one, so you paid the driver and jumped out of the car, receiving the English storm with a grouch.

Oh, Conor was a dead man! Dead man! If he wasn’t dead already, you would kill him! What the hell! This wasn’t what you signed for when you two became friends! And you definitely should revised the terms of this if he thought rescuing him was on your tasks.

The place was brand new. You didn’t know how the heck Conor ended up on an office building, and didn’t know how it was a fancy one, but at least you could congratulate him for that.

You smiled to the blonde receptionist and explained you forgot your laptop on the 32nd floor because that was only one floor away from Conor and it wouldn’t be so suspicious. You thought you must be really chilled and had a really nice face because the woman said you could go without hesitating and let you pass the ratchets. Maybe they should hire someone better, you clearly didn’t work there.

Your high heels echoed on the marble floor and it was really fine, because you never felt more powerful than that, thinking that you could get used to the sound of your shoes on a classy floor. That would be nice in a daily basis, wouldn’t it?

You pressed the elevator’s button and sent a text message to Conor, saying you were almost there to rescue him from his little rendezvous. You must be a really really cool friend to do such a thing.

You heard someone speak to the receptionist, it had a flirtatious tone… A specific flirtatious tone that made you close your eyes and groan. Why? Why, gods? Aren’t you a nice person? The receptionist didn’t even doubt you! You weren’t on dawn trying to save your friend across the city? Why then? Why?

You stared at your phone, seeing the keyboard and thinking the zillion words you could angrily type in and scream at Conor for being such an idiot. Maybe you could even leave him there! But it wouldn’t be a punishment, would it? Because obviously he had another one coming to get him and it meant you took the cab for nothing. You hated Conor even more than you hated his brother in that moment.

“Oh, fuck off.” You heard Jack’s voice grumble.

You raised your eyes from your phone and stared at the person who just got there.

“I’m not happy either, but I guess you can complain about that with your brother later, when I rescue him from this girl and cut him in hundreds of pieces after.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m the one who’s rescuing Conor.”

You rolled your eyes.

“First: Can you stop being such a child? How old are you, 7?” You asked and then continued: “Second: I got here first, so definitely I’m the one who’s on a mission.”

“Your mission is over.” He declared “You were with him and look what happened? I had to leave my date because you couldn’t take care of my moron brother.”

The elevator arrived and you entered in it, being followed by Jack.

“Don’t call Conor a moron, your dumbass. And get your own elevator, please. This one is taken.”

“Oh, who’s acting like a fricking kid now, wise old lady?” Jack asked, pressing the 33rd floor button. “At least, now I can understand why are you so boring.”

“Don’t press the 33rd button, stupid.” You said. “They will realize we are with your brother and the girl.”

“Who will realize that?”

“The owners of the building! We are invading, you know?”

“And, yeah, our bigger problem will be being associated with my brother and the girl who actually have access to this building if we get caught.” Jack rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, my brother said you were smart, Y/N.”

“Your brother says good things about you all the time to me too, but I think he’s blind.”

“You don’t tell me…”

All the sudden, the lights went off and the elevator made a huge noise before stopped.

“Fuck.” you cursed.

“It can’t be.” Jack complained.

“What the hell?” you started walking across the space, as if it would make some difference.

Jack, after panicking a little, said:

“Relax, baby, there’s a power generator in this kind of building”.

“Call me ‘baby’ again and I will be opening these doors with your teeth, Jack.” You warned. “And it’s the middle of the night in a weekend, we weren’t supposed to be in here, there’s no power generator for us, brainy.”

“Oh.” he realised you were right.

“Yeah, I know, genious.”

“But someone will take us out of here, Kirsten is just downstairs.”

“Who the hell is Kirsten?”

“The recepcionist, of course.”

“Oh, yeah, I supose I should know that.” You rolled your eyes.

“You spoke to her.”

“Yeah, I did, but I’m pretty sure you only know her name because she’s beautiful.”

“Are you jealous, Y/N?”

“Jealous? Oh, gods, someone should analize your mind, Jack, you are pretty damn sure of yourself in an abnormal way.”

“If you say so, honey.”

“I’m serious, Jack.” You angrily told.

“You only said about calling you ‘baby’, honey.”

You gave up, rolling your eyes with the feeling you would do a lot of it that night.

“Try to call Conor.” Jack said.

“Do you even have a brain?” You asked. “It’s an elevator, we don’t have signal.”

Jack lost his words:

“Some elevators do.”

“Right then, try to call your brother, your bloody idiot.”

And Jack actually tried, with no success.

“Dammit.”

“I said to you, dearie.” You stated with a smile bigger than the recommended.

“Shut up, Y/N. If I need to be with you for more than 10 minutes, it would be better if if you just don’t say anything.”

“Shut you up, Jack. You are the one to blame!”

“How the hell I am the problem in here?”

You opened your mouth to speak but a female voice came from the botton of the pit.

“Jack?”

“Kirstie!”

You rolled your eyes, the gods must be kidding with you because worst than being stuck with Jack Maynard was being saved by Jack Maynard’s new girlfriend.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah!”

“The pretty girl are there with you?”

You smiled, “pretty girl”? Okay, you might be okay with the Jack’s new thing.

“Yeah, Y/N is in here too.”

“I will send some help to you, guys!”

“Thank you!”  You both said as one, making faces of disgust for each other.

“Just wait a little and I’ll come back!” Kirstie said, leaving nothing but the silence behind her.

“So I’m the pretty girl, huh?” you teased Jack, calming down now that you two were going to leave that metal box.

“Again: shut up, Y/N.” He sat down on the elevator’s floor.

“Fine, I just find interesting you think I’m attractive.”

“Everybody thinks you are attractive.” Jack rolled his eyes, not really noticing what he told you.

“Everybody?” you were starting to find funny being stuck in there. “It’s really sad that it isn’t mutual.” Althought these were that got out of your mouth, you were bluffing. Since day 1 you thought Jack was handsome, but there wasn’t no way you would tell him that.

“Don’t make this a big deal, Y/N.” Jack argued, one thing was to compliment you to tease you, another thing was let a compliment slip out of his mouth. “And everybody knows you can’t resist me.”

“In your dreams, Maynard.”

“Guys!” Kirstie called and Jack jumped of the floor.

“Hi!” Jack shoulted back.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t get you out of there! Aparently, your names aren’t on the system, so the police is being called!”

“WHAT?” You and Jack screamed. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“I mean, I said it must be a mistake, but they can’t come here unless I make a complaint and I think you guys don’t want any trouble so…”

You stared Jack, the panic on your face was inevitable.

What are we going to do?  You asked without sounds.

I don’t know! Jack answered.

“Guys?”

Say something! You ordered.

“That’s fine, babe.” Jack told Kirstie at the end. “It won’t be more than a few minutes, me and Y/N can wait. Thanks, Kirstie!”

You sighned, letting yourself fall on the floor as your back slide down the wall, it would be a really long night.

Second part here

[azissuffering]

The Cure - A TOG/ACOTAR Cross - Part 1

THIS IS IT, DUDESSS. PLEASE please PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed. This is one thing that I actually have a lot of ideas for and I just want to know if this something you guys want or something I’m getting way too caught up in. *Eventual Feysand and Rowaelin and Moriel and Nessian and SUCK IT TAMLIN, I PROMISE*

Evangeline gripped Aelin's hand tightly as they walked towards the portal. It was huge, swirling and frothing with unchecked power, and a ripple of fear pushed through her. Aelin, with that remarkable sense of hers, seemed to notice and squeezed Evangeline's fingers.

"Don't worry," the Queen said in her soothing timbre. "I'm right here."

The knot of fear eased.

#

Aelin was pissed as hell.

Three days. Three fucking days since the war with Erawan and Maeve and the gods' drama and blablabla. They all needed to find hobbies that were less destructive than world domination. Feelings aside, the battle had gone much smoother than anyone had predicted. Turned out, Aelin had a hell of a lot more magic than everyone had originally thought. Enough to burn the world to a crisp. It had bubbled to the surface in a fit of anger (no surprise there, really), and she'd wiped out damn near half the continent. It was a good thing, Gavriel had said, they'd been standing on the other half.

Too bad, though, that Aelin's power decided to make a cameo at the end of the battle, after Maeve's armada had wiped out half of the Whitethorns' and blood slicked the once-green grass of the killing field. Too bad that it was after Evangeline had been stuck through by an arrow. It shouldn't have been a problem really; the blunt stone head wasn't sharp enough to get anywhere that would do real damage. But something strange had happened when they'd cut the shaft and pulled the head. The wound had not healed, not even when tended to by Rowan and Aelin both.

No one had known what to do when ebon decay began to creep up Evangeline's arm, replacing smooth, healthy flesh with rotting black. One sweat-soaked sleep later, and the rot had spread from the wound's mouth at the shoulder, all the way down to the bicep. Finally, after three days of pacing and yelling and running hands through hair, Rowan had pulled Aelin aside and mentioned a possible solution: a tale from when he was a boy, of another realm, one where Fae and human were separated by a wall of adamant and strange magics thrummed through the land.

Aelin, being Aelin, had ignored his warnings of danger and probable failure, and scoured the libraries endlessly. It had taken less than a day to find the book she was looking for: The Walking Dead. And there, at the bottom of a nameless page, written in swirling Wyrdmarks, was the key.

Prythian, the place was called. More specifically, Velaris. How to get there exactly, she was not sure. That was something to worry about after the whole "making-it-through-the-portal" thing.

As they edged towards to the portal, Evangeline so close she was near stepping on Aelin's feet, it took only a glance at the limp, coal-black arm for the rage to return. Damn Maeve's archers for having such rutting good aim. Damn her magic for not working. Damn whatever strange substance had been on that arrow. She struggled to hide the irritation she knew would only further worry the girl. This particular habit, Rowan liked to call "negative-ruminations."

She could almost hear his scolding voice...

You're doing it again, Aelin. Just breathe. And think about how irrational your line of thinking is.

"The rutting buzzard can go to hell," Aelin muttered.

The tightening grip around her hand made her aware that Evangeline was in fact still there.

"What did you say?" the girl asked.

"Um..." She struggled to find a suitably evasive answer. "Oh, look! A portal!" Aelin yanked suddenly on Evangeline's arm and stumbled, sending them hurtling forward into the blinding light.

#

She couldn't help but feel she was missing something.

The world was black, then stark-white. Vaguely, Aelin thought of the unadulterated white of the Stag's fur, of Terrasen, of peace... That was why she started when a plethora of blurred rainbow colors pierced the foamy calm. Consciousness brought about a pounding headache, and with it, the sound of voices.

"Should we shoot?"

A male.

A second said, "Not until the High Lord gets here."

"But our orders—"

"Were to wait for the High Lord's command," the second interrupted harshly.

If Aelin hadn't felt as drunk as that one night as Dorian's, she might've told the bossy male just where he could shove his attitude. Blinking rapidly, she groaned and ran a hand through her snarled locks of hair and frowned at the dirt that smeared across her palm.

And no bathtubs in sight.

"She's awake, sir!" the first male said, voice pitched high.

"I can see that, moron." Dripping sarcasm.

A jolt went through her as she realized what her initial unease had been caused by. "Evangeline," she murmured under her breath.

"She's speaking!" The voice had far surpassed the bar of "male tenor," and Aelin thought perhaps he would've made an impressive opera soprano in another life.

"Yes, I can see that as well—"

Patience worn thin, Aelin glanced up sharply, pushed into a seated position, and said irritably, "Would you two shut up?"

They did so, promptly. But it didn't matter much, as the swell of gathered soldiers were parting around the hulking shape of a man in gleaming armor.

Fae, she corrected herself as his face came into view. Delicately pointed ears, a mane of golden hair framing a sharp jaw and emerald eyes.

Aelin found herself nodding vaguely as he assessed her in much the same way. "Not bad," she said. "Not bad at all." A tilt of the head as she squinted. "Though, you could do to lose a few inches on the hair. It makes your nose look wider than it actually is."

The Fae blinked. His lips tightened, but he took no notice of her comment.

She didn't like that.

"I am Tamlin," he said in a honey-dripping timbre. "The High Lord. And you are trespassing on my territory."

Don't trust him.

The voice was fleeting, a brush against her ear, and she kept her face blank even as wary surprise curled in her breast. Instead, she gave him a sweet smile, refusing to give in, to even stand up in front of the brute. "Oh, really?" she asked. "And just what is this territory?"

He straightened, and it reminded her of a bird puffing its plumage during courtship. "The Spring Court," he said proudly.

"Spring?" Aelin snorted. "That's not very original, is it? I mean, you might as well name your sword Wind-cleaver, or something equally as stupid."

Tamlin spluttered. "I am High Lord—"

He has the one you seek.

"Of the Spring Court, I know." She waved a hand in front of her face. "Now," finally she stood, "If you'll excuse me, I do have somewhere else I need to be."

I'll be waiting, the tendril of dark touched her consciousness again. I will protect her.

You'd better, Aelin growled back, even though she was positive the thought fell on empty ears.

It took much longer than she'd anticipated for Tamlin to come to his senses. Longer still for his sentries to process his command to "Seize her!"

Aelin took specific delight in fleeing a mob set on killing her, and only her. There was something so much more invigorating as opposed to other kinds of mobs. Perhaps it was the fact that she was the lone target, that she had to keep an eye over her shoulder for stray arrows, or maybe it was that the surprise on their faces was so much more pronounced when they were beaten.

With a wild grin, Aelin pivoted on her booted heel and let out a shrill laugh. The frontal line of men skidded confusedly at her abrupt halt, then seemed to come to the unanimous conclusion that they were fighting an idiot, and there was no reason to question good luck. As they approached, her grin only broadened, and some had the good sense to look nervous.

Her magic burst forth in a furious explosion. Fire licked at the edges of open forest, and a wall of solid flame hurtled towards the oncoming traffic. They didn't have time to scream before her crackling power met their flesh, scorching bone and peeling skin. She was in Fae form suddenly, sprinting back the way she'd come, through the chaotic rows of shrieking males and past a blur of golden hair and tanned skin.

"Get her!" Tamlin boomed, but Aelin only smiled wider.

#

Somewhere deep in the forest—that is, deeper in the forest—an ashen-haired Fae male rested his aching everything in the safety of a tree. It had certainly been a pain to climb to even the lowest branch, what with his aching everything. The male ran a hand through his hair, scanned the horizon with onyx eyes.

The jump to another world had been terribly painful, near fatal if his battered body was anything to judge by. Deep fatigue had settled in his bones, but he fought it desperately. Danger could be anywhere, and though his arms were limp, his heart sputtering to keep up with the amount of energy drawn—

Fenrys grunted as he leapt from the tree.

His Queen needed him.