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withoutalice · 11 months

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oops! all food!

Rating: M

Warnings: disordered eating, binge eating, mental health struggles

Word count: 3,600

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Fortress Maximus could only stare directly as the bright, phosphorescent light from the Lost Light’s halls poured into his habisuite, cascading over him exposingly. Dust stood still in the air, illuminated sacredly in the dark kitchen.

“Maxie? What’s happened to you?”

(Full story under the cut)

A/N:

Hehe~ oops! All food p*^n!

TW: Binge eating and talk of disordered eating guilt

Good luck!

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Fortress Maximus crashed into his berth. This had to be one of his longest days on the Lost Light. Early this morning, he went to get a checkup at Ratchet’s to ensure he was recovering from his coma properly. After that, he had his appointment with Rung, which took up the rest of the morning and a bit of the afternoon. For some reason on the way back to his habisuite he was dragged off to Swerve’s to get the “friends check-up” so he wouldn’t lose it, or something. Well he wanted to use their inner energon to paint the ship the whole time. He abruptly had said goodbye to the table before he did something he regretted and trudged to his room, exhausted.

Now he lay face down, venting heavily but evenly. He was so tired and-

He heard his tanks groan.

Fort Max punched the wall next to him and sat up. He needed fuel. He hadn’t had anything all day except for a mint in between Rung’s and Swerve’s. He leaned against the backboard of his berth and pulled his private datapad from under his pillow. His bleary eyes squinted at the several applications he could choose from. It was only 6pm, it definitely was dinner time. He decided to start with a standard personal pizza. He put in his order and closed his eyes, waiting for the knock on his habisuite door.

He still startled when he heard the rap at the door fifteen minutes later. Still in a sleepy state, he dragged over to the door with a handful of shanix for a tip. Then he stepped back to his bed, settling in with his dinner and turning on a program to watch. His servos were large enough for the whole pizza to fit easily, so he began to bite away at the steaming hot pizza. With each bite the cheese stretched in gooey strings from his denta that was then quickly swiped up with his glossa. Steam rose from each separated piece of pizza and swirled past his optics. Fortress sighed satisfied and relaxed more with each large bite. Before long, the personal pizza was gone and Fort Max left to wash the grease off his hands in the kitchen sink.

He went to go sit down and continue his program. He gnawed on the ends of his servos for a few minutes before he finally conceded to his tanks protesting. He clicked off the program and put on some music instead. Max reached over to grab his datapad off the nightstand for the second time. It was okay right? He should have a little extra because he had eaten nothing all day. It was totally justifiable. He realized as he looked down at his apps that he didn’t know what he wanted to eat specifically. Well, he had a few ideas, but he couldn’t possibly order more than a couple items? He offlined his optics.

After a moment and another yowl from his tanks, he decided it was fine. I mean, have I ever done something like this? It can’t hurt every one in a while… He opened up a different app this time. Can’t have the same place again…what if they think I regularly eat more than one bot should? Shame burned in his cheeks at the thought. Max placed his order and waited again, eyes fixed on his habisuite door. Fifteen minutes passed, and his order hadn’t arrived. To stave off the hunger he got a glass of low grade energon, then a second one, then half of third before his tanks sloshed uncomfortably with the weight of the smooth liquid. His tanks still clenched painfully like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

His optics bored into the door, and when that long awaited knock sounded he couldn’t hide his desperation as he stepped to the door and opened it jerkily. Fort Max shoved the heavy tip of shanix into the delivery bot’s servo through the slightly open door. He was trying to hide from guilt that he didn’t know the origin of. Carefully he put down a towel on his bed and set out the food. Set in front of him were two large bowls of macaroni and cheese, a plate of mozzarella sticks, a basket of fries, fried chicken, a caesar salad, and a 2-liter bottle of carbonated sweet energon. This could feed six bots, or a larger family unit of bots easily…he reflected to himself. He didn’t want to dwell on that. He wanted to ease the clenching of his tank.

Fort Max practically inhaled the fries first, not really savoring the taste or texture; he ate them without any of the provided sauces. The salt dried out his glossa shockingly fast so he washed it down with long gulps of the sweetened fizzy energon. Tanks feeling a little more satiated, he mulled over what to eat next. He decided on the macaroni and cheese. He popped open the lid of the plastic to-go container and sighed open-mouthed at the smell. He dug in with the plastic spoon. The macaroni and cheese squelched with each stirring motion. The cheese sauce was so thick it was hard to remove the spoon when he was ready to eat. Maximus then carefully put a spoonful into his mouth. The sauce coated the inside of his mouth intimately and his denta stuck together while he chewed. He vented shallowly through his nose. He nearly missed the next bite. His spoon was going faster than his mouth, and some of the food dribbled onto his chest plating. Fort Max quickly swiped it up with a napkin but cleaned his lips with his glossa. He wolfed down the last few bites of the dish and set it aside.

He then started on the mozzarella sticks. He broke the first one apart with his hands and watched the steam rise. After he ate that first one, he realized he forgot the marinara sauce so he cracked that open too. Max tried to savor them. He was still disappointed they gave him so few…

Fortress was starting to feel weighed down by the grease so he took a break by eating his caesar salad. He had no urgency, as his tanks finally were above the empty level but not completely full yet. He took the first couple bites, cringing at the unpleasant dryness of the salad even with the dressing. But he knew it was healthy so he continued through, eyeing the bucket of fried chicken strips. The music in his habisuite droned on in the background. He picked the last few lettuce pieces out of the salad that his fork couldn’t get and swallowed them quickly, tossing the container into the can next to him. Fortress took a few more sips of fizzy energon before starting on the salt-heavy fried pieces.

It was unfortunate that the chicken was room temperature at that point, but the taste was still amazing. He went through two or three little to-go containers of BBQ sauce, ranch, and ketchup each. He was feeling a little overwhelmed by the delicious taste, but half of the bucket remained and he was out of sauce. His eyes wandered up to the second container of macaroni and cheese that was left. He had to reach far to grab the last container, feeling his nearly topped off tank put pressure on his insides, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable yet. He was able to finish off both containers by using the rest of the chicken strips to scoop up the macaroni. The explosion of flavors and the comfort of the cheese and protein in his tank felt like it was warming his spark. His HUD popped up a suggestion to recharge, but Fortress Maximus didn’t feel like going to recharge just yet. He turned on the TV again to catch up on the news for the day finally.

```

Fortress Maximus fell asleep with the TV still on.

```

He woke up with condensation from his frame pooling underneath him. He panted and swiped a servo on his forehelm. It came away wet. Even worse, his tank was rumbling again, even after his larger dinner. Checking the time, he saw it was a couple hours past the night mid-cycle. The Point-One-Percenter got up, went to the kitchen again, and poured something to drink. His frame felt like it hadn’t eaten in vorns, his processor acted like it was starved of nutrients. I should get that checked out by First Aid or Ratchet tomorrow… He thought to himself. He was so mad and ashamed and confused about what had transpired in the last 24 hours. He forgot two simple meals and now his frame was breaking down like a malnourished illegal miner mech.

He couldn’t help his survival coding. He grabbed an emergency ration stick from his day kit for emergencies and sat on his habisuite floor with his datapad. Maximus barely registered the total of his purchase. Hopefully no one would question the charge. After punching in his delivery information with shaking servos, he curled up in the fetal position on the floor of his kitchen. His processor was woozy and his optics swam in exhaustion. His whole frame shook and he felt like his internals were digesting each other to get any scraps that had semblance with nutrients. Tears leaked out of his optics at the pain.

Honestly, Fortress Maximus was scared.

The delivery mech, as per his directions, knocked and left the food at the door. Fortress laughed in relief. He pulled himself off the floor and pulled the food inside.

He didn’t even make it to the table in his suite. He ripped open the first of the many paper bags with his order in it. It was a large extra pepperoni pizza. He reached into the bag again, finding the extra ranch sides he requested with the order. He ripped open several packs with his denta and squirted them all over the pizza. He frantically used his servos to spread it onto multiple slices before grabbing two slices and shoving them into his mouth. He wasn’t even tasting the food as he chewed and swallowed as fast as he could. He grabbed another fistful of pizza and opened his jaw as wide as possible to stuff as much of the food he could into his mouth. He sniffled and swiped up more ranch to put on the pizza. He felt as if he couldn’t eat fast enough. He ate two, three, four pieces at a time until the whole family sized pizza was gone.

He moaned and lay face down on the floor. His body shivered as it struggled to digest the large meal he ate. He ate too fast but that wasn’t enough to stop him from grabbing the next bag full of party size chip bags, bread and mayonnaise. He took out the toast pieces and slathered them in mayo, crushing chips in between and making a ‘sandwich’. The soft, soggy bread contrasted with the crunch of the chips and the mayo stuck to his glossa heavily. Some of the mayo oozed out of the bread and covered his servos. Without a second thought he shoved each finger into his mouth and licked his palms clean. What he couldn't clean off with his glossa he simply wiped onto his own thighs, leaving a sticky, greasy mess in its wake. All the while, his processor screamed at him to stop, to take control of himself. But his body refused to listen, determined to gorge itself in desperation. Maximus knew he was self-destructing.

Next was the pastries. Oh mmph…pastries… The tray of cinnamon rolls with the glistening, viscous sugar slathered on them was almost erotic in a way. He felt perverted just looking at them. He curiously stuck a singular servo into the center of one, and it made a slick shck! noise when he pulled it out to lick it clean. He tenderly raised the one with the fingered hole in it up to his face.

He took a bite. Immediately he received that dopamine shot from the sugar, sobbing with relief. He was already envisioning the next cinnamon roll he would consume. As he finished off the final pastry, the feeling of guilt began to set in. But it was too late. He had already fallen off the wagon.

Maximus reached for another unknown pastry box. He flopped back to lean against the kitchen wall, spreading his legs wide to make room for his overfilled tank with the box of donuts in his lap. He opened the box, smelling the copious amounts of sugar, smelling the signature fried butterfly dough. Max heard a muffled Ping! from his lower panels. He felt his belly strain against his armor and rub against internal nodal wiring unnaturally but pleasurably. Just at the smell and his cooling fans clicked on, blasting at their highest speed. Even though he was uncomfortably stuffed, Fort Max began to polish off the donuts.

He had an eating ritual for all 12 donuts. He would nibble the edge a little, then stick his glossa through the center hole, eating it without the help of his hands from there. He slurped up the sticky maple, chocolate, strawberry, and frosting cream off of his servos and chin lazily. He was slowing down. He was getting tired, but his frame was still raging for fuel. Fort Max looked at the empty boxes around him. He still had more in his order. He had to continue.

He whimpered and strained to reach the next box. He went through a loaf of garlic bread, chocolate bars, sugary cereal, cheesecake, popcorn, hot wings, triple chocolate cookies, cheese burgers with fries, ice cream and-

His frame stopped.

Max's processor returned to him and finally all his emotions bubbled to the surface. At first, tears silently leaked out of his optics as he looked around his habisuite's kitchen. He hardly remembered eating all of that but, checking the time, he realized it was possible that this was his doing. He had to have been eating for three hours straight. At least the early rising bots were already walking around the ship. The pain from Fortresses' stomach registered next, he couldn't get up and was bloated beyond belief. He tenderly held his stomach with shaky servos, slouching back farther against the wall nearly lying on the floor, and rubbing slightly to ease the stiff pain.

At first it was a sniffle, then a short cut-off sob, a weak cry, before he was completely wailing at his predicament and anguish. He let go of his bloated belly to cover his face with his servos, laying on his side in the middle of all the food scraps and wrappers and other trash on the floor. His frame shook and armor jiggled as he cried. It was a complete nightmare. He felt angry. Sad. Pointless. Disgusted, guilty, shameful and everything in between. He had never experienced such self hatred towards himself. He'd never felt so…ugly. Max hiccuped. Beating one fisted servo against the floor, and biting the other, he screamed in torment.

Why does this always happen to me!?

What is even the point?!

Fortress Maximus felt his tanks clench in being over-full this time. He continued crying like a lost child as he sat up again, looking around the habisuite hopelessly.

No one can know…

But why was he so anxious about being caught? It was just fuel, wasn’t it? After his day off his bloating would be mostly gone and messes could always be cleaned. It’s not like he broke any rules of the ship…

Everyone makes mistakes everyone makes-

The door handle turned with a click!

“Maxie? What’s happened to you?”

He recognized that silhouette anywhere. First Aid was standing in his doorway, and when Max’s optics adjusted to the searing light, he could see the terror upon the medic’s face. The tension was thick and charged with grief, confusion, disgust, concern, indifference…

Embarrassingly, the Point-One-Percenter tried in vain to stand up without the use of his servos and arms, to prove he was still capable. He failed.

“I-it’s not what you think!” He wailed.

The medic just shook his helm.

“I just don’t know what to do, Max.” First said grimly.

“Please! I can fix this!” The panicking bot uselessly swiped away wrappers, only uncovering more crumbs and trash piled on the floor.

“You need help, Fortress. This is…horrific!” First Aid gestured wildly at the state of the habisuite. The medic stepped in and grabbed receipts off the dining table. As he read the numbers of the cost of each order, his optics widened.

Maximus, overwhelmed with sadness and shame, drops his head to the floor. First Aid just stands there, his EM field tightly restricted, his arms folded in disappointment as he watches the sad spectacle unfold.

"First Aid...I...I...I just don't know what went wrong," He sobs. "This isn't me...you know that!"

First Aid's voice dropped to an alarming whisper. Maximus had never seen such anger in First Aid's optics before.

"You ate everything... again? I've heard this so many times."

Max's voice grew desperate.

“Please, don't tell anyone!”

“Fortress Maximus, you are beyond help,” First Aid said, his tone stony. “Get it together, frag it all! You can't just eat everything in sight every time you feel emotions.”

The large mech whimpered.

"I... I know... I thought I was doing better..."

“For frag’s sake Fortress!? It’s been nearly a year of therapy; it’s been two years since you were rescued from Garrus 9.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think…”

Fortress Maximus felt betrayed.

First Aid took a step inside and surveyed the mess. His optics scanned over everything, and then his scanners caught a glimpse of the discarded boxes scattered around the room. Max, still on the floor, tried to cover himself up with his servos. He was ashamed, but he knew his efforts were useless.

"I can explain," he tried. "Please believe me-"

The medic's hand clenched the receipts tightly, shaking as the point-one-percenter's heart rate began to accelerate. The medic looked up from the receipts, and their optics met. Maximus' optics widened, knowing the time had come. His optics lowered to his chest panel in a silent, defeated sigh as he realized there was simply nothing he could do to hide the evidence. The damage had been done.

"I know, I know! It's just... I can't stop. Everything I taste is amazing at the time, but after..."

Maximus trailed off as First Aid began reading the total cost of his multiple orders. He was speechless. It was an inconceivable amount of shanix. Maximus just watched in anguish as the medic picked up each receipt and added up the total. He wanted to cry again.

"Just a rough patch, First! I'm in perfect control!" Fortress Maximus waved away the medic's concerns even as he took rapid shallow breaths, gasping and panting in front of him. The medic could see deep stains in the Point-One-Percenter's armor that suggested this binge-eating episode was not the first.

Fortress Maximus froze at First Aid's words, a cold realization settling on him like a blanket. He was utterly helpless to control himself, and he knew it. How many times would he repeat this same cycle before he lost everything? Maximus knew in his spark that he had hit a rock bottom, but how would he ever climb out? The Point-One-Percenter felt First Aid's judging gaze pierce the deepest part of his spark, and he had no response.

"But I'm doing better! I am. The binges aren't as bad as they were, at least not physically. I just... I need to keep myself entertained, distracted. If not, I get bored. Then I get depressed. Then I eat until I've become this... this embarrassment." The sad bot looked up at First Aid, his optics pleading for understanding.

"But it's all I have, Aid.”

First Aid shook his head one last time in disgust, opened a comm to Rung, spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him, locking Max in his habisuite with his mess. He was alone to wallow in his shame and the evidence of his binge-eating. Maximus was at a loss for words as he heard First Aid walk away. He felt so helpless, a feeling he wished he’d never have to know again. He stared around his habisuite for a moment, breathing deeply to try and calm himself down.

He knew what he had to do next, but he couldn't summon the strength to leave the mess he had made. Eventually, he closed his optics and laid motionless on the floor.

~~~~~~~~

A/N

First off, I’m sorry I wrote this. Uhhh points for creativity? Eheh >.<

Thanks for reading though! Just remember, that even though I write about heavy topics doesn’t mean I'm struggling. ;)

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attallahmusic · 2 years

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Her Loss

A commentary on Drake and 21 Savage’s new album and how Drake went from being a hopeless romantic to just a hopeless loser.

This Friday Drake and 21 Savage released their collaborative album Her Loss which features 16 songs, 4 of them solely by Drake making it feel less like a collaboration and more like a Drake album with 21 Savage features. This project differs from Drake’s previous release of this year, Honestly, Nevermind in so far that it takes less inspiration from house and returns to the sound we usually correlate to Drake and 21 Savage as artists. This is completely and totally a rap-album. In this album Drake refers to multiple of his contemporaries, some by name such as the artist Bad Bunny, but also through words like bitch such as for Megan Thee Stallion. Drake has the following to say about Tina Snow on his song Circo Loco

This bitch lie about getting shots, but she still a stallion

This is in reference to Megan Thee Stallion getting shot in the foot, alledgedly by Tory Lanez who is awaiting trail for the 28th of this month.

And without knowing the verdict of the trial, this opens up to the question: why is Drake and so many men ready to call Megan a liar? As more attention have been brought onto assault, typically sexual assault, caused by men victimizing women in the last decade or so, we’ve also been audience to women being discredited, treated as untrustworthy, and deceitful. This view of women is deeprooted in our society and what Drake exemplifies is a systemic disbelief in women. Treating women as untrustworthy is a tool of our opression. It erases women’s voices, authority and power.

It’s the grease that makes the entire system go. Women’s erasure is an essential part of the deal powerful men have always made with the men they would have power over: let me have control over you, and in turn I will ensure you can control women.

Drake used to make music with Black women in mind, he made songs with the intend to empower and uplift women such as Fancy, Take Care and Madonna these are songs that celebrate independent women, who pursue their own education, have their own career goals and lifes. But in reality, this is not the woman Drake wants. After professing his love for Rihanna at a speech in 2016, he then made a song with her abuser Chris Brown, who mind you, almost killed her. Drake was also at the receiving end of a lot of controversy, when it was releaved that he was texting the then 14 year old Millie Bobby Brown about her love-life, a weird situation to be at more than twice her age. This is not the first time Drake has publically been romantically involved with a teenager as a video resurfaced of him kissing a 17 year old at one of his concerts, as well as him dating an 18 year old model, at the age of 31. Drake does not care about women, he cares about what they can do for him, but he does not see them as equal nor care for their independence as his previous songs would have you believe. In his actions he is clearly using the power imbalance between women and men, which is even more stark within the rap-community, to his advantage. By calling Megan a liar, he is aligning himself with a growing number of young men, incels and the likes, who band around a community of hatred for women. These are the followers of Andrew Tate, Jordan Peterson and Joe Rogan. These are men who truly and deeply believe that women are deceitful, and that it is more likely that they are lying about assault than that the assault actually happened. All of this, he does while also saying the following on the song Spin Bout U on the new album.

Damn, just turned on the news and seen that men who never got pussy in school

Are makin' laws about what women can do

I gotta protect ya

He is obviously trying to continue to pander to women, but the one we need protection from is him. By discrediting Megan Thee Stallion, who would have absolutely no reason to lie, Drake is upholding the patiarchy and why? It’s simple, it’s because he benefits from it.

Because the existing power structure is built on female subjugation, female credibility is inherently dangerous to it. Patriarchy is called that for a reason: men really do benefit from it. When we take seriously women’s experiences of sexual violence and humiliation, men will be forced to lose a kind of freedom they often don’t even know they enjoy: the freedom to use women’s bodies to shore up their egos, convince themselves they are powerful and in control, or whatever other uses they see fit.

Not only does Drake benefit from weakening women in his field of work, now that we see such strong talent and competition, he is protecting himself should his romantic-track record give any indications as to what he might do, as well as protecting his male counterparts in the industry. He is protecting himself not any women even if he does say, “I gotta protect ya” he does not even have the common decency to respect us.

Quotes throughout this article are from

Deadly Silence: what happens when we don’t believe women

#Drake #21 savage #Her loss #album #music #rap #article #feminism #the guardian #politics #sociology #hip hop #new music #music commentary #believe women #21 #Tina snow #megan thee stallion

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txtaetertots · 1 year

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hellooo all~

i've been feeling kinda icky since last night and i don't feel comfortable updating my au just yet until i address this myself. i hope you don't mind.. and also anyone who didn't know about this i hope you don't get turned off from my aus over this 😭

i've already sent fairybinie a dm about it but i feel like i owe it to their followers to address it to them personally as well because i'm aware they're keeping tabs on me and my smau. i had a feeling that ask i received about my inspiration was a little weird bc people don't normally ask that especially in that manner. thought i was just overthinking it and just brushed it off. but it got the best of me and after some digging i found kdt as well as the asks and comments on fairybinie's blog about me and my smau.

i understand their followers believe my au is plagiarizing fairybinie's au kiss don't tell. and i can totally see how you could assume that given that our synopses are practically identical aside from a few key plot points. same general idea though with the whole hs drama club aspect. and i can assure you that i did not intentionally steal fairybinie's idea. i promise you this was entirely my original idea. it's just a really crazy coincidence i guess.

this idea has been in my drive since 2021. the original idea was slightly different to what i have now but it's still the same main concept. that was last modified a year ago in may 2022. here's a screenshot of the doc details as well as the general idea i had for the fic!

then, january 2023, i revisted the document and drafted the current version in my notes app. i was going to post in january but i was very busy with school so i decided to postpone it until summer when i could ensure i had more time. which is also why a majority of my character profiles list their creation date as january 2023 since.. that's when i created them.. :')

i don't prefer to seek inspiration from reading other people's works (but now i'm thinking i should at least review some when i do get an idea so i can avoid this again bc wow big oof on my end). i usually get it from consuming big media like tv, films, music, etc. which is how i got this idea. i watched movies like hairspray and grease which influenced how the current version of my au came to be.

again. i'm truly so sorry that i've caused so many of you to worry. that was never my intention and i'm sorry it appeared to be that way. and i don't blame any of you for reacting and moving the way you did! it was totally valid and fairybinie is very lucky to have people who care so deeply about their work and efforts. but i hope you accept my explanation and apology or at least understand where im coming from and believe me.

hopefully this doesn't deter anyone from giving my works a chance or continuing to read hopelessly devoted tho.. i was really looking forward to sharing my ideas with you guys but i feel like my name has already been tainted without having a proper chance to even create a name for myself yet 💀 sorrows sorrows

i will be updating my au again soon. had a bit of writers block bc i just could not get this issue out of my head. it felt wrong trying to update and ignore the issue when i know there are people watching me like a hawk with negative connotations. pls don't be mad.. 🥲

((if you don't want to continue reading hopelessly devoted tho i totally understand i mean this isn't the greatest image i've got going on right now but thank you at least for giving me a chance!))

#i feel like a rookie idol getting a scandal on the first day of the job omg #pls don't be mad at me for trying to defend myself and save my name 🥲#pls forgive me this was so long i have anxiety and this was making me sweat pleek

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agalnamedlunasea · 2 years

Note

If you're still doing the character ask meme thing

Ibuki and/or Nagito

Hi friend id be happy to talk more lol

Imma do both bc why not

Ibuki first ummm

Fave thing about her is I LOVE her energy. She's so happy and cheerful and honestly emotionally intelligent and confident in herself, and I love that

No least fave thing I think... I like everything about her... I don't have her album that's my least favorite thing

Favorite line

I really fucking love this line, its so great. I adore. Either this one or the one where she calls hajime a cunt lol

Brotp NAGITO IBUKI BESTIES FOREVER like actually fr. They’d be such powerful besties, I think ibuki would be a good, understanding friend to him, and kind but insistent enough to break through his walls. Also kazuichi, theyd be so powerful, she could help him de-grease his personality, he could totally roll with her music

Otp: im a BIG fan of ibuki x women lol. I don't really have any particular ships for her over any others. I like basically every ship with her and any of the other girls... I also think her and imposter is cute. If I had to pick one probably bandaid? She'd be good w mikan

Notp: I mean again, I like most of her ships, I don't really strongly dislike any ships with her... I guess her and hajime? They'd be funky friends, but I don't think I could see them romantically

Random hc: pretty basic but oh god that girl is adhd as fuck. Also I think it'd be funny if she could handle alcohol really well, like she somehow takes significantly more drinks than any of her friends to get drunk. She'd be a good drunk people babysitter I think

Unpopular opinion... I don't know actually. I feel like ibuki is a pretty well loved character, not much to disagree with

Song I associate with her... am I boring if I say I Squeezed Out the Baby Yet I Have No Idea Who the Father Is by Masuna.

Fave picture is probably the sprite above. She so silly...

NAGITO TIME OH BOY

Favorite thing is honestly probably how internally consistent his ideology is and how deeply that effects him. He is incredibly straightforward and consistent actually, people just miss it bc his values and the lengths he'll go to for them are SO different from other people's. Its so heavily shaped by his unique life experience due to his luck, and it informs so much of his personality.. he's such a unique character that can really only come from danganronpa and I think thats super cool

Least fave thing... idk, he's really infuriating honestly, but in such an interesting way that I can't really hate it. Idk I guess the self-deprication gets tiring

Favorite line: I have too many favorites.. this one is funny though

Brotp: obviously ibuki, as already stated, but tbh i think in a post game/non dispair setting i think he should be friends with all the girls in his class actually. Especially ibuki, Sonia, and hiyoko, they'd all be besties w him i think

Otp y'all already know, komahina my beloved

Notp again y'all already know, anything besides komahina. Especially with women, Especially komanami... I do not enjoy

Random hc: I think post game his sleep schedule is completely out of wack. Bouncing between sleeping too much and not enough, nightmares, constantly exhausted. It takes a while to get back to a relatively healthy place with sleep... the nightmares stick around though

Unpopular opinion... um. My brain is broken, the only one I can think of rn I don't really want to share, so skip

Song: zettai kibou birthday ummm besides the obvious one probably first love/late spring by mitski... kind of a basic choice, but fitting i think

Fave picture

Really I like. Almost every picture of him... so take the first cg of him i could find in my phone

#i feel extra bad for taking so long with anons oops #enjoy??#danganronpa #nagito komaeda #ibuki mioda #al answers asks

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resident-of-storybrooke · 2 years

Note

It is I! Your secret santa! I'm excited about this whole thing and the story I get to write for you! To start things off as I open up my book of ideas...what is something you absolutely do NOT like in fics? I'd also like to know what song you would play while stuck in traffic to keep yourself calm. Hope your doing wonderful wherever you find yourself in this moment! ❤️❤️❤️

SANTA!!!!!! It's so lovely to meet you!!

I'm pretty open and love a lot of different types of stories. My main two icks I'd say are SQ or SwanFire, I'd prefer that we don't have any of those romantic vibes in the story. Totally cool if they are friends, but I just don't ship them. But yeah other than that...I don't mind s7, I love all the tropes, viva la CS.

Ohhhh I'm a big music person so this is tough. I usually will put on a performance in my car if I'm stuck. Ranges anywhere from Grease (there are worse things I could do/hopelessly devoted) to Paramore to literally anything. What about you??

Can't wait to get to know you. Santa! I will tag all of my posts as CSSS22 so you can find it on my page!

#csss22

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rosicheeks · 2 years

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Changed the background for you and that’s a great one! We could do that or light my candle!

#thank you! i appreciate it lovely 🥰#oooOoOoOoo #i do like light my candle #when I was in my last relationship I always sang that line to my ex when I needed a lighter for a candle or bong or something lol #i also sing ‘I got chills they’re multiplying’ whenever I get chills #even if I whisper it #i know that’s grease and a totally different musical #but I didn’t realize I did that for other things too #i wonder if I randomly sing other lyrics from musicals without realizing it #anywayyyyy #from what I remember that scene is super cute too #gahhhhhh #i want to be in a musical #and meet random people and start singing with them and become best friends for life like wtf #ok I still need to shower lol #my roommate was talking to me #but I queued all my songs and I’m going to have an epic shower #i got this 💪#hahahaha #ask

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

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could u please do like a harry x youtuber/influencer!reader and like lots of fluff🥺

Hi bubbie! Here you go :)))

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language

Harry was panicking. His mum and sister were going to be here in less than two hours and he’s burnt the eggplant parmigiana he had worked tediously on.

He grabbed what he had left in his fridge - ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and a little bit of bacon.

It was the type of foods he usually strayed away from so sometimes when his shopper would bring this stuff home - he’d avoid it and admittedly sometimes it would go bad sitting in the fridge.

The singer pulls up YouTube onto his phone - hoping something would come up when he typed in the ingredients on the search bar.

He clicks on the first video by cookingwithnofucks. A chuckle at the name as an advertisement plays.

A cute, bubbly girl appears on screen in a beautiful modern kitchen. She has a shirt on that says ‘fuck the patriarchy and eat pizza’. A high ponytail and minimal makeup.

“Okay - today we’re making a cheeseburger casserole,” the girl chirps, “It’s a heart attack in a dish but it’s so fucking good.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he crinkles his nose - it sounds absolutely disgusting but he’s intrigued more by the girl on the screen.

“Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. Hiii, if you’re new - I’m Y/N and I do cooking shit. Subscribe to my channel and all that jazz,” she titters while cutting open her beef package.

Harry follows along step-by-step, shaking his head as she doesn’t describe the instructions nearly well enough and is generally all over the place.

It’s a fucking cooking channel and at one point the meat starts burning. She just laughs and says, “s’just a little crispy!”

The casserole turns out looking even better than Y/N’s to be honest. It’s done in just the right amount of time for him to shower before his family arrives.

He makes sure to subscribe to her channel - eyebrows raising when he sees that she has 16 million subscribers.

Harry wanted to spend longer, looking at her social media but there was a fixed time so he locked his phone and went to get ready.

Anne - always the sweetheart just tells Harry that the casserole is delicious even as a bit of grease runs down her fork from the fatty meats.

Gemma wasn’t as kind, grimacing at the casserole and remarking, “You truly are turning into an American, huh?”

Laying in bed that night, Harry swipes back onto YouTube. Going back to the page he just subscribed to - under a pseudonym. He clicks on another video.

“Uh, okay. So I’m cooking...fuck, it’s called unicorn bark. It looks like a magical animal puke but it looks delicious so we’re going to try it.”

Harry realizes he’s been watching this girl cook for nearly an hour. Different videos from desserts to dinners.

She curses like a sailor, fucks up almost every recipe, and makes a mess everywhere. But she’s smiling and talkative which makes him quite memorized by her.

“I hate editing,” Y/N groans, letting her head fall dramatically against the desktop. Her best friend and dog looked at her oddly.

“I keep saying you need to hire someone, you stubborn bitch,” Laney retorts, clicking through her Instagram feed.

“Fuck off,” she tells her friend with no real heat. The video was almost fully edited - how to make spicy as fuck jalapeño poppers.

There is a calm silence for a while until Laney gasps, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, not really caring as she clicks her mouse to trim a segment.

“Harry fucking Styles just followed you on Instagram and Twitter!” Laney shouts, her dog - Rufus popping his head up in confusion.

Y/N looks at her friend to see if she’s really serious and sees no signs of deception. “Oh my god,” Y/N replies. She loved Harry Styles in One Direction and as a solo artist - a fangirl if you will.

Y/N was a well-known influencer and has run in the circles of many celebrities. She’s even met Liam Payne but she’s never been able to bump into Harry.

Her alerts tell her it to be true, she swallows as she looks back up at Laney, “He dm’ed me.”

“Open it! What did he say?” She squeals, squeezing herself on the chair next to her, peering over her shoulder at the phone.

Y/N is a bit nervous, trying not to have a mini aneurysm as she opens the message thread.

HarryStyles: Hello. Just wanted to let you know that your cheeseburger casserole recipe saved my ass last night. Cheers x

“He’s totally coming onto you,” Her friend states instantly, bouncing excitedly - she also had a bit of a crush on the singer.

It takes the two of them a minute to cool their shit before Y/N manages a reply.

Y/N/LN: Well I guess it’s only fair. Your songs have made a few of my nights much better. I’m a bit of a slut for Fine Line.

Harry laughs behind his screen at the cheeky reply he gets back. He’s usually never this forward - especially on social media where he likes to fly under the radar.

HarryStyles: Well if you fancy my music that much, I totally love for you to come to a show. I’m performing in New York City in two weeks.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Y/N sputters to her friend, eyes wide at the invite to a concert she already had tickets to.

Y/N/LN: I’m not going to lie, I already have tickets to the show. However, I don’t have any backstage passes to meet the man of the hour. Do you know someone who can hook me up?

It does wonders for Harry’s narcissism to know that she already had tickets for his concert. Was he really going to do this? He hasn’t met up with some like this since his One Direction days.

He had to remind himself - she may just be friendly and take this as a totally casual interaction. Which would be normal, Harry really shouldn’t be so infatuated with someone he’s watched cook on social media.

HarryStyles: I think I can arrange that. Shoot me your number? I’ll have them sent digitally to you with instructions on how to get backstage.

Y/N is a bit dumbfounded at how fast they agreed to meet up. A harmless backstage tour - he could just be a fan of hers and totally not interested, right?

Over the next few weeks, they never really stop texting. Harry sends her pictures of the recipes he copies off her channel - that usually always look better than the original. He sends her clips of him goofing around during tour rehearsal. FaceTimes her when he’s finally home for the night.

She sends him videos of her watching Harry Styles Best Moment Part Five. A few photos she snaps throughout the city of him on billboards and buildings, in Times Square. YN facetimes him when she’s frustrated with filming or watched a sad movie.

It didn’t make sense to either of them how seamlessly they’d clicked - especially without meeting. They were a perfect balance for each other. Harry - laidback, organized, level-headed. Y/N - eccentric, all over the place, adventurous.

Jeff had told him that he’s been gaining media attention from his social media interactions with Y/N. They like each other’s photos, begin following each other’s friends, and comment goofy things on their posts.

“Listen, I have a great idea,” Y/N begins - which Harry learned is never good. “You should film a video with me sometime.”

Y/N knew she was going out on a limb and instantly regretted the questions she’d been building the courage to ask for days when it’s quiet on his end. There’s static for a moment and Y/N needs to fill the silence.

“It was - I was just, uh, I know you’re probably too busy. I was -“ She stutters, embarrassment flooding her.

Harry cuts her off, “I’d love to.”

“Yo-you would?” She asks timidly. Was she really going to have Harry Styles in her apartment? If so, should she take down her poster?

He laughs sweetly, “Why do you sound so surprised? I can’t wait to come to New York, love.”

Y/N giggles, “Not the fact that you’re performing in front of a sold out crowd at MSG? I don’t think seeing me will top that.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meetin’ you in person since I came across your channel. You so lovely,” Harry replies, his voice a little softer but more serious.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admits, picking at a thread in her jeans.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, despite not wanting to admit it - he wanted her to know this was new territory for both of them. He didn’t want her to think that this was something that he did often. But a little too prideful to admit it’s the first time he’s ever done something quite like this.

“What if you don’t like me?” Y/N whispers, she...well she didn’t compare to the models he’s been seen with before. She’s regretfully fell into the rabbit hole of looking up his past flings and relationships.

Harry barks out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, darling. I’ve been gone for you since I saw you burn that ground beef.”

Harry was having a bad day - scratch that. An awful one. He tried to go get coffee at eight in the morning and got bombarded by fans, he left the shop without even ordering. They followed him back to his car and it took him fifteen minutes to pull out.

His favorite Mickey Mouse Gucci suitcase he was bringing along on tour had busted. The zipper unraveling and the trim falling off as a result. It was a one-of-a-kind.

Then he’d been stuck on a Skype meeting about tour merchandise with a group of business partners for the last three hours - all he wanted was a fucking nap.

When Y/N’s contact vibrated across his screen, he’s itching to answer but declines as he needs to give these people his attention.

When she calls again, Harry feels a prickle of annoyance. It’s not even at her - to be quite honest. It’s just the shitty day and everything’s piling up.

He always got like this before he kicked off a tour - stress level maxed out and his ability to handle minor incidents nearly shot.

I’m busy

Okay! Sorry, just have a super exciting surprise for you, bub!

I really do not feeling like talking. I’d rather be left alone.

Oh, alright. Hope everything’s okay! Do you still want to facetime later?

Harry leaves her on read because he doesn’t want to slip up and take out his frustration on her. He’d been known to do that and he didn’t want her to think he was anything but besotted with her.

Y/N feels a little hesitant as she begins the uploading process to her channel. The red loading bar told her it’d be twenty-minutes before it’s going to be posted to her 16 million subscribers - one of them being Harry himself.

Twenty-minutes for her to back out and cancel the upload. She starts having doubts about it when Harry never replies to her text which is unlike him.

She takes Rufus out to avoid staring at the loading screen with unnecessary anxiety and uneasiness.

Harry is just getting home from a business dinner with the touring company’s management team. The tension and anxiety from today piling up on his shoulders and he just wants to call Y/N and crash in bed.

He tosses his keys in the little bowl in the entry and kicks off his dingy white vans to the side. His phone dings with an alert from Gemma.

You two are the literal cutest ever. It’s quite gross.

Harry slides onto a stool in his kitchen, confused by the text message before she’s sending the link to him.

Fine Line Inspired Cupcakes!

Harry isn’t quite sure why his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. A sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this was probably the surprise she was excited about.

He clicks on the thumbnail.

“Hiiii, it’s Y/N. Okay, well today we are going to bake some Fine Line inspired cupcakes. And if you haven’t listened to the album - get your ass out from rock you’re living under and stream it on Spotify!”

She has her hair down in long, waves and a loose cropped shirt that says TPWK in rainbow embroidery.

Harrys mouth is dry and he can’t take his fucking eyes away from the screen.

“Soo, I was thinking the first batch would be cherry flavored? ‘Cause he has a song titled ‘Cherry’. Let’s start there. First - I need to find my measuring cups.”

In true Y/N fashion, she scours her kitchen - cussing and yanking stuff out of her neatly organized cabinets before huffing and storming off to the side.

She comes back into view, a little frazzled but smiling when she holds up the ring of plastic measuring spoons, visible bite marks notched into the material.

“My asshole of a dog had a little snack,” Y/N shows the camera before shrugging, “Let’s get this shit started. Okay, you’re going to need one cup of sugar - no wait, two? I can’t read my fucking handwriting.”

Harry’s absolutely enamored by this scatter-brained, giggly girl who manages to produce cute blue and pink cupcakes that very vaguely resembled his album cover. His heart felt a million times too big for his chest.

He was enraptured for the entirety of the thirty minute video without taking his eyes away once.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt this way since his last relationship which was over a year ago at this point.

It’s not even a thought as he’s requesting a FaceTime with Y/N.

She answers after a few rings. She has a green face mask painted on her nose, chin, and forehead with gold eye masks under each eye. She is so fucking ridiculous it’s not even funny.

What is even more ridiculous is how gone Harry is realizing he is for her. She was quirky, unfiltered, carefree. If he was honest - he hadn’t met a girl like that in a very long time - especially a well-known influencer.

“Hi! How was your day, grumpy?” Y/N asks brightly, making a goofy face as the mask begins to tighten and crack on her skin. Not holding the earlier conversation against him and deciding to just move forward. She understood how stressful it can be.

“M’sorry. I was a bit grumpy,” He admits, “I loved your new video, darling. Did you make those just f’me?”

He can tell she’d be blushing if her face wasn’t covered, a bit bashful as she mutters, “You already know I did it for you.”

“You’re too sweet to me, only six days until we meet,” Harry replies, voice taking on a slow, lazy drawl.

“Six days,” Y/N repeats, eyes crinkling as she smiles with excitement.

“Is this outfit too much?” Y/N panics. Even though there’s literally nothing she can do about it - they’re already walking towards the backstage entrance of the massive arena. It’s still about two hours until the show starts but Harry requested her to come earlier.

Laney sighs, “For the millionth time, you look fucking sexy and Harry’s going to want to rail you right when he sees you.”

Y/N shoves her lightly with a faux annoyance as they meet up with a burly man who’s blocking the entrance to the backstage hallway and rooms.

She gives him their names and pulls up the passes on her phone before he’s nodding with any expression and letting them pass.

They’re not quite sure where to go from here so they begin to wander down the long hallway toward what looks to be the main area that people are milling about.

Y/N is nearly on the ground when someone rounds the corner without looking and walks right into her. Both of them let out huffs of air as they collide and attempt to stabilize themselves.

But there are large hands grasping her arms and holding her steady. In typical Y/N fashion she’s already cursing, “fuckin like a brick wall, look out next time.”

Then she’s looking up to Harry staring back down at her with an amused expression. He doesn’t let go of her and instead tugs her against his bare chest. He’s warm and a bit sweaty - like he’d just worked out. He was only in a pair of thin, running shorts, nike tennis shoes, and a little clip holding his hair off of his face.

Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his waist, returning the embrace and amazed by how right it feels to be in his arms. Her face tucks right against his collarbone and it’s like they’d known each other for years.

Pictures and videos don’t do this man justice. He’s gorgeous - sharp edges and dark inked skin. Tall and muscular but dimples that are carved in his cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, m’Harry,” Harry rumbles, removing one hand from Y/N’s shoulder to reach out his hand to her friend.

Laney shakes his hand before asking, “Laney. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be. Where’s the food?”

Harry chuckles against Y/N’s wavy hair, “Down the hall to the left.”

Laney’s trailing off without another glance, she was very food motivated despite her skinny frame. Also not wanting to intrude of the very personal first moments of their meeting.

The popstar pulls back to look down at the girl he’s fallen for in mere weeks. She’s as beautiful as he thought she'd be - if not more. He can’t help himself, “Would it be too forward to kiss you?”

Y/N smiles widely, running a hand along his jawline, “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you stayed up on FaceTime with me until two in the morning as I cried after watching The Notebook - despite me seeing it a million times.”

Harry ducks forward to press his lips softly to her, large hands come to cup the side of her face as they connect. He’s so gentle as he moves his mouth against hers. In true Y/N fashion, she’s bold and has no hesitation slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He’s so fucking in love with her. It doesn’t make much sense - it’s definitely not logical but he’s realizing that’s okay.

“Oii, get a room!” Someone shouts from down the hallway teasingly.

Harry flips them the middle finger and pulls back, pink lips swollen and puffy, dimples on full display, “Let me take you out to dinner after the show, darling.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Styles?” Y/N giggles, unable to contain the pleasant warmness he’s spreading through her body.

“Mmm, have t’make sure you’ll want to keep me,” Harry murmurs happily against her lips once again, pressing kiss after kiss to her to make sure she’s real, “Definitely want to keep you.”

Y/N bites teasingly at his bottom lip, hand planted on the soft but firm skin of his stomach, “You’re never getting rid of me, hope you know that.”

“Was hoping you’d say that, now let me introduce you to my band.”

-- ---- ---- -- 1 year later - -- --- --- --

“Hi bitches! Today is a super special day. We have the one, the only Harry Styles filming with us. I know that’s not really that special since he’s on here all the time with me. But we’re celebrating our one year anniversary!” Y/N smiles, bumping hips with Harry who stands dutifully next to her.

Anyone viewing can see the absolute heart-eyes and adoration he has for the girl standing next to him. He’s still as lovestruck and gone for her as he was the first time they met. Harry’s fans were thrilled - for the first time in years, he’d opened up again.

They weren’t very public on social media beside’s tagging each other in memes and posting the occasional picture. Y/N was constantly uploading cooking videos from wherever in the world she was with Harry on his tour, she’d also begin making vlogs about different foods she’s been experiencing.

---

“Okay, so here in Peru - they’re known to have this really fucking spicy beef with noddles. So obviously, I’m going to make Harry try it first,” Y/N laughs as she props the camera up on the side of the table on a napkin holder.

Harry - who has a concert in a few hours - frowns at the steaming dish in front of him, “Darling, I don’t want to try it first. It’s going to burn my mouth. Not gonna be able to sing.”

“You’re sucha baby sometimes,” Y/N rolls her eyes, slurping up the noodles with her fork while making a silly face at her boyfriend. She pulls back, straight-faced, “It’s not hot at all. Tastes amazing, though.”

Harry takes that as an initiative to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. It only takes half a moment until his taste buds erupt in fiery flames from the spices, “You bloody little brat, y’tricked me! It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

Y/N smiles widely, laughing much too loudly in the restaurant when Harry chugs the glass of water next to the plate while glaring at his love. “I’m sorry, s’just to easy with you, lovie,” She replies, leaning over the table to press a kiss to his lips.

He’s a sucker for her and kisses her right back despite his mouth being an inferno. His heart was on fire for her and that burned much more intensely.

---

“No, love. The instructions say baking soda, not baking powder. They’re not the same thing,” Harry sighs, attempting to read her scribbled, sloppy handwriting. She’d already spilled milk on half of the paper.

“S’interchangeable, right?” Y/N hums, cracking an egg into the bowl and Harry automatically knows to look to fish out the eggshells that’d she’d let slip in because she sucks at cracking eggs but always wants to do it.

Harry reaches over her, grabbing the vanilla extract and a teaspoon, “It’s not, baby. Lemme do this real quick.”

“Will you make me a grilled cheese after this?” She asks, nuzzling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist as he finishes adding the wet ingredients to their bowl. Harry stopped questioning her thought process a long time ago.

Harry swipes his finger into the mixture of icing off to the side and rubs it right onto her nose, cackling at her pout and squeaking when she pinches at the fleshy skin of his hips. She in turn dips her finger into the sugary cream and pops it right into her mouth.

Harry eyes darken, watching her lips purse as she sucks off the icing. It was a dirty move on Y/N’s part and she knows it. It has her boyfriend dragging an icing-covered thumb along her collarbone before leaning down to slowly lick up the sugary trail with his tongue.

When Y/N slides her fingers into his hair and lets out a pretty moan, Harry’s standing back up, trailing over to the tripod and saying into the camera, “We’ll be back after a little commercial break,” and is then turning off the record button.

It takes little to no time for Harry to have Y/N’s bum on the countertop, mouth on her neck, and hand in-between her thighs.

And when they finally posted a very edited final cut of the video - well there may be a couple of fans who notice the how flushed Y/N is halfway through and a lovely purple mark on Harry’s neck that wasn’t there in the beginning of the video.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing request #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic rec #harry styles prompt #harry styles x influencer y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles drabble

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lookafterthoselittlesheepforme · 2 years

Text

You know who I would have loved to see Eddie interact with in season 5?

Suzie-pooh

They are just complete opposites.

Can you imagine it?

Dustin clearly gushed about them to each other. He would have told Eddie that Suzie is really smart and a total badass, she’s a hacker and a certified genius.

And he told Suzie about how Eddie is really nice and he sticks up for people, he’s the leader of this really fun, welcoming club.

Then Suzie-pooh goes to visit Dusty-bun and meet his friends...

Never-ending-story-singing-looks-at-her-Jesus-statue-when-she-considers-doing-something-bad-sheltered-of-course-father-couldn’t-let-me-date-an-AGNOSTIC-thinks-the-smell-coming-from-obviously-permanently-high-Argyle’s-van-is-a-skunk-Suzie

meets

Metallica-playing-non-conformist-tattooed-metal-loving-long-haired-was-taught-how-to-hotwire-as-a-kid-actually-relishes-people-thinking-he-might-be-a-satanist-until-it-gets-him-accused-of-murder-drug-dealing-dnd-dungeon-master-Eddie

And obviously they at first feel like Dustin is a complete liar. Suzie seems horrified and Eddie tries to make her feel more comfortable by talking about the one thing they clearly have in common: Dustin. She kinda relaxes at the mention of Dusty-bun and Dustin thinks it’s all gonna be ok. But then Eddie mentions that at the last hellfire Dustin’s bard did something impressive...and they lost her again, at hellfire, because Dustin never actually mentioned the name of the super welcoming nice club he joined. And it does not sound like Suzie’s type of club. The conversation fizzles.

This time Suzie tries. Dusty-bun told her that Eddie plays guitar and mentioned a song called hallowed be thy name, which Eddie is really into at the moment. So in her head Suzie was imagining a guy sat on the grass with an acoustic playing a nice relaxing song about Jesus. Obviously Eddie is horrified when he realises that that is what Suzie was expecting, even though she doesn’t say it out loud and quickly dispels it by talking about Dio and Metallica. He asks her what she plays on the flute, because he thought it would be perfect dnd tavern music but it’s actually more modern super cheesy stuff like soundtracks from musicals like Grease and of course never ending story.

They both desperately want this to end but are too polite to say.

But then upside down stuff starts happening and they get separated from the others. They end up bonding. Suzie proves how much of a badass she is and Eddie proves that he really is a nice guy. Eddie gives her the pep talk about how she doesn’t have to worry about doing what other people want her to do, like dating another mormon or studying subjects that ‘girls aren’t supposed to do’. It’s ok to be different and make her own decisions for herself. Suzie gives him the pep talk about how he really is capable of graduating and getting out of Hawkins and it’s the same for him, he can’t let the small-minded towns people make him believe that once he leaves high school he is going to turn out like his dad. He won’t.

Then at the end she goes to a corroded coffin show, hand in hand with Dustin and the whole gang. They all are there to support Eddie, who has just graduated. Suzie tells Dustin that she really likes his friends and she is going to start her own club when she gets back to Utah, she wants all the ‘lost sheep’ in her high school to have somewhere to go to learn how to use computers and code and once they all trust each other, hack.

Then for the last song Suzie gets on stage and her and Eddie sing never ending story because there is no way Eddie is just going to let that go once he finds out. And everyone joins in, including Hopper and Murray. Everyone dances together. NO ONE DIES.

#stranger things 4 spoilers #st4 spoilers #eddie munson #suzie bingham #stranger things headcanons #honestly I want to see him interact with every other character #but the potential of these two #they could have had that super unlikely friendship vibe #like the one that made Dustin and Steve so cool #i'm manifesting #he had so much potential #I know there was this big idea of him having a complete character arc #but I don't think it had to end with his death #he could have just had a new character arc season 5 #So much missed potential

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subwaysurf45 · 3 years

Text

Back Into the Swing of Things

summary: Bucky is finally stable and after your friendship turns into a relationship, Bucky asks you to teach him about the little things. (set around civil war)

words: 3355

warning: legit none just fluff!

pairing: bucky x reader

Masterlist

You were sat at the little desk in your room, your music was blasting through your headphones as you nodded your head to the beat. It was paperwork day, the worst day. For some reason it was a busy time or missions which meant mission reports, you liked to just bang them out all at once for one day every couple of weeks. Some people did them right after but the little notes you take in your journal allow you to wait a bit and then do five at once. The plate that used to have a sandwich was now empty, Bucky brought it by because he knew it was your day and if he stayed around you it would most likely lead to Bucky trying to pull you into bed for snuggles. He’d claim you’d look too cozy to be doing work, you'd wear one of his shirts and maybe some pants.

With a sigh you lean back in your chair, a couple pops coming for your back. “Four outta five…” you muttered to yourself as you took the papers and stacked them on the other reports. As you reached for the final one there was a knock on the door, “come in, Bucky.” You called over your shoulder.

“How’d you know it was me?” Bucky slipped through the doorway, he walked over and spun your chair around.

“Your knock is very polite,” was all you said. It was true, he’d knock loud enough to be heard but not too loud to seem demanding.

“Thanks…?” Bucky sat on the edge of your bed, “I wanted to ask you something,” Bucky looked to the floor.

“Talk to me,” You cheered and gave your full attention.

“I have a list of things in my notebook, just stuff I don't get- like understand. Would you mind helping and explaining some stuff?” His face was red and his eyes looked down, it was painfully obvious he was embarrassed.

“Sure,” You shrugged and Bucky smiled. He got up and went to get the book.

Debit Card Machine

Bucky was sitting across from you at a small diner, you went after rush hour to give yourself space and also Bucky doesn’t like crowded and loud spaces. Bucky had gotten a B.L.T. and you got something similar but you’d never been here before so you weren’t exactly sure what was in it- but it was good.

The waitress came by, the uniform was very retro like the rest of the place. It wasn’t way back to the 40’s more late 80’s early 90’s, Bucky had said he liked coming here because of the jukebox even though that was way past his time. He found it easier than an iphone, which was on his list of things to learn.

“Coffee or tea?” the lady asked.

“No, just the bill please,” You smiled at her, she nodded and walked away. Bucky got up and moved to sit beside you because he didn’t want to learn by looking at the thing upside down, the debit card itself was slightly conquered territory but he had the idea.

“And you said this was on your phone as well?” Bucky picked up the card and looked at it, his fingers running over the numbers that were lifted.

��You have to connect your card and all that to your phone so you just hover over the machine and it’ll pay.” You mimed the action of paying with your phone over nothing for Bucky to get the gist.

The machine showed up and you explained all the buttons, the waitress seemed confused because Bucky looked your age, she would have expected a guy to know how this works but she also kept her distance like most waitresses do.

“So you put your card in, the chip end goes in,” you showed. “Then you make sure the price matches the one on the receipt, if it does then you hit ‘ok’,” you did hit ‘ok’. “Then you have to tip, I personally go the percentage route so I’d click the far left button,” It made a sound when you did. “Now, depending on the service you can tip a different amount, I go fifteen percent as a baseline but she was really nice so I’ll tip twenty.” you typed it in, Bucky had a shocked face.

“Twenty dollars, that’s another meal!” He whispered, trying not to let the lady hear; she did.

“Twenty percent, our total goes from eighteen-tirty to twenty-forty five,” You showed the number again, then you clicked okay and proceeded to type in your four digit number. Bucky watched over your shoulder and tried to remember it all, when you were showing things at home he’d take notes and have a couple diagrams to remember it all but his notebook was no longer in sight. You glanced down after giving the machine back to see him rolling the book onto itself under the table, Bucky shoved it into his back pocket when you both got up to leave.

“Do you mind going over it again when we get home?” Bucky asked as he held your hand, the Avenger tower in sight.

“Of course,” you left a little kiss on his cheek.

Cooking Bacon

You didn’t remember reading this when you first went over the list. Granted, there was tons of stuff on Bucky’s list. It seemed he added it on later, like he watched Wanda cook and had a little idea to add. Either way, you both were in the kitchen in front of the stove. You both had aprons on, yours was a nice navy blue while Bucky’s read: ‘kiss the cook’. He wanted the navy one but then lost a game of rock, paper, scissors.

The pan was heating up on the stove, you had the lid ready beside it on the counter. Bucky seemed nervous because of the idea of the grease spitting out at him, he was starting to stand slightly behind you or away from the stove in an area he thought he wouldn’t get hit. “Alright,” you clapped your hands together after feeling over the pan to check the temperature. “We are gonna cook four pieces, so I’m gonna take them out of the package,” You were careful around the stove because Bucky seemed extremely nervous for you. He kept making little ‘peep’ing noises like he was about to say ‘watch out’ or something but decided against it, it was cute.

You put in two and then Bucky came over to put the others in, he was so leaned back he could barely get the bacon strips into the pan. On the last strip he haphazardly dropped it in, this caused the grease to spray back. A couple bits landed on your arm but a few more hit Bucky.

“Fuck!” He jumped back as you went to cover it quickly. The lid steamed up in seconds. Bucky was at the sink, washing his arm off. “Does it, like, burn through stuff?” His tone was so concerned but you couldn't help but laugh at the question.

“No, you’re safe,” you nodded. Bucky came back over and stood right behind you, his chin nestled on your shoulder as you waited a bit. His arms circled around your torso and he also watched the pan, he didn’t know what to look for per se, but he did it anyways. “This should be good,” you stepped forward which caused Bucky to let go. “We’re gonna lift the lid and start to flip them, alright?” You grabbed the tongs and clicked them a few times, it was a thing you always did.

“Let’s go,” Bucky’s voice wanted to sound excited but he was slightly scared.

You lifted the lid and stood off to the side, quickly but calmly you flipped the pieces over and then covered the lid. “So, we give that time, then we'll take the lid off and just move them around and flip them more, you can do that,” You smiled over your shoulder to see Bucky writing something down. It was cute how much he cared about the little things, you’d never been taught how to cook bacon or cooking in general, it was something you just found yourself doing.

Bucky took the tongs and went for it, he lifted the lid and went straight into flipping them. After he found they weren’t spitting back he seemed to loosen up, his shoulders rolled back and he seemed to find a comfortable position. He was looking over to you for any tips but you stood there with a smile on your face, he was actually doing a good job.

You got out a plate and paper towel, Bucky transferred the strips over. He watched you pat them down with a paper towel, this was something you adopted into your life because you weren’t the biggest fan of all the grease.

“This is a big part, so listen up,” Bucky looked over from eating one of his two pieces. “Write this down, never and I mean never pour this grease down the sink- ever.” Bucky had the piece of meat sticking out of his mouth as he scribbled it down, he hummed and nodded to let you know he got it. “There is a can under the sink, grab it for me, please?” You picked up the pan but stayed over the stove, Bucky came back with an open can. There was nothing in it except congealed grease, he seemed grossed out but you were used to it. “Dump it in here after it’s cool but not solidified, just don’t pour it down the sink.” You poured the stuff in and left it on the counter to cool off, Bucky finally bit down on the piece of bacon before handing over your two pieces.

“I think that went well,” Bucky nodded, he leaned against the counter with a tired sigh. You didn’t have to heart to make fun of him for being scared of the grease, he seemed proud of himself. So you just stood beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, “good job, Buck.”

Skin Care

Bucky was the type of boyfriend to sit in the bathroom and just watch you put on or take off your makeup, he was truly put under a trance when he would watch you. In the beginning he’d ask questions or ask what you were doing and why, but now he had watched you so much he’d pass you the tube of mascara as you finished on your brows.

Your skin had adapted to a long and specific routine, this was your time for about ten minutes before bed to fully unwind and have some quiet. You would rotate products and skip over some of the serums each night but there were the basics you were going to teach Bucky: Wash, tone, moisturize.

Before you went to the drug store you asked Bucky about his skin, he really had no idea what you were talking about and half the time he’d shrug it off. “I don’t pay attention to my skin,” was a common phrase. You lightly touched his face and felt his T-zone, he joked that sometimes if he opened his mouth really wide his skin would feel super tight and dry.

“So then you have dry skin,” you said. Thinking of the products to get him, Bucky didn’t have acne, it was more for cleaning the skin and keeping it healthy.

“I think,” Bucky really felt like a pain. He was trying to help you out so you could find good products but all he was giving was half answers, ‘ya, I guess’ or ‘I think so’.

But currently you both were standing in the bathroom, it was right before bed and Bucky adjusted his headband for about the hundredth time. He said it was too tight but you knew he was being a baby about it, his hair was also pulled back into a bun.

“We are gonna wash our face,” You showed how warm the water should be before splashing your face. Bucky copied right after, and awkwardly leaned forward to make sure water didn’t drip on the floor after while he waited for you to move on. “Now we are gonna wash our face, so take that bottle with the blue cap and put a bit in your hand. A little goes a long way,” You added and did the same, both faces in the bathroom were sudsy and ready. Bucky went in first to wash it off, his hands cupping under the tap and collecting as much water as he could before leaning right in to wash off his face. He did it twice.

“Pat dry?” He remembered you saying that before. His hands held the fresh towel, you hummed in response because your face was in water. Bucky patted and gently rubbed around, when you stood up you dried off as well. Both faces were damp, Bucky looked at the little water droplets running down your neck before turning back to the task at hand. “Toner- don't tell me, I know this one!” He grabbed your arm, “red cap?” His face lit up with joy as you nodded, “I got this!” He cockily laughed, he knew what he was doing.

Bucky took the little cotton round and drizzled some of the toner around on it, he passed one over to you before making one for himself. Bucky leaned in and got super close to the mirror, he watched intently as you rubbed your face. He copied, it was like the cotton pad was barely touching his face. The last thing he cleaned was his nose before pulling the cotton away, he scanned over the pad and saw the gross residue.

“Ew, that was on my face?” Bucky was enchanted by the pad, holding it super close to see the leftover dirt. You had already thrown away the pad, it made you giggle to see Bucky so hypnotized by literal oil and dirt.

“Moisturizer, final step for you,” You sang. “I like to pick it up with my knuckle, like this,” You unscrewed the lid and tapped your pointer finger knuckle to the opaque, soft cream. Bucky took his new one and did the same. He wiped it into the palm of the opposite hand, “rub it around, heat it up before putting it on,” He did just that. “You’re a pro, Buck!” You giggled as Bucky meticulously put it on. He was applying it upwards and spreading it evenly around, his fingers gently dancing across his face as the cream worked its way in.

“How do I look?” He turned to you.

“Like you’re glowing.”

“I feel like it,” Bucky laughed and looked back at the mirror. He tilted his head around to see how his skin would look under the light in the bathroom, he seemed to forget you were there and was completely in awe of what he did. Bucky brought his fingers to his face to feel around, the moisturizer had set and now his skin looked full and plump. The pads of his fingers gently tapped his cheeks and made the shimmer on his cheekbones move and twinkle.

“Alright, that’s enough admiring yourself,” you laughed and pushed him out of the way. Bucky stayed to watch you finish up your routine.

Record Player

As a way to say thanks for helping Bucky with over fifty niche things, Bucky decided to teach you how to properly use a record player.

This wasn’t any old player, this was Bucky’s player. No one was allowed to touch it without permission and even though you have never gotten the green light, you asked almost every week. This was one of the only things Bucky could really hold onto, when he touched the dark, stained wood he could almost see himself back in the 40’s; almost.

He once got really mad at the beginning of your friendship, you really didn’t know it was his, you just thought it was a talking piece. Bucky ended up yelling at you, he had just changed the needle and you were running your finger on it to see how small it was. Steve had ran in because Bucky was yelling- it was a whole ordeal that ended with Bucky not talking to you for three months.

But now there was trust and Bucky liked that after that little fiasco you didn’t even think to touch it, he could really trust you and now was a great time to show off his favourite thing. Bucky was all giddy to show his record player off to you, you were grabbing some water before he started and you noticed Bucky was using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe off a smudge before going back to inspect it.

“Alright, let’s start!” Bucky smiled. This man didn’t start with the parts and what they do, he started with the history of it all. Bucky pulled all the facts he knew about record players in general and the vintage one that was sitting in front of the both of you, his eyes seemed to light up with each new fact that popped into his mind. Part of you wanted to check your watch but you also had never seen this man get passionate over an object before, he could get passionate over people- you, Steve, Sam, etc. -but never over this. “Are you ready to play music?” He reached over into his bin and pulled a record you’ve never seen.

“Which one’s that?” You asked as Bucky pulled it out of it’s sleeve.

“It’s just a random one I picked up a week ago for this,” Bucky held the record the proper way. “Thumb on the center and index on the edge, don’t touch the actual grooves because the oils in your hands can clog them up,” Bucky moved his hand around to show you.

“Sorry, what do you mean you bought that record for this? And why does the needle look different?” you noticed the needle looked extremely worn, it looked great and new a couple days ago.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky dismissed it. “So now we are gonna place the record softly,” Bucky placed it down and turned back to you. He talked about the arm and the needle before showing you how to put it on manually and then with the little leaver, after showing them each way twice he stepped back and offered you a turn.

“Seems easy,” you mumbled and took the arm, you were doing it manually first. The movements were extremely soft and slow, when the needle made contact it took half a second before a really grainy sound came through the speakers. It sounded wrong but Bucky nodded, he applauded you for taking the needle off as well. Then you did it with the leaver, right when it was about to touch you thought it looked off so you nudged it a bit- bad idea. The needle didn’t even hit the record and part of the arm scratched the recessed vinyl. “Shit!” You yelled and ripped it off. Causing the record to scratch, the sound and the record itself, there was a shine to the edge. “Oh god! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to mess it all up- I really didn’t mean to break it- god, you must so ma- I’m sorry-” as you fumbled over yourself Bucky just started to laugh. “What?” you were about to cry because of the guilt.

“That was a sixties record and a needle that is five years old, you didn't do anything. I bought it because I knew this was bound to happen.” Bucky only laughed at your exasperated sigh, you fell into his hug like a child. “Poor baby,” he mockingly cooed, he found it so funny how you were screaming apologies at him even though it was painfully obvious it was a shit record and needle.

��That was scary, I think I need a nap after that…” you sighed.

Bucky threw you over his shoulder, “thinking the same thing, doll.

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raineydays411 · 4 years

Text

Trauma does really bond

Umbrella academy x teen!reader

Summary: You were number eight, The Healer. With the power to heal anything you touch. Or at least you would be, if the world knew about you.

A/n: I know I said new fics on Friday but I couldn’t wait lol

Everybody knows the story of the Umbrella Academy. Seven children, adopted by an eccentric billionaire, forced to become superheros and eventually fizzled out of the limelight.

But know one knows about you.

You were the eighth child Reginald Hargreeves adopted. You were Y/n Hargreeves, age 17. Everyone knows that the seven siblings were all born at the same time, and day. So how are you 17?

Well basically the same thing, but when your mother spontaneously gave birth to you, she handed you over to Reginald within a heartbeat and as far as he knows, you were the only spontaneous birth on y/bd. So he took you in. Now he wasn’t completely sire that you would get powers. For all he knew, your mother just didn’t want you. But all that changed when you were just 6 years old.

You had stumbled upon a mouse that was squirming in a mouse trap while exploring the attic. You felt so bad for the poor thing that you had set it free. You cradled it in your hands, as you teared up at the sight of it twitching when suddenly you felt it. It was like magic, you felt each bone and nerve that was broken heal until the mouse was once again moving, full of life. You ran out the attic, mouse in hand. Running all the way to your fathers office, barging in despite his protests.

“Y/n Hargreeves, how many times must I tell you--” “ I’m sorry father, but look!” you cut him off, thrusting the healed mouse towards him.

“Number eight. You interrupted my studies to show me vermin?”

“No father! I healed him! He was in the mouse trap and I healed him!” You exclaim. That caught Reginalds attention.

“You healed it?” He asks eyeing the mouse, “ How?”

“I dunno” you shrug, “ I just felt bad and touched him”

Reginald hums, standing from his desk and walks over to you.

“Come with me.” He says, leading you out the study with a hand on your back.

From then on he put you through brutal training. Nicking you with knives I see if you could heal yourself, bringing you hurt animals to heal, injured people. Then it escalated. He brought in people who were on the brink of death, comatose. He forced you to heal them, despite it taking all your energy. There were multiple times where you ended up collapsing, sobbing and exhausted from healing too many people in one day. He forced you to get up, and heal some more claiming,

“You have been given a gift. It would be selfish of you to hoard it just because you get a little tired”

Not to mention the brutal physical training. Because you had no siblings, he made training robots. They, unlike humans, did not hold back. Forcing you to fight as if you were actually trying to survive. And if you lost, you weren’t able to heal yourself.

Now all this training would have made some sense if you were going out into the world and saving lives. You weren’t. Reginald didn’t allow it. You were to stay on the premises, 24/7, 365 days a year. He claimed

“The world is cruel Number Eight. You are not yet ready to face the harshness that is reality. It is best to keep you here until you are.”

So alone you were. Well not totally alone, you did have Grace an Pogo. And you had Luther but all he did was missions and avoid you so he didn’t really count. But Grace and Pogo? They were your best friends. Grace was practically your mother. She sang to you, brushed your hair, tucked you in, told you about your “siblings”, and taught you how to bake and cook as well as other things. She like you, wasn’t allowed to leave, so you felt like she understood you. Pogo, taught you everything you know. He helped you learn seven languages, he sat and was forced to listen to you learn the piano, violin, and guitar, he was the one who snuck you Vanyas book and answered any questions that Grace couldn’t. And he was the one who sat with you in the attic as you both looked out at a city that didn’t know you existed.

You secretly longed for the day you were able to leave. If not training or doing school work, you could be found gazing out the attic window, or outside in the courtyard staring up at the sky. Despite being in a huge mansion, you felt trapped. You have read almost every book in the house, including Luthers research that he sent from the moon, Fives old theories, and Allison’s diary. You started meditating, yoga, and even picking up little hobbies like scrapbooking or candles making. You learned different ways to play chess, ballroom dancing ( your father insisted), how to read music, and so many other things. You were so smart and yet so naive. You, theoretically knew the cruel realities of the world, having read them in books and such. But you never experienced them. You had no human contact other than your father (and Luther till he was sent to the moon). You knew battlefield medic techniques but not simple everyday things. Hell, not even your so called siblings knew that you existed except Luther and he was sworn to secrecy. Not like he payed attention to you anyway. You weren’t even allowed to watch movies or listen to modern music. Just whatever records Luther had, and the Walkman you found up in the attic. But secretly, at night when you crept into the attic, you can see into the apartment across from you. Their large tv playing movies and you were able to watch. Playing classics like Dirty Dancing and Grease, action, and scary movies that scarred you for life. But it was your escape. You couldn’t hear the words but you made them up. A little world all to yourself, your little secret. You yearned for that moment when you could leave. Leave behind strict schedules and brutal training. Leave behind empty halls and loneliness. But you knew it wasn’t coming soon.

Not over your fathers dead body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your father is dead.

You didn’t realize it at first, having been extremely exhausted for some reason. You went to bed early saying good night to everyone and promptly passing out. But you know that your father was fine. Healthy even, as you could sense it with your powers. So when you woke up and reached out, sensing your family as you always did, you knew something was wrong. You couldn’t feel your father. Not how you used to. It felt like...like the dead bodies he used to force you to heal.

You leapt out of bed and dashed to his room, heart racing as you passed a humming Grace. You burst into the room, seeing him collapsed against the bed, limp and eyes closed.

“Nononono father?! Father can you hear me?!” You say rushing to his side. You feel for a pulse but find nothing, noticing his cold skin. You start CPR, like he trained you to do.

“ Father?! Father please!” You start to cry, tears running down your face as you race to save him. But deep down you knew...you couldn’t heal a dead body.

“ MOM” you scream desperately, starting to use your powers, “ POGO”

You start to get light head, your basically pouring your energy into this dead body. Your powers kickstart the healing process, accelerating it 10 times it’s usual rate allowing for quick healing. But if the bodies dead...it can’t heal itself and you basically just heal superficial wounds but not bring them back.

“Father...” you start to slur, you’re running out of energy and he still hasn’t woken up. “Father you have to wake up...don’t leave me...”

Your world starts spinning as you fight to stay awake. Desperate to save the man you consider as your father. But you collapse. The world fading in and out as you see two silhouettes hover over you.

“ oh y/n...” a voice softly says. You feel someone touch your head and you succumb to the darkness. Feeling helpless as you realize one thing.

Reginald Hargreeves is dead.

That night, around the country seven siblings find out that their father has died. And make plans to come home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were unconscious for the whole day.

You woke up letting yesterday’s events wash over you. You cry. Not for the man, cause let’s face it he’s an asshole, but because of what he represented. He was part of your family. Your world that only consisted of three.

And you couldn’t save him.

And let’s face it, he was your father. He kind of raised you for seventeen years. You had to care about him.

After calming down, you reach out. You try to feel for Pogo or Grace, but you can sense the presence of two people you’ve never met. So you force yourself out of bed, and creep down the hallway. Your room right closer to Reginalds as it was the only room left. So you snuck into the main room, seeing your mother staring into space.

“Momma?” You whisper, catching Graces attention.

“ Oh Y/n dear, you woke up.” Grace says with a smile standing and stroking your face, “ Darling, your in your night clothes, you know the rules.”

Your eyes water as you throw yourself in her arms. Feeling like a child.

“ I..I tried momma..I really did”

You feel her arms wrap around you, “ Do you want breakfast, you haven’t eaten in 12 hours and 15 minutes.”

You were confused. Why was she acting like nothing has happened?

“Momma I-“ “Mom?”

A male voice cuts you off. You freeze, not knowing who the voice belongs to. His presence unfamiliar.

“Diego, welcome home are you hungry?” Grace says, “I was just going to make breakfast for Y/n” she squeezed you gently before letting you go to turn to Diego.

You hide behind her, like a child. Peaking over her shoulder to get a glimpse at the man. He was average height, Hispanic most likely, wearing all black with a harness and some knives. He had short hair and a scar on the side of his face. He looked at you then Grace in disbelief or shock. You can feel that he was healthy, just a bit sore.

“Um mom who’s that?” He asks gesturing to you.

“Oh I suppose you haven’t met yet. Diego, this is..well why don’t you introduce yourself.” She says to you. Your eyes widen and shake your head.

“Come on dear, just like we practiced. Go on.” Grace nudges you in front of her. Setting a comforting hand on your back.

“ hello...my names y/n Hargreeves. It’s lovely to meet you.” You say softly, and then you give a shy smile.

“Hargreeves?” Diego asks, shocked, “ I don’t understand...how?”

“ Y/n is just like you and your siblings.” Pogo chimes in, startling the three of you.

“ She came to us 17 years ago, just as the six of you left. Your father kept her secret as he did many things. She has remarkable abilities just as you and your siblings. ”

Diego looks at you, sizing you up and taking you in. “Why didn’t we know about this?” He asks Pogo.

“ Your father had his reasons. He believed she wasn’t ready to see the outside world. She has been here her whole life.”

Diego scoffs, “ What? It wasn’t enough that he ruin our lives, he had to start again?”

He looks at you, “ Welcome to the family, kid.”

Then he walks off. You look at Grace and Pogo

“ Did..did I do something wrong?” You ask.

“ Oh no, Diego is just...on edge. You did great.” Grace says cupping your cheek.

“ I am glad that you are alright Y/n. It’s good to see you up and about.” Pogo says with a comforting smile.

“ thank you..” you say, “ there’s another person here..a woman.”

“Yes, well I think it is time you meet your sister. Come along.” Pogo says, leading you to the kitchen.

Oh boy...

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #alison hargreeves x reader #luther hargeeves x r #klaus hargreeves #Diego Hargreeves #grace hargreeves #pogo hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #netflix #teen!reader #comics

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uwuwriting · 4 years

Text

Soulmates w/ Dabi, Shirakumo and Keigo

Request: Hello! I just read a few of your writings &I'd just like to say they're amazing! Anyways, may I request some hc's for a soulmate AU w/ Dabi, Shirakumo, & Hawks?(all separate)- anonymous

Soulmate Aus have a shit ton of tropes so I went for a different trope on each boy bc I love them all. My man Dabi has dipped the last few chapters and I’m getting kinda deprived, although I appreciate him not burning my baby Shoto to a crisp so we good. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: angst with some fluff

Dabi/Todoroki Touya II Interchangeable eye color

-Dabi’s outlook on love is really negative.

-Growing up the way he did and in the environment he did, the possibilities in him believing or cherishing love and soulmates was low.

-When he got his soulmate sign he was around 12.

-It was the darkest moments of his life and he hated himself to no end.

-When he woke up on that fateful Sunday morning he thought that he was hallucinating.

-Then he imagined that this could be an after affect of his trauma, just like his hair.

-His mind though drifted to his soulmate.

-He didn’t have a mark up until now and your eye color changing was one of the many soulmate signs out there.

-As he stared at his left eye, the e/c orb staring back at him, he began to cry.

-Sobs wracked his body as he clutched his eye.

-This was unfair.

-He shouldn’t have a soulmate, what good could he be to anyone?

-He is a failure and he is gonna bring down his soulmate as well.

-So he hides it.

-Puts a patch over his eye to conceal the new color blooming around his iris and when his family starts questioning it he buys contacts.

-Natsuo helps him even though he doesn’t understand why his brother doesn’t want a soulmate.

-Years pass until he finally meets the person that has changed his life.

-Shigaraki was being a brat as usual, whining about needing new members for his little group.

-Dabi couldn’t care less.

-This whole charade with these losers would only aid him reach his ultimate goal.

-He didn’t care about Shigaraki’s shitty ideologies and otherworldly desires, he just wanted his revenge.

-His eyes scanned the so-called hide out in utter boredom, his gaze landing once again at the bar’s door left slightly ajar in case someone came looking.

-He didn’t expect for the door to open though.

-And as the grease old door creaked open a figure stepped into the room, clad in black from head to toe.

-A mask was covering half of your face leaving only your eyes visible.

-You scanned the place before your eyes landed swiftly on him, knocking the breath out of him as you locked gazes, e/c orbs baring into his own.

-The vibrant blue on your left eye had him gasping for air.

-It was stunning.

-You moved to talk to Shigaraki, your voice albeit monotone and cold, sent tingles up his spine making his hairs stand at attention.

-His eyes were glued on you, one of his hands subconsciously going to the left side of his face where his mark should be visible.

-It felt as if his contact burned his eye and he quickly took it off, not minding about possible infections since he didn’t wash his hands before touching his eYE DAMMIT YA NASTY AF.

-His body was drawn to you, his mind screaming at him to talk to you to go close to you.

-You knew he was your soulmate.

-You had known the moment you stepped into the bar; no one had such a beautiful blue hue in their eyes other than your soulmate.

-Despite your mutual desire to be close to each other you held off for months.

-Months of keeping distance, months of giving each other the cold shoulder.

-It would all reach a tipping point soon and Dabi would finally understand what it’s like to truly love someone.

-Until then though, suffer in your mutual pining.

Shirakumo Oboro II Red string of Fate

-The string around his pinky finger always lay motionless for years.

-It was slack and lifeless, no sign of his soulmate being remotely alive.

-It really worried him, he thought that he might be one of the few unfortunate individuals who didn’t have a soulmate.

-He talked to his friends about it and they all reassured him that his soulmate was just too far away from him so even if they tugged at the string he wouldn’t be able to feel it.

-This reassured him all throughout middle school.

-He started getting a little discouraged when he saw all his classmates getting their soulmate signs whether it be names tattooed on their wrists, one of their eyes changing color or a strand of their hair, other could hear faint music if they concentrated hard enough while others were unfortunate enough to feel their soulmate’s pain.

-Shirakumo was left staring at the red string surrounding his finger.

-He had thought about tugging at it, making the first step instead of waiting for the person on the receiving end.

-But on this day, the day when both Aizawa and Hizashi got their respective signs he found himself tugging at the string.

-At first he pulled lightly watching the string grow taught slowly and then go slack again.

-He waited for what felt like a century before tugging again and again, more force being put in his pulls every time.

-After an hour of waiting and tugging he was done.

-Eyes downcast with a frown on his lips, he was ready to let this whole soulmate thing go.

-At the end of the day he doesn’t need the universe to tell him who he should fall in love with; who he is destined to be with.

-Then he felt it.

-The lightest tug at his finger.

-His eyes followed the red string as it straightened a few times before going limb again.

-Aizawa walked in on him pulling the string like crazy, excited giggles leaving his lips when his soulmate responded with their own pulls.

- “Shota I did it. T-they answered!”

-This whole string communication business lasted until the first day of high school.

-As Oboro walked through the halls of UA he felt the string shift on his finger.

-It was as if it was wrapping tighter around his finger, almost to the point that it hurt.

-Maybe he was about to meet his soulmate that’s why the string was thinning.

-Wait, meet them??

-He wasn’t ready to meet them!!!

-What if they didn’t like him? What if his hair was a bit too cloudy for their likes? Oh god his hair must be a mess because he flew here. Maybe he can dash into one of the bathrooms and fix it real quick. Will he be too loud for them? What-

-Lost in his own thoughts he completely missed the person standing in front of him and soon he was crashing into them, a small grunt leaving his lips as he maneuvered himself to cushion their fall.

- “Oh God I’m so sorry, I was totally zoned out. Are you alright?”

- “Why are you apologizing? I ran into you.”

-He let out a chuckle as you scrambled off of him, dusting off your skirt before offering him a hand.

-As he took it he felt his pinky being released from the pressure.

-Right before your eyes you witnessed the red string that connected you both unwrap for your fingers, illuminating for a moment before completely disappearing leaving a sense of familiarity and warmth in its wake.

-You both stared wide eyed at each other before awkwardly introducing yourselves.

-It didn’t take long for you two to actually fall in love and if you’re being honest it’s was so easy to fall for him that you believed that even if you weren’t soulmates you would have loved him.

-Even after years, even after that fateful summer, the sense of his presence and his warmth never left you; it was as if he wasn’t gone and he was still somewhere out there.

-You were half wrong in that one….I think.

Takami Keigo/Hawks II Name tattoos

-He got his tattoo when he was 13.

-It had really awful timing if he was being honest.

-The hero commission was isolating him completely, even from the few friends he had made around the facility he trained in.

-He couldn’t even begin to imagine what they might do if they find out he had a soulmate.

-He truly wished he had a different soulmate sign or no soulmate at all.

-He did everything in his willpower to hide the calligraphy of your name on his left wrist.

-Bandaging it up, covering it with a watch even scribbling over it like he used to do when he was 9 and bored.

-But at some point it became harder to hide it, harder to conceal the beautiful name that was printed on his wrist.

-So he confided in someone.

-One of the caretakers at the commission had taken him under their wing ever since he was a wittle toddler, he trusted them with his life.

-When he approached them frantically grasping his wrist in attempts to hide the letters, they were both delighted and saddened.

-It was nice knowing that this poor child had someone out there that was meant for him and would make him happy, replace every single one of these awful memories with new ones.

-Memories he would like looking back to.

-But just like Hawks himself they knew that the commission wouldn’t allow this person to get involved with him, at any costs and they knew how far these people could go in order to guarantee Hawks’s undivided concentration.

-So they helped him; they bought him some make up to cover it up and taught him how to apply it correctly.

-By the time he was out of the hands of the commission *at least not in close reach* no one apart from them knew of his soulmate’s name.

- “Now listen here Keigo, I want you to take good care of them when you finally meet them. And never forget that you deserve nice things, don’t let anyone take your happiness away.”

-He did find his happiness.

-It didn’t happen right away but it did come sooner than he expected.

-He had learned about the new transfer student who began attending UA in the middle of the year.

-He never heard their name but he knew they existed.

-Turns out they were quirkless but were determined to become a hero despite their shortcomings.

-After a few months he bumped into them and oh lord his wings have never been puffier.

-He was relaxing on the roof, away from prying eyes and loud people, just him and the birds *he found his people at last*.

-When he heard the door open he almost leaped off the building but paused at the sound of a soft voice.

- “Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t know someone was up here.”

-Turning around he came face to face with the most beautiful person he had ever laid his eyes upon.

-For the first time in his life he stumbled over his words, a swift ‘It’s alright’ escaping his lips and before he knew what he was doing he was inviting you to sit with him.

- “Wow you can see everything from here.”

- “The view is better up in the sky if you ask me.”

-After a long pause he added. “I could show you if you want.”

- “How can I trust you? Hmmm?” you teased. “I don’t even know your name.”

-He let out a chuckle before continuing. “Could say the same for you but since I’m a gentleman I will grace you with my name. I’m Keigo Takami or Hawks if you wanna go with my hero persona.”

-He saw your eyes widen as you stared at him, your eyes darting to his covered wrists.

-Quickly you composed yourself straightening your shirt and extending your hand, the black letters of his name delicately engraved on your smooth skin.

- “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N L/N.”

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majesticwren · 2 years

Text

The Bat & The Cat (Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle) - Adrenalina

A/N: I'm back! ✨

Hello, my darlings and welcome! I am so sorry it took me THE LONGEST TIME to finish this project, but life happened. Tho, it's finally here! I am looking forward to getting right back on the saddle and picking The Bat & The Cat series back up! 😏

For now, enjoy the ending to this flashback, I hope you'll enjoy!

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated, but I do thank you regardless for any kind of interaction or even just to take the time and read my stuff.💕P.S.: Find me on AO3

Summary: It's 2010. Bruce is an angsty, edgy, angry teenager, attracted by danger, and effectively an adrenaline junkie, involved in an illegal system of street racing. Even being one of the winning pilots, trouble will find him.

Part 1

Trigger Warnings: Bruce is his own trigger but not as much as Selina, slight hints of drug usage, prostitution, criminal activities, identity theft

Words: 10K

Tags: @haythemspsychopathicgirlfriend @sahsal @tinydramatist @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie ✨ let me know if you'd like to be tagged ✨

Gifs by: tagged. Divider by: @firefly-graphics.

Masterpost Playlist

Adrenalina - Part 2

Bruce gave some thought to what Chanel had to say to him. But, of course, as stubborn and reckless as he was, he decided to ignore her warning. In another life, he might have been able to distinctively recognize the threat posed against him… But that wasn’t the case. He was too young and too angry to think about it clearly.

He surely wasn’t the kind of guy who would give up easily without a fight. To the point that even the idea of crossing powerful, invisible men didn’t scare him, but filled him with a different buzz of adrenaline that wiped off his fear.

In a matter of hours, the more he thought about it, the more concrete his wobbly plan became. And with him desperately trying to build an efficient plan with no start, no end and even less the possibility of an option b, it became a matter of integrity, it became part of his personality, to not turn his back and just hide.

Through his skin burned the fire of rage towards that invisible threat that opposed the only thing he actually liked doing, pushing him dangerously close to desiring revenge against whoever tried to take it away from him.

He tried to do some research, but the information given to him wasn’t much at all.

Not to be surprised, an illegal racing system wouldn’t be openly advertised on the internet.

Though he did find some info on his other pilot peers and advertisements for some of the shops they visited in town.

So, his best course of action was to visit one of said garage-workshop he knew the other pilots hung around, just to have a snoop.

Of course, he had to suppress his total inability to speak to strangers and deal with the social and moral pressure of finding himself inside a shop – but he had to do it himself. He could not send Alfred to do something like that… It would have been way more difficult for the old Englishman to blend in, than him.

Bruce slid out of his car. He parked right in front of the shop and judging by the cars parked all around him, he knew he was in the right place. He left his Challenger home, not to attract too much attention to himself, choosing his loyal Mini Cooper instead.

Part of him also decided it was best not to leave the car unattended at any time. Because even if he decided to ignore Chanel’s warning, it didn’t mean he was completely stupid.

Wearing a black beanie to cover his bleached, very easily recognisable hair, and large, baggy black clothes, he proceeded to enter the shop hoping no one would recognise him. He hid his bloodshot eyes behind thick, black sunglasses as he cursed the brightness of the day – or his insomnia, and consequentially the hours he spent at his computer.

From around the corner, on the street, he could hear music and chattering, mixed with the noises of heavy-duty equipment the mechanics were probably using to work on the vehicles. The air was saturated by the smell of grease, motor oil and fuel.

A tiny smile appeared on Bruce’s lips.

He slowly walked up to the workshop customers’ entrance. It definitely wasn’t difficult to imagine what expected him through the door: a business split as both a garage where repairs, maintenance and definitely enhancements and upgrades were made and a shop where to buy any kind of product: from regular oil, coolant, mats, tires to an entirely new engine or electric system.

And he wasn’t disappointed. Part of him even genuinely wanted to browse around, quite interested in knowing what kind of stuff they sold or services they provided – just to know if he could do any better of course.

But he had a mission and he had to remain focused.

Especially because his social anxiety was kicking off frantically and quickly. It wasn’t just his sweaty palms; it was shivers across his spine and under his skin. It was feeling incredibly hot but also cold. It was his heart increasing its rate and his stomach-turning. It was his mind starting to buzz louder than anything he could hear.

Seeing people already inside the shop didn’t help. Even if he didn’t expect anything different.

He knew he needed to remain focused. He was there for a reason.

If he thought he could avoid attention shoving himself in the first available corner, hiding away, pretending to be busy checking out sets of rubber seals for windshields wipers… He was wrong.

The chattering inside the shop stopped for a moment and as Bruce had the impression that some attention shifted on him, he fought a shiver of discomfort crossing his back with a stiff shrug, hoping that it could be just his anxiety acting up. And for once he was ready to embrace it.

Every thought in his mind, his anxiety and his breath were all kicked out of him the moment a heavy hand slammed on his shoulder. A solid grip clutched on him, shaking him and before Bruce could think about anything else, for a split second, his only desire was to run for his life.

Sudden, unexpected and unwanted physical contact choked him.

“Well, fuck me, if this is not Jesse in the flesh!” The hand on his shoulder pulled him to turn.

And Bruce was still in full-on panic mode, even if the tone of the man that just spoke to him was friendly and welcoming – hinting to be someone from the racing circle knowing him by his alias.

Turning, slightly shaking, Bruce finally focused on the man standing there. He didn’t recognise him. But that wasn’t a surprise since he was extremely antisocial and never made friends with anyone at the races… Which was probably part of the problem now.

He was well into his thirties. Quite stocky, shorter than Bruce but wide four times him, both two things that didn’t require much. His entire head was shaven clean, covered in tattoos, and Bruce had no way to deduce if that was a style choice to show off such a form of expression, or if the guy was just bald.

Bruce took just a second to look at the man figure and then quickly looked away, avoiding eye contact, grateful for his sunglasses.

He still offered a polite thin smile.

Then he realised the man was wearing some kind of uniform; his attention was caught by the nametag he wore, revealing to him his name: José.

Quietly, Bruce was trying to absorb as much information about that man as he could – but he already knew he wouldn’t have had a chance to decide if José was a friend or not. Especially since Bruce wasn’t known for his trust.

Before he could put a thought in line as a sentence, José gave him a strong shake and then turned, pulling him with him.

By then, his hand slid on Bruce’s shoulders, gripping solidly on the nape of his neck. José was basically holding him like a kitten and he definitely didn’t like that. But he didn’t push his hold away, not to risk appearing too rude to someone who could potentially be helpful. Even if that contact was making his stomach turn.

“Everyone!” José began, calling everyone’s attention to him and Bruce.

As soon as all the eyes in the shop looked at him, he felt pierced by blades. Bruce pulled an unimpressed pout, and fixed his eyes on the floor, trying his best to control his heartbeat.

Too many eyes on him. Too much attention.

What if one of those people spotted his likeness to the Wayne’s child? He would have been fucked then.

“This is the kid! The prodigy at the races I have been talking about all this time!”

A wave of oohs and aahs hit him violently, while even more attention was dragged on him.

Bruce shoved his hands deep into his pockets and squeezed himself between his shoulders, trying his best to avoid the knowledge to be at the centre of attention, and consequentially, trying to bury his need to puke.

“See I am quite the fan of yours.” José explained, leaning closer to him. Bruce wasn’t looking at him but felt the satisfied smirk full of admiration he had printed on his face.

His answer was given only by the smallest of nods.

But that didn’t discourage José from continuing. “That car of yours is a real beauty! And a beast! I love it. Everyone loves it.”

José’s eyes were sparkling almost as much as he would do every time he looked at his own car. Though, he definitely wasn’t used to dealing with someone else’s interest in the matter. Besides Alfred, but then again, he was mostly forced to know everything about his car. His wasn’t purely interest – if anything, Bruce knew the old Englishman was only concerned about his ability as a mechanic and therefore about his future.

Just thinking about it made him want to grumble.

“Thanks.” He mumbled quickly, feeling pressured to say something.

José exploded in a rumbling laughter of pure contentment and gave him another shake. “What can I do for you, kiddo?”

“I-”

His plan didn’t get much further than stepping into the shop and assuming he would fall upon information.

And definitely, he had to hide the fact that he was digging.

“Is there anywhere more private we can do business?”

As soon as he spoke, he saw his request lit a spark through José’s attention. The man charged up with extreme energy and even more joy.

Finally, he let him go and offering him a vigorous nod, he invited him to follow him.

Sometime, and two cups of coffee, later, Bruce was overwhelmed by the amount of information he knew about José.

Though, it was mostly unimportant stuff, such as the fact that he was the owner of that place and ran it with his cousin, or that he was married and had four daughters, of which, of course, Bruce now knew names and faces…

Definitely, Bruce was more interested in his past as a pilot in the races. If there was a pyramid scheme and someone was at the top, he imagined that person must have been there since the beginning. That circle of illegal racing wasn’t but ten, maximum fifteen, years old.

And if someone like José was there from the beginning, it was likely he knew something.

“That’s how I get this business going. I show up, I display my merch, and I do business with some pilots who themselves display my stuff. And then customers arrive.”

“So, is it good business?”

José stretched his arms and then bent them backwards, joining his hands behind his head. “Well, I don’t have to race anymore, do I?!” He offered him a huge smile.

Bruce just nodded, quietly.

He wasn’t able to understand what José meant and where was his pride in that sentence since racing was everything to him. He decided to freely assume he must have liked racing when he was younger and then he must have grown tired of it.

Overall, though, Bruce decided that José was a good person. He appeared to be a very simple man, down to earth, with a concrete dream he cherished every day and high morals. He was trustworthy, maybe not with every detail of his life or his real identity, and maybe not with every detail about his intentions and why he found himself there… But if anything, it seemed like Bruce could freely ask questions and receive an honest answer.

Bruce might have been a recluse, but he was gifted with good intuition on those things.

“You know many people around the circle?” Bruce’s question definitely froze the mood in the room. Not that he was a ray of sunshine before, but somehow, he managed to appear even more serious now.

And José followed his queue. “Yes, you can say that.” He now leaned closer, resting his hands on the desk, studying Bruce closely.

Bruce immediately looked away, squeezing his lean frame between his bony shoulders. A shiver crossed him. But he did his best to fight the discomfort off, knowing his need for information was stronger than his anxiety.

“So, I assume you must know… I don’t have many friends.”

“I know. You can hardly blame anyone for that, kid.”

Bruce pushed out a dry chuckle, not really amused by such truth. He wasn’t the most open person, to begin with, and reaching him was impossible.

Not one person, among all those people he spent most of his time surrounded by, from months, could be considered close to him. And he wasn’t invisible at the races.

“No. But I am referring more to the fact people don’t like me.”

“Whaaaat?” José eyed him shaking his head. “You are a legend there, kid. People adore you. Maybe not so much the other pilots you constantly beat but…”

At that point, Bruce didn’t know if it disturbed him more being involved in a conversation with a stranger or receiving fluttering words. Both pushed him very close to the edge.

He wasn’t entirely sure, though, that José understood what he meant.

Was it because he hadn’t been clear enough? Or because José simply didn’t know? Or was it because he was getting treated just like a kid who stumbled upon that world and was unaware of the dangers around him?

Bruce shook his head. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the fact that people aren’t happy about me not disclosing what’s under the hood of my car.”

“Oh. That…” José sighed and looked away for a second. “Look, Jesse… It’s nothing personal, honestly, but there are some of us who make a living out of selling parts to pilots to acquire customers; it’s… Pure business.”

“Yes. I know how advertisement works.”

“People are talking. I won’t deny it. You are a winning horse but you are not bringing any money to the businesses sponsoring the circle.”

“Is your business one of them?”

“No. I do my own thing. I don’t want to get involved. I don’t want to risk it being a dangerous deal like asking for money from the mob.”

“Does it go that deep? The mob?”

“What? No. I don’t know. I am just saying… Whatever business they are doing is not entirely legal. You must know there are all kinds of substances being sold to the crowds, not to talk about prostitution – God, most of those girls are underage… Even the cars parts that get sold are not entirely legal, most of the time. It’s a business of money laundering and I don’t personally want to have anything to do with it.”

Bruce just nodded and fell into a long second of silence, dragging José with him.

He fell into his own thoughts, trying to put the information together, very well knowing he had nothing and knew nothing more than before. He didn’t need that conversation to know that some type of criminal activity hid behind the curtains. And he didn’t want to care about it… He knew from the beginning and always chose to ignore it because it never involved him.

But what about now?

“Listen, kiddo. The solution would be very simple. Pop the hood open next time, let others see what you’ve got.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why? Do you have illegal stuff under there? Are you… Cheating or something?”

Bruce shook his head.

His chest roared with pride, visible shining through his eyes. He pulled his lips into a thin line, looking straight at the man sitting in front of him.

“No. Nothing like that. I just… Can’t. There’s stuff not accessible to everyone in my car build. So…”

“What are we talking about then? Is it imported?”

A sigh left Bruce’s chest. “It’s from Wayne Corp.”

José looked at him for the longest time. Bruce had the impression he was holding his breath. And the longer he spent looking at him, the more he thought José understood there and then who he was.

But if he did, he hid it very well.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“People will assume I am rich.”

“I would only assume someone in your family works there and you got your hands on some scraps, to be honest.”

Bruce looked away, chuckling away the puzzled look José sent him.

Scraps. Except what hid under his hood wasn’t trash.

“Still, won’t be of any help. It wouldn’t bring customers into these businesses I seem to be hurting.”

“No. But it would, at least, lower some suspicion people have.”

Bruce closed himself in another long moment of silence. He tried his best to avoid José's attentive look, still feeling the attention given to him under his skin.

He pulled a face, hinting at how much he was cringing, not that it wasn’t already clear enough by his body language and scarce ability to bring a simple conversation on.

“Listen, kiddo…” José exhaled a sigh and moved slightly, leaning forward. “I like you, I told you. But I know what you’re doing. I am not naïve nor blind. The people leading the races aren’t either, and you don’t want them to know you’re sniffing around.”

Bruce sent him a brief look through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He shifted on his chair, crossing his arms to his chest in a tight embrace, clearly trying to hide from José’s insightful eye.

He suddenly felt naked.

“Why do you think I am?” He tried his best to scorn José’s words, even if he knew there was nowhere to hide; the man in front of him was seeing right through him.

“C’mon, Jesse. Don’t mock me. You’re lucky you stumble upon someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“A good guy.”

Silence.

By then, José seemed to have learned he was the one that had to carry the conversation if anything needed to be said. “Look, I want to help. I would have even suggested to you to bring your car in, we could have done some work on it to cover your ass… But I am sure we don’t have that kind of time. I am not that good.”

“Besides the fact that I already thought about it and I can’t afford to change my car.”

Of course, he wasn’t talking about money and by then he assumed they both knew it.

José nodded to his words and briefly looked away. The thorny tone Bruce threw at him didn’t seem to hurt him in any way. Instead, he smiled at him. “Either way, it wouldn’t be ready for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Bruce's attention was captured. He looked closely at the man in front of him, frowning.

And José mirrored his expression for a moment, then he nodded. “The race.”

“There’s a race tonight?” A rhetorical question that didn’t need an answer, besides the fact that Bruce seemed to be hardly able to grasp the meaning of that new turn of events.

“You haven’t been notified.” José whispered, plucking the thoughts off Bruce’s mind.

No. He wasn’t.

Every race is announced via text, through untraceable numbers, and luckily disconnected immediately after sending the word out. Bruce knew because it was the first track he tried to follow before realising he really had nothing to work with.

There was always some notice so that the pilots and the people attending had time to get ready.

And it was rather unusual for two races to happen so close to one another with barely a day of break.

As much as it was suspicious, he didn’t receive an invitation since he wasn’t only a pilot, but a winning one.

His thought crossed his mind with no pride nor narcissism. It was a fact.

Bruce and José looked at each other for a long time.

Then, in a split second, José froze. His expression changed from sympathetic to concerned, shadowed by a worry strong enough to slide under Bruce’s skin in a shiver.

And he just could not wrap his head around why? Why was it so important? Why just now when never before it seemed to be a problem?

He hesitated just a moment, before breathing in to speak, but before any word could come out, José got up from his chair, clearing his voice. “I am sorry, kiddo. I have work to go back to.”

“No. Please. I need to be there.”

José ignored his words and moved across the small office, towards the door. But before he could do anything to cut that conversation, Bruce jumped up and opposed him, standing in front of him with his hands up in the air. “José, this is important to me… I-”

José shook his head. The man still showed the hints of a gentle heart and the behaviour of a “good guy” as he called himself. Yet he sealed his lips, not even looking at Bruce.

“If you haven’t been notified, there must be a reason, Jesse. I can’t. You know how it works. You’re out.”

“No!” A shiver crossed Bruce. “I am not. Someone cut me out.” The desperation in his voice made him look exactly as he was: a young teenager, lost and clinging to something he didn’t understand.

Once again, José shook his head. “I can’t do anything. It is over my head. And it might be better that way, have you thought about it? It might be a solution to your problem.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what this means to me. I need to be there.”

It was beyond racing now. Beyond his hobby and the mask he built himself to be the mysterious, young, winner Jesse. It was personal – more than ever before, he had been abruptly cut out of the races for no reason.

He didn’t play dirty or break any rules.

It wasn’t fair.

“You are right.” At first, Bruce welcomed José’s words with a hopeful gasp, if it wasn’t for his grave look. “I don’t know you. You are a good kid, I can tell… But if who’s at the top don’t want you there who am I to…”

“I’ll buy the information.”

“I don’t care for your money, kid.”

“I-”

Bruce felt the groundbreaking under his feet. Another shiver crossed him, while a shot of adrenaline exploded inside of him – but not the kind of energy that would set him on fire, no. The kind of that made his stomach twist painfully. His heart was beating so fast his hands started to shake, while he felt the weaves of his dream and passion fray and dissipate between his fingers.

If he lost that only lead, he was left with nothing.

Bruce felt the familiar feeling of tears forming in the back of his eyes. And he disgusted himself.

Pathetic.

Anger was quick to rise inside his shaken spirit.

José sighed and then placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. “Kid, it’s nothing personal. Try to put yourself in my shoes. If word comes out that I breeched the system then I am out too – I have mouths to feed.”

“I can protect you.”

“Oh, yes? And how? You are just a kid. You’ve got nothing. Except for a good car and enemies, apparently.”

Bruce grumbled loudly. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and then weighted his options for about one second, before acting as recklessly as the situation required.

Thinking about it, his sudden idea wasn’t a good one. And probably he would have regretted it later.

Possibly it would have caused him more and more problems than he already had on his plate now… But then again, fuck the consequences.

He huffed lowering his eyes. It took him a second to gather his courage, but then again, he was ready to do anything to reach his goal, and now he was determined to use the only thing he was left with.

“My name is not Jesse.”

José remained silent, and he took advantage of his hesitation to take his sunglasses and hat off.

After a long second of looking to the floor, Bruce finally looked up into José’s eyes, waiting for him to click.

“I can cut you a deal with Wayne Corp.” He offered.

José mocked him with a scorning chuckle, shaking his head. “You are funny, kiddo… But-”

“I am Bruce Wayne.” He quickly cut through José’s words, nodding to his own words. “I am not joking. Just look at me.”

When José did, studying his features, Bruce gained confidence. If he believed he was full of crap he would have already shoved him out of the way. Though, he was still listening.

“Trust me, please.”

“How do I know you’re not lying.”

Bruce rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pushing out a loud grumble and then pulled out his walled, shoving his driving licence right into José’s face.

The man in front of him gasped, taking the card into his hands, to study it closely. “Wow – if this is forged, you did a great job.”

“It’s not fake.”

José looked back at him. His suspicion didn’t leave his eyes, but he returned Bruce’s ID to him, pulling a weird pout. “So, you’re telling me you are the Wayne’s kid, and with all the things someone like you could do you decided to like, you ended up involved in illegal races?”

“Yes.”

José just looked at him, falling into a silence that Bruce felt extremely uncomfortable.

“That is why I can’t disclose I have Wayne Corp. stuff under the hood of my car.” He added, trying his best to keep the conversation going.

But again, José didn’t push him aside and cut him off, which gave him hope.

He had only that lead and he wasn’t intentioned of giving up.

“I see.” José finally said, releasing a deep sigh. Then he shook his head. “I can see the resemblance.”

While the man looked at his face, Bruce had to fight against the need to turn and hide. And he also had to bite his tongue not to answer sharply and rudely, but before he could lash out without control, José cut through his thoughts with a sharp nod.

“How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

“I gave you my identity.”

“How do you know you can trust me, then?”

“You said it yourself, you are a good guy.”

“Yes. But having a young kid on my conscience it’s not on my list of wishes.”

“I am not your responsibility. Just give me the place and the time, the rest is on me. And I promise I’ll keep my word. For gratitude, not obligation.”

José shook his head. Then, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling in pure exasperation, before sending him a final, sharp look. He pointed his finger to Bruce’s chest. “You better not fall into serious trouble, kid. You’re about to dive into deep waters.”

Bruce just nodded. He took a step back putting his sunglasses back on, which prompted José to sigh. “And by the way, I am not doing it because you bribed me. It’s dangerous – it doesn’t mean it’s fair.”

Bruce lost count of the number of hours he had been awake for.

He just knew he didn’t sleep for a very long time. Enough to make him hectic, easily agitated and extremely moody and paranoid.

His body was shaking, his heartbeat was quick, leaving him in a constant state of restlessness, painfully sliding under his skin.

Coffee and energy drinks had been his best friends for the past two days – though, he also very well knew an overdose of caffeine and sugar wasn’t recommended. As much as he knew he was close to a breakdown… Sooner or later either he would have fallen unconscious or his body would have reached its breaking point. It didn’t help he barely ate.

But he had more important things to think about.

The engine of his Challenger was slowly rumbling while he tried to move through the crowd attending that night race. Though he was gaining very little progress – and patience wasn’t his stronger suit that night.

The music coming from the street was already too loud for him. It hurt his ears. To the point, even his radio was kept silenced. Not to talk about the loud chattering of the crowd around him, slipping through the cracks of his car and sliding right under his skin.

A shiver of pure discomfort crossed Bruce.

He grumbled loudly and slammed his hand on the honk, bringing all the people surrounding his car to jump and finally pay attention to him.

He didn’t even care for their disgusted and utterly offended looks, as soon as they moved enough for him to advance. Even if he gained only a meter, maybe less, before he found himself stuck again.

Perfect. Great.

Generally, it wasn’t that difficult. It would require attention, proceeding with caution while moving the car through the crowd, but usually, he was immediately recognised and welcomed, and people would let the pilots’ cars move through to reach their spots.

He could not understand why that night was different.

Of course, he knew that for some reason someone decided to cut him off the races. But he also knew that the entire crowd could not have been notified of such a thing in a day. Bruce really wasn’t the kind of guy who would brag about things… But he was well aware everyone around him still believed he was the winning pilot.

Because he was.

But he was welcomed by the people as a stranger.

Bruce squeezed the wheel between his hands, trying to release some tension, and then he just accepted he was stuck in the crowd, taking a second to just breathe.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, from under the sunglasses, releasing a deep sigh. His chest was hurting, not because of exhaustion… But because he felt rejected right there, where, in anonymity, he found a place he thought he belonged.

Even his eyes were stinging – and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the intense strain they were put under throughout all those hours being awake, or because of the pain he felt. But maybe, it was only that the neon lights surrounding him that night were particularly bright.

Without turning the engine off, Bruce slid out of his car.

He didn’t pay any attention to the people surrounding him. Even if he noticed some of them looked down at him.

He remained squeezed between his seat and the opened door and pushing his elbow on the roof of the Challenger, he peaked over to the head of the crowd, where he knew the racing cars were parked.

He just wanted to see how much more distance divided him from his destination… But as soon as his eyes met what he was looking for, he felt a hit right to his chest. As if he had just been shot right through the heart.

His spot was taken.

At first, even if just for a second, he thought he might have been mistaken. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He even doubted the system he knew so well, thinking maybe he wasn’t invited to the race, that night, because it didn’t concern him.

It was plausible.

He was even considering accepting the fact that maybe he was cut out of the races, and maybe that was the reason why his spot was occupied. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t have fought to get to the bottom of it.

But… The longer he looked the more he realised something was wrong. Even more so than what he thought.

Because the car parked at his place was another black Dodge Challenger. And it wasn’t the end of it. Leaning to its side, stood a tall, skinny guy, with bleached blond hair, wearing thick sunglasses. Interacting with some people around him. Included Bookie Paul.

Bruce’s heart stopped.

He slowly slid back inside his car and once the door was closed behind him, he held the wheel, leaning against it for a moment.

He took a broken breath. And then another.

He didn’t know what was going on. His head was spinning out of control.

The only thing he could think about was an interminable sequence of what the fuck?

Grasping control over his own mind was impossible… He couldn’t even think straight about what he saw. And besides the tearing pain that slid through his chest, leaving him feeling uncovered and alone, helpless and vulnerable, a wave of violent rage roared inside of him.

He didn’t only want to get to the bottom of it. Now, he wanted revenge.

Because something was going on… And he had a new lead: that bastard of Bookie Paul.

Bruce knew the bookie saw him and talked to him too many times to be easily fooled by an imitation of him.

He was ready to aggressively honk his way to the front-line and intervene, not much caring for manners or a smarter approach… But of course, he was distracted.

The door to his right opened and someone slid inside his car. Before he could shout improper insults to the very unwanted passenger, his attention was caught by recognition – and his throat sealed shut.

Chanel sat there as if she wouldn’t fit anywhere else as well as she could, next to him.

She sent him a look. He gripped on her silence, appreciating it to an unimaginable degree. As her eyes sparkled under the makeup she was wearing, his chest trembled and he was ready to give his control up, even for something as small as knowing she recognized him.

Before he could even open his mouth to say anything, Chanel nodded toward him. “Drive. We need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“Trust me, ok?”

Pushed by a force he didn’t recognize, helped by her sincere determination, Bruce did as she asked.

Reversing out of the crowd was undoubtedly easier and even if part of him wanted to fight against her instructions, because he thought the answers he was looking for were the opposite way what she suggested – he also knew she had information.

Chanel was his first lead. But of course, with a fake name and the fact that she asked him to drop her off at a 7-eleven parking lot, he didn’t have much to run with.

He drove away.

The further he drove from the race perimeter, the more agitated Bruce became, with his paranoia growing. To the point, he could barely sit still.

For once he cursed the silence that fell between them – because he desperately needed to understand what was going on.

After a while, Chanel pointed to a filthy and dark space, tucked under a bridge. “Park there.”

A shiver crossed his back. He suddenly wasn’t so sure he could trust her… He didn’t even know her. But she apparently was feet deep into whatever was going on and knew the pyramid behind the circle…

Bruce still did as she asked, for lack of any better plan and when he killed the engine, heavy silence surrounded them.

He sat there, stiff and tense, looking out the front windshield without focusing on anything in particular.

That suburban, lower road was desolated and dark. A single lamppost shined through it in the distance. The buildings around it had an eery feeling to them. Even the bridge on top of them was empty.

“You have to tell me what is going on.” His words were pushed to a whisper.

On his side, she turned slowly towards him. He could feel her moving in the dense air of the cabin, and he knew she was studying him. As much as he could feel her hesitation. All, not even looking at her.

But before he lost his patience and could bark at her, Chanel finally exhaled a deep sigh. “I know less than you think I do.”

“Whatever you know it’s more than what I have, so…”

“I know you weren’t supposed to be there.” She whispered and as her guilt brought her to look away, Bruce slowly turned towards her.

“How do you know that?”

“Girls like me… We know things. It doesn’t mean we can do anything about it.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“Look. It’s for the best. Jesse…”

“I decide what’s for the best. Why the fuck was there a copycat in my place?!” Fire took over Bruce’s temper. He raised his voice and frustration brought him to slam a hand on the wheel.

Which he regretted immediately after seeing Chanel flinching at his gesture.

Though her fear disappeared immediately – or she covered it like a champion, while she pushed herself forward, leaning closer to him.

“Because they are going to frame you. You are done at the circle, after tonight. And believe me, it’s for the best. It was this way or shooting you right between the eyes. So, you might want to consider liking the other plan.”

“If someone thought I was worth killing for such a stupid thing – then why accepting not to?”

“I don’t know. God is looking after you?! You’re a lucky motherfucker?! Whatever will make you sleep better at night, sweetheart. Counting most of us don’t have such privilege when someone decides to kill us, they just do, you should just be grateful and go on with your life.”

“This is all good and well, but I still miss to understand why?”

“Ugh. Jesse! Can’t you just go on with a thank you and a see you never again?”

To her exasperation, he answered only with a determined shake of his head. Chanel rolled her eyes and crossed her arms to her chest, pushing herself stubbornly against the seat.

Just now, he noticed she was barely dressed. The amount of uncovered skin she had exposed was a lot – almost improper, to the point he was pushed to look away, not to appear like a creep.

His pale cheeks still blushed uncomfortably. He hoped she wouldn’t realise – as if that was important, during such a conversation!

“You aren’t owned by no one. You do not have a sponsor, you do not collaborate with any business, almost no one knows your face, hell you don’t even buy drugs or pay for some girl or boy company. It is a threat, because if pilots and teams start to believe they can start doing it themselves, then a lot of the business the circle exists upon would crumble.”

Chanel took only a small break, sending him a quick look. “So, they will frame you tonight.” She shrugged, snuggling against the seat. “Which is better than killing you. No hard feelings here, baby, but if the crowds feel betrayed, no one would ask questions about the sudden disappearance of someone well-known as you – even if no one really does, right?”

“Frame me how?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Chanel turned towards him and pointed a finger to his face. “It’s done. Do you hear me? If you’ll be back, for any reason, they’ll kill you.”

Bruce turned abruptly away.

He didn’t let himself accept her words. Nor the sharp pain cutting through his chest to the idea he didn’t just lose a comfortable place in something he liked to do… But he also lost a fight he never thought he could win.

He was exhausted and heartbroken… And his emotions were all over the place. If only he had more sleep, then he was sure to be able to act in a controlled, reserved way. Instead, he was just kicked over the edge. Unhinged and lost.

He lashed out, pouring out his rage into violence, hitting and kicking whatever part of the car he found. It wasn’t a tantrum. It was his awareness Chanel was right and that his hands were tied. He could do nothing but just disappear and let some unknown people ruin his name…

When every drop of his strength left him, Bruce flopped on the seat and a broken breath left his chest.

He took his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes, smudging black eye shadow all over his cheekbones and fingers. But he didn’t care.

Chanel sat quietly next to him. He felt her eyes on him but he didn’t have any energies left even to tell her off.

“You work for them, don’t you?” He finally exhaled.

There was something strange about her appearance, and the fact that everything was happening all at the same time. And maybe he was a touch too paranoid – but he was quite sure about that hunch. He didn’t even care for the answer that expected him… He simply didn’t have any energy whatsoever to fight her too.

Her silence was condemning and heavy. To the point, it brought him to turn over and look her in the eye. He was too tired even to reject such direct contact. “Tell me.”

“I don’t work for them. They own me. It is different.”

“Is it?”

“Not everyone has your freedom and your possibilities, rich boy. Go back to your family and grow up.”

“I am older than you.” He was so exhausted and with no resources left that instead of proudly taking offence at her words, he chuckled, surprising even himself. Then he shook his head. “So, when did it start?”

Chanel shrugged. “I don’t know. But I have been instructed to get your attention. But you play hard to catch.”

As Bruce felt her eyes on him, he squeezed himself between his shoulders and didn’t offer more than a strained, defeated smile.

“Yesterday I was supposed to distract you before the race…” She exhaled in the end.

Bruce nodded but didn’t answer – his words would have been wasted by then. His breath died in his throat before any of his thoughts could become sentences. If for a single moment he wanted to proudly point out he wasn’t the kind of guy who would get distracted by some fluttering eyes, he immediately lost intention. Even all the questions he had, and the things he felt he needed to know… He had lost whatever battle he tried to fight, so it wasn’t important anymore.

But the same could not be said for Chanel, there was still weight she needed to take off her chest.

“And then the police arrived… Let’s say just that you were supposed to cross me, in the alley.”

Just then, Bruce shot her a look. It was only an instant, and yet, something clearly trembled inside his chest. Their eyes crossed and he managed to hold eye contact for a few seconds, letting her see right through his disappointment. But in the end, he just nodded – again, too tired to do anything else.

“Why didn’t you finish the job?”

Chanel met his question with a sad, dry chuckle. “Because you are just a boy.”

Again, the look she sent him was quick and filled with a certain degree of guilt and shame.

Any other time, to words like those, Bruce would have lashed out with pride, rejecting the possibility someone could pity him, or diminish him in such a way. But now he was too exhausted even for that. Instead, he offered another nod, and another thin, pale, beaten smile.

“And because you are gentle.” Chanel proceeded, with another sigh, exhaling some more sides of the truth.

Her words called his attention and again, he looked at her, crossing her eyes. The dark pools of her irises were surprisingly soothing. They both leaned against their seats, deflated beings – broken youth pretending to be adults.

Chanel raised a hand to his face and just lightly caressed his chin. He didn’t move, maybe too tired even to feel the rejection to such a touch. And his lack of reaction encouraged her to slide her hand around his jaw.

Her touch was warm and soft… An embrace Bruce would have never admitted he liked, still he pushed his cheek against her hand, releasing a heavy sigh. His eyelids fell heavily on his eyes, while he took only that moment to relax.

“And you didn’t take advantage.”

“Is that why you warned me yesterday?”

“Yes. If you had acted like most of the men at the circle would… Then I wouldn’t have liked you.” She pushed out a tiny smile, still weighted down by a certain sadness. “I thought you would stay away. Plus, you weren’t supposed to know about the race tonight. If you didn’t show up, then everything would have gone smoothly.”

A pause fell between them.

Bruce looked at her trying to catch as many thoughts off her eyes as he could, when a thought crossed his mind. And that idea froze him, latching through his chest.

“You didn’t finish the job in a way… But you are still working now, aren’t you?”

He simply asked, not even expecting an answer or the truth. Not caring about it by now. Even knowing that he thought he found an ally, yet she never was anything but bait to him… Equally fucked by the same system, no doubt, but still playing a part in his downfall, wasn’t important anymore.

He was too tired to be anything but deflated. He was angry though; he could feel it steer inside of him. But how could it be of any relevance when it was directed against pure smoke?

Chanel embraced a long second of silence before nodding. Just then she broke eye contact. “You weren’t supposed to intervene and disrupt their plan. I am their guarantee.”

Bruce respected her words with a slow nod. He then sunk into his own shoulders, dropping his hands off the wheel. He didn’t even realise he was still holding it.

“You look exhausted.” Chanel observed. Her voice was as soft as a whisper and strangely welcomed by him in a way Bruce not only wasn’t used to – but even didn’t recognise.

People, strangers, never relaxed him. On the contrary, they would set him off in a constant state of panic that would spread under his skin. But it seemed different now. And maybe it could have been that all of his feelings were now muffled and only echoing in the far distance – but it remained strange.

He didn’t even react, if not with compliance, when she leaned closer to him and pushed a hand on the side of his head, sliding her fingers through his hair. Her move made him turn towards her and without even realising, he melted against her palm – never imagining he would have liked such touch. They both sighed.

“I didn’t sleep much.” He admitted, not entirely knowing why.

“Why don’t we sit in the back?”

At that point, he was sure she could have asked him to do whatever and he would have probably said yes. Walk on the edge of the bridge over their heads? Sure thing. Show me what’s under the hood of your car? Right away. But no, her request was way more peaceful and earnest. And he had to admit it was difficult to see through her words when he was that enchanted by her dark eyes – even for something like such an innocent suggestion, that still implied diving deeper into each other boundaries.

He nodded.

As Chanel slid in the back through the narrow space between the seats, he just slightly froze, ready to complain, afraid she could damage his car in some way. But he never said a word, left speechless by her fluid agility. She moved like a cat, without making a sound, with extreme awareness of her surroundings and therefore able to bend easily.

Once she disappeared into the darkness of the back of his car, he hesitated a second. He felt her eyes on him.

He turned off the engine and then followed her.

Of course, he didn’t dare to imitate her move. Instead, he got out of the car and slid in the back through the door. And once he closed it, darkness surrounded them.

He liked it that way. It was one of the reasons why he really liked the night. His insomnia helped him with such a choice and such closeness to that moment of the day, and he was very aware of the fact that it could be considered very fitting for someone like him… But it didn’t change the fact that he found comfort in the shadows, ever since he was a child.

At some point, in his life, he knew he was terrified of the dark. But after his parents died he always had it in his mind to have the responsibility to become the man they wanted him to be, even at seven.

Which was the reason why he went and looked for his greatest fear, to fight it off and master it.

It happened shortly after the funeral, he knew there was a dark pit, under the Wayne Tower. And he went there.

Of course, he got stuck.

And he found bats. So many damn bats… He hated the things, now.

But at least he wasn’t afraid of the darkness anymore…

Chanel softly pressed her fingers on his chin, plucking him out of his memories and bringing him back to reality, pulling his face towards her ever so gently.

“Where did you go?”

“Nowhere.” He mumbled, squirming off her hold.

He felt an uncomfortable shiver crossing him. A sudden stiffness caged his tired bones. And for some reason, he was holding his breath.

It wasn’t at all surprising, some kind of awkwardness was supposed to dawn on him, especially since he realised the liberties Chanel was taking and how straightforward she was with her stares, closeness and touches – when he barely ever let anyone be in the same room with him, let alone gently cradle him.

He shook his head and pushed himself forward, sliding his hand to the driver's door, pushing down the security lock. And at the same time, all the other doors were locked around them.

He then sent her a quick look. “You can –” He cleared his voice, choking on a single, sudden thought. “You can open the door whenever you like, just unlock it… It’s just a precaution…”

He didn’t realise he was the only one concerned by such a notion. Chanel didn’t seem at all bothered, she was curled on her seat, apparently relaxed. Even offering him a soft smile while she nodded to his words.

“It’s ok.” She whispered. “If I felt threatened, I wouldn’t be here.”

While his eyes adapted to the darkness – his sunglasses forgotten on the side – he focused his attention on Chanel, noticing just now she was bare feet.

He pressed his back against the seat, releasing a sigh.

“I imagine by now whatever it is that was planned against me must be already happening.”

Chanel only answered him with a grave nod. She let silence fall between them, but for once, and even surprisingly, Bruce was the one who didn’t let it settle.

“Yesterday, I heard you call Bookie Paul papa, is he… Is he your father?”

The burst of laughter she welcomed his question with confused him, but then she shook her head. “No. God, no. He is not my father. He likes his girls to call him papa.”

“His girls?”

“He is a pimp, baby.”

The simplicity with which she stated such notion left him breathless. Not because he didn’t imagine one like Paul could be a man with his hands deeply shoved into any kind of petty crime, but because up to that moment he never realised…

Putting all the information he now knew together, it was easy to understand what Chanel had to be. So young, not even of age, and still having to survive in a big, broken city such as Gotham…

He sent her a look, feeling something heavy clutching his chest. And as if he called for her, Chanel moved closer to him, again not afraid, not holding back, not giving him space, she grabbed his face between her palms, caressing his jaw.

“This is why I like you. You see me as a human being. That’s nice.”

“I see you, yes. I am sorry.”

“It’s not the worst, believe me. I have protection, guaranteed food and a bed to sleep in. Which is more than none.”

She slid closer to him, and as they looked into each other eyes, Bruce still felt his chest pressed by a dreadful feeling he could not quite describe. That stung more and more, the longer he looked at her and saw her pride and courage as a warrior.

He wondered how did it happen? How did she end up being in that situation? What did she feel? Who was she?

But then he kept his questions for himself, knowing it wasn’t any of his business.

His curiosity regarding the plotting against him shifted.

He could have gained information about Bookie Paul, he could have at least tried, and worked his way from there… But he didn’t.

Bruce raised a hand, ever so gently passing his fingers across one of hers. He just now, touching her warm skin, realised how cold his was… But she didn’t seem bothered by that.

“Will you make something out of this? Will they pay you for the job?”

“But of course, baby. Who do you think I am? A rookie?” The soft chuckle that vibrated from her through his chest gave him a shiver. She might have found it funny… But to him, it wasn’t.

He realised that the feeling clutching his chest was concern, given by a degree of care. And a never before felt need to protect. Protect her.

“I hope, then, that you will be able to make something good out of it.” He whispered.

He didn’t want to make assumptions about her character, but it was a fact he didn’t know her. And maybe in an ignorant, close-minded way, he thought to have the freedom to assume his advice was required.

Because, of course, he had a certain pride. If she would get something out of his dream being shattered, and if she was part of the conspiracy, then he wanted it to at least mean something.

He didn’t want to stereotype her…

She pushed her thumbs on his pale, sunken cheeks, plucking him out of that spiral of overthinking that once again took over his mind.

“This job just bought my freedom.”

As she smiled, proud and even apparently grateful, Bruce mirrored her. As his smile became wider, he had to fight the need to lean his head to hide it away.

There was no need for any more words.

He knew whatever he would have said would have been wasted, or not required. And what could he add to it?

He had just been fucked over by a system he didn’t even know had a problem with him up to two days ago. He erroneously, and maybe with a drop too much of cockiness, thought he was one of the best, therefore deserving respect. And besides all of it, he just loved the races.

He had nothing before he discovered an interest in reckless driving and modified cars. And now he knew he had a talent. He could build things with his hands. His mind was quick and sharp when it came to mechanics.

More than that, the races made him feel something.

But now it went all up in smoke.

Though, his anger settled now. He had no strength left to scream, and no force to break things. He didn’t even have a target. Plus, taking it out on Chanel wouldn’t be fair. She was a victim as much as him – even if she had freedom in her pocket.

To the passing of such a thought, maybe only a fraction of a second, in an imperceptible way, helped by darkness, Bruce’s hinted smile became a confident smirk.

Was it all really to be considered a loss, when she just gained her life?

“C’mon, baby.”

He jumped, startled. Her voice slid through his mind, distracting him again from his overthinking, and he didn’t even realise he closed himself in his own mind, looking at an undefined spot in a dark corner of the car.

There was something soothing, calming, in the way she called him. It wasn’t patronizing, nor had the cringe of a pet name – even though, that’s what it was – he just found it cute, therefore accepted it.

Chanel laid back on the seat and widened her arms, inviting him.

For the first time in his entire life, Bruce realised there was value in such a thing. For the first time, he realised how much he desperately craved touch.

He looked at her for a long second, hesitant, holding his breath.

Human interactions didn’t come naturally to him. Let alone anything intimate – even as harmless as a hug could be. But his panic was well delayed – if it was coming at all. Because he could just feel his heart beating slightly faster… But the clutch dragging him into a wild spiral, losing control, seemed to be well far from his chest.

Even if it was so difficult, for him, to accept that someone could want to have him close. Even if Chanel wasn’t being subtle.

He finally released a sigh, and with his breath, he let go of his doubts – too tired even to worry about such things.

He shifted and leaned towards her. His movements were as stiff and as awkward as one could imagine, but Chanel didn’t seem to care.

As he turned his back to her, she was the one who gently grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down towards her, welcoming him in a warm, soft embrace.

At first, he found it difficult to find any ease. Feeling her body pressed against his back and shoulders came like a shock. He was more than touch-starved, he was also a young, reclusive teen who never, before meeting her, was cradled by a woman. Not since he was a child… And after that, he pretty much refused to ever be again.

Yet, now it hit differently.

As he did his best to suppress his awkward, panicky, tired spirit, Chanel wrapped an arm around his chest, holding him from shoulder to shoulder, while she gently pressed her other hand on the side of his head, hinting to him to rest it on her shoulder.

His not being comfortable wasn’t given by the fact he felt threatened by her, or didn’t want to be there, or even because he didn’t trust her – he just felt… Out of his comfort zone, like a fish out of the water.

But as soon as she slid her fingers between his hair, tenderly stroking him, Bruce melted between her arms.

As he relaxed his muscles and weighted on her, Chanel tightened her hold on him. She didn’t object when his head fell in her neck socket, in fact, she leaned her chin on the top of his head, releasing a sigh.

“You need some sleep.” She whispered, brushing her lips on his forehead.

By then, Bruce wasn’t thinking about anything anymore.

Everything that happened, that he felt, that he might feel, all his anxiety for the future, all his plans ruined, his defeat, and the weird dynamic with that unknown girl… Everything disappeared in the thick weaves of his exhaustion.

She started to rock him, so slowly, so gently… Bruce truly felt warm and safe.

Bruce jumped in his sleep, being torn to reality by that all too familiar feeling of falling.

He woke up startled, cold and confused. As he mumbled something, sitting up and looking around, it took him a second to realise he wasn’t in his bed.

His mind was muffled, his head felt heavy and his entire body ached. He felt like he had slept for ages, but his sleep wasn’t at all restful or tranquil, which greatly crushed his mood.

Outside it was bright enough to suggest another day was just on the verge of starting. And a disgusted pout crossed his lips.

Then, everything that had happened dawned on him.

He immediately looked around, just to realise he was alone. As soon as the empty space around him clutched his figure, Bruce felt a sharp spike of pain bite through his chest, but he couldn’t clearly recognise the origin of such feeling.

Was it the disappointment of loneliness? Even when he knew that state so well?

Or it was because of what he lost?

Just for a moment, he wondered how deeply he must have slept not to even flinch when she left.

He quickly looked around again, just to make sure. But in his car there was no trace left of Chanel – it was as if she had been only a dream.

#the batman #batman x catwoman #bruce x selina #bruce wayne #selina kyle #robert pattinson #zoe kravitz #dc #dc fanfic #the batman 2022 #the bat and the cat #the batman 2022 but it's actually 2010

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space-city-traffic · 3 years

Text

yet again im back on my bullshit so... (gazes with mixed feelings at the TV show Firefly) i could fix him.

my extremely long thoughts about my Own Personal Good Version of Firefly (with plenty of spoilers for the show and the movie) under the cut:

things that are getting axed first thing no question:

out with the whole “let’s add in a thin veneer of Chinese cultural aesthetics out of context for ~flavor~” deal. just no.

instead, let’s hire some actors from a bunch of different cultures and work with them to figure out how their characters would bring those cultures into space with them!! and also hopefully bring some experiences with immigration/alienation/travel into it, since the Whole Core of Firefly is about how humanity always brings our doomed and silly and stubborn and unique warmth with us even into the cold void where nothing is familiar or homey in the slightest.

let’s respect our sex worker character shall we?

i do appreciate that Inara’s work as a companion is described as legitimate and well respected in the show. however please stop having your captain and hero call her a wh*re every five seconds against her clearly expressed wishes and portraying this as just a totally acceptable thing

let’s be more respectful of our characters of color and also have some more diversity, shall we?

others have put it better than me but yeah, the way Zoe and Book are treated is very uncomfy, and the rest of the show is depressingly monochromatic. come on let’s do better.

stop the weird confederacy hat tips

again others have pointed these out with much more thoroughness than I could, but the names of some characters and locations, as well as some of the language used to describe the browncoats, has uncomfortably confederate vibes. instead i propose we very Clearly tip our hats to the Alliance equaling space capitalism instead! you can’t go wrong with space capitalism as a villain.

don’t! make! the! psychotic! character! violent!

listen i love River Tam with my whole heart. but you should absolutely not portray your only character with psychosis as violent because of that psychosis!!!!!!! and yeah, a huge part of her character is that her brain got fucked up by the alliance and so she hallucinates and is also a super ninja. but like. she doesn’t need to be a super ninja for her character to work, okay? the crew does not need to be scared of her for her character to work, okay??? more on this later bc it would take a lot of care and nuance to make her character work but i really think it can be done

things we are absolutely keeping:

found family tropes my fucking beloved

this should be self evident. this is why the show is as appealing as it is despite its flaws, at least in my eyes.

malcolm reynolds, the knight in dusty armor

there’s something so appealing to me about what Mal stands for. because at his core is this ridiculous, silly, stubborn, doomed devotion to what he thinks is important and right, a romantic idealism thinly covered by cynical cowboy platitudes that he thinks make his bleeding heart totally invisible. and he is so obvious and entirely incorrect. bless. this is a man who will do anything for his family, who charges into swordfights to defend his friend from a man who wants to turn her into an object despite having no clue how to hold a sword. at his worst, he starts brawls in bars just for the martyr’s thrill of being persecuted for supporting the right; at his best, he inspires downright religious belief from his crew because he represents a romantic and chivalrous and doomed dedication to the right thing over any practical concerns. and then he throws a “selfish” quip over it with 100% confidence that everyone fell for his clever distraction and believes him to be a dirtbag. he’s oblivious and ridiculous and god he makes me want to be a better person because he’s just so goddamned sincere. stupid, but sincere. 10/10 himbo. <3

Mal and Inara ultraslowburn friends to enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to friends to lovers to friends to...

there’s nothing i love more than a ship that’s just two people who know each other way too well, and they’re each the only one who knows the other well enough to call them out on their bullshit. the way Mal and Inara interact in the show sometimes makes me uncomfy but like. the core of their relationship has to stay.

space western aesthetic

i need the cows on a spaceship scene to stay like i need air okay

that sweet sweet religious shit

mal, who lost his faith in gd and a whole lot else during the war. who lost his faith in himself, and now feels he has to hide the part of him that still wants to be good, because he knows he can’t be anymore, and he feels like it’s embarrassing for a guy like him to want something so unattainable. who takes a preacher on board, and the preacher has lost something, too. the preacher has his own past, and his own questions. but not questions like the observant neurodivergent girl, the one who wants to interact with and understand this thing that’s so important to him, but it just doesn’t click with how her brain works and she feels like something needs to be fixed, either the Bible or herself. and Mal takes care of them all, and slowly, he begins to find gd again, not in a prayer but in humanity. humanity doesn’t need to be fixed, like the alliance thinks. the shining imperfect strawberry sweetness of it in his family’s smiles is something to be worshiped and served and devoted to. and he finds he has something to believe in again. (and his crew find that he’s given them someone to believe in, too. and maybe suddenly he’s a saint.)

and finally, my brilliant ideas as to what i would like to add:

TRANS WOMAN KAYLEE RIGHTS

listen her femininity is so important to me okay? it’s so thrilled about everything that’s pretty, from dresses to the spaceship’s electric innards, and it’s so non-traditional and grease stained until it’s not and it’s pink and ruffly and twirly, and she never sees any of it as a contradiction, because none of it contradicts, it’s all just her! her gender is warmth and love and prettiness, feeling pretty and appreciating the pretty and making her friends’ days pretty too.

i want us to find out she’s trans in that episode with the ball, and i want us to find out alongside Mal who just never asked or never realized. Kaylee gasps and squeals at the dress in the shop window and Mal makes an off handed, ill considered comment, and then... someone yanks him aside and hisses a few very significant words in his ear. and suddenly he remembers what the blue white and pink she painted all over the engine room means, and he knows he has something to make right. so he buys her that dress himself and lets her know just how pretty she looks, and when he walks into that ball with her displayed on his arm like something precious, he looks the proudest out of any man there. and she notices. for a few seconds, of course, until there’s chocolate, and ‘nara, and a chandelier—and some horrible girls, but she’s used to that, until—suddenly, she finds her people. a group of old men who light up when she jokes about compression coils and whack presumptuous boys who ask her to dance. they adopt her as a treasured granddaughter, and Mal is beaming at her like a proud dad, and she finds that one of her new elderly friends gazes a little too long at her bracelet, and so she gives it to xem and teaches xem a few new words, and... it’s a good day, huh? it’s a really good day. (of course, then the captain has to go and punch somebody in the face, but it was a real nice party up until then.)

also she and Simon are both transhet t4t im correct and you know it

time for a better River Tam

the first thing we’ve established is that this version of her is not unpredictably violent and the crew is not scared of her!!!! it makes no sense to take a kid who’s primarily brilliant, experiment on her brain, give her telepathic powers....... and tack on the fact that she also has super strength and speed and dexterity and what not, AND say that they programmed her to be super violent. no! no. not only is that extremely harmful rep, that’s also just stupid.

instead!! my version of River is in fact not terrifying to the crew, but is actually the one they feel safest around. River has always been totally blunt, she was one of those kids you could tell realllllly early was autistic, and she doesn’t like being disengenous at all. so you can always trust her to tell the truth and not play weird passive aggressive games or have any hidden agenda, which makes her just a really chill person to be around. also, one of her longtime special interests is music and dance, so whether or not she’s nonverbal on a given day, there will always be some sort of beautiful sound when she’s around. she does have the singing voice of a dying crow unfortunately but that’s ok bc Simon’s is even worse and they’re both incredibly competitive so you’ll at least get free entertainment out of the affair.

my version of River does have psychosis and hallucinations because of the trauma of the experiments, and they are really troubling to her. she and Simon work together to find ways to cope and meds that help, and it’s a process, but there are some things that help.

the only thing she gained from the academy was the ability to hear people’s thoughts and sense the future a little bit. and yeah, that led to her picking up a few spooky secrets at the beginning, which, yikes. and for a while, it was hard to figure out which voices were real and which were hallucinations. but around her friends, she always feels safe to ask “did you just think about triple cheese burritos or was that just a me thing?”, and they’ll always tell her the truth no matter how embarrassing their thoughts are, bc it’s important to all of them to respect her and help her sort accurately through what’s reality and what’s not. and bit by bit, she gets better and better at figuring out what kinds of things tend to be telepathy and what kinds of things tend to be psychosis, and that each one feels a little different. and because of the trust and respect and support of her found family she’s able to do that in a safe environment!!!

trans man Simon rights

listen i wanted to keep him as just a side note on Kaylee’s list but he is my son and he’s important to my heart so here goes

out on the outer rim where Kaylee’s from, gender ain’t much of a big deal, there’s an individualistic quality to life out there, and so if the trail you blaze is the trail of a woman or a man or neither or both, that’s respected even in the rare cases where it’s not outright encouraged. but in the inner planets, where competition and connections and public faces and family names are everything, you have to be what’s expected of you to survive. you can’t change your brand, you can’t be anything other than what your family planned for you since before you were born, it’s incredibly hard to survive in such a hyper competitive environment, and so your very identity becomes just a tool in how to market yourself for better success.

needless to say Simon (just as autistic as his little sister and also very trans) fuckin hated it there. but he was very good at it. correction: he was very good at his very specific field of STEM, good enough to where people stopped talking about how cute he looked in bows and started talking about how impressive his work was from a very young age. and his work had no gender. he could be whatever he wanted to in equations. so that was where he could express himself, and gd, he got so much praise for it, he never wanted to stop.

not until he discovered that his sister needed him, and ran away, and needed a disguise, and realized... suddenly, every stifling rule and prying eye was a million miles away. he was freefloating, freefalling, with none of the charted paths he’d been following all his life... so you know what? fuck it. he’s always enjoyed the name Simon. and since it’s not on any legal records, it’ll make him just that much more untraceable.

and on Serenity, starting over with new people who never knew him before his transition feels like an unbelievable blessing that just dropped right into his lap. he has to keep up the secrecy, he has to make sure they never find out who he used to be, because gd, it’s so nice when they look at him and say his name right, and he doesn’t know if he can handle losing that, not when it’s so new and so important to the person he’s finally becoming. but then one day, the unthinkable happens, the wanted posters for his arrest have an old name on them, they’re looking for the Tam sisters, and... nothing changes. the crew of Serenity could not give even a tenth of a percent of a fuck, and it doesn’t seem like they even know they’re supposed to. huh. that’s new. Simon could get used to that, he thinks.

i’m sure there’s more i could add, but it’s 4:30 in the morning now, so if more occurs to me, ill simply add it in a reblog tomorrow. if you’ve read down this far, i am in love with you. please let me know your Better Firefly ideas, too, bc im always down to yell about this show!!!

#firefly #Serenity #in which i choke out joss whedon with my bare hands and rescue his characters and give them better homes #ollies fix it series #malcolm reynolds #ollies personal good firefly canon

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