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kaszuma · 4 months

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Bad Habits | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 6 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Soshiro wanted to set things right by you, so he planned a date that would've gone perfectly. Had a Kaiju not appeared in front of you.

warnings: Mentions of Blood, heavy detail on Injury and Pain. Breathlessness and lots of claustrophobia related to crowds, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Slight Kn8 Manga Spoilers

wc: 6,552

–

note: Please inform me if I missed any warnings, It has descriptive injuries so I don't want to trigger anyone who's willing to read this.

Part 7 will be a direct continuation of this. So that's why I dubbed it as a Hurt/No Comfort fic for now. The comfort will come in another part because things have been going too smoothly in the relationship. And I don't want that. Anyways, look forward to the next part. I will be adding a tags list. So if you want to be tagged. Please tell me.

Also, thank you for a hundred followers 🫶

–

Today was the day Soshiro had decided to finally make it up to you.

After weeks of moving between bases. Handling Number 10’s strange quirks in its new prototype suit. It had been an understatement to say that he had kept himself rather busy in the wake of his occupation. His attention often divided between the lousy paperwork stacked against him, as well as his individual training.

One that he had always upheld to keep his body sturdy and his reflexes sharp. Not once acting careless in his response to a Kaiju attack. Especially now where he was equipped with a powerful and sentient combat suit, bloodthirsty for war. Willing to pick a fight with anything remotely breathing in his direction.

By all means, Soshiro could not afford to slack off. And if there was a miniscule chance that he did, he'd be minced alive for sure.

Just when his hard work had started to pay off too.

Now that he had been recognized as a numbers wielder no less. He'd be one of the few melee specialists that Japan could rely on in the case of an emergency. The proof of his existence. That he wasn't just a reject of the Hoshina Family's line of descendants.

That he was more than capable to wield a blade that could slay Kaijus that came after him. And he had succeeded. He had fulfilled his place in the hierarchy. His place solidified beside Captain Ashiro who was an even stronger ally than he was.

But despite his successes. Despite the satisfaction he got from climbing to the top with only the swing of his blade.

That had not been enough for him.

It had not been enough to prove his existence to the world.

And although that had been a major goal of his. To surpass people's expectations of his limits. His boon to keep fighting. To keep swinging his sword despite the odds stacked against him, had also been the downfall of many past relationships that could not blossom because it had gotten in its way.

And you had been the first to stay.

The first to understand his sentiments.The first to clear a path for him when everyone else had all but given up.

And yet here he was. Being a stellar lover and prioritizing everything else above you.

It had been weeks. Practically an entire month since he's spent some quality time with you. Sharing the occasional kiss in the hallways where you'd start your day off. Or acknowledging each other briefly when he had been stuck in the confines of the training rooms.

Beating the lessons right into rookies' bodies when you'd pass by. Or better yet, the daily coffee you had somehow managed to squeeze in despite your equally tight schedule. His favorite blend had always been waiting for him. Ready at his office on the days he burned the very wicks of the midnight oil.

And what had he done in return?

Nothing.

Not since that incident with Kaiju no. 10 at least. That of which he worked so hard to erase any evidence left in its wake. The fake report had at least been a piece of cake to do. And they had to do over the entire prototype testing just to make sure Number 10 was usable in its current state.

And unfortunately for him, it proved to be a much more difficult task to complete. Day by day he had not once made progress in raising the Suit’s combat power. Leaving Kaiju no 10 to mock his defenses and other battle related tactics whenever it could. But that had been the least of his worries.

In all honesty, he had been feeling guilty since that day.

Although he'd be remiss to say he didn't enjoy the feeling. Soshiro had not been in the right sound of mind when he found himself getting closer to you. Drunken by your scent, he had practically seen images flash by his mind. Courtesy by the Kaiju that had seen through his desires. And one thing led straight to the next. He found himself in a troublesome situation that he had been afraid to know the consequences of.

He had desired her. Yes. That much was clear. But he wanted the relationship to evolve slowly. At your pace. One that made you most comfortable.

But he had breached that space. The inch you had given him had turned into a mile. And he was lucky he still held some sort of restraint before he did something stupid and regretted his past actions.

And somehow, you still forgave him.

You enjoyed yourself even. Welcoming him with open arms for the next time around when they had managed to squeeze in the time between work. Open to the idea of a more sensual intimacy. In the privacy of someplace else. And Soshiro had wanted that too.

He wanted to correct his haste. To properly love you right.

But not everything had been picture perfect in the way he had planned. His bad habits showed in the ways he'd prioritize everything but you. And just when he built up his courage–Built up the resolve to face you. To do right by you.

Of course, things just had to get in his way.

Things always got in his way before he could properly apologize and make it up to you. Or atleast, that was the excuse he'd find himself feeling guilty of.

And that is where he found himself outside the premises of the Tachikawa base. Strangely out of uniform and in his civvies that he had managed to find beneath the sweatpants in his closet. Dappered in a simple black turtleneck and a white overcoat. Befitting of the cooler weather Japan had been facing in recent times.

He had been waiting for you to show up with a picnic basket in hand. A few paperback novels that he thinks you might enjoy. Added with a few sweets that he hoped would lighten up your day perhaps.

The plan had been simple.

He’d already done the nerve-wracking part. Stopping you midway as you finished giving him the stack of blueprints for the Combat Suit you had worked on upgrading. His hand reached to touch the soft skin of your knuckles. An action that made you look back at him in turn.

“Is something wrong?” You had asked curiously. The softness in your voice remained. One that made Soshiro want to melt into a puddle.

He smiled. Somehow the words got stuck on his tongue. And he had to remind himself that you were his lover. Who of course would agree to a date. Should he suggest it, Right?

He gulps. Suddenly feeling a little irritated at the way his stomach had dropped and a plethora of nervous butterflies had resurfaced.

Normally he'd have no problem taking out hordes of Yoju that came his way. Boasting the highest individual kill count for slaying midsized Kaiju of his generation. Yet somehow, his reason had gona askew. And he found this situation a little more terrifying than he anticipated.

“Hey, I was thinking..”

“Uh oh- That's not a good sign.” Your comment makes him smile. His eyes rolling to give your shoulder a playful squeeze.

“-That you and I need to have a talk.”

“About what?” You had replied with a tilt on your head.

“I got a few paperbacks in the mail yesterday. I was hoping we could grab a bite to eat while we read through ‘em?” He smiled. His usual grin did not falter in the way he spoke to you. Though you could tell that he had an inkling of nervousness by the way he reached up to scratch the side of his cheek.

“Oh. And here I thought I was in trouble.” You chuckle. “So you're finally inviting me out on a date, Vice Captain?”

He had moved to stand much closer to you. Hand already at the shape of your hip, habitually writing his name on the waistband of uniform. “Is that a no I hear from ya’”

“Now when did I say that?” And it makes you smile knowing he had been trying despite the busy schedule he had.

You had long since understood his place in the hierarchy. Soshiro may have not realized it, but he was far too important of a person in the Defense Force to have been kept away from duty.

His life alone had been the cost of a thousand who'd live due to his sacrifices. And whether or not his insecurities had blocked his view of his own self-worth. You were able to see it clearly.

So despite the difficulties. Despite the yearning you felt for his proximity You did the usual and prioritized his work. Letting him handle things when command had already put so much weight into his daily responsibilities. Not that he seemed affected by it, no doubt already used to the pressure of a hectic battlefield. Much less a hectic work environment.

But of course, you wouldn't reject an offer out on a date with your lover. Not when he so sweetly asked.

And if he had the occasional free time to invite you out. Who were you to say no to his offer?

“Soshiro!” You had called out. Appearing just beside him who stood nearest the entrance of the underground metro station. And he smiled turning towards you with his usual cheeky and cat-like grin.

“You shoulda’ texted me. I would've picked you up by the train stations.” He had moved his free hand to pinch your cheeks. And it makes you chuckle. Revealing yourself completely to him.

Where his eyes had raked over the surface of the cute outfit you decided to purchase the day before. Hand already twirling a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. Admiring your very soul. Your entirety in front of him.

“And miss your startled face? Fat chance I'd miss that opportunity.” You laughed.

Soshiro had rolled his eyes in turn. His heart pounding as his free hand immediately intertwined with yours.

“If it makes ya’ happy Sweetheart.” He didn't waste this opportunity to gently pull you close. Kissing your temple which had been nearest his lips. “You look pretty.”

His compliments had made you brighten. Your face visibly beamed when his eyes drank your figure. “Damn straight. I wasn't about to let you one up me in the looks department.”

“Alright, alright.” He found himself chuckling. “Let's get moving before the desserts I bought ya’ go bad.”

You had half a mind to drag your feet while he took you out of the metro line. Acting stubborn just to stall and ruffle his feathers for a bit. As payback for neglecting you all those days ago.

But you had decided against it, the crowded train station was far too busy in the early hours of the afternoon. And you would not risk losing each other and wasting the rare day Soshiro had all planned out for the both of you to do.

“Lead the way.” You had smiled, giddy at the mere thought of a time well spent together. And Soshiro had shared that very sentiment. Already leading you away from the busy horde where lines of people had been waiting for the next train stop.

Upon your words, he had gently walked forward. Leading you by the hand.

His grip on you was firm and you can see the way his back had engulfed and weaved through the crowd much more easily than you ever had. Broad in his strides as he tried not to go too fast. Matching your pace since he knew you weren't as built in stamina as he was.

You had admired the little details of his nape. The one mole peaking through the skin of his turtleneck, where his hair had shown every detail of his jugular. One that you had marveled at when he wasn't looking.

Just as you were about to offer your help. Reaching for the sling of the basket on his free hand.

A shiver ran down your spine. The hand that had tried to reach for the basket had paused in heavy response.

And you had suddenly flinched as a loud gust of wind had blown past you. Making the indoor lights of the metro begin to pop and flicker abnormally. An eerie buzz emitting from each light source as if the electricity had all short circuited, simultaneously.

The temperature underground had strangely heightened. Unusual for the cool metro station during this time of day.

And the crowd that had busied themselves passing each other by, had all but stopped. With people's stares directed behind the both of you in a frozen and frightened state. You look around, almost confused. And Soshiro had gripped his hand harder against yours. As if he already knew the exact dread that overcame him.

The exact thing that had been staring right back at them.

And somehow you had that inkling too.

But denial had only been your first problem. And the rest of your body seemed to know the truth. Your very palms began sweating like bullets, and you had hesitantly looked behind you. To prove to yourself that it had not been what you think it was.

But Soshiro who had somehow read your mind. Had moved much quicker than you had.

Pulling you behind him, already pushing you to the exit when people had started panicking. Screams had been the accompaniment of hasty footsteps. With people of all different ages, running in the same direction. Away from the stairs leading down the metro line.

A mere glimpse is all it took for the hair on your skin to rise. And the face of a humanoid Kaiju had looked in your direction. Its skin peeled like oranges, unlike the gritty leathery texture that surrounded its cheeks. And although it had a terrifying grin on its face. It remained calm. Observant. It seemed ecstatic in the way it reveled in the attention it had gotten. Whilst Soshiro had pulled you from your trance.

“Run. Get going!”

Soshiro had strangely screamed. Already pushing you to evacuate, weary that the Kaiju could attack you at any given moment should it wish to. But the Kaiju had a strange way of showing its excitement. Gurgling at every noise it heard. And Soshiro's yell had all been reduced to a mere whisper against your ear. The sound of a panicked crowd was all too encompassing for you to actually make out his words.

Soshiro had kept a firm grip on your shoulders. Still trailing close behind you with his gaze fixated on the Humanoid Kaiju.

Its legs had hovered mere inches above the ground. Crinkled like an old vegetable that was left out in the freezer for too long. It had double the arms, one that resembled old branches with no leaves. And although it looked sickly and frail, he was sure the damn thing was capable of major damage given the right opportunity.

But instead of grabbing onto the nearest person like Soshiro had anticipated. It surveyed the area. Weary of its nearest surroundings.

It's molars and gums chattering against each other. Echoing throughout the underground halls of the metro station. It looked as if it was occupied with something. A far off look in its beady eyes. As if it were communicating with someone.

Perhaps it had something to do with Number 9? Shit.

If that's the case, Soshiro needed to get you out of here as soon as possible.

“I can't get through. They're all pushing..” You had gasped. Feeling yourself stumble back when another person pulled at your shoulder and leaped forward. Using you as leverage to get to the exit.

Soshiro, who had seen this, was quick to catch you before you could fall. Your back against his chest in a protective stance.

He couldn't move. Not yet at least.

More than anything he'd like to handle that thing as quickly as possible. But to leave you nearby in such close proximity too? There's no way in hell he was going to let that happen. So all he could do was fixate his eyes on that Kaiju.

This thing was clearly sentient. Soshiro had seen the way it lingered to read one of the signs nearest the exit. But I didn't seem interested in conversing, let alone leave if he had asked. And he wasn't about to take his chances.

He needed to get rid of that thing now.

“Hoshina here.” He had fished out the white earpiece that he hid on his overcoat's back pocket. Pressing the small item down to his ear to contact operations.

“There's a Daikaiju sighting in the Tachikawa-Kita Station. Requesting permission to use Number 10 to neutralize it.” He spoke seriously. Unlike the usual light hearted conversations you'd have with him. And it makes you stare up at him with raised eyebrows.

It had been weeks since you had worked on Number 10. It was still far too early to be used as a plausible weapon out in the field. And yet here he was, indirectly telling you that he had worn it out in public.

“You what?” You had gasped out. Eyes blown wide whilst his hand remained on the small of your back.

Much to your dismay, Soshiro had not answered you.

Simply moving you closer to the wall, to let other people get through. His hand still pressed against the intercoms whilst he waited for a reply from Operations.

Soshiro had been focused on shielding you for the most part. The crowd was pushing, but it seems they had still been making progress in evacuating the area. Save for a few rumbles that had happened when the Kaiju had suddenly implanted its branch-like fingers onto one of the pillars. Cracking the surface of the solid cement that held the pillar in place. And you couldn't help but worry at the close proximity you both had been.

Right in range of where the Kaiju was looking at.

“Permission granted.” Okonogi’s faint voice could be heard. Likely already booting up Number 10's system underneath Soshiro’s civvies. The bioweapon would slowly regain energy which kept it from its usual conscious state.

“Do you, or Do you not have Number 10 on?” You had asked incredulously. Prying his arms off of you to peel off his shirt. And his larger hand stops you before you could see the peak of red in the place of where his skin should be.

“As a precaution m'dear.” His reply was immediate.

And he suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. Ushering you forward along with the thinning crowd. The stairway had all been emptied now. Save for a few runaways that had tripped or were pushed earlier.

“Higher ups wanted me to get used to it. Releasing this thing’s combat power, I mean.” His voice had been an octave lower. His smile, although present, had not been enough to reassure you. And you had a feeling he was trying not to have you panic on him.

“That is stupid. Command shouldn't have let you wear it. Number 10 is still unstable. What if you go berserk and lose control?” You sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“You did try to argue with command right?”

…

“Right?”

Soshiro did not answer you. Already pacing to drag you out of here before things could escalate.

Meanwhile, you had all but looked at him once over. Now it made sense why he chose to wear an overcoat when the weather had only been a little chilly this afternoon. It had surprised you that he was able to hide its tail from emerging from his legs. But then again, he probably had his blades tucked away in that too.

“Soshiro..”

“Listen, I'll explain things later. Take this and get to the nearest shelter. I ain’t havin Number 10 going berserk. I'll be fine. Just let me handle the Kaiju first, okay-” His sentence was cut short by your scream.

A broken chunk of the large pillar had been thrown towards you. And it had startled you enough to drop the basket he handed you. Soshiro had been quick in his motion to shield you. Wrapping his arms around your shoulder to let his back hit the brunt of the pillar.

But before it could hit and crush the two of you to bits. The faint sound of number 10 chuckled inSoshiro's suit. And its weaponized tail lashed out to strike the pillar back. Destroying it before it could scratch you both from its debris.

The sharp end had all but ripped Soshiros overcoat to shreds. And he was quick to remove the unnecessary fabric on top of his combat suit. Revealing the distinct eye hollowed out in the middle of his chest.

“Lucky this bonehead woke up on time.” Soshiro had chuckled darkly. And it was followed by its immediate reply. Tail haphazardly swinging around from behind him.

“Stop with your meaningless trifles and get to fighting swordsman! My patience is thinning.” It sounded almost like a child. Though its voice had been a deep and rambunctious chatter like usual.

“You heard the darn thing.” He sighs, pushing you forward before another attack could come in.

And you shook your head, placing your firm hands against the suit of his chest. Just beside Number 10's glowing eye. Your gaze fixated on his usual smile, one that you had grown accustomed to hearing cheery laughs from. “Are you serious? This thing isn't ready for an actual fight.”

“Do not mock us Woman. By the time you have escaped our opponent would have been ripped to shreds by me.” It screamed.

Making you roll your eyes in turn. And Soshiro had all but chuckled. Already letting you get a head start as you stepped out of the underground Metro line. “Just go. I promise you I'll be jus’ fine.”

“I’ll come find you later.” He had spoken. Already turning his heel to grab the swords he had hidden on his back.

You knew this was his job. The unavoidable was bound to happen. And as much it pained you to leave him alone with a Daikaiju with only a misaligned prototype of a suit as an ally. There was bound to be trouble afoot. But what can you do other than run?

You weren't a fighter like he was.

Your use was only in the presence of a laboratory, as a technician. Paving the way to enhance his equipment. To heighten his chances of survival, even if it was a measly one percent of it.

That had been better than none after all.

So with a heavy heart. You nod. Glancing at his form for a second longer before you began running. Taking careful steps to the opposite direction where you knew the nearest shelter would be at. There was never a shortage of Defense Force Officers there. Maybe they'd be willing to let a few assist Soshiro before things could go awry.

Captain Ashiro had always made quick work of any Kaiju that appeared. The third had always been quick to respond to action. Not once arriving late when the Tokyo district needed them the most.

Soshiro would just have to hold out before then.

Deal with Number 10's strange habits and hopefully manage to unleash the suit's combat power which had proven to be a tricky feat for a while now. And if he were lucky, maybe he wouldn't need backup at all.

The optimistic side of you wished to see him make quick work of the Kaiju. Have him return to you, maybe with a couple or bruises to sport but nothing serious.

He'd smile at you. Holding peace signs with his fingertips out as a form of comfort. To tell you that he had been fine and the Kaiju had easily accepted defeat, ending the story in a clean neutralization.

You'd even be willing to hear Number 10's inflated boasting in the background. Telling you that they had sliced it to ribbons before you even had the chance to reach the shelter.

At least that's what you hoped to imagine.

Just as soon as you arrived at the familiar street. You passed by the multitude of shopping districts in the area. And you see the familiar crowd of people being ushered into the sturdy underground bunker of the shelter. Far away from the premises of the Metro Line where Soshiro’s battle had taken place.

You had immediately stepped up. Trying to fall in line with the rest of the crowded spaces that led up to the entrances of the bunker.

But somehow the temperature rose once more. And you feel the familiar rumble in your chest as a gust of wind had blown behind you. Your hair going in all sorts of directions before your eyes settled on the familiar looking Kaiju floating in the very back of the crowd. Nearing you inch by inch.

What was it doing here?

Everyone who had equally felt the same tension had been paralyzed from fear. Its beady gaze had been burning holes unto the crowd. And its neck cracked as it tried to tilt its head to the side.

This had been enough to get rid of the stupor on everyone's expressions. And another wave of panic ensued. Leaving you and a few others to be pushed around in the wake of everyone's panic.

“Report. Kaiju has been spotted here in Shelter 1121. Requesting permission to engage.”

You had heard one of the Defense Force Officers yell. The few that had been present were already aiming their firearms at the chattering Kaiju. It's head convulsing as it floated ever so closer towards the crowd. Its branch-like fingertips grazed the road. Eerily dragging its long limbs down the cement. Its pace is slow and tantalizing as if to tease your inevitable demise.

You had groaned.

Feeling yourself be pushed down to the ground. Palms hitting the coarse texture of the cement roads. Knees scraping the rough surface as you stopped yourself from falling face flat onto the floor. Luckily the crowd had been mindful enough not to trample you. With most of the citizens already crowding the entrance as Soldiers had blocked the Kaiju's path from going any further.

But you saw the way it moved.

In a blink of an eye the Kaiju had made quick work of the Officers. Sweeping them off like insects thrown to the side. Their bodies hitting the nearest surface available in the area. And you had tried to back away. The itching pain that had surrounded your knees was like putting salt on an open wound. Still fresh from the poor landing you had from earlier.

But there was no time to focus on that. Its beady gaze already staring at you and his next target had been made clear.

Just as you had tried to get up, you saw the way a car had been thrown right above your head. And you had been a hair away from being hit by the force of its pitch. Landing on a few people who had crowded up against the entrance of the base.

Likely crushing a few people in the process.

Shit.

The dizzy unease you felt had all but dazed your mind's eye. And somehow through the fire and the panicked screams. A force had thrown you off the ground.

And suddenly your body had slumped against the nearest wall. Your back landing on the very glass of a fashion boutique. Your weight had shattered its surface upon impact when you were thrown against it.

A shockwave on the ground had likely thrown you a few feet back. And you whimpered. Feeling the shards of glass puncture your shoulder and arms. A few cutting your legs that had shamelessly bleeded against the floor.

You could feel a much larger injury on the small of your back. But as it stands, you couldn't really focus on a specific area. Not when it had hurt all over.

It had hurt to stand up. Let alone to crawl away.

You were not in the safety of the base. And Soshiro had not been here beside you. Even if it hurts like hell. You knew that you had to move. You had to get away and find some help before the situation got worse.

But somehow, it had only gotten much more difficult to breathe. Your eyes which had blurred from the blood flow on your head had suddenly cleared a little bit. Just enough for you to inspect your surroundings. And you noticed it had gotten significantly darker upon your landing. Everything, even within the confines of the boutique, had been covered in a thin layer of smoke that you could've sworn wasn't here before

The scent had been weird. Both earthy and a little rusty for your liking. But it had a distinct bitter smell, like something had gone rotten in the area.

And suddenly your throat lurched. Coughing at the sheer difficulty your lungs had inhaled. Like suddenly oxygen had all but ran out and you were left with a gas that had been invading your system entirely.

Your hand had shakily reached up your throat. Trying not to panic as the breaths you made had gotten shorter and shorter.

Was this poison?

Did the Kaiju have anything to do with this?

Where was Soshiro? Was he dead?

Only panicked thoughts plagued your mind. Not entirely aware that the pain had made you almost delirious as you try not to cry from all the overwhelming sensations you felt.

Your only thought had been to gather your bearings and find Soshiro. Damned the injuries that weighed your body. Damned the poison gas that made you want to throw up your lungs.

All you needed was Soshiro.

Yet somehow, you find yourself back on the ground. With your cheek pressed up against the shattered glass. Eyes slowly fluttering to a close from the sheer exhaustion alone. And your body, had never accepted sleep more than this moment had.

–

Who knows how long you've been laying there. A few gunshots sounded out from the distance before it ultimately quieted down. A roar rumbled to the far east of where you had rested. But the sounds had gone silent a few minutes after.

And here you were, dizzy from a concussion. Bleeding from your arms and legs. And your breaths barely audible from the amount of toxic gas you had inhaled.

You didn't know whether or not your lungs were barely functioning anymore. But with the slow rise and labored falls of your chest, you were sure you had still been okay. Though it's a miracle you were still half awake.

You could still make the odd gasps and silent plea for help. So you couldn't sleep. Not yet at least. Not when help could so easily arrive and your chances of actually surviving would lower.

The smoke had not cleared up from where you had laid. And for a moment, you see the shadow of a figure step hastily through the broken boutique. Staring down at you with gritted teeth.

“Found you..”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly the blinding numbness had been replaced with a fresh bout of soreness and burning pains. And Soshiro, who had stood above your half-conscious body, had stumbled a bit.

Not used to the way your body stood so still. Arched upward from the shard of glass punctured nearest the back of your waist. His breath was stolen away, as he could only imagine how the pain must’ve felt when you were thrown off balance to crash a building no less.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, c'mere.” Soshiro's familiar voice was much clearer now that he had stepped much closer to you.

The clang of his blades had dropped beside you as his hands were already fumbling to remove the straps of his respiratory mask. Rushing to place it atop your mouth and nose. Hoping it would help you breathe properly.

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic.”

Soshiro screamed. Glancing behind him for a moment before his focus had been fixated on you. His other hand gingerly lifting your head from the ground to assess the injuries you sustained.

And his eyes. The wine color of his eyes…

You could've sworn it had darkened. Brimmed with the fear of losing you. A cacophony of unshed tears that would usually be closed and cat-like in its features.

“..Soshiro?” You croaked out. Voice a little raspy from whatever gas that Kaiju had decked out. And your lover immediately pulled you closer. Rocking your body to keep you awake.

His first instinct was to secure the straps of the respiratory mask on your face. Letting you take a few filtered breaths before you try to speak once more. Though he hushed you right after, in the case you’d drain the little energy you had left in you.

And from the deadweight he felt. He somehow feared the worst.

“Hey, hey, Shhhh. You're okay.” He spoke with a shaky voice. As if he were assuring himself more than he did you. “I'm here now. We're gonna fix ya’ up brand new. I promise.”

His words had been loud. Desperate even. But for some reason, it went in and out of your ears. Not entirely sure if he had been screaming at somebody else, or he had been talking to you in particular. His reassurances got softer and softer from the minute your ears began to ring.

The sound of his voice, which you would normally find comfort in. Had your head spinning around. Making you wince in turn.

You had wanted to reach out. To pull him close and check for his own injuries. But your arms and shoulders would twitch in pain anytime you had tried to move a muscle. The poison in your system had made it all the more heavier for your body to move. Chained to the ground as if restrained by your own powerlessness of the situation.

“You're done?” You had managed to groan out. Wondering if the Kaiju had been neutralized.

And his immediate response was to nod in your direction. Pulling you much closer so that his leg would be able to support your weight on the ground. Away from the edged shards of glass that had scattered about.

“I'm okay baby. Yer’ the one that needs the help here..” He lets out a dry chuckle. Not entirely convinced that his jokes were actually landing. His panic was more evident in his tone than it had usually been, and for some reason. That hurt more than the physical wounds you endured.

“I know.” You hissed. “Hurts all over..if you couldn't tell..”

“Shit. Medics are on their way. I'm gonna lift you up okay? You'll be fine. Just gonna meet em’ halfway..” He had started. With Soshiro gently hooking his arms underneath the knees of your legs. And just as soon as you were an inch off of the ground. You winced.

Your teeth gritted together as you tried not to cry from the pain you felt when your body had raised from the ground. His hands, although they had been careful, were far too firm against the cuts on your body.

And the pain on your back, where the glass shard had punctured your organs, had a burning sensation you wished would go away.

Soshiro who had seen the way you panicked. Stopped in his actions. Putting you back down on the ground where his leg had cushioned your bleeding head.

“I know, I know jus’ bear with me, alright? Keep your pretty eyes open.” The string of curses never left Soshiro's lips. And his hand which had gently held the cheek where the respiratory mask met the skin of your pale face. Hoping that your breaths would get steadier. The mask recording all the slow inhales you'd take.

In and out. Labored but at least it was still there.

“Breathe..jus’ breathe for me, okay?”

Your eyes had tried to blink rapidly to remove the fatigue you had felt. But somehow, you were fighting a losing battle. And you couldn't help but give into the darkness. The fatigue would feel much nicer since you didn't have to worry about the pain. And with your lover here. It was okay to relax now. No longer did you need to have your guard up to combat the fight or flight situation.

And Soshiro found himself panicking even more at the way your eyes grew distant. Screaming at his intercoms for a medic on-field. Likely already on their way to the location he had sent to Operations moments prior. Okonogi in particular was trying to reassure the Vice Captain, but to no avail.

Not when his focus had all but fixated on your wellbeing. Eyes already closed as you drifted to an unconscious state.

His hand had reached down to your cheek. Already running circles against the bags of your eyes. Running across the dried tears that brimmed your eyes. Denying that this moment had a possibility to be your last.

And without hesitation, he started lifting you up again. This time not a peep from your mouth.

He was gonna fucking take you to the neareat hospital himself if he had to.

Like hell he was going to let you die. Right?

Right?

“Shit. This ain’t funny. Wake–Wake up!”

He hears Okonogi speak on the other side. Something about how a few officers had already turned the corner nearest their location. And he found himself running to their direction, your head leaning against his shoulder leaving small blood stains on Number 10's plated armor.

Help was close. But Soshiro's mind wasn't eased by that fact. Not at all relieved.

Not when your head had still been bleeding and a shard of glass as large as his hand had been punctured just below the small of your back.

And as he ran, he had wondered what he could've done to avoid this.

Should he not have asked you to go out today?

No.

You had been far too eager for this moment. It had been his fault for neglecting you. For not prioritizing the wave of affections you gave him in turn.

He had promised himself that he was gonna cherish you. Dedicate entire days just for you.

And yet here he was. With his plans, ruined beyond repair. And he finds himself going back to the root of his bad habits.

His work, his ambition to be seen as someone capable. Someone who existed in the hands of the world who did not see his strength and dedication. It had held him by the collar, forcing him to face elsewhere. Trapped him from doing right by you.

And now?

His bad habits had now suffered the consequences of his actions. No longer did he have the chance to do everything once over.

And his apologies had fallen to deaf ears. Hoping for the chance you'd get to hear him again.

He had a bad habit of doing you wrong. And now, he hopes you'd be awake so he can set things right.

#anime #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #kaiju no 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #angst

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kaitropoli · 4 months

Text

The Rhinoceros

By Pietro Longhi

Oil Painting, 1751.

Ca' Rezzonico.

THERE are two slightly different versions of this painting, but for now (and because this will be quick for me), I will detail certain things that stand out to me in this piece.

=== BEFORE READING INFO BELOW: (POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS: ANIMAL ABUSE; POSSIBLE CUCKOLDRY) === TLDR TOPICS (With Skip Marks): Clara, a live exhibited rhinoceros...paragraphs 1-5; Possible cuckold messaging in this painting (going with the story of Clara)...paragraph 5; The Venice Carnival (masks)...paragraphs 6-7. ===

THE Rhinoceros--or known by two different names: (1) Clara the Rhinoceros; (2) Exhibition of a Rhinoceros at Venice--has the very obvious subject of Clara, a rhinoceros who was displayed in Venice during Carnival. Clara had been on tour throughout Europe, now finally making her debut in wonderful Serenissima, the floating city where women and men walk with their identities covered during the time of enlightenment, reformation, and new political thought while the Holy Roman Empire shines down their reign, and the Papal States are near their last century of control.

CLARA has been the subject of a few art pieces throughout her touring days on Earth. She once came from India and spent her last days in Lambeth, England (imagine dying in Britain💀), witnessing history before her very eyes; though, she wouldn't know it, especially being the one making history as one of the first living rhinos to be exhibited in modern Europe since 1515 (and before 1515, it was the og Roman Empire... centuries before 1515!). She was an orphan who was adopted by a dude in Bengal by the name of Jan Albert Sichterman, who worked for the Dutch East India Company, and then, of course, he sold her to a man who would be a permanent father figure for the rest of her life, cpt. Douwe Mout van der Meer (wild ahh name, but he's Dutch, so what do you expect?). I guess it'd be wrong to call him a father figure, considering he also technically "sold" her, as in what you'd do back then if your child had a deformity and you're poor (market crash, dustbowl, Great Depression things) and the freak show was in town, but when you have daddy issues, being made an attraction is still love (and a good kind of attraction) in your eyes. I mean, I'd probably lose all respect for myself if that means I can travel (I'M KIDDING... probably. The opportunity hasn't come knocking at my door just yet).

THERE'S much history to our girl, Clara, like how she had her own personal 8HP-drawn wooden carriage (treated like the damn queen she is), or how she moisturized with fish oil (we don't use Drunk Elephant around these parts👹). They kept her in better, more secure care than Dürer's Rhino (1515, remember? Anyway, he drowned! They weren't gonna do that to our Clara-baby) when traveling to Italy... but this is where something did happen to her..................

UPON arrival in Rome, Clara was discovered to have lost her horn (evidently seen in the artwork above). It is debated how she lost it: either she rubbed it off (which apparently is a common trait among rhinoceroses who are kept in tight confinement), or somebody cut it off (Wikipedia claims for safety reasons, but does not provide a footnote, so keep a close eye on that). ** SIDE NOTE: I tagged this part specifically as animal abuse; though poaching is a serious topic, in a case like this, it can be compared to the *controversial* practice in which rhino workers dehorn to ensure nobody attempts to poach the animal (a way of justifying this is that the horns are made of keratin, which, if you don't know, is the same as our fingernails; rhinos will regrow their horns in ≤ two years; rhino horns are sought out for a good chunk of money due to them being used in medicines, typically that found in Asian cultures, so people will hunt these animals with tranquilizers (not the issue seen in Philly right now, but if you have time, check that out) and leave them to bleed to death due to negligently cutting the horn off).

AS I had briefly mentioned, horns can grow back, so try not to worry too much about our girl. After all, she lived quite longer than expected, so it couldn't be all that bad. Anyway, back to when she was hornless and staying in Venice during the time of Carnival, Italian painter Pietro Longhi, who was notorious for his Venetian everyday life paintings, decided it'd be nice to visit Clara and paint her. In this scene, we see a man in the crowd holding up a horn, which leads many to believe that this is a message. You know how you do those bunny ears when somebody's taking a photo--children to their grandmothers, sisters to their brothers, and so on and so forth? Well, believe it or not, the bunny ears were the original symbol for cuckoldry, besides the obvious metal hand (sad day for the metalheads... or maybe good day if you're a cuck, but that wouldn't make sense because you gotta have taste to be into metal). Horns are used to represent cuckolds because it uses the similarity of stags' mating rituals, compared to how it got the name due to cuckoo birds leaving their eggs in others' nests (kind of like those types of faeries that stole children and left their own to mimic... which this led to an ACTUAL murder... but that's not up for discussion today, sorry). Anyway, because this dude is holding a horn, which appears to seem like it belonged to Clara, and the unattended ladies in the back (we will discuss them in a hot minute), this man may as well be a cuckold, or, unlikely (because I think it's funnier and more apparent), signing somebody else off as one.

FOR the other patrons in the crowd, as I have mentioned a billion times already, this was Carnival time (Fat Thursday to Fat Tuesday, celebrating before Ash Wednesday and Lent; U.S. citizens know Mardi Gras, which is technically the last day of Carnival... if that's an easier explanation, I'm glad to help, because I don't feel like getting into the specifics of it all). Tradition is to wear masks (although this was the main cause for the abrupt ending of Carnival until it was revived in the 1970s), which was originally done to hide identities, which made it easier for social classes to clash. One of these ladies is wearing a mask (can you guess which one?), and it holds a provocative nature.

MORETTA, or also known as servetta muta, is a strapless mask that is usually crafted with black velvet. The wearer would bite down on a bead which keeps the mask in place, however disables them from speaking. Seems impractical, right? Well, women died for it as much as the men they were attracting did. The silence, and the contract of black to their skin, making the mask pop out, just like their breasts when wearing décolleté alla veneziana fashion (clothes which reveal the body; and don't get me started with the shear fabric and what they did to make their nipples more apparent). To take away from the face will bring more attention to other areas, which was the achieved goal. To bring silence is to be the mysterious dark beauty that people still talk about being today! Don't deny that this is feminism, because it is in the end... giving women the choice to keep playing a mysterious game where their intentions are anonymous, or to burrow in the advances of the potential suitor. Whichever they chose, it is ultimately up to the man if he wants to play a round of blind dating/hookup.

LINKS TO SOURCES:

| Wikipedia - Carnival of Venice

| Wikipedia - Clara (Rhinoceros)

| National Gallery - NG1101

| Historians of Netherlandish Art - Exhibition: Clara the Rhinoceros

| Mental Floss - Clara

| Science - Cutting Off Rhino Horns

| Save the Rhino - Poaching

| Italy Mask - History of the Venice Carnival

| Ca' Macana - The Moretta or Muta

YAPPING all done completely by me (@kaitropoli)

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a-dose-of-tuefort · 3 years

Note

how about the support classes [medic, spy and sniper] with an s/o who stims when they're happy? like the kind of stims where they shake their hands, tap their fingers against their arms, and on rare occasions vocally stim

I really like your blog and hope you have a nice day/afternoon/evening!

Ksgkfjksrj🥺🥺🥰🥰💕💕💗💕 oh thank you so so much!! I'm really glad you enjoy my blog that means a lot and I hope you can continue to enjoy it!!! I'm having a nice evening it'd currently raining, I hope you are havin a good day too!! I hope these are alright and you enjoy these ^w^!!

Trigger warnings: ask to tag

Reader pronouns: they/them

-Medic-

You two are just talking and hanging out when he first sees you happy stim over something

And he is enchanted by it

It his now his secret mission to make you stim because he loves seein you happy

If you do any harmful stims that hurt yourself he'll stop you whenever it happens and hand you a stim toy instead

He has a drawer full of stim toys and has been waiting for this moment

He really doesn't mind you stimming all that much and is actually quite happy you're open enough to stim in his presence

He will die in the best way if you stim against him like tapping or such, it turns him into butter

He'll probably tell his birds about it

-Sniper-

He's not best with expressing things and isn't the best with picking up what others are expressing in certain cases either

So being able to use your stims as a way to kinda help guide him towards knowing what you're feeling helps him

Highkey thinks it's actually pretty cute. He doesn't know a lot of people that stim so he likes seein you do it

He's not really sure how to react at first, or if he is supposed to react

He'll ask you questions about it if you're okay with it, not in a rude way, he just wants to be informed

If anyone pokes fun at you for stimming he can and will murder them on the spot

Anytime you happy stim he'll give you a little hair ruffle as his way of saying he thinks you're cute

-Spy-

He will take you shopping and buy you any stim toy you enjoy

If you try and decline his offer he will insist on it

He'll get you anything you might need. Essential oils if you like scents, peices of fabric or clothing for texture, chew necklaces if you have a chewing stim, etc.

He doesn't mind you stimming at all, if anything, he encourages it if it helps you

He loves seein you happy stim over anything whether big or small and will make you happy just because he likes to see you happy and happy stim

He is Mr.AllorNothing and he goes all out for this

#im a stimmy boi myself so this was👌👌for me #i projected pretty hard when writing this oops djfkvkfkdj #tf2 x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 spy x reader

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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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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Oils

Cult girl socializes at the opera and receives an unexpected call.

Note: I tagged this as “anti mlm” as in multi-level marketing and not men-loving-men.

Trigger warnings: Discussions of cults and emotional manipulation

It wasn't until after the opera was over that people began to notice you may have had a little fun during intermission. Hannibal's hair wasn't in its usual perfect side part and his jacket was slightly wrinkled in places. You could cover most of his love bites with your stole, but nothing could hide that post-orgasm glow.

Most opera-goers stayed to socialize for hours after the show concluded, making an already long night even longer. It was like clubbing, but for rich old people.

"So you're the future Mrs. Hannibal Lecter?" A woman with silvery hair said. She dragged her husband into the conversation by the arm. "I've heard so much about you."

You were about to say something witty, but noticed the way she was looking at you. Scanning you up and down. Looking for anything out of place to grill you about.

"Only good things, I hope." Hannibal said in your silence. His voice was vaguely threatening. "She is a doctoral student, in her second year of her graduate studies in clinical psychology."

The husband, who, up to this point, hadn't spoken a word, perked up. "Is that right?"

You smiled, excited for the chance to talk about your passion. "Yes sir. I've still got quite a ways to go, but I love my work."

"You should be proud." The man praised, looking at Hannibal. "You've got yourself an ambitious wife."

"Oh, we're not married yet." You corrected.

"So when can we expect an invitation?" The woman asked.

"Six months from now, isn't it?" Hannibal answered. "Memorial day weekend. Then I'm taking her to Italy for a lengthy honeymoon."

The woman threw her head back and sighed. "That sounds heavenly."

"You young modern girls are always so intuitive." The man commented. "I'll bet you tricked him into marrying you."

You wanted to call this guy out for his sexist bullshit, but he wasn't far off. It was Hannibal who tricked you, though.

Technically, he proposed to you within the first six months. You just didn't know it. It took until shockingly recently to find out.

It was during a ballroom dancing lesson of all places. You were sweaty, but loved the feeling of your lover's hands gently guiding your movements. You stepped away from the lesson to get some water, and innocently asked when he would propose to you.

"I believe I already did." He said with enough conviction to blur the lines of seriousness and sarcasm.

"You pretended to." You corrected. "Remember? We were just pretending to be engaged for Anna's wedding."

"But it didn't end after the wedding, did it?" He observed. "You kept calling me your fiancé long after that weekend passed."

You paused, then threw your head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Hannibal."

Hannibal laughed. "I told you. Someday it won't be a lie."

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" You pressed your fingers to your temples. "So we've been engaged this whole time?"

"What can I say?" He said, gently. "I knew you were my one and only even then. It was just a matter of circumventing your inhibitions."

"I'm not complaining." You folded your arms. "But a little notice would have been nice."

"Well, if you insist." He laced his fingers between his own. "[F/N] [L/N]. Will you be my wife?"

Even though the question was truly just a formality, you were still as giddy as a schoolgirl to hear those words.

"Yes, Hannibal Lecter." You said, cheeks stinging from smiling so hard. "I will marry you."

Then you just went back to the dance lesson like nothing happened. It was shockingly in-character for both of you.

"No." You shook your head. "We killed someone together and took a blood oath to never separate."

The couple laughed. Hannibal looked down at you with pride.

“So [F/N].” The man said. “Have you given any thought to your doctoral dissertation?”

“Oh, Charles.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she didn’t come here to be grilled about her studies.”

“No, it’s okay.” You smiled. As long as you were talking about school, you weren’t being interrogated about the thirty-year age gap between you and Hannibal. “I have been thinking about my dissertation. There are plenty of fascinating topics to choose from, but I can’t not write it about, well, the reason I began to study psychology in the first place.”

“And that is?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Cults.” You said, grinning ear to ear. “Understanding them, their leaders, their followers, why people join them. How they evolve and grow more insidious as time passes. What form they’re starting to take in the digital age.”

“That is interesting.” The woman’s voice rose, connoting genuine engagement. “And what form are they taking in the digital age?”

You looked up at Hannibal, as if to ask for permission. Permission to rip into her and burn that bridge for good. He answered in the affirmative.

“Ma’am, could I take a look at your bracelet?” You asked, already knowing exactly what she would say.

Her face lit up. “Oh, do you like it?”

She pulled it off her wrist and handed it to you. You brought it to your nose and took a whiff, confirming your theory. Then you handed it off to Hannibal, whose sense of smell was much more refined. He took one breath, then recoiled.

Hannibal covered his mouth and nose with his hand and coughed. “That is... quite strong, Mrs. DeMarco.”

“It’s Affirm, by doTERRA.” She revealed, her voice growing defensive. “It helps you ground yourself and remember your worth.”

You handed the bracelet back to her. “Do you sell doTERRA, Mrs. DeMarco?”

“Well, now that you mention it...” A small smile appeared on her lips. “Why? Would you like to buy some?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, ma’am, but...” You lied. “You’re actually in a cult.”

She had nothing to say to that. She just stared at you with her mouth agape, urging you to explain yourself.

“Multilevel marketing companies employ a host of cult manipulation tactics to con people out of their savings.” You explained. “Just because the promise is financial independence instead of a spot in paradise, doesn’t mean it’s not a lie. Research conducted by the Federal Trade Commission shows that the vast majority of participants actually lose money. The statistics are just a google search away, yet thousands of people still insist on the legitimacy of the companies they sell for.”

“Well, I-” She protested, but couldn’t find the words to defend herself. “I’m there for the community, really. For the first time in years, I have a sisterhood of like-minded women who love me!”

You smiled through a cringe. “That’s another pretty common cult manipulation tactic. They appropriate familial language to make people feel more connected to the group than they really should be.”

Although you didn’t expect her to, she looked to be genuinely considering it.

“Next time you see your ‘sisters’,” You began. “Pay attention to how they talk about people who are not in the group. Or, better yet, tell them that you’re considering leaving. You’ll see how conditional their love is.”

An awkward, deafening silence followed. The woman looked at her husband, as if willing him to do something. To stand up to the evil twenty-something grad student who had the audacity to cite her sources.

Instead, the husband just burst out in riotous laughter.

“Miriam!” He nearly shouted, heaving like he was about to collapse. “I told you that oil business was up to no good! No honest company makes their employees pay to work!”

The woman’s face turned red. You almost felt bad for her. The feeling vanished when the man put his hand on your shoulder.

“Seriously, Dr. Lecter, you’d better keep this one.” He said, wiping a tear from his eye. “She’s an absolute godsend.”

“No divine intervention was involved whatsoever, Dr. DeMarco.” Hannibal smiled to himself and brought a glass of champagne to his lips. “She is a woman of her own making."

"Oh, we all know that's not entirely true." The woman snapped, slipping into passive-aggression. She glanced at Hannibal. "How much are you spending on this mouthy little know-it-all? Isn't it about $80k a year?"

You, of course, brought this on yourself. You threw down the gauntlet by going after this girlboss's side hustle, so now nothing was off-limits.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Mrs. DeMarco." Hannibal said, calmly. "My soon-to-be wife's education is a much better investment than that overpriced napalm you wear on your wrist."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. It was a laugh you shared with the man. Hannibal looked down at you, admiring how your face lit up.

"You'll forgive my wife's rudeness." The man requested. "Please, Ms. [F/N], tell me more about your dissertation."

"Well," you laced your fingers together. "I'm planning to write my dissertation on the cult of academic elitism."

"I would tread lightly, dear." The woman warned, eyes darting to Hannibal. "You wouldn't want to bite the hand that feeds you."

You adjusted your stole, giving them a quick glance at the love bites along your neck.

"I assure you." You said. "He quite likes it when I bite."

Your clutch started to aggressively, audibly vibrate. You could have sworn you'd put your phone on silent, but it buzzed nonetheless.

"Probably just, y'know-" you stuttered, embarrassed. "An amber alert or something."

"We are expecting a snowstorm, I believe. I was warned of it a few minutes ago." Hannibal said, always ready to cover your ass whenever needed. The couple nodded along in understanding.

You pulled your phone from your clutch. Your eyes widened and your face turned sickly pale at the sight of a caller you thought you’d never hear from again. Without thinking, you slid the deny icon across the screen.

“Right.” You said, tucking your phone and your secrets back into the clutch. “Winter Storm... Theresa is headed this way.”

Hannibal cleared his throat. “In that case, [F/N] and I must take our leave before we get snowed in. It was very nice catching up with you. I will see to it that [F/N] and I have you for dinner very soon.”

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #cult girl #doterra #anti mlm

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existslikepristin · 3 years

Text

Sounds

Just my ultimate bias doing ultimate bias things. This is just the intro. There will be more to come. Thanks also to worldsover and EhBeeSeeDih for most excellent editing help!

Tags: TheLounge, Dreamcatcher, Gahyeon, Siyeon, Yoohyeon, other members all referenced, some unnamed male, lots of butt stuff, very light bondage, brief watersports (pee), various other kinks referenced, I just want everyone to know Gahyeon is the best human

Gahyeon observed the consistency of the lube that dripped, nice and slowly, from the fingertips of her black latex glove. She only wore the one, leaving her other hand bare. Besides the glove, all she wore was an oversized baggy tee shirt and a pair of panties that weren't her own. From behind her, the up-close-yet-distant sound of amateur porn moans reached her ears. It made her smile.

Not long after Gahyeon had revealed her desire to dominate to the rest of Dreamcatcher, she’d first been approached by Dami. Dami initially showed a similar interest in dominating others, but was equally interested in being a pet.

Gahyeon hesitated for some time, but eventually agreed to give it a try. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Dami made a pleasant, calm, obedient pet. Gahyeon never really had many ideas for commands to give to a panda, though, so perhaps her perspective was a bit skewed.

Some time later, the two got involved in a bit of role playing as well. Dami would be the prince, and Gahyeon would be one of a variety of higher-ranking royalty that Dami would then have to satisfy. Gahyeon would certainly never admit that this was one of her favorite roles to play in her escapades with her members. Mostly because it meant she received lots of massages from Dami’s delightfully delicate hands.

Dami was a grunter.

Gahyeon’s situations with Jiu and Handong were quite similar to each other in the sense that neither of them really expressed a major interest in being dominated.

Jiu was more of a standard, every day, give-and-take type of lover, but just happened to enjoy a bit of pain. Gahyeon was always happy to provide that little extra sadistic touch that would push Jiu over the edge of climax.

Jiu was a lip-biter.

Handong didn’t need a dom. She wanted somebody with a dick she could wreck herself with. Gahyeon had a growing collection of dildos and strap-ons to choose from. It was as simple as that between them.

Handong was a shouter.

Sua was, as expected, the most difficult to work with. She was a switch. But while domming, she was often excessively overpowering, demanding that her subs participate in her kinks, rather than compromising with them or catering to their desires. She had serious negotiation issues. All of which meant that Gahyeon was the go-to option when the other members wanted to be dominated.

Of course, Sua would reach out to Gahyeon to be dominated as well. But she was a bit of a back seat driver. Or a severe brat. Or uncooperative. It depended on the day. Gahyeon would often just suggest they do something less kinky. Of course, she wasn’t about to cut Sua out of her sex life entirely, given their friendship and Sua’s rocking body.

Sua was a screamer.

Yoohyeon, on the other hand, was quite the fun submissive. She was willing to try anything at least once, up to and including the most depraved acts Gahyeon could come up with. Once or twice, Gahyeon had even directed her to do some things sarcastically, but Yoohyeon complied immediately, no questions asked, resulting in both of them discovering some kinks that neither of them realized they had.

One of Gahyeon’s favorite aspects to domming Yoohyeon was her eagerness to be filmed. Gahyeon’s SD card case was an absolute treasure trove of videos. It didn’t matter if she was far from her members, because she could always count on some long-distance submission from Yoohyeon. And it never hurt to have something to watch when she just wanted to be alone and masturbate.

Yoohyeon was a moaner.

But as much fun as Gahyeon could have with those five women, Siyeon stood out from the pack as Gahyeon’s favorite. She had a hard time fully explaining the favoritism, but as far as she was concerned, it was undeniable.

Siyeon presented herself outwardly as confident, bold, even. Gahyeon expected in the beginning that Siyeon would have no interest at all in submitting to her, or anyone else for that matter. She quite literally wore the pants.

One hot summer night, however, Siyeon sheepishly asked Gahyeon to spank her. It seemed innocent enough, as far as sex acts went, but it escalated gradually. Over the course of several months, Siyeon’s outer shell melted away. She became Gahyeon’s clay to mold.

Everybody else let Gahyeon dominate them because she gave them what they wanted.

Siyeon begged Gahyeon to dominate her because she wanted to serve and please.

That wasn’t to say Siyeon wasn’t getting what she wanted out of the action of course. Just that what she wanted happened to be whatever Gahyeon wanted. It was the perfect match.

Siyeon was an instrument that Gahyeon knew exactly how to play.

The sexual activities of the members weren’t obvious to the average viewer, except some of the wild shit Sua would do, but that was easy to pass off as “girl group popularity-mandated gay bait.” Every once in a while though, Gahyeon would get the itch to break Siyeon’s façade down in public. The lightest brush of the fingertips, a sidelong glare, anything could be the trigger if Gahyeon did it with the proper intention.

She’d even gotten so bold once as to do it on live video, streaming to their fans with Jiu and Sua to either side. Siyeon nearly collapsed before Gahyeon let her go. That same night, Sua practically molested Siyeon, but Gahyeon was vindictively proud to see that it didn’t have the same effect.

Gahyeon watched as one last drop of lube fell from her fingers back into the bowl she'd poured it into for easy access. It was just viscous enough to stay on a surface, but wasn’t tacky. Rather, it was slick, as if there were no friction at all between her digits.

“How are you feeling, my wolf?”

“I-I’m excited, Gahyeon.”

Gahyeon preferred hearing her own name falling out of Siyeon’s mouth. The sound gave her a twisted sense of romance, as opposed to the supposedly traditional “Mistress” or “Ma’am.”

Gahyeon turned to look for the first time since getting lost in her thoughts. Siyeon was tied up, albeit only with the shirt and pants she had been wearing earlier in the day, rather than a rope. The knots that her sleeves formed were weak and could fall apart with the slightest force, but Siyeon was much too good of a girl for that. It wasn't her physical bonds that held her still.

There was a twinge of disappointment amidst Gahyeon’s glee at seeing that Siyeon was looking, entranced, back at her. She had, after all, dictated that Siyeon watch the video that was playing on her tablet.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Siyeon gulped nervously, but Gahyeon could see the slightest, quivering smile touch the corners of her lips. “Sorry, Gahyeon. It’s just… I think I’m extra struck by your beauty today.”

Gahyeon smiled and placed her ungloved, unlubed hand on top of Siyeon’s head, stroking her hair softly. “Oh babe. You know flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere. It’s just going to get my fingers deeper inside you. And you'd better watch out, because you're getting close to the knuckles.”

Her gentle hair stroking turned into a rough grip, which she used to turn Siyeon's gaze away, back to the tablet.

"Don't you want to learn from this video, Siyeon? I made it just for you."

"Yes, I do."

"Then you should be watching. Look, or you're going to miss the best part."

Siyeon's eyes slowly refocused themselves onto the video. It was Yoohyeon, all but limp in a full-nelson-under-the-legs hold. Whoever was holding her up, slamming their cock repeatedly up her asshole, they weren't fully visible, but it was easy to guess their identity. Yoohyeon's eyes rolled up so far, they looked like they might do a full three-sixty at any moment. Anyone viewing the video might have been concerned for her well-being if not for her dopey smile.

"See, my wolf? She's such a good little slut. Keep watching and you might learn something."

Gahyeon let go of Siyeon's head, confident she'd follow instructions this time, and reached around to feel how ready she was. As expected from her favorite toy, and the hours of teasing Gahyeon had subjected her to up to this point, she was so wet that Gahyeon could have gone swimming inside her.

Her gloved hand dipped into the lube again, then made its way down the cleft of Siyeon's ass, coating the entirety. If she didn't already have very specific plans, Gahyeon would have considered using it as massage oil and kneading Siyeon’s beautiful butt cheeks until the bright red hand prints on them disappeared.

A series of moans came from the tablet speakers again, and Gahyeon smirked at what she knew was coming next, which was Yoohyeon.

"Eyes open, Siyeon. You really don't want to miss this."

Gahyeon watched Siyeon’s fingers wiggle beneath their impromptu bonds. Yoohyeon's moans shifted into a long, guttural shout, and a stream of pale yellow liquid shot out of her. Siyeon’s butt visibly clenched.

"What a fantastic slut she is, hm? Cumming so hard from her ass being used as a fuck hole that she can't even control herself, pissing all over like an idiot."

Even from behind her, Gahyeon could sense Siyeon’s devious smile forming. "Well that's rude to say about her," Siyeon said, risking life and limb.

Gahyeon responded with a series of powerful smacks, leaving the handprints already on Siyeon’s ass glowing red, as well as a haphazard smattering of lube. "Shut uuup," she whined, "She got fucked stupid and pissed herself. You know what I mean."

Siyeon turned back over her shoulder to show Gahyeon her smile. Fresh tears flowed from her eyes. "Yoohyeon's always a fool though," she managed to joke through the pain.

One last, full-motion spank made Siyeon’s smile briefly turn into a grimace.

"Is that what you're going to do to me too?"

Gahyeon resumed her steady lubrication of Siyeon’s entire backside. "Someday, maybe. But we have a long way to go before you'll be able to experience that level of pleasure without pain. And trust me, the inside of your ass is not the part of your body where you want to be feeling pain. We'll build you up to it."

There was minimal resistance against Gahyeon’s middle finger as it slipped fully into Siyeon’s butt. Siyeon hissed and her toes curled. Gahyeon kissed her neck, shushed into her ear, and used her ungloved hand to stroke from Siyeon’s breasts down to her clit and back.

After a moment of calming down, Siyeon whispered, "If anybody can get me there, Gahyeon, it's you."

Gahyeon struggled to hold back her cutesy giggle, even though she knew that it wouldn't make her seem like less of a dom to Siyeon. "We're going to do, at most, two fingers today. I don't want you masturbating with anything bigger than that on your own, okay? It might feel like you can do more, but we're not taking any chances. Understood?"

Siyeon’s shoulders flexed and toes spread as Gahyeon wiggled her inserted finger. "Y-yes Gahyeon," she stuttered.

"Good. Now, let's practice your safe word, shall we?"

Siyeon hesitated, but relented anyway. “Apricot…”

Gahyeon slowly removed her finger. “Perfect,” she said ever-so-softly, reveling in the goosebumps rising on Siyeon’s arms. “Was that okay? Nothing hurting?”

“It was perfect.” Siyeon used the same word Gahyeon had.

“Well then, let’s get started.”

#dreamcatcher smut #kpop smut #gahyeon #siyeon

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jamesbuchananbarnesslut · 3 years

Text

Monster Hunter Ch. 1

Pairing: Will Ransome x Female Reader

Words: 1,516

Summary: The year was 1893 in Aldwinter Essex and William Ransome, vicar, has been battling with his towns people and the myth of monsters. Especially, after strange things keep happening in town, most recently an earthquake and even children and locals reporting the sighting of a blackwater beast. Although Will, himself doesn't believe in monsters he's been struggling to convince the town people otherwise. The problem further escalates when men of the town all begin having similar dreams and describe the same woman appearing in them. After each person has these dreams, they seem to be weaker either physically or mentally and, in most cases, have been found dead. The dreams also only started occurring after a new spinster named Y/N moved in on the outskirts of town. With all the increasing rumors, Will is forced to step in and begin to decipher what's happening especially whether he believes these things are real.

Warnings: yes there is smut in the first piece, but it’s just with Will’s wife. Fingering and P in the V

Tiny Tag List: @venusofthehardsells @spooky1980

Notes: This story first of all wouldn’t be happening without @venusofthehardsells she was the on who first introduced me to these Tom Hiddleston photos. Which in thus created a thirst and need for a fic. But the fic is now a series! I also have not actually read The Essex Serpent and have no idea how the show is going to go, so this is my OWN interpretation and telling of his character. Please enjoy, like, reblog, and leave lots of comments!

Master List

Series Master List

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

Will's P.O.V

I had spent another long grueling day arguing with the members of my communion about whether the myths and monsters circulating our small town were real. The rumors began last summer and only thus worsened. I'm at my wits end with it all, and just need a way to qualm what the town is currently feeling. As I worked my way back into my office, I couldn't help but think that the new spinster, Y/N, on the outskirts of town had to have something to do with this all. Considering she had moved in around last summer when the blackwater beast stories first presented themselves. But now that she, herself, was appearing in men's dreams, and then a lot of those men found dead. It was suspicious and she surely has something to do with it all, maybe if not monsters and myths than some type of black magic or witchery.

By the time I made it back to my office I couldn't help but pull out my hidden bottle of gin and pour myself a drink before I sat down. I manage to swallow the drink all in one swig and end up pouring myself another. Sitting down at my desk with the bottle, I press my fingers to my temples and hunch over the desk. Pondering what's been happening to my small town and why everything's suddenly topsy-turvy. I also can't help but think about how this is going to further affect the towns faith in God, especially thier view him. While my thoughts are still swirling, I throw back my second drink and decide to pour another.

As if I have a chance to relax though, there's an overflowing pile of paperwork on my desk I still need to sort out. As well as a stack of mail that's been neglected for far too long. That's when I decide it's time to down my third drink and start sorting through the paperwork and at least categorizing it. By the time I finish organizing I have a stack of marriage certificates, christenings, new memberships, and even a decent amount of death certificates. The mail will have to wait until the morning I haven't been home all week; I keep falling asleep in my office or waking up somewhere in the pews. But I know my wife is beginning to worry and I should probably make my way home before I get stuck here.

I pour myself one final drink for the road, throw it back and begin to push myself to my feet. I tuck the gin back in its hiding place within the bookshelf and begin to shut down the building while heading out. Specifically, blowing out all the candles, turning off oil lamps and locking the doors. Even in a buzzed stupor those are things I never forget.

I stumble down the steps of the church and make it to the cobblestone street heading towards home. Even though there aren't many streetlamps providing light, there's a clear sky and a full moon making everything gleam and glisten in the dark. As I continue my march home, I pass one of the local pubs and see none other than Y/N, herself outside it. Conversing with John Smith, one of the older blacksmiths. It seems to be a deep intimate moment, that I interrupt by holding my gaze towards them too long. Catching their attention and weird glares back. I tip my head to them and continue walking, hoping I haven't soured their mood.

By the time I make it home, I can see all the oil lamps are off and two candles going, one in my bedroom meaning the Mrs.'s is up reading or waiting for me. And one in the kitchen, she must have put leftovers out for me. How many times has that this happened this week? I don't want to disturb anybody, so I enter the house through the rear door that leads directly into the kitchen. There's a plate of cold food on the table for me, that I scarf down ravenously. With how little I've been home; I really haven't been eating either. Once I'm done, I rinse off the dishes, setting them aside to be washed in the morning and blow out the candle.

I slowly make my way upstairs and begin to plot ways to get myself out of this argument with my wife. Maybe because the kids were still sleeping, she'd put off the spat and wait till she sent them off too school or her parents. Either way I wasn't prepared to walk in and find her sitting naked in the candlelight. It's almost like she knew I'd finally make my way home tonight. That or she's been truly waiting each night like this for my return home. Either way I didn't deserve a woman as good as her.

Her sultry voice broke my shocked stupor, "I was beginning to wonder when I'd ever see you again."

I run my hands through my hair, a nervous habit, and work up a response, "you know, I can't rest easy until I convince everyone that this blackwater serpent isn't real. And now I have reports of Y/N appearing in men's dreams and a lot of those men begin found dead within a couple days or weeks shortly thereafter."

I must have been running my mouth because by the time I look to my wife again she is already up from the bed and stripping me of my clothing.

"I understand that this is a huge deal honey, but you can't keep burning the candle at both ends and pushing yourself like this," she states while finishing pulling the reaming clothes from my body. "Come, join me in bed maybe if I provide my wifely duties, I can help break you out of this stump." Which is followed by her hands caressing my chest and moving up towards my neck, face and into my hair. Where she pulls my gaze to hers to get a clear look in my eyes. I know she can see how tired and stressed out I am.

I let her pull me into bed, she makes it so I land on top of her, and I can't help but agree that now would be a good time to have sex. It also means she isn't mad or at least she's trying to amend things this way instead. I begin to kiss her and settle myself in between her legs where my member begins to harden against her. Our kissing becomes passionate, and I feel her entrance slicken. I slide my fingers along her slit and begin to spread her wetness around causing mewls to spill from her mouth into mine. Once she's decently wet, I slip a finger and then two into her, working them at a steady pace. While I move my lips to her chest and tell her she must quiet herself or else she'll wake the children in a hushed mummer.

After I feel her cum around my finger, I work that same hand over my member, making sure to get it nice and wet. Then I line myself up with her entrance and push in slowly, while putting my hand over her mouth.

"You just can't help yourself tonight my dear," I mumble into her ear while giving her a chance to adjust to my member in her. She bites my hand, a clear sign I need to get a move on, and I begin to push myself in and out of her tight channel. The pace isn't slow for long though and I begin pounding into her. Her whines spilling out but muffled behind my hand.

"I know your close again, cum with me yeah?" She nods and with that I drop my hips lower changing the angle. Which immediately triggers her orgasm, causing her tight channel to milk me and pushing me into my orgasm. I pump my seed into her and then roll of to the side. Pulling her tightly into my arms I drift off into sleep thinking about Y/N, John Smith, and the rumors circulating our small town.

#will ransome #will ransome x y/n #will ransome x you #will ransome x female reader #will ransome x reader #the essex serpent #will ransome imagine #fanfiction #will ransome fanfiction #jamesbuchananbarnesslutwrites #jamesbuchananbarnesslut writes #tom hiddelson

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atlaese · 3 years

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Chapter 6: help is underway

summary: spencer is really going out of his way to see you, what a sweetheart. pairing: spencer reid x reader TW: cussing probably, fluffffff, some stuff about murders, anthrax mention, typical CM case stuff words: 4K a/n: Aah this was a long one!! Hope you guys didn’t mind, I just really got into writing this case lmao! ugh also Spencer is the biggest sweetheart in this Songs i was listening to this time: Ordinary love by U2, Early by Joy Crookes & Plastic Plants by Mahalia :) Hope you guys liked this one, do let me know if you wanna be tagged :) xx Also!! let me know if my trigger warnings are okay? i really want everyone to feel safe and happy in this space, so shoot me a message or something if you feel like it's missing something ❤️

SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

The clicking of Penelope Garcia’s heels grew louder the closer she got to the conference room. Her purple and pink dress was a welcome dash of colour in the BAU office, where most people just wore monochrome colours, mostly blacks and whites. She closed the door behind her and made her way over to Spencer to give him a case file. The other members of the team opened the file on their tablets and were welcomed with some pictures of people who went missing the last few months.

“Alrighty my lovely team of profilers. The case we have today is in sunny El Paso, where it is currently 77 degrees Fahrenheit. The last few months immigrants have been reported missing from the shelter. They only noticed the missing people a few weeks ago, because it is really hard to keep up with immigrants, as they are always on the move.”

“About 1 million immigrants from South America arrive in the States every year, but as many as 25% come from Mexico alone,” Spencer interjected.

“Yes, thank you Reid. Most immigrants are indeed from Mexican decent. The local police force asked for our expertise because family members are getting worried, and the community is getting rowdier. We really need to find out what is happening over there, because three bodies have also been found in the desert.”

The pictures came up onto the television, “most people were found with bruising on the wrists and ankles as well as injection marks.”

“So they were probably bound for a few days or weeks even, why would the unsub keep them this long?” Emily questioned, “this could mean that they use them for something, but what for?”

“Great guess my friend,” Penelope answered, “they were all found with the same contents in their stomachs. Ricin.”

“Ricin is a carbohydrate-binding protein and a highly potent toxin produced in the seeds of the castor oil plant, Ricinus communis. A dose of purified ricin powder the size of a few grains of table salt can kill an adult human,” Spencer animatedly said, gesturing with his hands as he recited something he learned in one of his more interesting chemistry classes.

“We do have a problem though. This is all the police got right now, and the community is getting rowdy. Because of all the disappearances, a lot of aid workers have pulled out their support, because they are scared of getting tangled in it themselves. This means there is almost no food or water or… anything really for these people. No one can talk to them and they won’t listen to the police, for obvious reasons.”

“What do you suggest Garcia?” Hotch asks.

“I think we need an expert here sir. Maybe someone from the NGO or humanitarian aid field? They could provide us with not only resources for these people, but could also help us with why the unsub is targeting immigrants. Someone who knows the field and knows how to deal with the situation.”

Spencer knew that this was his cue and Penelope was also looking longer at him when describing what kind of person they would need. Hotch noticed her staring at Reid and raised his eyebrows.

“Reid, do you know someone who can help us? Maybe someone from the university or something? You have lots of contacts right?”

“Um, yes, I actually do know someone,” he affirmed, already biting the inside of his cheek, “I’ll give her a call right now.”

“Alright, Reid will contact the expert. The rest of you, wheels up in thirty. Garcia, can you coordinate with Reid on how we get the expert on site?” Hotch announced as he gathered his stuff and the rest of the team got their go-bags ready.

“So, is this just me, or is pretty boy a little bit nervous about this expert consulting on this case with us?” Derek said with a smirk as he put his tablet in his go-bag.

“Oh Morgan, you can just never leave him alone, can you?” JJ laughed as she patted him on the shoulder.

“Yeah Morgan, at least he is nervous about someone, when is the last time you dated someone?” Emily teasingly said.

“All right, all right. Let’s just wait and see what happens when this woman arrives, I’m telling you now, Reid will be like a little puppy at her feet!”

* * *

The team had arrived in El Paso and the sheriff had led them around the immigrant camp. It was, as Garcia said, getting unsafe for everyone. Rossi and Derek had then visited the crime scene where the three bodies had been found, Reid and Prentiss went to the morgue to check out what the forensic pathologist had found and JJ and Hotch were coordinating at the police station.

Once the team was back at the station again, Garcia called in, “hey you guys. I’m just letting you know that y/n y/l/n and her colleague Benny landed half an hour ago and should almost be at the sheriff’s station!”

Spencer’s heart jumped in his throat when he realized you would be here soon, and that you would have to work together for probably a few days.

“Alright. I suggest we continue working from the station until they arrive and then we’ll regroup. Reid, you get started on the geographical profile. Morgan and Prentiss, look through the files Garcia sent about immigrants who are missing. JJ and I will go talk to the press outside,” Hotch said as he dismissed everyone and got himself ready for the press conference.

Spencer went to the board where a map was pinned up. He really needed to get a head start on this, because he knew that, once you arrived he wouldn’t be able to concentrate to the fullest anymore.

* * *

You were kind of confused that the FBI needed you but were happy nonetheless that you could help. You didn’t ever expect dr. Reid would call you, not even for a work related case, but when you heard his voice on the other side , your mood had instantly changed to aa giddy feeling in your stomach. However, quickly you realized you should not be this excited for a random man who you’ve only met once.

“Hello, this is Y/N,” you said as you answered the phone after checking the number, which had the same area code as you and muting your tv where a soapy program was playing.

“Hi, this is Spencer, uh, dr. Reid I mean. I was at your panel last week? We spoke afterwards and exchanged numbers?” He hesitantly said. How could you even forget this man? Of course you would remember him! You had the most interesting conversation with him you’d had in a while. It felt as if you just understood each other. The interaction you had with him in the elevator also hadn't left your mind yet.

“Oh, hi dr. Reid. What can I help you with? Something for business reasons?” You asked with a smile on your face, plucking at your scruffy socks.

“Sorry to kind of spring this on you, but I’m an agent with the FBI and we need an expert on humanitarian aid for a case and I was wondering if you would be able to help us out? I’m afraid it isn’t a paid case, but you’d help me, I-I mean the team tremendously if you could help us out,” he spluttered as he said the last bit. God Spencer, get a grip on yourself.

“Oh uh, it’s actually for business? You need me?” The smile on your face dropped immediately. You were kind of disappointed that his call was actually related to work. You thought you felt this connection with him, an instant spark you never had with anyone before, but apparently it was one-sided.

“Yeah! You’d be a great asset to this case and the team and me think you’d help us out with not only organizing the immigrant camp but also with the case itself. I can’t say anything more until you’re officially on board but..”

You thought for a minute. Your team was staying in DC for the next month and a half, the B-team was doing the urgent cases for now.

“You know what, why not. Where should I be?”

“Uh, well we are leaving in 30 minutes, but I’ll get our technical analyst to contact you and she’ll give you more information.”

“Alright, so I’ll see you on site then?” You were really bummed out that you would see him on a work occasion, but that was better than not, right?

“Thank you so much ms y/l/n,” he quietly said in the phone.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s kinda my job”

“Still, I’m- I'm really excited to see you again. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. See you soon.”

The click of Spencer ending the call made you gasp aloud. Did he really say that he was excited to see you? Had he wanted to call you for another reason?

You didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, as your phone rang again.

“Hi this is y/n”

“Hello! This is Penelope Garcia with the BAU team at Quantico. I hope our good doctor informed you that we need your help?”

“Yeah, yes he did,” you laughed, “so, where are we going and what can I do?”

* * *

Upon arrival at the airport, a police officer whisked you and Benny away and got you through security by literally skipping the lines. You looked at your colleague with big eyes, both of you not being used to this extravagant treatment.

Quickly enough, you were being dropped off at the police station, where the BAU team would be waiting for you. Benny was already on the phone with one of their contacts to arrange food aid and you had informed a law firm you often worked with on the situation.

“Okay, you guys can just check in at the front desk, you’ll get a visitors badge and the FBI team will take it from there,” the police officer who opened the front door for you said, as you hauled your bag behind you.

“Thank you, officer,” Benny responded as you got at the front desk. You were quickly checked in, when another police officer escorted you to the conference room, where 6 people were waiting for you.

One of them, the team leader you guessed, stuck out his hand as you came in, “SSA Hotchner, these are agents Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Prentiss and doctor Reid, who you know already, ms y/l/n”

“Y/n is fine, hello, nice to meet you all,” you said as you shook hands with everyone of them. When you got to Spencer, you also stuck out your hand, which he looked at for a second, before deciding to shake it.

You didn’t think anything about it, but the team’s eyes might have just fallen out of their sockets at this interaction. Morgan was doing a double take, JJ gave Emily a small shove and Rossi had a small smirk on his face. Hotch was stoic as usual, but there was a small gleam in his eyes that gave him away.

“This is my colleague Benny Avery, we work on the same team, we do mostly international aid in crisis situations”, you looked over at Benny who also shook hands with everyone. Spencer opting for a wave this time though.

“Thank you so much for coming here to help us. Dr Reid told us that you were doing this during your free time, so we really appreciate it,” Hotch nodded as he got out two case files, “we put together some information for you about the situation at hand, so please have a seat and we’ll discuss it.”

Everyone sat around the big table, and you were originally going to sit next to Benny and Morgan, when Morgan shoved Spencer, who was blushing a bit, next to you.

“It’s nice to see you again dr. Reid,” you said as you gave him a small smile and got out a notepad, “even under these crazy circumstances.”

“Yeah, uh, I-I would’ve called sooner, but work has been hectic, to say the least,” he said with his lips pursed.

“That’s alright, I’m happy either way,” you whispered as you focussed on Hotch who was starting his presentation. Spencer's breath quietly hitched in his throat, but you were already focussed on Hotch.

“We already found three bodies of missing immigrants, but we’re still missing a lot of people. We estimate that even more people are missing than reported,” Hotch clicked on his remote to show the location of the bodies.

“The bodies had marks on their wrists and ankles, so they were being restrained for multiple days or maybe even weeks. They also had injection marks and all three had ricin in their stomachs, Reid, can you explain please?”

Reid shot up from slouching and side-eying you, “Ricin is a carbohydrate-binding protein and a highly potent toxin produced in the seeds of the castor oil plant, Ricinus communis. A dose of purified ricin powder the size of a few grains of table salt can kill an adult human.”

“What is this chemical used for then,” Benny asked Spencer, pencil ready in hand to take notes.

“It’s a protein,” he repeated, “and it has the potential to be used in cancer treatments actually. On the other side, it can also be used as a biological warfare weapon, but because you need large quantities, it’s not that efficient as, let’s say anthrax.”

“On top of that, the immigrant community is getting rowdy,” Morgan took over, “there were some aid workers present, but most of them have left because they’re scared of getting mixed up in this.”

“So I guess food has been dwindling and all other supplies are being stolen or sold?” You guessed, tapping you pen against the notepad, “most aid workers here are from small NGOs I guess, mostly volunteers who don’t really have a good framework set up, so it’s not surprising some would run off,” you sighed as you said the last part. Even though aid workers wanted to help, not having good support from the NGO itself, often resulted in these types of situations.

“Yeah, that’s about it,” Emily concluded, “we’d love your expertise on the aid situation, but maybe also on the profile. We need to catch this guy soon.”

“Alright, y/n and me will contact some of our local contacts who work at bigger NGOs in Texas”, Benny started, “these people also need to be legally represented, luckily we have a few great lawyers on call.”

You picked up where Benny left off, “so we’ll mostly be in charge of coordinating the different teams. We’ll set up shop here in the precinct, but I’d like to get a look at the field as well.”

“Okay, let us know if we can be of any help,” Hotch replied and everyone got up, “you can use this room to set up as well, there’s more than enough space for the two teams.”

You and Benny got to work, just like the BAU team. The BAU was discussing some things around a board with a map on different things scrabbeled on it. You set up your laptop on the other side of the conference room, Benny put up their own laptop next to you and leaned over to you.

“So who was the one you went on a date with?” They snickered, as you glared at them from under your lashes.

* * *

After a few hours of contacting local NGOs and lawyers, you and Morgan went out to the immigration camp, to check everything out. You sat in the passenger’s seat as Morgan drove the big SUV.

“So, I reckon you already know our resident genius?” Morgan said as he quickly looked over at you.

“Yeah, but we met just only once though, he attended a conference where I gave a presentation not so long ago,” you said as you smiled, “he came up to me after I was done and we kinda hit it off immediately!”

Morgan put the car in park and turned towards you, “he usually doesn’t do this stuff, you know. He’s really oblivious in that department if you ask me.”

“What do you mean?”, you furrowed your brows, not really understanding what he was getting at.

“Going up to people to talk to them. You must’ve captured his attention on that conference.”

“Oh,” you breathed out as you opened the car door and got out. You looked over the car at Morgan, “didn’t notice actually.”

As you looked at the building for a moment, you picked at your fingernail, it started to bleed a little. You cursed under your breath and got out a tissue to wipe it off. The beginning of these situations was always pretty bad, with lots of chaos and problems just virtually everywhere. Morgan held the door open for you as you walked through, smiling at him.

“So, do you have a profile of the murderer yet?”, you asked as you both walked through the maze-like entrance of the building.

“Not really no, we do have a preliminary one set up, but it could be literally anyone in this state”, he sighed as you arrived in a giant room, filled with camp beds and probably a hundred people, “the unsub is probably male, because we had both female and male victims. He knows the area, so a local, and because he dumps the bodies all over the desert, he’s likely to be highly intelligent. God knows there’s probably even more bodies on Mexican soil we’ll never find.”

“Jesus,” you let out a breath, an uneasy feeling creeping up your neck, “these people have been through enough already, I just want to give them a chance at a good life here.”

A few children were running around, passing just in front of you as you gave let out a small laugh, “it’s amazing how fast children adapt to these situations. I’ll never understand how they do it.”

Derek shot you a sad look. He understood what working with kids in these types of situations was like. Children didn’t deserve to have to live this kind of life.

When you were talking with some of the people working there, trying to get everything set up, Derek was off talking to the few aid workers who stayed even after the murders. It took a few hours to set up the basic food provisions, and you still needed to get in touch with the local NGO to get more volunteers, as most people were overworking themselves now.

After a few more hours, Derek returned just as you were finishing a call with the representative of the local NGO, who pledged to spring into action immediately.

Derek drove you back to the police station, putting the car in park. It was nearing 11 p.m. and the police station was less busy than before, with a few people still milling around, ready for an emergency.

Everyone looked beat when you stepped in the conference room, the bin overflowing with empty coffee cups and snack wrappers.

“Let’s wrap it up for tonight team, I don’t think we’ll get any new stuff tonight. So get some sleep and we’ll meet again at 8:30,” Hotch said as everyone was congregated in the conference room.

You looked over at Benny, who was still busy on their computer and then looked at Spencer. His hair was a bit messier than it was before you left and the bags under his eyes were a little more pronounced, but he still gave you a small smile when he saw you stare.

You gave him a small wave and went over to your desk, to discuss what still needed to be done.

“I got in touch with Amma and she’s sending a few representatives of the Texas branch of their firm, they should be here tomorrow afternoon,” Benny said as you sat down next to them. You opened your notepad and wrote it down, then telling Benny what you had seen at the immigration camp.

“The location is honestly too small to hold all these people, so I still need to find another building that has enough space for about 250 people,” so much work still had to be done, and you couldn’t just take a break as people were suffering in real time.

“You ready for another all-nighter?” You asked Benny who rolled their eyes jokingly, “I’m going to grab a coffee, do you want anything?”

“A coffee will do, thanks y/n”, you stood back up again and went over to the kitchen in the precinct. The coffee machine was desolated at this hour, whereas in the morning and afternoon, people would gather around it to take a small break and enjoy the caffeine spiked drink.

You returned with two cups of steaming coffee and passed the BAU team, who were on their way out.

Emily scrunched her brows, gesturing to the coffee, “you guys just don’t sleep?”

You pursed your lips, nodding slightly, “as long as these people don’t have decent beds to sleep in, we can’t either.”

She gave you a sad smile and touched your shoulder as she wished you a goodnight. The rest of the team also wishing you a good night.

When you returned to the conference room, there were still two people there. Benny was hard at work at their computer, not noticing you putting down the cup of coffee on the desk. The other person was staring at the map and had changed out their contacts for glasses.

“You don’t need sleep then, dr. Reid?” You came to stand next to him and took a sip from the coffee, peering at him out of the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, uh, just doing some last minute revisions. I want a good head start tomorrow,” he nodded looking at you now instead, “you sure you don’t need to take a small break?” He then asked, concern lacing his voice.

“I’m alright, I took a small nap on the plane ride over,” looking down at your hand, you noticed your nail was starting to bleed again.

Spencer took a look at it and went over to his satchel, getting out a small box and returning to where you were standing.

“May I?” He asked as he opened the box and held out his hand.

You tilted your head, not really understanding what he was asking of you, until you saw the contents of the box. There were bandaids, a small bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads, neatly stacked into the small box.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you placed your coffee cup on the table next to him and stretched out your hand.

Soft warm fingers enclosed around your thumb, as he dabbed the cotton pad with some disinfectant against the small wound. You were watching him with an incredulous look in your eyes.

“Do you always carry around bandaids, dr.?”, you asked as you watched him get out a bandaid out of its sterile bag.

He blushed a little, shaking his head, “uh, no actually. I just noticed you tend to pick at your nail when you’re stressed. And I presumed this would be a stressful case, so I packed it just in case.”

Your heart was beating so loudly, you thought he would hear it. He carefully placed the bandaid around your thumb, smoothing down the edges and he gave you a satisfied smile when he was done.

“All good to go,” he said as he stood back up again and put back the box in his bag, “now you can go and help these people.”

Heat rose to your face as Spencer turned back to work on the map and you got back to your desk.

You looked at your thumb, where a bandaid with small dinosaurs on it was staring back at you. You bit your cheek to hide the smile that was forming on your face. This guy really was something else.

You were staring at Spencer’s back, getting lost in your thoughts, when Benny snapped their fingers in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Y/n, hello?”, you snapped out of your stupor and looked over at them.

“Yeah?”

“When’s the wedding, I asked.”

You slapped their shoulder, giving them a wide eyed look that said more than words could.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist: @measure-in-pain @trans-reader-fics @spencers-dria @jswessie187

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer reid fluff #fluff #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg fic #mgg blurb #mgg fluff #matthew gray gubler fluff #bau #criminal minds fic #bau fic #criminal minds #cm

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riotwritesthings · 4 years

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The Basements

Heyyyy it's almost holiday time! A very happy winter holiday to anyone who celebrates, and a happy end of this terrible year to everyone ahaha.

I got you three random AUs, look out for the next two coming soon

Title: The Basements Collaborator Name: Riot @buckybarnesbingo Square Filled: U1, Board Games @starkbucksbingo Square Filled: G2, AU: Urban Fantasy @tonystarkbingo (card 4052) Square Filled: S1, Conflicting obligations / oaths Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron Rating: T Major Tags & Triggers: witch!Tony, vampire!Bucky, an adorable cottage Summary: Tony is willing to do just about anything to get out of his father’s house, and babysitting a magical cottage seems almost too easy. Even if he’s not sure exactly what’s in the basement. Word Count: 1.2k

Yes, I DID think up this story just to go with an adorable witch cottage I made in my Sims game. More screenshots at the bottom because I’m so proud of this adorable house lol.

Tony is desperate to get out of his father’s house, to find somewhere he can finally do magic and spend his time inventing without anyone getting on his case, insisting that he choose.

If babysitting a cottage for the Witch's Council is what it takes than Tony is more than happy to do it, and who cares if there’s supposedly some kind of monster in the basement? It’s been sealed for decades, it’s not like he actually has to worry about it. All he has to do is not open the basement and not ask any questions, right? Easy.

The cottage has all the magical tomes he could ever want, and Tony even builds himself a second basement, a place to build all the robots and other crazy inventions he wants. It’s perfect.

Although it’s not long before he starts noticing strange things, like the fact that the garden is flourishing despite Tony forgetting about it more often than not. Like the fact that when he gets distracted and wanders away from a chess game he’s playing against himself, he sometimes comes back to find one of the pieces moved. Usually in an infuriatingly clever move.

It’s a bunch of little things that all start to add up, and Tony has to wonder if there is something going on in this house after all.

Spoiler; it’s Bucky. He’s a vampire. He lives in the basement

He actually broke the seal on the door a long time ago, but it’s not like he really has anywhere else to go. He comes out at night to work in the garden occasionally, but most of his time he spends in his basement, where he can’t hurt anyone. Where he can’t be forced to hurt anyone.

He doesn’t tend to spare much thought to whoever the Council brings in to ‘guard the wards’ on the basement beyond making sure they don’t notice all the seals have long since been broken. Whoever this new witch that moved in is though, he is terrible at keeping plants alive. It’s actually kind of nice for Bucoy to have something to do.

Any maybe once in a while he moves one of the chess pieces on the board in the living room. And maybe ‘once in a while’ becomes every night, maybe he finds himself a little curious about this new witch after all.

Bucky can tell that the witch is smart, has poured through almost every book in the library already and Bucky knows he’s not exactly up to date on modern electronics, but the things he finds scattered around the house recently seem truly sci-fi. It makes him curious.

Curiosity has always gotten him into trouble, but Bucky has never been very good at fighting it.

Tony knows that he’s supposed to be guarding the basement, keeping it locked up tight and not digging. But he's never been any good at 'not asking questions,’ and he can’t help wondering.

Is his mysterious chess partner some kind of ghost? Does it have anything to do with the seals on the basement, and the music Tony occasionally hears drifting up the stairs, or is there more than one something in the house with him?

And is it just Tony, or do those seals on the basement door feel so weak they might as well not exist?

He’s not supposed to ask questions, or go near the basement, but Tony also promised himself that he wouldn’t let anyone hold him back from learning everything he can, not anymore. And no one said anything about leaving notes for his mysterious chess partner.

It starts with a note left under the knight piece that Tony has just captured, and quickly spirals out of control from there.

Whatever it is in the house with him, they’re clever, and funny, and before he knows it Tony is writing entire letters to his mysterious new pen pal and finding what can only be called gifts around the house. Like breakfast warm and waiting for him when he stumbles up from his lab in the pre-dawn hours, like the exact book he’s been dying to read suddenly waiting for him on the coffee table.

Tony knows he’s not supposed to ask questions, but he can’t help wondering.

In the end, Bucky finally meets the witch, meets Tony, completely by accident.

He’s headed back to his own basement after spending maybe a little too long arranging Tony’s breakfast to form a smiley face on his plate, and they nearly run straight into each other in the hallway as Tony stumbles out of his room.

Bucky freezes, and Tony freezes, and they just stare at each other for a second. Tony blinks slowly, looking more tired than anything, his soft brown hair a mess, and he smells so alive. Like warm skin and coffee, metal and magic, and it’s so much more intense than the lingering scent that hangs around the small house, Bucky has to struggle not to get distracted just breathing it in.

Tony’s eyes move over to the basement stairs, to the useless wards hanging on the walls, and Bucky’s cold dead heart drops a little. They both know what Tony is supposed to do now, he’s supposed to alert the Council so they can come and lock Bucky away again. If he’s lucky, they might just decide they’re done dealing with him.

But Tony bites his lip, hesitating, and Bucky dares to let himself hope, just a little. Maybe Tony is different enough.

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” Bucky says stupidly, like that’s any kind of a bribe, and Tony jolts a little, gaze flashing back to Bucky again. His eyes are still wide, faintest hint of a blush rising in his cheeks.

He smells like heated metal and there’s a smear of oil on his forehead, dark and acrid, and Bucky has so many questions. Questions he’s been avoiding asking in the notes he leaves for Tony, because whatever reason Tony built himself a second basement has got to be a secret and Bucky doesn’t want to push his luck.

“Thanks,” Tony finally says, voice baffled and a little rough with sleeplessness. Bucky fights down the inane urge to spin on his heel and go make him tea.

He might be pretty sure Tony drinks too much coffee, but he should also wait and see what Tony is going to do first.

What Tony does is lick his lips, shifting on his feet and hesitating for a second before he asks “Um, do you want to play chess in person?”

Bucky smiles, small and relieved and excited, and he starts to turn back towards the living room before he pauses. “You didn’t mean right now,” he says, and it’s almost a relief to be dead because he’d probably be blushing otherwise.

Tony just shrugs, smiling back as he says “As long as you don’t mind me eating while I kick your ass.”

“Okay,” Bucky says quickly, eagerly. He ushers Tony past him out of the narrow hallway, and he can’t resist the curiosity anymore so he adds “But only if you tell me what you need a second basement for, it has been drivin’ me crazy.”

“Can you keep a secret?” Tony asks, and then laughs when Bucky raises a single eyebrow at him, fighting down a grin of his own.

#my fic #winteriron #Starkbucksbingo2020 #tsbmiv #buckybarnesbingo2020

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eyes-like-a-pisces · 4 years

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Rules: Answer 10 questions, tag 10 people and make another 10 questions.🧜‍♀️

Questions from my astrological twin: @maiden-song 💕

1. if you could choose to glimpse the afterlife, would you?

Yes, I would. I think a lot about It.

2. under what circumstances do you think you past life was lived?

I could have had many past lifes. I think I was a native american, cause I've always felt bonded to their tradicion and same with China, cause when I hear the sound of Erhu - traditional chinese instrument, something wakes up in me. I've also always wanted to see Sweden & Finland, so maybe I was doing something there... I mean, I could do anything. I see myself in biblical times, as well as middle ages. I could be a renaissance artist, as well as dying of hunger during victorian era, or something, and that's probably why I'm still careful with money, haha. For my latest one, I think I could have been a hippie in the 60/70s and had some drug use experience, cause when I was a child I used have dreams about taking drugs, even if I didn't know anything about It. I also had some experience with psychics (and "psychics"), my mom had a past life regression and she told me she saw me few times... I don't take anything for granded, but reincarnation is one of my favourite theories.

3. what three skills would you instantly master if you had the choice?

Playing every instrument, speaking every language, singing beautifully

4. would your rather no passion or no pain?

No pain. Everything is needed in life, but you know, enough is enough.

5. if you had a chance to leave this world and go to another one, would you take it?

Depends of the world and who I would meet there. Even if this world can be cruel and disappointing at times, I still have some love for him and humanity.

6. if you could smell like anything in the world, what would it be?

Like the first day of spring, when you go outside and the air smells different. Or a storm.

7. do you feel like common interests or philosophical comparability are not important?

They are very important. I can't imagine a relationship without similar interests, views. You either get bored or fight constantly. I think that the whole point of searching a partner is trying to find things you got in common. The more similar you are, the more understood you feel and more you are attracted to them. That's my experience at least. That's a very basic example, but as you may noticed, I'm very much into music and I was dating a guy, who wasn't into music that much at all. I thought It doesn't matter at first, but then I started feeling like I'm missing my favourite way to connect with other person. Once I met a guy who loved music as much as I do, I'm sorry to admit It, but my partner became unattractive to me.

Similar interests and views are needed at the beginning, to bond with somebody, and later, to simply enjoy spending time together (thanks Captain Obvious). I mean... chemistry and good will are not enough for a relationship to last. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you have to be identical and agree on everything - some differences can be inspiring, balance your relationship and teach you something new. It's also ok and even needed, to have some separate hobbies, things that you like to do on your own. There are also other important things, like, if you equally care about each other and if you are on the same page in general, but I can't imagine not agreeing in the key points and things that are the most important to you. And the only person who can decide what is the most important is the person who is in that relationship, no matter if It's about interests, philosophy or religion. But beside a romantic relationship, I think It's good to be surrounded by different people and listen what they got to say.

8. if there was one mystery you alone could learn the answer too, what would it be?

The mystery of life in general. Why we are here, is there any destiny, how we are connected, how this universe works, what happens after death...

9. in your opinion, is there anything more important than love?

No :) (I'm not talking about putting your relationship before other things. I'm talking about love as a big force and meaning of this universe)

10. describe a new planet you would live on, if you could.

I want things to be diverse, monumental... Maybe another moon, why not. As a concept of the world, I wish there would be peace :) everybody has their safe place to live, will to live, passion, purpose, someone to love and who loves them back. Amen.

Questions from @mybloodiedvalentine 💕👯

1. What is an unpopular opinion you hold you about which you feel strongly and with which you seem to notice a lot of people disagree?

Nothing specific comes to my mind at the moment (that I haven't mentioned before). I sure have some, but what's unpopular opinion in general and what's unpopular opinion on tumblr, are two different things. Maybe, that the "tumblr positivity" is not really helpful. Like: "in case you need to hear this: you are smart, you are loved... ". How do you know that? Those are just empty words. But It's better to spread positivity than negativity, of course.

2. What is the nicest thing a stranger has ever told you that you can recall?

Oh, I had a few situations like that... This is so lovely, when a stranger wants to just be genuinely nice, not just catcalling you...For example, when I was with my 3 girlfriends at the club and 2 ladies in their 40s where like: "excuse me, we just wanted to say that we can't stop starring at you all, cause you are the priettiest girls in the club." And we were like: aww, omg, you are beautiful too, come dance with us. And we were all dancing in our witches circle ignoring all sweaty men around us, haha. Or when my mom went to the the same hair saloon as me and asked hair dresser if she remembers me and she said that she does and that I'm nice and intelectual. I'm her faithful client now ;_; (Sorry for sucking my own dick, but It was nice to remind myself about these situations).

3. Has a piece of art or music ever made you cry? If so, do you remember a specific moment?

Crying to music is my passion. The latest intense moment was few days ago. I was loading a dishwasher at night and I played some music and then "lover you should've come over" by Jeff Buckley came on and sudden wave of lonelliness hit me so hard, that I just had to put down the plate, hide my face in my hands and weep ✌

4. What’s your favourite piece of clothing?

Idk, maybe my Penny Lane coat :)

5. What’s a random childhood memory that fills you with a deep sense of comforting nostalgia?

Sledding with kids during a very cold winter in my home town, until It got dark and snow looked like sprinkled with glitter and having my freezed feet warmed up with a hair dryer, when I came back home, haha.

6. What is/was your favourite thing about your mom? If not your mom, your dad? Or best friend?

My favourite thing about my mom is that she's tolerant and open minded. I didn't have to lie to her or pretend I'm someone I'm not because of that. My favourite thing about my dad is that he actually cared about being a parent, even tho my parents divorced. I respect that he has unwavering morals and huge knowledge about a world - biology, astronomy, music, art...- subject doesn't matter- but he is very modest about It.

7. What’s something you learned on your own of which you’re proud?

Playing guitar

8. When was a moment in your life you remember laughing the hardest?

I was playing cards since I was a kid. After few years, when I was about 13 y. o. I got the first poker, a royal flush. When I saw my cards, I'm not sure why, I just coudn't believe my luck, I started laughing so hard I almost died.

9. What do you like to do when you’re having a hard time mentally that invariably calms you down?

Really depends of the kind of situation and if It's triggered by something or just a longer period of time feeling in a certain way. The is no a magic trick, but some things might be helpful. When It's concrete situation, at first, when the feelings are really intense, then I just can't calm down. Every try to do so, has a reverse effect. Like, I CAN'T THE FUCK CALM DOWN and It makes me even more angry. Brain needs about 20 min to chill, if It's not triggered, so It's better to be left alone and just go mad a little until brain will have enough haha. Have a good cry, listen to some music, have a lonely walk, write my feelings down etc.

I like to listen to Teal Swan on youtube. She's a spiritual teacher. I know, It might not sound encouragingly, but she actually seems very down to earth. She has a video about like, every emotion and every problem ever. She's very good in naming feelings, rationalizing them and It makes you feel more understood. And It calms me down as result. ASMR doesn't work for me, but I remember that at some point I liked to listen to sounds of the nature, like rain, waves etc + guided meditation to fall asleep.

Music always helps in general - listening, playing guitar, singing. I also like to take an oil and do a face massage. I'm really sorry if I sound like an instagram influencer 🤢, but when you feel bad for a longer time, you frown and there is a tention in your jaw, it can be really relieving. I follow instructional videos on yt.

When I have a longer period of going into downward spiral, then every way to distract my brain is good - TV shows, internet content that is not related to my life situation (although, sometimes It's good to distance yourself from social media), for example, I like criminal podcasts, cause they are occupying enough to distract a miserable brain, meeting somebody, going to a place I've never been before. + any kind of shedule, reason to leave the house, any goal, anything positive to look forward to and having even the simplest things done, is a blessing (even if sometimes It's the last thing I wanna do). I also tend to be much sadder in the evening, so I just go to sleep. When nothing works, then It's time for the professional help.

10. Do you have a favourite holiday memory?

Discovering Cocteau Twins.

Best regards if u actually read all that chatter, but those questions were so interesting, that I couldn't limit myself to one sentence answer (in most cases).

My questions are:

1. Who or what was the most influential for your music taste?

2. If you could time travel, where and when would you like to go first?

3. If you could be someone from an opposite gender for a day, how would you like to look like and what would you do?

4. Do you have a style icon/inspiration? Or a favourite designer? Desribe your dream clothing style

5. What's the song by a band/artist from your country that you could recommend? (From your hometown or state eventually)

6. What is the most rebellious thing you've ever done?

7. Has ever something in your life happened, that you coudn't explain with logic?

8. What 5 objects someone could use to summon you?

9. What is your favourite name from your culture's language? And outside your culture's language?

10. What's a song you normally wouldn't admit you like or different from music that you usually listen, but still enjoy?

I tag: @winterdryad @bowiepop @nightmare @confusion-in-the-sea-of-sorrow @l0w-budget @numberoneblind @mirandasinclairs @mysticbride @leperwitch @comeacrossthedesertnoshoeson @hexafu @mielmelancolie @arcane-delight

#don't reblog this or any of my personal posts please #and thank you

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darkmindsotome · 4 years

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Risque Rouge pt2

Tagging: @umbralaperture @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 2

They had travelled to the far end of the building through what felt like a rat’s nest of debris and stopped in an area where the air felt cleaner than in the rest of this backstage world. A thick curtain stood in their path and the owner called out cheerily to its apparent occupant.

A reply came sounding hesitant but he could feel that same tugging sensation he had experienced seeing her on stage. It was something that spoke in a beguiling voice to him beckoning him to come closer. It was like a whisper in the darkness, promise in the moonlight. A forgotten spell still casting its magic. She was certainly a talented force, whether she was aware of it or not.

Receiving permission, the owner pulled the curtain and a weighty jingle came from it. It was commonplace for curtains in large houses to have weights sewn into them to keep them from moving. There were several in his mansion alone. He had even heard tales of people hiding coins in them protecting fortunes from thieves and treasure hunters. That seemed unlikely to be the case here and he suspected that it was more likely the weights here were little more than old loose bolts.

Ducking slightly to enter the space he was greeted by the pleasant surprise of it being a light and airy place. Delicate laces and brightly patterned fabrics softened the edges of the harsh reality that this space had been built from the discarded fragments of the building. There was no dark coloured furniture here and if there was it had been draped with light coloured fabrics.

The vanity table looked to be a rococo design but it had clearly seen much better days. Some of the scrollwork to the mirror had been broken and there was repair work done in an amateurish style to reattach a leg to the base. Any gilding has long since worn away either with cleaning or simple age.

What struck him the most was the sense that this room could be very bright in daylight. Not only were there a set of three sash windows to one wall but there was also a large skylight. There were several gas and oil lamps dotted around the space in order to replace the absent daylight, reflecting shards of colour around the room through the cut-glass decorations near them. It was truly a space full of charm and he could sense the care placed in its design for the girl it was gifted too.

Comte looked to the man standing beside him seeing the truth to his words when he said he felt like the girl’s guardian in a sense. This would be a perfect fairytale ivory tower, if only it were not built out of precariously balanced junk.

“I brought a visitor Evie. This fine gentleman here would like to sponsor you.” The owner walked over to a green velvet chaise as he spoke.

“Sponsor?” Dressed in nothing more than a robe the one they call a Nightingale tilted her head in response to the word. Her deep green eyes that resembled his drink from earlier looked in his direction full of the innocence of youth. She genuinely did seem to be a very rare flower to be growing in such a location.

“That is right. I have come here several times and each time I have had the pleasure of seeing you perform. I should like to offer you my sponsorship.” Comte gave a bow with a smile.

“Pardon Monsieur but what would that entail exactly? I cannot imagine you would have been guided here so willingly if you had dubious intent.” She spoke with curiosity but also a healthy level of suspicion which made him feel happier in a way. For all her apparent youthful naivety it seemed she had keen intuition.

“That would be correct. You are a very smart girl and you have a very capable guard. I assure you I have no desire other than to see you settled comfortably in a lifestyle of your choosing and would like to support you in your endeavours so as to ease whatever burdens you might have.” Something in his words seemed to give the girl cause to falter. He had been sure she had every intention to refuse him politely up to this point, be it from pride or for some other reason, but now he was not as sure.

“Uncle, could you leave us for a moment?” She turned to the owner who looked as if he had just been doused in ice water.

“Evie, I really don’t think that would be appropriate.” Even as he spoke, he shook his head and looked with pleading eyes at the young woman.

“You brought the gentleman here If it bothers you so much then please stay close to the door. I will call you if need be.” Her firm words were matched with a flash of light in her eyes. The green became even more faceted as if unseen light had become refracted and caused them to hold a stronger power than before.

Le Comte said nothing and remained in silent observation. The feeling he had earlier that was little more than a whisper of a possibility was starting to become a clear certainty as he watched the young woman. She had a power to charm and disarm that was telling. He had met several performers that really were exceptional but this was different.

“When did you grow up this much?” The owner slumped his shoulders in resignation apparently powerless against the request.

“In the moments you weren’t looking. Trust me please.” Evie patted the owner’s hand that had been resting on the high side of the chaise and gave a sweet smile. Sighing he patted her hand with his free one before walking back to exit the room, pausing briefly to make sure his point was made in the process.

“Monsieur. I trust you are an honourable individual but should any harm come to this child I shall be sure to seek recompense from you, even if I must cleaver flesh from bone to do so.”

If it had been possible to slam a door that was nothing but a curtain Le Comte was positive that man would have achieved it. He knew what it was like wishing to protect something you felt responsible for. It was a constant walk on a knives edge between rage and resistance. You wanted to give as much space as you could to let the people you care for be free to do as desired but you also hated it. You found yourself almost preferring the idea of protecting them so much that you would even fight the sun itself for daring to touch them.

“I am sorry about him. He means well even if he can be slightly overbearing at times.” Evie spoke drawing his attention away from the curtain and back to her. Her pose didn’t seem to falter and she seemed to be completely out of place, more suited to a country estate than here.

“Not at all I can only imagine how hard guardianship of such a talented and beautiful young lady could be. I could hardly hold a grudge towards the man when I am not completely certain I would not go as far as him myself to protect what I cherish.” Le Comte quickly dismissed the concerns and was happy enough to hear the shuffling of the man waiting outside move a little further away from the door.

“Fine words Sir. You really are a member of the Aristo in Paris.” Evie nodded her bright smile warming him as she rose and recovered a chair from under a pile of books and linen. “Please I cannot offer more than a seat but I would be happy to have you take it.”

“Merci.”

---

Le Comte visited several more times and had become something of a familiar face as he moved through the backstage passages to see his little investment. He found himself looking forward to what was rapidly becoming a something of a favourite habit of his. Wandering in the night was so much nicer when you had a destination, not to mention, a charming companion to talk to at the end of it.

It was on this particular visit however that he had been met with a problem. Performers all seemed to be in a heightened sense of emotion and the air was heavy. Small groups were huddled together their whispers catching his attention as them mentions the little princess and something about a doctor. The closer he got to the girl’s room the worse the feeling became and he felt a knot in his stomach as his gut instinctively told him something was wrong.

He was about to announce himself when the curtain opened in a flourish and someone from the other side barrelled into his chest.

“Out of the damn way! Can’t you see we’re in a hurry ‘ere?” The smell of pomade filled le Comte’s senses before he could register the flustered mess that was the owner. The shorter man had taken on a flush of colour that had turned him into a ripe strawberry. His shirt sleeves were rolled up high and the cloth that was usually around his neck was missing. His dark beady eyes looked up to see who had blocked his path and he took on the appearance of a rat-faced with a cat as he backed away to a more suitable distance. “AH! Monsieur I—sorry but now might not be the best time for a visit.”

“What has happened?” Comte enquired somehow managing to hide a little of his growing concern.

“Oh! Nothing unusual Sir she has merely taken one of her “turns”. Charlotte! Char— Oh where is that girl? CHARLOTTE!” The Owner cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed through the hall. A small woman similar in build to Evie appeared looking a little sullen at the way she had been summoned.

“I’m here! No need to shout so you could raise the dearly departed in Père Lachaise.” Her voice sounded coarse and there was a smell of stale tobacco as she drew nearer. She gave a brief glance towards Le Comte before looking at the man who had summoned her.

“You shall have to go on tonight and see if you can get the kitchen to send up some clear soup. Oh, never mind I’ll go myself. You just go get ready.” The agitated man issued orders and as if double guessing himself changed them just as quickly.

Comte knew enough to see that whatever was happening whilst apparently common still had shaken the man to his core. What did he mean by one of her turns? He had not noticed that the young lady had been ill before on any of his visits. Had he missed something? That instinctual premonition he felt on his arrival only grew as he watched the interaction in front of him.

“Got it.” The one called Charlotte gave a concerned look towards Evie’s room before scurrying off. It was an expression that had mirrored everyone that he had passed on his journey here. It was also the last straw that seemed to break his patience.

“What happened to the Princess?” Le Comte’s voice was more forceful now trying to gain control over the frazzled nerves and scattered mind of the other man. It was effective and it seemed the owner had managed to locate some control and plastered on a rather fake smile.

“No need to worry Sir the doctor is with her and she shall be herself again in no time. A little exhaustion and a touch of a malady de femme.” The owner’s insincere smile and sing-song tone was one that was designed to lie as much to himself as the person they were addressing. There was no denying that it was a performance worthy of any stage but it was not one that Le Comte had a mind to praise.

Comte brushed past the owner and entered the room ignoring the protests. A man sat on the edge of a bed holding the hand of his patient. At the sound of more interruptions, he glanced up and reluctantly let go of the girl’s hand. Comte watched as the dainty hand of the girl was placed reverently on her duvet, attempting not to read too much into the apparent fondness that boarder on unprofessional. The man didn’t attempt to greet Le Comte and continued to make a few notes on some paper after checking his watch once more.

“Are you the doctor?” Comte asked as politely as he could but after seeing the man move to close his travelling medical case decided to change his question to one a little less inane. “How is she?”

“Stable for now if more than a little tired. I have given her some more of her medicine and she has settled.” The doctor snapped the clips on his bag shut and gave a questioning look towards Le Comte. “Who might you be Sir?”

“I am her sponsor.”

“Sponsor? I see…” For the briefest of moments, it looked as if there was an incensed look that marred the doctor’s otherwise gentle appearance. In the blink of an eye, it had gone and his eyes reverted to a comforting warm brown colour. “Well, there is little more that I can do tonight I have other patients to tend too. Be sure to call me if anything further happens.” He picked up his bag putting his jacket over his arm and made sure to give his patient a soft reassuring smile before leaving. As if suddenly remembering something he spun on his heel revealing once more a less than friendly appearance towards Le Comte. “Oh and Monsieur sponsor? Do take care and not exhaust le petite femme.”

Comte remained where he was wondering exactly how many times, he might see someone acting that way towards him for his philanthropic pursuits. He knew he couldn’t deny that all his endeavours came off the back of his own selfish desires but a small part of him hoped to avoid such hatred when at the root of all he did was an effort to provide comfort in a world lacking in so much of it.

“I think he may have the wrong idea.” Her voice came out faint and haggard pulling him back from his thoughts. She was laying in her bed slightly propped up on a mountain of pillows at her head but otherwise looking just as white as frail as a piece of delicate frosted glass.

“How are you?” Comte drew closer taking his cue as to how far he would be permitted from the female herself. Even though his actions were out of genuine concern for the young woman it was still ungentlemanly to barge into a lady’s private room.

“I’m fine. I’m used to it although I cannot deny that it frustrates me beyond measure. I feel so useless when I am like this.” She averted her eyes so they looked out through the window. The sky had long since turned from the warming shades of sunset and there was something in that look of melancholia that reminded him of himself.

He had made the offer to dozens of people before, calling it a taste of eternity. A poetic turn of phrase for the reality of what it was. Accepting a life where you watch those you care for grow old and leave you. The loneliness of eternal night where the only constant was the moon and even then, that cruel Goddess herself vanished marking time by her absence. His invitations were not much more than selfish offerings to fill that void for a little longer. A choice made by a lonely creature wanting more than a few moments and a chance to feel a little comfort in the long night.

It was true they had at the very least been given a choice. Scared of death and what lay beyond. The idea of unfinished dreams clouding their final judgement and urging their choice. But what of the creatures that had no choice? The ones born differently and forever cursed from birth?

Drawn to that look of unfathomable sadness he moved closer to take her hand and perch on the edge of her bed barely putting enough weight on her bedding to move the sheets. He tenderly stroked his hand on her head, his fingers combing the raven coloured locks slowly as he held her hand in his.

“Don’t make such a face ma petite fleur. You are not alone.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes were hooded with sleep. With her smile returning to her Evie closed her eyes the warmth of the kind gentleman’s hand in hers guiding her to slumber as his fingers brushed her hair pacifying her fears and worries.

As the Princess slept, he continued to fawn over her until he was certain she was completely dead to the world. His hands left her and instantly lamented their loss as he tried to convince himself it was time to leave. He dimmed the lamp on her dresser and noticed the draw half-open. Rows of glass vials sealed with corks and black wax filled it. Curiosity got the better of him and he removed one holding it high to check its contents.

“Well now… that is curious. Where ever did you get such medicine?” Le Comte glanced back at the bed and slipped the object into his jacket pocket. “Pardon but I have need of answers and hope this could assist me in finding them. Bonne Nuit, ma chèrie.”

Slipping out of the room he moved quickly to make his way into the city. He had a mind as to where to start his enquiries and seriously hoped he would be proved wrong.

---

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marshmallowgoop · 5 years

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Gushing about Promare (Mega Spoilers!)

I know not everyone has gotten a chance to see Promare yet, but I first saw the movie months ago and have been dying to talk spoilers ever since. So, avoid this post if you haven’t had the opportunity to watch the film yet, but since there’s a tiny bit more availability now, I finally just wanna gush for a sec!

First of all, Promare surprised me. I wasn’t really too interested when the project was revealed, and even when I learned more details at last year’s Anime Expo, I was only moderately invested. The note that the film would be kid friendly is what got me more on board, but I suppose what really got me, more than even the stunning soundtrack (which I think might be Hiroyuki Sawano’s best OST, honestly), was the Trigger x Monster Strike collab.

Maybe surprisingly, I am actually somewhat self-aware, and I recognize that I’m totally biased, but okay, seeing Ryuko and Senketsu noted as characters for the game, right beside Lio and Galo...

Let’s just say that my heart was taken. Seeing that image of Lio and Galo made me fall in love with them, and the comparisons between Ryuko and Senketsu’s relationship and Lio and Galo’s that I found in the 鮮流 (Senryu) tag on Twitter sealed the deal. Teaming up and fighting with the Power of Love is my jam.

So, I got hyped. I expected to like the movie.

But I didn’t expect to find it to be the best thing that Trigger has ever made.

(Well, that I’ve seen, anyway.)

And even after sitting on it for a while, I still think Promare is Trigger’s strongest work (that I’ve seen). Sure, I’ve read many complaints that the film tries to do too much in its short timeframe, that there are too many characters who don’t get fleshed out as they should, that it’s way too predictable and cliche... but I respectfully disagree.

I mean, I do feel Promare would have worked better as a series, sure. But Promare uses its time excellently. Maybe it’s an odd comparison (or maybe not?), but while The Shape of Water devotes a ton of screen time and attention to subplots and fleshing out characters other than the main leads, Promare stays focused. This is the story of Lio and Galo, and it never, ever forgets that. Whereas The Shape of Water drowns its monster love story inside plots of Russian spies and rotting fingers, Promare stays focused. Promare knows what it is and knows what it’s about. It’s the most cohesive and thematically strong piece that I’ve seen from Trigger, and I’m more than glad that the artists decided to focus on Lio and Galo rather than shove in all sorts of good stuff about the other characters at the expense of muddying its heart and soul.

Because as much as I love Kill la Kill—and as much as it’s still my favorite Trigger work, even if I don’t see it as Trigger’s best—that’s... exactly what that show did. I can’t even say for sure what the heart and soul of Kill la Kill is! Sure, I’ve argued that it’s most definitely a love story between a girl and her sailor uniform more than anything else, and I most definitely have evidence to support that claim, but I recognize that tons of other claims with tons of other evidence behind them could be made as well. Maybe, for example, as expressed by director Hiroyuki Imaishi before the series premiered, Kill la Kill is really ultimately a story about the rivalry and eventual friendship between Ryuko and Satsuki. Or maybe it’s about overcoming fascism, or a warning about wearable technology, or about puberty, or finding family, or really a million things. I’ve been in the Kill la Kill fandom for years, and let me tell you: I’ve seen just about everything.

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But the huge variety in interpretations for the anime most certainly points to the idea that it ain’t all that focused. It’s... a bit all over the place. Too much good stuff shoved into one work, resulting in a mixed mass of awesome that’s maybe kinda hard to make sense of.

(And, for the record, I’ll point out that as much as I often feel alone in my reading of Kill la Kill, I’m really not alone at all. An interviewer for Newtype magazine once said, “When you watch through to the last episode, you keenly feel that Kill la Kill is a story about the relationship between Ryuko and Senketsu,” writer Kazuki Nakashima himself has pointed out several times that Ryuko and Senketsu’s relationship is central to the story, such as in his note in the Kamui Bansho that “You could say that Kill la Kill tells the story of a lonely young woman meeting and losing an irreplaceable partner,” and even among English-speaking fans, I can at least link to this one comment not by me that reads, “It's also weird that they say that Ryuko vs. Satsuki is the core of character drama; while it’s majorly important so far, it’s seemed more like Ryuko and Senketsu share the most important relationship.” I know I’m biased, but, okay, I have support, seriously.)

In my humble onion, Promare combines probably the two strongest story threads in Kill la Kill by essentially making the Satsuki character and Senketsu character the same person. You get the rivalry that turns into a friendship, and you also get the synchronization and coming together of two different people who seem like they shouldn’t get along—the combining of “oil and water,” as Galo himself puts it. The fact that the designs of Lio and Galo’s robots were confirmed to look like Kamui in the last live-drawing session (with eyes on the shoulders and teeth on the chest) only strengthens the Ryuko and Senketsu connection, and, c’mon, you can’t tell me that those trailers and promotional materials weren’t hyping up the Lio/Galo rivalry like Kill la Kill hyped up the Ryuko/Satsuki rivalry. Promare takes two of the greatest parts of Kill la Kill, smashes them together, and makes something fantastic. This is what I would have wanted Kill la Kill to be like.

Yes, Promare’s plot is absolutely predictable and cliche, but that ain’t at all a downside! The film utilizes its cliches well, and our main leads are so charming that the journey is endlessly enjoyable. Promare is ultimately a sweet character drama with lots of flashy action, and that character drama is excellent.

I love so much about it. I love how Galo makes an offensive remark to Lio and immediately apologizes, understanding that it was wrong. I love that Galo saving Lio’s life is presented so respectfully, and I love that Galo isn’t at all bothered or embarrassed by pressing his lips to Lio’s, and I love that when Galo freaks out afterwards, it’s simply because he started a fire when he’s devoted himself to putting fires out. I love how Lio’s flames protect Galo, I love the lyrics to “Inferno” and how they amplify the story, I love that there’s a happy ending and the Burnish don’t all die out because that’s somehow “for the best,” I love that there’s a beautiful heart explosion when Lio and Galo save the world. I just love love love these two characters and this film.

But of course, to address the elephant in the room, I do wish that Lio and Galo’s relationship were more explicit; as is always the case in Trigger works that feature potential LGBTQ+ romances, it was stated at both Anime Expo this year and in the latest live drawing that there are no wrong interpretations and everyone is free to think what they would like. But when someone asked if there would be more “boys kissing” in future Trigger works at Anime Expo, and the answer was “yes,” I’m hopeful and don’t feel bad about what we got. Lio and Galo are a sweet, sweet step in the right direction, and I hope for more explicit, charming, respectful LGBTQ+ content in the future from this studio.

Tl;dr, as silly as Promare is, it almost feels like the studio is growing up. The film is what I consider to be their strongest work to date (that I’ve seen, of course), and I crave more over-the-top, kid-friendly, endearing works from Trigger moving forward.

#promare #spoilers #promare spoilers #kill la kill #monster strike #'for a sec' she says lolll sureeee.....#longer than i meant but ey feel free to send me more train emojis and i'll post some shorter stuff lol #(i'm not answering the last one i got though sorry. i just feel like i'll get ragged on for whatever i say. and i am not dealing with that)

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urbigbiddygothgf · 5 years

Text

So Young

⚠️the trigger warnings are down in the tags below so fill free to check them out just in case this fic isn't really your thing⚠️ please enjoy

•••

Roman laid in his cot uncomfortably, shifting from side to side and ultimately accepting he wouldn't get much sleep. He groaned when he sat up and stared at his hanging cloak. He chewed his bottom lip as his hand balled up the sheet. The man scoffed as he threw the idea out of his head and laid back down.

Declan is an idiot, and he better know that. The stunt he pulled sent him to the dungeon in the palace and now he's to await a trial for something he didn't do. Roman growled under his breath at the utter stupidity of that man, how much Roman sacrificed to make sure he wasn't guilty, to keep him hidden. And then Declan threw it all away. He threw away everything because he went to the palace and claimed responsibility for the death of a prince five years ago. Roman was expected to question him and get details, but how could he when he already knew Declan was innocent? How could he question him properly if he's so goddamn mad at that asshole he fell in love with.

He's so fucked.

The man was escorted down into the dungeon, and was lead to a hall full of cells. The guards opened the door and Roman put his hood down, taking in the poor conditions. Clearly it hasn't been filled in a long time. Dust littered about everything, there were some spiderwebs, and the torches were barely lit. Roman sighed and continued down the corridor, taking in a deep breath before he faced the holding cell.

Declan sat on an old cot, shackled to the wall. The chain looked long enough to almost reach the bars, but Roman doubted they did. It was hard to read the other's expression, which only made Roman more angry. But he pushed his anger aside and opened the cell, stepping inside and closing it behind him. Declan looked up, startled, and went absolutely relieved.

"You're safe! Oh- thank God, I-I was so worried.." Declan mumbled as he stood quickly. Roman gave him a cold stare and crossed his arms. He didn't have the patience to hear him gather up some bullshit excuse as to why he did what he did. "From your expression, I will assume you're not very happy with my decision.." He held up his cuffed wrist.

"You... are so, undeniably idiotic. What the fuck were you thinking? You tried so hard to stay hidden because people assumed you spilled a royal's blood, but here you are now, locked in a cage like some criminal!" Roman spat before he could stop himself. "Drop the 'it's to keep you safe' bullshit because we both know I'm not some helpless damsel in distress."

His eyes widened, not expecting such a response from the younger male. His eyes averted downward, and he frowned. Roman felt ashamed he used such a tone, but he had to get through to Declan some how. He took in deep breaths as he calmed his nerves, and kept his cold facade up as Declan smirked at the ground. "Why are you smiling? You can't possibly be happy to be kept in a cell and killed depending on what the jury thinks of you."

Gold eyes met his brown ones, the smirk on the other's face never faltering. "I simply confessed to my crimes, Mr. Pines. Surely you are happy I made your job easier for you.."

Roman frowned as his nails dug into his palm, some old wounds reopening at the pressure. He winced as he felt warm liquid collect in his palm. "You, are innocent... We have proof! All you wanted was to be found innocent! What's so different now?"

"I may be found innocent for murdering Prince Patton's twin brother, but that doesn't mean I'm not guilty for other crimes." Declan spoke as he took a seat back on the cot. "I'm not some.. 'harmless angel', Roman. I probably never will be... and I'm fine with that. I'll live with the fact that I've sinned all my life and die with it too. I'm known for lying to every person I meet, but not with you." He looked up shyly at Roman, and determination filled his eyes.

"Never with you. You make me wanna be better, Roman. All the damn time and sometimes that makes me mad. It upsets me how all it can take is one, special human to make you wanna be better, be smarter, stronger.. I never lied to you when I told you I cared about you. I never lied when I said I'll take an arrow for you. And I'm not lying when I say I love you, Roman Julian Pines. I-I love you.."

Roman's breath caught in his throat, and he stared blankly at the man before him. He just confessed..? Roman gulped nervously as he saw Declan stand and walk over, luckily able to reach him. The chain clinked against the stone floor, and it was obvious Declan wanted something. What scared Roman the most was that he probably wanted it too. So he took it.

His hands cupped Declan's face, and pulled him down slowly before their lips sealed. Both shivered at the weird feeling, but they didn't care. His fingers tangled with the hairs at the nape of Declan's neck and he pulled him down more, to be closer. The chained man was able to spread his arms out a little and raised his hands to cup Roman's face as well, loving the feeling of the soft skin under his calloused fingers. The new feeling made Roman gasp, yet he leaned into the touch, managing to deepen the kiss by tilting his head. Both of them fell apart for air, heavy breathing easily heard in the cell.

"Why would you do this..?" Roman whispered. "W-What made you turn yourself in for something you didn't do?" It was clear Roman was distraught as his voice cracked and he hid his face from Declan's gaze. The man frowned as he tilted Roman's chin up, and his heart near damn broke at the tears that ran down the other's cheeks.

"Roman.. my love- please don't cry." He whispered as he used his thumb to wipe away the tears. "Please don't cry.. I don't like seeing you upset, it breaks my heart." Roman wrapped his arms around Declan's neck, and let himself sob into the other's coat. He tugged lightly at the hairs of Declan's neck as he felt completely useless. He wanted answers, he needed them. Yet he felt as though he'd never get them. And that was when he stopped crying. "Roman..?"

"Your office.." Roman whispered as he pulled away. "What did you see in your office?"

Declan's face shifted into horror. "Nothing. There was nothing to see it was just a room with a desk and books piled high."

"Never to me.. you said, you'd never lie to me." Roman muttered as more tears fell. "What did you see..?"

Declan stayed silent as he looked down to the floor, and Roman's anger returned slowly. He huffed as he pulled out the keys from his satchel. There's one way to make him talk..

"I'm going to your office. And I'm gonna find out what you saw." Declan shot his gaze up, pure horror and panic in his eyes. He tugged at the shackles harshly.

"No! You're not! Roman, please don't I'm begging you-!"

"I need answers! You wouldn't just turn yourself in! I'm gonna go and find proof you're not guilty."

"You won't find proof! Please- just don't! My love please I-I beg of you.." Declan continued to ramble and Roman teared up again, hating the sight of Declan chained up and begging. He stood on his toes to place a kiss on the other's lips, whimpering.

"I'm sorry-" He turned sharply towards the door. Declan begged and tugged at the shackles til he drew blood. "I-I'll come back for you, I promise.."

"No! Roman stop! Please- stop!" Declan's cries faded as Roman walked through the corridor towards the door. He pushed it open and met the guards at the bottom of the dungeon stairs.

"Did you get any information, Mr. Pines?" Roman ignored them as he walked along the stairs, both guards looking flabbergasted. "M-Mr. Pines-"

"I know where to go." Roman hissed as he slammed the door closed and exited the library. He stomped down the hallway toward Declan's old office, and glanced back at the keys in his hand. His fist tightened around them as he snook upstairs, lucky to find no guards. Roman remembers Declan talking about how his office was next to the the prince's personal library. He didn't know why the prince needed a personal library, but he didn't question it. Roman felt around on the painted wall, mumbling to himself. Declan mentioned it was hidden from anyone who didn't wanna find it. He felt around the wallpaper, and smirked when he felt a dip in the shape of a keyhole. The key tore through the paper, and he turned it, the door opened inward, so he quickly hurried inside and closed the door softly.

He coughed at the dust particles that entered his lungs, and felt around the wall to find a torch or something. He mumbled bingo when he felt an oil lamp and turned the nozzle, happy to find it still has fuel. Roman wiped his hands on his coat after he placed the oil lamp on the desk, and found a dozen scrolls rolled up and pinned. Books were stacked on the corners of the desk, all dusty and worn out.

"Okay... Let's uh, get to it then.." He mumbled as he unpinned all the scrolls and read each one of them. Ingredients to help a migraine, sore throat, alot of stuff for medical use. 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘋𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳? The last three scrolls were letters, it was made out to someone, but their name was smudged out from all of them. 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭? Roman bit his lip as he took the last three scrolls and stuffed them into his satchel. Might be useful.

He blew the dust off most of the covers, but of course, it was of medical sciences. Roman noticed one book out of the ordinary, and he blew the dust off, rubbing away the rest. He tilted his head.

"'𝘚𝘺𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘎𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥'.." He muttered under his breath. Huh.. all of this medical information for studies and antidotes, why would he have a book for the magically gifted? Roman opened the book and thumbed through the pages that had a strip of red paper sticking out. Some symbols were highlighted as 'important' or 'useful', and Roman only grew more confused the more he read. What does it mean..? He turned to the last page, and it felt as though he was kicked in the stomach as he lost his breath. "Oh my God.."

He knocked over the oil lamp, causing it to shatter as he locked the room up and sprinted down the hallway. Patton turned the corner and gasped when Roman nearly fell at his feet. "Roman?" He was ignored as Roman ran downstairs. Patton lifted a brow, a look of concern on his face.

Roman cursed under his breath when he did fall, but ignored the sharp pain on his hip when he ran down the stone stairs, running past the guards and into the corridor. They yelled for him but he didn't give a shit. Roman tripped in front of Declan's cell, the other shooting their gaze upward.

"Roman! What's wrong?" The man kicked the cell open and held up the book, out of breath and in a bit of pain. He started mumbling out a response, but Declan's hands cupped his face, stopping him and making him look. "What did you find?"

Roman threw the book onto the cot and started stripping his coat and unbuttoning his white collared shirt. Declan looked away, red as a rose. "I-I don't think now is a good time-"

"Shut up and open that book to the last page!" Roman muttered as he pulled off the shirt in one quick swipe. Declan jumped at the raised tone but did as told, quickly thumbing to the last page. "Look-!.." Roman turned around and revealed the silver mark at the back of his neck. Declan furrowed his brows, and looked down at the last page. "Read it."

"... 'The mark of a royal family, the mark of pure royal blood. This mark symbolizes the sorcery bestowed upon one of two royals. Generally emerges from one of two twins. When one is born with this mark, they hold great powers. At least in one of thirty royal families that birthed twins, one of the two twins held abilities like 'the most powerful sorcerer in existence'.." Declan's voice caught in his throat as he held up the book, examining the symbol the book showed, and the one on Roman's neck. "Holy shit.."

Identical. Undeniably identical. Roman shivered a he ran a hand over the mark, his face painted with shock. "My mother and father passed when I was fifteen.. I was in an orphanage ever since. I was never able to remember anything before they passed.." Roman pulled at his hair. "The book, said 'royal blood'. I have that mark! I'm.. I'm a prince..? No, no no no I-I can't be. I'm a peasant who works for a shopkeeper downtown! I'm a prince?! And I have powers?!"

"Roman, my love breathe-"

"I have a twin..? Why were we separated? Which royal family do I descend from? How the fuck do I have a sorcerer's gift?! I'm just any other human! I-I'm not special! The only 'magical' thing I can do is sing and juggle-!"

"ROMAN!" The man stopped rambling and looked over at the other. Declan's face was painted in shock and horror as he dropped the book, a loud thud echoed off the cell walls. Roman tilted his head, confused, but looked over and nearly fell again.

"P-Prince Patton-! I can explain!" Roman babbled, watching the horror in Patton's eyes. The prince's eyes glanced down at the open book, and back at Roman. His gaze shifted from horror to adoration.

"Wow, look how big you've grown.." Patton mumbled. "And you're smarter then I remember.." Patton scowled. Roman backed away from the bars.

"What..?"

"I was wondering how long it'll take you to realize your gift, sweet brother.." Patton trailed off as he entered the cell. Roman scattered to grab his clothes and slip them back on as quickly as possible.

"'B-Brother'?" Roman choked out. Patton nodded slowly, and closed the cell door softly. "Patton you're scaring me.."

"Oh, sweet Roman. Have you not caught on yet..? Let me make this as simple as possible for you-" Patton grabbed Roman by his collar and snapped him forward. Roman gripped at the other's wrist as he tried to pry him off. Declan yelled at Patton to back off and pulled at his cuffs aggressively to get closer.

"Welcome home, Prince Roman. My sweet, and innocent, twin brother. I wish I could say you're welcome with open arms, but I'd be... lying." Patton growled as he tightened his grip on Roman's collar, slowly but surely making the cloth tight around his throat. Roman groaned as Patton lifted him off the floor and threw him into the cell wall.

"NO!" Declan growled under his breath as he pulled even more harshly. "Patton, Patton please stop-!" He hissed when he surely dug deeper into his wrist. Roman looked up dizzily, and Patton came into his view, grabbing him by the hair and hauling him up. Roman yelled as Patton picked up the book and exited the cell, his hand fisted in Roman's hairs. The man being dragged by his waves quickly dug into his pocket and slid keys under the bars before being taken away. "PATTON! I SWEAR IF YOU HURT HIM-!"

"Wh-Why are you doing this?!" Roman yelled as he tried escaping Patton's iron grip. "I-I'm your brother!"

Patton laughed at that, his grip becoming unbelievably tighter. "Yes, you are! Doesn't mean I gotta be happy about it." The two guards were gone and Patton hauled Roman up the stairs. Roman hissed when he was thrown the rest of the way up, his knee slamming into the stone. He cursed under his breath as Patton dragged him to the throne room and cuffed him beside the throne. Roman tugged at the cuffs.

"You probably want an explanation.. well, I'll give you one!" Patton shoved a piece of cloth into Roman's mouth, making his cries for help muffled. The man- no, the prince shivered as he looked up at his brother, terror in his eyes.

"But first, we should catch up! It has been five years.."

@lostonehero

#my writing #roceit #sympathetic deceit #roman sanders #creativity sanders #deceit sanders #unsympathetic patton #tw mentions of murder #tw cursing #tw violence #tw blood/injury #so young!au #holy shit 👀#give me a few days to get part 2 #if you wanna be tagged for part 2 #just ask #ngl i was gonna write remus in place of patton #but it wouldn't have been a surprise #wrote this bitch in three hours 👏

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