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probablyintensemuses · 2 years

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What To Expect When You're Not Expecting (4)

Chris Evans x Black (pregnant) Female Reader

Summary: It's no secret that Chris wants to be a daddy. He's said it in many different interviews and blogs before. He just never expected the mother of his child to be someone he didn't know, let alone fuck.

Warnings: 18+ angst, mentions of alcohol abuse and cheating/ malpractice, talk of abortions!, TALK OF SU*C*DE, TALK OF DMV! BE WARNED!

Note: If this gets a few hits and is well received I can make it a mini-series. If not I'll leave it one and done.

Edit: To my surprise, many of you like this and asked me to continue, here's the fourth part and a tag list to join! I'm trying to start my blog up so this really helps!

Series Masterlist

divider by: @firefly-graphics

taglist link here

(the reader is finally finishing her first trimester, we have to move it along hehe)

Chris wanted to throw his phone against the wall he was so angry. He knew it came with the territory of being a celebrity, but sometimes he wanted to damn the paparazzi to hell. Invading his privacy was one thing, he had lawyers for things like that. But invading yours and the baby's fueled him with unbridled rage.

Maybe it was a sense of protection he was growing over the child you were carrying, but he didn't want your face out there and now it was. Chris blamed himself, he was just so caught up in you and the baby he had been so relaxed and hadn't noticed the camera.

"Fuck, she's probably seen it." He groaned throwing his phone onto his sofa.

"I bet she has." Olivia spat, leading Chris to roll his eyes. "Oh, this one's rich!' She laughed sitting next to Chris. "Captain America star Chris Evans was seen cozied up with homegrown Boston beauty last Friday. The pair were spotted leaving together, Chris holding open the door for his suspected new woman. And is that a baby bump? So, could this mean America's most eligible bachelor is off the market?”

"Fucking E-news!" Chris yelled. "Calling her a Boston beauty, and the bump, fuck!" he tugged at his brown fluffy strands of hair.

"I'm sure she called herself a homegrown Boston beauty.' Olivia mimicked your accent. "Sounds too narssacitic to be press."

Chris practically blew smoke out his nose. “Olivia would you just fucking quit it!” He slammed his hand on the coffee table, pushing himself off the sofa. “She didn’t leak shit! We got caught, that simple!”

“Why are you defending her, huh?’ Olivia turned Chris around by his shoulder. “You don’t even know her!”

“I’m getting to know her!’ Chris shouted. “And I—I like her so far. Yes, she’s a tough cookie to crack. But I like her, and she seems like a good fucking person.” Chris said, bringing his temper down.

Olivia shook her head pointing at Chris. “This isn’t over, I’m calling the press and the news and telling them to take every damn story down, today.” She stormed off, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Chris shook his head as his hands rested on his hips. He really hoped you weren’t hurting somewhere.

—

You sat with tears in your eyes that were ready to break like the Hoover damn. You never imagined yourself to be so pregnant, and so alone. You held your mom's hand tighter moving all the metal wiring and tubing out of your way. Trying your best to ignore the heart monitor's persistent beeps.

“Mom,’ you sniffled, caressing her motionless hand. “You’re finally going to have a grandbaby, see?’ You leaned back, exposing your growing belly.

But she didn’t move, she never did. Your mother stayed still, her eyes remained closed as a tube roped through her neck doing all the breathing for her.

“Fuck.” You whimpered, pulling at the hospital sheets as you cried into them.

Why was life so unfair and cruel? Especially to the people who did it no harm. Your mom had been in a coma for just over two years at this point. And each day she was left on life support was another day it felt harder to be here. Harder to not be were she was. Or worst.

You remember that night. That night you, your mother, and your younger sister had almost lost your lives to the heinous man you once called your father. He had beaten you along with your sister to a pulp and nearly killed your mother by strangulation. Resulting in her slipping into a coma.

The doctors said if he had strangled her for just another minute, she wouldn't have made it. And from that treacherous night on, you had done nothing but pray she would wake up. Pray she would recover and you all could heal finally, as a family. And he could rot in hell.

A soft knock on the door pulled your attention from your mother, you slowly looked over to the sound and saw your mother's nurse just making her rounds.

“Hi.’ She smiled, clicking a pen alive and scribbling what your were positive was nurse terminology down onto a clipboard.

You noticed in between everything she wrote she would glance at you with a precarious look bestowed on her face. It wouldn’t take long before she finally spoke up.

“Not to be rude.’ She coughed, putting the pen on the collar of her colorful nursing scrubs. “But aren’t you the girl who's dating Chris Evans?”

Your eyes went wide and your heart silent. Your breathing was unusually shallow as you swallowed what ever spit was left in your parched throat. “What?” Being the only word you could muster.

“I’m sorry.’ She laughed, sweeping a red flyaway behind her ear. “It’s just your trending all over social media. They say you’re dating him.’

You didn’t say a word, instead you tore through your bag, pulling out your phone and jamming your thumb on the power button waiting for it to illuminate in your face.

‘Cmon, cmon.” You groaned, pushing into the button harder.

Finally, your phone lit up and you unlocked it heading straight to Twitter's trending page. There you discovered Chris was trending number one. You gasped as your eyes scrolled down the timeline along with your fingertips. Suddenly your phone began to show all of the miss calls and text messages from random numbers and Chris along with your best friend Vada.

You stood up from your chair, leaning down and giving your mother a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, mom.” You smiled somberly into the kiss, pulling away with a sigh.

“And no.’ You looked at the nurse. “I’m not dating him.”

Fuck, should you have said that? You scurried out of the hospital, jumping into the back of your Uber dialing your Vadas number as the sweat continued to pile underneath your arms.

“Bitch, you better explain yourself, and now!” She yelled over the phone.

“Vads, I’m not dating him! I don’t even know how those pictures got out there! Did he really use me as a publicity stunt?” You groaned, looking out the window.

“So you’re not fucking him?” She asked.

“Fuck no! He just wanted to talk and I agreed, then he begged to take me home." You fanned your overheating body. "Fuck, do you think he set me up?”

“It doesn’t seem like it from the pictures.’ Vada typed away on her desktop. “Have you talked to him?”

“No, but I’m going to his house now.” You sighed, biting at your nails. “I know he's probably thinking about me what I’m thinking about him.”

“You think he’ll think it was you?”

“Yup.” You shook your head.

Your Uber came to a halt in front of the penthouse. You said thank you and stepped out closing the door behind yourself.

“I’ll call you back Vads.” You said hanging up.

You looked at your call log and you finger lingered over Chris’s name which was bright red with missed calls. You let the pad of your finger hit it and brung the phone up to your ear.

“Hello, Y/n?”

“Chris, what’s happening?” You asked, walking inside his building.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew.”

You took in a deep breath closing your eyes. “Can you let me up?” You ran a hand through your knotless braids.

“Your here?” Chris jumped up.

“Yes, is that okay?”

“More than okay.’ He said, walking toward his home phone that connected to the front desk. “One second.” He sat his cellphone down.

“Hey phill, can you let her up please?”

“Sure thing Mr. Evans, but which one?”

Chris paused, almost wanting to laugh. “What.” The laugh stifled out anyways.

“Well, there’s a pretty brunette here for you and a stunning lady with braids.’ He stood looking at both women. “So which one?”

Chris bit his lip and threw his head back. The last thing he need was to hear Emma's mouth about this. They weren’t even a thing, but she seemed not to take the hint. Or rather hints.

“Send 'em’ both.” He groaned hanging up the phone.

Phil shook his head, hanging his own phone up. “Um ladies,’ he coughed. “You can go through here.” A private elevator opened.

Your eyes scrunched together as you heard a pair of heels clicking behind you. Turning around you saw a fierce brunette walking towards you with fire in her eyes. She looked like something out of a magazine. Her brown hair flowed and bounced as she stomped toward the elevator. You scurried toward the elevator doors behind her, immediately feeling small next to the tall and slender woman. The doors shut in front of you and you began rocking on your heels hoping to elevate some of the tension that contaminated the air.

“So you’re sleeping with my boyfriend and he knocked you up?” Emma asked snarkily.

“What?’ You looked up at her. “No, it was a medical mistake.”

“Not what the news says.’ She crossed her arm, bursting out of the elevator at the ding.

You rolled your eyes, sheepishly following after her. You both reached the front door of Chris’s place. Emma knocked on the door ferociously so that it certainly could be heard from the other side. And it was, Chris opened up the door looking exhausted.

“Really?” She shouted, pushing past him.

You stood there biting the inside of your lip watching him shake his head low.

“Hi.” You said, still standing outside his door frame.

“Hi.” He exhaled, opening space for you to walk through.

"Trouble in paradise?" You chuckled, pointing towards Emma.

"There is no paradise,' he whispered, shutting the door.

"Hm," you said, tugging at your purse strap.

"There's the little minx." Olivia's nose flared as she strutted towards you with Emma behind her.

"That's not even the word for her." Emma ground her teeth together.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stepped back, not noticing you had cowarded behind Chris who held your arm gently in support.

"I didn't leak that!" You croaked out.

Olivia folded her arms. "So who did?" She smiled, her eyes blinking rapidly.

"I don't know! Maybe the paparazzi!" You shouted unsurely.

"Chris!' Emma shouted, "Why are you touching her?"

"Because you're both acting insane and shouting at her! She's pregnant and I'm done allowing you both, especially you Liv , to torment her!" Chris belted, veins popping out of his neck.

He grabbed the small of your back, leading you to his couch and sitting you down. "Do you want something to drink, I have ginger ale."

You nodded, looking down at your shoes. "Yes."

Emma scoffed, plopping down on the opposite side of the couch, Oliva by her side, staring you down. "Can I have a drink as well, Chris baby?" she said, her eyes never leaving you.

Chris sighed. "Sure Emma, what would you like?" He twisted your ginger ale bottle open, pouring it into a glass.

"You know how I like it, something hot." She smirked at you.

You sat uncomfortably, not sure what her angle was with you.

"So you really didn't leak it?" Olivia asked.

"No, why would I?" You said, growing angry.

Olivia laughed. "Who would pass up an opportunity to be linked to Chris, lots of people just like you want him."

"I get you're protecting him, but the only thing I want to do is be able to eat my favorite foods without puking." You said, thanking Chris as he handed you your drink. "So no, I didn't leak it. Besides, how could I snap a picture from myself across the parking lot?"

Olivia's eyes softened, sitting back against the sofa. "We'll look into, it," She said snarkily.

Chris shook his head, slowly sipping on his expensive aged bourbon. It burning as it went down. “So where do we go from here?”

“We take her out of the public eye, not like she’s memorable. They’ll forget about her soon enough.” Olivia waved it off. “In the meantime, I’m going to set up a nice little PR date night for you and Em so the public will be off your trail.” She explained to Chris.

Chris rolled his eyes. “So what? We write it off like she’s a friend I was helping?” He asked, his arms resting on the top cushion of his sofa.

“Yup.” Olivia said popping ‘p’

“And maybe you and Emma should kiss, really make it seem legit.” She added.

“I’m all for that,” Emma smirked.

Chris leaned forward, rubbing his face with his palm. The last thing he wanted was for the public to believe he was a manwhore, with two women in less than a month it was bound to be a story, he could see it now. But it was for you and the baby. And at this point he would do about anything for the two of you.

“Okay.” He agreed, setting his drink on his coffee table. “Only for y/n.” He said, standing up.

Your head shot up, for most of the conversation you had been silent hoping no one would point a finger at you if you stood still. But now Chris had just bring that attention back on you, and in the most unexpected way.

“What?” You laughed in confusion.

“I’m only doing this ridiculous stunt for you.’ Chris clarified. “You didn’t ask for this.”

He looked into your eyes. “I’m doing this for you and our baby.” He said.

You weren't sure why, but your heart had just skipped a beat. He was so Captain America-like. Running to your defense like you had watched him do before on the big screen.

You brushed a braid, behind your ear. “Thank you.” Your cheeks heated up, and you almost wanted to slap yourself for allowing it.

“Yeah, anytime,” Chris said with a small smile.

Emma scoffed, grabbing her purse and leaving the room. "I can't stand to watch this!" She shouted, slamming the penthouse door.

"That girl is a nutcase." You sipped on your ginger ale, rubbing your belly.

"Tell me about it." Chris groaned.

Anxious was an understatement, this was the first ultrasound he would attend. The first time he'd officially meet his baby. Although he had no part in the conception, he never felt more connected to anything in his life. Chris pulled open the doors to the clinic, smiling at the front desk woman as he approached.

Instantly her eyes glimmered over. "Oh my goodness, are you, Chris Evans?" She questioned, frantically pulling out her phone.

He put his finger over his lips shushing her, pulling his baseball cap low. “Yes.” He chuckled.

“Oh my God, I love your work. Could I have a photo?” She giggled, making sure to whisper per his request.

“Sure.” He looked over his shoulder before leaning in. The woman snapped a photo thanking him once more and blowing a kiss.

You just laughed, closing your assignments as you clapped your hands. What a show that was, you couldn’t fathom being famous and getting recognized everywhere you went. You couldn’t even handle being recognized as a teacher in the grocery store. But Chris seemed to handle it well, it was one of the things you were beginning to admire about him. How calm he always seemed to be, it made you less nervous.

“Hey superstar.” You waved at him, putting your students assignments into your bag.

Chris laughed, walking over to you. “Wow.” He gasped as you stood up. “You’re getting so big.” He chucked in disbelief.

You frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Chris’s eyes widened then softened. “No baby—I mean, Y/n. I meant your belly. The baby.” He pointed at your stomach.

“Well I hope so,” you grumbled. “Sit, our appointment isn’t for another fifteen minutes.”

“Right.” He sighed, sitting beside you. “What we’re you reading?” He asks, sparking conversation.

“Oh, my students informative essays.’ You chuckled. “Would you believe Aria actually wrote about immaculate conception after hearing our story.”

“That girl is something else.” He rubbed his temple.

“You must admit, she’s brilliant. And she will be getting an A.” You said. “And not because I unofficially slept with her uncle.” You brushed your shoulder against his.

Chris brushed yours back, laughing along with you. Not only was Aria something else, so were you, and in the best possible way. But there was something he couldn’t deny himself of knowing anymore. After your coffee date and you mentioning a high insurance rate, Chris looked into the real reason you needed two jobs. He couldn’t find much, but what he could find disturbed him. He just wanted to know the real truth, maybe he could help.

“Can I ask you something, Y/n?” He sighed, rubbing his palms over his knees.

“Shoot.” You smiled at him.

“I found something and I wanted to ask you about it.”

You frowned not sure where this was going, but before Chris could explain the doctor had called your last name. Waving for you to come back.

“Let’s table the conversation for after, okay?” You grabbed your bag.

“Just promise you’ll be honest.” Chris took your bag from you.

You laughed awkwardly. “Depends on what it is.”

—

“Okay, this is going to be cold, Ms. Y/L/N.” The doctor said, as she began to spread the ultrasound gel along your belly.

“Wow, that really is cold.” You jolted, laughing as she and Chris stared at the screen.

“Yes.” She giggled. “So tell me, Y/n, I see this is your first pregnancy. How has it been so far?”

“Well, I’ve been able to eat more and not get sick so that’s a plus. Also I have this app, it told me my baby should be as big as an avocado by now.” You explained, heading Chris laugh.

“An avocado, that’s so small.” He chuckled.

“Well babies are small, and a handful. Which is why it takes a village to raise them.’ The doctor said, still searching the monitor. “And I assume this is dad?”

“Yeah.” Chris spoke, his heart fluttering at the title.

“Ah, there they are. Beautiful heartbeat.” The doctor pointed at the screen.

You and Chris both leaned in, listening to the heartbeat as it sounded like music to your ears. Your eyes began to swell with tears. You had never had any intentions on having children, but after this, you felt completely different. You would protect this baby with your life. A lone tear rolled down your cheek as you felt your hand inch closer to Chris’s, almost acting on it own accord. Your fingers intertwined as he smiled down at you with misty eyes. That lonely feeling you felt subsided, you realized that as long as you two were in this together, Chris would never make you feel alone.

“When will we know if it’s a boy or girl?” Chris asked, wiping his eyes.

“I’d say give it another month or two.” The doctor smiled, wiping your belly clean. “Congratulations. Whoever they are or choose to be, they’re happy and healthy.” She smiled, leaving the room.

Chris sniffled, wanting to hug you so badly. He couldn’t help that he was a hugger. But you broke through the silence, blowing your nose.

“What did you want to ask me?” You groaned, swinging your legs off the exam table.

Shit, Chris had almost forgotten he wanted to ask you about a harrowing experience in your life.

“Right.’ He watched as your eyes searched his. “Y/n, what really happened to your mother?”

Your stomach dropped, your eyes were glossy again and not from hearing the heartbeat of your baby.

“What?” You croaked.

“I looked into it, the reason you work two jobs because I didn’t want you stressed out.’ He sighed, leaning against the exam table, your watering eyes tearing him apart. “I read an local paper about your stepfather and your mother.”

“It didn’t say much, but it said enough.” Chris said. “Is your mother okay?”

Your body trembled, why would he think it was ok to ask you such questions. Especially after arguable the best moment of your life.

“Why do you care?’ You questioned. “And—and why the fuck are you looking into my past? I thought you were over that?”

“I just wanted to help you anyway I could, and you weren’t talking to me.”

“Talking to you, I barely know you! At least not enough to give you my full fucking life story!” You shout. “Why is it that you know more about me than I do you? And I’m not the ones whose plastered all over social media!” You brush past him, holding onto you belly.

“Y/n!” He shouted after you.

But you ignored him. If Chris didn’t trust you to carry his baby, to hell with him. We all have our past, our demons and you were no exception. But neither was he, and you were about to find out what those demons exactly were.

—

A/N: sorry for not posting this for a while. I know people have been looking forward to it. So here is part four. Nosy Chris.

Taglist:

@goldenlouvr @rookiemartin @stokeleybabymama @peachy-bunnns @pbeckn26 @saturnalya @a-moment-captured

@fairlygothparents @eylsqnn @blahblahblah-boo @jackiekae

@shhhchriss @eclecticfashionbookszipper

@sleutherclaw @namesey1987 @namesey1987

289 notes · View notes

behindthescenesoftaylor · 1 year

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Hihi super specific but would you be able to do a fic with Tweek + f!reader (platonic and aged up to hs) where they’re best friends and reader is known for being easygoing and lighthearted but then someone (maybe cartman or some other rando) insults Tweek and reader gets deadly silent n intimidating. Reader goes ballistic n absolutely apeshit. like pure unbridled rage. And beats the shit out of the perpetrator

Ik this was very specific but pls do feel free to change anything up if u think it’ll make a better/funnier/more fun to write story :) thank you!!

The aggression within Tweek tweak x f!Reader platonic!

Warnings: fighting?

Im so sorry this took so long I’ve been so busy! If you don’t like feel free to re request and Il rewrite it! I don’t know if i did good or bad, i feel like it was rushed, but then again when don’t i feel like it was rushed?

Female reader | 812 words | aged up HS! | cartman being cartman 😒

——

Tweek and (y/n) we’re soulmates. Well not romantically of course, but platonically. They filled in a hole for each other, (y/n) made Tweek feel at ease, and Tweek helped (y/n) be the lighthearted person she was to this day. Well, maybe not so much to this day anymore, after what happened.

(Y/n) sat with Tweek like normal, sitting with Tweek meant that she also had to sit with Craig, Clyde, Jimmy, and Tolkien. It was a little awkward being the only girl there for a while, but they quickly warmed up to her and they all became best friends, but nobody could compare to Tweek. She was his number one and he was hers.

“So Tweek, if you need help with a shift today i’d be more than happy to help!” She offered, swirling her drink with her straw as she looked up at him.

“Even if I didn’t need help I would still want you to come!” He smiled, he then looked around and saw the guys staring at him, which made him twitch and let out a “gah!”.

“I can't believe this” Craig shook his head playfully and scoffed.

“I took your man!” (Y/n) teased and wrapped her arm around Tweek making Craig roll his eyes. Like usual he flipped her off, which made her laugh.

“You can have him tomorrow, Craig. I have to go to the animal shelter anyway, I volunteered.”

“Ew, you’ll have to pick up dog shit!” Tolkien gagged, pushing away the food that he was once eating.

“At least I’ll get to play with all the dogs! They get their cages cleaned and I get to play with them, sounds like a win-win!”

The boys shook their heads in disgust, no way would they have done that.

“Are you guys done? I’ll go throw away your trays.” (Y/n) asked standing up, Tweek immediately stood up with her. “Me too”

They nodded their heads and pushed their trays towards (y/n) and Tweek, (y/n) happily picked them up and walked towards the trash can.

On the walk there, when she was talking to Tweek, she accidentally distracted him, making him bump into an all too familiar figure.

“Watch it!” the short, stubby boy squealed, looking up to see who had bumped into him. When he realized it was Tweek his frown turned into a smirk.

“Oh it’s the twitchy freak-“

(Y/n) set the trays down, oh hell no. She watched silently, giving cartman a death stare, but he never noticed. Her once smile turned into a frown as she crossed her arms.

Tweek twitched nervously “I’m- s- sorry- gah!”

“You’re s-s-s-sorry?” Cartman snickered and shoved tweek. “Fucking spit it out, you sound like a fucking baby trying to say its first word!”

Cartman was suddenly pushed back with a harsh shove. His eyes squinted in anger once again and he looked to see who pushed him, when he looked up he tilted his head in confusion.

“What the fuck is your problem (y/n)?!”

“My problem? What the fuck is your problem cartman?” (Y/n) glared at him, her niceness had fully disappeared and turned into anger. Nobody called Tweek names, especially if she could do something about it.

“Can you not take a joke? Oh! I know, you have a crush on twitchy tweek over here!”

Finally, she snapped. She grabbed one of the trays that she had set down just a moment before and pulled her arm back, when it came down, the tray harshly hit Cartman on the head.

With a thump, he fell, and giving him no time to recover at all, she jumped on top of him.

She raised her fists and brought them down on his face, she repeatedly punched, her hand was aching but she never stopped.

“Dont”

She punched again, making him bring his arms up to try and shield himself.

“Mess”

She punched through his arms, the impact was still hard enough to hurt his face.

“With him”

Instead of punching him, she grabbed both sides of his head and slammed it into the ground, not enough to injure him, but enough for it to hurt. She got up and stood over him, he rolled back in forth in agony and cried for his mother.

“Again” she brought down a brutal kick to his stomach, making him lose his breath. After that she was done, her knuckles were a bright red and her hand cramped and ached but it didn’t matter.

She turned to look at tweek, discovering that the whole cafeteria was looking at her wide-eyed. Others' mouths were opened so wide, she could have sworn their chin was on the ground.

Muttering and whispers suddenly erupted, like an unexpected volcano. Some people began to clap and others cheered for her.

“I’m sorry tweek, he just makes me so angry!” She said with a frown. “If he ever messes with you again, tell me.”

She turned to the crowd, some kids had their phones out recording her. “That goes for all of you too!” She yelled.

She smiled and turned back to tweek.

“Want to walk me to class?”

46 notes · View notes

princeescaluswords · 3 years

Note

I see you are a huge fan of fics where Scott McCall dies. Don't worry! More content coming right up! ;)))

As a matter of fact I do enjoy fiction where Scott dies, so thank you very much.

Indeed, my first multi-chaptered Teen Wolf fanfiction, completed all in the way back in 2016 when I was new to both fandom and fanfiction and called Army of Ghosts, has Scott dying in the first chapter. He’s blown up in an ambush and then purposefully dismembered, and the rest of the story is an exploration of how Stiles copes with it. Hint: not well. It’s quite a dark story.

You see, there’s nothing wrong with Dark Fiction, by which I mean fiction which explores activities or events that are rejected as undesirable by modern society, in a way that centers the narratives on the activities or events in and of themselves, and not simply as obstacles for the protagonist to overcome. I believe that not only should these stories exist but they serve a valuable purpose when it comes to understanding the people around us.

My objection has always been to what I call Exploitative Fiction, by which I mean fiction which portrays activities or events that are rejected as undesirable by modern society, in a way that ignores context, consequences and even logic, with the end goal being to present those activities or events as positive experiences for a purpose not directly connected to the activity or event itself.

That’s wordy, isn’t it? Let me give you some examples then to help clarify. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when rape is presented as a step on the path to love, where physical coercion into the sexual act is seen as evidence of passion, but the consequences of employing violence as a shorthand for possessive desire are simply negated because the goal of the story is romantic rapture. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when a slave falls in love with their owner and they develop true feelings for each other, but they still exist within the same slave-owning society, yet the context of that relationship is ignored simply to produce the most intense version of you-and-me-against the world. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when writers create a fanfiction collection called 101 Ways to Kill Scott McCall, in which it is a safe bet that these aren’t explorations of how his death affects others but merely vessels for the unbridled rage of people furious that MTV decided to film a television show with a minority heroic protagonist as the lead.

The reaction to this caution is for individuals to purposefully confuse Dark Fiction and Exploitative Fiction, attempting to shift the argument by obscuring the difference. They employ the motte-and-bailey fallacy, where they point out that Exploitative Fiction is a form of Dark Fiction but choose to defend Dark Fiction, which isn' t the topic. In other words, when someone says “Hey, maybe you should be careful when sharing a story where a traumatized sixteen-year-old with abandonment issues enters into a relationship with a middle-aged millionaire white male serial killer, whose very presence will isolate the teenager from his family and friends, that you don’t present it as a flawless gateway to perfect happiness?” they respond with “You just want everything to be sunshine and rainbows and good triumphing over evil, you Puritan Scold!” and suddenly a person wondering why a story straight out of the discarded scripts of To Catch a Predator is being used as spank-bank material is labeled as Goody Chastity, Implacable Enemy of Joy and Sexy Fun.

“But PEW,” you say, “Isn’t this just your opinion?” And my reply is “Yes, it is my opinion, but it’s not just mine. Let’s talk about Kyle Rayner’s girlfriend.”

For those who don’t know, the term “fridging” came about from an issues of Green Lantern, where a supervillain killed Kyle Rayner’s girlfriend and stuffed her into a refrigerator for him to find. Whatever someone may think of that particular storyline, it started a conversation about female characters being killed as a function of a male character’s development. Having a supervillain brutally murder the loved one of a hero is pretty dark. It’s Dark Fiction. No one said that supervillains can’t murder or can’t murder certain people or that the hero can’t react to those murders. The complaint was that the female character existed solely to be murdered. Her only function in the story was to generate Kyle’s angst, to set up a situation where his character is explored. She was Exploited.

Why is this a big deal? Because it happens a lot, and not just in comic books. In television, in movies, in literature, women are often reduced in narrative function again and again to shortcuts for male character development. Better scholars than me have written about this exhaustively and pointed out how this fictional exploitation feeds into real-world exploitation (and vice-versa). It’s not hard to find a significant amount of public research.

So yeah, in posts like this one, I complain about Exploitative Fiction in the fandom community to which I belong. Because it doesn’t take a literary critic to read these stories and perceive that the goal of the story isn’t to explore the darkness in which Stiles and his killer boyfriend (whether that be Derek or Peter) murder his best friend, it’s the satisfaction of rage that their white favorites weren’t the focus of the show. Again, again, and again in humiliating, degrading detail Scott is murdered or maimed or stripped of power, in one-sided beat downs that follow no discernible internal rules but one: white male characters must win. It’s not about a power struggle or logical consequences, it’s about punishing a character for daring to be the lead, and it’s racist.

You know how I know that? Because I have never found a story where Stiles and Peter hunt down and murder Isaac Lahey for the crime of abandoning the Hale Pack, slandering Peter, or physically attacking Stiles twice. Because I have never found a story where ArchSpark Stiles tortures Jackson or strips him of his lycanthropy because he almost killed the Hales and his father, rejected Derek, and was forced to serve Gerard. Because I have found few stories where Stiles is murdered by Peter because he was plotting against him, and the evidence is that Stiles said mean things about him. It’s nine hundred and ninety times out of a thousand, it's Bad Alpha/Friend Scott, or if it’s not Scott, it’s Sinister Tree Wizard Deaton. And the sample size, my friends, is very large.

So no, I’m not against Dark Fiction. In my fiction, Scott has been killed, maimed, and imprisoned. (I’ve actually been accused of being obsessed with putting Scott in jail.) I’ve explored the consequences of these actions on Scott and the people around him, and it hasn’t always been a happy ending. I look forward to reading stories where he has endured terrible trauma. I’m reading one right now that I’m simply head-over-heels about. I just think that Exploitative Fiction needs to be addressed, head on, especially when it feeds fandom racism.

#scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #fandom problems #fanfiction #fandom racism

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ktheist · 4 years

Text

when a dragon loves a witch.

min yoongi thought he was the shit.

not because his heart-shaped face was on the prettier side of the standards of beauty that’s eating away at this old, waning world. nor is it because he has at least three people coming up to him and confessing their undying love every year. but because he thinks he’s- “the only few people in the world that can murder you and leave no forensic evidence behind.”

the way his eyes light up with confidence and excitement at the thought of dueling you - is adorable.

he thinks he can beat you. the ancient one. the beast that once soared the skies with wings made of gold and breathe fire upon a kingdom and send even the proudest of kings to their knees.

nowadays, you laze around in your apartment as a human girl. the actual humans have build warheads and nuclear weapons capable of detonating an entire mountain. you dare not find out what they’ll do if they found a growl of a beast rocking the skies.

because as powerful as you are, there is nothing more powerful than a human with a heart and persons to protect.

“us dragons turn to flower beds when we die,” you say in a matter of factly - an aging knowledge that’s about to be forgotten from this world, “technically, there won’t be any body to make my grave a crime scene.”

admittedly, min yoongi wasn’t a young magic that needed nurturing anymore. he could have been an ancestor in a few coming centuries. one that would rise up above all others. that was why he was half-serious about ending you.

if he’d proven himself by reaping the ancient one’s soul, witches all over the world would have flocked to him like crows. he’d proved himself worthy of the title. would be the youngest ancestor in the history of magic.

if he’d known you were no human girl and if you’d known the man with the darkest eyes was no ordinary person that one unfortunate night, you both would have, without a doubt, clashed against one another.

“what - what the-“ he’d stared at the noticeable protrusion of your belly with rounded eyes, a contrasting sight from when you first wakes him up to kick him out before noticing the weight that wasn’t there on your human body before, “what did you have last night?!”

he meant food but the answer was sex.

because you’ve had a fair share of human males and females in your lifetime. none of their seeds managed to stay with you long enough to become another being - another creature that is not wholly dragon nor human.

before he could react, you’d pinned him down, knees buried on either sides of his waist, talons digging into the skin of his neck. you’d felt the familiar warmth deep in your throat as you growled a voice you haven’t heard of in a long while, “what are you?”

there was flash in his eyes - possibly when he saw yours turn to slits, a sort of panic and understanding that the woman he’d just bedded was no woman at all.

so you made sure to draw blood from where your talons graze against his skin - it was red and so very human, “you have one chance. use it well.”

“okay, okay!” he held up his hands like a man guilty of a crime, “i’m a witch!”

at that, a low rumble rose from the depths of your belly. no wonder he looked human. felt human.

in your rage, you’d hissed out that the thing growing inside you was his child, “i’d been so careful not to come across another species,” all you saw was red as you’d turned to him, “i should kill you.”

the odds were against you - an ordinary witch’s seed wouldn’t have been able to impregnate you. his magic was unbridled - and as you stared at the man-like creature who’d stared back at you without so much as fear, you knew he knew that too.

as much as he was a witch closest to the level of an ancestor, min yoongi was not a killer. or he was not going to murder a child at least.

“this is no child- it’s a curse!” your talons and slits were the only things that came back. not even your magnificent scales appeared on your skin. it was happening - this- this creature was controlling your body, forming and deforming it to suit its needs as it grew inside you.

“i’m not going to stop you if you don’t wish to keep it. it’s your body... but wouldn’t you want to know what’ll happen... how it’ll be?” for once, there was no trace of maddening fascination in his eyes ever since he found out what you were and what he’d caused to grow inside you.

so you kept it- you kept the creature. mainly because you still had the end of the world to live and regret if you didn’t find out yourself.

min yoongi didn’t move in with you - he had was living with his covenant of witches that would’ve suspect something wrong if he decided to move out from what seemed to be unsuspecting apartment building on the skirts of the city. he did, however, drop through tears of reality.

he brought you ordinary human foods and potions that could help sustain you, “we don’t know what keeps it alive,” he explained while you were popping chips into your mouth, legs propped on the coffee table whilst a mediocre human show was playing on the tv.

you both later found out that it was self-sustaining, living and thriving inside you for almost a century as times change and you’re forced to change with it. you bought a new penthouse because the old one was getting rebuilt. yoongi still visited you everyday - he fucked you everyday too because this thing - this creature, it thrived upon the fleeting moment when both you and him were connected.

in your burning heart, you’d known what exactly kept it alive, “our lifespans, yoongi,” you’d said once you’d come down from your high after fucking like rabbits - such pure, defenseless creatures, “it’s draining our lifespans!”

yoongi didn’t say anything but he didn’t leave either when it was the easiest for him to escape through a tear and disappear for who knew how long. he’d stayed and made human food and kept your part in the fridge when you didn’t join him for dinner.

it was the note tacked up on the lid of the container, instructing you to pre-heat it for 3 minutes, that made you crawl into bed with him in the extra room that’d become his. with your protruding belly and all.

“i’m scared, yoongi -” and for the first time, you’d felt fear, “-i’m scared it’ll turn into a monster. i’m scared they’d come for her and i’m scared i’d love her even then.”

and as he wrapped his arm around you and kissed your forehead, you’d realized that he’d loved the creature even before you did. fascination was just the surface of his abundance of love for something he never knew. it was anticipation. excitement for a sign of life. love from a father to his child. even if it turned out to be a creature of destruction - an abomination given by the gods to the evergreens.

you sought solace in each other’s warmth but you didn’t truly love each other.

and yoongi still talks about taking you on in a fight. as he does now.

“just... any ordinary flowers?” he asks, ever the curious one - you don’t know whether it is out of the sincerity of his heart or if he’s conjuring up some wicked scheme to extract the essence of the flowers at your death.

“it depends on what we loved most in our lifetime,” somehow, you keep talking, “red roses for undying passion, alchemilla mollis for those that managed to find love, though unrequited and can never be... every kind of flower you can thinking of,” involuntarily, your hand goes to your belly, “but none of us have ever had carnations embed our graves.”

“what meaning does carnations bear?” yoongi walks over to you from the kitchen, stacks of sandwich piled on top of a plate and placed on the coffee table in front of you.

“admiration... affection... devotion... a mother’s undying love,” a smile tucks on the corners of your lips.

the hand yoongi takes is bare of its talons. you’ve sworn never to summon them in his presence. so you can never hurt him again. the print of his thumb is callous against your skin - he could have charmed them to be as soft as a baby’s but he didn’t want to erase the traces of his life’s worth of wand-wielding.

his lips are soft though, as he brings your knuckles to your skin, sealing his devotion for you and your child.

when the time comes for the unrelenting pain - akin to black arrowheads struck into your scales and digging into your flesh - comes, you remember wishing you’d turn into flowers, just so it’d end faster. you remember losing all feeling in your body but having lie there in sweat and tears as yoongi’s warm spells seep into you. it only numbs the pain by a notch. but you appreciate them anyway.

then you hear it, the first cry. pushing yourself up, you see yoongi, rocking a child in his arms, cooing to an ancient lullaby in a forgotten language than only his kind knows.

“she’s so very human,” you say some time after the cries quiet down into quiet snores.

“maybe because you were in your human form when you carried her,” yoongi suggests as he stares at the child sleeping next to you on the bed with like he’ll never want anything else in the world.

shar.

ever so lovely as the light of the first dawn. the time she was born. she bears so much resemblance to her father, jet black hair, curled to frame her face. when she smiles, she smiles a gummy smile just like her father’s. the scales that cover her skin when she’s upset is undoubtedly yours. her eyes are of no other, bearing the galaxy within them as well as ether’s flames.

perhaps it’s yoongi’s magic and your power that rests within them.

either way, you adore your little seedling very much.

a century for you is a year for her. but neither you nor yoongi mind for you have an eternity together.

that is, until you don’t.

the first sign of war erupts when you were showing her how to light up a candle with just her breath. she ends up melting too many candles and the penthouse smells of pinewood and lavender and sea waves.

yoongi steps through the reality, bloodied and bruised but alive.

“we have to go,” he says with a kind of urgency you’ve never before heard in his complacent years of living, “the dark wizards - they know - they infiltrated the covenant disguised as one of us and one managed to touch my hand - it was a mind reader.”

“dada?” shar gazes up at her father with those galaxy eyes like she’d understood every word he’d said even though she was supposed to be three according to human developments.

“shar, darling, we have to go away for awhile - remember i used to travel a lot back when i was a dragon? we’re going to travel!” you say and she claps, echoing ‘travel! travel!’ with a sort of zeal only children could have.

her first step through reality makes her scales appear. she’s crying and clinging onto you like she’s scared and in pain and confused.

“i don’t get it- she can do simple spells- tears shouldn’t hurt her,” the crease in yoongi’s forehead is an alien sight so are his wakeful eyes compared to the sleepy droop that says he could fall asleep on the floor if he wills it.

“there’s still not much we know about shar and what she can’t or can do,” you grip his hand tightly, “it’s not your fault.”

so you’re on the run and death follows not too far behind. the cerulean skies you once soared beyond and above are now marred with a kind of darkness. darker than midnight even in the daylight.

the witches of the north shiver at the sight of your child’s eyes. the moon elves claims that shar is not a creature of this world. everywhere you go, none are willing to assist.

and you find yourself within the walls of your previous dwelling. back when dragons rule the lands and skies. back when no foolish creature ever dares to venture into the darkness of a cave for fear of a slumbering creature with scales and fire as breaths.

“all i remember is that i was alive - playing hide and seek with the faes until they die of old age,” the burned patches of the rock walls still remain eons later, “i mourned them for a century before i stepped out - i was so young, the humans shot me with black arrowheads and i burned down their villages.”

the scar from where one struck you still mars your skin - human or dragon, it’s still there.

yoongi traces the slant of the scar of your shoulder as if he’d take the pain and the horrendous memories that came with it if he could.

“take care of shar, yoongi.” you finally say, looking over at the sleeping child by the fire place.

the thought of your young, forming bones having to bear nights on the hard ground pains you more than a mere strike through your scales.

“we’ll take care of her together,” he kisses the top of your head.

that night, you fall asleep, cuddled up around your child with your hands held together as if vowing to protect and cherish. and cherish you will. as well as protect.

the dark wizards find you right where you want them after you’d left the cave. it was hard not to notice the trails of fires you’d left behind as you wait for them in a cafe, abandoned with tables and chairs knocked over as if whoever came before you left in a hurry.

you tried making your first mocha latte with what ingredients they left behind - doesn’t taste as good but you don’t even have to wait long for the shadow to arrive and a man in a dark cloak takes the seat across from you.

“drakaina,” the words are slurred and dragged out but you’ve lived too many centuries not to know your own name.

“stop looking for them and i’ll serve as your aide,” it isn’t an offer. it’s an order. the cloaked figure lowers his head in submission of the power that reeks off your existence yet dare asks.

“but what can an ancient being like yourself do... your greatness,” he finishes off with a hail.

the first growl rips through the skies on an afternoon you know not what day of. nor what year. your chest lights up with flames of hell. scales line what used to be human skin as the roof caves over your growing form. the buildings collapse in with the gust of wind that your wings summon.

the wizard laughs. a manic look in his eyes.

the war does not last for longer than half a decade. none is able to withstand you. those that do lose their souls.

you’ve taken lives before without regards to its sanctity. you take them now with the sole regards to the two whom you lay your own for.

then comes the golden one. a dragon before your time - before most creatures’ times. if you’d made kings bow, she’d made the world submit to her will. that was, before she forgone it all and went into slumber. to think the golden one, fraener, would have allowed herself to be awoken by measly wars and to let a measly creature ride her- you must have caused the greatest of grief.

“child, your eyes scream anguish,” her voice rings loud and clear in your head as you zoom past her, barely missing her claws.

you do not respond.

“you’ve given birth to a life,” she sounds fascinated. delighted.

“i do not wish to fight a sister,” you project your own voice onto her conscience.

her growl thunders through the sky as she pins you down with her foot, “then you will die?”

“fool!” the cloaked wizard hisses from somewhere in the mountains, “get up! fight! or we’ll go for your child next! we know where they are.”

“i wish for a world where my child no longer needs to hide, please,” you whimper.

“your sacrifice is noble, young one,” her claws break your hard scales, you hear the howl of a dying beast.

the wizard’s incessant demands blur in your ears as the flames in your chest spreads through your body, burning your soul and eating you alive. in your last moments, you recall fraener’s ‘rest well,’ bid before petals peek through your scales. pastel pink, deep red and violet carnations fill your sight before you heart bursts.

“what meaning does carnations bear?” yoongi walks over to you from the kitchen, stacks of sandwich piled on top of a plate and placed on the coffee table in front of you.

“admiration... affection... devotion... a mother’s undying love,” a smile tucks on the corners of your lips.

min yoongi thinks he’s accomplished enough. acknowledgement of the magical community and treaties protecting beings mixed by blood.

he manages to protect his child from the hands of those who wish to take her away from him. fought an ancestor who went against him and succeeded.

he resides in the mountains, not too far from your dwelling. surrounded by fae’s and rock mountains and wallerbogs. she’s five centuries old and rather use her wings to catch the fae’s in hide-and-seeks rather than use her legs. the galaxy in her eyes never dim - not when she woke up without her mother greeting her with a kiss good morning, not when she suddenly stops giggling at the stick man yoongi made to keep her company when the first growl of a dragon tears through the sky and not when the last whimper echo throughout the skies before the golden one ended their ancient one.

the world started moving again. but his heart stopped along with yours that day.

the city you’d fought fraener in is left in ruins with wild carnations covering every crack of the earth - pluck one and two more grow.

“mama!” shar squeals and yoongi thinks he’s gone mad.

a woman is laughing and hugging his child when he’d cast a spell over the forest to make it impossible for those with hostile intentions to even pass through. let alone come all the way into its heart.

you look beautiful, laughing and lifting your child up in the air. trickles of melodic sounds falling off your lips.

yoongi doesn’t even want to know how - he gathers you in his arms, feels you against him, breathes in the familiar sweet scent of your existence.

only after he’s kissed you all over your face as you giggle, does he asks, “how?”

you show him the traces of scales that are still red and fresh on your skin - “i don’t know, the last thing i remember was fighting the golden one and then i woke up as a whelp somewhere in northern russia in a cave- i came as soon as i could transform into a human.”

it took awhile - a few decades to find your way back. but where your heart and soul lies, that is where you’ll always return to. no matter where you are, not matter what you are.

you’ll always find way back to your witch and little seedling.

note. this a request for the drabble game i’m holding. this is a stand alone, complementary piece to my long fic called wartime child! (jjk).

anyways, hope yall enjoyed!

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fic #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #bts imagination #bts au #yoongi #au #bts imagines #bts scenario #excerpt from a fic i’ll never write #drabble game 1

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lcnelyinthesky · 4 years

Text

admiration - tsukishima kei

a/n: okay hi?? im ellie?? heres this??? i worked on it for like four? days?on and off? and its longer than any oneshot ive written but yk shes cute ig. pls be nice pls enjoy... but also my last piece got 2 notes and im really hopin in not shadowbanned here lmao

genre: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers!!

pairing: bisexual!female!reader x tsukishima kei (yes bi reader its a vibe)

warnings: a break up with a beautiful woman i made up myself, swearing

word count: 3.7k (ahhhh!!)

enjoy!! :D

Elementary second year. Your newly-assigned seat was next to a much taller, blond kid. He was smart and bright, rivaling the sun in terms of unbridled joy. Now, none of that can be seen by eight year old eyes, but looking back and comparing, it's easy to spot that he changed.

Tsukishima Kei was an excitable kid, just as everyone was, but he was still snarky; his arrogance seemed to be something that just festered within his soul, no matter the trauma that brought it out.

Childlike wonder is still alive and well at eight.

The teacher you had back then was quite rude. She was pushy and angry, and she assigned way too much homework. Everything she uttered made you huff in disappointment, crossing your arms and hoping for some sort of reaction from someone. The kid next to you was named Koji--or, at least, that's what you called him. He was your best friend, spending every moment with you like you were siblings. You'd be able to crack a joke with the smallest glance and you’d talk constantly. As soon as your handwriting was legible to people of your age group, you'd pass notes back and forth and cackle at their contents. Until, of course,

“Tsukishima, will you switch seats with Kojikata today?” Your teacher sounded exhausted, huffing her sentence out on a sigh before going back to the multiplication tables on the board. Suddenly, your little world was interrupted.

“Y/N, right?” He didn’t look at you, placing his folders down on the desk and pushing his glasses back up as he sat. His words were hushed and quiet, but the class had moved into individual work--he wasn’t interrupting anyone.

“Yeah. Can I call you Tsukki?” You were angry, gripping your pencil tighter in your little hand as you wrote numbers down on white paper. One times one is one. Two times two is four. This is easy.

“No,” he was long doing the same thing, but writing quicker than you. That’s how it is, huh?

Three times two is six. Four times five is twenty. Six times three is eighteen. Five times six is thirty. This is easy-

“Miss, I’m done.” His voice was always so dry. Uninterested.

Four times three is twelve. “Me too!” Your hand shot up with the paper in it, sending a death glare at the boy next to you.

That's how it is, huh?

This pattern continued for weeks. Tsukishima didn’t move from his seat next to you, as your teacher had made the realization that you worked far harder without friends around. Tsukishima lit a competitive fire under you; everything was now a race.

It started with handing in assignments. Who would go up to the front desk first to have their work checked over? Who would finish this quiz faster? Then it transferred into everything.

Who would get to class faster? Who finished their lunch quicker? Who could read faster? Who scored higher on spelling tests? Who could run faster in gym class?

And then it was middle school.

Middle school brought in Yamaguchi Tadashi.

It'd be an understatement to say he warmed to Yamaguchi quickly, but the basis behind that was strange. Tsukishima was never one for friends, even though everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was cool in the eyes of a handful of eleven year olds; letting everything roll off your back seemed to be an admirable trait. Yamaguchi worshipped him, and Tsukishima took him under his wing to teach him the ropes of being a cool kid.

At heart, though, Yamaguchi was kind and attentive. He could tell when things were going wrong, and supposedly it was him that changed the rest of your life.

The rivalry continued just as it had in elementary, just with higher stakes. You'd fight for answering questions first, working ahead of everyone else to just beat him. He’d never bat an eye at it, and sometimes you thought it was all over, but then

“Y/N.” Tsukishima Kei stood three steps behind you, looming over you with the height he was seemingly born with. The hallway was emptying by now, kids walking into their classrooms once again. The white floors rung with the quiet sounds of soft-bottomed shoes and a light above your head flickered calmly.

“Yeah?” You spun around to meet his gaze.

“What’d you get on that lit essay?”

“A 96. Why?”

“No reason,” he smirked and tilted his head up, looking down at you, “I got a 100.”

A huff and a stomp away gave him the answer he needed as he followed you into the classroom, sitting down behind you and next to Yamaguchi just as he did every day. The little shit.

Tsukishima was never better than you, technically speaking. On average and on paper, you were always both roughly the same. You'd fight for being top of the class, the position switching between both of you every day. You excelled in creative things while he excelled at sports, but both of you dabbled in the other. When people in your year began dating, everyone came to assume you two were. It was embarrassing, really, because Tsukishima Kei was a little shit know-it-all who will never beat me at anything ever and people need to stop thinking he will because he won’t I’m better than hi-

“Hey?” Oh right. Friends.

“Koji!” He never left, at least not yet. His nimble fingers tapping on your shoulder brought you back to reality, making you jump and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his body for a split second.

“You looked zoned” his face was riddled with concern that was easy to write off.

“Oh, whoops” a small blush heated your cheek as your hand migrated to rub your neck. “Did you want something?”

As you walked into the classroom a bit further, Koji sat on your right; he seemed to buckle down more when you had moved away from each other way back in the day, so there were less mid-class comedy shows. He grew up just as you had, and with the closeness of the two of you people began to think you were dating. At twelve, it was incredibly necessary to date someone--anyone. Theories bounced from everywhere and anywhere and with you it was either your best friend or your biggest rival. Your lack of attraction to either of them became the center of many late night crises.

“Not particularly,” his gaze switched from you to the board again, beginning to write something down when he turned his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Of course I am,” you smiled at him, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly it was high school.

“Tsukishima is really cute! And he's smart, I heard that Kageyama wasn’t too bright somewhere.”

“But Kageyama’s so much hotter! His being a little dumb sometimes is endearing.”

“Are we not going to talk about that third year setter, Sugawara?”

“No, he’d never go for a first year. Besides, that Hinata kid is more of an enigma.”

“Have you even seen them play?” A howl of angry “yes”s fell over the crowd, trying to prove something. None of them had ever seen them play.

That asshole Tsukishima getting popular felt like a stab in the soul. None of them knew him or how much he sucked, but the amount of girls fawning over him was horrific.

There's something consistently poetic about young love, no matter where it comes from. Something extra sweet about holding pinkies in school corridors when no one is looking and seeing them every day, smiling loudly as the sun broke over the horizon all bright and early. The raging hormones and dumb, fake social hierarchies of fifteen make emotions run wild, and only the deeply immature end up helplessly infatuated. Others are more cautious, but there's only so many precautions one can take at fifteen. Sometimes some of us just want to be loved, no matter the sincerity of it.

Cared for, and whatnot. No harm in that, in the long run at least.

“Y/N, right?” Her name was Mei. She was in your class; 1-4, just like Tsukishima. She was pretty. Long, black hair was preceded by two green streaks at the front. She’d always have those down, making her features look like a photo in a perfect frame. She had a collection of hair clips with small shapes on them that she’d have somewhere on her person at all times. Her more mid-sized body was paler than most, and she was covered in freckles and moles. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that looked deep enough to swim in. Her cheeks were always stained with a peachy blush that moved up her collarbones and into her ears, making her look like she was always smiling no matter what her face was doing. Karasuno’s school uniform did wonders for her curves, the skirt swaying up on occasion and making her look so damn perfect.

“Yeah! You’re…” a second of dumbfounded pause felt like years in your mind, coming to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever met. “Ojiro Mei?”

“Yep! I just wanted to tell you you looked really pretty today!” Her voice always had an upward inflection, and was higher than most. It was cute. Incredibly cute.

“Oh.” A moment of confidence fell over you like you weren’t in control of your actions, “you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you very much,” she bounced back on her toes and then rolled back to her heels, hands intertwined behind her back, “You’re too kind, Y/N.” Her sentences were always punctuated with an eye-crinkling smile.

Later that day, you found her on every social media account you could; she messaged you first.

When you don’t know you’re interested in women, it’s hard to notice that they’re flirting with you, but after a handful of supposed gay panic, you asked her on a date.

She was two inches shorter than you, and somehow that persisted no matter what shoes she was wearing. Every small outing with her felt like cloud nine--watching the sunset, small conversation over tea at a nearby cafe, cuddling in your bedroom with only a string of Christmas lights on. She always looked so wonderful in soft lighting, the potential cold of winter disappeared with pale beiges that made her freckles look like stars. Every action Mei ever did was soft and full of care. She could send every single emotion through her fingertips on your jaw, deepening a kiss you started moments before. She was like magic, until she wasn't anymore.

You supposed, when thinking back, that things fell out around month thirteen. The rose colored lenses everything was viewed through faded a bit, and it's easy to notice her pulling away. There were less late night phone calls and less recommended music and less hands running through your hair. Everything has a natural progression to the end, right?

“Do you still feel it?” It was raining. Large drops of water fell down to the floor, smacking the pavement at speeds you couldn’t even try to measure. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat that looked almost dull in the four pm light.

“Feel what?”

“Anything, baby.” All of her words ended with a huffed out sigh, like she was tired of something. Lying, maybe.

You pondered the question, and it seemed like your hesitation gave her all the answer she needed.

“Ya know, Y/N.” She looked down and grabbed your hands with hers, rubbing her thumbs on your palms as you grabbed around them. “This was fun. We had a good run.”

A solemn tear fell down your cheek at the ending, but there was no use in self pity or anger now. She was so sweet and kind, and it's truly unthinkable how she continued that kindness in the end.

“Yeah. A good run.” The pink in your cheeks grew as you choked out a laugh, pulling her in for one final hug under the dim fluorescent lights on the front door overhang of the school.

Fifteen came and went with love, and when sixteen rolled around you wondered if you’d ever be loved like that again.

A spirit can't be broken overnight, and if you’ve spent the last eight years of your life having a strong, consistent rivalry with someone, it won’t leave any time soon. Tsukishima and you were on similar playing fields for most of your life, but you had one thing he didn’t: relationship experience. In that way, you always counted yourself one point higher, like a boy scout badge.

For a spell, however, your intensity changed. There was nothing more driving you than spite, and there was nothing you wanted more than to beat him. You were well into your second year of high school at this point, and--volleyball notwithstanding--you had wins over Tsukishima. You had seen him play volleyball, every match in his second year, and you deemed he was simply okay. You refused to count his success onto the list of wins for both of you.

June fifteenth. Tournaments were coming up around the corner when it happened, which explained every reason why he was there. You weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, so the best bet seemed to be sitting at the front entrance of Karasuno High School and wallowing in a little bit more self pity before you went home. You were just dumped after all, the tears weren’t done falling.

The feeling between sadness and shame overflowed you, shades of yellowish green painting the world around you and churning your gut into oblivion. And the tears fell. It felt like a scene in a movie; in a few seconds, a strong, capable man would show up to your rescue.

“Y/N?” what the fuck?

He was sweaty. His face was matte from a light film of saltwater. He had a grey umbrella over his head, keeping himself dry from the still-pelting rain. His six-foot-two frame was covered with a black tracksuit, and he still had his sports goggles on.

Those fucking sports goggles.

“Tsukishima.” you deadpanned, trying to get him away as fast as possible. His words were snarky, as always, but this time laced with concern. Like he actually cared.

“What are you still doing here? It’s almost six,” he stood under the overhang with you, crouching to take a few feet off of his incredible height.

“Sulking?”

“Ah,” he huffed and sat down next to you, “it’s not great for your posture, ya know.”

“Oh shut up, Tsukishima.”

“Remember when we were eight,” he looked up, studying the moths as they flew around the lights on the ceiling, “and you asked if you could call me Tsukki?”

“Vaguely, but we were eight.”

“Yeah, true” his head dramatically fell to his lap, staring at his knees as he chuckled, “but you can. Call me Tsukki, that is.”

An uncomfortable laugh fell from your lips, and he spoke for you, “this one kid, Koganegawa, the setter on Date Tech, calls me that too. It's not a Tadashi-only nickname anymore.”

“You say Tadashi-only like I wasn’t there first.”

“He never asked.”

“Would you have said no?”

“Probably” he hasn’t actually looked at you yet.

“Should I not have asked?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Okay, Tsukki” you drew out the last letter, giggling at the situation before you had time to think about your emotions.

He noticed that you weren’t crying anymore and helped you stand, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Tsukishima and you lived closer than you thought, walking the same direction and only splitting up seconds away from your home.

You walked in silence the whole time, but it was comfortable. While he was your rival, he was always a friend. There was nothing scary or intimidating about him, as is with most people when you’ve known them forever; it was almost like his facade just didn’t work on you. You were huddled close to him to stay out of the rain.

The second you parted ways, you ran home. The rain was more of a drizzle now, but the temperature began a free fall--getting out of the cold as fast as possible was your first priority. Upon entering the front door and taking off your shoes and jacket, leaving everything to sit in the entryway, you took a shower. The rain didn’t do enough to wash away the pain of the day, and warm steam would let the rest evaporate. The expected unrelenting sadness wasn’t really present as much as was expected, though. Everything felt fine. Content. Okay.

And it continued that way. He sent you a snapchat asking if you had gotten home safely, which prompted a memory of you never giving each other your phone numbers. After a quick yes, tsukki. no need to worry ;), you sent him your number asking to play some game.

Whatever is meant to happen does, right? Any excuse for falling for him. You didn’t want to, of course, but things happen. Time changes. Thus, the excuses. Thus, the ignorance. Thus, the five stages of grief.

It started with the denial, because no Y/N you can’t like Tsukishima Kei. He’s so competitive and mean and snarky and horrible and you hate him! Then, the anger, because Tsukishima sucks and he’s horrible and you’re going to punch him in his stupid cute face. Next, the bargaining, because please don’t let this be happening you’ll do anything to lose these feelings, even if it means letting him win at something. Going into the depression, because all you’ve ever wanted was to be free of this assclown and now you’re stuck thinking about him at three in the morning when you’re supposed to be dreaming about anything other than him. And finally, acceptance, when you scowl at him in the hallway because fuck, you like Tsukishima Kei.

The worst bit of acceptance is getting over it. Now you had to confront your feelings. Now you needed to tell him.

It was roughly five months since he found you sulking on school grounds, and you regretted most days the way you let him text you every morning. It’d always be something stupid, like a joke about the novel you were reading in lit or sometimes he’d tell you, off hand, something dumb Hinata and Kageyama did at practice. Sometimes he’d text you, within the first twenty minutes of the school day, pointing out something little you did with your hair. They were never really compliments as much as comments; he’d say “your socks have a pink ring at the top” and give you nothing to work with from there. A simple yes would suffice, you always supposed, because “yes, tsukki. they do.”

He’d linger at his desk during the break between classes and would stay there if you didn’t leave, but would leave a few steps behind you if you did. He wouldn’t follow you, but he’d watch to know where you were going. Everything he did was concealed though--you'd only notice if you really wanted to know.

Yamaguchi was the only one to notice, even after a while of it. You’ll never know what he said to his friend, but the conversation you had with the aforementioned friend a day later gives some guesses.

“Y/N?” Tsukishima was never the shy type, and you knew him in the days where everyone was shy. He wasn’t loud, but he was bold. His words were always pointed and important. Everything he did always had purpose and intensity behind it.

“Tsukki?” You were sitting under a tree, enjoying the late spring weather of the beginning of your third year. Nothing became intense yet classwork wise, so there was ample time to chill on the school grounds. Overlooking the soccer field was a large oak tree. It was big enough to comfortably have multiple groups of people under its shade, but it was empty at the moment; save for you and the book you were reading.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out sometime?” He somehow didn’t pause while talking, but his words came out more something akin to word vomit. You we’re more shocked than you should have been, if you had picked up on the signs. But you were feeling the same as he was, as far as you could tell.

“Sure, when?” You looked back down at your book for a second, placing the bookmark in it and folding the pages shut.

Tsukishima looked dumbfounded, standing there with his eyes bugged out and his mouth slightly agape. He started making unintelligible babbling noises, hoping to get something out that had any meaning at all. You took the reins instead, gaining confidence in his lack thereof.

“I was planning on getting coffee or something today after school. It gets really cold at night now, huh?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Would you like to join me?”

“There's a break before practice today so” he hesitated, letting the pink in his cheeks finally catch up to the beating in his chest. “Sure.”

You wouldn’t have ever pegged Tsukishima Kei as the flustered type.

There was never a drop in conversation, as there never really was between you two. A whole life together and you still had things to talk about, mentioning everything from your individual childhoods to recent developments. Turns out he never knew what genre of books were your favorite. Or what kind of music you listened to. Or what any of your hobbies were.

Turns out you both had more in common than you thought, competitive spirits notwithstanding. Tsukishima Kei was a strange man in every sense of the word. He was arrogant and snarky and disinterested and bright and passionate and smart. He was your rival, smug look plastered on his smug face making your chest bubble in anger just as it had a million times before--or was that admiration this time? The world may never know.

All that was real right now was the deck of cards on the table, being separated out into a card game both of you learned as kids. The small, round, cafe table shook with every slap of your hands, but the basis of your relationship would always be competition. It's just that now the anger behind that competition was gone. All that was left was admiration.

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josiebelladonna · 4 years

Text

you know, for the past couple of years since i came off my hiatus, i look at musicians’ rants on places and i’m like, “yeah, okay, i totally agree with you, i hear you” but ever since a couple of weeks ago, when i watched him on his live-stream and he ranted about ted cruz not doing shit about texas and looked really adorable in the process (god, i wish i screenshot it but it was just too spectacular that i couldn’t), there’s something really amusing about him going off like this.

i see someone like ed helms doing it and he’s practically screaming into the void. or i see female celebs doing it and it feels like i’m getting yelled at.

alex? he’s almost cartoonish when he does it. idk, it just gets a laugh out of me.

these are just a couple of examples, too.

and he also did a covid-19 rap song recently (it’s on youtube, look up “alex skolnick covid 19″) that’s fucking hilarious - a big part of it is the dissonance between his appearance and his voice.

the beauty of it all is because it gets a laugh out of me, i remember it. big name celebs letting these things get under their skin, all i remember is their unbridled rage and not the point they were trying to make. the past couple of weeks, i’ll see something on tv or something my dad posted, and i’ll be like “oh, yeah! alex talked about this! i remember because it made me giggle, or the look on his face made me go ‘oh, god, he’s so cute’, and i wasn’t expecting it.” i think a lot of it has to do with the fact that unless you’re a metal fan, you have no idea who alex is. testament is more underrated than anthrax; it’s like you have the big four - metallica, megadeth, anthrax, and slayer - then there’s what myself and another person on youtube calls the “little four”: testament, overkill, exodus, and death angel. lives in a tiny apartment in brooklyn, went to school, and has a patreon; he’s about two steps away from being a regular ol’ dude. his mindset is one of “this is my future we’re talking here. whatever happens here could spell the end for me and my peers because i’m not set for life, and none of us are.”

i just keep thinking back to when the insurrection happened and he was a mess by the end of it. the poor man was shattered by it: i think that was the one time i actually saw him in a vulnerable place. and he was so apologetic about it on instagram and i told him, “no, no, no, you did good yesterday. it’s gonna be okay.” and he acknowledged that.

so... i think that’s got a lot to do with it, too. the man actually likes me so of course it makes me laugh.

so... keep this in mind if you wanna win me over. really, take a page out of joey and alex’s books, and be completely unexpected. throw me a pitch from left field and make me nearly gag on my black tea like what happened to me when joey talked about me last april. make me swoon over your playing and then make me laugh so hard i have to draw you like what happened with alex a couple of weeks ago.

#text #alex skolnick #guitarist bf

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mrshaganezuka · 5 years

Text

This story was inspired by Selii's fanart on Twitter, which can be found here: https://twitter.com/sleii/status/1171829175851728897

As you set about your daily tasks around the Rengoku residence, you paused for a moment to watch your fiance, full of encouragement and enthusiasm, helping his younger brother train in swordsmanship. With each mistake, the younger apologise and the elder would simply laugh it off, and told him it was fine. It was a typical scene, when Kyoujurou came home, swordsmanship training was an opportunity for the two brothers to bond.

[[MORE]]

The circumstances which surrounded you and the Rengoku family were unique. You had been betrothed to the eldest son since you were young, and practically grew up with him. of course, you wouldn't have moved into his family's residence until your wedding day, but circumstances changed that.

Ruka’s death, your future mother-in-law, brought forward some unprecedented changes. Although still rather young yourself, same age as Kyoujuro, you were to move into your future husband's residence sooner rather than later. The idea itself was particularly unheard of, but given the circumstances, there was no other female to assist in running the household.

Shinjurou was then the Flame Pillar, and Kyoujurou was well on his way to become a soldier soon himself, he just needed to perfect his swordsmanship and learn the breaths of his father. They were too busy to worry about household affairs, and Senjuro was far too young.

On the outside, it seemed like a perfect solution, ordinarily Senjurou probably would've been expected to remarry, to make ensure the household was being run accordingly. But his love for his late wife was great, and losing her affected him greatly, which worsened over time. The latter was evident, soon after moving into the Rengoku’s residence. It exposed you to the more hidden side of a seemingly good family.

You were sympathetic to Shinjuro’s grief. The very idea of losing Kyoujurou, was unbearable. He was destined to be a soldier in the Demon Slayer Corp and the next Fire Pillar, his life too, could easily be cut short. As could Senjirou's, once he joined. They're thoughts you couldn't bare to think for too long.

With the patriarch of the Rengoku family being withdrawn and reclusive, relying on alcohol to get through the day. Everything weighed heavily on Kyoujurou's shoulders.

The future of the family's legacy, keeping what was left together,learning how to develop and use the Breath of Flames, reaching Pillar-dom, being a pseudo-father to his younger brother and being your unofficial husband.

It all weighed heavily on him. Yet despite all that, he still faced it with unbridled optimism and hope.

Even when things didn't work out, times when he should've felt disappointed, angry, upset. Like when Shinjuro refused to give blessed for your marriage to go ahead on your sixteenth birthday like promised, or when Senjurou's sword didn't change colour for him, or when a drunken Shinjuro lashed out at his eldest son in a drunken fit of rage. Kyoujurou still smiled, held his chest high and moved on.

~~~~~

Soon after his appointment as Fire Pillar, Kyoujurou came home for the first time in what seemed to be months. He arrived beaming with pride and hope, maybe father will acknowledge my efforts, he told you as he entered the house, with his brother in tow, he had greeted his brother outside as he swept the front path, and headed towards Shinjuro’s room. Kyoujurou was hopeful, that with his accomplishment, that his father turn around and become more active in his sons’ lives, as well as yours.

“Do you think things will change now?” Senjuro asked in a small voice, as you watched his older brother round the corner. The poor boy just wanted his father, he had grown tired of the drunk man that had replaced him.

“I don’t know, we just have to remain hopeful,” You wanted to hold the same hope as he did, but you highly doubted that anything would truly change. Shinjuro was too reclusive and tool depended on alcohol now.

Placing a tender hand on the young boy’s back, you guided him through the house, away from his father's room. The both of you would just have to wait for Kyoujurou.

~~~~~

What transpired between Kyoujurou and his father, was just as you expected. Their father's reaction wasn't even happy, let alone enthusiastic, he didn't even acknowledge or have the slightest bit of pride in Kyoujurou's hard work. Whilst it struck a chord with you, you know it would've broken your fiance's heart even further. Not getting the acknowledgement his carved from his own father, would've been unimaginable, but he probably expected it all the same.

You saw him at the family altar, soon after,paying his respects to his ancestors and telling his late mother of the achievement he had accomplished. If Ruka was still here, you were sure she would've been absolutely proud of her eldest son, she would've acknowledged his efforts. She was an amazing woman, someone you aspire to be like; as a future wife and as a mother. The fact that she was no longer here to witness the milestones both of her sons, tugged your heart strings.

~~~~~

The evening meal was nothing out of the ordinary, as usual Kyoujurou acted as if nothing happened at all. He spoke animatedly like he always did, and complemented your cooking, as well as, his brothers efforts in cooking the rice. It was just another meal in the Rengoku residence, while Kyoujurou was home.

You had delivered Shinjuro’s meal to him before you had your own with the brothers, and before Senjuro left to clear up his father's dishes, you encouraged him to withdraw for the day, after he was finished.

Time with Kyoujurou was, of course, precious for Senjuro, but he understood that you may have wanted some private time with him. But this time for a different reason, something you didn't inform the younger boy.

As Senjuro set off towards his father’s room, Kyoujurou also retired to his own room, but not before sneaking past you, for a bottle of sake for one.

~~~~~

At the door to his bedroom, you heard nothing coming from within, the only give away that someone was inside was from the glow of the candles that were lit.

“Anata…” you announce your presence, calling him by his pet name, from the closed door. You both have yet to wed, but you still acted like a married couple and the marriage was now most definitely in the books with him becoming a Pillar and his twenty-first birthday.

“... I’m coming in.”

Silently, you move to slide the door open, your slight flickering over to the now kimono clad man, as you entered, closing the door behind you, before making your way over to him. On the small table in front of him, was the bottle of sake for one and the tell tale signs that he had at least one cup thus far.

Holding the sleeve of your own kimono back, you reach out for the bottle, “... here.” You offer to fill his cup up, and in response he picked up the cup and downed the dry liquid once you had filled it.

Kyoujurou’s mood was passive, a stark contrast to what it was earlier when Senjuuro was around. The optimistic, energetic personality of Rengoku Kyoujurou was nothing but a front. Not just to keep him moving forward, but also for his brother and anyone else who looked up to him.

You were acutely aware of this, and he knew that too. You had told him in the past, that when it was just the two of you, he could let down his guard. But even that was seemingly impossible task, it was as if he had programmed himself to be optimistic around everyone, no matter who it was.

As you poured him another cup of sake, a comfortable silence remained between the two of you. You wanted Kyoujurou to talk to you about how he felt, but again, it would be near impossible without a little prodding, but first, you needed to get him more comfortable, and feel safe in doing so.

You got up to the door that opened out to the courtyard garden, opening it slightly, to allow some cool evening air to enter the room. “Kyoujurou,” you murmured his name, gesturing him to come and rest his head on your lap. Not only would the cool air will lessen the effect of the alcohol in his system, and so he could become more relaxed.

Slowly he shifted from his spot by the table, abandoning the alcohol, and gravitated towards you. As you gestured moments before, he rested his head on your lap and your fingers immediately began to comb through his hair.

A small sigh erupted from his lips, as you brushed a few locks of hair away from his face. As he stared outside, where the crickets were making their nightly call. The rejection of Shinjuro must've affected him a lot more severely, than you first imagined.

Bending down a little more, your lips grazed his temple before whispering words of encouragement into his ear. At times like this, this is when your duties of a good wife truly played their role. Your engagement to Kyoujurou might've been arranged, but the two of you had fallen in love long ago and you wouldn't change your companionship with him for the world.

You watched his eyes soften, and glaze over with tears.With a small sniff, one of his hands found yours, and his thumb drew small circles on the back of your palm. “Thank you, my love.” he murmured, and you smiled down at him.

If he was going to shoulder all the weight and expectations of his family, and the Demon Slayers. You would, in turn, shoulder his emotional baggage and be the person he can come to when needed.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #Rengoku Kyoujurou

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rebeldaydreams · 5 years

Text

Sticks and Stones (Crowley x Non-Binary/Genderfluid Reader)

words: 1500

pairing: Crowley x Non-Binary/Genderfluid Reader

summary: After you get some unsolicited abuse on the street, Crowley can’t control his temper.

warnings: swearing, mild transphobic comments

a/n: I had this idea after seeing Neil Gaiman confirm how Crowley and Aziraphale are male presenting, but don’t identify as males. And how Crowley was actually female-presenting when he was the Nanny and at Golgotha. I just liked the idea of him being super protective and supportive of having a non-binary/genderfluid partner and not putting up with any bullshit they might get. This is super self indulgent fjdklksksksfj but I hope other people enjoy it!! 👀

“Where do you wanna go for dinner?” Crowley asked you, arms folded over the roof of his Bentley as he leant on it. Through his glasses you could just about make out the yellow of his eyes.

“Hmmm...” You hummed in thought, shuffling your feet a little.

“I could get us a table at that new place. You know, that fancy one. I forget the name...Aziraphale would know…” He said, trailing off in thought. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t want anything fancy. Just something simple will do me. How about-“

“Fish and chips?” Crowley finished your sentence for you, reading you like an open book. You grinned.

“You just know me too well.” You said, and he smiled. “Can we walk? I’ve been stuck inside all day and I could do with stretching my legs.”

“’Course.”

Leaving the Bentley parked at the side of the road, the two of you began the walk to the nearest chip shop. It was about 10 minutes away, so not too far. Crowley slipped his hand into yours, your fingers interlocking with his as if that’s what they’d been made to do. You smiled, leaning your head into his shoulder as you walked.

There was silence between you, but it was far from uncomfortable. You simply enjoyed being in each other’s company. Crowley might occasionally make a snide remark about someone’s questionable fashion choices, though.

About 5 minutes into the journey, a loud voice from the other side of the street caught your attention, and the both of you turned your head towards the sound. So much for a quiet walk.

“Oi!”

The voice in question belonged to a rough looking man, probably in his 30s, who was walking with two others.

“Why don’t you pick a fuckin' gender, love?” he shouted. His friends behind him erupted in raucous laughter. At this point, you and Crowley had stopped in your tracks.

“Yeah there’s only two, can’t be that hard.” Another one added. More obnoxious laughter.

Despite them not specifying who they were talking to, you knew it was aimed at you. And despite knowing you shouldn’t listen to them because they were just arrogant morons whose opinion really did not matter in the slightest, their words still stung you.

You looked away from them as they laughed, wanting desperately to shrivel up into a small ball as you felt a lump rise in your throat. You tugged slightly at Crowley's hand, trying to communicate that you very much wanted to keep walking and not give them the satisfaction of knowing they upset you. Crowley, meanwhile, was looking increasingly like he wanted to do some quite unspeakable things to them. You cautioned a glance up at him and could feel how he’d tensed up from the rage that was building in him.

“Crowley, just ignore them...please.” you said. Normally, he’d listen to you. But he was currently too blinded by sheer, unbridled anger that even you couldn’t get through to him.

“Sorry.” He said, through gritted teeth, as he released your hand and crossed the street.

The group of men stopped walking and shared some incredulous looks with one another as Crowley approached.

“Got a problem, pal?” one of them said, as they formed a small circle around him.

Crowley looked at each of them in turn, settling his gaze on the one who had initiated the earlier nasty comments. Without even looking at the other two, he snapped his fingers in their general direction. Something they couldn’t control nor explain overtook them and without a word they turned and began to walk away.

“Hey! Where you lot off to?!” the one remaining yelled to his friends, but they didn’t even seem to acknowledge him. Crowley grinned wickedly.

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’ve just gone for a little stroll. Now-“ he grabbed hold of the man's lapels – who gasped at the strength of Crowley's grip.

“We’re gonna have a little chat.” Crowley growled as he shoved the guy round an inconspicuous corner.

- - - - - - - -

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?!” the man yelped as he was unforgivingly pushed against a wall.

“My problem?” Crowley echoed, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’ll tell you my problem. My problem is you feel the need to harass and vocally abuse a complete stranger. That’s my problem, you piece of shit.”

“I-I was j-just-!”

“Making a joke? Trying to be funny in front of your idiot friends? Yeah. I’ve heard it before.” Crowley was so full of rage that his human form was starting to fray at the edges. Black scales were starting to show through his skin and his eyes were much more yellow than before.

“Say sorry.” Crowley said, bluntly.

“Wh-what?” the man stammered.

“I said-“ Crowley reached a hand up to pull off his glasses, and glared at the man with his natural eyes. The colour drained from the his face at the sight. “Say sorry.”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!! Just fucking let me go!”

Crowley gave him one more hard glare and, before letting him go, landed a hard punch right to the middle of the guy’s face. He stumbled away with a pained yelp, clutching at his nose.

“Run along.” Crowley pushed his glasses back up his nose and watched as the man fled, taking a deep breath as he tried to regain control of his form.

- - - - - - - -

You watched from the other side of the street, biting your lip and tugging anxiously at the sleeve of your jacket. A minute later, the man scurried back out onto the street with a bloody nose and a terrified look on his face. He made off in the same direction as his friends, pushing other pedestrians out of the way.

Crowley emerged a few seconds later looking satisfied, flexing the fingers of his right hand and straightening out his jacket. You huffed out a breath, thankful that all he seemed to have done was break the guy’s nose. And perhaps frighten him into having nightmares for a month.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said quietly as Crowley approached you again.

“I know I didn’t have to. I did rather enjoy it, though.” He said, looking down at you. His brow furrowed. “You okay?”

You just nodded, looking down at your feet. Crowley took your hand once more and gave a reassuring squeeze. You wanted to say you were okay, because you wanted to be, but those awful comments echoed in your mind, chipping away at your already fragile self esteem.

“Y/N?” Crowley said, trying to get your attention. He saw tears welling in your eyes and immediately realised you were not okay. He stepped a little closer, filling your vision with the black of his clothes, and when you looked up next you were back in his flat.

Tears spilled down your cheeks and you hid your face in your hands as a sob escaped you. “I-I'm sorry, Cr-Crowley-"

“You have nothing to apologise for, darling. C'mere.” he said, gathering you in his arms. You hid your face in his chest and held onto him tightly.

“You are beautiful and brilliant and perfect just the way you are, and don’t you dare go listening to anyone who tries to tell you otherwise, you understand me?” he said. “Those small-minded bigots aren’t worth your tears.”

You held onto him for a little while longer, and he didn’t let up his tight hold on you, pressing loving kisses to the top of your head. Eventually, you pulled back and looked up at him.

“Thank you.” You smiled, wiping away the half-dried tears on your cheeks with the back of your hand. He lifted his hands to cup your face and leaned in to plant a gentle kiss to your lips. As he pulled away there was a soft, very un-demon-like smile on his face.

“Love you.” He said quietly. If you weren’t already blushing from the kiss, you were certainly blushing now.

“I love you too. You big softie.” You said, and Crowley flashed you a toothy grin that made your heart skip a beat.

Your stomach suddenly rumbled, interrupting the moment, and you realised how hungry you were.

“Oh yeah...” you said, remembering what you had planned to be doing that evening. You really didn’t feel like going anywhere other than Crowley's flat now, though. As usual, he sensed your feelings.

“You get comfy. I’ll bring us back some food. Alright?”

You smiled and nodded. He turned to leave the flat but you jumped forward and grabbed his hand. “Crowley, wait-"

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brow furrowing behind his glasses. You just smiled, threw your arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Nothing's wrong. Just don’t be too long.” You said. He grinned and gave you another quick peck on the lips.

“Miss you already!” he said, sauntering out the door. You chuckled to yourself as you watched him leave, wondering just how you managed to get so lucky.

#crowley x reader #crowley #good omens #good omens imagines #fic #my fics

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fountainpenguin · 6 years

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Aspects of Becky’s / WordGirl’s character I really love

When the Narrator gave her the choice of how they should transition to the next scene and she apologized to Exposition Guy for choosing “conveniently turning on the TV at the right moment” over him

That time the Narrator couldn’t believe she actually dressed up as WordGirl for Halloween and she defended herself by pointing out that she already had the costume

When the Narrator feeds her hints and she scolds him for reading ahead in the script

Basically any time she talks to the Narrator ever

That time Dr. Two-Brains went good and invited her over and she was so on edge that she whirled around and slammed him into the wall

That time Chuck begged her to stop the zookeeper from listing off fun panther facts and she told him she couldn’t do anything unless he breaks a law

That time she honestly struggled to decide between riding a pony or saving the world

“It’s not that hard to get a key to the city. I have like 40 of them.”

Her terrible cover-ups when she gives herself away. “Way to go, Dad!” “Did you just call me Dad?” “No.”

Her relationship with her dad in general, like when he kept urging her to dance with him and they ended up compromising by talking things out and not forcing her to dance onstage if it made her uncomfortable

“Yeeeeah, here’s the thing, Miss Power. We don’t really talk about Chuck’s... I mean, he’s a sensitive guy...”

When she laughs at her own jokes and awkwardly trails off when no one else laughs

The running gag that she has no artistic ability whatsoever, and also this extends to her inability to create poems and her inability to sing

That time she tried to shimmy her way through a force-field while Dr. Two-Brains looked on in confusion and disappointment

When she gave the newbie villains a head start on their getaway

Whenever she procrastinates fighting crime to watch TV or play with her unicorn figurines

Any time she stops in confusion to question a villain about their evil plans, and sits down to listen with honest curiosity while they explain

Every time she gets jealous when someone else wins a key to the city

When she and The Butcher compliment each other on their witty banter

When she refers to Kid Potato as “Sir”

Her progression of taking Kid Math by the shoulders and gently leading him off-screen to flat-out sliding him across the floor in unbridled rage

Her exasperation with Kid Math in general is just very good

When she stops to giggle over how cute / ridiculous the villains are

That time she was scanning the crowd and stopped in the middle to gush over how pretty this one random lady was

That time she helped push Mr. Big’s car out of the snow

When she let Lady Redundant Woman monologue for ten minutes because she thought interrupting her would be rude

Whenever she stops mid-duty to say Hi to random citizens

Her “Oh, it’s just you again,” attitude whenever she encounters Amazing Rope Guy

Any time she gets confused when civilians stop her from arresting a villain because they think the villains are cool

That time she snuck away to read the stolen princess book instead of returning it to the bookstore

When she picks Tobey up with one hand or carries him around on her shoulders

When she accused Tobey of stealing a library book with no proof and after she found out she was wrong her pride made it so incredibly difficult to apologize but then she DID

When she tries so hard to remember the Energy Monster is female even though breaking her series-long habit of referring to her as male is really hard for her

When she accidentally revealed herself to be WordGirl while defining “realize” in front of Tobey and two seconds later realized “Oh wait shoot I shouldn’t have used my secret identity as an example of something that someone might realize.”

When she pounced on the opportunity to turn Whammer into a good law-abiding citizen and absolutely wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer

When she gave a heartfelt speech about doing what you love and accidentally convinced The Butcher to return to a life of crime

When she was touched that Chuck was worried about her when she went out of town without telling him

How happy and goofy she is with Violet when they’re playing and singing and just being friends together

When she and Tobey bonded over not the fact that neither of them were invited to Katie’s birthday party

When she and Tobey went for ice cream and he asked her if she was buying and she said “I’m buying my own” without missing a beat

That time she and The Learnerer bonded over the fact that neither of them understand art

When she broke down in tears watching Rhyme and Reason make up

Basically any time she does innocent ten-year-old things and makes choices a ten-year-old would she’s so cute I love her

#She's a reeeaaally good three-dimensional character and I love her #WordGirl #Grammar queen #Satirical vocab alien child show

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raven-m-3 · 6 years

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Controversial opinion: a lot of the current discourse about whether Ben is portrayed as “too soft” and “not strong enough” is not a failure on the filmmakers’ part to create a worthy, compelling dual protagonist / antihero, but rather selective information processing in the fandom which has prevented many of us from discussing / reflecting on the character in all his nuances and complexity.

I’m going to be frank: I think much of the misunderstanding stems from the fact that the fandom has historically disliked discussion of Ben’s rawer, stronger, and darker side-- the side that knows what he wants and seizes it when the time is right. I can attest to this personally -- I have several within-fandom backlashes under my belt to prove that many (not all, but many) Reylos don’t love talking about this aspect of his character.

But it’s always been there. And talking to casual fans outside of the SW fandom has made me realize just how insulated we are. The simple fact of the matter is that casual Star Wars fans find Ben much stronger and darker than online fans, who often think of Ben Solo as the fluffiest and floofiest of fluffy villainkins (😂).

Yes, some idiot fans complain about Emo Crylo Ren, but that’s certainly not the only take on Ben. For instance, antis are opposed to Reylo precisely because they find Ben genuinely powerful and threatening (because they are myopic idiots who only frame his potential in conjunction with his Dark side abilities).

What’s the reason for this disconnect?

Again, I’m going to go out on a limb here and express my opinion as a meta writer. The issue, in my opinion, is that we’ve often been afraid to talk about the ways in which Ben is truly raw, strong, and untamed, because these qualities of his have been explicated (thus far) via his use of the Dark side of the Force.

Reylos’ reluctance to discuss Ben’s power in all its raw, unbridled fury comes from an understandable place-- attempting to protect ourselves from anti criticism-- but the inevitable consequence of dictating / policing the “appropriate” way to discuss / portray Ben is that he is often woobified in fanon. He really has never been as soft, fluffy, or “weak” as many (not all, but many) in the Reylo fandom make him out to be.

Yes, Soft! Ben is absolutely one side of him, but it’s not the only side. The TLJ novel was unequivocal in this-- the man has darkness, and it’s a source of power and strength for him. And it shapes his motivations in the narrative thus far.

Ben is domineering, dismissive, arrogant, and full of rage. He uses these things to fuel him. Yet he is also deeply conflicted, wounded, vulnerable, and compassionate. Fanon often prefers a discussion of the latter side of Ben and ignores the former. This isn’t true of everyone. But it’s true for many.

I think the debate going on about Ben right now is fascinating and informative. And I do think it’s worth pointing out that this is a Heroine’s Journey for Rey- female empowerment is a key point, so yes, the narrative does ask us to cheer for Rey’s victories a bit more than anyone else’s (including Ben’s).

But in canon, Ben was never meant to be weak or pathetic or “subby”.* He’s meant to be complicated, powerful, conflicted, and deeply wounded, lonely, and empathetic.

*These are not “criticisms” I have made of his canon character. Rather, they are criticisms that were leveled at Ben by others during this particular discourse in Fall 2018. Specifically, during this discourse, people suggested he was weak, pathetic, and/or subby insofar as not being Rey’s true equal in power (i.e., the Force).

#reylo #fandom wank #ben solo #kylo ren #ben solo meta #mine #long post #Also: I love soft ben #he is definitely a thing #but dark ben exists too #and yes he is powerful and dangerous.

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vampyre-poet · 5 years

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Cain paused mid speech to Moon as Alastair came barreling into the ballroom, the Scotsman dragging a screaming, kicking mess of a girl by her impossibly curly, frizzy hair in his fist. Moon flinched visibly at her screams, the white-haired newborn gently biting his lower lip and taking a few cautious steps back. She smelled different. She didn't smell...human.

"LET ME GO, YOU ABSOLUTE RAT BASTARD! I WAS MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS, AND YOU DECIDED TO-"

"Silence, she wolf." Alastair ground out and Moon gasped loudly but quickly muffled it by covering his hand with his mouth, but Cain looked over his shoulder at him with a smirk before looking back forward. A female werewolf. The first female werewolf in five hundred years, and here she was. In Cain's mansion ballroom. With them. Kicking and screaming. Moon felt sick suddenly, the newborn breathing shakily and quickly looking away from the scene as he clenched his fists at his side.

"My, my...this is the second specimen Egil has turned. I wonder, Alastair, do you think he's turning them on purpose?" Cain smiled down at the female werewolf as Alastair stopped in front of him, the girl growling loudly at him with glowing, blazing golden eyes. Eyes like that were dangerous, but Cain's eyes were much more dangerous and the girl instantly took note of this visibly as her snarl vanished for a short moment before returning. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, asshole-"

"He always did have a thing for the feisty ones, I'm more than sure he gets that from me. I made him of course," Cain paused before crouching down to the brown haired girl, the girl growling lowly. "Did you know that?" Cain continued to smile and the girl huffed loudly as she looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about, I- I was in the forest two days ago and I was-"

"Attacked by a large black wolf?" Cain smirked and her eyes flickered back over to his. "...Yes." She bit out and Cain hummed pleasantly from her response. "He is turning them on purpose, I have no doubt, and I am more than certain his Beta has no idea. Collin doesn't know that Egil has created the first natural Beta." Cain's hand flew forward at impossible speed, the girl snarling loudly as his hand grabbed her chin. "Look at you...Cassandra," Cain purred and the girl completely stilled, her eyes wide in shock and her face paling in horror that he knew her name. "Cassandra Sampson, right? You were in the woods because you wanted to hike in the snow and capture photos of the wildlife-"

"G-get out of my head," Cassandra breathed shakily as hot tears of rage pricked her eyes and Cain clicked his tongue before chuckling as he let her chin go, the ancient of all ancients standing back up. "I-I don't know who you are, or- o-or what you are-"

"You don't know...?" Moon's soft, quiet voice cut her off and her eyes darted over to him. He smelled different than the other two vampires, she remarked mentally. He didn't smell dead...but the other two did. "...I have...a vague idea." Cassandra muttered quietly and Moon bit his lower lip once more. "Lookie that, she got a vague idea!" Alastair snorted loudly in a cruel tone and Cassandra snarled incredibly loudly up at him. It was then that Cassandra got another scent of death, one very similar, if not almost practically identical, to the orange eyed vampire's. "Mmn, Alastair, when I told you that I was thinking about getting a dog, I didn't mean this kind of dog." Florence drawled in a breathy tone and Cassandra growled lowly only to yelp as her hair was tugged back roughly. "F-Florence, why is she-"

"Moon, baby, why are you down there? These matters aren't of concern to you, this is our creator's-"

"Half," Moon bit out and Florence froze in shock with wide eyes, Cain tensing up as his eyes narrowed angrily. "He's half my creator, Abraham is also my...creator...and..." Moon trailed off as he felt both Florence and Cain's unbridled rage, the white-haired newborn opening his mouth and closing it a few times before shaking his head vigorously and looking down. "Christ, I don't want to be a part of this-"

"Silence," Cain's tone was low as he cut Cassandra off, dangerously low, and his eyes never left Moon. "What are you saying, Moon? Am I not better?"

"Wha- what?! W-why would you-"

"I'm actually here, aren't I? He's off in Italy right now, isn't he? And he left you here."

"N-no...?" Moon sounded so terrified, a tone of horrified disbelief, and Florence cursed lowly under his breath as he gripped the railing of the balcony tightly as he watched Cain rip Moon's mind to shreds with manipulation. He couldn't stop it, not this time. It needed to happen. He was tired of waiting, and as was Cain. "No? Moon," Cain frowned, the man walking over to Moon and gently tucked a strand of hair behind Moon's ear as crimson tears welled in his big, doe like eyes. "Why do you keep living a lie?" Cain sighed, and it actually sounded as if this pained him, and Florence squeezed his eyes shut as he heard Moon choke out a sob. This was actually hurting Florence, but Cain? Cain didn't feel. "I-it's not a lie! H-he loves me, and-"

"Then why does he keep going out, hmm? Leaving you here to be wandering the halls-"

"God, stop it!" Florence cried out loudly and the room stilled, Moon's head whipping up to see Florence fighting back tears as he stared down at him. "God?" Cain muttered quietly and Florence's face fell. "You're crying out for Him?"

"...Old habits die hard," Florence swallowed thickly, only to continue, "You once cried out for Him as well." A mistake.

"...Alastair, deliver the she wolf to Egil. Now." Cain hissed and Alastair sucked in his breath before teleporting off with her. "Florence, my love, go to the bedroom for me, yes? I'll be there shortly." Cain smiled warmly up at Florence but Florence knew better. It was the smile of predator, a crocodile grin, and for the first time in a very long time, Florence felt fear.

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ts1989fanatic · 7 years

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ts1989fanatic Sorry about posting this but it pissed me off so much I had to share it with other or have my head explode. I’m pretty sure I have seen other Daily Beast articles in the past by this same so called writer that were just as critical (WRONGLY) of Taylor Swift.

It’s Time for Taylor Swift to Denounce Her Neo-Nazi Admirers

The pop superstar is worshipped as an ‘Aryan goddess’ by the white supremacist community. In the wake of Charlottesville, the least she could do is speak out.

In a world overrun by the idiotic and underqualified, it’s tempting to credit public figures with nonexistent cunning or forethought.

As nice as it is to imagine that the president of the United States isn’t just “ad-libbing” on North Korea, the facts maintain that there isn’t any sort of political chess at play here—everyone and everything really is as dumb as it seems.

With one exception. In an era of unbridled ids, impetuous boys, and impromptu boasts, there is one woman who is consistently 10 steps ahead: a pop music Machiavelli and Svengali of mutually beneficial relationships who also happens to be a pretty talented EDM scribe.

Naturally we’re talking about Taylor Alison Swift (alias: Nils Sjoberg), a 27-year-old singer-songwriter with a rare talent for self-preservation. Taylor Swift famously maintains strict control over her brand, and has been criticized in the past for her superficiality and attention to detail. From drafting an A-list squad of giraffe-legged pals to threatening to take legal action against some ardent fans on Etsy, Swift seems like a woman who knows exactly what she wants. Taylor Swift might look like a harmless, sugary-sweet pop princess, but make no mistake: This woman keeps Ryan Reynolds’ soul in a calligraphy-labeled Mason jar on her Rhode Island estate. She is not fucking around.

Somehow, through sheer strength of will, Taylor Swift convinced her millions of fans that she was a very sweet and chill girl next door. She realized that feminism was in and began marketing herself as a proponent of girl power, a victim of narcissistic and entitled dudes who would, nevertheless and against all odds, persist. But Swift’s delicate house of vaguely feminist aphorisms and carefully posed lady-Instagrams came tumbling down last summer, when Kim Kardashian outed Swift on Snapchat. The details of that social media checkmate—Swift condemned Kanye’s lyrics, harnessed this victimhood for her public image, was thwarted by leaked footage of Kanye running the track by her in the studio and then reduced to a Notes app statement—are already the stuff of legend. It was the “Kim you’re doing amazing sweetie” heard ’round the world. Unexpectedly pushed into an abyss of unlikability and overexposure, Swift quickly went into crisis/self-imposed exile mode: R.I.P. Hiddleswift, highly publicized squad parties, post-workout crab walks, and the days of underestimating Mrs. Kim Kardashian West.

Luckily for those of us with an appetite for drama and Tracy Flick-style anti-heroines, Taylor Swift plays a long game. Last week, Swift made her first major move since the summer of her Snapchat discontent, testifying in court against former radio DJ David Mueller. The jury ultimately sided with Swift, who alleged that Mueller had “intentionally reached under [Swift’s] skirt, and groped with his hand an intimate part of her body in an inappropriate manner, against her will, and without her permission” during a 2013 meet-and-greet. What happened to Swift was horrible and, as her suit stresses, against her will. But how the pop star chose to present herself in court worked completely to her advantage. When asked about her knowledge of police procedurals, Swift joked about her love of Law & Order: SVU—relatable! When pressed on why no one else witnessed the groping, Swift countered, “Because my ass is located in the back of my body.” Humor, wit, poise, just enough venom and an anatomy lesson to boot? Is it just me, or is 2017 “taking the stand” Taylor Swift actually likable?

At a time when many of us are just barely surviving off a steady diet of revenge fantasies and rage, it makes perfect sense for Swift to rebrand herself a pretty blonde vengeance demon. Why be a saccharine singer-songwriter when you can be an Arya Stark? Likability is so close that TayTay can probably taste it, and I think I’ve come up with a way to finally put her over the edge: All Taylor Swift has to do is denounce neo-Nazis.

Denouncing neo-Nazis might sound like a low bar or a meaningless declaration—if you don’t happen to be rocking a Fred Perry polo and holding a tiki torch your buddy Cole picked up for you at Party City and/or the president of the United States, you should have no problem condemning Nazism. And why should a pop singer have to personally clarify her position on white supremacy? This question would be perfectly valid if we were talking about Selena Gomez, Katy Perry, Beyoncé, or any other major female celebrity who hasn’t been heralded in certain dark corners of the internet as an Aryan princess/secret neo-Nazi. Unfortunately, Taylor Swift has long taken on a starring role in some pretty sick Nazi fan fiction.

In an in-depth 2016 Broadly article, neo-Nazi Andrew Anglin of The Daily Stormer explained Swift’s fashy appeal: “Firstly, Taylor Swift is a pure Aryan goddess, like something out of classical Greek poetry. Athena reborn. That’s the most important thing,” Anglin insisted. “It is also an established fact that Taylor Swift is secretly a Nazi and is simply waiting for the time when Donald Trump makes it safe for her to come out and announce her Aryan agenda to the world. Probably, she will be betrothed to Trump’s son, and they will be crowned American royalty.”

Now, it follows that Swift wouldn’t want to dignify these lunatic ravings with a response, or spend any more time than absolutely necessary contemplating a relationship with either of Donald Trump’s large adult sons. But at a certain point—preferably before a white supremacist website publishes dozens of posts praising her Aryan bloodline—it might behoove a celebrity to publicly condemn the racist anti-Semites who are claiming her as their queen. People like Anglin seem to genuinely believe that Swift will be on their side come race war Armageddon. And now that Nazis and counter-protestors are actually fighting in the streets, there’s no time like the present for Taylor Swift to finally come out as anti-Nazi.

After an act of domestic terrorism in Charlottesville left one woman dead, The Daily Stormer—aka Taylor Swift’s unofficial fan site—mocked the victim of the white nationalist attack. For GoDaddy, The Daily Stormer’s obscene and disturbing language was enough to convince them to finally dump the neo-Nazi website. Taylor Swift needs to get in on all this Nazi condemnation action. Why should Jennifer Lawrence get all the likes?

Now, in the past, Swift has scrupulously avoided any sort of political statement. She expresses her “feminism” through sanitized non-statements like, “I’m proud to be a woman today, and every day.” Not only did she refuse to endorse a presidential candidate—she wouldn’t even denounce the candidate who was accused of serial sexual assault. Given Swift’s history of failing to do the bare minimum, and her past swastika mini-scandal, it’s unlikely that she’ll make an anti-Nazi statement. Then again, the bar has never been so low. No one is expecting Taylor Swift to go on the campaign trail for Kamala Harris or exhibit a working knowledge of intersectionality—just to condemn the neo-Nazi community that’s already claimed her as one of their own.

Say it after me, TayTay: “I, Taylor Swift, denounce Nazis. And I am not attracted to Eric Trump.”

ts1989fanatic THIS IS TOTAL BULLSHIT AND Taylor should ignore this crap.

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jokeranonymous · 7 years

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Nasty Messes || Drabble

-{And heeeeere is a drabble I’ve been wanting to do for weeks cause, well, reasons, but never got around to it cause I liked fluff too much for the time being. But I’m in the mood for it right now, so here we go~!

He still wasn’t sure how it had happened -- one minute Axel had been behind him, the next he’d seen the demon jumping out in front of Nebula...

...and had frozen in place when the bone-white blade of his sister had slashed across Axel’s chest; blood had splattered the ground, his daughter’s screams ringing in his ears. The panicked, pained scream that had torn from his own he barely recognized, and before he knew it, he had hurled his only knife at the woman that was supposed to be his sister and forced her to back off and had already knelt next to him, checking how bad the wound was.

Oh, God, no...

“Axel... don’t... don’t leave me like this...” the immortal almost pleaded, the blonde’s violet eyes flickering for a moment before shifting towards him.

“Didn’t.... think I’d end up... doing something quite.... so reckless...”

“...Look. Don’t talk. Save your energy...”

“...At least make... sure you take... care of Nebula... okay?”

Don’t leave me alone like this...

Joker could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, heavily so, as he took the demon’s hand in his own. “Don’t talk like that... we’re all getting out of this, I promise.”

“...Love you... both... Joker... and Nebula...” Then the hand he was holding went limp, Joker’s eyes closing tightly and his body beginning to shake in quiet sobs as Nebula started crying herself.

The two of them stayed like that until echoing, almost mocking laughter could be heard in the background from nearby, Joker’s eyes snapping open and a look of pure, unbridled rage could be seen for a moment, the immortal pulling off his mask and setting it on top of Axel. “Keep watch over him,” he told Nebula quietly, standing up and turning on his heel in one fluid motion, eyes shadowed over with that dangerous golden glint piercing through it.

“You’re still using that little moniker?” his sister mocked, though the amusement was still evident in her voice. “Isn’t it about time you let people know your real name again, Musashi?”

Even that much had Joker visibly flinching, though the look in his eyes didn’t diminish in the least. “I abandoned that name a long time ago,” he countered, his voice calm but with contained rage clearly evident in it.

That seemed to strike a nerve with her. “...Fine, then I’ll make you drop everything else! I’ll kill that girl too.”

His lips curled back slightly in a snarl. “You are not touching Nebula,” came his words that ripped out of his throat, reaching into the inside of his coat and pulling out an elegant-looking but sheathed sword -- the same sword that always rested in his room just above his bed.

Even the female immortal looked surprised to see it. “So you’re using her again... I thought you swore never to?”

Joker didn’t answer immediately, instead bringing the sword up close to his mouth and mumbling something inaudible before moving his hand to the hilt of it and drawing it from its sheath, revealing the equally bone-white blade that matched similarly to the one his sister carried, but his appeared in far better condition than hers did. “...I have no choice for now. I won’t let you touch either of them.”

More laughter emanated from the other immortal for a moment before she seemed to calm down. “Oh, so we’re being chivalrous now, are we? Hah, that’s a laugh. You were never chivalrous.”

The only warning she got was narrowed eyes before he vanished entirely, and she followed suit as a chorus of clashes ran through the air as fighting resounded throughout the area. After several minutes Joker reappeared near where Axel still lay with Nebula next to him, having managed to doctor him up as best she could for the time being, while his sister appeared several feet away, though the immortal woman collapsed to one knee with her shoulder and the front of her chest sliced open and one hand going to the gaping wound.

“Damn it.... I should have remembered you never lost a duel when you were wielding a sword,” she groaned out, then collapsed as he flicked the blood from the wound off of the white blade, wiping it off and sliding it back into its sheath.

Joker watched his sister for a moment, actually walking over to her and checking her pulse for a good minute, satisfied she was actually dead and staying that way before he finally stood back up to slip the sword inside of his coat to send it back to the house. It was the first time in a long time he’d actually broken that oath, but he knew if he hadn’t, things would have gotten far worse.

A worried look replaced the dangerous one he’d had only moments ago as he walked over to crouch next to his lover. “Is... he alright? He’s not...”

Nebula shook her head, probably just as relieved as he was. “No... he’s still breathing, but we need to get him to the Netherworld hospital, and fast.”

“....We can use the shadows, that’s the fastest way.”

Several hours later found Joker restlessly pacing, though Nebula had ended up dozing off and was currently sleeping, unable to keep her eyes open any longer than she was able to. Thankfully one of the doctors came in and the immortal immediately turned to her.

He hadn’t even started to get a word out before she held up a finger. “He’ll be fine... he just needs to sleep and recover. Unfortunately, it will end up leaving a scar...”

Joker let out a heavy but relieved sigh. “...I’d rather the scar than what else could have happened.”

#drabble #v; main #p; Sparked Cards #-{AND HERE WE GO WITH THE ANGST #-{Have fun with that #-{OOPSIES #-{Also changed this a bit

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h-e-double-hockey-hell · 6 years

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The All Star Game feels like a lifetime ago. It’s been less than two weeks, and yet so much has happened since the first female athlete participated in the NHL Skills Competition. CCM gave Brianna Decker her money. Pierre McGuire stood too close to Kendall Coyne Schofield. We all took the opportunity to be momentarily outraged that a man who has been consistently terrible at his job for decades is also patronizing to women who are far more talented than he will ever be. Groundbreaking stuff. Even the NHL made a feeble attempt to get back in our good graces by offering the four female athletes $25,000...to the charities of their choice.

Even though it’s been under fourteen days, it feels like we have moved on from the events of the All Star Game for the time being. After all, how productive could it be to stay angry? And there is so much other news to talk about. With the start of February comes trade deadline rumors, and what feels like an interminable sequence of mediocre hockey games. And we finally have confirmation that Auston Matthews will continue to be extraordinarily wealthy! Thank goodness.

Maybe it’s just the doldrums of this part of the season, but I’m finding it hard to let this one go. The fact remains that four female athletes were expected to provide a service, as well as brand recognition, to the NHL for no compensation. Whether they were asked to simply demonstrate the skills or asked to compete, there is absolutely no reason for a league as lucrative as the NHL not to pay them. Every NHL player at the All Star weekend had opportunities to win bonuses for their skills, as well as for their performances in the games. Many of them received bonuses in their contracts simply for being invited. Sidney Crosby got a fucking 2019 Honda Passport, on top of the $1 million that he is splitting with his Metropolitan Division teammates for winning the mini-tournament. It also goes without saying that every single player who was invited from the NHL makes more than enough on their contracts to render the bonuses all but negligible. This is the context in which we need to understand the NHL’s decision not to pay Brianna Decker, Kendall Coyne Schofield, Rebecca Johnston, and Renata Fast.

The decision is especially egregious in the case of Decker, who’s time in demonstrating the unbearably tedious passing challenge (1m:06s and change) beat that of the NHL leader, Leon Draisaitl of the Edmonton Oilers (just over 1m:09s). Not only did the NHL refuse to pay her the $25,000 bonus owed for the winner of the competition, but they also made vague reference to “tape” that they said confirmed that she had not in fact beat Draisaitl’s time. Classy.

Despite the outrage felt across the internet over the past week and a half, the constant refrain from fans of all teams has been “Well, it’s certainly not Draisaitl’s fault. What was he supposed to do?” And that, my dear friends, is where I lose all sense of perspective and/or nuance and am immediately overcome with unbridled rage. Of course, in this situation, Draisaitl is not the sole individual responsible for the devaluation of women in sport. But, seriously, ya’ll. What could he have done?! Really????

First and foremost, Draisaitl should give Decker the money. Do not cross go, do not collect $25,000 that you do not deserve. Secondly, and nearly as importantly, he should make it public. Do it big. Post on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, MySpace. Make a blog solely dedicated to documenting the delivery of a huge blown up check to Brianna Decker’s locker room. Get. Loud. He should make everyone involved feel properly ashamed that he has to do the work for them. In media following the event, he should consistently and repeatedly affirm that he did not win the challenge, and that he is proud to have competed against such admirable competition. He should make it his mission to make folks who question him uncomfortable.

I want to be careful to make sure that this doesn’t come across as a screed against Leon Draisaitl. In all honesty, I feel indifferent towards him at best. I also want to be clear that I would be making the same assertion regardless of who the “winner” of the passing challenge happened to be. As hard as it would have been to admit that one of my favorite players is in the wrong, enough is enough. Not a single one of them is sufficiently talented to forgive and forget so easily. I’m so tired of feeling like I have to defend white, straight, wealthy men against a corporation that is obviously more insidious. Like, I get it! Capitalism is the devil! The league is objectively the villain in this entire narrative! In negotiations with the league, Leon Draisaitl does not have the upper hand! Boo-fucking-hoo. I’m tired of caring. He, and all the other men in the NHL, have so many opportunities to make the game more accessible to folks of all different backgrounds. They need to do better. We deserve better.

I could barely watch the All-Star game itself. The dangling carrot of $1 million split amongst 11 dudes wasn’t nearly enough of an incentive for these bozos to actually give it their full effort. Meanwhile, women playing professional hockey need to work full time jobs on top of their team commitments, and often have trouble paying for their own equipment. If offered the same amount, you bet your ass they would be working theirs off to give everyone a good show and make each other proud.

It is also important to note that the thesis statement of this rant is not “Making hockey more inclusive is the final piece of the puzzle in creating a just world.” I am aware of the fallacy of putting sports-ball men on pedestals and worshipping them as gods; nor are they are merely meat on which we project our most violent fantasies. They are humans, no more or less important than the rest of us. I don’t believe that Leon Draisaitl standing up for women’s rights will have any more of a tangible impact than a D-list celebrity’s endorsement of a political candidate. However, when we are discussing the value of sport in society, it is shocking to me how far short we fall in elevating women to their proper stature. Being an athlete is like any other job. There are sacrifices you make, and rewards you reap. Ideally, they are proportional. But it makes no sense for us as a society to continuously prioritize male athletes, when so many other sectors have at the very least acknowledged that women are not inherently inferior.

The men who have the privilege to play in the NHL do not do enough to elevate female athletes. They have the economic stability to do so without fear, and yet they do not. This is hard to accept as a female hockey fan, not because I expected them to be better, but because it is gutting to realize how familiar I am with being disappointed.

#nhl #nhl hockey #all star game #asg 2019 #asg19 #leon draisaitl #brianna decker #kendall coyne #rebecca johnston #renata fast #i know this is very different from my usual content #it will go back to stupid comments on nhl gifs v soon i promise #i just needed to vent #long post

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