#if everything needs to have a definitive morality assigned to it for you to enjoy what you're reading

[themagnificentmx]

going to throw shade @ some criticism i got on my poetry

[mewhenimanangel]

everywhere ʚɞ miles morales x reader

pairing: 42!miles morales x reader

synopsis: you beg miles to help you write your extra credit paper so he invites you over.

wc: 3.2k

warnings!: swearing, harassment, creepy men, n word use, making out, google translate spanish

prev ʚɞ fin

why are you everywhere, fuck. miles couldn't get you out of his head it's like you were taking over his life. you became the center of his drawings, spending like three hours perfecting the small details on your face, your wispy eyelashes, the brown and pink in your lips, everything. and that kiss didn't make it any easier, it wasn't his first kiss but god it made him obsessed.

it was becoming a problem for his prowler work, his uncle told him to get his head in the game.

you were sitting in physics and he wouldn't stop trying to touch you. he kept his knee pressed on yours the whole class and kept crossing the imaginary line on the table to touch your elbow with his. you looked through the side of your eye and saw that he was staring at you. "the way i can feel your stare right now is insane" you giggled, whispering. "i literally don't know what you're talking about" he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

neither of you have spoken about the kiss you'd shared three nights ago. things weren't awkward it just kind of went back to the way it was before. at least that's what you thought.

it was the end of class and your teacher assigned a partner paper that was due on monday for extra credit points, miles didn't need the points however you did. "can you pleasee just work with me?" you begged, following behind him down the hall. "i don't even need it? i have a 98" he told you. "alright well unlike you my grade sucks, pleaseee i wanna make honor roll, and right now i have a 79" you pleaded, hooking his arm. he let you keep your hand there, secretly enjoying the contact. "why don't you ask somebody else who needs it?"

"cause you're the only one i talk to there, everyone else seems boringgg. plus you're smart" you tried to inflate his ego to work in your favor. he didn't say anything he just looked down at your pleading eyes. "milessss" was all you said until he rolled his eyes. "relájate maldita sea, i'll do it with you. can you come to my house tomorrow night or your dad still hate me?" he joked and you laughed a bit. "if i tell him it's for school he might relax a lil" you said "so does that mean you'll help??" you asked again with a smile on your face.

he loved that on you, definitely going back in his sketchbook. "ain't that what i just said chiquita"he scoffed. you squealed "thank youuu, okay i'll see you later" you pulled off his arm and turned down the hallway to your locker.

ʚɞ

you walked out of the grocery store with bags and a small baguette in hand that you were chewing on. god you adored the bakery in that store. you turned down the street in the direction of your building when you heard someone "ay pretty lady what you doing out here this late" you turned to your side and saw some random guy talking to you. "ha, don't worry bout me." you nervously said back, deciding to just keep walking. "ah mami, don't be so cold~" now you could hear the slurring in his words, obviously drunk. you still kept it pushing and he just followed behind. "that ass is looking tight though" he reached a hand out and squeezed at your butt.

"what the fuck?!" you shouted, reaching into your pocket for your mace to spray him. you turned around but paused when you saw the familiar mask you knew from the news, the prowler. he was staring at you with a finger over where his mouth would be and reached his claws around the guys neck and pulled him into the alleyway nearby. you heard the guy scream, and some thuds before ultimately what you thought was blood splatter and a body dropping to the ground.

that was when you decided to make a run for it, and when the grocery store was out of sight, you walked as fast as you could back to your building. even though he'd just helped you, you did not want to get caught up with the prowler at all. he would be on the news for various crimes - theft, arson, aggravated assault, murder, etc. again, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. you ran into your building and up the stairs unaware of that mask staring at you from the building across.

♱

miles was on his way home jumping from the rooftop to rooftop when he heard some voices on the street. he looked over and saw you being followed by some guy who looked drunk out of his mind. he followed on the roofs before jumping down, as silently as he could, behind the guy. he looked at the fright on your face and put a finger up to his mouth.

he grabbed the guy by the throat and pulled him into the alley behind him. he threw him down on the ground sending a kick to his face. he sent a punch to his face with his clawed gloved before throwing him up against the wall, sending another harsh blow to his face. it enraged him knowing that guy was tryna hurt you..or worse. he used the sharp claw to slice against his neck, the pressure sending his blood on the walls. he went limp and dropped to the ground. "one less fucking weirdo." he spat. he peeked out from the alley to see you were gone and practically sprinting back to your building, smart girl.

he followed behind you on the rooftops, something he's grown quite fond of doing when he would see you out on his patrols, to make sure you got home safe. he'd figured out which window was your bedroom a few weeks ago and didn't leave until he saw the lights turn on and your shadow illuminating against your curtains.

ʚɞ

it was friday afternoon and you got dressed to go over to miles' house. you got dressed in a pair of track pants with a baby tee and sneakers. you still wanted to look cute but you didn't want to feel like you were doing too much. you threw on your sweater and put your things in your bookbag and left.

you felt your palms getting sweatier the closer you got to the door. you knocked on it when you heard a muffled shout from behind the door. a few seconds later, you were met with miles - hair out and curly afro falling at the sides of his fade, black wife beater   on that exposed his gold chain and well defined muscles. he had a pair of black joggers on that showed the waistband of his boxers, god he looked good.

"you gonna keep standing there or do you want to come in" he joked with you. you rolled your eyes fondly before taking your shoes off by the door "you took your braids out" you pointed out. "getting em redone tomorrow" he told you. "by the way, my mom's here and she insisted on making you dinner" he told you, you nod your head before following him to the kitchen. "ahh cariño, you must be y/n" a woman greeted you with a smile and a hug. "i'm miles' mom, rio. when he told me he was bringing his little girlfriend over i had to meet you. and i made dinner, hope you don't mind" she told you. "momm" miles groaned making you giggle.

"not at all ms morales" you smiled at her. "miles baby be a gentleman, take her bag and her sweater for her" she told her son. he went up behind you and gently pulled them off your back before going to his room. "you want a plate baby? i made pollo guisado y arroz" she asked you. "that sounds really yummy, thank you" you answered. miles came back from his room and shared his own plate along with you guys' and you all sat at their dining table. you sat in the chair that you figured was his dad's and you found yourself growing a little sorry.

you took a bite of your food and your face twisted in delight. "oh this is so good, been too long since i had good home food" you admitted, taking another bite. "thank you sweetie" her face softened with a sorrowful look. she'd heard about your mom after miles explained why he ditched school and why she got a call from some man telling her he was kissing his daughter.

"your house is really nice by the way, i love the feel of it it's so pretty" you told her. "ahhh you're gonna give me a big head, thank you bonita" she smiled at you. you looked up and saw a picture of miles sitting on the wall ledge when he was a toddler, mean mug on his face. "awww is that you?" you asked him, pointing to the picture. he looked at where you were pointing and smiled a little before nodding his head. "ahhh you're so adorablee" you said in a baby voice. he looked at you and you continued "and you still got that same mug" you joked, poking his cheek.

rio began sharing stories of miles when he was a kid and how stubborn he was. how he would test his parents' patience even though he knew they didn't play like that. she pulled out her phone and opened an album she had dedicated to miles and gave you to scroll through. you giggled at how cute and silly he was, but he did not seem amused. a video popped up of rio recording jeff throwing a small miles in the air and telling him how much he loved him. the air grew a little somber and rio cleared her throat "um don't you guys have a project or something, i don't wanna keep you waiting all night" she said picking up the plates.

"uh i can help wash up" you offered. "no, está bien. go hang out and do your work." she smiled. you followed miles to his room and looked around at his choice of decor. his bed sheets were a plain black, not much decorations on his wall except for a few rappers and album covers. he had a desk by his window and a mirror on the side of it. on his desk sat a laptop, notebooks, a lamp, pictures of his mom and dad and a sketchbook off to the side. it was open to you decided to be nosy and move closer to take a peek.

your eyes jumped a little bit when you saw what was an unfinished drawing of your face mid smile. "is this meee?" you picked it up and turned the page back one. this time it was multiple sketches of you from different angles. he moved to pull the book out of your hand and you gave him an awkward smile. "someone's obsessed. am i your muse?" you teased him. he closed the notebook and hid a smile shaking his head, "you are mad nosy" he told you. "draw me like one of your french girls, miles" you teased him some more.

you looked at his posters "frank, tupac, okay tasteee" you said. you continued looking around the room but he didn't seem too bothered by it considering he was sat on his bed just watching you. you looked a little through his shelves, checking out his book collection "i didn't know you read, scholar" you said, taking one down to read it. when you did that, something fell to the floor. miles jumped up to stop you from picking it up when he realized what it was. your smile dropped when you saw the mask you'd just encountered the night before.

"wait what is this?" you asked, tone a little more serious. "listen" was all he got out before you kept going. "don't tell me you're..." you looked at the mask and then back at him, mouth dropping as you made the connection. "ohh don't tell me you're the prowler!" you got a little louder and he slapped a hand over your mouth. "would you hush?! my mom doesn't need to know" he whisper yelled. you stuck your tongue out to lick his hand and he pulled it off you wiping your spit in his sweats. "well that's a really fucking dumb hiding spot!" you yelled back in a whisper.

"miles, you are the prowler??" you asked holding the mask in your. he looked away from your eyes before letting out a sigh and nodding his head "you cannot tell anybody" he pointed a finger to you . "aren't you literally killing people and stuff?? how could you do all of that?!" you argued in a hushed tone. "listen, you don't get it alright? im doing this to help my situation out so don't be coming up in here and judging me!" he argued back.

you sympathized with him a bit before biting back "but you're killing people, oh my fucking god you killed that man last night!" "i was doing that for you! stop fucking walking by yourself at night by the way" he said back to you.

"when did i ask you to do that for me?" you pointed a finger to your chest. "y/n don't you get it. i would do anything for you" he was getting desperate, moving closer to you. "what?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "there's not a line in the world that i wouldn't cross for you." he grabbed your hands. you didn't know what to say next. the tension was so high and you two just looked at each other.

he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, the force pushing you back into his shelf. his hands moved to your waist and your arms crossed behind his neck, deepening the kiss. he pushed his knee between your legs and your breath hitched in your throat. rio opened the door coming into the room "miles gonzalo morales, no hanky panky! you have work to do. ¡puerta abierta!" she shouted before leaving. your heart sank in your chest and you took a deep breath before looking back into his eyes.

"right that's why i came here. didn't come here to argue with you, think i'm gonna leave now" you said moving past him to your bookbag. "don't. i can still help you, i could write it for you if you want" he tried to stop you. you pushed your feelings down, you do still need his help, you could be mad at him later.

you spent the next thirty minutes searching through your textbook for information and typed it while miles looked up formulas and concepts.  you groaned and threw your head back on his pillows. "ey i told you i coulda just wrote it for you, you wanted to be stubborn. ahora haz el trabajo" he told you. you only whined in response before staying silent with your thoughts.

"why are you doing it?" you spoke up. "what?" he furrowed his eyebrows. "the whole prowler thing" "i told you. to help my situation out" he shrugged. you got up on your elbows "no but like why?" he sighed and rolled his eyes

"i do it to help my mom out. she keeps taking mad shifts at the hospital and no matter how much she tells me not to worry, i do. i don't wanna see her stressing herself out like that, it's not fair. so me and my uncle help her out, he was the one who had told me he was the prowler and then i took over but now he just helps me out. and listen i'm not killing people like that. i know what the news says about me and i've only really touched like three people, plus that guy last night. and if i do kill someone it's never innocent people." he explained.

"so like a vigilante typa thing?" you asked him. "i don't know maybe. probably not the good kind though. " he chuckled, feeling a little sorry. you sat and listened to everything he had to say "i know i'm not innocent either, not anymore. but i'm not gonna stop till things are right for us again. i really hope you can understand?" he asked you. you thought for a second before nodding your head. "i don't even know why i'm telling you all that, you not an opp right?" he raised an eyebrow at you. "no, please i could never" you giggled.

he leaned so his face was close enough that you could feel each other's soft breathing while you looked into each other's eyes. he pressed his lips against yours, loving the way your soft lips felt against his. the kiss was softer this time, different from the one before. he put his hands on each side of your jaw.

he moved to line kisses down your neck and you reveled in the feeling it gave you. you bit your bottom lip and put your fingers in his hair before you caught yourself. "wait" you pushed him back a little "your mom said no hanky panky" you mimicked her with a giggle. "so?" he said moving back to your lips. "so..your door is literally open and she's in the room next door" you told him. he moved back to your lips "i can close it" you kissed back for another minute before pulling away again.

"i have a paper to finish" you licked your lips and you could still taste him on you. he helped you finish your writing and after about an hour and a half you clapped, glad to be done. his mom poked her head through the door "mijo, it's getting late. think it's time y/n head home?" she asked the two of you. you both frowned a little bit but you figured it was pretty late and nod your head "yeah okay, we finished up anyways" you smiled at her. you packed your stuff in your bag and miles shoved his feet in his uggs.

"you're coming?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "duh. don't think i'm letting you walk by yourself" there was so much sass in his voice you had to laugh. "alright nigga relax" you giggled.

"have a good night sweetie" rio called out to you from the couch. "you too, mrs morales" you smiled and waved. miles opened the door and followed behind you.

the two of you walked down the few blocks in comfortable silence side by side. miles copied the speed you walked and made his feet match yours in sync. "thanks for helping me by the way. i deadass wouldn't have finished this until probably second period on monday" you told him. "and that's why your ass was pushing a D" he joked with you.

you got to the outside of your apartment building and said your goodbyes, you gave him a kiss on the cheek and entered the building, heading up to your apartment. you showered and went to lay down with a lot to think about.

taglist ౨ৎ

@prettypink-princesss @itsnotino @r3d0n33 @iluvprowlermiles @jmsanchoo @stevenknightmarc @melllinaa @

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE ! BATFAM W/ MILES MORALES (BUT GENDER NEUTRAL) ! READER

Just an outline for a potential full on fic to come.

First of all, I’d like to put credit where credit is due and thank Kden (from Quotev) for creating Straight Venomous and inspiring me to start this. And thank you firefly-graphics and galacticgrafitti for the dividers.

Damian and Reader are of legal age in this fic but there will still be an age gap between them and Bruce (I mean he literally fathered the former so it can’t be helped)

This is my first fic in Tumblr so forgive me if it isn’t up to par for quality and format wise as I’m still learning.

CW/TW: Reader is POC coded as in Latino/Black like Miles although you can kinda have to squint since it’s only from the dialogue with their mother in future chapters. Reader is described to have gained “muscles” and height. Spoilers for Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse. NO NSFW YET BUT WILL COME IN LATER CHAPTERS.

current status: unedited

summary: damian meets and gets attracted to wrinkly brained reader. mostly follows the into the spiderverse plot.

Reply if you’d like to be added to this series’s taglist.

[ PART TWO ] [ PART THREE ]

WHAT’S UP DANGER (PART ONE)

“If I sound lazy just ignore my tone, cause I’m always gonna answer when you call my phone

like what’s up danger?”

You most likely met Damian first.

He was astonished by how much of a failure you were. Really, he wouldn’t have noticed you in the first place if you weren’t such a catastrophe. He knew you only got to his school via raffle but even the worst students here didn’t get complete zeroes on all their scores.

He was probably assigned to be your tutor. Which you remember vehemently refusing. After all you wanted to be expunged from this god awful preppy school filled with elites of all kinds. But nope — you were forced to get along with the worst of them all. Damian Wayne. Perhaps you’ve gone too far and should have settled for a 20 or something on that paper instead . . . or all those quizzes and assignments you purposely got zeroes on.

In any case you now had the Damian Wayne inside your house (if you even call it that) and a paper to write about your ambitions or whatever.

You were basically complete opposites. He was rich, you were below average if not just straight up poor. You even bet he was a daddy’s boy or some shit. (But who were you to judge when your first day at the school literally consisted of your father forcing you to say you love him . . . with the loudest speakers known to man!) He was probably into classical music and while you did enjoy the genre as well you were more of a hip-hop, trap, pop music sorta guy. He was known as a snob that didn’t take bullshit from anyone while you were literally the definition of a pushover.

But surprisingly you two clicked really well. It started with you off-handedly correcting one of his mistakes. It wasn’t supposed to reach his ears really. But the realization that you, the bottom feeder of all bottom feeders corrected him flustered him entirely. That moment stuck within his head for the entire week that it even slipped into his vigilante activities.

Like, after single-handedly decimating a group of people trying to rob a bank he just yells, “How the hell did I get that wrong?!” while that one dude pretending to be unconscious in the background so he wouldn’t get beaten up harder just stares at him in confusion and shock.

After he cools down a bit, he starts wondering how you got it right. He looks into your scores and notices everything before his intervention were literally straight zeroes. Not just in the classes you two shared. It was either you were extremely (un)lucky or . . . you knew every answer from the start.

So he starts taunting you. Forcing you to display your prowess. Calling you an idiot, poor, nobody when you didn’t relent to his provocation.

And so you did. You showed him that you really didn’t need help from him. That you were a genius in your own right. Capable of doing advanced arithmetics within seconds in your head. You were fascinating to him.

And maybe the fact that only he got to know this side of you — not your classmates or teachers, even your parents now that you’ve secured a dorm room close to him (courtesy of the Wayne name) — knew about your intelligence inflated his ego. If only you didn’t have a roommate that bothered you two once in a while. He was quite the annoyance with how the music in his headphones could be heard even across the room. Like seriously, how was the boy not deaf yet?

It was around that time you got your powers.

You began avoiding him (and everyone really) but mostly him (he’d convinced himself). You’d only come to his desk once in a while to tell him that you weren’t available for tutoring that day, or even that entire week. Not to mention your sudden growth in height and muscles. Were you going through . . . puberty? No wait— you’re older than him by a year! Perhaps you were a late bloomer? You probably just started a gym membership. But he didn’t spot you in any gyms throughout Gotham out on his patrol. Not even at your room at night…

That and your already sus scores and attitude prompted him to instigate an entire investigation.

Who was [Y/N] [L/N]?

He knew some facts about you just from your room, the fact that you enjoyed music of all sorts and art, more specifically the graphic - pop look. He even started noticing your name-tags that you’d put everywhere both in his civilian and vigilante life. Seriously, how were you able to put it atop this streetlamp of all places?

Then he started noticing how alike you two actually are. Aside from enjoying art and all, you were incredibly rebellious. You had a relationship with your dad that could only remind him of his with Bruce. He knew you probably get reprimanded for all the vandalism you’ve gotten up to all the time. A small smile graced his lips at the thought.

However this only made him question your avoidance even more. So he decided to take a step further and trail you as robin (even harder).

You were getting really close with this Gwen girl in class. He quipped in his head as he noticed you two walking together.

Were you . . . going to the gym to impress her?

You didn’t seem like the type to change yourself for the sake of others. Despite your downtrodden attitude about academics. He can see the hidden potential, that confidence he wanted out for him to witness and bask in. He wanted to see all sides of you he realized.

He wanted to be the only one who did.

But just as he was about to follow you two into a dark alleyway he gets called by Dick of all people to investigate something else. Something about a man trying to cross realities and universes? Pah, as if that was more important than this. Nightwing can handle himself. He couldn’t have his competence questioned though. So with a reluctant sigh, he takes off into the night sky. Wondering what the pair he followed could be doing.

[ PART TWO ] [ PART THREE ]

[bcbdrums]

Ok give me your feelings on SidStein and Sid/Naigus

First, to others waiting for ask answers - I answer out of order, sorry. I gotta go with what I'm in the mood to reply to and/or have time to reply to. So yeah.

Second, I'm DUMB I did not realize this ask was for the Bingo-card thing until you sent the ask a second time. So I'll answer to that second one with the Bingo card because...... I typed up this LOOOOOOONG reply that you see here, and realized right as I was about to drop it into queue that I'd totally misunderstood the ask. But. I wanted to ramble about this, so, the internet gets my opinions regardless.

I have SO many thoughts about Stein and Sid and things I plan to write (some very soon, which are mentioned herein but not in a fic context). Headcanons incoming!

Okay so I don't ship Stein/Sid but they are definitely very good friends. I think it probably started in the academy when Sid joined their class super-young just like Stein did. Younger than the average student, but not quite as young as Stein was. Very talented. I think he'd have caught Stein's attention for his skill at a young age, and also for his no-nonsense way of looking at things. Stein struggles with morality, and Sid is very black and white about everything. He never has those debates with himself, he's just got the answer ready to go. So I think that would have intrigued Stein.

Another thing is, Sid wouldn't have looked at Stein as a freak nor been afraid of him. In Sid's typical manner of taking things at face value, that's how he'd have taken Stein. Another talented meister who happens to enjoy vivisection as a hobby and thus he'd know to watch his back in that regard, but no differently than he watches his back generally. He truly wouldn't treat Stein differently than anyone else. This too would catch Stein's notice.

They'd become friends in a different way than Stein and Spirit are friends. No living together, only seeing each other in class, on assignments, and socially when Stein gets dragged out by Spirit to do things. And Sid would just...treat him like he treats everyone else. So, this and Sid's unique black and white take on everything would intrigue Stein.

He'd soon learn of and rely on Sid's absolute loyalty and trustworthiness in battle. He would possibly gradually make Sid a confidant and/or distraction as the world slowly begins to fall out from under Stein, as he sees a future coming where he may lose his weapon and then ultimately...it happens.

I think Sid stayed by Stein's side after that... After Spirit was gone, and with him, Stein's thready hold on sanity... (Or was Spirit also a hold on madness, hmm~) I think Sid was a rock for Stein in that time, because that's the kind of man Sid is. He's not the type to leave a friend in need. Even if he doesn't know how to help. And I think they'd remain good friends through the following years and Sid would be one of the reasons Stein didn't just...vanish off into the ether after losing Spirit.

I think Sid was a strong grounding force for Stein through those remaining years of Stein's adolescence and young adulthood even though Sid is younger. His unique grasp of morality would have continued to fascinate and confuse Stein, and be something he could use in his own confused rationalizations as he suddenly finds himself forced to navigate life without his weapon, using other weapons, and...then what, after he graduates? Sid would still be there.

So... I think when Sid died, Stein couldn't take it. He couldn't take the loss of another friend. But this time...he just might be able to do something about it. So he did. (I looked it up but couldn't find it anywhere, but some people imply?? That Lord Death ordered Stein to bring Sid back. If that's canon someone please direct me to the reference; maybe it's in SE NOT? I think Stein did it all on his own....)

So anyway....yeah. And I think after bringing Sid back to life, they remained good friends. Plenty of canon evidence (in both canons) to suggest as much. :)

Moving on now... Sid/Naigus. I've less to say here, I don't think about them too much. First off, yes, I like the ship. I think they were a couple while still in the academy together. I also think Naigus is slightly older than Sid. I think she was always there, an extension of Sid even through his friendship with Stein. Another calm and steady presence that perplexed and also helped steady our madman.

I also think Naigus reels Sid in from extremes. Because he's so black and white about everything, there may be areas that warrant some thought spent in the gray area that he is oblivious to, and she offers him that balance. Her thoughtfulness complements his iron will. Likewise, he brings out the best in her. A little knife who never makes death scythe, but is the choice weapon of someone who ultimately becomes a renowned three-star meister, highly-regarded teacher, and one in Lord Death's inner circle? And he chooses her. His fortitude would help her increase her confidence in herself, to be more sure and forthright with her opinions, even if they clash with his; after all, he's never shy of sharing, so why should she be? I think she has a deep empathy, but she's also as no-nonsense as Sid. She'll take the time to read people and a situation that Sid may not, but she won't pander to anyone.

I'm terrible at jokes and puns, but I keep wanting to say something here about... quick stabs of wisdom? They both cut to the chase? Someone more clever than me can say something about this later.

Are they a couple? Oh yes, yes they are. Sid likes women, and Mira likes Sid. I don't really know what else to say on that except they like everything about each other. Looks, personality, attitude, fighting styles... And they respect each other. They don't balk if the other tells them they need to rein something in; they'll listen. They know the other knows them that well. They're meister and weapon, after all. Who knows another's soul better than their partner?

Now, manga!Sid..... And I know you've not read it, so I won't spoil... But we're gonna ignore certain aspects of manga!Sid's personality because I think anyone reading this who has read the manga can agree with me that those aspects of Sid are just the author projecting his own...tendencies...onto the character. That's as far as I'll go with that. Sometimes things are just blatantly...not truly part of the story. So yeah.

THANK YOU again for this ask, I've actually had Stein and Sid on my mind quite a lot in these last few weeks. A fic is being mentally written, haha, and I looooove it.

[qqueenofhades]

Hello! Anon with the history professor who refuses to take a stance on anything here. It's time for our semester final paper. Thankfully it's not on why communism is bad because he still absolutely won't talk about that but it's on the equally frustrating topic of US involvement with the war in Ukraine. And on one hand, it feels like it should be a fairly easy thing to write about given how much the war has been in the news for the past year, right, but at the same time, I feel like I'm writing basically from what I've learned from reading the news only. Don't get me wrong, my history professor does absolutely know what he's talking about. I don't exactly know how to explain it- he clearly knows his stuff but is not good at conveying it to the class? And it leaves me scrambling because yes, this is a topic that I can write a paper on but at the same time I just don't feel as though we've spent enough time talking about it and learning about it.

That is to say, we've spent plenty of time learning ABOUT the war in Ukraine, right, but the paper topic is basically "should the US get involved in Ukraine and if so, to what extent, why or why not" (I can look up the exact phrasing if you want) but while we've talked about the war, we haven't discussed things so much as what the US is currently doing exactly, nor what benefits and/or consequences would be the result because remember, he's not here to influence us one way or another and that's our opinion to form and that's why he's assigning us this essay but can't talk about whether he thinks US involvement is a good or a bad thing so I have very little to work with from the actual class. And I get it, I do, we're supposed to be able to do our own research and not just have the facts from either side spoon fed to us so that we can crap out an essay but it feels like I'm working with nothing here.

If it helps at all, it's a Russian history class I'm taking that counts as a gen-ed history credit through my university's honors college. All of first semester was basically all pre-WW1 history and we've covered everything from there up until present day in the last couple months, then the rest of the school year will be learning about the modern political, social, and economic situation there. It's definitely a fun class even if it can't go super in depth into any one specific thing there (because there's so many units in this class that could be an entire class all on their own) but I still enjoy it even if it's not taught in the best way possible. I'm a freshman this year, yes, but it also feels like after almost an entire school year I should have a better idea about how to deal with this sort of thing and I don't and it sucks. I'm definitely enjoying the class and everything that I'm learning there, I just feel as though it could be taught so much better, and I'm just reaching out for help and advice now if you have any. I'm not asking for help with the paper itself, to be clear- I'm asking more about how do deal with this situation and the class and the professor's style of teaching that I feel like I'm struggling more and more to deal with just because he can't take a goddamned stance on fucking anything. Ahem. Rant over. Sorry.

Okay but yet again, this remains utterly bamboozling for me. Not least because the paper topic is one where you HAVE to take a side, but how the heck is he going to mark it? Just correct your grammar/spelling/style and say nothing about the content and whether you have successfully made an argument, because that might be Expressing An Opinion? Not least because you will need to draw material from the class (which he won't really teach you about for fear of expressing said opinion), and you will have to demonstrate how it all works together and the actual moral and physical consequences of the system, which he seems to have avoided giving you any intellectual tools to do??? I just. Yeah.

Likewise, if he just treats it as an abstract exercise where "either point of view is valid" and he somehow grades without making it clear which side of the argument he supports, you're going to end up with some weird theoretical exercise where you could end up entirely justifying the war in Ukraine from Russia's perspective, which is... not what a history class on the USSR/post-Soviet Russia should have taught you. Like, you could literally write this paper using nothing but Russian propaganda sources, and you technically would have made a successful argument that US involvement in Ukraine is bad and this war is all NATO's fault and Ukraine should have just surrendered and Russian war crimes are justified and etc. etc., but if your professor won't take a side, how would he actually be able to discredit that or call it into question? After all, that might be expressing an opinion! In other words, he's teaching you, intentionally or otherwise, that you can make arguments that sound coherent and faithfully represent talking points offered up, but you have absolutely no ability to separate propaganda vs. actual empirical information, you have automatically given up the right to make any critical distinction between that information for your audience, and that's not... that's not what a historian DOES!

Anyway, this man's pedagogical style remains completely mystifying to me, especially in a field that is so distorted by ideology/misinformation as Soviet/Russian history. Like... you can't study Russian history without studying the historiographical and narrative systems that Russia has used to tell particular stories about itself, and you have to be able to critically differentiate between the reality and the narrative! The Russian word dezinformatsiya, imported into English as "disinformation," literally came from the Soviet-era KGB in terms of their political strategy to just make stuff up about dissidents and anyone else who threatened the Soviet regime, and since we are all talking about "disinformation" and "fake news" these days, it's kind of important to know how to deal with that! Plus, Putin has presently weaponized it to an absurd global degree with Western election interference campaigns and internet troll-farms, so like again. How can you say anything useful or valuable on this subject if you're essentially acting like "both sides are valid," when they are NOT??!

I realize that I have answered your rant with one of my own (oops) and I'm unsure how much help this is, but I still don't get this professor's teaching choices at all. I'm glad you're still getting something out of the course, but yeah. Mystifying.

[flaringfoxsoul03]

@pastelsnake420 asked me this:

My names snakey, ENFP Gemini and I identify as a somewhat female who uses she/they pronouns! I’d describe myself as someone who’s pretty chill and go with the flow combined with strong morals however I can be stubborn and direct when needed to be. I have been told that I appear confident however once you get to know me anxiety will roll out. My greatest compliment that I’ve ever received is that Im funny and I enjoy making others laugh and seeing them smile BUT I am sensitive and can be a bit moody here and there. Despite being a bit of a clown, I enjoy deep conservations that range from anything to everything. I study sociology and I adore discussing our world around us and the possibilities that we could all achieve! I’m a bit of an idealist who just wants everyone to be kind and happy. My hobbies include listening to music and playing the kalimba (somewhat alright), I enjoy video games and all things imaginative! I DESPISE maths with an absolute passion (I suffer from dyscalculia sadly) and I will talk badly about it at any moment I’m given. I would say that I’m very affectionate once I get to know someone and will be extremely loyal. My humour is a fine line between irony and sarcasm however I would say I’m good at picking up on social cues if someone isn’t in the mood to do so.

Overall I’m basically the cool mad aunt/mother of a friend group.

Thank you!!! Hope you’re doing well 💚

Oh sorry I forgot to say I’d like an obey me match up

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

Awwww, thank you Snakey 💚, and I am having the hardest decision to make here. You are such a lovable person, who would want to resist you?~

Also, I’m so sorry this took so long to come out, I hope you’ll forgive me for taking a while.

Warning: Anxiety

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

I match you with…

Satan!

————————————

Definition of near perfection, Satan is your match. He’s just the right level of energy for you. Not what you were expecting? I figured, but let me break it down for you why I think he’s your special demon~

He studies you like another research paper he’s doing for class because you’re almost the definition of an oxymoron for him, confident and mature but when he takes a closer inspection, he sees all the anxiety you bottle up away from him and all of his brothers. He sees you switch from one mood to another as soon as his brothers get what they want out of you. It pisses him off how much you choose to act rather than ask for space when you really just need a breather from responsibilities. Sounds like someone else we all know too well~

He takes advantage of this desire of yours to do what each of the brothers wish and take you away to a cat cafe. A place to relax and not make it totally about him, legit strategic thinking! Give him a chance to pick your brain while he occupies it with cats, drinks, food, and books. If you pick up on what he’s doing, start talking about what makes you. He’s genuinely curious to know what kind of a person you are, much less about your race and how your peoples are different from each other

This is where he starts to fall HARD for you. You talking about your own personal studies, especially sociology, gives him such intellectual conversation with you he literally forgets where the time has gone. He loves that you’re really smart and on top of that, you can play an unique instrument! He’s only ever seen kalimbas in museums and the occasional concert, he does have connections if you ever want to improve your skills with other demonic professionals

Would love to hear you talk mad shit, even if it’s just math. He’s probably figured out you have a disability even before you remember to mention it to him. You’re literally way too nice to everyone but yourself, he loves this refresher that you can and will talk big smack. Even better, through all your complaints, helps you with anything math work that’s assigned in school. He may not know what it’s like to have a disability that’s recognized as such, but he wants to be there to support you while you’re the one supporting all of his brothers and an entire exchange program on top of that. Plus, he can be quite convincing to have you join in on his pranks on Lucifer with Belphie tagging along (more like make sure it’s not deadly, but same thing, right?)

Later down the line when you get to know the brothers better (think like when they all made a mess at the carnival restaurant because Beelzebub tried to eat the place out of business) Satan gets a taste of your wrath in your commanding presence. Sure, he’s not thrilled he was part of the problem and had to suffer the consequences of almost destroying a restaurant, but you finally took control like a master should. Lowkey, he thinks it’s super hot. You should try being in more control when his brothers try to drag you around to things. But does in fact apologize to you personally after the whole incident when he gets a moment with you alone, that was uncalled for. But does mention you should be happy you put them in their place, it was a dire situation

Satan also puts in his best effort to help you when things get to be too much to be that commandeering person you need to be sometimes. He finds this out as he’s making his apologies to you for the incident I previously mention as you finally break down openly in front of him for the first time. He blanks for a second as the water works force their way up to the surface, but the next thing you know, he’s leading you to your bed and trying to get you to let it all out. It must be tough, but Satan loves that you finally can rely on him as someone you can trust when you need the extra help. He likes being that rock for you to hold on to when you feel like you just can’t fight the current anymore. He wants to so desperately help you in anyway you can, but he slowly calms you down first and asks if you can explain how it all led up to the break down and see if he can help you more than he is now. Literally definition of the supporting role for characters in his many books

You have so. many. inside. jokes. It’s kinda insane how many of them you guys can make in a singular day. One time, Belphie suggested to the two of you to make as many inside jokes you could before the end of the day. You and Satan did so many, that Lucifer tried to punish you both, but literally couldn’t find a justification in how he could make a punishment without causing another stupid fight. You both also turned that into an inside joke. Belphie said he lost count around 69 or so, but I bet that made the inside joke count even higher~

Enjoys the affection you often give after you get to know each other better, because even as eloquent words escape his mouth, sometimes he prefers to be more direct in his approach to have you know just how much he loves you~. Even the platonic side of it is just so domestic that it sends Satan’s heart to do flips as he pretends that nothing is wrong while you’re so close to his heart~

Loves how your creativity comes out in the wackiest ways possible. Like that one time you threw glitter everywhere outside in the garden onto a glue covered canvas and somehow made a random galaxy out of it. Not sure how that happened until he got there during the halfway mark, but it simply makes him giggle to himself. He will absolutely ask to see how you would make cat art if you choose to do so, which that turned into a Project Kitty Keychain. That was basically learning how to make pins to hook to a keychain, but add your little spin to it. He treasures this in many spells made to protect the keychain from wear and tear, he did the same to your copy(cat) too

=================

The follow ups are:

Lucifer

And

Solomon

————————————

That’s it folks! Until next time!

~ Fox

[marshmellowtea]

anyway i keep complaining about the killing eve inspired who's lila au living in my head rent free so i might as well. fuckin. make a post about it lmao

putting this under a cut because holy fuck this got long (and this isn't even everything, if you can fucking believe it) (also warning for some mentions of ableism, if there's anything else i need to warn for lmk)

honestly i never watched all of killing eve nor do i really remember most of the plot so i'm calling it "inspired by" rather than a fusion au or something because it's just become more and more its own thing. really this whole thing kicked off because my brain went "hrhrhghg. lila (and will by extension) wearing pretty outfits and killing people while tanya tries to figure out who the fuck she is. mommy issues. sapphic girls. send tweet" and that's the basis this thing was founded on lol. (i was correct for this btw, in case you were wondering /lh)

will and lila do share a body in this au but i'm kinda flip flopping between whether or not they're a system or if i wanna take this further away from the source material and add supernatural elements to this where lila is a tulpa/spirit/whatever tf she is that latched onto will like in their original canon. i'm kinda leaning toward the latter because i don't want this to fall into stereotypes about people with DID being scary or evil (like. lila isn't evil in this au but she does enjoy killing people which can frankly pose a Problem even if i do try to be delicate/more nuanced about it) but i feel like stereotypes can happen either way so i'm. trying to figure out what to do here ahgkldjglk. this is another reason this au was originally going to stay solely in my head but honestly i developed too much to keep it bottled up so HGDKSJFKL

either way they share a body but lila does all of the killing because will is squeamish and frankly far too sweet to be a murderer lmao. they have a way better relationship here than the one they have in canon, they're more like friends or siblings and lila goes out of her way to protect will......even if she can be a bit careless with their body sometimes. when she does get injured on assignments though she tends to get him a treat (things like clothes, food, stuffed animals, toys, books, games, etc agere stuff too because that slipped in here OOPS) to try and make up for it, though honestly, sometimes she gets him things just because. their apartment is littered with things lila bought (or stole....) for him at this point cuz it's the way she shows her love for him basically. what else is she gonna do, express it verbally? fuck that lmao

i was kinda agonizing about this choice but yu is their handler/the one who gives them their missions, and also their surrogate father figure because of course he is lmao. i was kinda worrying about this being ooc for him but then i realized like....he was part of the group that killed the rest of the lawrence fraternity, which regardless of intention is still murder ahglkdjsf. i feel like a lot of people gloss over how morally dubious that was, even if it was almost definitely his best option given the circumstances, so i'm just taking that same logic and bringing it here--lila was trained to kill by and for the lawrence fraternity in this au, and once they're gone (either by dying, arrest, or something else, maybe she just runs from them idk that could be interesting) she just continues killing because it's all she knows. since she refuses proper rehabilitation, yu here is like "look, if you want to kill, we can find some people we need you to kill as a last resort, and we'll even pay you well for it. please stop killing random people you choose to pick fights with" ahdlkjlkJFD. also, having her technically employed by him helps keep her and will close so that he can make sure they're safe because he worries about these orphaned teenagers okay :'))

tanya's role here is kinda nebulous here, originally she was going to be an agent tracking lila down like eve was but i didn't wanna bother messing with these character's ages (i ALREADY have an au where they're aged up to their mid twenties for the sake of plot so give me a break lmao) so now she's more like.....technically a witness who decides to get invested in the case despite being like 17/18 and having no expertise lmao. like in the og killing eve i was thinking maybe she meets lila in the bathroom before she kills someone and thus becomes obsessed with her when she realizes she's probably the killer? i have to work on her more idk i just want these two to be weirdly obsessed with each other and for tanya to frantically hunt her down with her limited resources before they eventually meet and KISS about it

tbh as an additional motive for tanya i have been toying with the idea of martha being the one lila kills since that's her friend and it would fit with that one who's lila scene BUT two problems: 1) i would have to come up with a reason for lila to have to kill martha and i can't. really think of a good one especially if yu is the one giving her orders, and 2) i would just feel really bad about doing that to her. hgdalksjflksadf. she might be spared solely on my guilt alone honestly, we'll see what happens.

anyway that's the basics of the au i just wanted to get this fucking word vomit out there. i may or may not post more about this later (or, god forbid, i might write an actual fic, could you fucking imagine lmao) but yeah. if you read all of this bless your soul i love you

[narcissa-black-supermacy]

you know what's insane?

how people take qualities that are literally Sirius Black's by canon and by definition and re-assign them to Regulus? At this point I keep dropping so many good fics bc the new fanon "Regulus" is literally just Sirius but sadder, softer and all uwu poor lil boy - so it's obviously easier to like him because he is not bold, arrogant, loud and confident like Sirius, but still somehow has the same tragic backstory as him?

honestly the way i talk about regulus on here you would think i hate him but no-- i just hate what's been done to his character lately. whats with peoples need to purify and excuse everything? just. let him be bad. morally grey. enjoy it.

you dont have to find an explanation about how NO he actually hated his parents too and wanted to run away he just stayed to protect his brother-- no, stop, he is a person of his own, he was a pure blood elitist who joined the DEs for power, but he also loved his house elf and turned on the dark lord once he realised he was a fraud--- let those thing co-exist, i am begging you

[plus-size-reader]

Talent

Eddie Brock x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1897 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Eddie being assigned a co host after his first outburst on national television in hopes that it won't happen again, but it doesn’t exactly go as planned

—————————————————————————————————

If there was ever a professional rival to Eddie Brock, it was you.

Personally, he didn’t see it.

You were too buttoned up, like you were reading from a set of cue cards whenever you found yourself in front of a camera, and he would never do that. That sort of reporting was inauthentic and if he ever had to act that way, he’d surely quit.

It just wasn’t who he was.

Really, the comparison between you two was sort of insulting for him.

If nothing else, it was a blow to his ego but none of that mattered after what happened with the Daily Globe.

No one would let him work solo again, which was how you’d ended up here in the first place. Both his colleagues and the general audience seemed to think that the two of you would make a perfect pair.

For some reason, the man in question couldn’t keep his mouth shut and needed a babysitter out in the field so that he didn’t make a fool out of everyone at The Eddie Brock Report.

That was something you couldn’t and wouldn’t allow.

In all honesty, the only thing you and Eddie seemed to have in common was the fact that you didn’t quite care for the other, but you didn’t get much of a choice in the matter. Jack made it perfectly clear that Eddie Brock was your meal ticket, and you couldn’t rightfully toss that away.

You loved your job, and you were good at it, so if you had to take care of the man child that was Eddie Brock for a while, you would do that. All you had to do was keep a tight lip and get this whole thing over with.

Once the interview with the Life Foundation was over, and you got paid, you could request a transfer.

It wasn’t like working with him for a few months was going to kill you. Though, he was definitely going to challenge that notion.

This morning, for example, he was already more than an hour late for your meeting.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr.Brock” you sighed, turning around to find Eddie standing in the doorway, finally. He was meant to be here at eight am sharp, just like the rest of you, but evidently, he was too good for that.

Not that you had been expecting much more than that from him.

After all, if he was all that good at his job and showing up when he was supposed to, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. 

Whether Eddie realized it or not, he had developed quite a reputation in all the time he’d been on the air.

At this point, you weren’t even sure if anything he did was going to surprise you. You knew exactly what you were dealing with when you signed up for this.

What he was doing was incredibly unprofessional.

Not only did it make your life more difficult for the time being, but more than anything, he was just getting on your last nerve.

It was like he didn’t even realize that his job depended on how well this interview went. The Life Foundation was a monster of a company, and Carlton Drake had incredible influence over what happened in this city.

If this interview went poorly, it would reflect negatively on both of your careers.

You couldn’t let him ruin this for you.

Still, even from where he was standing in the doorway, terribly late and under-prepared, Eddie couldn’t have cared less about the obvious weight of this assignment.

“How are you already mad at me, I just got here?” he hummed, not even bothering to look at you as he sat down on the other side of the table, a teasing smile on his face. 

You two had only ever been around each other a few times, and never under such terms.

You just didn’t know what to expect.

In your entire career, you had worked with plenty of other people but you had never encountered anyone like Eddie Brock. He was as stubborn as an ass and arrogant even when there was no reason to be.

It just didn’t seem like this was going to work.

If anything, you and Eddie brought the worst out in each other, and because of that, you were sure that this whole thing wasn't going to work. 

Having the two of you work together didn’t make any sense, and you couldn’t imagine anyone would think it would work out.

All in all, working with Eddie was a terrible idea.

“You were supposed to be here two hours ago” you reminded, doing your best to keep a level head. It was becoming clear that if anything was going to get done here, you were going to have to be the one to take control of this.

One of you had to be an adult about this.

If you knew anything about Eddie, he was likely just doing this whole thing to get under your skin, but this wasn’t about that. He had a job to do, and you weren’t going to let him get out of it.

After all, he was the reason you were in this position in the first past, and he wasn’t going to bring you down because of his big mouth.

You had a lot riding on this too.

“Honey, I’m the talent. Last time I checked” he laughed, looking between the rest of the people in the room as if to verify, not that anyone wanted to get into it between the two of you. 

Most of them had worked with you before, and had a lot of respect for you, but that didn’t mean they wanted to go against Eddie either.

He had a reputation as a bit of a drama queen and wouldn’t hesitate to throw a bit of a tantrum regarding whatever happened here.

“Oh, you’re right, I’m so sorry. How could I be so dense? I actually expected the talent to show up” you grumbled back, folding your arms across your chest. You were frustrated, of course, but there was no way he was being serious.

First of all, Eddie wasn’t the talent.

Neither of you were the talent, that was the whole point. He did his job like he was playing a game, or just messing around, like the job itself didn’t matter. In fact, you didn't even think he understood how serious this was.

Clearly, this was all a joke for him.

“Woah, we’re a little snippy today, aren’t we?” he jabbed, still keeping that casual air about him as he antagonized you. There was this snide attitude about him, something that showed you just how much he was enjoying this.

He thought it was funny.

“I’m not, actually. I just give a damn about my job, something that I’m sure you couldn’t understand” you huffed, deciding that you needed to just take care of this yourself. 

Obviously, you were going to have to figure this out if you wanted to get out of this without completely throwing away your entire career.

Having this conversation with him wasn’t worth anything, and it certainly wouldn’t make the Life foundation interview go any more smoothly.

Without missing a beat, you started gathering your things and stuffing them into your bag. 

You had been sitting here for far longer than anyone ever would have for an appointment and seeing how Brock was acting now, you realized just how much of a waste that was.

This really was a mistake.

However, once Eddie realized that you were planning on leaving, the arrogance that you had seen before started to fade away. Whether he liked it or not, he knew that he needed you and if you didn’t help him on this, he wouldn’t have a job.

The only way he got to do the Life foundation interview was if he did it with you by his side, and he needed it.

After everything he’d messed up as of late, he needed someone to take a chance on him so that he could prove himself to everyone who didn’t think he could do it.

“Hey, hold on!” he called, a light jog closing the space between the two of you, where you were now walking away from the meeting room. You had no desire to talk to him, of course, not after how he was acting, but you did stop.

You didn’t move to look at him or ask what it was that he wanted, but you stopped moving so that he could get out whatever it was he was so determined to say.

“I’m sorry if I struck a nerve, I just don’t know how this whole thing is supposed to work out. You know as well as I do that the Life Foundation is a fraud” he sighed, his words little more than a whisper through his teeth.

The truth was right there.

You were a journalist and while he may not have had a ton of respect for you in general, he knew that you could see it. Anyone who had been doing this as long as you had couldn’t possibly be blind to what was going on.

Drake was killing people, and the fact that you were still willing to go through with this interview as if he wasn’t just proved everything that Eddie believed about you to be true. 

You were just another spineless icon without any morals or ideas of your own.

It wasn’t real journalism if you hide the truth.

“Even if that was true, you don’t have any proof. How are we supposed to prove it?” you asked, unsure what he was getting at. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was something wrong with Carlton Drake and the mammoth foundation he’d created.

What he was suggesting was much more than just the usual drama that came along with hiring Eddie Brock but when you looked him in the eye, you noticed that the usual mischief in his eyes was nowhere to be seen.

He was serious.

Wherever this was coming from, Eddie seemed to believe what he was saying.

“I don’t know, but I know that something is wrong and I think we need to figure out what it is” he tried, finally going for broke as he stood in front of you, acting like a crazy person.

By all accounts, you should have turned around and walked away. He was paranoid and completely determined that he was right, in a way that only someone who’d lost their mind would be. However, you couldn't help but believe him

As much as you disliked Eddie on principle, you had a lot of practice figuring out if someone was lying and you knew that whether he was right or not, he believed what he was saying and was telling the truth.

Now, all that was left to do was figure out if there was any truth to his wild claims.

“Give me a few days to ask around. We’ll meet up at the start of next week to talk, but don’t make me wait again” you decided, confident that if he was serious about this, he would show up at the right time.

After all, if he was right, you’d be risking your own career on this.

[pascalpanic]

Ok so i read a little snippet of the new interview w pedro and something stuck with me. He said something about loving to read aloud so IMAGINE FRANKIE. Like I have an idea maybe you’re like a college student who’s cramming for finals and assignments and all overwhelmed. One night before an exam Frankie reads your notes to you as you lie against him in bed. Like this mans voice lulls you to sleep. One page in you’re asleep but u can’t tell me the man doesn’t keep reading since he thinks maybe even in your sleep him reading your notes will help you remember the material for the next day I’m soft 🥺😭

Study Buddy (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: crying, stress, mentions of food, alcohol, non sexual nudity, reader is studying psychology

A/N: this is.... the dream. like the actual dream. And I included ravioli the cat bc I love that little man :)

God, you can’t remember any of this shit on the page in front of you. It makes your brain hurt, and the fact that you’re studying psychology makes it all even worse. You’re studying what makes you tick, the reasons why you can’t remember it, and it’s endlessly annoying. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at your laptop, hand cramping from the amount of definitions you’ve written several times in a desperate attempt to commit them to memory.

You’ve spent this Sunday at your desk, only getting up to use the bathroom. Your doting boyfriend, Frankie, brings you food, refills your water, rubs your shoulders for you. The final exam is Wednesday, but you’re still filled with anxiety over what you do and don’t know. It feels like everything you learned this semester went in one ear and out the other after the initial tests on the individual units.

This exam is important. The course is a heavily impactful one, naturally an essential knowledge base for the field of mental health work, and passing it with a good grade would be a real standout later when you’re applying for medical school. It’s safe to say the pressure’s on, and you’re feeling it squeeze down on you like a vise.

Frankie walks in again, about an hour after the last time, when he brought you graham crackers and hot tea. You lift your head to look at him, wincing as your neck crunches with the movement. Frankie winces for you. “Wow.” “I know,” you whine, rolling your neck side to side and working out the rest of the air bubbles that formed from staring down at the full notebook. Looking up at him, your eyes water from the constant light of your laptop, even with your blue-light glasses. “What time is it?” You ask.

Frankie sits on the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs. “Uh, it’s about 8 P.M. now.” Ravioli, his cat, lifts his head from where he’s curled on the bed. Frankie murmurs something and rubs the cat’s fluffy little head. Ravioli prances over to Frankie’s lap and curls up in it.

You groan and scoot your rolling chair over to him, his hand finding the tender spot where your neck and shoulder meet and rubbing the sore muscles. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, removing your glasses and wiping the small gathering of tears from your lower eyelids. “Can I run you a bath?”

“I don’t have time, baby,” you whimper, real heavy and hot tears forming as you look back at your desk. “A whole portion of the exam is gonna be on classical conditioning, and I can’t even tell the difference in the unconditioned and conditioned stimuli, and-”

As your words rise in pitch and the cry chokes your throat, Frankie pulls you out of the chair and into his lap. Ravioli nervously removes himself from Frankie’s lap, not wanting to be crushed as you two embrace. “You have all of tomorrow and Tuesday.”

“But I need to use tomorrow for parts of the brain and Tuesday for all-around final review!” You wail, burying your face in his chest and sobbing.

Your tears dampen his shirt but Frankie doesn’t care, he just wraps his arms around you tighter as you cry. He lets the tears fall for a bit, allowing you to get the tension you clearly need out… well, out. He rocks you gently in his arms, holding you in his strong arms and kissing your head. When the tears slow and your wheezes turn to small hiccups, Frankie gives a slow deep breath, knowing you’ll feel it and hoping you’ll mimic it. “You’ve been at your desk for nine hours, baby. It’s time to be done for the night. I’ll let you study a little longer, but I’m going to run us a bath. Okay?” He asks.

Nodding, you sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes. “I got snot all over your favorite shirt,” you whimper.

Frankie shakes his head. “It’s nothing, querida. Go finish up and I’ll get the bath started.” He slides you back into your desk chair and rolls you back to your desk.

You wipe the snot onto the sleeve of your hoodie and look up at him with big eyes. “You’re too good to me, baby,” you coo, voice still watery.

“Just doing what you deserve.” Frankie stands behind you and removes the tight bun from your hair, letting it fall down and massaging your scalp gently. “Oh, honey,” he sighs as he sees you visibly relax. “That was tight.”

“Didn’t even notice,” you murmur as your eyes slip shut, falling back into Frankie’s strong fingers as they trace your sore scalp. He kisses your forehead and walks off to the bathroom, making you sigh and put your blue light glasses back on for the final few minutes of studying.

With these moments, you review things you already know, deciding to use part of tomorrow to focus on the classical conditioning components again. It’s incredibly basic, you know, and the fact that you don’t get it makes you even more frustrated. You break your own rules and stare at the blank diagram, trying to properly label them, only to feel angry tears welling up.

“Pavlov was an asshole, doing all that tempting to his dogs,” Frankie chuckles as he walks in to see you at the segment again. His small smile falls when he sees your eyes are watering. Helping you from the chair, he shuts your laptop and notebook and wraps his arms around you. “Hey. You’ll get it, baby. Taking a break and coming back helps, right? Didn’t you call that…”

“Spaced practice,” you nod. “Or dispersed. Either term works,” you sniffle.

“See? I’m learning from you. You’ll have your M.D. in no time.”

You give a weak chuckle and walk with Frankie to the bathroom, sighing as you smell your favorite candle and notice that he turned the bathroom light to a soft orange glow. He’d insisted on putting in the color-changing lights recently, and you have to admit you enjoy them. The tub steams with clear water and you turn to Frankie to frown only to see him holding two bath bombs. “Your choice. I know you like picking.”

This makes you finally break from your scowl into a small smile. You pick your favorite, one with pink and purple swirls and a rose on top. Frankie nods and lets you take it. “You do the honors. I’ll go get the bubbles.”

Before he can turn, you stop him and take his face in your hands, kissing him lovingly. “You’re the best,” you tell him with a weak smile.

“How about some wine too?” He offers, rubbing your side.

“God, let’s run away and get married,” you laugh and rest your head against his chest. “Yes, wine please, baby.”

“Be right back,” he smiles and kisses your forehead.

You squat and drop the bath bomb in the water, sighing as the steam becomes scented of jasmine and sage. The water swirls purple and Frankie returns in a few moments with a bottle of red wine and lavender bubble bath. Sighing, you stand to full height and stretch, your back aching from the strained position. Frankie helps you remove your hoodie, slipping it off and tossing it aside before removing his own clothes.

Frankie pours some of the opened red wine into two glasses, then drizzles some bubble bath into the tub. He turns on the jets for a moment, letting the bubbles foam to the top. He slides in once he’s fully naked, grabbing his wine from the side and sighing. “Come on in.”

Smiling over at him, you tie your hair back and slide in, sitting on his lap in the water and grabbing your glass of wine too. You rest your head against Frankie’s broad chest and he turns on the jets, swirling the warm water around the both of you.

It’s just as relaxing as he’d hoped it would be. You sip your wine as he snakes an arm around your middle, kissing the top of your head. You’re both fully naked, but the moment isn’t anything sexy or hot. It’s just loving, snuggling in the warm water.

Handing Frankie your glass, you slip beneath the surface of the bubbles, fully submerging yourself in the deep tub. God, you’re glad Frankie chose the deepest tub they had. Popping back up, you push back your hair and sigh, nuzzling back into his chest.

“Is this all okay?” Frankie asks you after a bit, having set his wine aside and wrapped both arms around you.

Turning off the jets to talk, you smile contentedly as his warm body envelopes you. “So good. God, you’re amazing.”

Frankie smiles at that and squeezes you a little tighter. “You deserve it. You work so hard all the damn time, and you’re so beyond smart. I’m so proud of you, and you need to be treated like this.”

The mention of your work alone makes your body less fluid and relaxed as you start going over your studying plan to make sure you have everything ready for the next few days. Frankie can feel it. “Hey. Relax. Do you want me to help you study?”

You open your mouth to say no, but the offer intrigues you, making you pause. “How?”

Frankie shrugs. “I could quiz you. Read your notes to you.”

His voice always makes things stick better. You remember things much better in Frankie’s voice, holding every little thing the man says in extra high regard. “That would be lovely, baby. Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he mumbles and kisses behind your ear.

Frankie pours you another half of a glass and by the time you finish it, the water has become lukewarm. The two of you drain the tub and dry off. Frankie brings you warm and clean clothes, a pair of cotton shorts and one of his hoodies. “You know me so well,” you beam at him and kiss him slowly. “When this is over, I’m gonna give you the best fuck of your life for being so good to me.”

Frankie has to laugh. “I mean, I’ll never say no to that, but you don’t have to. This is what partners do. This is my job as your man.”

“‘Mmm, and what a good man you are,” you purr as you nuzzle into his body once your clothes are on. “Gonna go take my meds and meet you in bed, okay?” You ask.

“Sure thing.” He kisses your head and pulls on his pajamas, blue plaid boxers and an old t-shirt, a grungy old thing with a terrible graphic relating to the Delta Force.

“You wanna put some pants on?” You tease, admiring his bare legs beneath the soft fabric.

Frankie yawns, stretching his arms above his head, before shaking it and smiling at you. “Mind your own business.” He retreats to the bedroom, and you can hear him cooing to the cat.

Taking your pills in the kitchen, you return to the bedroom and smile to see Frankie snuggled under the covers, Ravioli’s whiskers sniffing at Frankie’s face. The cat stands on Frankie’s chest, investigating his face. When he sees you, Frankie lifts Ravioli off his chest and pulls back the blankets. “Get on in here.”

Grabbing your thick notebook, you snuggle into the bed, resting your damp head on Frankie’s chest. Frankie kisses your wet hair, wrapping his arm around beneath you and taking the notes from your hands. He cracks it open and sighs. “Alright, brace yourself. I don’t know how to say any of this shit.”

You laugh, resting a hand on his chest. “Do your best.”

“We’ll see,” he chuckles and reads over the page. “Do you want me to quiz you or just read to you?”

“Just read, please,” you say softly as you let your eyes fall shut, absorbing Frankie’s warmth and Ravioli’s weight as he lies down on your feet.

His voice is so soothing. It always is, everything about Frankie is. His voice is low and soft, only loud enough for you to hear it. He begins explaining the difference in the Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas, and even though he clearly doesn’t understand the meaning behind the words, his lovely voice makes them stick.

He reads to you as you get sleepier, the weight and exhaustion of your burning eyes bringing you closer to drifting off. Before you do, you catch yourself and open them, smiling at the cat snuggled at your feet and the rise and fall of Frankie’s chest.

“Will you read me the bit about the different components of classical conditioning?” You ask quietly, hoping his voice will make the concept clearer or at least more memorable.

He nods and his scruff brushes over your forehead as he readjusts his head. Your hand rests on his soft belly, the warm skin and tufts of hair leading lower. He’s like a human comfort blanket, and you can’t help but nuzzle closer into his body.

Trying to go slowly and understand the concept himself, Frankie reads aloud the differences in the conditioned and unconditioned responses and stimuli. As much as you try to focus, your mind slips away into a warm fog, only emphasized by the lilt of his deep voice.

It doesn’t take long after one last yawn. You succumb to the sleep, and your whole body melts into the mattress and into Frankie. One slow sigh tells Frankie that he has succeeded in relaxing you.

Careful not to shift you too much, Frankie leans upwards to toss the notebook on the desk. It lands with a slap, making you jump and startle awake. “Shh, it’s all good, baby, it’s just me,” Frankie murmurs to you, stroking your back through the hoodie.

That’s all you needed, a reassurance that Frankie’s got whatever it is covered. You give half of a nod and rest your head on his chest once more, returning to the slightly deeper sleep.

As your breath slows, so does Frankie’s. He just barely holds back a yawn, clenching his teeth so that he doesn’t make enough noise to wake you again. Once his eyes slip shut, he’s done for, and your little family is all asleep on the bed: you and Frankie intertwined, and the cat at your feet.

-

taglist:

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[vestaldestroyer]

BSD characters as Tarot cards

0 - The Fool - Nakajima Atsushi

The Fool represents someone who is at the beginning of their journey and knows nothing about the world. Innocent, naive, a blank piece of paper. No other card would be more fitting for Atsushi.

I - The Magician - Nakahara Chuuya

This card embodies pure willpower. The magician takes everything that is available to them and molds it to fit their own image. Which is why I think it should be Chuuya, who takes everything fate gives him and makes it his own.

II - High Priestess - Ozaki Kouyou

The High Priestess is the guardian of the unconscious and embodies intuition. She is the voice in the back of our head that guides us, the same way Kouyou guides Chuuya as well as Mori and the Mafia.

III - The Empress - Yosano Akiko

Do I even need to say anything here? The Empress is a mother figure that nurtures and brings life. I think she is just that to the detectives.

IV - The Emperor - Hirotsu Ryuurou

The Emperor is an authoritative figure. They have accumulated wisdom over the years, which allows them to have everything under control. Someone might think of Mori or Fukuzawa here, but I think they are too impulsive to fit this archetype.

V - The Hierophant - Sakaguchi Ango

A person under the Hierophant card is guided by tradition. They follow the path they consider objectively right. They value morals and conformity. Kunikida would be a good fit here, but since Mayoi assigned him a different card, I put Ango here.

VI - Lovers - Akutagawa Gin

This card suggests a person with a harmonious inner duality. Gin's mafia persona and casual persona are exactly like that. They coexist peacefully.

VII - The Chariot - Miyazawa Kenji

While self-control is not exactly Kenji's forte, I think his determination and ability to move forward with nothing but willpower makes him a good representative of the Chariot card.

VIII - Strength - Higuchi Ichiyou

This card usually depicts a woman, brave and strong but also compassionate. In the way Higuchi treats Akutagawa, we can see she is exactly that.

IX - The Hermit - Edogawa Ranpo

The Hermit is a person who isolates themselves from their surroundings in order to search for the truth. Ranpo always distances himself from the other detectives, and searching for the truth is his ability.

X - The Wheel - Mori Ougai

When this card appears, it means that higher forces are at work here. It represents an inevitable change. I think Mori enjoys simply observing how things play out without intervening, which is why I put him on the card of fate.

XI - Justice - Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida isn't the first character I think of when I see this card, but he fits here too. Justice tells you that your actions have consequences, it is a person who values fairness, clarity and truth.

XII - Hanged Man - Sakunosuke Oda

The Hanged Man is a martyr, someone who sacrificed himself for a higher cause of their own free will. Odasaku did just that in the Dark Era.

XIII - Death - Dazai Osamu

No one would fit this card better. Don't be fooled by the name, it has a positive meaning. It represents a radical change, a metamorphosis even. One cycle ends and a new one begins.

XIV - Temperance - Tanizaki Junichiro

A person who always takes the middle path and adapts easily, calm and patient. Tanizaki is a character who doesn't work on his own, but cooperates with others instead, which makes him a good fit for this peaceful card.

XV - The Devil - Francis Fitzgerald

I originally didn't intend to put characters besides ADA and PM here, but Fitzgerald is the definition of the Devil card. A materialist living their life in excess, trying to hide their fears and insecurities.

XVI - The Tower - Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

When I think of Akutagawa, this is the first card that comes to mind. It stands for a sudden disaster, something we consider fundamental is destroyed. Like Akutagawa's relationship with Dazai. This card also suggests pride.

XVII - The Star - Izumi Kyouka

This card represents hope and rebirth. I think Kyouka's character arc is exactly what this card stands for.

XVIII - The Moon - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

This is a tricky card. It suggests unconsciousness and dreams, but also a warning: those dreams can be illusions that can lead you astray. A summary of the Cannibalism arc.

XIX - The Sun - Tanizaki Naomi

The Sun stands for a positivity, joy, success and celebration. When I see this card, I remember the scene at the party where Atsushi apologizes to Naomi for the Q incident and she says she already forgot.

XX - Judgement - Tachihara Michizou

This card tells you that you're on the cusp of rebirth, but first you need to look back at your life and make a honest evaluation. I haven't read the manga, but I think Tachihara fits here.

XXI - The World - Fukuzawa Yukichi

The last card of the Major Arcana suggests harmony and completion. I put Fukuzawa here because his story is already over, and now he puts everything he knows into raising the next generation.

(If there are any artists who would like to complete the deck, I'd be more than happy to help!)

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 03

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: it’s short and still not as exciting as it is about to become but we gotta build a ✨ foundation✨  first. hope you enjoy xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Bucky was standing in the kitchen, back leaned against the counter of the kitchen with his eyes on the girl who was currently sat in his couch with a badly bandaged hand. He was never good at first aid, he hadn’t been good at it with his sister and he definitely hadn’t been good with her, yet he thought it would be best than let her bleed out onto her costume which she still hadn’t taken out and that included her wig. He knew what hair looked like, he could see it in the back of his mind from the dark costume room, her hair pushed back into the same hairstyle most of the girls in the opera house had. Yet he also knew that getting out of her costume was the last thing going in her mind despite him not knowing at all what was going on in her head. She just stood in silence, looking at the wall of the TV but the TV was off, despite the fact the remote was next to her. 

What was he even supposed to do with her? He couldn’t tie her to the bed or hide her in the basement, he didn’t have a basement. Besides, he didn’t know whenever she’d actually be used as a trading chip so he didn’t know how long he would have to babysit her. How was he even supposed to do John’s bidding if he had to keep an eye on her? It wasn’t like he could leave, she would try to escape. Heck, she’d even try to escape when he was in the apartment. This was a mess, a mess he needed to clean, a mess he didn’t know how to clean. 

The door bell was the first sound in that flat for 2 hours and he sighed out of relief he could finally leave and not have to stare at her and her Bambi like stare. Damned Billy. 

     - She’s a runner. - Bucky said as he opened the door, a stunned Billy walking in like a scared little mouse. - I’ll be gone for two hours. Make sure she’s okay, not bleeding and definitely not escaping. 

Billy nodded his head like a bobble doll, standing stiff by the door as Bucky grabbed the keys to his bike and left. Y/N finally looked up, away from the wall and at Billy. He couldn’t be older than her, and if he were, he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her. He had shaggy hair and eyes which were filled with insecurity and fear yet a facade of strength which he definitely did not have. She should’ve been mad at him, after all he was the one who misunderstood the assignment (whatever it was) and got her hostage. Yet, she merely saw a boy who was scared, perhaps as scared as she was. 

    - I’m Y/N. - she pipped up as if the two of them were co-workers who were just meeting.

    - Billy.

    - Is that a nickname or a name ... you know like Billy Bigelow. 

    - Billy Bigelow’s a wife beater. - he snickered. - My name’s William but they call me Billy.

    - Do you like being called Billy? I can call you William if you want. 

    - Will.

    - Pardon?

    - I like being called Will but John said it sounds childish. - he clarified, slightly kicking the air like a petulant child. 

    - I like Will better. - she moved towards the end of the couch, patting the pillow next to her. - Do you wanna sit?

   - He doesn’t like it when people sit in his couch. 

   - Well .. I’m sat in the couch and he didn’t say anything, besides, how would he even know you were sat in the couch. 

There wasn’t much she knew about the man who had been overseeing her. She didn’t even knew his name other than the “Soldat” nickname she’d heard John call him. It wasn’t like she particularly cared about knowing him, after all he was the one who was keeping her hostage and he was also the one who had kept her alive. Yet, at this point she wondered if being alive was a faith worse than being dead. How bad is death anyway, she pondered. Maybe it hurts to leave, but it doesn’t hurt to stay dead. She wanted to believe in what he had told her, she wanted to believe that all of this was just a big nightmare, it was just a hiccup in her path. She was gonna go back, she was going back, she had to go back. She had no choice but to go back. 

Her eyes lingered on the broken window, covered by a piece of cardboard tapped to the broken glass, a shattering reminder that she had failed at escaping, had failed at leaving. She should’ve fought harder to escape, she should’ve said no when the main soprano asked her for help. She should’ve just ... done what she was hired to do. The mere thought of the opera house made her eyes swell with tears. She had been so close.

    - I’m sorry. - Will blurted out, his words causing her to immediately wipe her eyes before the tears could actually roll down. - I screwed up, didn’t mean to ruin your shot. 

    - That’s ... that’s fine. - she breathed out. - They’re gonna let me go at some point, right? They can’t keep me forever.

    - Yeah, eventually someone else will screw up. - he scratched the back of his neck. - It’s nice he didn’t tie you down or handcuff you to the bed. 

    - It’s a nice ... arrangement, I guess. 

    - Do you wanna watch Carousel? It’s always rerunning on channel 6. 

    - Are we allowed to watch TV? If you’re not allowed on the couch, I doubt the TV is a yes. 

    - He won’t know.

The beginning of the film was bittersweet as it immediately took her back to better days. Back to when she rented her very first flat in New York while a sophomore at Julliard, when she only had her laptop and a few pillows which made the very old studio flat look like a home, she would sit down in the worn out mattress with her laptop and watch old golden age musicals dreaming of the time she would be on stage. The beginning notes of the overture only brought her back to nights when the rain was harshly falling down on the rain and she was sat in her, open books of several opera music theories lightened up by the low blue light of her laptop. She had fought so hard and she was going to fight even harder to get out of this. She was going to be back in those grounds and with heavy, sleep filled eyes, she swore she would get back to the stage. 

Bucky parked the bike by the sidewalk, sighing as he realised he was not going to an empty home, the same empty home he had fought for. He liked peace and quiet, he liked to be surrounded by nothing but him and his thoughts yet now he had to come back to some girl staying in his house who was keen on breaking all off his windows. Just what he needed, someone coming into his home to fix the window. How was he going to achieve that? 

He opened the door and threw the keys somewhere onto the table near the door. Billy was standing up by the couch, Carousel was playing on the TV and she was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by the fabric of the costume she still hadn’t taken off. Not that she had anything to change into.

   - She’s sweet. - Billy rubbed the sole of his shoe against the ground. 

   - You think all girls are sweet. - Bucky walked to his kitchen, making himself a glass of whiskey. - You old enough to drink, kid?

    - I have to drive back home. 

    - She behaved? - he moved the glass in her direction, eyes lingering a bit too long on her sleeping figure. 

    - She fell asleep mid the film. Hm ... I’m gonna go. Thanks for everything, Bucky, specially with John. 

    - You should get going, kid. Your mother and father will worry.

The sound of the closed door left the two of them alone once again. What was he supposed to do with her? How was he even supposed to do his ... his duties if he constantly needed someone to watch her so she doesn’t try to escape? Where is he even supposed to find someone to watch her? Kidnappingvictims babysitting.com? He sighed out of frustration, whipping his head in her direction almost upset she existed; yet, looking at her sleeping form calmed down his features.

He put the glass in the sink, walking to his couch where she was. Somehow he always ended up in tricky situations and this had to be in the top 5 worst decisions. Yet, she didn’t deserve dying, she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault any of this had happened. She was just at the wrong place, she was just somewhere she shouldn’t have been and Bucky couldn’t blame her for that. He put a hand on the couch and snaked an arm under her figure, lifting her up from the couch and holding her flush against his chest. Her head instinctually fell against his chest, nose nuzzling his black t-shirt.

There was nothing he could do now. In all honesty, he couldn’t think of anyone in his inner circle where she would be at least in safety. The group of people he hanged around weren’t particularly of high moral standards and he wasn’t a saint either, god, he was closer to being the devil than being a saint; yet, he knew things and he knew what awaited her if she had been assigned to anyone else. In his mind all of this would be over soon; either Billy or one of the newbies would screw up and get them in trouble with the police and then John would trade her in so he wouldn’t go to prison. It was only a matter of time. 

He laid her down on his bed, pulling the comforter over her and taking a final look at her before exiting the room and taking to the couch. He pulled at the bottom of the furniture, the pillows unfolding to form a small bed which his feet would inevitably fall off, yet they didn’t make any bigger couches which turned into beds and he had never expected to have any company in his flat anyway. He too eventually fell asleep, lit by the low blue light of the TV. 

The morning was a harsh reminder for Y/N that this whole situation was not a nightmare but her reality. Her hand pushed her torso off the bed, sleepish eyes looking around as she tried to figure out where she was. She didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed but that didn’t matter because she quickly realised she was alone. She couldn’t hear anything but the ambience sounds coming from the window. She was alone. As that thought registered, she kicked the comforter away from her body and settled her feet to the ground, rushing in silent steps to the door which she opened. Her eyes registered a clear path from where she was to the exit door whose chain was down. She bite on her lip before stepping out of the bedroom.

    - Where are you going? - the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Y/N considered making a run from it but just as she convinced herself of that idea, he stepped in front of her, standing like a big wall keeping her from freedom. He looked her down, like a small, inoffensive prey. She thought of running once more, but she was smart enough to know he would easily overpower her. - Where are you going? 

    - Hm ... - think, anything, just think of anything. - The bathroom.

He scoffed, walking forward and towards her but she stepped back every time he got closer until her back hit the door. She stood there, small and wondering what to do as the man whose name she still did not know stood close to her, close enough she could almost feel the permeating heat coming from his body. His gloved fingers pinched her chin, pushing it up so her eyes looked into his. They were blue, a shade of blue she couldn’t really say she’d ever seen and maybe if she were in a different situation, she would’ve even said they were hypnotising. Yet, now, they just bore into hers, as if he was digging into her subconscious. He leaned closer, fingers still holding her chin up.

    - Liar. - his voice was deep and husky, deep enough it sounded like a whisper. He let go of her chin, stepping back and returning to the kitchen while she remained against the door. - We had a deal. 

    - I know. 

    - Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? - he asked in a dry voice. 

    - Don’t call me kid. - she didn’t know what else to say. What could she said after all? - It’s condescending. 

    - You didn’t answer me, Y/N. - he emphasised her name. It sounded almost wrong for him to be calling her that, yet she guessed it was better than kid. Sure, he was definitely older than her but she wasn’t young enough to be called kid. She couldn’t even recall the last time someone called her kid. - Are you trying to get yourself killed?

    - No. 

    - Then what are you doing?

    - I don’t know.

    - You need to trust me. 

    - Why should I? I don’t know you, I don’t even know your name so why should I trust you? For all I know you could be lying to me. 

    - You think I wanna play babysitting with you? I would much rather have a free home than have you run around in costume. - he glared at her. - And you don’t need to know my name, you need to do what I tell you to do if you wanna come out of this alive. 

    - Well what if I don’t want to? - she narrowed her eyes. 

    - You want to fucking die? Is that it? - he sneered. - Because that would’ve saved the fucking headache that you’ve been. 

    - Maybe you should’ve killed me. You had no problem killing Tommy. - her words were mindless yet filled with some sort of anger. She didn’t realise what she had said until she saw his face.

His facade seemed to drop before his jaw clenched, eyes hardened as he raised his head to look her up and down. She held the knob of the door, ready to open it and escape into the bedroom but he didn’t do anything. He just looked at her, angry before he made a move yet he didn’t walk her direction, he merely opened the fridge to take a water bottle yet that look, that look still remained. 

   - What do you want from me? - she pried. - I had a life, you know. I had plans and ...

   - So did I. You don’t wanna be a kid? Stop acting like one. 

   - My parents don’t know where I am. - she followed him into the kitchen. - I am their only child and I call them everyday. At least, let me call them, let me tell them I’m safe.​

   - I can’t, that’s not how things work. 

   - So what? You’re just gonna keep me here? Forever?

   - Trust me, kid, it’s not exactly what I want either. It’s not my choice and it’s definitely not yours. 

   - I am not gonna stop trying to escape.

   - Based on how well you’ve done so far, I wouldn’t hold my breathe. 

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[aellynera]

Goddess (Orestes x Reader)

GODDESS

(Hi. I wrote an Orestes story - it started as a joke about the way Apocalypse says “my goddess”, and then I was like “oh man I want Orestes to call me his goddess” and then as usual, I don’t know how, but this happened. It’s rather different than most things I write, but I quite enjoyed writing it and I hope you like it. Comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!)

Word Count: ~4400

Summary: Orestes is a constant in your life and has a particular way of constantly reminding you.

Warnings: Mentions of character death (briefly described but not graphically.) Implied female reader. Definite probable historical inaccuracies taken for poetic license and dramatic effect. ANGST (I made myself cry while I was writing this.) Christians doing morally void but historically accurate things. Fictional timelines.

When you are four years old, your parents leave everything they’ve built in Rome - their jobs in the palace, their lives in the city, your father’s position on the council -upon the orders of the Emperor and move to Alexandria. Your father’s new role is to assist in turning that city into a bastion of the Empire, to help strengthen the government and support the supremacy of Rome. Your mother is to be a gentle guide to the women, in hearth and home and higher society. And because you are theirs, you go with them.

They meet with the prefect upon your arrival and he welcomes your family. He is bright and cheerful, yet loud and pompous and booming, stern but wise, and while he is a kind man, his volume frightens you. You cower behind your mother’s skirts, steadfastly clinging to her and  refusing to join in any pleasantries.

Another woman suddenly appears, a small boy with curly hair and bright dark eyes holding her hand. The boy regards you curiously and asks why you won’t come out and say hello. His mother tells him you’re shy, while your mother encourages you to release your death grip on her gown. Finally, after much coaxing, you relent and she pushes you gently towards the little boy.

His mother says you should go play in the garden while the grown-ups talk, and he reaches a tiny hand out to you, wide-eyed and smiling. His name is Orestes, and he is six.

And when you take his hand with a shy little smile, his voice comes out as a whisper and tells you he thinks you’re a goddess, and he drags you towards the garden to show you the little blue flowers that dot the grass, and you believe him.

***

When you are eight years old, one day you finish your chores early and decide to spend your extra time in the yard, weaving some wildflowers together into a chain while the mid-afternoon sun warms your shoulders.

You are quite happy to be alone and not around the grown-ups for now; they’re so loud, sometimes too loud. You crave the quiet, seek it out often, and you bask in it.

Until a rush of dark curls and bright eyes tears past your house, into your yard, and grabs you by the hand, knocking your flower chain carelessly to the ground. He insists you come play with him on the hill nearby and with a squeal of indignation, you let yourself be dragged along behind him.

Your ire over the discarded flower chain is soon forgotten as your squeals become laughter as you roll and roll down the hill together, grass and dirt sticking to your robes and tufts sticking to his unruly curls. 

When you tell him he looks silly, he tells you he doesn’t, and you insist that he does and he protests that he doesn’t. And so it goes back and forth and back again, until you push him or he pushes you or someone pushes the other and you both go tumbling down that hill, end over head over feet, your descent only stopped by a patch of mud at the bottom.

He might be the son of the prefect, and he might be your best friend, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t an enormous brat sometimes.

For a minute you’re both panting and red-faced and near tears, until he starts to giggle and you can’t help but join in, and only laugh harder at his outraged gasp when you hit him square in the chest with a chunk of mud.

And on the way back to your house, when you’re worrying your bottom lip thinking on how to explain to your mother why you’re covered in dead grass and damp bits of dirt, your robes most likely ruined, he tells you with the kind of confidence only possessed by a boy of ten years that everything will be fine, because you are a goddess and brave and strong, and you believe him.

***

When you are twelve years old, you hear of the school that Hypatia is running, because Orestes tells you about it when he starts going. You don’t like that he’s doing something without you. You don’t like being left behind and left out and you want to go to this school too. 

Your mother would easily say yes, but your father is reluctant, and it’s not that he thinks a woman shouldn’t learn philosophy and how to read and do arithmetic; it’s  more that enough other people in the city do think like this and he is convinced it will not be safe for you.

You care little for your safety. All you want, all you desire, is to be part of this group of scholars and to go to this school and learn. And what danger can possibly be there, when a woman is the one in charge?

So you beg and plead and bargain with your father, until a boy - now a young man - with curls like nighttime and eyes nearly as dark and twinkling with stars, steps in and says he’ll watch over you during your classes, and your father gives his permission. And so you start attending Hypatia’s school.

And when the older boys, boys who were nearly men and should know better, start to bully and deride you for desiring knowledge, when they taunt you and steal your scrolls and yank the ribbons from your hair, he steps in and tells them in no uncertain terms to leave you alone. Neither of your fathers, especially his, are particularly thrilled with the tussles he gets in on your behalf, or the black eye that one petulant snipe Cyrus gives him when he connects a punch when Orestes isn’t properly paying attention.

You frown at him as he sits in a chair next to the washbasin, a clean wet cloth clutched in your hand. He winces as you clean the blood from his cheek and gingerly probe the bruise swelling around his eye.

And when you softly ask why he’d do such a stupid thing, he tells you that even a goddess needs a hero to protect them sometimes, and even though you think him entirely ridiculous and heat comes unbidden to your cheeks, it makes you giddy to believe him.

***

When you are sixteen years old, you watch the boy with the wild ebony curls and liquid chocolate eyes fall in love with a girl. Only it isn’t a girl, it’s a woman, and you realize he’s been doing it for years.

Ever since your first day in the new city, he has always been by your side and you by his, an inseparable duo. You thought that would never change, but here you are, finding yourself forced to watch your best friend slowly but surely let his heart be ensnared by your very own teacher.

All he can talk about now, it seems, is Hypatia and her philosophies; Hypatia and her scrolls and the amazing things she is currently reading; Hypatia and her outlandish theories on the universe and the stars. Always Hypatia, all things Hypatia.

You never knew you could hate someone as amazing and wonderful as Hypatia.

It doesn’t seem to matter that his attentions are not equally returned, that she never fully indulges his lovesick whims and overreaching attempts to gain her attention. She continues to treat him as a student, and outside of class possibly even as a dear friend, and he continues to pine.

One afternoon you’re among the stacks of scrolls at the library, trying to find the parchment necessary to complete an assignment Hypatia has given you. You honestly would rather not find it and not even bother finishing your assigned work right now, and you must have some kind of look on your face because he takes the scroll you’re clutching from your hand and leads you to a mostly hidden nook in the room. And he stops talking about Hypatia for a moment to ask you what is wrong.

You want to tell him you miss him, that you want him back, that he’s making a mistake, but you can’t, you don’t. It takes a bit more coaxing, but you finally tell him you’re lonely and you wish there was someone you could find, someone you had to love as much as he had his person, he smiles and tells you that one day you will, because you’re a goddess and the right person will be pulled to the love and light you always emit. You smile back weakly and blink and look away and you want nothing more than to believe him.

***

When you are twenty years old, the library at Alexandria is destroyed.

It happens on a sunny afternoon not unlike so many others that have passed before, when suddenly the doors are broken down and the Christians rush in and the chaos ensues.

You’re sitting at a table with a quill in your hand, carefully writing your thoughts on a piece of parchment, when you hear the shouting in the entryway. And before you know what’s going on, shelves are being knocked over, papers tossed into the air like so much confetti, scrolls being thrown left and right. The air is beginning to smell acrid; you can see a few people setting small fires in some of the stacks.

The windows above you shatter as others throw rocks and even a chair, and you look around wildly for a way out. You don’t know which way is the right way to go, or even if there is a right way to go.

Everything is madness.

A pair of arms suddenly shoot out and grab you around the waist and your scream pierces the air like the horn on the top of the lighthouse trying to guide a ship to shore. Instead you realize you’re trying to drive this ship to its ruin, to free yourself from its depths with wildly swinging elbows and kicks, until you hear a familiar voice shouting your name over the ruckus.

You take in your assailant, all frantic curls and impossibly wide, dark eyes, and collapse into him in relief. Orestes tells you that you need to go, you need to get out, and to find both your fathers in the nearby council chambers and they’ll know where to go, where it’s safe. You ask him to come with you, but he shakes his head.

He tells you he needs to help save as many of the books and scrolls as he can, and you tell him to give you all you can carry and when you run, you’ll take them with you. So he loads your arms full to bursting, and when a rock flies by inches from your face and you drop the items at the top of the pile, he ignores that and pushes you roughly in the direction of the side exit. He says you must leave now, and he’ll be behind you before you know it.

He presses his lips to your temple ever so briefly, spares you a pained smile, and says you’re a goddess for the small bit of assistance you are giving.

As you run for safety, or what might be further peril, you spare a glance over your shoulder and see him helping Hypatia grab as much of the library’s contents as they can, and you don’t have another second to spare on deciding whether or not to believe him.

***

When you are twenty four, it’s your wedding day and everyone tells you this will be the most joyous day of your life so far. Your mother helps you dress in the softest, most expensively beautiful gown you’ve ever owned, and one of your sisters weaves a crown of laurels for your hair. Another sister makes a chain of wildflowers to wind around your wrist. You have never felt as beautiful as you do on this day.

Your father comes to the door of the chamber where your preparations are taking place, to let you know that the guests have all arrived and the groom is nearly ready, and it is almost time. He gives you a kiss on both cheeks, a gesture not common from him, and tells you he will be waiting out by the garden gate when you are ready. Your mother and sisters each kiss your cheek and leave as well, giving you a moment to yourself to gather your thoughts and emotionally prepare for the ceremony.

The door opens again a few minutes later and you turn to face the person behind it, Your eyes go wide, confused, as you take in the man before you. His dark curls are smoothed back and elegantly styled, his robes are regal and dashing, and his eyes are bright and nervous.

You tell him he shouldn’t be here.

He tells you that he knows, but he can’t help it, he has to see you. That he has been thinking of you all morning, wondering how beautiful you look, how happy you must be, and he just had to see you before you walk down the aisle to take your vows.

You bite your lip and tell him, again, that he shouldn’t be here and you can’t stop your voice from shaking. You turn your head away and look anywhere but at him.

And he repeats that he knows this, and he knows it’s wrong, it goes against all protocols, but he can’t help himself, can’t stop thinking that this is the last time he’s going to see you, see your smile and maybe hear your laugh, might be the last time your eyes can gaze upon each other and the last time he can hold you in his arms as his best friend.

You can’t think of a single thing to say to him, and even if you could, you’re certain your body will not cooperate.

Because he is not the one you are marrying. No, this marriage was arranged by your father and the Emperor, and there is the overwhelming chance that you must go back to Rome, and if you and your new husband leave Alexandria it is not likely you will ever return.

This might be the last time he can tell you that you shine with a light brighter than all the heavens, that you are beautiful and he hopes you will be happy, and you truly are a goddess among mortals.

And so Orestes does. He kisses you softly on your forehead, staying there a bit longer than propriety suggests, and quietly slips from the room. And you can’t see for the tears swimming in your eyes, and you want with all your heart to believe him, but you can’t help but find his words hollow and realize this will be far from the greatest day of your life.

***

When you are barely turned twenty-five, there is a knock on your door in the middle of the night. Perhaps knock is not the correct word, it’s more of an insistent pounding, and you swear under your breath at what could possibly be so important to rouse you out of bed at this unacceptable hour.

You pull a robe over your nightdress and open the door, and all the air leaves your lungs.

Four centurions are standing on your stoop, with a man who looks vaguely familiar; is he a general, maybe, or a captain? You can’t remember where you’ve seen him before, but it doesn’t matter, when he greets you solemnly and begins to speak, and tells you that your husband will not be returning from the front.

You did not return to Rome, as had originally been decreed. You stayed in Alexandria after your marriage because skirmishes had broken out along a few of the empire’s borders, and your new husband was called to action to fight for his ruler and the kingdom. Deep down, you could not have been more glad of it, for though you were born there, Rome had not been your home for over twenty years, and starting a new life there with a new husband would not have made it any more so. 

Your knees give out from under you and you consider for a moment that you should be crying, but you aren’t really sad and it strikes you as odd, but you can’t force the tears to come. You love your husband, in a way, but you’re not sad that he won’t be coming home. You’re relieved, and the instant that thought hits you and sends a jolt through your body, you start to laugh. The general, or captain, or whoever he is and his guards look at each other, then at you, and back to each other in utter confusion as you continue to giggle.

It all happens in mere seconds, and you’re sinking to the stone floor beneath, and a very familiar voice, one you have not heard since the day you were wed, tells the guards to stand aside and strong arms catch you before you can tumble completely.

His hair is wild and curly like he was just pulled out of bed himself, and his dark eyes shine with worry and compassion, and he asks you if you’re alright, and this is what finally breaks you from your laughter and brings wetness to your eyes.

Orestes holds you as you cry into his chest and you don’t see the pointed look he gives to the captain and the guards, nor do you see them pull back enough to close the door and wait outside.

You don’t know how long you sit there on the floor in the front hall, or how you’ve possibly gotten his robes that soggy, but eventually you calm and the thoughts roll through your brain again. You are crying because someone has died, you realize this is true even if you’re not so very sad it was your husband. You’re crying because it was your husband and now there will be the mourning period you must dutifully attend as a grieving widow. And now that you’re a widow, eventually you will be expected to take another husband, if one even dares to want you.

And you’re crying because the one reason you were glad to stay in this forsaken city - in the Alexandria which had become your home - the one reason you hoped every day to lay eyes on again and every night resigned that you never would, was suddenly here, his arms wrapped around you and his voice whispering words of comfort into your hair.

You’re not sure when he picks you up and carries you back to your bed, carefully laying you on your pillows and pulling the sheet up to cover your shoulders. You’re not sure how long he stays, holding your hand and brushing stray tendrils of hair from your face. And you’re not sure how long you drift in and out, emotional exhaustion finally catching up and pulling you into nothingness, but before you fade out completely, you feel his thumb gently brush the remaining tears from your cheek, and feel the soft press of his lips on your forehead as he calls you a goddess and tells you to rest.

And as you finally give yourself to the twilight, you aren’t sure if you imagined it, but you choose to believe him, and you cling to it.

***

You’re not sure when it happens, to be honest. Time starts to blend together after that, you just know that you’re older and that it happens, and it isn’t right and it isn’t moral and it isn’t fair. Not to anyone involved, not to the city, not at all.

Hypatia has died, been murdered in the temple at the hands of those who profess themselves to be righteous saviors, brutally stoned and ripped apart as she stood there, proud and defiant to the end. How anyone could do such a thing to another human, especially one such as her, is beyond your comprehension.

It only gets worse when they burn her corpse on a pyre in effigy in the middle of the agora.

Word comes to you of the horrible events, and your first instinct is to find him, the way he found you, came to you when word of your husband’s death made its way back to the city. You set down the parchment you’re scribbling on the desk in your room and grab a dark cloak, partly to conceal yourself and party to ward off the slight chill from the wind.

You make your way to the prefect’s palace but you’re turned away at the gate by pair of surly-looking guards, and giving your name, and then your father’s name, and then the fact that your father reports directly to Rome makes no difference to them. They have  been told to let no one in, and let no one out.

No one except the person you’re looking for, apparently, because somewhere in the aftermath you discover that Orestes is nowhere to be found.

No one knows where he’s gone, and no one knows when he left, just that it was sometime between Hypatia being murdered and the fake funeral pyre. He had words with Cyril, someone told you, and then after that, no one knows.

And the Christians take over the city, much like the library so many years ago, and more people are burned at the stake, more people are murdered, more progress is halted, all in the name of what is right and what is true.

They will kill you, too, if they find you, or find out you’re looking for Orestes. It’s been years since you’ve really been in his presence in anything but the smallest of ways, especially in public, but you know there are still enough people who know how close you were. And if they know you used to be close, you know they won’t hesitate to come after you the same way they came for the philosopher. 

So you make inquiries as discreetly as possible, ask the gossips that litter the merchants’ stalls in the most innocent way possible, like you’re just a curious citizen asking what’s happened to the rule of order in the city. You even ask your father, once, but he doesn’t reply and his stony gaze makes you certain to never ask again.

And you bury yourself in scrolls and reading, in star charts and theories; in anything, really, that will take your mind off everything that is happening and your lost prefect. Your lost friend, your best friend.

The man you truly love, even if it’s taken you years of self-doubt and missed chances to fully realize and admit it, and now, perhaps do something about it.

One day as you’re sitting at your desk, quill in hand and head in the clouds, you think of something. Something that may be nothing, but it comes to you in a flash and you have an idea of where to go, where to find him, somewhere that few others might know.

You carefully pack a bag with some clothes and supplies, and a crudely drawn map that you sketch from memory and hope you’ve gotten right. It’s been so long since you were there but you’re fairly sure you remember the way. You know that Orestes would remember.

A long day’s journey and a fitful night’s sleep take you into the next day, and the afternoon turns into dusk when the hillside comes into view. It is not the same hill you tumbled down more than once when the two of you got into a scrum, but it’s the one that you would go when you could both sneak away and no one would notice for a few days, and you’d stare at clouds by day and the stars by night.

There is an outcropping set back from the hill, in the base of the mountains nearby, that a person wouldn’t see if they didn’t know where to look. You’d found it one day during a particularly vicious thunderstorm and taken refuge in the cave there, and you’d both commented on how someone had clearly found it once before you, for it was somewhat set up as a living space, with some mats and blankets and  a few rations left on makeshift shelves. Anytime you were on these excursions and it would rain, or you simply wanted to be out of the sun, that was where you would go.

And you hope against hope that this is where your answer lies.

You crest the hill and make your way to the foot of the mountain and you can’t help but smile, just a little, thinking this is where he would have gone, should have gone, as his name means of the mountains. In his abandonment, his escape from the city, could he have taken it literally? You’ve known him so long and it feels like the kind of thing Orestes would do.

The hovel comes into view, and you drop your pack, because he does too. Tending to a fire at the mouth of the cave, his back turned slightly to you, his curls a glorious disaster, and he’s grown a beard since last you’d seen him. It’s a look you’ve not seen on him before, but you quite like it, although you consider for just a moment you’d like any look on him at this moment, because he is real and he is standing right in front of you.

The sound of the pack hitting the ground makes him turn, and his dark eyes shine in the firelight, and he looks at you for long moments but doesn’t say anything. Orestes just stares at you, disbelieving, like you might be some kind of mirage or a trick of the light or even some kind of wicked spirit sent to torment him, and so he just stares.

Until you breathe his name.

He blinks once, and his face is suddenly full of hope and relief, all the tension and disbelief of the previous moments falling away, and your heart soars to the heavens and thumps ever so boldly in your chest, and your smile threatens to crack your lips, and the tears fall freely as words finally leave his mouth.

“My goddess.”

~end~

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[daily-dose-of-imagines]

ᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴇʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ᴍᴏʀᴀɴ 19+ | 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔱 | ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

It’s been a hot second, but I am most definitely going to at least post this before I work on some WIPs SKSKSK I just had to do my fav boi ahgo;ireh honestly y’all I’m still so triggered this is a w h o l e thing like fUCK Sherlock was my livelihood in high school-- just e v e r y t h i n g about the detective work and crimes just had me in l o v e-- and my bb Moran I--- aihoiarhg anywho-- I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did while simping! (Don’t tell Akaashi LOLOLOL)

》》Admin Ko

A man with overwhelming confidence, Moran is the type who will go all in with something that interests him. Though he does hold that play boy personality, he’s surprisingly very loyal to whoever happens to steal his heart. 

The moment he finds someone to his immediate liking that doesn’t bore him quickly he’s hasty in dropping any sort of one night stands or prior plans for them. It’s to the surprise of no one that Moriarty is the first to figure out exactly why Moran is acting out of his usual norm, it’s only when the person of his desires joins them on a mission to insight justice on another piece of scum of society.

Not only does he find himself becoming even more smitten for them, but he’s actively flirting and trying to get a date with them. From that one mission, the duo find themselves in more instances where they’re paired off to help Moriarty’s conquest in righting the wrong in the world.

It’s without a doubt that Moran is fiercely protective of them. If there ever comes a time where they both are in an overcrowded bar or tavern, he’ll have them seated on his lap with a strong hand on their hip to ensure that they’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

The moment he confesses, it’s nothing out of the story books. He’s clearly enraged. Teeth clenched and dark brown hues practically inky black as he had his hands were fisted into tight balls of agitation and a desire for bloodshed-- or to put in short, he was absolutely pissed.

It was only a moment. He had left for a moment to the bathroom, and to come back to some piece of scum hitting on his darling? 

To say the least, the piece of scum ended up on the ground whilst Moran aggressively shoved his tongue down their throat before practically growling out that they were off limits. When the pair leave the tavern that’s when his usual confident bravado dissipates. An apology comes from him though he’s sure to keep a strong hold on their hand.

In all honesty, Moran thinks that he’s blown his chances but is thrown off guard the moment their lips meet his own. It’s safe to say that after the confirmation of their feelings he’s staking his claim on them that night.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The only person to ever see Moran’s soft side, you won’t admit it to him but you absolutely love it when he finishes his rounds of patrolling on the street to just plop down on you for what he considers his ‘mandatory’ cuddle time. 

Every other day you wake up with a new love bite or hickey on your neck and he will fervently chase that mark with more the moment he cracks his eyes open in the morning. 

It’s unsurprising to you that if you’re in any sort of danger Moran will not only swoop in to save you, but will deliver his vengeance like that of a demon who has crawled out of hell to exact it’s revenge on humankind.

Moran absolutely loves seeing you in nothing but his shirt or coat. It satisfies not only the possessive emotions he feels for you, but fills his daily cute ‘y/n’ quota. 

Lord forbid anyone who manages to land a hit on you. The moment he sees it he will be out for blood. After everything he’s done he isn’t afraid to add more sins to his belt.

Absolutely loves to tease you in public. Be it bedroom eyes or a playful tap to the ass, he’s flirty all around with you. 

He won’t admit it out right, but seeing you literally choke a man out with your thighs before snapping their neck with your bare hands has turned him on so many times that he secretly fantasizes about his face between your thighs.  

On very rare occasions will he allow you to take the reigns, and boy does he love seeing that dominating look in your eyes. 

It’s without a doubt that if anything life threatening were to happen to you Moran would absolutely go psycho. He’s someone who has gone through a lot and has not only forsaken most of his morality, but his desire to reform back into modern society.

Every night he has to sleep with you in his arms. After the first night of having you by his side he hasn’t been able to have a decent sleep without you. 

You find out when you happen to be needed for a separate task that Moriarty assigns you. When you return to Moran’s side he’s practically clinging to you like an oversized stuffed animal, refusing to leave your side as he snuggles into you.

[kim-ruzek]

The unit beyond Hank Voight: or, why Hailey being corrupted and/or changed isn't unique or special to only her. (Part One)

This is a meta that's split into two parts. There's this, which is an introductory one, really, that addresses who Voight is and why the greater fandom opinion of him is misunderstood. Setting up for part two: how life for Intelligence should be if/when Voight is written out. Because this is a topic I think people miss the nuance on as well.

Enjoy!

There's been a lot of talk on whether or not Voight, in this time, should really be the face of Intelligence. I, personally, do think no. I get why he first became it, and I get why he still is and in many ways I appreciate it. He's not the kind of cop this world should have, even in the eighties and whatnot, but he is-- especially for Chicago-- a "good" cop. Please take that word with a grain of salt, there's not a precise word in the English language which sums his mix of good and bad in the way he is-- even "morally grey", to me, does not quite describe him.

The world does not exist in a vacuum. We'd love it to, because then it makes life so much more simpler, and it's easy to act as if life does. But the truth of the matter, the world is not a vacuum, everything is complex and messy and grey. And so our shows aren't in a vacuum either, even if they try to be-- which, for the most part, Chicago pd tries not to act like they are, unlike so many shows.

It's very easy to boil things down to being black and white, good and bad, pure and evil. This is human, and something humans have been doing for years. But the world is nuanced, and to ignore that is to misunderstand what life itself is.

Setting a show in Chicago, especially a police show, was always going to be a complicated thing. And there's always going to things they exaggerated and things they overlook, but at the end of the day, Dick Wolf did a rather good job at getting the complexities. I'm not going to go into all he didn't quite get, especially as it's not my place too, it's just my place to look into this myself and learn, and this is not the point of this meta. And because at the end of the day-- it is a show.

Voight isn't morally bad, or good. He's this mix, a man who did bad things to try and get a good outcome. And it's the age old debate-- is doing the wrong thing for the right reasons morally good or bad? I think it's neither, something more complicated but either way you stand, you can't say it's cut and dry. Because it's not.

And I don't even think he's someone who does the wrong things for the right reasons, because that's too simplistic and doesn't show the full picture. What Voight wants is the outcome, and he'll do the wrong things for all the wrong reasons to get it. He'll even do the right things for the wrong reasons and vice versa.

We don't know how our actions are cosmically tallied, that's why we have our own beliefs. And we can want him to not be the lead for those beliefs, but we also need to be true. We need to look at everything, the whole picture and assess it that way-- we cannot just pick and choose.

And that's what a lot of fans are doing. And I hate that, because it's not fair to what makes humans humans. In a way, I don't even care about Voight, but this lack of understanding is what normalises some things, normalises demonising behaviours in your own peers that should be understood.

Media has an impact of real life, not just in what it shows but how the consumers respond to it, and some of this fandoms responses annoys me-- but the thing that pushed me to make this, is that it can sicken me because it's misunderstanding what life is.

I do not like Voight's policing style. It is outdated and it never should've been allowed and honestly, that first scene in the cage nearly made me not watch this show. If I wasn't going in already in love with Burzek, I probably would've stopped.

But you cannot say that he does not care. He does. Chicago is his city, and he cares about it in the way anyone employed by the city should. Everything bad thing he has done is for the city, to make it better. His methodology is not good, and it is counterproductive because it relies on the city being how broken it is. But it does do good, and he does that because he loves the city.

And he cares about the cops he works with. Not just his unit, but everyone. His unit has become his family-- the people he puts first-- over the years but even before then, he cared. In a way, it was very blue line type of way, but in a good sort of way. Still flawed, because he'd protect them in a way he wouldn't others, but much better than peers his own age. This should be appreciated, even in it's flaws-- because if you're going to judge him, take everything into account.

Voight is a bad man, in how he's achieved his outcomes. But he is not a bad man because he's an abuser. He cares, and he should not be emulated but he cares. And he is not a fucking abuser.

To get to the my starting point-- Hailey being changed or "corrupted" by Voight is not special or unique to her.

I see a lot of people saying he manipulated Hailey. And that shooting of Roy-- yeah. There was no way Roy was ever going to get out there alive, but Hailey is not blameless in that. Everyone has been telling her who Hank Voight is from day one, and she dug in her heels and thought she understood that, yet when it came to it-- when she went into that warehouse, she did not.

Voight wants the best outcome. And if we're putting things into a vacuum, Roy being dead is the best outcome. Dead = he can't physically hurt them again. And the world can always do with loosing one more awful person. Of course,out if a vacuum, murder has it's own moral assignments which makes it not the best outcome-- but that doesn't factor in for Voight and some people might agree.

I don't but if the man I fear the most was murdered by someone dodgy but cared about me, I wouldn't complain. I'd actually be able to breathe and not worry that one day I'll be a statistic. And-- it would ensure that everyone's efforts to keep me alive would definitely be worth it. Any time life is kept is good, but if I was just to die at his hands after everything, then my saviours actions... It just would be preventing the inevitable. And they worked so hard, and that's like with Kim. The unit struggled to find her, they fought, the doctors are fighting and if all that Roy survived and managed to get her and Makayla killed.

This shooting is the only time he has outright manipulated her. And he's not an emotional abuser.

But Voight is an arsehole. He can dictate how his unit is ran, but he does do dick things. And this can be infuriating when it's to your faves, especially when you perceive it as corruption. It's not, but for arguements sake, let's say it is. Hailey is not fucking unique in that-- this has happened to EVERY FUCKING MEMBER OF INTELLIGENCE. Even sumners.

So he's not evil-- and if he was an "abuser" it's not because what he's done to Hailey. It's what he's done to them all. In fact, he's done the least arsehole things to Hailey.

And yeah, Hailey projects her daddy issues onto Voight (which, like, same girl) but he doesn't take advantage of it and also-- that whole fucking unit (excluding Antonio and Al, but then they have their own problems) had parental issues that they're clearly seeking validation for. Most notably, as shown more explicitly in the show-- Adam.

So to conclude: Voight isn't some evil abuser who has manipulation on mind and doesn't care about his unit. He does, and would do everything to protect them. And yeah, it won't be in the most easiest way to protect them, but he does want the best outcome and he'll do anything to get it.

That's part one done, because this needs to be broken up into parts. Part two should hopefully be coming soon.

[i-love-you-all]

obviously sova dyed his hair blond because he is a pretty boy and he leans into it because he gotdamn KNOWS how pretty he is

For sure 100%. But also that gave me an idea and it was 1am when I wrote this but uhhhhh lol. (sorry for typos/grammar mistakes :p)

Rated Teen, ~1.4k words, fluff, just a random scene, Sova/Breach (of course it is)

If Sova had to talk about his flaws, he’d talk about his trusting nature, morals, and his more serious/naïve nature when it came to wit and sarcasm.

Those were all traits that generally received praise and rarely harmed Sova unless he was in specific scenarios that had yet to have ever occurred. It did show his biggest flaws though: his pride and false modesty. Breach knew that there was way more than just that but would never actually say it to Sova’s face. At least not while he was trying to score some attention from the blond man.

And he was already getting plenty right now.

While he worked on tuning the flash component of his arms, as Brim said that he wouldn’t assign him to another mission while it was malfunctioning, Sova was stretched out on their shared bed in this sad little motel room they rented after the mission in nothing but a pair of shorts. One arm was thrown over his head, showing off the toned muscles on that side of his body facing Breach. The other arm was holding onto a book he knew Sova wasn’t reading because he hadn’t turned to a new page in a few minutes. His lovely boyfriend was putting on such a show for him by just… looking delectable.

Had Breach been a weaker man, he would’ve already called it quits on his repairs and joined him on the bed. Kisses and cuddling were tempting when Sova was that good-looking. Because he hadn’t showed any intent on slowing down though, Sova got up at some point to get dressed.

Breach would need to apologize later, but this work wasreally important though.

“I need something from the store before it closes. Do you want anything? Food? Beer?”

He leaned back and thought for a second. “Could you order dinner for us on your way back? Anything you want, I’ll pay for it. I have all the tools I need right now though.”

His eyes followed Sova’s near predatory walk over to him. He was so smug, and for no reason. Well, the reason was made apparent when he felt a hand slip under his shirt and started feeling up his abs and pecs. He readily accepted the kiss, enjoying the view of the blond hair creating a curtain around them in this moment.

But when Breach was working, he didn’t appreciate too many distractions. With one last peck, he pulled back and smiled up at Sova.

“When you get back, I’ll stop working.”

Sova smiled back at him and nodded. “I’ll be back soon then, yes?”

The trip took a ridiculously long amount of time. Breach was finished with his repairs within the first hour, took a shower and caught up with his phone notifications in the second, and even contemplated picking up the book Sova was reading. At some point, he wondered if he should send Sova a message asking if everything was alright. And while no one would dare kidnap or attack the Russian machine that was his kind boyfriend, there was no reason for the trip to take this long.

Eventually, he roamed the room that he had barely looked at since they booked it for some extended time off after a mission. As he rummaged for snacks around the small kitchenette that they both refused to touch, he found a small box of hair dye. It was obviously Sova’s because it definitely wasn’t his, but as he scoffed at the picture of the blonde woman, it did make him reconsider Sova’s appearance. From the buzzed sides and his eyebrows, Breach already knew that Sova had brown hair, but it did make him consider what he would look like with his natural hair. Just as handsome as a face, but with a darker frame falling onto his shoulders.

That clearly was the best time for Sova to return though, bag and takeout in one hand, and the other helping him take off his boots. He brought with him the smell of fresh air and snow from outside. When he felt the hand snake up his sides, Breach actually flinched. It was just all so cold. God, he hated missions this far north – and in the middle of winter!

“Were you considering doing your hair as well?” Sova teased, taking the box from Breach’s hand while placing the bag on the small counter at the same time.

Breach leaned down to chase Sova’s lips as they came close, but never actually touched. “No, I was looking for something to eat and I found this on the counter.”

He knew there were times when Sova’s patience was thin, especially when the object of his desires was standing in front of him. To be fair, Breach loved being able to force the hunter to give into his wants first by just standing there. “But you prefer this, no?”

“Enh, I don’t mind either way.”

Sova snaked his arms around his neck and gave Breach easy access to his chest and torso. Breach was hungry, hadn’t eaten since the mission ended yesterday where Sova forced a couple granola bars down his throat right as he began his repairs, but as Sova threw off his hoodie, those thoughts were fading fast. He kept his arms around Breach as Breach explored his body, now with nothing between Sova’s skin and his metal hands. Unlike Breach,

“You know that all this muscle is just for show, right?” Not that Breach minded. But really, the vanity of the man in front of him never failed to impress him. Or exasperate him.

“Yet you’ve never beaten me when we spar.” He said it with such a sneaky grin that Breach wanted to kiss it off of him, but that’s just what Sova wanted. There was no doubt that Breach would give up eventually, but just not right now.

Gods, the man in front of him just looked so good, and he knew that Sova knew this which was almost worse. “You’re such a show-off.”

“I thought I was pretty.”

And that… That made him scoff. “Where’s all that modesty gone now, hm?”

“I never called myself that. Those were your words. Don’t you remember?”

“I’ve never said that in my life.”

“’That pretty boy Sova sure looks like a hero.’ That’s what you said when you first met me.” Yes. Breach did say that once to him. But he thought that Sova had walked out of earshot. “Don’t you still agree?”

And that smug grin was getting to be too much to bear. Breach leaned in and pressed his lips to Sova’s pushing him towards the nearest wall – anything to help support him for what he wanted to do next. No, he wouldn’t talk about how gently he brushed Sova’s hair, or how much he groped his chest, his arms, his legs and butt, or even how good he looked pinned to the wall with Breach’s arms holding them up above his head while he could do nothing but softly bang his head against the wall behind him while Breach dismantled him using just his mouth.

An hour later while Breach was shovelling food into his mouth, Sova walked over to him again and just leaned against his body. From the lack of clothes to the messed-up hair, Breach could only assume that he had just woken up again.

“Do you want me to heat up your food?”

Sova hummed contentedly and nodded his head. “Thank you.”

With a sigh, he put the container down and stood up slowly. The entire time he was heating up the food, he could feel Sova watching him. It was almost unnerving except that when he turned to look at Sova, he was met with a soft smile and a loving gaze. When he returned, and handed Sova the utensil, he was surprisingly brought in for another kiss.

“You’re so needy. If you were anyone else, I’d kick you out already,” he joked.

He received a quick nip on his bottom lip and a lick afterwards.

Breach pulled away to pick up his bowl again and just looked at the man in front of him. “But you’re very handsome.”

Sova’s eyes sparkled with an eagerness he didn’t often see.

With a sigh, he continued, “And pretty. You’re so pretty that if you ask nicely enough, we can go again after dinner.”