olgunny · 8 months ago
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BUH
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spikeyjo · 1 month ago
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also uh im kind of not thinking about it much because its insane. but if everything goes right (and i mean a considerable amount of things that probably wont go as planned) but if they DO... i will have a major surgery in like two weeks
#vertical sleeve gastrectomy to be exact insert nerd emoji here#i might document a lot of whats going on with it and even take some videos honestly#not to share here other than some oversharing text posts about probably constipation LMAO#but like no one shares whats it like to be mentally ill and go thru vsg and like the process and not many people as young as me get it#feels weird calling myself young on the chronically 13 year old website#but anyone that does post about it posts for like a year and then falls off the face of the earth#genuinely there are so many youtubers that start talking about this stuff#then you find their channel three years deserted and its like man.#i sure hope this means you found better ways to spend your time#and like okay time to get sappy and corny as hell in the notes so go ahead and skip this part idk who even reads my notes hello#but basically everyones that gets this shit is like you gotta find your why#and most of them have kids or like a husband or plans to travel the world or do better at their job#and none of those things really apply to me#i kind of have the perfect storm for being fat#i dont do anything work wise that encourages any kind of movement#im chronically afraid of planes and i cant afford that shit anyways rn#also not very good at romance LOL and never want kids and my entire family is also fat barring my brother#thats not to absolve myself of any of the blame for this shit either like i know i put myself in this situation#i just think like wow my life is pretty much perfect for staying fat but i DONT WANT THAT#I want the highlight of my week to be more than eating takeout man#i want to live life instead of meal to meal to something better#idk what yet maybe jewelery piece to jewelery piece#i could do some serious kandi making while im down for the count#but i dunno man my therapist tells me that in order to feel like a person and not get tired of life i have to do people things and#participate in life yknow?#and its hard to do things like go to the gym talk to people explore fashion styles when i have this overloomingness of being fat#so i guess that could be my why? like i want to experience more of life#i want to be able to walk in a mall and look at all the stores. i want to walk in a mall period. cause it fucking hurts the way i am now#thats all to say the actual “why” that i have is Goddamn it i want to be able to jump from a swing#and not break my fucking ankles
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latinokaeya · 4 months ago
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in a bad mood. Again
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khaotunq · 4 months ago
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ah.
#ignore this it's going to upset pls dismiss it as a bad take :}#why have we off jumpol'd ktnw what are we doing there i know he's a younger brother but why does he look like a KID brother what's happenin#(not a slight on off. off made the hair work in not me. i am hopeful but. not very.)#aaaaaand it is cosmic right for a tattoo artist to have bad tattoos it's ok i'm breathing i'm breathing thru it#praying it's just a bad photoshop job and they're not actually that fucking dark because what#tell me they're cereal box water transfers without telling me they're cereal box water transfers#is ktnw's character genuinely still in high school it is the only thing that makes sense#how are we going to make fuzzy hair and hollywood veneers work khaotung thanawat rattanakitpaisan h o w#he's either in high school or he's a 55 year old accountant Goin Thru Something there is no inbetween#slutty crop top on dunk is a redeeming factor but a tremendously minor one i'm sorry#my concern is joong. why doesn't he have any wild decisions being made with his look. why does he look normal. why is he the only one.#ignore me i just need to Post Opinions On The Internet somewhere asdfjhsfk#i have no doubt in fk's abilities but fucking hell#i am in the minority and fully aware of this#but my fucking god am i losing hope for this show by the day#though fwiw i do like first's styling. it's just the tattoos that have me wanting to sink into my grave#i'm posting this to vent and immediately going to bury it under reblogs#i support my kids but at what cost. at what cost.#initial looks at characters always soften and settle as shows progress and i know this but also fml#maybe i'm just a miserable bitch lol
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clamorybus · 1 year ago
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its not fun to talk about, and i feel like such a dick talking about them like this, but it's fucking sickening how easily swayed my parents are
#again they say that i'm a black-and-white thinker but they are so much worse with it than they are#i'm just firm in my beliefs#like my dad was straight up like 'the jewish people have been through a lot and a lot of them are doctors#therefore israel is in the right here' like im not exaggerating that was his view on it#without any deeper thought or reading between the lines on it#my mom was more receptive to my concerns#but she basically let me dictate her opinion on the whole thing because 'you know what you're talking about'#and im genuinely glad she trusts me and values my opinions#but mom. you're fifty years old PLEASE have opinions on things that aren't your daughter's or the news'#i know they don't do the deep political readings that i do; im unemployed and they both work really physically demanding jobs#so of course they don't. its just they don't seem to think very deeply about things and they aren't very curious#to research more about what they're hearing#like a quick glance at the wikipedia page for the history of israel or palestine should be enough fuel to question#the narratives the we're being told#like 'hey europe has a history of ethnic cleansing their colonies maybe that's what THIS european colony is doing'#but whenever the news covers a story about a person being killed by a cop they jump right to 'well yeah lol that's what they get'#even before they hear the full context of the murder. hell the fact that's their first instinct#when hearing about a murder is fucking disgusting. and racist. and terrifying#i love them they are good parents but god damn do i hate them as people. it feels like they have no moral backbone of their own#like p much all i have to do to convince my dad israel is in the wrong is show him#the photos of the irish-palestinian solidarity murals and his pride will tell him to Listen to Our Ancestors#which includes irish people we've never met who're his own age apparently#ofc i don't expect them to be Morally Pure tm or whatever a lot of stuff has to be unlearned but jesus christ TRY. PLEASE#mickey.txt
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birdantlers · 1 year ago
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A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.
(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)
it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it
...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..
Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.
I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.
(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")
“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.
“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”
The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.
I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?
I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.
Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.
Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.
So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.
Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!
Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol
What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.
I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.
Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.
Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.
How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’
i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.
I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.
I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”
….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.
No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.
If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.
His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.
We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.
Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.
You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.
The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.
And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.
You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.
Give a heads up.
Something.
But don’t. kill. the media.
The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.
Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.
I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.
It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.
Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.
If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.
And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.
Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.
the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.
The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.
Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.
Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.
If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.
Muting notifs
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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago
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Google’s enshittification memos
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[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]
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When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.
Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:
The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.
https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/
"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."
And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.
How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.
When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.
People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:
https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/
Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":
http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf
Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:
https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/
And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/
How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:
https://killedbygoogle.com/
Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.
It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/
With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.
Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.
Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.
It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":
https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d
Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.
Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.
Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":
https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic
After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:
https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf
The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."
OK.
But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."
It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."
"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."
And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."
In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.
Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."
For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.
But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar
John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it
Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:
https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554
Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.
For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue
But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:
https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/
When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."
Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).
Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.
But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.
And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.
As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.
But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.
The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."
What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics
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My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!
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auroralwriting · 3 months ago
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his little finger
spencer reid x fem!hothead!reader
part two here
spencer has you wrapped around his finger; you'd do anything he said without question. your team can't quite understand it. little do they know you and spencer have an unsaid.. thing.
warnings: reader has a hot temper? is that a warning? | words: 1k short but sweet!
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You were known to have a confident personality. You never let anyone shake you, that's why the team loved you so much. You were the sole, beating heart of Aaron Hotchner's team; you never let them give up. Not only, but you were kind of a badass. You knew how to profile amazingly, and you could hold your own if an unsub got a little too rough.
Something else you were known for? A hot temper.
Okay, maybe it could go a little bad sometimes, but you truly meant well. Like that time you accidentally made a teenage boy cry. To be fair, he was a potential unsub. He actually was the unsub, so not all was a total failure.
Today was different for you. The coffee shop you frequented before work was closed due to issues with the electrical systems. That put a chip in your day. How was one to thrive without coffee? Next, you forgot your badge at home, making you late for work since you had to retrieve it to even get into the building. That put a dent in your day.
Derek was known to be a funny guy. Not the kind of funny guy you'd actually laugh at, but the kind who kind of pissed you off sometimes. Yeah, that kind. While he meant well at heart, it just royally pissed you off. You couldn't help that!
You leaned your elbows on the table, listening to the coffee pour into your cup. "Hello my little fox," Penelope greeted, her face frowning when she saw the look on yours. "What's wrong?"
"Bad day so far," You muttered. "Everything's just going wrong."
"It's only seven," Derek said as he walked in, smile on his face. "Come on, sugar. Go on and sit down at your desk. I know how you like your coffee." You thanked Derek quickly as you went to your desk. It was right next to Spencer.
Oh, Spencer. The boy who fell hard for you, who made you fall for him. Neither of you knew that, though, your crushes remaining secret still. "Y/n," Spencer frowned, "what's wrong?"
"It's alright, Spence," You forced a small, pathetic smile. "Just a bad morning."
Spencer gave you a half smile, "Positive attitudes actually give you a higher likelihood of having a better day by ten to thirty percent," Spencer rambled, "and that actually is the same for social connections, being a twenty to forty percent. You're on the right track."
You loved Spencer's rambles. They were adorable. "Thanks, Spence." You smiled.
A few minutes later, Morgan came to your desk with your coffee in hand. "For you, sugar." He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. You quickly took a generous sip.
It left your lips quicker than it entered. You spit it out into the trash can next to your dest, face turning sour at the taste. It was so bitter, so salty. "What the hell, Morgan?!" You cried out, "What is this?"
"Salt, sugar." He teased.
Your face turned hot, "How old are you, six?" His face slowly fell as you became angrier, "Genuinely, how old are you? Because last I checked, children don't have jobs."
"Hey," Derek tried to calm you down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to actually upset you."
"Oh, of course you didn't!" You replied with sarcasm dripping from your lips. "You just don't get when people don't want you to make them feel worse!"
Derek's face fell into a frown. You didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but you couldn't stop your words. "Y/n," Spencer said firmly, "Sit down, now."
Before you could even think, you followed his command. The whole event caught Penelope, Emily, Rossi, and JJ's attention. JJ was quick to rush over, grabbing your coffee. "I'll get you the right one, it's okay." She comforted as Emily quickly lead Derek away. Rossi and Garcia decided to mind their own business, smart.
You groaned, head in your hands. Spencer was quick to kneel by you, taking your hands into his own. "Y/n," He said softly, "Take a deep breath. I know, I know." You followed his instructions, inhaling and holding it like he demonstrated, softly letting it out after. "Good job, sweetheart, do it again for me, okay?"
After a few more times, your face cooled off. You closed your eyes, sighing. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings."
"I know, he knows, too." Spencer assured. "He knows he was out of line. You reacted the same way anyone would. It's alright."
Spencer raised his hand to your face, softly brushing your cheek with his thumb. JJ walked over, unsure if she was ruining.. something?
"Hey, I got you your coffee," She hesitantly spoke. You looked up, reaching out quickly.
"Thanks," You mumbled, taking a cautious sip. When you realized the taste was right, you took a bigger sip, sighing at the warmth flooding down your throat.
Spencer gave you a small smile, "See? It's okay now."
You nodded with a smile, thanking him softly. He went back to his desk, re-opening his report. You did the same, clicking your pen open.
"Okay, now what the hell was that?" Derek asked, the previous team members crowding around Rossi's desk.
"I felt like I was walking in on them," JJ mumbled awkwardly. "The tension was so strong I thought it was gonna slice me clean in half."
Emily smiled, "I bet they're in love or something, only love can make a person react like that. She would've bitten anyone else's head off." Everyone mumbled in agreement.
"I bet two weeks," Rossi said after a moment.
"Nah, knowing Reid, it's gotta be more like three." Derek shook his head.
Emily laughed, "I bet a week and a half. Y/n's too badass to not admit it first."
"I don't think they ever will until we do for them." Penelope sighed, knowing how stubborn both individuals were.
"I say one week, solid." JJ nodded. "I felt that tension."
Hotch's voice came out of nowhere, "Four days."
Everyone turned around, shocked. "Hotch, you sure about that?" Derek asked, a slight tease in his voice. "You know them."
"I do," He nodded, "Four days. You'll see I'm right."
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eddiesxangel · 9 months ago
Text
Show You | Virgin Eddie x Fem!Reader
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Summary: Eddie meets you 4 years after he escapes the upside-down when he moves to your small Californian town.
Wc: 7k AN: sorry to the anons that requested Virgin!Eddie like a month ago, but here shit is!
Cw: shy/angsty/insecure!Eddie, fluff, SMUT, Virgin Eddie x experienced fem reader, size kink, blowjob, p in v, protected sex, sub!Eddie. Switch?eddie, dirty talk.
1990
Eddie’s life for his first twenty years wasn’t necessarily the best… drugs, alcohol, child neglect, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. Eddie’s dreams were haunted by the horror story of his life, which was 1986.
Four years ago, the gates of hell opened, and Eddie was dragged into them, kicking and screaming. Eventually, he got out with his weird band of misfits, but the scars left on his body by those disgusting creatures only remind him daily of the horrors he survived.
He survived. He got out and was paid a fat sum by the American government for keeping quiet. So he took the money and his Uncle and they ran. They ran far, far away from Hawkins, so far they ended up in the quaint town of Ferndale, California.
The Munson men had grown accustomed to the small-town life and did not want to give that up. They were pleasantly surprised when they moved to Ferndale. The vibrant Victorian-style homes painted in different shades of pastel colours added a pop of colour to the town's landscape. Wayne was particularly taken by the town's charm and ultimately decided he didn't want to leave.
The smell of saltwater from the nearby ocean was a refreshing change, and the Munson men enjoyed taking long walks on the beach during their free time to clear their heads of their tortured past. The picturesque scenery of Ferndale was a welcome change from the mundane routine of their old town of Hawkins.
With that money from the government, Eddie was able to buy himself and his uncle a nice four-bedroom house; they had so much room for just the two of them they didn’t know what to do with it. Eddie owed everything to his uncle, so of course, he needed to splurge.
Eddie had to undergo hours of physical therapy daily to fix every joint and muscle on the right side of his body, which made it difficult for him to perform even the simplest of tasks. It took him a couple of years to recover and walk properly again, but he remained determined to make a fresh start and leave his old life behind.
Once he was finally able to function normally, Eddie set out to find a new job that would provide him with a real opportunity to rebuild his life. He was determined to leave his past behind and start anew without any remnants of his old life hanging over him, including drug dealing. Eddie knew that it wouldn't be easy, but he remained committed to his goal. He was willing to put in the hard work necessary to succeed in his new job and build a better life for himself. For him, this was a second chance, a fresh start that he was determined to make the most of.
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The door chimed and jingled as the fall air flowed into the small music store. While the locals were bundled up in layers of corduroy and jean jackets, scarves, and gloves, Eddie enjoyed the breeze that entered the shop. His faded black Metallica t-shirt was the only one in sight.
The doorbell's persistent chime was starting to wear on Eddie's nerves as the evening came to a close. It had been a long and busy day, with customer after customer coming in. With only twenty minutes left to go, he was getting ready to close up shop alone tonight. He considered flipping the sign a little early because, finally, after hours of non-stop work, the floor was empty of people.
Eddie was behind the counter, wiping down the work area and facing away from the door, when he heard those dreaded chimes. His shoulders dropped with defeat; he was a fool to think this day could be ended early.
He put on a façade of good customer service, but his expression quickly changed to genuine happiness mixed with nerves upon seeing who had walked into the small record store.
He had seen you around town, at the grocery store and sometimes at the beach. He admired you from afar, never once approaching you. No. You intimidated him but in the best way. You were like no other woman he had seen before.
Growing up in Hawkins, being secluded as the town freak, he didn’t have much exposure to female attention. Or any romantic attraction for that fact. So when you entered the store, Eddie’s palms felt sweaty, and his heart started to race; he could hear the blood pounding in his ears as his eyes locked with yours.
He swore he saw a sparkle in your eyes when you looked at him, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. He didn’t even know your name yet.
“E-evening,” he awkwardly waved as you browsed the slim aisle.
“Hi,” your face broke out into a smile and went back to your search. Your best friend Charlie’s birthday was tomorrow, and you needed to get her a gift before her party.
As you searched and searched, you were still looking for an album you thought she would like. You two were total opposites when it came to your music preferences, so you had no idea what to get her. After minutes with no success, you found yourself calling out to the only other person in the store.
“Hey, I don't mean to bother you, but I need your opinion.” You snap Eddie out of his little daydream, obviously that you were the start of that daydream.
“Sure!” He said he was a bit too excited. “How can I help you” he smiled but swung his long arms back and forth uncomfortably as he approached you.
“I’m looking for a birthday gift, and I’m a total newbie when it comes to metal. Do you think you can help me?” You bite your lip, observing the man in front of you.
He possessed an alluring, bad-boy persona that made him quite charming. His hair was long, reaching his shoulders, and looked unstyled, yet it was evident that he had taken time to make it look just right. The chocolate waves cascaded down his face, framing his striking features, which were difficult to ignore. His big, round eyes were captivating, and they softened his tough exterior, making him appear less intimidating, especially with that nasty scar running through his left cheek and up to his temple. He had a fair complexion, and his arms were visible, revealing numerous tattoos that covered some scars running up from his forearm to his bicep, which aided his rugged appearance.
He saw you staring and immediately wrapped his arms around himself, trying to conceal the scars from your gaze. You felt bad. You know it’s rude to stare, but he was so enticing to look at; you’d never seen anyone like him before, especially not in this North California town of yours.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You gestured to the arms he was concealing.
"S'all good." He brushed it off, but you could tell he was, in fact, uncomfortable.
"If it makes you feel any better... it makes you look like a total badass." You smirked.
"Oh really?" hearing your compliment did make Eddie feel a little better.
"Yeah, total babe magnet." You flirt.
"Well... I don't know about that?" Eddie's closed-off demeanour quickly changed to bashful.
"You're not from here, are you?" you looked at his name tag "Eddie," you cock your head, taking him in once again.
He's taller than you by at least a full head. His shoulders are broad, and his torso is lean. You'd guess he is around your age, mid-twenties, give or take a year or two.
Eddie liked the way you said his name.
"Nah, moved here a few years ago," he smirked.
"Well, I'm glad you did because you look just like the style of a guy who can help me." You bite your lip.
"I do?"
"Like I said, my friend is a total metalhead, and I don't have a clue on what to get?"
"Sure, yeah, I'm definitely your guy for that."
He walked you over to the correct section of the store, and you noticed a slight limp to his gate.
"If they're just an okay friend, I suggest this," He held up a small cassette. "but if they're a really good friend, Then this is definitely the thing to get them."
"Oh, this looks like something they would like! Charlie never shuts up about this band." You smile, taking the record from Eddie's hands. You decide this is the one and let Eddie know you want him to ring you up.
"So is Charlie like your boyfriend or something" God Munson, real smooth.'
This made you giggle.
"Why do you wanna ask me out or something? You cocked your head.
"Yeah, or something," Eddie's demeanour suddenly became coy.
"Well, Charlotte is my best friend, no boyfriend. " you take the record off Eddie's hands.
"Oh ok cool-cool”
Seconds of awkward silence filled the air, you could sense he wanted to talk to you more.
“Yea, well um”-
“You think I could have your number?" He asked while fiddling with his fingers. His long, thick fingers were decorated with silver rings, scars and chipped black polish. You liked his fingers; he looked like the kind of guy who knew how to use them.
Eddie's personality was more like that of a teddy bear than his outward appearance suggested.
"Sure," You smiled and pulled out an old receipt and a pen from your purse. You flipped it to the blank side and wrote your name and number on the back. "Call me." You winked as you passed it to Eddie before exiting the store.
Eddie couldn't believe what just happened. He locked up as soon as you left, watching to make sure you made it into your car safely. The crime rate in this town was non-existent, but now Eddie knew what was lurking in the shadows. He could never be too careful.
Eddie made it home about half an hour later and was examining the small paper you'd given him. He looked over the pink loopy writing of your name, and he traced over the love heart you'd written in the top right corner.
"What that you got there, boy" Wayne walked into the room and noticed what Eddie had been memorizing. He bent down and picked up the white paper marked in pink ink off of the coffee table. "Well, well, well, I'll be damned," He huffed with excitement. It was about time Eddie put himself out there.
"I bet she's real cute." He winked at his blushing nephew.
"Yeah," Eddie sighed, thinking about your face.
"If you need any tips, let me know." Wayne smiled.
"Huh?"
"I'll have you know I know how to treat a lady right, so when you come begging for help, I'll be right here." He patted his shoulder.
"Yeah, okay, Mr. Cassanova." Eddie scoffed. Wayne had never been with anyone since Eddie entered his life.
"Whatever," Wayne mumbled under his breath as he exited the living room to give Eddie some semblance of privacy. He would be able to hear the whole conversation, but he still wanted to give the illusion of privacy to his boy.
When the phone rang, you had been wrapping Charlie's present in your bedroom.
"I got it!" You yelled out to your roommates, rushing over to the other end, praying that it was Eddie on the other end.
You let it ring two more times as you took a deep breath before picking it up.
"Hello," You smiled.
"Hey, uh, this is Eddie."
"Hi, Eddie," you smiled. He could tell it was you by your voice. "I'm glad you called." You played with the phone cord, wrapping it and then unwrapping it from your fingers as you spoke.
"I was wondering if you were free on Saturday?"
You jumped up and down, giddy he was asking you out, when Charlie and Evan, your two roommates, rounded the corner to see what had gotten you all googly-eyed.
"I work Saturday until three, but I'm free after" You look at your roommates and Charlie's mouth "Who's that"
"Great, I -uh- was thinking we could maybe see a movie or dinner or both; yeah, both are good." Eddie cleared his throat.
"Yeah, both are good," You giggle back.
"Great, I can pick you up around six, that okay?"
You agree and give him your address. You wish him a good night and hang up with phone with the biggest smile on your face.
"Okay, spill, who was that." Evan and Charlie corner you before you can escape.
"You know the music store on Main St.?" You grin.
"Yea," they say in unison.
"I was in there tonight, and the guy who works there, Eddie, asked me for my number, and we are going out on Saturday."
"You mean the scary guy with the hair and the nasty scar on his face?" Evan's eyes widen.
"Trust me, he is not scary," you giggle.
"Okay," Evan draws out. He was always protective of you.
"Trust me, you should have seen how timid he was; he's really sweet." You reassure them.
"We need to get you an outfit!" Charlie jumps into action, heading for your room.
"Wait!" You rush by her, shoving the gift under your pillow so she can't see anything.
"Something I should know? any particular reason you were at the music store tonight?"
"Nope! No reason at all; I saw a cute guy and thought I would shoot my shot." You brush off
"Yeah, okay," She totally knew.
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Eddie was frantic. This was honestly and truly his first date. He doesn’t count the disaster of a night that was Jackie Manning in the fourth grade that had been wiped from his memory.
Eddie was bouncing around the house from room to room, trying to gather things he needed for the evening. He wanted this to work. He wanted to get to know you. He wanted to build something, he was already a twenty four year old who’s never been in a relationship or had sex. And he wanted those two things so badly. He was lonely, and he missed his friends from Hawkins, but he could never go back, not after everything that had happened. And because of everything that happened was the exact reason he was still a virgin.
The pressure to please was building in his head as the time started getting closer to 6:00pm.
“Don’t psych yourself out, kid.” Wayne watched as his nephew flew around the house. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“What if she thinks I’m a freak like everyone else?” His sentence tapers off as his voice turns into a mumbled whisper.
“Son, listen to me. This town is no Hawkins. You do not need to hide anymore, and you never know. Maybe she’s more of a freak than you ever can be,” his uncle laughed.
“Not helping.” He rolls his eyes, walking back to his room. He was looking for the new cologne he bought for tonight. He sprits it on himself maybe one too many times, but it didn’t matter, he was sweating so much he needed to change his shirt, again.
Looking into the mirror, he couldn't help but notice the scars that crisscrossed along his torso. It was obvious that his scars had a story, one that was filled with pain and struggle. Despite feeling self-conscious, Eddie took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was more than his physical appearance. With care, he fixed his hair and pulled on a black long-sleeved collared shirt, hoping it would provide some comfort and confidence.
With one last deep breath, he worked up the courage to grab his keys and walk out the front door.
“Good luck, be yourself, don’t forget the flowers and open the door for her damnit! I didn’t raise you to be no brute!”
“Got it!” Eddie yelled out before shutting the door with a click.
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As you were lost in thought, a distant rumble of an old engine caught your attention, and you instinctively turned towards the window. You noticed a striking red two-door sedan pulling up to the front of your house, and your eyes were immediately drawn to Eddie as he stepped out of the car. He exuded an air of confidence, wearing a sleek black leather jacket that complimented his impressive physique. You couldn't help but watch as he flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it under his black boots.
Your gaze moved up his long, toned legs, admiring the way they looked in his fitted black jeans, to his slim waist and broad shoulders that seemed to dominate the space around him. As he walked towards the trunk of the car, his movements were so graceful that they seemed almost rehearsed. He retrieved what looked like a bouquet of flowers. You couldn’t help but fucked him as you watched how he walked up to the front porch. He looked like pure sex, and you couldn’t wait to climb him like a tree.
Yeah, it has been a while since you last got laid, and this date with Eddie was getting your hopes up that that streak will soon come to an end.
The closer he got to the porch, the more the butterflies built in your stomach. The knock on the door shot you up from where you were perched, and you quickly made your way down the stairs.
“Hi” you smile brightly as you open the door.
“Hey,” Eddie smirked shyly as he took you in. It was like he forgot to breathe for a second. How could someone be cute and sexy at the same time?
“Hi” you repeated.
“I got you these.” he passed you a cute bouquet of pink and purple flowers.
“Thank you, Eddie.” You smile and smell them, finding your bashfulness.
“For us, you shouldn’t have!” Evan comes up and takes the flowers out of your hands
“Okay, bad boy, have our girl back by midnight” Charlie comes up from behind you, giving Eddie a once over.
“Charlie?” Eddie points.
“Oh, you talked about me? I’m flattered,” your best friend pecks you on the cheek.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are?” Eddie motions to Evan.
“Evan” he smiles and puts his hand out to shake. “The unspoken about roommate.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s just salty. I’m going out, and he’s stuck at home with Charlie and her new Dio album,” you smirk.
“Well, I hope you enjoy, I’m personally a fan of track 8,” Eddie rocks back on his heels.
“I like him; he’s the boy version of me.” Charlie nods in approval.
“Okay, let’s go.” You grab Eddie's arm and close the door behind you before your roommates can say anymore.
Eddie walked you to the passenger side of the red sedan and opened the door for you.
“Thank you,” you smiled, and Eddie jogged to the other side.
The car ride was a little quiet but not long. Eddie jogged out to the other side and opened the door for you with a smile.
You talked a bit more before the movie. He bought the popcorn and drinks. He didn’t open up much about why he moved, but you spoke about your interests and your future goals up until the movie started.
During the movie, you tried to pass signals to him to make a move. You rested your hand out so he could take it, but it seemed that he was engrossed in the film. You tried leaning in closer so he could put his arm around you, but nothing. So you pulled a Hail Mary and rested your hand on his thigh. You felt his body stiffen under your touch, but the. He relaxed a little and took your hand in his.
You glanced over at Eddie, and he was grinning at you. The light off the movie screen reflected off the deep scar marking Eddie’s cheek. God, he was beautiful.
“What?” Eddie whispered.
Shit, did you say that out loud?
“You’re beautiful.” You whispered back confidently. Something about Eddie told you he wasn’t complimented often, but you wanted to change that.
“Oh,” Eddie blushes, the red crawled up his chest, and he felt his ears burning bright red. Thankful for his long hair and the dark theatre.
After the movie, Eddie didn’t let go of your hand until you got to the car; then, when you both were back in the car, he bravely reached over and took your hand in his once more.
Dinner was lovely; he pulled out your chair for you, and he opened up more to you about himself. He was extremely charming and funny, vibrant and animated, and he made you feel alive. Eddie was such a breath of fresh air compared to the men from your past.
By the end of the night, you didn’t want it to end. You drove around for a while before you both decided it was for the best to take you home.
Like the perfect gentleman he had been all night, Eddie walked you up to your door.
“I had a really nice night with you.” You smiled up at him. He made you feel like a teenager again.
“Me too, Sweetheart.”
Your heart soared at the nickname.
Eddie leaned in, hoping and praying he was reading the room correctly. He felt like his insides were going to explode, and he took the risk and kissed you.
Eddie’s hands grabbed your waist and pulled you in closer as you leaned into him. He felt your hands wrap around his neck and bring your bodies closer. His hard frame was pressed against your soft one; he let a soft moan slip as he felt your soft breasts graze his chest and your plush thighs press against his centre.
Eddie quickly pulled away once he felt his cock hardening against your body; the last thing he needs is your thinking he is some perv.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Eddie cupped your face, giving you one quick peck before stepping back and trying to cover his crotch with his jacket.
“Goodnight, Eddie,” you smile, and you look at him like no one has looked at Eddie. It made his knees feel like jello.
“I’ll call you,” he smirked; his confidence had grown since he walked out his front door.
“You better”
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Eddie and you have been dating for two months now. Everything had been going well, everything but your sex life, or lack thereof.
Eddie hadn’t made a move. Nothing went past makeouts and heavy petting, and you were starting to get insecure. Everything else was amazing, but nothing ever led to anything more.
You had tried to initiate sex, but every time you were turned away, even a blow job, Eddie made an excuse for you not to go past kissing.
You were pulling away, and Eddie could sense it. He was absolutely fucking this up, but his inner thoughts were his worst enemy. How could you be with someone as inexperienced and deformed as him? Could he please you? What if he finished in ten seconds? He would be mortified. But all of that felt like nothing if it meant losing you.
Tonight, he would change that. Tonight, he had the whole evening planned. He had the house to himself as Wayne was also out with a lady friend he had met at the town bar. Things were looking up for the Munson men in California.
After your date with Eddie, he invited you over to his place for the first time. His house was beautiful; you wondered how Eddie could afford a place like this? He had already disclosed to you he had purchased it all on his own.
“Are you a part of the mob” you joke as you take in the house.
Eddie chuckled and led you further into his home.
“You want a drink?”
“Yeah, whatever you’re having,” As you make your way over to the large sofa you take a seat and let out a deep sigh as you sink into the comfortable cushions.
The room is quiet, save for the sound of Eddie shuffling around in the kitchen, and you begin to feel a little uneasy in the silence, not knowing what to do to fill the time. Thankfully, Eddie walks in with two beers in his hands, and you can't help but smile at the sight of him.
He hands you a beer and takes a sip of his own before heading over to the stereo to put on some music. As the music starts to fill the room, you begin to feel more at ease.
“So, where is your Uncle?” You ask casually.
“Out for the night, we have the place to ourselves.” He smiles as he sits down beside you.
“Oh, so he is gone the whole night?” You ask, trying not to get your hopes up.
“Yep,” he ended his word with a crisp pop.
“That’s good.” You nod your head. “Sure is a big place to be alone in.”
“Wanna keep me company?” Eddie nuzzled his face into your neck.
“Yes,” you sigh as the beer in your hands has been completely forgotten. Finally, you were going to spend some much-needed alone time with Eddie.
You push back so you can turn your head to kiss Eddie. You turn your body so you can get a better angle. Eddie cups your face pulling you closer, he wanted to feel you, all of you.
You needed to feel him more, too; your pussy was in control; you swung your leg over his lap so you could straddle your man. Your hips started moving on their own. Grinding down onto Eddie’s lap. Eddie hands travels from your face down your back to cup your ass pulling you closer. His cock was already hard; you felt how big he was through his taught jeans. You pull away to slip your hands under his shirt, but Eddie grabs your wrists hastily.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” You ask worried. The grip on your wrists was firm. “I thought you were into this?” You feel like you are folding into yourself.
“I am!” He was quick to correct you.
“Do you not want me in that way?” Your voice was so small.
“No! I mean, yes, I do, I really, really do.” He shakes his head.
“Then why don’t you want to do anything with me?”
“I do, fuck, sweetheart. I really do. It’s all I think about.” He stroked your hair reassuringly.
“Then let me.” You tried unbuttoning Eddie’s jeans, but he stopped you once again. You were fighting back tears of embarrassment. You were throwing yourself at him, and he was rejecting you time and time again.
“Sweetheart, wait, I have to tell you something… well, two things.”
“What it’s it, baby?” Now you were nervous.
“I-shit- I want this to be… be so good for you, but I’m…not really…experienced.” he avoided eye contact, and it finally clicked.
“Eddie, are you a virgin?” Your question with no judgment or malice in your tone.
He slowly nods his head, looking down in his lap.
“Baby, that doesn’t matter to me.” You hook a finger under his jaw to make him look at you.
His wide eyes were sorrowful like he didn’t want to disappoint you.
“Yeah?” He whispers.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a kiss as you lean down into him. Slowly, you started rocking your hips into his lap once again.
“Sweetheart, there is uh-one more thing.” He pulls away; you can already feel his thick cock beneath you.
“If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything.”
“No, no, I-I want to. It’s umm. Shit”
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” you cooed.
“I kinda have to if I want to sleep with you…”
“Okay, Eddie. Take your time.”
“My uh- scars. They’re everywhere." he gestured to his middle, " And I don’t want you to be grossed out or whatever.” He was bitterly honest with you. All of his walls came tumbling down, and you felt like an ass for not even considering his feelings about the situation.
“Eddie,” you sighed.
“No, I know what I look like, and it’s not normal. I don’t want you to get scared off or worse because I really like you. And god, I wanna have sex with you so bad it’s all I can think about that makes me sound so perverted- but it’s true. I want to be with you so bad.”
You cut him off with a kiss. A deep, sensual kiss that makes Eddie forget his own name.
“Let me take care of you,” you whisper into his lips.
“You don’t have to. I want this to be about you.”
“No baby, you do so much for me. Let me do this for you” You kiss down his jaw to his neck, sucking a dark purple mark until you’re satisfied and Eddie is withering underneath you, trying to get any sense of friction.
Your hands explored his waist above his shirt, feeling his body. It was bumpy, and there were ridges where you were not used to, but it didn’t deter you from wanting to be with him.
You could feel his body stiffen when your fingers traced over his scars.
“Is there any place you don’t want me touching?” You whispered.
“No, no, touch me- please.” his chest moved up and down with his heavy breaths.
Eddie’s body felt like it was on fire. No one has ever felt him in this way. He needed more but didn’t want to press you. So he let you take your time.
Your hands once again tried to break past the barrier of his shirt. This time, he let you as your warm fingertips worked their way up his tummy, feeling his skin beneath you.
“Can I take this off?” You ask.
Eddie nodded his head frantically; he trusted you and wanted nothing more than to keep going.
He sat up a bit, letting you shuffle the soft cotton over his head.
Your gaze didn’t break from his body. It was so beautifully mangled you could see he had skin grafting scars all across his chest and sides.
“I get it if you’re not attracted to me.”
“Hey,” you grab his head in both hands, forcing him to look at you. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone more than I want to be with you right now.” You take a hand off his face to grab his hand and guide it to your soaked panties.
Eddie’s eyes widen with surprise as he feels your pooled slick in your panties.
“Holy shit,” Eddie gasped.
“I want you, Eddie. I want you so bad. I want to make you feel good.” You grind yourself on his hand before you slink off his lap and onto your knees in front of him.
You were about to give him the best blowjob imaginable. You didn’t know what Eddie went through, but you knew he was one of the most genuine guys you’ve ever met, and he deserved this moment.
You were quick to unbuckle his belt and pants before guiding your hand up his still-covered cock. Your fingers are hooked under the elastic waistband of his boxers, and his pulsing cock sprang free.
Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you… you knew he would be big, but you weren’t expecting him to be that big. How has he been hiding this from you all this time?
“What? What's wrong?”
“Eddie, you’re huge,” your mouth hung agape. In front of you is a cock at least eight inches long and thick, with a slight curve to the left.
“What? No.”
“You’re joking?” You laugh.
Eddie looks at you with a blank stare. Maybe laughing while his cock was out wasn’t the best idea.
“Eddie, I’m serious,” you take his length in your hand. “This is the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.” It felt heavy in your hand.
"Really?"
"Really, I don't think it's going to fit?" You chuckle, a little worried.
"Can- can we at least try?" Eddie stutters.
"Don't worry, baby, I always like a challenge."
You didn't let Eddie respond before your mouth was enveloping the tip of his cock. You swirled your tongue around the head before taking as much as possible without triggering your gag reflex.
"Holy shit" Eddie instinctively grabbed your hair as you lowered your head down the shaft. His face scrunched up in pleasure.
"You like that baby?" You ask, popping up for air, your hand replacing your mouth.
"Yes," he sucked in a sharp breath as your hand applied the perfect amount of pressure to his cock.
"I can't believe you've been holding this secret from me for so long, naughty boy." You smirked before taking him back in your mouth.
" I-I-didn't-fuck! Didn't know?" Fuck why had Eddie been holding off on this feeling? This wonderful feeling of your beautiful mouth surrounding his length.
You worked your head up and down his head before Eddie pulled you off unexpectedly.
" I'm gonna come if you keep doing that."
"That's the point, baby." You smiled.
"But I wanna have sex," He rushes out.
"Okay." You smile, and you both stand up, taking his hand in yours. "Wanna show me your bedroom?"
Eddie frantically nods his head yes before he pulls you up the stairs to the bedroom. You giggle behind him as he runs up the stairs, trying not to trip as his pants and boxers are wrapped around his ankles.
He rushes the both of you over to his bed, and he lays you down before him before you can take off your clothes.
"Tell me what you want," you coo, tucking a piece of hair behind Eddie's ear as he hovers over you.
"You, I want you so bad," he whines between kisses.
"Good boy," you smile, and Eddie swears his heart stops beating.
"How do you want me?" you ask as Eddie's hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body.
"Naked." He kissed the exposed skin of your neck.
"Mmmm, good boy, tell me what you want," you say as Eddie's mouth finds your sweet spot.
You hear Eddie whimper at your praise, so you decide to keep pushing. In a moment of intense emotion, something inside him breaks. A deep longing takes hold of him, compelling him to be nothing but a perfect and devoted man for you. The thought of being your good boy fills him with an unfamiliar sense of need, one that he has never encountered before.
"You like it when I call you that, baby?"
Eddie mumbles an answer into your neck.
"What was that? I couldn’t hear you."
"Yes, please, I want to be your good boy." He rutted his bare cock against your wet panty-covered core, and it sent a wave of pleasure through you.
"Oh, Eddie," You moan. "help me take off my clothes," You ask sweetly.
Eddie waisted not another second before your shirt was over your head and your skirt ripped off of your hips. You managed your bra while Eddie did the honours of revealing your swollen wet pussy.
"How do you want me?" you ask as your fingers trace your pussy lips before opening your legs wide for Eddie to see you play with your pussy.
"I've died and gone to heaven." Eddie's eyes were wide as he took in your body.
"I want you to feel me, baby." you reach out for Eddie's hand and guide it back to your pussy like you had downstairs. You slowly guided his thick fingers through your folds, collecting your slick before you showed him where your tight hole was.
“Holy shit” Eddie couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.
"It's okay, you can go in" You rocked your hips into Eddies and hoping his fingers would breach your cunt.
"Oh my god," You say in unison as his long, thick finger stretches you out ever so slightly.
"You're so tight." Eddie slowly tests the waters as he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy.
"mmmm, think about how good it's going to feel when my tight little pussy is wrapped around your big, thick cock"
Eddie's brain short-circuited, his hand stopped moving, and you let out a giggle when you realized you had broken his brain.
"Can I?"
"Just a little bit more warming up, baby. You're just so big I need to get ready for you." You bat your lashes at him.
"fuck you can't say things like that to me."
"Why you don't like it?" You tease.
"Quite the opposite, sweetheart."
"You wanna know a secret to a woman's pleasure?"
"Yes"
"You gotta pay a lot of attention to right here" You guide his hand to your swollen clit. You let out a moan when his fingers make contact with your bundle of nerves.
You show him how to circle it, and Eddie couldn't believe the sight below him. He was giving you pleasure. He could tell by your blissed-out face he was doing a good job; he was being your good boy.
"Fuck I need you now," you moan, feeling your orgasm build.
"I have condoms," Eddie blurts out.
"Good, go get one," you breathe heavy with lust. Eddie hops off the bed, almost tripping over his pants that were still wrapped around his ankles, making you giggle.
You watched as he reached his nightstand opening the drawer. Your pussy was throbbing, and you couldn’t take your eyes off how his shoulder blade jutted out, and his back muscles rippled and dipped through the large scar that covered most of his left side. Your eyes travelled down, and the perfect view of his perky ass was right there for the taking. So you can’t help yourself as you reach out and swat at it playfully, making Eddie jump.
“You’re a little minx.” he turns quickly, wrapped condom in hand.
Eddie quickly crawls back into the bed before unwrapping and rolling the condom down his throbbing length. Then he froze, not knowing what to do next?
“How do you want me, Eddie baby?” You playfully twirl a piece of his unruly hair around your finger.
“Can-can you be on top to start?”
“Layback for me.” You un-twirl your finger from his hair and gently push his shoulders back so he can get comfortable.
His cock lay flat against his stomach, passing where his belly button should have been.
Slowly, you wrap your legs around his body, aligning your centre with his. You take his girth in your delicate hand and guide his cock to your wanton hole. You glide his tip through your pussy lips a few times, teasing and collecting your slick before slowly sinking your way down. You let out a shaking breath as he splits you in half.
It took everything within Eddie to not rut his hips up into you; his knuckles turned white as he gripped the sheets beneath him, trying to do everything not to plant his feel so he could to hold back.
He’d never felt anything so heavenly. You were so fucking tight around him. He couldn’t believe how amazing this felt. Your pussy was his own personal paradise, and he was never leaving.
“Fuck-fuck-fuck-“ you stuttered as your pussy adjusted to his size. The burn was long but so good, you wanted more of him.
Eddie watched as your pinched-up face relaxed, changing quickly from uncomfortable to pure pleasure when you reached the hilt.
“Holy shit,” Eddie swore he could have come right then and there if he wanted it. But he didn’t want it, not yet. God, he be damned if he didn’t make this moment last forever.
“You like the way my pussy is wrapped around your fat cock, big boy?” You start to rock your hips slowly, teasing the man who is falling apart beneath you.
Usually, you were always the one in his position, but you felt a power you’d never experienced. You wanted to be in control tonight; you wanted to make this so good for Eddie, your sweet Eddie with a monster cock.
Eddie jerked his hips up, and your pussy clenched. “Oh fuck!” Eddie cried as your muscles contracted around him. This was it; nothing could ever be better than this right now.
“You feel that honey? How tight my wet warm pussy is for you?” You start to bounce, and Eddie, stood, corrected.
He tried to hold on as your tits started bouncing in his face as you worked yourself up and down on his cock.
“Touch me,” you panted.
Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. His hands snapped up to your hips gripping you tightly before he ran them up to your swollen breasts.
You throw your head back as Eddie pinches your nipples, exposing your neck. Eddie acts on instinct, wanting to ravage you, he sits up and latches his mouth onto your exposed neck, then down your chest to your perked nipples.
“Oh baby,” you cry at the sudden movement beneath you. The new angel only sank his cock deeper into your cunt. He was filling you so good, you’ve never felt this full.
“Can I - can we switch?” Eddie can’t take it he needs to fuck you, like really fuck you.
“Yes,” you were completely fucked out.
You let out a squeak as Eddie man handles you to be underneath him. He wastes no time pounding back into you the second your back hits the mattress. His sting hands are gripping your hips so hard you’re sure there will be finger shaped bruises. He nearly took your breath away as his hips snapped into your dripping pussy, your walls pulsed around him as his cock grazed that sweet spot that is deep, deep inside.
“OH EDDIE” you scream, eyes rolling back into your head.
It was music to Eddie’s ears. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He needed you to finish. He suddenly remembered the advice you gave him minutes before. His hand grazed down your body to your clit.
His touch sent a zap of pleasure through your core, only making your pussy tighten even more. His fingers worked your pussy slowly, a contrast from how fast he was thrusting into you.
Moans of ecstasy escaped your throat as your brain shut off. You were no longer in control; it was all Eddie.
“Baby, you still with me?” He coos in your ear.
“Fuck Eddie, don’t stop! I’m going to cum!” You wrap your legs around Eddie to pull him closer to you, not that it was possible. You wanted him buried inside of you forever.
“Come on, baby, come for me.”
You broke at his words. Your orgasm ripped through you as he worked his cock through your tight grip. Eddie broke as soon as you did no way he could hold on any longer.
A loud roar rips out of his chest as his seed spurts out of him into the condom that is buried deep inside of you.
“Fuck me, you sure that was your first time?” You giggle, still totally fucked out.
“Yep, guess you can say I’m a natural sex god.” his ego was definitely boosted.
“Mmmhmmmmm,” you nod in agreement. Rolling over to wrap a bare leg around his body.
Eddie couldn’t believe his life could be this sweet. He wrapped his arms around you and fell asleep with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
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solelifauna · 7 days ago
Note
So this NOT to imply the writing is bad
But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser
Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?
Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used
Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael
(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)
Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.
Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.
Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.
Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.
He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.
Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.
Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.
He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.
Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.
"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.
It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.
For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.
“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”
The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.
Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.
With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.
You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.
Finally, one of your spells strikes true.
The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.
You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.
But the celebration is short-lived.
Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.
“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”
With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.
You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.
What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.
The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.
You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.
Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.
Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.
“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.
You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.
You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”
His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”
You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”
“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”
You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.
The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.
“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”
“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.
“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”
Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.
“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”
Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.
You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.
“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?
Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.
Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”
You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.
Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.
The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.
You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.
“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.
You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.
“We’re not done here.”
And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.
Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.
“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.
He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”
His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.
By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.
“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”
His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?
“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”
Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”
“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.
“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.
Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”
He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.
You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”
Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”
You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”
Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.
“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”
Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”
And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.
For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.
-
As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.
Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.
What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?
Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.
How did you get so far away?
He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.
Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.
With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.
But the moment is fleeting.
He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.
“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.
Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.
"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”
Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.
"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"
Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"
"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”
That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.
"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."
"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"
A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.
"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”
Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”
“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”
There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.
Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”
Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.
“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.
Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”
With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.
Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.
He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.
Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.
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colourmeastonished · 2 years ago
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Delighted to announce that I can single-handedly disprove the efficacy of the resilience narrative because after 10 years of hospitality, 7 years of bar work and 25 years of being a woman on this forsaken earth, I got sexually harassed at work last week and now my fight or flight response is Broken 👍
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karlachian · 2 months ago
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baldur's gate 3 wyll ravengard grand duke coronation tumblr simulator
🩸 bloodlover
he said WHAT about me
🦴 jonfromshop
i love <3 that we are livign in this day and age of baldurian politics. this is fucking awesome
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🪼 slenderweaver
TWENTY. FOUR.
#AND WHAT WAS I DOING AT TWENTY FOUR. FUCKALL!!!!!
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🪡 tailormadewares Follow
now why is the coronation happening in the middle of the night. some of us have jobs!
🐦‍⬛ ulderravengard Follow
the new duke consort is kind of like an evil stepmother but for the city
��� jonfromshop
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AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE READING OUT THE GREAT LAWS RIGHT NOW LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOO
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🌊 tavalina
very extremely proud of one of my best friends in the whole world wyll ravengard. can't make it to the coronation because of the whole bein g stuck in hell with my wife thing can a sweet mutual please. keep me updated.
🐺 simfolicity Follow
duke consort astarion lastname has clearly micromanaged the whole thing and ulder ravengard and him might be trying to kill each other during the ceremony. wyll is just happy to be there i think
🌊 tavalina
oh okay so business as usual
🏹 highharper
business as usual
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💋 bladethatthang
why is NO ONE talking about the geopolitical ramifications of the future grand duke being engaged to marry a CLEARLY evil looking mean cunt of an elf. not to MENTION the problematic age gap.
🩸 bloodlover
mad because he's fucking me and not you????????
💋 bladethatthang
i genuinely wish we all had died with the elder brain
🪡 tailormadewares Follow
HERITAGE POST
#bringing this back for coronation day
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🪼 slenderweaver
i;m sorry. wyll ravengard is TWENTY FOUR YEARS OLD? HE SHOULD'VE BEEN AT THE ELFSONG
🛎️ i-live-in-the-dumbwaiter
quite famously he was at the elfsong. like i understand where you're coming from but that was a whole thing. he was very polite about ordering food at 3 in the morrow in the sense that he didn't. do that.
🪼 slenderweaver
oh so now we are fucking doing elfsong pedantics about the TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD RUNNING OUR CITY.
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📦 zhentingthatrim Follow
this is so fucking stupid i WANTED to do a coup a mutiny an overthrowing even today during the coronation but no one wants to fucking do revolution anymore. you say can we PLEASE try and kill the new grand duke for trade opportunities and freedom of will. and then they will say well why would i want to do that. wyll ravengard is soooooooooo handsome and sweet and nice. trying to kill him would be RUDE. WE USED TO BE A FUCKING CITY.
🩸 bloodlover
bunk 42, flaming fist barracks, basilisk gate
📦 zhentingthatrim Follow
AYO?????
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🔥 florricking Follow
open the door
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✨ princessofhousenightstar
do your required reading you little wretches and understand that i am here fundamentally to talk about wyll where he can't see it. i love the man but sometimes i like to keep things to myself. anyways doesn't he look sooooooo dashing in his coronation outfittttttttt 🥰 i made ittttttt
🪼 slenderweaver
does anyone remember when this was an embroidery blog
🏹 highharper
you are a strange strange little man astarion
#HOW has he not found this blog yet is the question i think
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🩸 bloodlover
i want ulder ravengard dead
🗡️ bladeoffrontiers
:(
🩸 bloodlover
i want ulder ravengard mildly inconvenienced
🐦‍⬛ ulderravengard Follow
we are literally tumblr mutuals. for your evil and nefarious purposes no doubt.
🪡 tailormadewares Follow
we're all going to fucking die
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🦴 jonfromshop
wh
the grand duke isn't an option because he always sweeps.
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devil-in-hiding · 3 months ago
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Listen brother you literally singlehandedly turned me into a fuckin Price WHORE how the fuck did this happen how did i fall into this trap 💀 but you did it soooooooo just hear me out... HEAR ME OUT! price, this larger than life man who's dedicated his life to his job, this man who's written off the idea of even thinking about having a family cause he thinks he's past his prime or whatever the fuck and he's stuck in a hard place precisely because he's so proud of his accompliments as a captain while thinking that he's failed as a man at the same time. Then someone assigns him an assistant (see where i'm going with this), trying to slowly ease him into thinking about retirement and he protests so much. It's the nail in the coffin for him. He loathes the mere thought of someone invading his space and making him feel so brittle and incompetent but he doesn't have the authority to reject high command's decisions and so he agrees with gritted teeth and fire in his eyes
Then you show up and you prove to be good at what you do, but you're also everything he's low key ever dreamed of and he's STRUGGLING trying to come to terms with the fact that he'll never have you. That he's too old and that you two are in entirely different stages of your life, that he'd hold you back and that someone else would be far better suited
BUT JUST SPARE THE THOUGHT for him recognizing that you've developed a huge crush on him. Gigantic. You're suddenly so flustered around him, very unprofessional. You mess up constantly but he is by no means mad!!!!!
If anything you made his life so much sweeter omg he's SO cocky about it and he's UNBEARABLE!!! He's the definition of "I still got it ;)" and he's trying to rile you up on purpose... but he'd never go farther than some flirty comments and lingering touches. He's locked in his duty and convinced you'll move on soon. Still flattering tho
But then your crush doesn't fade. It's not going away.
It's. Not. Going. Away!!!!!!
ITS BEEN A FULL YEAR
And he's just "!!!" completely shuts down because why the hell are you still interested in him? Have you seen yourself? Have you noticed the looks you get? The looks HE gets as your boss????
But he's also thinking whether you'd like to be married, whether you'd like to have kids......and soon that's all he thinks about and all he talks about
DO YOU HEAR ME 😭😭😭 sorry this got so fucking long when its so stupid but i needed to say this
anon i love you, this is literally art because yes this is my wavelength of Price x assistant!reader
head over heels for him 10 months in after countless nights of forcing his stubborn ass to go to his quarters and get some sleep after finding him slouched over his desk, hat askew and snoring
early mornings where you are are still bleary eyed and nodding off as you try to write his calendar, only to find yourself on one of the couches a little later, surrounded by the four of them, Price seated next to you, one of HIS blankets draped over you
it’s very much a beautiful sweet cat falling for the old army dog who would bite off anyone’s hand who comes near HIS feline
he truly expects for your feelings to fade one day, more than prepared for you to find a partner, god half the base eyes you up and down as you obediently trot after him, heart in your eyes as you gaze at his strong shoulders
but that day never comes, you’re there every morning with his cuppa and a smile that is just for him, genuine and sweet.
He isn’t sure how he was deemed a worthy enough man for you to enter his life, by he’ll be damned if he lets this slip through his fingers
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kazumist · 3 months ago
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THE NAME OF LOVE .ᐟ
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✩ — the three times hoshina soshiro dismissed his feelings for you as something that friends do and the one time he realized otherwise.
✩ — request: IVE BEEN WANTING TO REQ U SOMETHING FOR SO LONG NOW I HOPE U DONT MIND !! can i ask for hopeless romantic reader and hoshina soushirou.... the way he... is...... (LOVE PESSIMIST 🫵) I'm a sucker for hoshina falling first or confessing first but it is truly up to you!! i genuinely have no idea where im going with this so pls feel free to change anything to your liking
✩ — includes: hoshina soshiro x gn!reader. fluff. cw: uhm funky pacing bc this is just pure word vom LAWLZ. wc: 3583 (i did not expect for it to be this long i swear). reader works for operations and is considered as second best to okonogi (is also okonogi's assitant). ikaruga and okonogi cameo yipee! hoshina is bad at feelings ™. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!
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to love is something you cannot name.
that’s a saying that stitched itself onto your brain because it just makes sense. loving someone has way too much depth, depending on the person who is the one lending out their heart and who they are giving it out to in the first place. it could be named as anything, depicted as anything, or interpreted as anything.
especially for you, who had witnessed, watched, read, and consumed all sorts of media that named love as numerous things. sometimes love is tragic, making two people feel so much just for them to get pulled away from each other when they were so close to running into each other’s arms. sometimes love is mirthful, having two people become the best versions of themselves around the person they love because they feel safe becoming vulnerable with the other. yet sometimes love is bittersweet, accepting the art of letting go as it was for the best—accepting that things weren’t just meant to be but not forgetting the emotions the person made you feel.
well, how were you supposed to know what love really is? a hopeless romantic is hopeless for a reason.
having a day off is quite rare, even for the employees of the operations department. the work was quite demanding, as any job involving the JAKDF was. but you still made time to relax and enjoy your rest from time to time, whether that was rewatching a good old romcom film from the 2000s or reading a new romance novel you decided to pick up.
it was normal for a hopeless romantic to dream. to fantasize. that maybe they could experience an extraordinary love like it is portrayed in films or described in songs. so naturally, as a hopeless romantic yourself, you weren’t any different. you just wanted to experience love—to be loved.
then again, liking someone does count as experiencing romance in a sense. admiring someone with traits the public doesn’t really notice is… rare. but that’s how it always went with you. though you wouldn’t really say that you actually acted upon your feelings, they're usually be gone once that person has stepped out of the current environment you’re in.
that’s how it was before.
vice captain hoshina was a respectable man. he is talented, and he sure as hell knows it. as the ton put it, you and the vice captain had a strange relationship—nobody really knows what to call you two. as the secondary leader of operations and okonogi’s assistant, it was only natural to be in the presence of the vice captain most of the time. but there’s just something different when it comes to how you two treated each other.
from flirtatious remarks and confusing gestures that you aren’t sure if you’re supposed to interpret as romantic, just what were you to the vice captain? you’ve observed long enough that he only does this to you. though you don’t really hate it. in fact, you like it that he’s only like that to you—but you weren’t supposed to like him, you swear! but honestly speaking, how could you not? you had plenty of reasons to like the vice captain in that way. you just pray that no one has really noticed it.
however, okonogi wasn’t stupid. she gets praised for her analytical skills for a reason and you wish she didn’t have to use those skills when it came to your romantic interest in the vice captain of all things. she promised to keep it a secret, though, and keeping secrets is a thing okonogi was really good at (to your surprise).
— — — — — — — — 
the first time hoshina denied his feelings for you was when he overheard some rookies talking about you.
“(l/n) is such a blessing to the third division, don’t you think?” one said as the other hummed in agreement. “i know, right? they’re so nice! did you know that they helped me once? they gave me tips on what i should do to enhance my combat power for my fighting style; it was really helpful too!” the rookie beamed. hoshina had an unsettling feeling churning inside of him as he eavesdropped on the conversation. but he quickly shook it off, thinking that he probably ate something funny earlier.
but why hasn’t he received such treatment from you? you were closer to him than some rookies, right? 
right?
wait, what the hell is wrong with me? hoshina thinks, snapping out of his earlier thoughts. he was not jealous of some rookies. those were just rookies, for christ’s sake! hoshina walks away, only to be greeted by the sight of you and ikaruga talking this time.
“thanks again for the film recommendation the other day, (l/n). i didn’t expect to enjoy it so much—you were completely right! it did suit my preferences,” he excitedly says. hoshina watches silently, observing everything in detail. and one thing he notices is that ikaruga is standing close to you—way too close than he preferred.
“really? i’m glad you liked them, ikaruga. feel free to ask for more film recs when you’re free.” you laughed at his enthusiasm. ikaruga had always been a fun person to converse with, in your opinion. and you two bonded over films! but it was really nothing more than that. “will definitely do!” he replies, giving you a two finger wave as he excuses himself.
he was definitely not jealous. why would he be jealous in the first place? you two were just friends.
and friends don’t get jealous like this.
— — — — — — — — 
the second time was when he was undergoing recovery after the whole fiasco of the tachikawa base raid. everyone was exhausted. it was fortunate that the third division didn’t get any casualties during the incident; the majority of the troops were only injured for the most part. soshiro was counted among the severely injured troops but he doesn’t regret it one bit.
or so he thought.
soshiro wakes up slowly, blinking and squirting his eyes at the sudden brightness of the light above him. he felt a weight on the side of his bed when he tried to get up, as if something (or someone) was pressing down on the blanket. looking down, he wouldn’t mistake your hair for anyone else. he knew it was you with just a glance.
and there you were, sleeping softly on the side of hoshina soshiro’s bed. soshiro takes note of your appearance that he could see right now—which was really just your messy hair. he gets up, making sure that you don’t wake up. it is likely that the operation has not had much sleep up to this point, which is why you ended up sleeping in his hospital room of all places.
he feels bad. a hand slowly reaches out to your head, stroking it ever so gently. if he were to be honest, he was worried for he operations team during the attack. he recalls regularly checking in to see if things were okay on your end, and you kept reassuring him that everyone was unscathed. his other hand reaches out to his phone on his bedside, checking to see if he missed anything. he was unconscious until now, he thinks. and the text from okonogi just confirmed all of his suspicions.
you’re probably still unconscious by the time i sent this, but they’ve been there every day since you got admitted. 
that’s all the message contained. soshiro glances at you again, a soft smile tugging on his lips. he doesn’t get why okonogi felt the need to send him that text, but the thought of you waiting for him to be conscious again made him feel… warm inside. but it all went away as he pulled back his hand from your head as you stirred awake. you raised your head, adjusting yourself to be in a more comfortable position as you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles. 
shock was an understatement when you realized that he was finally awake.
“vice captain! i—sorry, i didn’t mean to sleep on your bed. wait, are you okay? does anything hurt?” he just stared at your eyes, trying to process something. shock was still present in your eyes, and relief was mixed in them too. you noticed him not answering anything you said. worried that he might be suffering from some aftereffects, you asked him again. “uhm… vice captain hoshina?”
he snaps out of it as soon as he hears his name. “sorry, i was just thinking. what were you saying?”
“er… is there something on my face? you’ve been staring at my face the whole time since i woke up…”
hoshina blinks once. twice. then thrice. before he focuses his gaze on something else, looking away from you. you held back a laugh at the sight of red tinting his ears as he apologized for his actions. 
“i’m glad you’re alright, vice captain.”
hoshina freezes. he didn’t expect those words to have a bigger impact on him than they do now. but this is all natural, isn’t it? friends worry about each other. friends wish and hope that the other is okay.
yet why does he feel bitter when he labels this as something that friends—no, snap out of it. he thinks.
“i’m glad you’re alright too.”
— — — — — — — — 
the third time was when you were sent to work to the first division of all places. he was completely against it, of course, but he doesn’t have any concrete reason to actually protest against it. 
it was quite boring to not have you there. he didn’t really have anyone to disturb anymore. and the sudden change in the vice captain’s demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by the platoon leaders. sure, he still had the same toothy grin on his lips, with his fang peeking out ever so often but deep down, you can’t really point out if it was genuine.
after all, hoshina soshiro was good at concealing his emotions and thoughts.
but then again, okonogi wasn’t stupid. it pains her to be the one who’s stuck between the vice captain and her subordinate. soshiro was the same as the night he didn’t get to neutralize kaiju no. 8 back then. shoulder slumped, arms crossed, a slight pout on his lips, and an expression that clearly stated he was pondering about something—or perhaps someone?
“you miss them, don’t you?” okonogi suddenly asks as she organizes the paperwork in front of her. working with hoshina when it came to paperwork wasn’t really new, except for this time because you would also be present in times like these. “miss who?” he decided to play dumb (or is the right term indenial?)
“please don’t make me spell it out for you, vice captain.” she replied, pushing up her glasses.
hoshina doesn’t reply, zoning out as he thinks about okonogi’s words. well, it wasn’t really false that your sudden absence had changed things in the vice captain’s usual routine. he doesn’t see you making a cup of coffee after he finishes training in the middle of the night. nor does he see you drowning yourself in research at the library when you’re not in the operations room, where soshiro would personally lend you a hand and provide his own insights on whatever you’re researching.
oh. 
oh.
he does miss you.
but that’s just normal, right? friends miss each other. and friends tend to leave sometimes but they will always come back when the time is right. however, the head of operations for the third division didn’t have to be some kind of genius to put two and two together. 
the vice captain has some sort of interest in you as well; he just hasn’t realized it himself.
— — — — — — — — 
the day you returned from the first division was the day everything went back to normal for soshiro.
it was currently a quarter after one in the morning, and he had just finished his training. he ended up going more overtime than usual, but if he hadn't, he probably would’ve missed the open door to the library at this hour. and of course, being the ever so curious man he is, he takes a peek in.
and again, there you were. but this time, you were drowning yourself again in research. your hair was a bit messy, and the eyebags doesn’t go unnoticed by him. yet in spite of that, soshiro still found your appearance to be lovely. maybe it was just the fatigue from his training, or perhaps it’s the thought of you being so determined in your work that sparked such a thought in him.
regardless of what the reason actually was, soshiro found your appearance lovely despite it all.
“you should head to bed soon.” he says, approaching the table you were currently working on. you looked up, surprised to see him awake at this hour. but you put your focus back on your work, not even giving him a second glance—which surprised the vice captain. he reads on whatever you were working on, noticing that they were mostly reports of kaiju no. 9. 
“researching on kaiju no. 9, i see. need a hand?”
“there’s just something off about him and i can’t put my finger on it. also thanks, but no thanks. i can handle this myself, vice captain.”
“it’s almost two in the morning, are you sure about that?”
he didn’t quite catch on to what your reply was, but he was positive that you just declined his offer either way. hoshina decides to pull up the chair beside you and grab the small stack of reports in front of you. he rotates the lamp a bit in his direction, but just enough to leave some light for you to read as well if you needed to.
you sigh at him. “vice captain, you really don’t have to—”
“but i want to. it’s the least i could do.”
truth be told, you really can’t bring yourself to be in the presence of the vice captain now. everything was just confusing. you were aware that the vice captain doesn’t really like paperwork in general (who even likes paperwork in the first place?) but you don’t get why he’s so insistent on helping you every time he finds you here.  
you don’t get why he likes your company so much. you considered yourself to be plain, a bit mundane for someone to actually spend some time with. especially when your interests don’t really spark any others for the most part. 
and while you may be a hopeless romantic, you weren’t foolish. even if you like the vice captain who’s currently making an effort to help you with your work, he’s just way out of your league. he’s too high to reach, and you were sure as hell that he would never actually look at you in that way. not now, not ever.
but why? why does a part of you keep saying that maybe he does? he wouldn’t do all of that if he didn’t actually look at you in that way, right? hope is a dangerous thing for someone who doesn’t know how to stop. for someone like you who refuses to give up on most occasions. it was stupid. foolish. naive.
not now, not ever would hoshina soshiro actually look at you that way.
“vice captain, please get some rest.”
“i could say the same to you.”
god, why is this man so stubborn? is he not tired from all the late night training he does? you thought, slowly getting frustrated. hoshina tells you his observations based on the reports in his hands and shares his hypothesis on the matter. he had some valid points and he’s lending a great hand at the moment. but frustration was just getting the best of you at the moment from your numerous trains of thought.
“the fact that he can adapt so easily is scary in itself. and the recent report of him breaking in the operations room in the first division states that—”
“why are you doing this?” you cut him off.
hoshina stares at you, dumbfounded at your question. he opens his mouth to answer, but no words actually come out of him. he chuckles bitterly in his mind. soshiro would like an answer to that question as well. but then it dawned on him. every flashed across his mind in seconds, and he finally realized it.
yet the result of that still scared him.
he was in love. hoshina soshiro is in love—with you nonetheless. the person he swore was just a friend. it took him quite a while to realize it, always being in denial that it was just normal for friends to act the way you two were. but he was in love. and that scared him. because what is he supposed to do when he finally realizes that you have consumed him? he never wanted this to happen, not in a million years.
but perhaps he was in love with you long before he started tripping along the lines of being friends and something more.
why are you doing this? your question echoed in his head. because i love you, he swallows back down his throat. he can’t say it. there’s no way things would work out. he could die any day and he’d rather not see you miserable because of his death. it would be better if you found someone else—but how ironic. he couldn’t really handle the thought of you being with someone else in the first place.
why are you doing this? your question echoes again. “because i love you.” he finally says, hesitant even. hesitant to know what you’re reaction was going to be. your eyes went wide at the sudden confession, and hoshina was certain that you wouldn’t believe him (well, he couldn’t really believe it either). “you’re kidding me,” you replied.
“i’m not.”
and surely enough, the look on the vice captain’s eyes said it all. he was dead serious. "i... why?” it's ten past two in the fucking morning, and you were too scared to accept that all of this was occurring right now, so you were afraid to ask. you were too scared to just randomly wake up and realize that maybe it was all a dream. too scared to believe that your feelings are being reciprocated.
“because you’re different—different to me, if that makes sense. it’s like you have this effect when it comes to me. food tastes better whenever i share a meal with you; my day just feels more peaceful whenever i get to see you’re doing fine, and i realized that maybe i haven’t actually looked at you like a friend or coworker for as long as i can remember; i was just too stupid to realize it earlier.” he avoids his gaze for a moment before looking at you again.
“i love you. i want you to look at me and love me too. we’ve come too far to turn back. i’m already too deep into you.”
you were speechless. 
he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. it repeated like some sort of chant inside of your head as you processed everything. hoshina soshiro loves you back—who would’ve thought? you hadn’t realized that he was sitting so close to you. the tension was so thick, but you easily cut it down as you started with your response.
“you’re an amazing man, vice captain, and i truly cannot grasp how you could feel such feelings towards me, but i love you too.” you could see hoshina jump in his seat in shock at your confession, but you continued. “i love you in ways you have never been loved, for reasons that you may not have been told, for longer than you think you deserve and with more than you will ever know existed inside of me. yet i can’t help but still wonder… how? why? wait no, why was already answered—”
he chuckles at you. stopping you with your words. “what’s so funny?” you pouted at him. “it’s nothing. i just can’t believe that we’re seriously having this moment at two in the morning.”
“sorry, i think that may have been on my part. i kind of snapped there because i was just so… confused.”
“confused?”
“yeah, confused if we’ve crossed the line between friends or lovers without actually realizing it. crazy, right?”
hoshina moves a bit closer to you, making the distance between the two of you smaller than before. he puts his forehead against yours. “not really, but i look at you, and i just love you, and it terrifies me. it terrifies me what i would do for you. i’m in love but i’m also terrified—that’s what i think is crazy.”
“then let’s be terrified together,” you whispered to him.
a soft laugh leaves his lips this time. “i like the sound of that.” he whispers back.
he loves you.
and you love him back.
that’s all what matters.
love, in general, can make you feel all sorts of things. joy, confusion, anger, fear, and many more. it can also make you do all sorts of things. it can make you do things you never really imagined doing for or with someone in the first place. it tends to be irrational—ridiculous, even. but the thought of doing all of it for the person you care most about? you finally realized that’s simply what love is all about for you.
to love is something you truly cannot name.
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briefalpacashark · 8 months ago
Text
~Cowboys and Men~ Part One ~
Synopsis : The 141 have to play cowboys.
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You sat along with the other boys of the 141 as you stared at Laswell. She had just delivered the news of your next mission.
“Well shit,” you grin widely. Why? The mission was right up your alley. You had personal experience practically having grown up in the thick of it. The boys, however. You were almost certain that none of them had even come close to anything like it.
The mission. Going undercover in an American rodeo. 
“So you want us to play cowboy?” Price asked.
“That’s right. Long enough till you find this guy and bring him in,” she stated tapping her knuckle on a photo of the target. An older man with a grim surrounded by gray hair and a killer mustache.
“Y/N you'll be the one participating in the rodeo. The boys will be your team,” Laswell explained simply. 
“Her team?” Jonny asked, jabbing his thumb at you. “Why can't I be the horse rider huh?” he asked.
“Can you ride a horse?” Laswell asked.
“Well no, canne be hard, can it?” his question had you chuckling.
“Its an invite only event, we've got a contact. You'll head out tomorrow to show him what you got. He'll slot you in where he can,” Laswell focused on you as she spoke.
“Sure thing boss,” you nodded.
“Honestly Laswell, I think I could do a pretty good job,” Jonny stated.
“The fact that you think a rodeo only involves horses proves how unqualified you are for it,” You stated.
“And you are?” Jonny asked.
“I grew up in the saddle of a horse, mate. You're looking at a genuine drover,” you gestured to your body with a smirk.
“The fuck is a drover?” Jonny asked the rest of the team. Gaz simply shrugged.
“Alright dismissed,” Laswell said. 
You were quickly dispatched to the good old US of A. You were dropped off in a random field via helicopter. Your team walked up to two men on horseback. The one on the left was tall and buff with golden hair to die for. The other was slightly shorter and stubbier. But they both had one thing in common. They looked like genuine cowboys. Hats and everything.
“Howdy!” Jonny called with a terrible American accent.
“Fucken hell,” you chuckled, shaking your head.
“Forgive him. He's hit his head a few too many times,” Price stated.
“That stunt his growth too?” The blond asked. Your laugh broke through your lips as Jonny’s smile fell.
“The one you just shut up is Soap, that's Gaz, Ghost. I’m Bravo and that’s Doc.” he pointed you all out the cowboys, tipping their hat’s to you.
“Ma’am, I heard you're the only one with experience in the saddle,” the smile the blond gave you was slightly flirtatious.
“Since I was two. Grew up on a cattle station over in Australia,” You stated walking up to him to give them both a firm handshake.
“How could you choose the military life over one in the saddle?” he asked.
“Plan to get back to it one day,” you said your attention being grabbed by his horse that tried to nibble your jacket.
“He's gorgeous. Mustang?” You asked, reaching up to brush his nose.
“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded. “Care for a ride?” he asked with a wink. You chuckled at his obvious flirting attempt.
“Sorry mate. Not planning in hoping in any saddle that aint my own,” you said, giving the horse a pat.  
“Alright, well, this is Sam, my name's Aurthur,” he stated.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Price stated spoke up drawing the attention off you. 
“Pleasures all ours, Come on by the looks of you, it seems like we've got some work to do,” he stated.
“Work of what?” Gaz asked.
“To make you a lot cowboys,” he said with a grin.
First order of business, if you were to pass for cowboys, you had to look the part. Aurthur generously offered to take you all shopping. Your choice was quick, picked out for practicality. A simple light blue button up. A pair of denim jeans, a comfortable pair of boots and your old hat. You pulled the beat up looking thing out of your bag. It was your simple cattleman hat shape, in a dusty brown colour. It was scuffed and dirty, but it was yours. Setting it atop your head, you smiled at the familiar feeling. Slipping on the dark leather jacket, you fixed the collar before stepping out of the changing room.
“Look out,” Jonny stated from their allocated seats, all gathered in front of the changing rooms.
“So how do I look?” You asked, giving them a little pose.
“Like one hell of a rider,” Aurthur spoke up.
“So so,” Gaz tilted his hand back and forth.
“Oh yeah, let's see you do better,” you said tauntingly.
“Watch a master at work,” Gaz stated. You all waited for his outfit choice. When he stepped out you almost died of laughter. Tassels, tassels and fringe everywhere. On his head sat a bright red Tom Mix hat.
“What you don't think it's good?” he asked jokingly. 
“You look like you'll fly away in a light breeze,” Jonny joked.
“Eat shit soap,” Gaz flipped him off.
“Nah, I'll show you how it's done,” Jonny spoke up. Yells of shock sounded from you all as he walked out in a pair of assless chaps. Only they weren't assless. In fact you saw a lot of ass due to the fact that Jonny only wore the chaps. Nothing else. He held a small bowler's hat in front of his privates as he pretended to act confused. He turned around, giving you a clear view of his rosy red cheeks.
“Fucken hell,” you chuckled, tipping your hat down to cover your gaze.
“You know, I don't think I put these on in the right order,” he stated. Even the Price cracked a chuckle or two.
“Might get a rash ridding a saddle like that,” Ghost stated.
“I like it,” you said. Jonny gave you a wink.
“Come on Captain,” Jonny encouraged Price when his ass was contained again. 
Price walked out in a good pairing. A deep red button up, a pair of jeans, some lovely light brown boots, a light brown fleece jacket and a white brick shaped hat. 
“Captain my captain,” You whistled.
“Where did you find that fashion sense cap?” Ghost asked.
“Quiet you,” Price warned playfully.
“You know those videos where a baby sees their dad with their beard shaved for the first time and they just break out crying,” You asked. Jonny hummed in acknowledgment.
“I feel like that with that hat he's wearing,” you whispered. Jonny chuckled.
“Alright Ghost your turn,” Jonny said slapping Ghost shoulder. Ghost slowly moved his eyes from the captain to Jonny daring him to hit him again.
“Alright, be that way grumpy,” Jonny muttered. “Guess it's my turn again,” he stated. With your help, Jonny walked out in a tight black long sleeve shirt, a denim jacket and jeans. Black boots and a brown rolled brim with a puncher crown. He looked alright apart from the obviously large belt buckle he wore. A picture of a bulls head engraved on it.
“Compensating?” you asked, nodding to the buckle, getting a bird flipped to you.
“At least his ass is covered this time,” Ghost grumbled. Gaz tried again, deciding on a cowboy version of a lumberjack. Plated shirt with a vest jacket, a dark blue pair of jenes and a black version of his original hat. 
“Careful Gaz, that shirt looks a little tight,” Jonny called.
“That's the point,” Gaz stated with a smirk flexing his biceps.
“They can try all they want. The look of a cowboy is something that comes naturally. A look, ma’am that if you'll let me say looks extremely good on you,” Arthur leaned down to whisper to you. You smirked, shrugging.
“I don't know, I think they're pulling it off,” you stated. You chuckled as Gaz tried to perform his best cowboy walk. Hand on his belt and slaughtering forward before making a gun motion with his hand. And Jonny, who pretended to slow motion, to doge said bullets.
“Yeah sure,” Arthur muttered, making you chuckle harder. As you continued to watch Gaz and Jonny make a fool of themselves, you failed to notice a certain pair of eyes set on you. 
“Careful Lieutenant, you glare any harder and he might just get the message,” Price smirked as he saw the slightly pissed expression hidden behind the skull mask.
“Don't know what you mean, sir,” Ghost grumbled before walking away. 
Noticing Ghost's missing presence, you went to look for him, finding him in front of the many hats on display.
“Having trouble choosing?” You asked, walking up to him.
“Any pointers?” he asked.
“Can't help you there. This was my uncle's hat. He lost it when I won a bet,” you said.
“But,” you trailed off, your eyes searching through the hats. You smiled, reaching out to grab one.
“Yeah, this one,” you said, placing it on his head. It was low and pinched a grayish black.
“Yeah, that suits you,” you stated simply with a satisfied nod before walking away. 
When you all returned to the ranch, Simon changed into his outfit. Black jeans, dark brown boots, a black leather jacket and dark grey button up. On his head sat the hat you chose, and he still wore his skull balaclava.
“Well hello handsome,” Jonny called as he walked out to you.
“Zip it Mc’tavish,” he grumbled. Jonny chuckled as he walked up to you. In the pen Arthur walked out a horse already saddled up. Spotting other ranchers gathering round to watch with eager grins, you quickly assessed what was happening. It was a bucking horse, or at least one they were trying to break.
“Alright, lesson one of being a cowboy. Staying on a horse that doesn't want you to stay on,” Arthur stated with a wide grin.
“Any volunteers?” he asked. You chuckled, shaking your head as Jonny raised his hand eagerly.
“Love the spirit scots, man. This here is Bessy,” Arthur said, gesturing him forward. You whipped your mouth as Jonny confidently made his way into the pen.
“Ello Bessy,” he smirked. 
“I'd say goodbye to your balls now Soap, while you have the chance,” you called out to him.
“Ah, away with ye. I'll be fine,” Jonny waved you off.
“He's gonna eat shit isn't he?” Ghost asked folding his arms over his chest.
“All five courses of it,” you chuckled, pulling yourself up to sit on the railings. 
“He has medical cover right?” you asked Price that only shock his head at his soldier stupidity.
“Alright Soap. hold on tight,” After Arthur gave him a basic run down and when Jonny was sat comfortable in the saddle did he stepped back.
“You're gonna set a timer, wanna make sure there is proof when I stay on longer than those bastards,” Jonny nodded back to you all, giving you a wide confident grin as the horse started to pad at the ground.
“Sure thing, champ,” Arthur grinned. “Go on, give her a kick,” he suggested casually, taking a few cautious steps back. 
“What like this?” Jonny asked, kicking his heels gently into her sides. 
You knew pigs couldn't fly, but Jonny sure could. One buck had the poor man was out of the saddle onto the horses ass, then the second buck had the man cartwheeling through the air before landing flat on his ass his legs split in front of him. You and Gaz was practically dying of laughter as Jonny rolled around in pain holding his manly jewels. After Jonny’s poor first display, the ranchers started to pass around bets. 
“Who's next?” Arthur asked, turning to you lot.
Gaz sat on the back of Bessy looking like he was about to shit himself.
“Ok what do I do?” he asked shakily.
“Hold on,” Arthur stated simply.
“I know that, but I don't know the first thing about horses. Do do I pat it?” he asked.
“Sure, it probably won't do you any good though,” Arthur shrugged walking back.
“Come on Gaz,” you called encouragingly.
“I changed my mind, I want to get down,” Gaz stated. As he shifted his weight in the saddle, Bessy fell into a fit. Bucking and kicking like crazy. Gaz lasted about four seconds before he was bucked off. 
“This is bullshit,” Gaz grumbled, limping back to you trying to remove the dirt from his mouth. 
“Are the betting on us?” Jonny asked nodding to the growing group.
“There ranchers, this is probably the best entertainment they've had all week,” you stated.
“Yeah well they should stop,” Gaz grumbled.
“Why? They're actually betting in your favor,” you lied.
“Really?” he asked with a small grin of hope.
“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head, Gaz's smile instantly falling.
“Your acting way too high and mighty or this,” Gaz stated.
“I think I'm acting the right amount of high and mighty for my skills,” You shrugged.
“Skills we haven't seen yet,” Gaz grumbled.
“I don't need to prove anything,” you shrugged.
“Well, if ye so confident in yourself lass. How bout a wee little bet?” Jonny asked.
“Depends on what it is,” you smirked. With the smirk Jonny already knew you accepted the bet. 
“If anyone of us can last longer than you, you owe us all a week of sick leave,” Jonny put the offer forward. In the military you need a doctor's note or your medic's permission to have a sick day. Which was practically impossible to get. You don't abuse your power but you didn't put up with their bullshit either. So they only ever got sick leave when they were actually sick. And not a man cold either, they had to actually be sick.
“And what do I get?” you asked.
“Bragging rights?” Jonny suggested.
“I'll settle for a picture of you in the outfit you rocked back at the shop,” you stated, pointing to him. Jonny grinned widely.
“Deal,” he said as you too shook on it. 
“You ready, boss?” Jonny asked, turning to Price.
“A week of sick leave, you said?” he asked, debating if he wanted to be a part of your shenanigans.
“Yes sir,” you nodded. 
“Right,” he muttered, pushing his hat further down on his head before slipping in the coral and shaking his jacket off his shoulders.
You had to give it to Price, he was pretty good. And he looked like he stepped right out of a cow boy movie. The mustache and the fit was just perfect. You sucked in a breath as he was thrown from the horse. Impressed cheers came from the others. He lasted almost ten seconds.
“Ghost?” Jonny suggested.
“I prefer to keep my balls unpopped,” Ghost grumbled.
“Guess that's me then,” You spoke up. Walking up to Bessy you smiled brushing her nose before walking round her to where Arthur stood.
“Need a hand?” he offered.
“Nah mate,” you said effortlessly, swinging yourself up onto the saddle and taking the reins in hand. The familiar creak of the leather saddle and the ruff feel of the reins was welcoming. You settled into the back of the saddle, leaning back slightly. You pressed your hat down far enough down your forehead that the only thing you saw was your hands and the horse's shoulder blades.
“Alright, lets fucking do this,” you whispered before gently kicking her. You leaned back as far as you could and pulled the reins tight as she bucked wildly. Your body was jerked about left and right back and forth, yet you held on. The boys had to admit they were impressed. The ranchers cheered as the seconds drew on. As you hit the thirty second mark you swore as the horse slammed up against the side of the railings. To avoid you leg getting crushed you lumped off, the force sending you flying over the fence, right into Arthur who just happened to be sitting stop it. The two of you hit the ground in a cloud of dust. A relatively soft fall for you due to you landing on the cowboy.
“Fuck you alright?” You asked as you quickly hopped off the poor man.
“Look at that, falling for you already,” he groaned, painfully accepting your hand to help him up.
“That line usually work?” you asked with a small smile. You had to admit he was kinda cute.
“Well I don't usually have pretty women tackling me off the fence but here we are,” he said. You chuckled, shaking your head picking up your hat.
“How long was that Jonny!?” You yelled across the coral.
“Too fucking long!” he yelled back. You grinned smugly making your way back over to the boys.
Gaz and Jonny were adamant on getting those sick days. Price opted in for a few more tries, coming only four seconds from your record before he called it quits.
“Not gonna have a go Ghost?” you asked nudging his side.
“Risk getting hurt before the mission, not likely,” he stated as you watched Jonny narrowly avoid a broken bone. 
“Fair enough,” you muttered. The boys could not beat your best. With bruised bodies and prides you all retired to your a few spar rooms in the bunkhouse.
The next morning, you all gathered before dawn. Arthur said you were gonna learn how to ride. The boys walking a bit slower than they usually would. You were all assigned horses. Ghost and Price and Gaz were going well after some instruction. And Jonny. Well let's just say he wasn't built to ride horses. He just couldn't wrap his head around it. Loud laughs sounded as the horse started to trot slightly, sending your little scotsman's bouncing rapidly in his saddle.
“Fu-Uck En H-EL-LL,” he said through bounces as his head bobbled around. You rode up to him gently pulling on the rains to get the horse to slow down.
“Come on Mate. your ancestors road these guys into battle,” You said.
“Nah, these are American horses. If it was a scottish horse I would be grand,” he stated definitely. Amused by his logic, you just shook your head. To your surprise, Simon pulled up on the other side of Jonny. “Having a bit of trouble there?” Ghost asked smuggle. “Fuck Ye LT,” Jonny grunted, trying to glare only for him to slid sideways in the saddle. You reached out holding his jacket to keep him steady as he readjusted. Ghost smirked before trotting forward. You rode up to his side looking over his posture, one hand resting on his thigh, the other holding both the reins. 
“You’ve done this before,” you stated.
“When I was a kid,” he muttered.
“It shows, You're a natural,” you said.
“Not as good as you,” he said.
“Oh stop it, you'll make me blush,” you grinned. He glanced over at your smile, grunting in response.
“So this is your dream, huh?” he asked. Your grin turned into a fond smile.
“Yeah. I want a nice plot of land in the tablelands,” you stated.
“Table lands?” Ghost asked.
“I'll admit you guys have some nice green pastures in England. But the tablelands. Man, it's something different altogether. Rolling green hills right out of a picture book. It's high up, lots of rain, and rainforests. Fog will roll over the hills in the cold mornings and arvos. I'll have five horses, shit ton of chickens and cows. Maybe a goat or two,” your shrugged. “Two dogs. One working kelpie and and little staffy,” you continued.
“A big old cottage that I built myself. Oh, it's gotta have a basement. Definitely a secret passage. Maybe a fake skeleton chucked in there.” your words had Simon smiling as his eyes settled on you. Settled on the sparkle of your eyes as you described it all.
“Oh and there will be this big ol tree. If I have a family I'll string it up with fairy lights and lanterns. I'll invite you boys round for week long adventures. Big ol fire place next to it,” you reminisce of a life that you possibly might never get to live. After all, your job wasn't necessarily safe.
“Oh so I’m a part of this future huh?” he asked. The instant your gaze turned to him he realized what he said. His face flushed as your smile became impossibly brighter.
“Of course,” you stated simply. Only when you did think of all those things you left out one key part. Whenever you thought about your future, the annoying prick in front of you would pop into the frame. Helping you build the cottage. Putting one of his masks on the fake skeletons. Him in the tree hanging up the lights. Him sitting next to you around the roaring fire. Clearing his throat his face flushed deeply as he looked back to the path in front of you. You didn't see the flush though. You simply saw him avoiding your gaze. For a moment, he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He thought it was the only explanation for his rapid heartbeat.
“Were going for a run care to join?” Arthur called back to you.
“Sure,” you called back. 
“So you ready to show me just how good you are?” You leaned over to Ghost with a taunting
“Perhaps,” he grunted.
“First one to the tree up on that ridge,” you suggested.
“Are we betting anything?” he asked.
“Bragging rights?” you shrugged. “On three?” you suggested.
“Alright, three,” he stated kicking his horse into a gallop. An excited grin stretched across your face as you did the same. The cantering group let out exclamations of surprise as you two zoomed past them in a full gallop. Even with his headstart you quickly caught up to him. Riding would forever feel different to everything in your life. It felt like flying, but so much more magical. As you were neck and neck you looked over to Ghost who looked to you. With a wink, you dropped the reins, opening your arms out as the horse pulled forward. You won by just an inch. 
The next day it was game time. You were strapped up and dressed up for your rodeo. You left a little earlier than the boys. You were hanging around beer in hand playing the part as Arthur introduced you to a few people. Chucking your watch you glanced at the time.
“They should be here by now,” you muttered.
“Speak of the devils,” Arthur muttered nodding behind you. A low whistle left your lips as you took them in.
As everyone took them in. Women, buckle bunnies and men had their eyes set on the group. They looked like a master piece of hot manliness. And you had to admit they looked good enough to have anyone's panties dropped with just a word. There boots kicking up dust as they strutted through the crowd. You swore the music was perfect of their entrance, looking like a scene out of a movie.
“Boys,” you nodded to them as they approached.
“Anna,” Price nodded to you. Your cover name for the mission.
“Come on, I've got to introduce you to someone,” Arthur stated beckoning you all over. You sucked in a small breath as he took you all to the target. 
“Tommy,” Arthur greeted the man like old friends.
“Arthur, how are you, my boy?” he asked. He was an older man, a true cowboy.
“Good Good,” Arthur nodded as they embraced.
“So you're the one Arthurs has been speaking about. You should know outsiders aren't usually welcome here,” the target stated as he turned to you.
“What scared of the challenge?” you asked with a teasing smile. The man paused a beat before breaking out into laughter.
“She's a spunk fire all right. Name’s Tom, everyone calls me Tommy,” he greeted holding his hand out to you.
“Anna,” you introduced yourself.
“Anna, you dont look like an Anna,” he said.
“Oh yeah, what do I look like?” you asked.
“Some real classy name. Like Evangeline or somethin,” he stated.
“Well, you certainly look like a Tommy,” you said.
“Why thank you ma’am,” he tipped his hat to you.
“And who are these fellas?” he asked turning to the boys.
“I'm her manager, Cole,” Price introduced himself. “These boys are on the team,” he stated, pointing to the rest who gave nods.
“I see, well fellas I'll see you out there,” he stated giving you another nod before walking off.
“So we grabbing him?” Jonny asked.
“To many people here,” Price mumbled.
“After the main event you'll have your chance, that's when he goes home,” Arthur said. You nodded, glancing around you. Fancy profession buckers were walking all round you. 
“Nervous Darling?” Arthur asked. The boys gaze snapped to him, some pissed of some surprised. The way American men say darling is just something different.
“I'm about to strap myself to a state of the art bucking horse. Of corse im fucking nervous,” you muttered.
“Don't worry. Come on, there are some other events before. Let's get you warmed up,” he stated. You needed to keep your mind occupied, so you agreed. Steer wrestling and roping was your go to. You didn't place first in anything but you didn't do too bad. The boys looked at you in a different light as you rode beside a young bull, jumping off your horse to wrestle it to the ground, flipping it over and tying its legs up. 
“God damn,” Jonny whispered as you stood to your feet holding your hands in the air.
“She's good, really good,” Arthur stated as he stood by the boys.
“That's our girl,” Price stated simply.
“So, what are you lot to her?” he asked.
“What?” Gaz asked squinting at the man.
“You lot seem real close. I know you're a team but I don't want to step on anyone's toes, I'm a gentle man like that,” he shrugged.
“What do you mean step on anyone's toes?” Price asked, his arms folding over his chest taking on the protective dad stance.
“Look if she's spoken for I'll back off. But I don't see no ring, and she calls you all by name. No pet names,” Arthur trailed off before turning to Ghost.
“So I guess im asking what are you to her,” the question was pointed at Ghost the boys quickly catching on. Ghost turned fully to him tucking his hand under his arm pits where his guns sat, hidden by his jacket. Although he made a point to let the smooth metal peek out.
“I'm the guy that fucks you up seven ways to Sunday if you hurt her,” his voice was deathly low, shaking Arthur up a bit. Yet it was Simon's glare that had the man really scared. 
But he also got the answer he wanted.
“So she's available?” Arthur pointed out with a grin.
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=Cowboys and Men = Part Two here=
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~COD Master List Here~
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neiptune · 6 months ago
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you know how to ball, i know aristotle
cw: 2k wc, female reader, mentions of alcohol, suggestive if you squint, charming professional athlete who's actually an obnoxious loser falls so hard everything now feels (you guessed it) so high school
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The first time you see Atsumu is not really the first time but you don’t know that yet.
He’s just a stranger in a bar, shamelessly checking you out just as much you’re checking him out from your table. When you tear away your gaze from his own with a coy smile and get sucked into light conversation with your friends, it feels like it’s only a matter of time before a free drink is sent your way, perhaps accompanied by a very cliche wink or handwritten note.
But Atsumu knows what he has to do to win a woman over, the best ways to take advantage of what nature has given him. Looks can only get him so far and he’s already standing up before Rintaro can even think of painfully poking him in the ribs, as he always does to suggest that he is about thirty seconds away from looking like a complete dumbass.
And so Atsumu makes his way to you and a table full of girls grows quiet, your lips curl at the corners and nothing in his life has ever looked as much as an invitation.
“I’d like to buy ya a drink” but then he clears his throat and ducks his head a little and you’re not entirely sure you like how artificial that next sentence sounds “if you let me. Show me what you like?”
One of your friends giggles, Emi gently kicks your ankle underneath the table. You know what it means: he’s hot, get your ass up right now. She’s not wrong. You accept the stranger’s hand, tell him your name and immediately wonder why his sounds so familiar, the echo of a bell ringing from the depths of blurred memories.
“So” he sits close enough for you to smell his cologne now, chin lazily resting in his palm, ready as ever to listen to whatever you may have to say “you’ve been staring”
“Hard not to” he grins a toothy grin and your stomach does a flip “how long do I have before your friends come claim you?”
You offer a smile. “They won’t, unless I use the secret signal”
“Which is?”
“You’ll know I used it if one of them rushes here and demands immediate assistance for their very sick very old grandma”
Atsumu keeps his laugh quiet and, once more, something about it is off. But you don’t know that yet.
He hasn’t had a single drink all night and you find yourself insisting: you’re not gonna consume your gimlet alone and, what the hell he thinks, a single cocktail is certainly not going to impair him. 
The conversation flows, he doesn’t linger much on the details of his job but you should’ve guessed it had to do with sports by the corded muscle that keeps bunching up beneath his awfully fitted shirt. You tell him about your job and Atsumu likes the way your lips curl up whenever you mention the kids you work with: it’s genuine, it makes him wonder if you’d smile the same while recounting the encounter with a stranger in the bar where the music is too loud and the drinks too cheap. But he can’t be too starry eyed yet, can he? It’s too soon to uncover the less attractive, juvenile version of himself. Not when you’re already leaning closer, lured in by how good he smells and the purr of his low pitch.
But then something happens, an invisible switch being turned on when a loud commotion comes from the table where his friends are still sitting and you reflexively turn (he doesn't) to check what’s going on.
Four men are sitting on the other side of the bar and one with black, curly hair is seemingly furious as he obsessively wipes the front of his white shirt. The guy sitting next to him is probably rattling off what is no doubt a series of apologies as he recovers what’s left of a spilled drink. He looks just like the guy sitting next to you by the counter. With different hair.
“Oh” you turn to look at Atsumu again and he tilts his head a little as you smile an increduluous smile.
“What?” he presses, genuinely curious, half of him dreadfully wondering if you recognized Sakusa.
“You used to sound very different. This accent doesn’t quite suit you, Miya Atsumu”
Genuine astonishment paints over his features and once again you catch the tiniest glimpse of childlike surprise.
The brink of a wrinkle in time, bittersweet sixteen suddenly.
Atsumu is less charming and funnier when he’s actually relaxed and maybe a little tipsy, too focused on keeping his body healthy to indulge in alcohol often enough to hold his liquor. It brings you back to high school, to a prefecture you left too early on, to faint memories of a bottle blond twin that was always too loud and mean and didn’t have many friends but man did he have some admirers. He’s boyish and his cheeks are pink and his laugh suddenly mirrors yours and you both feel younger than you actually are, something that took way too long but was perhaps always destined to blossom slowly taking shape.
Atsumu feels everything deeply and all of a sudden, he cares and lives and loves just as he plays and trains: with his whole self. He’s sensitive but has a reputation that’s followed him like a shadow, like the moon when he was just a kid looking out the window of his mom’s pick up truck. He doesn’t have the energy to change it anymore, why would he anyway? It’s the reputation that gets him all the girls he’s ever loved, it’s always been. Do they leave once he doesn’t uphold the standard of the idealized, charismatic, perfectly skilled athlete who’s just as charmingly alluring and skilled in every other aspect of his life? They sure do.
But Atsumu never closes his heart off to the world, he swallows each disappointment, lets it hurt for a reasonable amount of time and then he’s back up on his feet, ready to chase the next adventure, heart maybe a little bruised but always, always open and ever so hopeful.
He falls for you embarrassingly fast, as he always does, and his brother takes over the task of keeping his feet on the ground, as he always does.
You’re not the first woman he’s fallen for, you’re not the only one he has prayed against losing. But has he ever wanted someone as much? Has his heart ever felt seconds away from exploding at the mere thought of not winning you over? Atsumu wanted you, chased you, bent his back to make sure you saw something in him. Anything. Charm? Stubborness? Determination? He didn’t care. He needed you to know just how badly he wanted you, for more than one night, more than a week or a month.
I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you.
He spends weeks imagining, sometimes daydreaming of giving you free tickets to one of his games, aching to find out how it’d feel to finally have you there. Just as he’s about to chicken out, Hinata comes to the rescue and innocently but resolutely reminds him that he had something he really wanted to give you.
For the very first time ever, Atsumu is nervous at the idea of a woman unveiling the most important and probably only interesting side of him, the genius setter. He wants to both show off and win the game and be the perfect superstar you probably dream of and, fucking hell, hide from someone who seems to be always looking way too attentively. Someone who might be disappointed or, even worse, just see him for what he actually is: a paperweight that doesn’t come in any exciting, colorful shades once he drops the act, once he’s far from the court.
He thinks it’s best he doesn’t look for your warm smile and intelligent eyes in the crowd, doesn’t even know whether you came to the game or not as he cuts off the outside world and focuses on what he does best. It’s not until he gets a text right as he’s about to fall asleep that night, right as his heart bursts with overflowing joy at the prospect of welcoming you in, that he knows.
Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me, I'll drink what you think.
Atsumu still relishes in the memories of what he calls that first night.
“That wasn’t really our first encounter, y’know” for someone whose hair has been plagued with bleach for years, the strands are still surprisingly smooth whenever you run your fingers through them “wanna know what I thought the first time I actually saw you?”. The good natured teasing in your tone is met with a grimace as he looks up from your chest, where he’s resting his head.
“Fuck no”
“I thought—”
“Don’t say it!”
“But you're gonna like it!”
Atsumu narrows his big brown eyes, brows furrowed in suspicion. “Fine, what?”
“I thought… christ, what an asshole”
You yelp out a laugh as he digs his fingers in your sides, grumbling some nonsense about how heartless you are.
“Let me finish, Miya” you gently yank at the tousled locks “I thought you were too pretty to be acting like such a dick, especially with all that talent and an ever growing fan club”
“You’re being mean”
“You were insufferable, ‘Tsumu”
“I know” he whines, petulant “this is so not how I wanted this conversation to go”
You laugh a little at that, resuming your scratching operations on his scalp and he hums, quick to forget the irritation as it always happens with all his silly tantrums. It’s lovely, really, the way he melts into your touch once more, and maybe it’s because his eyes are closed and it’s a sunday and the thought of wanting to spend endless more sundays like this suddenly infiltrates your heart but you start recounting what really was a one sided only first encounter.
What did you think when you first locked eyes with the stranger in the bar? Was the conversation any good? What kinda shape did he manage to carve into your life that night? Every word is a drop he catches avidly, drinks eagerly, because what is he by now if not what you think of him?
It’s only natural for his friends and teammates and family to like you and get along and find topics you can have conversations about. It kills him to know that it’s not gonna be as easy for him to win your friends and your family over just as effortlessly.
You have two degrees, your best friend is a professor in one of those very important ivy league schools, your parents are lawyers. And he’s just an athlete, one with a not very sparkling reputation, that stumbles over his own words when he’s nervous and doesn’t remember the last time he’s read a book. He doesn’t keep up with classic movies, isn’t interested in literature, doesn’t quite understand your favorite painters. He’s not Samu. Perfectly balanced, talented for things other than sports, likeable to the right people, to the right adults and friend groups. He’s not smart.
But that’s not true to you. So what if he doesn’t like Monet or russian literature or can’t cook or has never watched notting hill? Atsumu thinks Warhol and Kusama are interesting. He likes photography, attends clay classes whenever he has the chance, enjoys horror movies and hiking and loves listening to american music. He’s interested in what you like and could listen for hours on end to you talk about the last novel you finished, just as you love hearing him talk about volleyball and his mom’s garden and a dumb movie he can’t stop thinking about or a new recipe his brother has been testing. You never allowed anyone in your life to ever make a joke, as much as a hint to him being less smart. To him being a stereotype.
Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? It's just a game, but really I'm bettin’ on all three for us two.
You talk about high school a lot, especially if Samu, Shinsuke and Rintaro are also there, lulled by the warmth of the memory of silly games you all used to play with your friends: spin the bottle, truth or dare, marry kiss kill. Of course names from the superstar volleyball team used to come up and of course at the time, among giggles, you chose the most arrogant member to kill. Atsumu is outraged when you tell him the story, pesters you for hours on end to know who you wanted to kiss and marry (Rintaro, Aran), his friends rolling their eyes fondly when he insists you should play again.
“You still make me want to kill you several times a day, ‘Tsumu”
“Isn’t that a shame” he huffs “because I can just see myself marrying ya”
Of course he has a driver: he hates driving anything that’s not one of his sports cars. It’s always embarrassing, whether he comes to pick you up chauffeured in a luxurious mercedes maybach or shows up in that horribly flashy ferrari sf90. But he always, always gets the door for you either way. If his hands aren’t going to be busy holding a steering wheel, you’re pulled to the backseat, legs he insists on keeping on his lap as he lazily ruins your lipstick with the utmost care.
His friends still can’t quite believe how whipped he is, a teenager again, and they pretend not to notice how you two actually entertain each other on his couch while they watch coming of age comedy movies or play grand theft auto. But Osamu smiles widely and he shakes his head as Suna gags, the way the same happiness surrounding his brother makes his heart swell too hasn’t changed in all those years.
Despite what Atsumu and everyone else think, he fully believes his twin is made for love. He’s only ever truly complete when he can devote himself to someone else, when another person gives him the chance to swing open the doors of that stupidly big heart of his. It’s not volleyball that completes him, it’s being in love.
It suits him so well and you do too. Even if everything about it can feel oh so high school.
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