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akashigadabi · 1 year

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Blood Debt

Pairing: Yandere All For One x Consenting Reader

Summary: Betrayal strikes you when you least expect it, resulting in you receiving a stab wound before you manage to escape. Suffice to say that neither you nor All For One feel particularly forgiving of the perpetrator.

Word Count: 3316

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Drama (?)

Rating: E

Warnings: Yandere, Consensual Relationship, Established Relationship, Blood and Injury, Violence, Murder, Mauling, Minor Character Death, Major Character Injury, Stabbing, Betrayal, Moral Ambiguity/Dubious Morality, Bloodlust, Implied Crime, Mentioned Bigotry, Fantastic Racism

Other: Reader has a quirk. Reader is written so reader is gender neutral as far as gender/gender identity and romantic or sexual orientation.

Ao3. Part 2.

No one ever told you how much being stabbed fucking hurts. You can’t suppress the little gasps of pain as you clamp your gloved hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding as well as you can manage. Blood still flows around your black-clad fingers, ruining the crisp white button down woven with the same hypoallergenic fabrics All For One uses for his. If anything, your own shirts feel softer than his, as if he orders your blend with extra comfort in mind.

What a sweetheart you muse as you stagger along the empty back alleys. He can’t ‘hear’ an echo of the words since he isn’t in range, but you can guess how he’d react. He’d probably roll his eyes, kiss your temple, and reaffirm something along the lines of only buying the best for his treasure to use. Why else would he buy sheets, pajamas, robes, and loungewear all in silk, Egyptian cotton, or specialty fabric blends? Pretentious notions aside, the Boogeyman harbors a large soft spot for you.

That being said, he won’t be pleased by this latest development in the slightest. Not that you feel overly pleased about receiving a stab wound during what should have been a normal business interaction. Some asshole with a death wish got the bright idea to lunge at you with a knife while you escaped. Escape being the operative word since apparently they used this meeting as a ruse to get you to a specific location in order to abduct you. Whether it’s due to your connection to All For One or your own work as The Heretic, you can’t say. It could easily be due to either or even both. It could boil down to someone in the underground getting angry over your alliance and all it entails since it affects how you do business as well as your own influence.

Alliances in the underground can shift like the wind, though some endure. For metas in particular, permanent alliances hold more often than not. Metas have to stick together after all. An era of new bigotry arose with the rise of metahumans. Stories of non-metas killing, abandoning, or even selling their own children when they discover they have metas for offspring crop up all the time. Sometimes non-metas orphan metas by killing their accepting non-meta parents. Other metas disappear due to targeting by shady ass organizations—a mixture of governmental and non-governmental but government-sanctioned ones—abducting them, though cases of non-meta family members willingly handing over their meta children or relatives also occur.

Ugly business, all of it.

Which isn’t to say all non-metas can’t be trusted, but, well. Allies from amongst their number often come few and far between. Each one requires thorough vetting. Metas receive vetting, too, because regardless of if someone wields a Quirk or not, the underground is still the underground. Paranoia kept both you and All For One alive for years before you interacted with each other. Which means this betrayal stings keener than it would otherwise because you trusted this client before today. You vetted him yourself years ago and accepted numerous commissions from him for just as long, albeit his requests tapered off into radio silence ever since word of your alliance with All For One filtered through to the rest of the Underworld.

Even still, he never provided a reason not to trust him until today. It’s why you accepted his request to meet face-to-face this evening in the first place. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the time, despite him sending the request of service directly to you instead of via Giran*. This client bypassing your business associate and ally didn’t come off as odd. Giran fields your newer commission requests, while most of your old regulars possess means of contacting you without going through the prickly yet loyal woman. An oversight you would rectify once you survive this shitty situation.

It never occurred to you that you’d be walking into a trap, so you agreed readily enough. Worse, since you thought you knew this client well, you never questioned his integrity or his intentions when he contacted you last week. You fully believed no animosity existed between you, so you didn’t even bring a human escort. Now you regret your own naïveté in the matter. You know not everyone stays friends in the Underworld, yet you put your faith in old information, only for it to cost you. An ambush awaited you when you arrived, odds twenty to one against you. Bitterness churns in your gut. That jackass made a fool out of you. You refuse to give him another chance after he exploited your trust.

Nothing would grant him forgiveness.

You stumble into the nearest wall, where you pause for a few seconds. Your body weakens the longer you bleed out from your open wound, but you can’t stop moving yet. You haven’t even traveled that far from the meeting location. You were only able to get away in the first place because of your girls. Azuki kept you from being shot while you retreated, throwing up shields while growling death threats at the group of newly identified enemies encroaching on you. You could tell she would prefer sinking her teeth into the man that stabbed you, but Mochi took care of him for both of you.

The unassuming Flemish Giant rabbit had grown to five times her size, body morphing into her monstrous form, before leaping onto the unlucky offender. His screams filled your ears as you pulled your handgun out to hobble as many of the men as you could. Best to thin out their ranks to lessen the number pursuing you. Without an offensive Quirk, you have to be creative with your own protection, and you’ve always been an excellent shot.

That had been a little under five minutes ago. You hate running like a coward while your girls cover your rear, but they can honestly take care of themselves. Especially Mochi, whose golden eyes instantly filled with malice the second you got attacked. The last you saw of her, she was whipping her tongue around the edges of Azuki’s shield to stab her stinger into anyone stupid enough to be in range. Considering the pure rage pulsing through her bond, she won’t be holding back on her venom dosage. Anyone she stings will probably die today. There’s a paralytic element to it, and with enough pumped into someone’s body, it’ll paralyze their lungs and suffocate them to death. It’s better than they deserve.

Something the size of a small black bear nudges you in the back. You glance over your shoulder to see that it’s only Azuki. Blood covers her muzzle, as well as her throat and chest. Concern radiates through her bond, streaked through with her fierce desire to protect you. At her side sits Mochi, who also sports a bloody muzzle and front. The monster rabbit has yet to return to her base size, though she did shrink to mirror Azuki’s, which isn’t saying much. Vicious satisfaction saturates her bond now, replacing the earlier bloodlust. Her own protective vibes bleed into her bond as she and Azuki examine you for damage. Both seem equally distraught by your injury.

If they’re here with you now, either everyone you left behind is dead or they’re too hurt to consider hunting you down right now. You don’t know which is better, honestly, but as long as your girls are safe, you’ll deal with the fallout later. Deciding you may as well do something productive instead of just standing around while you bleed out in some shithole alley like a dumbass, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone. Your hands shake so much that you have trouble grasping it, but you manage to wrap your fingers around it.

All For One should be informed of what happened before you pass out. Undoubtedly he felt the spike of your emotions through the bond—fear, anxiety, anger, and pain, among other things—and will want to check in on you. You’re honestly surprised he hasn’t called yet, knowing how he frets over you like a mother hen even when you catch a cold or get a paper cut. Azuki whines before nudging you in your uninjured side. From her bond, you gather she wants you to start walking again.

Lurching back onto your feet from where you’ve been slumping against the dirty bricks, you continue your journey. It proves to be slow and painful, but Azuki makes it easier. She lets you lean into her sturdy frame for support while Mochi hops along in front of you scouting for any danger lying ahead. As the phone rings in your all but limp fingers, you let go of your wound and reach into your shirt for your dragon pendant. You pull it out by its shining silver chain as the call connects with a click on the second ring, then press the hidden spring nestled amongst its spikes. A compartment opens up on the gleaming silver dragon’s belly. There’s a little switch that you flick.

“Dear one?”

All For One’s worried voice drifts up from your phone. It sounds distant and tiny because of how far away your hand is from your face. You indicate for Azuki to stop for a minute despite her protests, but you can’t talk otherwise. You slump against the wall again with her steady weight holding you up, once more able to staunch your wound. The bleeding hasn’t slowed at all, and you’re one strong gust of wind away from collapsing. Most people would agree that no one should be walking or running with a stab wound, let alone as they bleed profusely. You don’t have a choice, though.

“Dragon-chan,” you wheeze, trying to keep your breathing calm through the thick haze of pain permeating your mind. The wound has its own heartbeat. It throbs in time to your own. You grit your teeth, praying to every god you know that the blade was clean and that it didn’t hit anything too important. If it did or if the wound has dirt in it, well, All For One knows plenty of doctors who work on people like you. Several of them stay on his payroll. At the very least, a tetanus shot and antibiotics loom in your future.

“Treasure-chan, you set off your panic button and I can sense your pain through the bond. What happened?”

He already sounds like he’s contemplating which parts of the Geneva Convention to break. Good. The most vicious part of you hums in pleasure. You’re not feeling very charitable today. Being backstabbed, in this case somewhat literally, will do that to a person. Your former associate deserves no mercy from you, not that All For One would be inclined to listen to any pleas.

You decide not to mince words. Why lie? There’s no one to protect in this. Your old ally burned every bridge between him and you or All For One the minute he conspired against one of you. The damned coward didn’t even show his fucking traitor face at the ambush. He just sent his underlings to do his dirty work, probably assuming you’d be an easy mark since your Quirk isn’t physical. Obviously, he assumed wrong, and now the Demon King was going to mount his head on a pike once he got his hands on him.

“There was no commission. The whole thing was a setup for an ambush. I’ve been stabbed. I got away but I don’t know if they called for backup or how much longer I can go on like this. Fuck. This hurts like hell.”

There’s ringing in your ears and a sense of vertigo settles over you. It’s all you can do to avoid crumpling to the ground. Adrenaline taints your mouth with its metallic taste. You need medical assistance as soon as possible. Only sheer force of will keeps you upright at this point. Crimson continues to seep into your clothes by the second. By now, it stains not only your shirt and undershirt, but your jacket and your pants and underwear where it dripped down your body. Some of it even managed to dribble into your sock. Ew. More concerning, however, is the fact that you left a bloody trail leading straight to your current location. You should get somewhere safe sooner rather than later.

“I’ll be there within five minutes. Try to stay conscious until I get there.”

For a moment, you almost forgot his presence on the line. If possible, All For One sounds the coldest you’ve ever heard him, frigid like an arctic wind. If he seemed murderous before your explanation, after hearing it he exudes unadulterated fury. Now he might just kill everyone your client’s ever met or spoken to in his lifetime, with or without proof that they assisted him in coordinating the ambush.

“Okay,” you mumble, unable to do much else.

How he intends to reach you in less than twenty minutes evades you. You allow yourself to slide to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can’t stay on your feet. Your hand lands in your lap, fingers unclenching from around your phone. Azuki whimpers, nosing at your neck. Her fear bathes your bond, so sharp that it lingers like a physical scent. Mochi reacts in a similar manner, oblong ears twitching in her agitation. Her claws score deep grooves into the asphalt as she considers returning to the place from which you just fled to maul your assailants again. Evidently not all of them lay dead or dying as you first thought. It comes through not as words, but as bloodthirsty desires inlaid into impressions of words and distorted images.

You rub between each of their ears in turn to soothe them. It only succeeds halfway, though. They’re no less anxious now than a minute ago. In fact, your weakening state heightens their protective instincts. The more vulnerable you grow, the more unhinged they become. Hardly a second passes without one of them apparently fantasizing about mutilating the next person to breathe wrong in your direction. Part of you worries for All For One, hoping they won’t attack first and ask questions later at the first sign of danger.

Three and a half minutes pass undisturbed. Close to the fourth minute, Azuki and Mochi both swivel their heads toward a shaded spot a few feet away from you. Unease gathers in the pit of your stomach. After how much blood you’ve lost, you’re in no state to fight off a second wave of subordinates sent to kill or apprehend you. Your only comfort comes in the knowledge that if they achieve either capturing or murdering you, All For One will personally hunt each of them down like a shark smelling seal blood.

Relief courses through you when All For One materializes out of the puddle of shadow with Sushi cradled in his arms. Two of his most loyal soldiers cling to either elbow, each prepared for a fight. They fan out to either side in a defensive formation without being prompted as All For One crosses the short distance separating him from you. Azuki and Mochi make room for him, calm now that your mate has arrived to help you. He kneels in front of you, his expression strained as he takes in the copious amounts of your blood soaking through most of your outfit on your left side. Your beloved looks no less beautiful while distressed. To the contrary, his usual angelic appearance lends to the heightened impression of a heartbroken celestial being drifting somewhere between devastating wrath and inconsolable grief.

“Oh, dear one,” All For One murmurs.

Gentle hands set Sushi into your lap, swapping her for your phone. He locks the device and slips it into his pocket as the distraught feline paws at your hand. You uncurl your fingers to brush your thumb against her jaw. She purrs, violet eyes glowing as she activates her Quirk. Almost immediately your bleeding lessens. All For One gives her an absent-minded pat on the head as he reaches for you, still gentle as he cradles your cheek against his palm. His own healing Quirk activates, sending another soothing wash of energy through you.

Perfect pink lips curve into a frown, no doubt unhappy with whatever information one or more of his Quirks conveys to him. Bit by bit, the pain lessens until it fades to a dull ache, a phantom of its former self. Mochi cuts off her Quirk before All For One cancels his. She blinks sleepy eyes at you before curling up against your belly for a nap. Snorting at her feline antics, you give her an extra scritch around the ears, earning another litany of purrs in the process.

All For One presses two fingers into the underside of your jaw. Checking your pulse, you assume. Whatever he feels deepens the all-consuming concern lurking in his eyes. Dangerous amounts of ferocious bloodlust tinge the bond in shades of red that match the sticky mess dampening your clothes. Shit. You really liked this suit. The color complements your complexion and makes your eyes pop.

“The good news is that I sense no internal bleeding and I healed the damage to your body. The bad news is that you need a blood transfusion and IV fluids.”

All For One delivers his assessment while remarkably composed for the level of potent killing intent leaking into the air around you. It promises swift retribution for all involved. You can’t blame him. You’d feel the same if they did this to him. As it is, you’re still pissed off that they did it to you to begin with after years of an otherwise cordial relationship. It’s gonna be a pain in the ass reassessing all your old contacts. Thank fuck Giran loves getting the chance to snoop into people’s lives for you, or else it would suck exponentially worse.

“And a tetanus shot and antibiotics,” you add with a grimace as a surge of dizziness overtakes you, making your head swim. Black dots bloom on the edges of your vision. Exhaustion hits you all of a sudden with the subtlety of a freight train. When you next open your eyes, you realize your body hovers a few feet off the ground, supported by a strong pair of arms. You figure you passed out for a second, which seems like cause for alarm. Movement outside of blinking or breathing proves too difficult. Best to conserve your energy at this rate anyhow.

Your head lays on a well-muscled shoulder you’d recognize anywhere, cheek resting against a familiar suit jacket. All For One must’ve swept you up into his embrace the moment you lost consciousness. He cradles you to his chest in a bridal hold, head bent so he can rest his forehead against yours. He whispers a solemn promise into your hair as he turns toward the shadowy spot he emerged from when he arrived.

“I swear to you that when I find those responsible for this disgusting display of betrayal, they’ll spend the rest of their miserable lives in exquisite agony, wishing for a merciful death.”

You expected nothing less. It stirs warmth in your heart, as twisted as it might seem to others, to hear the so-called Demon King swearing vengeance upon those who wronged you. His scent alone brings you comfort. It signifies safety, because as long as he walks the earth, he’ll always have your back. Your hands curl into his jacket where your arms loop around his neck. His body heat helps drive away a bit of the chill creeping in on you. You use what scant energy you have to press your face into his neck.

“I’m counting on it,” you whisper in return, then fade back into unconsciousness.

….

To be continued…

…

A/N: It's not clear yet from what’s been posted previously, but in this AU, “Giran” becomes an inherited title or role passed down from one generation to the next in a certain family. Therefore “Giran” represents more than one person. The “Giran” we know in canon is the grandson or great grandson of the “Giran” who’s sworn an alliance toward AFO, AFO’s spouse, and their bloodline, should they ever have any children. So modern Giran’s entire family from this generation onward has worked with All For One and Reader.

Oh, also, to recap, Azuki is the Akita introduced in A Giver, A Taker. Mochi is the Flemish Giant rabbit and Sushi is a Siamese cat. They all have Quirks.

#afo x reader #all for one x reader #yandere all for one x reader #yandere afo x reader #lov x reader #yandere x reader #bnha x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere afo #yandere all for one #soft all for one #possessive afo #protective afo #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral language

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 8 months

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May I please request 🫀,🏉,💥, 👓, 💍, 🏛, 🧭, 🚓, 🧬, 📖, 🤱, ⏰, 🚌, 🥀, 👊, 🩹, 🌊, 🏭, ⚰️, 🦁, 🔒, ⛓ for Peter? I love the short king. He and his troupe deserve the world.

whewww this was a long one but I love it!

our babiesssssss ToT

headcanon memes inspired by things i like, part 3

[ 🫀 ] does your muse make decisions with their head or their heart? perhaps a bit of both?

Heart, full stop. While he’s definitely capable of thinking critically, he tends not to unless it’s a really heavy decision. He does overthink big decisions, so much so that his mind and feelings get too laden down. Most decisions, however, he often just reacts without using his head too much. He likes to think he’s not an emotional person; he very much is, it’s just that he conflates ‘emotional’ with ‘weepy’. His heart almost completely rules over his actions even if he doesn’t think it does.

[ 🏉 ] would you say your muse lives up to their potential? are they trying to, or could they care less?

In all reality, he probably doesn’t, and the reason is simple. Because he can’t. He’s never been given the chance to live up to the potential he has. He’s been on the streets most of his life, mistreated and misled, made fun of, lied and made to do other people’s dirty work. It’s made him stop believing he even has any potential within him, so he gave up on trying a long time ago. It’s not that he doesn’t care about his potential; it’s that the world has fed him the lie that he doesn’t have any. He’s not good for anything, so why even try? Deep inside him there’s a loyal, passionate man who could set the world in fire in the best way, but… he never had the opportunities, and he’s lost the motivation to be anything other than someone’s angry puppet.

[ 💥 ] is your muse protective of those they care for? if so, how do they show it?

Peter is insanely protective of the people he cares about. Mostly his family, also his S/O and when/if he has children. If someone fucks with the people he cares about, that person better pray God strikes them down before Peter gets his hands on them. His preferred method of keeping his precious people safe is to get physical, probably because it’s really the only way he knows to keep them safe. It’s as if his size stops mattering, and he gets easily just as vicious as any bigger man. He shoves, punches, kicks, yells, in order to get any threat away from his family. There’s almost nothing he won’t do to protect the people he loves… which is perhaps his best quality and fatal flaw all in one.

[ 👓 ] does your muse tend to judge others, or are they more open-minded?

He does his best not to judge people, for the simple fact that neither he nor his family would have suffered if other people hadn’t judged them. Who is he to look at someone else and assume he knows anything about them? Even if someone looks or seems strange to him, at most he’ll make what he thinks is a casual comment. Otherwise, who cares? Except… he doesn’t trust. His biggest thing is assuming that everyone else is out to get him and his family, everyone looking out for themselves, and whether he thinks it does or not, that judgment absolutely colors his opinions of and behavior toward other people.

[ 💍 ] does your muse have trouble committing to others? are they comfortable being this way, or would they prefer to be different?

Commitment issues is one way to put it, certainly. Whether it’s committing to friends or lovers, he struggles to form long-term relationships. Sometimes people are insulting and degrading or think he’s ‘too close’ with Wendy, so he has reason to push them away. But sometimes it’s his own mind telling him to run, so it’s… difficult not to listen, when his life has been so challenging thus far. He knows it hurts people, and more importantly it hurts people who he might care about. So it’s not as if he likes being this way. It’s the way he’s lived so far, so it’s not that it isn’t comfortable; it fits him the way a broken-in, falling-apart pair of shoes fits. He knows it isn’t a good way to live, he just… doesn’t know how to go about things any other way.

[ 🏛 ] does your muse have any strange interests? do they keep these interests to themselves, or are they comfortable sharing them with others?

In the quest to keep things for as long as possible before buying anything entirely new, Peter’s actually become quite good at sewing. There’s no spare money for a machine, obviously, so he does it by hand, and that’s how he prefers it. For whatever reason, he finds sewing to be relaxing, the repetitive motions letting his body almost go on autopilot. Even though it’s technically more work after a long day, he enjoys sewing and mending things. However, he’s also a bit insecure about it, thinking that people already don’t look at him as a ‘real man’, so he doesn’t want anything adding fuel to that fire. That is, unfortunately, a byproduct of the time with people considering sewing ‘women’s work’. (He’s a little like Charles Grey in this respect, not wanting to be viewed as feminine.) So except for his sister and possibly his S/O, he keeps this hobby to himself. Funnily enough, if something needs mending, Wendy takes it, and everyone is convinced that she’s the one doing the sewing, when in reality Peter refuses to let her touch anything that needs mending. He’s not about to have to redo all her sloppy stitches so they actually hold worth a damn!!

[ 🧭 ] does your muse consider themselves a good person? why or why not?

Absolutely not. Much as he wants to be, he truly doesn’t think that he’s anything other than bad. And there are a million reasons why. The most obvious is that he and his family follow the Baron’s orders, which are incredibly unsavory ― putting other people, children, in what is undeniably danger, for the selfish hope that the rest of their own family will be saved? He thinks that’s monstrous and he hates himself for it, and he knows the others do too. The other big reason is his temper. Someone who’s constantly angry, walking around the world and snapping biting remarks at people who might not always deserve it, doesn’t sound like a good person to him. He’s almost stopped thinking of himself as a person in general at this point. His self-image is that of a horrible, miserable, bitter little creature who’s simply waiting to die.

[ 🚓 ] has your muse ever been arrested? if so, what for?

If not outright arrested, he’s done “a night in the cells” many times whilst on the streets. Not so much nowadays in the circus, but in his youth? He could easily spend a night in a prison cell once every couple of weeks, sitting there overnight and released in the morning. Three guesses as to what he was put in for. The local law enforcement knew him by name, especially before he and Wendy met up with the rest of the troupe. Peter would get into a fight with another man, be rounded up for (depending on the officer) “public nuisance/disturbing the peace” or “bodily harm to another individual”, and stew in his anger overnight. Then, Wendy would come collect her brother in the morning and he’d apologize to the officers. … And so went the vicious cycle until the group he’d come to call family banded together. (Of course, even after that, he would still get thrown in a jail cell overnight, but much less frequently.)

[ 🧬 ] how important is family to your muse?

It’s the most important thing. Not even a question, his family is above literally everything else and he doesn’t know how anyone couldn’t feel that way. He’d include his S/O in his family as well, for the fact that he defines family as the people he has who stick with him, who don’t just care about themselves. Save Wendy, the other troupe members aren’t related to him by blood, and he still thinks of them as family. He would do anything for his family, any terrible act he had to commit (with a couple of exceptions), any sacrifice he had to make, he’d do it. You threaten his family? Give your heart to God, because your ass is Peter’s, and he will kick it thoroughly. He would go so far as to die for his family, and he’s consistently shocked that not everyone feels that way.

[ 📖 ] does your muse keep a diary or journal? what do they, or would they, write in a journal?

He doesn’t. The most glaring reason why, aside from it being a waste of money to buy a bunch of paper, is that he can’t really read or write. He knows just enough to be able to read and write his name and Wendy’s, and possibly the other first-stringers’. He can speak beautifully (if with an accent that some find ‘unintelligent and uncouth’), but the written word almost completely escapes him. He can’t form letters and string them together to create words and sentences, so there’s no point in him trying to keep a journal. If he could read and write better, he probably still wouldn’t write in one. He views his life as a rut, so he thinks his journal would be a lot of the same or similar entries. Why bother writing that shit down? It happens every day, and it would be boring to read, and it would just make him angry to look at.

[ 🤱 ] does your muse want to have children? why or why not?

He… does, and doesn’t. To him it’s the same as a dream of becoming a retainer for the Queen ― that is, probably technically possible, except that it’s so unlikely to happen, one is better off keeping it in a fantasy. It’s a far-off dream that he doesn’t think it’s ever going to happen. If he met someone, and he suddenly had the means to take care of children… God, he would without a doubt want that. His biggest fear is that whatever condition he happens to have, any child he would father would inherit it. And while he knows there’s nothing wrong with him in the sense that he deserves to exist just as he is, he’s suffered. He wouldn’t want to bring a child into the world, who’s just like him, who would suffer the same ways he has. What would be the point, bringing a life into the world just to hurt? Some part of him still clings to that dream, though, still wants it, because… well… he is obviously very capable of love. He knows he could love a child, he can see himself raising a little one, and as long as he could be sure he’d be able to provide for them, he’d do anything for them.

[ ⏰ ] does your muse tend to cling to the past, dream about the future, or look to the present?

Most of the time, he tends to just focus on the present. While he does have moments where the demons of the past haunt him, or he gets caught up in dreams of a future, he stays quite grounded, surprisingly. To him, the past has already happened, so there’s no changing it, which means he shouldn’t dwell on it too much. And the future doesn’t even exist yet, so all he can do is plan for it, not let worry sink its teeth into him about things that haven’t come to pass. He’s oddly reasonable about this part of life. What would it help, obsessing over the past or tying his mind into knots about the future? If he concentrates on what’s going on here and now, he thinks he’ll do fine.

[ 🚌 ] what haunts your muse? is there any event in your muse’s past that they can’t move past?

Speaking of the past not haunting him too much, there are only a few things that crop up and torment him. They’re not even specific events as much as they are general things, like the way the rest of society has treated him and his family. He can’t seem to move past it, and is stuck thinking that everyone looks at him the way people looked at him and his family while they were on the streets. There are times that he’s internalized it all so much, the memories grab him by the throat and won’t let go. Although it doesn’t happen often, when it does… it’s not pretty.

[ 🥀 ] what are your muse’s standards for a romantic partner? are they realistic? why do they have these standards?

Honestly, he likes to think he has pretty low fucking standards. Just be a kind, decent person with some semblance of a spine, and he won’t have a problem being in a relationship with someone like that. He has a few boundaries, a few behaviors that rub him the wrong way which are deal-breakers, but overall his standard is Don’t be an arse, don’t be a doormat. Any romantic partner he has also can’t poke too many jokes at his size. A couple, once in a while, perhaps a small string of them to tease occasionally? Fine. He makes jokes at his own expense too sometimes. Every day, and/or keep coming back to it as if it’s the only thing that’s funny? Nope, they need to have a talk. His reasons are pretty simple; he can’t deal with people who just roll over and let people walk on them, because that’s a good indicator that they won’t stand up when it counts. However, people who are too abrasive and not kind grate on his nerves, because he’s lived through too much of that crap already. As far as the short jokes go, he’s heard them all a million times, so he can laugh at one or two on occasion… too many, all the time, reminds him of being on the streets, and it makes him feel like he’s just there for his partner to make fun of. He’s actually pretty reasonable with his standards for a romance.

[ 👊 ] does your muse favour nonviolence? will they be violent if needed? do they revel in violence?

Hahahahaha… ah, well, no. Peter isn’t a pacifist by any means of the word. He isn’t necessarily trying to avoid violence in general, although he won’t get violent if he doesn’t think the situation calls for it. He also gives quite a few warning signs of anger before he starts to get violent, sort of like the way a cat will hiss at you to back off several times and only scratching or biting if you don’t. He will for sure be violent if he needs to be, because it apparently comes easier to him than to some of the rest of his family. He doesn’t exactly revel in violence… it’s not as if he feels like he’s only alive while fighting or that his sole purpose is to throw punches. It does feel like a good stress reliever if he reaches the point where it needs doing, so unless he hurts someone he cares about, he usually won’t feel any kind of guilt toward getting a bit violent.

[ 🩹 ] does your muse prefer to keep the peace or rock the boat? are they a mediator, or do they tend to make others upset?

Ahhhh… he doesn’t really keep the peace very well, though it isn’t as if he’s trying to rock the boat. He prefers it when things are as quiet and drama-free as possible ― it just hasn’t been his experience that such a thing is the norm. So he’s always got his hackles raised, ready for things to turn sour in an instant. It seems like just his mere presence can make others upset sometimes… mainly because the man doesn’t know when to shut his damn mouth if a comment isn’t necessary or kind, even if it happens to be true. He doesn’t typically mean to upset people, it just sort of happens as a natural consequence of him having no fucks left to give. He probably couldn’t mediate a conflict to save his life.

[ 🌊 ] does your muse have any specific fears? is there a reason why they fear these things?

Cynophobia ― fear of dogs. In general, this only applies to large and/or aggressive dogs, although sometimes it hits him even with small and/or friendly dogs. When he and Wendy were on the streets and younger, before they met the rest of the troupe, someone coming out of a shoppe had a dog with them. The dog decided that Wendy was in its way, for some reason, and barked at her over and over and over. Because they were so small and the dog was rather big, both siblings were afraid that they were going to be hurt. (The dog may not have been aggressive, but it was reactive, and a dog barking incessantly that’s bigger than a person is usually going to be scary.) Peter ran in front of Wendy to protect her, which resulted in the dog barking in his face instead. And the dog’s owner just laughed, before finally walking off with their dog. Although Peter can be relaxed around many dogs now, as long as they don’t bark or growl a lot, there are definitely times this fear gets the better of him. He’s just fine around other animals, it’s dogs specifically which hit his brain’s panic button.

[ 🏭 ] is your muse happy with their job or career path? why or why not?

Depends. Is he happy with his job/career dancing to the Baron’s puppet strings? Fuck no. He’d rather be doing anything else. Is he happy being a trapeze artist and performing for an audience? … Actually, he’d be perfectly content if he got to do just that and it would be his full job. He and Wendy are a great team; the trapeze is quite a nice act; the circus isn’t actually a terrible place to work. He puts as much work as he possibly can into performances, and moving on the trapeze doing various gymnastic stunts is something he genuinely enjoys. It really does feel like flying, like all the cares he has can’t even touch him. No one can say he isn’t dedicated, and it seems like the audiences actually like watching him. Best of all, he gets to perform with Wendy. If he could do the trapeze performances for the rest of his life, if they could drop their connections with the Baron yesterday, Peter would probably be just fine with that.

[ ⚰️ ] does your muse believe in an afterlife? if so, what do they believe the afterlife would look like?

He does, as do most people in Victorian England, believe in heaven and hell. (And possibly a purgatory/limbo.) As far as he thinks, heaven is paradise and hell is… well… hell. Heaven is white clouds and angels and everything being wonderful. Hell is dark fire and devils and everything being terrible. Heaven is where people should want to go, and hell is where people shouldn’t want to end up. Peter is convinced he’s going to hell when he dies, although he definitely would be relieved (if confused) should he wind up in heaven.

[ 🦁 ] is your muse cowardly, or courageous? what would it take for them to act heroically or selflessly?

Cowardly in the sense that he feels like he doesn’t have choices or options, so he goes along with what seems to be the easiest one that will allow him and his family to be taken care of. Notably he doesn’t fight back against what the Baron wants, because the Baron is making sure Peter and his family are taken care of, promising them things that are in their best interest. Even though he knows it isn’t right, this is what he needs to do to preserve his family. So he does it instead of, say, punching “Father’s” lights out like Peter knows the bastard deserves. He feels like he’s selfish and a coward for always taking the easy way and doing things which are in his and his family’s best interest rather than caring about anyone else. It would take his family (S/O included) being threatened for him to show what he thinks of as any kind of real courage. If the Baron was about to hurt or, God forbid, kill one of his family, that’s what snaps Peter out of his cowardice and would be the catalyst for him rallying for what’s right for once in his fucking life.

[ 🔒 ] what are your muse’s most negative traits? how do these traits influence their lives? (ex. if a muse is aggressive, they may have trouble forming lasting friendships.)

His worst trait is his temper, his anger. It seems like he’s angry all the time, because he’s using his anger to cover up all the pain he’s ever felt. He’s in pain constantly, whether that means physical pain or emotional/mental pain from the miserable life he’s been put through so far. His temper is something he tries to rein in; he lets people push his buttons three or four times before he explodes on them, in an effort to control himself. However, when he does finally explode, it’s disproportionate to whatever upset him, as if he’s starting with a higher base level of anger than everyone else. Which is probably the truth. He’s quick to react when he’s already stressed, and that means he has trouble keeping relationships. Nobody wants to be friends with a man who snaps at them over seemingly nothing, and nobody wants to be a long-term lover with a man who’s come close to shoving or hitting his family if they manage to hit a particularly sensitive button of his. That anger broiling inside him is also eating him away, too, becoming his most definable trait. He finds it harder and harder to be happy, harder and harder not to explode the first time his buttons are pressed. It’s as if his rage is slowly replacing his whole being, and unless he does something to deal with it, eventually there will be no Peter left — just the anger where a man once was.

[ ⛓ ] has your muse ever felt trapped? by what?

He’s always felt trapped, by one thing or another. Trapped by the circumstances that left him and Wendy orphans. Trapped by the lack of money and opportunities that bound them to the streets. Trapped by the Baron and his sinister intentions, which have led him into a life he never wanted. They’re all trapped, aren’t they? Him and his entire family, they’ve always been. There was never any getting out of their situations unless someone helped them. No one did. They’ve all tried so hard to be good and it’s all for nothing. His entire life, his work and the routine and everything he does, it just one big rut that he’s never going to get out of. No matter which way he goes, it’s all the same. No doors to a better life, no spots of hope, nothing except more of the same. All he really wants some days is to be free of the invisible shackles he walks around with, but he knows it’s never going to happen. He’s going to be trapped until he dies, and things don’t look good even for his ghost.

#onehellofashadynerd #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Peter #headcanons #general #drama #angst #domestic #BWAAAAAAAAH THIS TOOK A HOT MINUTE BUT IT WAS A LABOR OF LOVE #I adore my sweet angry lil boy <3 #one hell of a queue

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

We Don't Talk (About That) [Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader]

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: Affection has never been Cassandra's strong point- neither the giving nor the receiving of it. But when it comes to you, she's determined to try, regardless of the obstacles in her path. Notes: Spiritual sequel to Everybody Talks Too Much, but they can be read in any order. Reader is selectively mute, but ends up talking in this one, partially due to being high on a fever, oops. The reader in this one is also a lil bit sassier than some of my other ones, hence why it has tentatively earned my "blunt teeth sharp tongue" tag.

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

“Seriously? You’re wearing white for this?” Cassandra says, eying you with a look of disbelief. All you can really do is shrug in response. After all, your hands are occupied with your current task: Wiping blood off of the corridor floor. That didn’t leave much room for miming, or writing anything down. “You’re going to fuck up your sleeves, you know that, right?” Another shrug, this time with an added humming noise, just for fun. Honestly, you weren’t even sure why Cassandra was hanging out, let alone why she cared if you got your shirt dirty. It’s not like she would be the one to do the laundry. More than that, she was the one who had decided to punish a maiden in the middle of the hallway.

Still, you would never think to voice your questions, or otherwise indicate your feelings. Not that you had feelings about her, or anything, the mere idea of that was ridiculous. For a completely unrelated reason you find yourself glad that she could not see your cheeks from where she stood. Glad I don’t talk, you think, otherwise I’d probably say something really stupid right now. Instead, you focus on your work, scrubbing hard at the floors. Despite your companion’s warning, not even a single drop of blood ends up staining your clothing. That’s why I rolled up my sleeves first, babe!... And that’s why I don’t talk, you think, shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

“That was fast. Sure you didn’t miss a spot?” Cassandra asks, stepping over to where you had cleaned. Before you can protest she’s leaning down to examine the floor. Which would, you know, be fine. If she didn’t have blood (and dirt, and who knows what else) on her gloves, that is. Groaning, you try to slap her wrist, temporarily forgetting your place. Next thing you know she’s pushing you to the ground, on top of you with her hand posed to strike. You flinch, instantly, clamping your eyes shut to prepare for the inevitable. But, just as quickly as she had gotten on you, she climbs right off, refusing to meet your confused gaze, refusing to answer your unspoken questions. “You’re lucky that mother thinks you’re useful,” she spat, leaving you with one last angry huff.

“What the fuck?...” You whisper, as soon as you think she won’t be able to hear you. Of all the things she could have possibly done in response… this was the only one you couldn’t justify. There’s only one thing that could possibly help you cope with your confusion: Cleaning. Thankfully, the same person who had just flipped your mind upside down had also left a few boot prints in her path. Humming softly to yourself, you get right back to work, gleefully ignoring what had just transpired.

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

“Why do they do that?” Cassandra snapped, storming into the library, immediately demanding her older sister’s attention. However, Bela does not respond, merely looking up from her book with an eyebrow raised. Frustrated, Cassandra sits down at the table before slamming her fists onto it. At this, Bela sets her book to the side, realizing that she couldn’t ignore this tantrum. “Oh come on, you know exactly who I’m talking about!”

“Yes, I do, because they’re the only person you’ve given a damn about in a decade, maybe longer,” Bela replies, rolling her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I have any clue what you’re complaining about this time. What did they do, hmm? Did they brush their hand up against yours? Make a heart with their hands again? Oh, let me guess, they smiled when you walked into the room.” At this point, Cassandra was nothing if not predictable, much to her own frustration. How often had she come to her sister, in confidence, to have this very conversation? Countless times, and never once with a clear goal in mind.

Just a head full of thoughts of you.

“They touched me,” she admits, after a few seconds of agonizing silence. The words feel heavy and wrong on her tongue, like they were coated in syrup, too sweet to be anything other than sickening. “Slapped my hand away like I was a kid sticking a fork in an outlet, for fuck’s sake! Who do they think I am?” Now those words felt better. Angrier- left a worse taste in her mouth, but easier to swallow.

“That depends, were you trying to stick a fork into an outlet? Sounds like the sort of thing you’d do to impress them,” Bela teases, laughing even when her arm gets smacked in retaliation. “Maybe you should just ask them, then, if you can’t fathom why they might touch you. Or you could simply wallow in self pity for another decade, pretending to hate their guts when really you’re desperate to get laid?”

“When did you get so rude?” Cassandra snaps, standing up with a scowl.

“Oh, probably about the eighth time we had this talk?” Bela replies, quick as a whip, smiling all the while. If she was going to have to endure this sort of thing this often, she might as well have some fun with it. But this appeared to be the end of this particular conversation, with a miffed Cassandra making her exit, once more leaving Bela to read in peace… for a while, at least.

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

She can’t find you. She’s looked just about everywhere, asked every maiden she’s come across, and all any of them had to say were nervous apologies. Where were you? Why were you absent, now of all times, when she had finally decided to speak to you? Curse my luck, Cassandra thinks, barely restraining herself from wreaking havoc on her surroundings. Though maybe they’ll show up to take care of my mess, she muses, then thinks better of it when she imagines your exhausted expression. After all, there was only one place left for her to look: Your personal quarters. If you weren’t there, then, well, there’d be a new problem entirely.

“They better have a damn good reason for hiding away,” Cassandra mumbles under her breath. Then she’s opening the door to your room, not bothering to knock. What could you want to hide from her anyway? “Oh shit.” Evidently she hadn’t thought this through. There you were, asleep in bed, shirtless, a washcloth on your forehead. Every muscle in your body seemed to be shivering, and the occasional weak murmur leaves your lips. It doesn’t take more than a moment for Cassandra to act. Clearly you’re cold, hence the shaking, regardless of how warm it feels to her. So she’s grabbing a blanket from your dresser, quickly covering you with it. “Is that better?”

You don’t respond. Not that she truly expected you to. But the way you continue to shake has her even more concerned, and a trace of panic starts to set in. She searches for other blankets, laying them on top of you, confused as to why you aren’t getting better. C’mon, asshole, she thinks, I’m trying to help you! As if summoned by her frustrations, a maiden soon swings the door open, freezing in place when they see her. Instantly she’s whirling around to face them, a cruel remark dying in her throat. Of course it was one of her mother’s favorites. Eventually, she would have to find someone else to take her frustrations out on.

“Lady Cassandra? What are you-” Cynthia, senior staff member of Castle Dimitrescu, veteran of more than five years, starts to ask. But once she spies the pile of blankets on top of you… well, her eyes go wide. “Damn it, my Lady, you’re going to kill them!” With that said she’s rushing forward, setting down a basket of who-knows-what on your nightstand, before quickly removing the extra sheets. Half confused, half furious, Cassandra stands nearby, unable to decide how to react. Perhaps noticing this, Cynthia is quick to explain her actions. “They have a fever, the worst one I’ve seen in all of my years here. They may be shivering, but trust me, their skin might as well be on fire.”

“I was just trying to help,” Cassandra defends, words rushing out before she can stop herself. Fuck, this was embarrassing.

“Clearly, and I don’t blame you. Let’s just be glad that I came to check on them, hmm?” Cynthia suggests, giving an oddly motherly (i.e. reassuring) smile. On one hand, Cassandra doesn’t appreciate being talked to like this, at least not by someone other than her mother. On the other hand, well, she is glad that she hadn’t accidentally killed you. Taking a moment to let her heart rate slow back down, Cassandra moves to lean against the wall closest to you. She can’t help but frown when she sees the way your eyes flurry about beneath their lids. What are you dreaming about? Is it a nightmare, she wonders, or something softer, like you deserve?

“Can… can I help?” She asks, voice hardly more than a whisper. It was too late to save herself from embarrassment, but it wasn’t too late to contribute to your recovery. Or at least that’s what she hoped. There’s relative silence for a few moments, as Cynthia thinks over her words, swapping out the damp washcloth on your forehead all the while. When she finally replies, she does not look up from her task. Always the professional.

“Stay with them. If they get worse, come find me immediately. If they wake up, try to get them to drink some water, and ask if they’ve been injured recently. I couldn’t find any wounds on them, but this mess reeks of an infection,” Cynthia says. Opening the basket she had brought in with her, she removes several bottles from within, examining their labels with a tight-lipped frown. “None of these will do shit- pardon my language, my Lady- if it’s an infection, but it should help them fight off the fever until I can get them some proper antibiotics. Well, until the Duke can, that is. Make sure to ask them if they have any allergies to medicine before you give them anything, and please read the directions. They only need to take one kind of pill, alright? I only brought a few kinds in case they can’t have certain ones. Is that clear, Lady Cassandra?”

“Crystal clear,” she chimes, only briefly looking away from you. It’s enough for Cynthia, however, and she leaves with a simple bow. Once more alone with you, Cassandra approaches, gently taking your hand within her own. “You’d better wake up soon. I don’t want to have to babysit you all day…” Doesn’t want to, but would, if that’s what you needed. Wouldn’t hesitate for even a second. At most, she’d make someone fetch her a book to read while she waited. Except… now that she glanced around your room, she found that there were some things to keep her entertained. Like your beloved notepad.

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

What do you mean? I don’t think she feels that way about me. Don’t be ridiculous, she doesn’t like anyone. Because I pay attention to her! It’s not hard to know what she does and does not appreciate, you just need to observe her. No, not like that, don’t be gross. Keep teasing me and my cheeks won’t be the only thing around here that’s red. Oh fuck off, fine, I’ll go talk to her, but you owe me one. Then the page ends, with the next two having been torn out. A few letters here and there are still legible, on what little remains of the missing pieces. Lov- and want her- and wish. Try as she might, Cassandra cannot find the rest of the pages. What had you possibly written that would make you discard all evidence? It’s not like anyone normally went through your notepad. Had you predicted that one day Cassandra would do this?

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She growls, dropping the object with an angry sigh. “Who the hell were you writing about? Who were you fucking talking to? Why won’t you wake up, you goddamn asshole?” Through all of her shouting, you do nothing but shake in place, shivering against a non existent cold. Several hours had passed since Cassandra’s arrival, without you doing so much as batting an eye. Slowly but surely, she was being driven insane, exhausted from worry and jealousy alike. Strange how the most obvious answer eluded her so consistently… Yet hope does not entirely abandon her, as eventually her tantrum manages to pierce the haze around your overheating mind.

“Shhhhhhh. Please,” you mumble, eyes still closed, hardly aware of anything around you. All you really knew was that someone was being insufferable. Hell, your fever was driving you wild, and you didn’t even think about the fact that you hadn’t spoken out loud in front of anyone for over three months. Later, after you recovered, you would be glad that it was Cassandra who finally heard your voice. “Inside voice, mhm? Sleepy time…”

“Did- did you just?” Cassandra asks, stunned, shaking her head as if it might make her realize she was dreaming. But no, this was real, and you really had just spoken to her. It’s enough of a shock to render her speechless for a minute or so.

“Thanks, babe. Need to sleep this off. Or… no, wait, I was supposed to tell someone something?” You ramble, trying to sit up, a hand instinctively going to hold your head. The washcloth falls off of you, and you stare at it in confusion. Before you can start questioning the nature of it’s (or your own) existence, you are distracted by Cassandra, who has traded her own perplexion for determination. Next thing you know, you’re quietly sipping at a glass of water. Exhausted, despite having just been asleep, you eye the nearby medicine with curiosity. “I’m… supposed to tell Cassandra something, maybe? Fuck, why is it so warm in here?”

“You have a fever, dumbass,” Cassandra replies, once more finding her voice, still too overwhelmed to process what’s happening. “Look, you have to take something for your head, okay? Then we can… then we can talk about your feelings all you want, okay?” Maybe she was being a bit presumptuous about what you needed to talk about. Or maybe she was just, for once in her life, being hopeful. Regardless, she presents the medicine to you, getting ready to ask about allergies. Before she can, however, you’ve silently reached for the Ibuprofen and started opening it up.

“This’ll do. For the head, not for talking. We don’t-” you pause to take the pills, gulping down half a glass of water with them- “we don’t talk about that. Feelings. Makes her get mad, and I don’t want her to be mad,” you say, shuddering a little at the thought.

“I won’t get mad this time. Besides, you don’t normally talk at all,” Cassandra replies, rolling her eyes again. Finally, for the first time since waking up, you take a good, long look in her direction. Suddenly you’re putting the pieces together, groaning in protest when you do. How had you not realized? How deep into this fever were you?... “Don’t tell me you just figured it out, ‘babe’? I’m amazed you’re functioning at all right now.”

“Fuck you, Cassie,” you snap, mostly teasing. If she wasn’t freaking out about what you had said, well, then maybe you didn’t need to say much more at all. “You’ll still like me when I’m awake enough to be too scared to talk, right?”

“Honestly?... I was hoping this would be more of a permanent thing,” she admits, refusing to meet your gaze as she puts away the unused medicine. “But I guess I can live with being the only one who knows what your voice sounds like. So don’t you dare fucking talk to anyone else, alright?” She’s joking now, too, sounding more relaxed than she usually was. Even with your body fighting against itself, you can’t help but laugh with her. Then she’s slowly sitting on the edge of your bed, next to you, watching you with adoration clear in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine, right? Because if you die on me, I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“With you as my nurse? I’ll be lucky to last the night,” you joke, pretending to whimper when she gives you a playful slap on the arm. “Nah, nah, I’ll be alright, just as soon as I get some rest. Probably. Maybe you should, uh, stay with me? Just in case.” Next thing you know, Cassandra is pushing you down against the mattress, placing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead. Then she puts the washcloth back on you, making sure it’s still somewhat cold. Without another word she settles in, leaning against the backboard of the bed, close enough for you to feel her warmth, but far enough that she wouldn’t risk raising your temperature. “Goodnight, Cass,” you murmur, before letting yourself drift back to sleep...

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #blunt teeth sharp tongue #that means the reader is a tad sassy #not quite unhinged tho #a nice middle ground in this one

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Hey!

I was wondering if I could request a Rambo x reader set in the first movie, if that’s alright, where the reader sees him walking through town and knows that Sheriff Teasle will try to bully him out of town so she pulls over and lies about them being old friends and then they go to eat or something? And the reader actually treats Rambo like a human being and thanks him for his service to his country when she finds out he is a veteran. Oh and could the reader be female please? Thank you very much! If not then that’s totally fine 😊

And I also wanted to say that your writing is amazing!!! And the reason I ended up watching Rambo in the first place 😆

Hope you have a great night/day!

Nfhfhhhf thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my stuff! And I got you into Rambo? Hell yeah!😂 I liked this request a lot, so I hope I've done it justice!

Respect Me.

John Rambo (First Blood) x reader

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions if death

Masterlist

For once, the truck sound system seems to be playing the tape flawlessly, lacking the usual stuttering and skipping it generally likes to include in the soft flow of music. Idly, I tap my fingers along with the gentle beat, the steering wheel moving easily in my grip as I guide the beaten pick-up truck out onto the main road, falling in line with the other traffic around me. The vehicle shudders a little as I change the gears, the old truck having never liked to do anything it should do, slowly moving into a more sustainable pace as I lean back in my seat, keeping my eyes trained on the road, with a half-eye kept on the sidewalk and nearby shops. A few Christmas decorations adorn the homely stores, though it's mostly left dull and bleak, as this town always has been. Once again, I find myself wishing I could just move away from here, start a new life somewhere else.

Ahead of me, the traffic slows, allowing someone to turn into the main flow, giving me the time to glance out of the window, scanning the sidewalk a little way away. Oddly, a familiar police vehicle has pulled up just past a nearby junction, the driver leaning out of the window to talk to someone on the pavement, who I have yet to be able to see. The car is Sheriff Teasle's, the knowledge of which does not sit well with me - If he's pulled someone over, it's not for a good reason.

Checking my mirrors, I indicate off towards the sheriff, leaving the main flow as I follow the curb round, finally able to see who Teasle is talking to. Just as I feared, it looks as if he's pulled up a random person for yet another unfair interrogation. Frowning, I regard the solemn-looking man with interest, trying to ignore the part of me that finds his somewhat crooked features incredibly attractive, taking note of his obvious vagrancy: his hair is long and shaggy, clearly being left uncut for months on end, his dust-strewn parka and faded jeans showing signs of constant wear. From what I can see, Teasle is questioning him, most likely about the guy's purpose in Hope, though he doesn't seem particularly open to this encounter. Making up my mind, I cross my fingers and hope my plan now works.

Pulling up beside the two, I stop the car and climb out, plastering on a convincing grin as I go towards the dark-haired man, greeting him as I go.

"John! I didn't realise you were in town! You should've said something!" I exclaim, pleading the man with my eyes that he'll play along, though it's somewhat unlikely.

He gives me a shocked look, head snapping round at the sound of the name, hard eyes fixing on me with suspicion and hostility, the severity of the expression sending a shudder down my spine. Teasle also looks to me, frowning.

"And to think you were left to walk along here in the cold! Jeez, you really should have called or something, I could've picked you up!" I carry on, praying that he picks up the cue, "Oh, hello there, Sheriff, how are you?"

"Not bad, thanks." Teasle replies tightly, glancing between the man and I, "You know this guy?"

"Oh, yeah. John is a family friend." I lie, smiling brightly at the man in question.

"Yeah, it's been a long while, but I thought it was time to visit again." The man finally chips in, his husky voice stirring up butterflies in my stomach, "Wanted to keep my visit a surprise, though."

"Ah, well! You're here now, at least I can give you a lift back to mine." I offer him, ignoring Teasle's sceptical look.

Giving me a taut smile, which looks more like a grimace, the man steps towards me, shooting the Sheriff a glance as he goes. Doing the same, I smile pleasantly at Teasle, and say my goodbyes, climbing back into my car as my new passenger joins me, sliding cautiously into the seat beside me. Quickly, I pull back out into the traffic, heading away from Teasle as swiftly as possible.

"Thank you for doing that." The dark-haired man murmurs after a moment, his hands clenching around his knees as he forces himself to look out of the windscreen.

"No problem. Teasle's an ass at the best of times, best just to stay away from him." I muse, "Do you want something to eat? There's a good place just down the road from here."

Turning to face me, the man frowns and watches my face, as if for signs of deceit, his quiet nature giving me the impression that he's probably quite acclimatised to being treated as such.

"How do you know my name?" He eventually asks, voice quiet.

Now it's my turn to frown as I glance across at him.

"I don't."

"You called me John earlier. How did you know that's my name?"

Surprised, I double take, now realising how sketchy that must look.

"Your name is John? I had no idea! That's a lucky coincidence, clears up confusion later." I chuckle dryly, "Honestly, I picked the first name that came to mind. I had no idea that it's your actual name."

He watches me for a second longer, eventually appearing happy with my response, looking away again.

"What's your name?" He asks me after a further minute.

"Me? I'm (Y/n). (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

"John Rambo." John nods, flicking some hair from his face, "And if you're still offering, I'd like to get something to eat, please."

"Of course."

Pulling up to the diner, I park the car, climbing out as I check the cash I have on me, deeming it enough for two decent meals and some drinks, hoping that it won't be too busy at this time of the day. John follows me, leaving his bedroll in the car as we walk into the small restaurant, finding a seat at one of the window booths, sitting opposite each other. He's quiet, scanning the room as soon as he's sat down, body stiff as he unzips his parka, revealing a red woolen jumper underneath. What strikes me most, however, (apart from the obvious planes of rippling muscle) are the silver dog tags hanging around his neck, jingling every so often as he moves.

A waiter comes over to us, handing us menus with a false smile, leaving us alone together again until we've ordered drinks, at which point he returns with the beverages. Stepping away again, John and I are left with some privacy. At this moment, I take a breath and ask him the one question on my mind.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you a soldier?"

John visibly stiffens, eyes hardening a little.

"I was." Is all he says, tone flat.

"Did you serve in Vietnam?" I ask, unable to stop myself as my curiosity gets the better of me.

Once again, John seems reluctant to answer, and instantly starts to glance around, clearly watching for an escape route.

"Yeah." He affirms, gaze returning to me.

Shock fills me at this: I'd heard horrible things about the Vietnam War, about how the soldiers (on both sides) faced terrifying situations that I'd never dream of, my heart stuttering at this admonition.

"Really? That's...wow, that's…" I go to say something, finding myself speechless as I stare at the man before me, admiring him now in a totally new light, "God, you must be a strong person."

He blinks.

"Huh?"

"Well, you've done what I'd never be able to do, you've faced deadly situations, you've probably been in harrowing conditions and fights, I'd never have the strength to do what you did. Very few people do, so you must be a very strong person, mentally." I tell him, still in shock, "You definitely did the country proud, and I respect you for everything you've done. Thank you for that."

He stares at me in shock, eyes wide, lips parted.

"You...What?" Is all he manages, voice hitching.

"I respect you, and admire your bravery. You're a better person than any of the rest of us ever could be." I repeat, smiling gently at him.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, his expression remaining as it is, his body tense as he processes what I've said, clearly not quite believing me.

"You...respect me?" He stammers, quietly.

"I do." I nod, taking a sip of my soda.

"Thank you." John murmurs, pulling a face as he looks away, "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what kinda things I've done."

"What you did isn't relevant to me, only that you served the country, and you did it with bravery, so for that, you have my respect." I reassure him, telling him the truth.

John stays silent this time, apparently too overcome for words.

"Do you...do you need somewhere to stay?" I finally break the silence that has descended on us, tapping a rhythm out onto the table.

"No, but I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have, so don't worry about it. I'll figure something out." The veteran shrugs, still a little taken aback.

"You're not inconveniencing me, I wouldn't ask if you were. I have space in my house if you want to take it." I offer him, once again smiling across at him.

For the first time, John smiles at me, his features loosening as the expression crosses his face.

"I'll take it."

#sylvester stallone #rambo #sly stallone #john rambo #john rambo x reader #rambo imagine #rambo x reader

296 notes · View notes

obutsuwrites · 3 years

Text

crybaby (therapist!overhaul x f!reader)

summary: She nodded, too ashamed and drunk on her own high to function.

Unsatisfied by her response, Chisaki grabbed her face. Her rosy cheeks squished in his grip. Chisaki realized she was cute like this. A little puffy fish.

“You’re being such an annoying pig. My patience is growing thin. Tell me. Tell me you want my cock.” His sentence stumbled from him, in between heavy breaths.

The woman buried her face in his chest, “Please fuck me, Kai. I need it -- please, please, please.” warnings: boot worship, dubcon, light scalpel play, male masturbation, light medical play, praise, smut, overstimulation, yandere elements word count: 4,162 lil note: this was written as part of the bnha degeneracy 9 to 5 collab! also we like the banner?? i’m thinking of bein fancy with my posts now 👉👈 masterlist | tipjar | twitter | commission info | ask box is open (for requests)

"His eyes were lifeless. No light entered, no light left. I guess," the woman pauses and pushes out a gravely sigh, "no… refraction." Chisaki Kai notes she says the word with grief; as if it were painful. He scribbles a note: overemotional. Golden eyes examined the woman. Scanning and memorizing the imperfections in her armor. The woman that sat comfortably. It was like her little sad frame didn't bother her. Her body shook and a whimper escaped.

'Fascinating,' he thought. She was a pathetic creature. Sobbing once a week into his fine leather. The woman was an ugly crier. Her face would swell; puffy and pink. Eyes glossy and red. Sometimes, Chisaki's pants would constrict from the display. Misery in it's finest form. A show just for him.

Chisaki would be lying if he didn't think this blubbering woman would look better wrapped around his cock. Her squishy face smashed against his groin. Eyes watery and looking up, words of praise muffled. Latex gloves gripping her hair as he degrades her. 'A pathetic little crybaby.'

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time she had cried, Chisaki sent her packing. His stern voice demanding she "fix her attitude" before returning. Yet, the very next week this weepy woman crumbles. Her voice was a howl. Low and haunting. She'd shake. Her tiny body unable to contain grief. It was disgusting. This was time for help, not fits. The second time, Chisaki only found it unsightly.

But the third time? The third time she was able to speak, and her voice trembled. Words so sad and awful. She was lesser than him. She was pathetic.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eventually, Chisaki memorized her trauma; low self esteem and a lack of power from an event involving a roommate. Some days he learned more than others. Sometimes the woman would simply come to cry. No words, simply the sound of her wails. They bounced off the room like rubber. Her sobbing stuck in his ears like honey. Thick. Syrupy. Sweet.

Nothing seemed to improve during their sessions. It was always one fit after another. No change. No spiral. This crybaby was the only constant for Chisaki. His patients came and went, conditions manageable. But this little crybaby of a woman was expected every Friday at 4. Punctuality was her only redeeming quality. There was something pleasant in appreciating Chisaki's time. 'Considerate' was the word.

She stopped crying as the clock struck 6. 'Like clockwork.' Truthfully, Chisaki believed the woman allowed herself this insecurity. The two hours with him were cathartic. He circles the word in his notes. His canary eyes were glued to her file now. The woman's face was bland and uninteresting. 'You look so plain like this.' A scowl returned to Chisaki's lips.

"Thank you, Dr. Chisaki," the woman beamed. She often pretended as if she hadn't wept. As if Chisaki were paying her a kindness. It enraged him; she was scum. Her position was beneath him. Her eyes wouldn't leave him. Glossy and wrinkled in a grin.

'Sickening.'

Chisaki suppressed a shiver, "I appreciate our talks," his lips twist into a smile, "Drive home safely." He always emphasized the talking. Her trembling lips and heavy voice were erotic in a way. Chisaki wondered what her tears tasted like. He envisioned himself atop her; fingers exploring her pussy, tongue lapping at her tears.

He watched the woman leave. Golden orbs trained on her back. She took her time leaving; punishment for watching her cry. Chisaki’s cheeks grew hot. It was nauseating to think of bending her over the fine leather. Chisaki was convinced she’d be obedient, her ass waiting in the air.

‘You’d be a soaking little crybaby, wouldn’t you?’

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His evening began with ritual. Chisaki slipped off his slacks, opting to keep his sweater on. He felt less dirty that way. His cock sprung from his boxer briefs. Heavy and veiny. Chisaki rubbed the tip before spitting on it. He rubbed the spit in, thinking of her. Drooling and sobbing on his cock. Chisaki wanted to rob her of oxygen, ‘Her face must be so cute when she chokes.’ The thought hit Chisaki as he stroked his length. He grunted, palm pumping his cock. His other hand cradled his balls, softly kneading. Orgasms felt so dirty. Unnatural. Viscous cum shot into the pillowy deepness of a tissue.

He looked at it and groaned. Tossing the tissue away, Chisaki started preparation.

The hum of a computer filled his bedroom. It was ancient, but Chisaki wasn’t picky. Besides, the rudimentary technology only served one purpose. This was Chisaki’s gateway into ‘hysteria and the female orgasm.’ A million and five hundred thousand results. Everything at his fingertips. He observed her enough -- watched her enough to realize what she needed. She needed his latex clad fingers. His cock buried in her seeping core. He’d stretch her, ruin her body for anyone but him. Her cunt was made for him.

Chisaki sat in his underwear. Face focused on an order page. Recently, Chisaki found himself hyper focusing on this fantasy; his little crybaby overstimulated and mewling, begging Chisaki for relief. She’d pray for his cock. He was her only release.

The plan was simple. Allow her to breakdown as usual until he could no longer handle it. Then, he’d offer the woman a glass of water. Claiming that she must be ‘so dehydrated.’ If she refused, Chisaki planned to persist. ‘It’s for my peace of mind, too.’ He could strike her vulunability. Show her someone cared. She was naive and too stupid, so clearly she would lap up his kindness. Insist on drinking every last drop, letting the ‘medication’ take full effect. This necessity was for his sake. Chisaki didn’t want his crybaby too loud.

His mind drifted to her wiggling beneath him, his boot pressed against her cheek. Perhaps he would force her to lick it, if only to remind her of her place.

“Beneath me,” he murmurs as a hand sneaks under his waistline.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His kit sits comfortably, tucked behind a bookshelf. Chisaki recognized he needed items. Physical means to make his vision into reality. He anticipated she would come into his embrace quietly… but a part of him hoped she’d fight him. Permit him to make an example of her. Chisaki’s chest tightened. The clock ticked slowly, as if chastising Chisaki for his plans. However, he knew she needed this -- needed him.

In his kit sat latex gloves, rope, a scalpel, and an expensive vibrator. The personal massager took some convincing to buy; he hated the idea of a market for these… toys… but it was essential. Her face had to be flushed and sweaty. It was important she knew how inferior she was. Chisaki was doing her an injustice by letting the woman merely exist without him.

A soft beep echoed; the beginning of his plan. Chisaki sat with his legs crossed. Leisurely. Slender fingers atop his notes. The little pile before him was a fraction of his observations. His little crybaby was interesting, to say the least. She was his favorite client. Chisaki was almost embarrassed by the sheer volume of material he kept. His closet was home to clothes and boxes; all filled with parchment. Their margins were adorned in highlight and sticky notes. Chisaki was nothing if not dedicated.

Quiet foot falls marked her arrival. The woman would always stand outside until Chisaki welcomed her in. Even asking permission for her therapist appointment. There was something admirable about it -- something Chisaki had to break.

“Come in,” Chisaki called. His voice carried an airy professionalism. Yellow eyes briefly looked up, but quickly returned to the floor. Chisaki held his lust by memorizing the carpet.

She shuffled in, gently shutting the door behind her. Despite the miserable crybaby mannerisms, the woman was quite polite. ‘Very well trained for a mutt,’ Chisaki mused. Silence was heavy between them; this weeping woman was never consistent with greetings. Somedays, she wouldn’t choke out a ‘hello’ until deep within her misery. Her words obviously muted by her hands. She liked to cradle her face, Chisaki believed it was to stimulate intimacy. Something she was clearly lacking.

Settling into a chair, she managed a meek ‘hello’ before salty tears brimmed her eyes. Chisaki snuck a glance; she looked in pain. Her bottom lip stuck between teeth. The woman nibbled at the flesh. Anything to alleviate her sadness. The sharp pain was a perfect anchor.

‘I won’t cry. I won’t cry in front of him today.’ She was going to will herself to hold back tears and actually talk. It was kind enough of Dr. Chisaki to let her openly bawl. In all honesty, the woman hated herself for it. At this point, she was only paying him to watch. The poor man was probably too shy -- too professional to ask her to quit. She was abusing his altruism. The woman bit back a shiver, puffing out her chest. Swallowing sadness.

Chisaki looked up. Silence between them this early was… "Are you okay?" Her name comes out like a melody. Something he wants to say forever. Chisaki gripped his clipboard. He needed to ground himself. Find haven in reality.

She stares back, "I come here bec--"

"Don't say it," he murmured. Hand resting comfortably on her thigh. There was an obvious barrier; her leggings. Plush. Almost like her pillowy thighs. Chisaki groped at the plump flesh; "You're so soft." His fingers wander to pinch, "It's disgusting."

The woman remained quiet. Debating with his hand creeping toward her thigh felt dangerous. Dr. Chisaki made her feel dirty; lewd, maybe? She wasn’t sure. The heat in her core was becoming overwhelming. Her mouth moved to speak, but nothing fell out. Empty.

“Silent now, are we? What happened to your big speech? Tell me about how you’re feeling… right now.” His words were a command. No trace of a request. Chisaki needed to hear her quake; wiggle against his clothed bulge.

Saliva pooled in her mouth. Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety.

“I want to go home,” She blubbered, voice strained and whining. Her vision was blurry at best. Everything was splotchy. Dr. Chisaki was an imposing shape of purple and black. She knew he wore a tie; simple deep purple. Shirt. His shirt is black. It takes her a moment to compose thoughts. His hand and her only time to weep were overstimulating.

Chisaki continued his assault, fingers violently rubbing at her covered slit. He wanted to see a tear before the gloves. Before her examination. His cock pulsated at the thought. Latex in her mouth, stuffing her with the cure his cock. A shock -- an orgasm (even this word was perverse to Chisaki) would dislodge any feverishness. Dissipation. Her cries for him.

“You’re crying,” Chisaki commented; hand slow against her crotch, “Little crybaby.”

The woman muffled a sob and instead bit her lip. Blood bloomed in the corner of her smile. The doctor was a curse. This was illegal. He shouldn’t be touching her like this.

He sighed.

“Nothing just as I suspected.”

“This... “ A heave interjects, “This is my time. I can’t express myself like this.” She motions to her tears. Honestly, the woman was high-strung. Revealing herself -- taking off a mask -- was cathartic. Liberation in its purest form.

He pursed his lips and harshly removed his hand. The auburn haired man stood up; crossing the room to a benign black bag. Chisaki rooted around for his gloves. Latex, white, a barrier between them. Chisaki wanted to touch her briefly -- skin to skin was important. Necessary. Something unavoidable.

A snap resounded through the room. Loud. Interrupting. Chisaki wanted to be heard. He wanted her to gawk; eyes glued to him.

Her face erupted into confusion. Fear nestled into her veins. Too cold, too much. "What is..?" The woman's voice is quiet and still muffled from tears.

'This is the cutest you've looked, isn't it?' Chisaki thought of pinching her cheeks, examining the damage. His pants constricted. It was a kindness to teach this wrenched woman her place.

"Keep talking. This is a part of your therapy," Chisaki stated plainly. He rummaged in the bag further, producing something thin and shiny; metallic caught in the fluorescence. Uncomfortable by the sight, the woman shifted her gaze to his feet. His choice of footwear was odd. Polished, tar black boots. His footfalls were anything but quiet. Roaring. Really, she found it intimidating.

“Please…” She didn’t know why she begged like this. Dr. Chisaki wasn’t supposed to be this cruel. He was a therapist -- her therapist. He seemed so balanced before. Normal. And yet the man before her stood with molten eyes and a scalpel.

Slowly, the auburn haired man strode toward her. As if he were a lion savoring his meal. Inspection for prime dread. “Don’t be stupid and move. It’d be a shame if I,” Chisaki paues to taste the words, “hurt you.” Like any greedy man, Chiaski expected resistance.

But like a good little doe, she stares into the scalpel. ‘So moronic shiny things distract you.’ In a way, he found it enduring. She was so pathetic, so useless without his sympathetic ear. Functioning without him must be a chore; he was her sanctuary.

He stops in front of her, boot tapping against wood. “I think it’s beneficial you learn your place, don’t you? Society must be so pressuring for you. As your licensed healthcare professional, it’s my business.”

The woman gathered remaining courage.

“I’ll call the police.” Before her threat was tangible, Chisaki grabbed her wrists. They fit perfectly in one gloved hand.

“Stop being such a little crybaby bitch.” Cool metal touches her cheek. A warning from Dr. Chisaki.

A shiver overtook her spine. The scalpel was new, shiny, and sharp. He could slice into her face right now, nothing was truly stopping him. Anxiety bubbled in her mind. This man was dangerous. Maybe, maybe monstrous. He listened to her, let her reveal such an intimate part, only to turn on her trust. Betrayal in the worst form.

The woman doesn’t respond.

“Get on all fours,” Chisaki commanded. He punctuated his sentence with a shove. “You’re such a pig bitch, you know that right? It’s sad you think anyone would listen to you sob.”

Her eyes grew into shock. With trembling hands, the woman gets on her knees. Her palms were flat atop spotless wood. Dr. Chisaki was quirky like that. If anything, she admired him for it. He seemed so disciplined. ‘All lies,’ she thinks, melancholy stuck in her eyes. Her heart practically ached. Ached for herself, ached for him.

His lips curled into a smirk. Eyes genuinely wrinkled. Finally, this succubus learned. A jolt of excitement shot through his cock; the member twitching.

“Kiss my boots.”

She blinked at his demand. Her mind had to catch up. She needed to absorb the sentence. Should she resist, kick him, and take off? Could she? Her mind swirled with violent images. Large hands wrapped around her throat. His naked body sweaty against hers.

The woman decided to comply. Chisaki watched in anticipation as her lips made contact with glossy leather. Staying up to wax them was worth it for this. Every fantasy was drab compared to her. She was meek; placing light kisses. Her lips ghosted and left little spit puddles in her wake. Chisaki felt a certain hotness in his stomach. The act was so disgusting, and yet, Chisaki was grinding his bulge into his palm.

Suddenly, the woman stopped and looked up at her confidant. “Can I -- please -- can I leave now?”

Chisaki frowns. She doesn’t sound broken enough. ‘Fixed enough,’ he corrects. ‘She needs to be fixed. Cured.’

“Did I say you could stop?” The auburn man sneered. He stomped his boot, his patient mask falling. “Keep kissing them. Slobber on them, little pig. Show me how worthless you are.”

Her tongue whirled around, saliva dotting his boots. She sounded flustered. Huffs and soft squirming. “How are you feeling? You seem to be enjoying it.”

Without meeting his predatory gaze, she whimpered in between sloppy kisses, “I -- I love this so much, Dr. Chisaki.” Such an obedient crybaby.

“We know each other enough for Kai, you know that.”

Eager yellow eyes watched. Excitement lit up inside his veins. Hot and unable to reject.

Being complacent was her only means of survival now. She stopped, doe eyes boring into him.

Drool trailed from her lips, joined with his boot. “Kai, can I?” Her warm hand removed his and rubbed his crotch. Delicate fingers feeling his length, massaging girth and veins. A vibrating, rough groan escaped Chisaki. Something deep. Something feral. It was a sound the woman couldn’t fathom.

And yet, she felt a tingle between her thighs.

Chisaki stroked her face. Squishy and tear-stained; she should be embarrassed. How humiliating must it be to grovel and sob? It was pitiful in a way. Broken. Pathetic. “Let me see how much you want my cock, like the filthy pig you are. So greedy.”

In response to his harsh words, the woman graciously unbuckled his sleek belt, and quickly unbuttoned his slacks. His cock was constrained underneath boxer-briefs. The cut showed off his calves, toned and lean. Being this close to Chisaki reminded her how big he was -- he towered over her.

She fumbled with the hem of his underwear. Unsure if he wanted her hand or her mouth.

Noticing her confusion, Chisaki brought a gloved finger to her lips, “Suck.”

The woman shook while she tugged down Chisaki’s boxer-briefs. His cock -- slick with pre-cum -- sprung from their cloth prison. She winced at his size; he would spear her. Shoving away lewd images, she gently stroked him. An experimental touch before she took him into her mouth. His cock was heavy in her mouth. The girth of Chisaki made her cheeks puff. Gently, she tried to work his cock to the back of her throat. His bulbous tip made her gag, a sensation that had Chisaki instinctively forcing his cock down her esophagus. Her walls contracted around him. In a panic, the woman tried to shove him away. The action was futile, which left her with one option: digging her nails into him. Piercing his thighs to get him to stop.

“Don’t be so rough, piglette.” Chisaki tugged at her hair until she winced, an audible squeal was muffled by his violent thrusting. Spit dribbled down her chin, landing on her chest. Her face was awash with crimson, discomfort in her features. Chisaki took her in like fine wine. Delicious and sweet.

Her wet tongue tangled with his cock, exploring every inch of him. Hot breath pistoned from her nose. Her nails were still pricking him. Pain mixed with pleasure, until the hot bundle within his stomach felt as if it might explode. Salty pre-cum flooded her mouth; the taste resulting in a sour face. Chisaki knew he’d cum if she didn’t stop.

Chisaki pushed the woman away. Surprised and caught off guard, she lost balance, slamming her palms on the floor.

Chisaki stepped out of his clothes and crouched down. The auburn man decided to instead examine her face, and allow his fingers free-range over her delicate body.

“Stay still,” Chisaki advised, his fingers manipulating the doughy flesh of her breast. She was as soft as he imagined. He could easily bruise her; give her marks that screamed, ‘you belong to Kai Chisaki.’ But he resisted. “Take off your blouse -- slowly -- and tell me how sad and pathetic you truly are.”

“I’m… I’m so sad all the time. I just have this -- oh god -- I have this deep sadness and it feels suffocating, Kai. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.”

Her body stiffened at his request. The words were too harsh. Too rough. She lifted up her shirt and tossed it behind her. She looked away as Chisaki’s monstrous gaze transversed her chest.

“The bra too, piggie.”

Taking off her bra added another layer of awkwardness. This wasn’t the first time a man saw her like this -- exposed and sweaty… but his hungry eyes sent chills through her. An electricity of unease.

Cruel hands fondled her breasts. His fingers were faint over her nipples. She leaned into his touch, back arched. Barely audible mewls flew from her lips. Her body betrayed her. It was degrading. She should already be out the door and dialing the police. But no, her body craved him. ‘A compliant little pig.’ Chisaki hands wandered to her hip and played with the edge of her skirt. His motions were playful. This side of him was tolerable. Chisaki was like a school boy; bashful and nervous.

“Now, how are you feeling?” Chisaki asked. His tone was condescending; he wasn’t asking out of benign professionalism, but hateful interest.

Her mouth opens and then closes. Unable to compose a response, the woman simply places a hand over his.

Slapping her thigh, Chisaki chides her, “Speak, pig. Use your idotic words and tell sir how you feel.”

She gulps.

“I feel sick. This is shameful, s-sir.” The lewd title causes her blush to deepen. Cheeks flush with embarrassment and delight. Chisaki saw his treatment was finally starting to take hold.

Chisaki snakes a hand under her skirt, massaging her slit once more. Her arousal was still there, clinging wet panties to her cunt. The woman bit her lip trying to stifle groans. The mixture of his fingers on her breast and between her thighs was almost too much. Sweat gathered at her brow as Chisaki slipped a finger into her soaking core. His slender finger pistoned in and out; snapping against her lips. The auburn man had a lack of mercy, his mouth clasped over her neck. Hot mouth sucking at tender flesh. His tongue circled around the abused patch of skin, desperate to savor her.

The room was an ensemble of depravity; their moans mixed with the squelch of her pussy. She bucked into his digit, her body hurting for the stimulation. Heat built in her stomach, like a balloon filled with fire. The sensation continued to expand until it peaked; a high pitched squeal marking her orgasm.

There was a popping sound and then, “So excited you cum already, pitiful, and I was hoping you’d squirm more. You want my cock, don’t you?” His finger leaves her cunt. Spongy walls now empty and wanting.

She nodded, too ashamed and drunk on her own high to function.

Unsatisfied by her response, Chisaki grabbed her face. Her rosy cheeks squished in his grip. Chisaki realized she was cute like this. A little puffy fish.

“You’re being such an annoying pig. My patience is growing thin. Tell me. Tell me you want my cock.” His sentence stumbled from him, in between heavy breaths.

The woman buried her face in his chest, “Please fuck me, Kai. I need it -- please, please, please.” She broke out into a series of pleas mixed with crying. Her body was still numb, still too high to really anticipate more. Overstimulated and teary eyed.

“On your back,” Chisaki breathed, his face slightly flushed. He maneuvered her bare body and spread her legs around his wiry waist. Her knees hooked at an angle, like a spider.

Chisaki lined himself up with her tender, violated hole. “You’re so fucking insignificant.” His first thrust was hard and without warning. She gasped and placed her palms on his chest. Carnivorous, gold eyes looked down at her, mouth open and panting. His hips snapped against the back of her thigh. The sound was sharp against their perverse moans. A chorus of vulgarity. His girth made her cunt ache, sensitive walls stretched and full. “Do -- do you know how miserable you make me, little crybaby?” Forming sentences was hard. Chisaki’s cock was sucked in by her cunt; stuck in a death grip. ‘Gonna milk me for every bit of cum, aren’t you, piggie?’

Her hands roamed his chest. His relentless pumping was too much. She needed to grab something. To ground herself back into reality and not a cum induced daze. His veins added texture. Something so stimulating the woman found herself atop another peak. Ready to descend. However, Chisaki hadn’t quite reached nirvana. The cool air desensitized him. The heat of her pussy was like a shock.

“Focus on me.” His raspy voice brought her back into the moment. Squishy body jiggling from the force of Chisaki. Lidded eyes rolled over to gawk at Chisaki. Blissed out. “Honestly, your little crybaby face is cute like this, piggie.” A light slap smacked against her cheek, as if to further compliment her.

Chisaki’s rutted into her sloppy cunt until the hot brand in his stomach exploded; a deep groan vibrated from his chest as cum squirted into her cunt. He milked each thrust, until his balls lazily slapped against her. Tears streaked her face. Eyes glazed over with ecstasy. He grabbed her face once more. A close up look of the damage, “You did so well for a stupid little crybaby.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #yandere bnha #smut #bnha

349 notes · View notes

oikawaplssteponme · 3 years

Text

Incomparable Beauty

pairing: Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: sfw, mention of insecurities

genre/AU: fluff, light academia (?) [i highly recommend imagining Izuku in light academia fashion, including some glasses ;) ], aged up characters [third-years]

word count: ~3.4K

synopsis: The young and talented photographer, Izuku Midoriya, is searching for a muse for his next entry in an art gallery. Of course, there seems to be one person who inspires him most of all.

a/n: hi hi <3 shoutout to my lovely 🍥 and ☕️ anons for requesting/helping me figure out this izuku fluff! i am really proud of this so i hope you all like it <3 reblogs are super helpful and id love to hear your thoughts on it. enjoy xx

•························•························•

Izuku Midoriya looked up at the golden-pink sky. He stared into the abyss, hoping to think of something worth capturing. He adjusted the thin glasses that rested upon his face. He sighed and sat up, grabbing his notebook. Inside were hundreds of scribbles, sketches, and ideas that never seemed good enough. He looked to his right, where his camera laid. He wished that it could just take the pictures itself and create something jaw dropping. Still, a camera is nothing without a photographer. Furthermore, a photographer is nothing without a muse.

Izuku gathered his things as he headed back inside, making his way to his dorm. He was frustrated. He only had one week left to submit something into the Tokyo Gallery for Promising Artists, and even then it wasn't a guarantee that he would be selected. Maybe he should send an old piece he thought. He did have a few that he was proud of, but unfortunately, none of them fit the required theme of the gallery.

Izuke had his hands full as he attempted to open his dorm room door. You were making your way up the stairs when you spotted him. Izuku dropped his notebook, loose pages now scattered across the floor. You rushed over.

“Great…” he sighed. You quietly began to pick up the sheets of papers. Izuku froze.

“Midoriya, here,” you smiled, handing him his notebook. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. He took his notebook back with shaky hands.

“Thank you Y/N.”

“Is all that for the gallery? I heard that you were entering,” you smiled. Izuku chuckled.

“It is but by the looks of it, I won’t be submitting anything. I still haven't come up with anything good enough,” he explained.

“Well don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure inspiration will strike you soon enough,” you reassured him, “you’re a brilliant photographer after all.”

Izuku's face was now a bright red. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

“T-Thank you again. Well-uh- goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Izuku.”

You walked away to your dorm as Izuku entered his own. He set all his things down and began to fan his burning face. He has known you for about three years now, yet he still can’t find the courage to get closer to you. You flustered him to no end, without even trying. Your voice, your smile, your laugh, your heart; Midoriya simply couldn’t get enough. You were so beautiful in all ways possible.

Midoriya looked at the printed flair pinned to his wall.

Those interested in applying to the Tokyo Art Gallery must follow the theme below in order to be considered.

The prompt read as follows:

‘Capture beauty in its purest form.’

Beauty, thought Izuku. Almost everything is beautiful. The way the sun rises and falls each day is beautiful. How Inko called Izuku every night at exactly 7:30 was beautiful. The friendships that Izuku cherished were beautiful. Then, there was you. Izuku’s mind couldn’t help but wonder to the thought of you in relation to beauty. Now you were truly beautiful.

Izuku soon had an idea.

The following day you found yourself sitting on one of the garden benches. Your classes were finished and you decided that some fresh air might do you some good. You basked in the warm sunlight, as if you were a precious flower that needed it to survive.

Izuku figured that you would be in the academy garden, so he made his way over there. His camera hung around his neck as he held tightly onto his notebook. With a shaky hand, Izuku tapped your shoulder.

“H-Hi Y/N,” he smiled nervously. You greeted him happily, gesturing for him to join you on the bench.

“Hi! Something wrong?” you questioned. Izuku looked like he was sick.

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. I just-uh- wanted to ask you something…”

“Alright, what is it?”

Izuku set down his notebook next to his side. He held his hands together staring at them.

“Could I take your picture for the Tokyo Gallery?”

Your eyes widened at his request. The best and most handsome photographer in all of UA Academy of the Arts wanted to take your picture.

“You want to take a picture of me? I-I’m no model Izuku…”

“You’ll do great! I have this idea in my mind and it has to be with you.”

Now you were the nervous one. You weren’t one who particularly liked getting their picture taken.

“What if I mess it up? I’d hate to be the reason you don’t get accepted…”

“If those critics reject me, they’re just dumb. I promise it would have nothing to do with you. Please Y/N?” Izuku carefully took your hand with his and stared deep into your eyes. Gosh, how could you say no to him when he looked at you like that.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you smiled. Izuku squeezed your hand and jumped up from where he sat.

“Thank you Y/N! I promise it will be perfect. Mind if we shoot tomorrow?”

“That sounds good to me.” Izuku smiled so brightly he outshined the sun. He grabbed his things once more.

“Meet me here at noon tomorrow. Try to wear a neutral colored shirt, okay?” he said. You nodded.

“Okay.”

Izuku ran off, leaving you alone in the garden. You soon felt a large pit in the bottom of your stomach.

You stood before the full length mirror of your dorm. You stepped closer to it, examining every detail of you being. A photoshoot? Not only that, but a photoshoot of just you. No way to hide behind anyone or fade into the background. It would be a picture of you. The pit in your stomach only grew. You stared into the mirror, almost hoping the reflection would change into someone else. Someone who would appear beautiful in an enlarged image. Certainly Izuku could’ve asked any other girl to be his model, but insisted that it had to be you. You didn’t understand why. You didn’t view yourself as beautiful in any form. So how could he?

It was close to noon and you should be heading to the garden to meet Izuku. You put on a neutral colored tank top as Izuku requested and finished applying some natural makeup. Your hands shook as you held the brushes. Hopefully your nerves would cease by the time you got to the garden.

Izuku had been setting up since early in the morning. He created a handmade crown of white baby’s breath for you to wear and arranged his backdrop. He set up his lighting and sun reflectors exactly where he wanted. You had been standing by one of the bushes for a few minutes, afraid to interrupt him. He was so in his element. The sleeves to his button down rolled up to his elbows. His dark sunglasses covering his eyes. His beige colored paints stained green at the hem from working in the grass, same with his off-white sneakers. You honestly thought he looked beautiful.

“Hi Izuku,” you said. Izuku jumped then turned to look at you.

“Oh Y/N you’re here, perfect! Y-You look great,” he smiled. Your face grew warm.

“Oh thank you. So, what’s the plan?” Izuku moved his sunglasses to his forehead, pushing back his fluffy green hair.

“So, your job is fairly simple. I’m gonna have you sit on this stool and hold onto this bouquet of flowers. Since it's just me out here I’ll be messing around with the equipment until I find the right lighting and all that. All you need to do is keep the pose I tell you to, okay?” he explained. You nodded.

“What is the theme for this year’s gallery?” you asked. Midoriya flinched.

“Oh it’s um...nature…” he muttered. Nature? Why doesn’t he just take a picture of a tree and call it good? What does he need you for, you wondered.

Izuku set down the stool in front of the garden wall and you sat down. He grabbed the bouquet and handed it to you. He then placed the crown uptop of your head. He carefully arranged it to rest effortlessly on you. His nimble fingers were delicate as they touched your head, then moved to your cheek without him thinking. Izuku’s index finger now rested under your chin as you looked up at him. With a burning face and widened eyes, you wished to never look away. Out of flustering embarrassment, Izuku took his hand back.

“Yeah um so for the pose I’d like you to be looking slightly to the side with your chin tilted up just as I had it. Then with the flowers have them close to your cheek. I’ll probably tell you to switch out poses here and there but that's a good place to start. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Izuku walked back and grabbed his camera. Your heart was pounding out of your chest. You tried to keep yourself calm with a few deep breaths.

“Ready?” asked Izuku. You nodded.

“Ready.”

The first click of the camera and flashing lights was the most startling. You soon got used to it, following whatever instructions Izuku gave you. You moved your head and hand placement, soon feeling more comfortable with everything.

“Yes that's perfect...keep doing that…” Izuku blurted out whatever thoughts came to his mind as he captured you on film. His encouragement was honestly what made your heart race.

“Now lower the bouquet so I can see your pretty face…yeah just like that Y/N…”

Midoriya didn’t even realize what he had said until the words left his mouth, but he didn’t care. He meant it.

“Okay now open your eyes and look slightly towards me, parting your lips a bit…”

Izuku snapped the picture then froze. He looked down at the small digital image.

“So beautiful…”

“Hmm?” You questioned. Izuku snapped out of the trance that he was in. He chuckled nervously.

“OH-the pictures look really good that's all. I think we are good,” he said. You let out a sigh.

“Oh good. That was honestly pretty exhausting.”

“I really appreciate you letting me use you for the gallery. I already know the final product is gonna turn out amazing,” he cheered. You smiled.

“It’ll be amazing because you are amazing,” you said. Izuku blushed.

“So are you.”

You took off the crown and returned the flowers to Midoriya. You helped him put away his equipment before the two of you headed back inside.

“Um Y/N, did you maybe want to grab something to eat?” he asked. You smiled.

“I’d love to, just let me change first,” you chuckled.

“Oh yeah of course.”

You dropped off the equipment at Izuku’s dorm before heading to your own. You slipped on a green sweater and some sweatpants before finding him again.

You and Izuku went to the dinning hall, each of you picking up a bowl of ramen. You decided to eat outside on the balcony.

“How do you think the pictures turned out?” you asked.

“Honestly, really good. You did amazing,” he smiled. You looked down at your food.

“I was honestly super nervous for them. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Not at all! You were a natural out there! I really think this will be some of my best work yet,” said Izuku.

“I’d love to go to the gallery with you,” you whispered. Izuku’s eyes widened.

“I was planning on taking you regardless,” he replied, “thank you by the way.”

You tilted your head.

“For what?”

“For always believing in me. I probably wouldn’t be a photographer if it weren’t for you.”

In Izuku’s first year, he was at the bottom of his class. He knew he wanted to do photography, but couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. He was so frustrated one day that he even said that he would be dropping out and quitting forever. You convinced him not to, to keep trying. You saw his talent when no one else could. Even when he couldn’t. From that day forward, Izuku worked to become the best young photographer in all of the Shizuoka Prefecture.

“Well I knew that you could do it, and I was right,” you teased.

“You’re great Y/N, seriously,” he said. You looked at Izuku, your face growing hot.

“I don’t know about that…”

“What? Come on, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re talented, and you always seem to know what to say. You’re incomparable.”

“To what?”

“To anything. You’re incomparable to anything because you’re you.”

Midoriya had to stop himself from saying anymore, for fear of spilling his whole heart before you. He meant it however. Nobody compares to you.

You swirled your noodles around in their bowl. The pounding in your chest came back. You locked eyes with Izuku.

“You’re incomparable too.”

Izuku spent every waking moment arranging his piece for submission to the gallery. He was always found in the art room, either photoshopping or preparing the flowers to be pressed. Once the image of you was edited to his liking, he developed a large scale version of the picture. He enjoyed putting the pieces together. From hand pressing the flowers to finding the perfect frame to keep it all in, he has created a masterpiece. All thanks to his muse.

You roamed the empty halls of the school in search of Izuku. You hadn’t seen him all day, assuming he would be in the art room. It was late, he honestly should be asleep. You stood in front of the art room door and carefully opened it up.

Izuku was fast asleep on one of the desks. The large photograph was wrapped and ready to be sent to Tokyo. You quietly walked over to him, tapping his shoulder.

“Izuku? It's late, you should go to your dorm,” you whispered. Izuku groaned. He opened his eyes and stretched his arms out.

“What time is it?” he yawned. You chuckled.

“Close to eleven. You should get some actual rest. You have to go to Tokyo pretty early tomorrow.”

“R-Right...the gallery…”

You could hear the exhaustion behind his voice. You grabbed his hand, helping him up.

“Come on, let's go.” You held Izuku’s hand as he lazily walked to the dorms. You led him to his room.

“Goodnight Y/N…”

“Goodnight Izuku,” you smiled. Izuku scratched his messy hair, giving you a weak smile. Without thinking, you leaned in placing a quick kiss on his cheek, before rushing to your own dorm.

Izuku stared at the letter on his desk. He had received it hours ago yet was too nervous to check. It was addressed to him by the Tokyo Art Gallery.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the letter opener from his desk, carefully gliding it across the envelope. He took out the folder paper and opened it up. Izuku ran to your room.

You jumped from your bed when you heard the pounding on your door.

“Izuku? Everything okay?”

He didn’t say anything, simply handing you the letter.

“Is this…?”

“Read it.”

You caught your breath, peaking at the paper.

‘Dear Mr. Midoriya,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Tokyo Art Gallery for Promising Artists! Your piece titled…’

You didn’t finish reading the letter. Instead, you jumped into Izuku’s arms.

“I knew you’d make it! I’m so proud of you!” you cheered. Izuku hugged you tightly, laughing with joy.

“It’s all thanks to you, I couldn’t do it without you,” he whispered. You looked at Izuku, your hands on his shoulder as he held onto your waist. His face blushed red.

“Oh sorry-” he mumbled, removing his grip from you. Your face burned.

“I-It’s okay...congratulations Izuku. You did it,” you smiled. Izuku took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“We did it.”

It was the day of the gallery showing. You were beyond excited to see all the beautiful artwork, specifically Izuku’s. You still hadn’t seen the final product.

You were dressed and ready, waiting for Izuku.

“Sorry I’m late-”

Izuku came rushing down the stairs to meet you. He looked devilishly handsome in his light grey suit and black turtleneck underneath. He prompted for some beat up black sneakers today.

“That's alright… you look nice,” you smiled. Izuku blushed.

“Says you..you look...wow…” He could barely form a sentence you were so breathtaking.

“Oh stop…”

“Shall we?” Izuku held out his arm for you to take. You did happily.

“We shall.”

The two of you rode the train to Tokyo, arriving at the gallery just before it was open to the public.

“Mr. Midoriya,” said one of the gallery workers, “your art is on the third floor.”

“Thank you.” You and Izuku made your way up the stairs, searching the room for the photo.

“Oh here it is,” smiled Izuku. The large photo was covered up and had velvet rope to stop anyone from getting too close.

“Wow, they must’ve liked yours!” you exclaimed. Izuku blushed.

“Well I didn’t tell you but it actually got nominated for best portrait of the gallery…”

“WHAT? Izuku, that's amazing!” you gushed.

“Yeah so some judges will take a look at it later on and hopefully we win…”

“Doesn’t matter if we win or not. I know it's the best one here,” you smiled.

You soon heard footsteps make their way up to the third floor.

“Showtime,” whispered Izuku. You took a step back from the portrait and watched as Izuku removed the curtain that covered it. The room filled with awes.

Izuku decided to go with the last picture that he took, the one where you seemed to have taken his breath away. You were entirely in black and white, only color coming from the flowers atop of your head and in your hand. Also, the pressed flowers that surrounded you. Izuku covered up the garden wall with pressed roses, daisies, lilies, and sunflowers. You looked like an angel.

You took a few steps towards the picture, reading its title.

‘Incomparable Beauty’ - Izuku Midoriya

You couldn’t seem to find the words, none of them seemed to be right. You backed away from the portrait before bumping into someone.

“Oh I’m sorry-” you said. They smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. Wait...you’re the model in that photo,” they replied. You gulped.

“Um yeah I am…”

“Well tell your photographer that they did an excellent job, really captured the gallery theme.”

“The nature theme?” you questioned. They tilted their head.

“No, the theme was ‘Beauty in its Purest Form’. Really great work.”

Your eyes widened.

“Uh-excuse me-”

You began to shuffle through the crowd of people. Izuku noticed you make your way towards the exit.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

Izuku followed you down the stairs. You rushed outside, breathing in the fresh air. Izuku grabbed onto your arm.

“Y/N what's wrong?” pleaded Izuku, “did you not like it?”

You shook your head. Tears began to gather in the corners of your eyes.

“No Izuku, I loved it. I really loved it,” you sniffled. Midoriya felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Why did you run?”

“Because...I didn’t recognize myself...I looked-”

“Beautiful. You look beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Y-You think I’m beautiful?” you cried. Izuku wiped away your stray tears.

“Y/N, I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world, inside and out. Y-You’re my muse.”

Izuku cupped your face as you tried to hold back anymore tears.

“You made me look beautiful…”

“No Y/N, you are beautiful. I simply clicked the camera.”

Izuku pulled you into a tight hug, holding the back of your head gently. There was something about the way Izuku made you feel. As if you were the only girl in the world.

“I love you,” you whispered. Izuku’s eyes grew. He moved to face you, a smile creeping onto his face.

“I love you.”

Izuku placed his hand onto your cheek, feeling your soft skin. He began to inch closer to you. You couldn’t wait anymore, the anticipation killing you. You collided your lips with his, wrapping your arms around him. He had one hand on the small of your back as the other held the back of your head. Izuku took mental pictures of this moment, wishing to relive it over and over again. The warmth between the two of you in contrast to the cold air that surrounded you. It was a tornado of emotions.

You looked at Izuku, both of your faces burning and you attempted to catch your breath. You pressed your foreheads together, chuckling softly. Izuku kissed your forehead.

“You really are incomparable.”

•

[MHA taglist: @bibly @big-phat-cat @sapphoscolonoscopy @luluwiie @happyheartsss @lealofsblog @iwaisa @bakugousmymassa @evivn1 @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @misszenin @marajillana @sopesmin @alaina-rose13 @shotoful @runrabbitrun3 @katlingclaw @nerdypuppytimemachine ]

#willow.🌸#mha #bnha #my hero academia #deku x you #mha deku #deku x y/n #deku x reader #deku x female reader #mha izuku #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #izuku x you #bnha izuku #izuku x y/n #izuku fluff #izuku midoriya x you #izuku midoriya x reader

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twink-appreciation-posts · 4 years

Text

Simple Victimology (Spencer Reid x Reader)

chapter one of “all bets are off”

“An agent of the BAU is exactly the unsub's type. Pretty convenient, right? Well, turns out she's exactly Dr. Spencer Reid's type as well. All it took for him to admit it was a bit of... performative seduction.”

{notes: sorry if this was is bit too dialogue heavy! i just needed to get all the groundwork/backstory laid out lmao. anyway action and NSFW content is coming up next chapter.}

"So our unsub's victimology is quite clear, right? I mean, almost to an irrational degree. All the women he's attacked have been dressed similarly, with similar body types, similar makeup." Dr. Spencer Reid mused, his eyes scanning the photographs up on the wall. "And he just doesn't seem to strike women who are alone. He enjoys the thrill of stealing his victims away from other men."

You let out a sigh. The case you and the rest BAU had been working on was fairly straight cut: psychotic sexual sadist who abducts his victim from parties, tortures them for months, then dumps the bodies in the woods.

"But it just doesn't make sense. With such a specific MO, he must rarely find a target that's suitable for him to strike." You shook your head. "It's not a trait that lends itself well to a serial killer."

"That's probably why he spends so much time with each of his victims. An attempt to keep him satisfied between hunts." Derek agreed.

Rossi piped up next. "The specificity leads me to believe he's chasing after a very certain high.. trying to recreate a specific person or moment through his delusions." He continued. "Our best chance of drawing him out is to send out the perfect victim. He's the type who can't afford to pass up the opportunity when he sees one."

Silence. Everyone on the team knew what happened last time they had sent an agent out as bait. No one was sure they were ready to take that type of chance again.

Spencer's eyes continued to scan the pictures and then, suddenly, you felt the weight of his eyes on you. "Y/N looks pretty close to the unsubs type.." He said hesitantly.

"No," Hotch began "We're not sending our own agent out into the field of a sexual sadist as bait."

You stood up quickly. "No, it's okay." You spoke firmly, your own gaze fixated on the previous victims' images. "All we need to do is draw him out, right? You guys will be with me the whole time. I'm not a risk. I can do it."

Silence befell the room again, until Hotch broke it. "Alright. Reid, Prentiss, go over the victimology one more time. Make sure we get this right. We'll send Y/N out tonight."

"That still leaves the issue of the male companion, sir." Emily piped up.

"I'll do it." Morgan volunteered. "I feel at home on the dance floor anyway. Easy cover." He chuckled.

"No..." Rossi thought out loud. " We need someone who's not threatening. Someone who has zero chance of jeopardizing this mission. Zero chance of scaring our unsub off."

Everyone almost instantly turned to Reid. It was almost comical. He blinked a few times, processing the implications of everyone's stare. "Oh. Yeah. I guess I fit that description." He smiled weakly.

"So it's settled then. Get to work agents."

And without another word, you each followed Hotch's orders. You remained in the conference room with Spencer and Emily, psyching yourself up for your first mission as bait.

"The women that our unsub target are all dressed..." Spencer trailed off.

"Provocatively." You finished for him. "They're all wearing short dresses. Lots of skin exposed. And, from what we've gathered, they all seem to be a fan of the party life. Witnesses at the sight of the abduction told us that the girls don't shy away from the taboo. Drugs, drinking, dancing, you name it."

Emily nodded. "You up for that, Y/N?" She questioned half-jokingly.

"You should be asking Spencer if he's up for dealing with that side of me." You jested, glancing up at him. He gave you a reassuring shrug, one that could've been mistaken for a wince, and you shoved him gently. "Don't worry Spence. I won't go too wild. Anyway, I should probably get home and grab a change of clothes. They'll want to have as much time as possible to wire me." You turned on your heel, walking out of the conference room.

"I'll be back!" You announced to the rest of the team.

"Y/N, wait!" Spencer jogged up behind you. "I, uh, I should probably get changed too, right? I mean, I don't want to look too out of place."

You gave him the good ol' once over and pondered for a moment.

"Do you own anything that doesn't look like a TA would wear on his first day of class?" Derick teased from his desk.

"I have some dress shirts, at least." Spencer replied seriously.

"Well I'll give you a ride, then." You offered. "Your place is pretty close to mine." Spencer nodded and followed you out the door.

"Do I really dress like a TA?" He questioned, partially to himself.

"Maybe, but like a TA that all the freshman girls would have a crush on." You patted his shoulder reassuringly.

The car ride to Spencer's place was a relatively quiet one. You discussed the case, you asked Spencer if he thought the plan would work. He seemed pretty confident it would.

"If you want you can just wait here for a second. I really just need to grab the clothes and we can head to your place." He explained once you had parked.

"Go for it." You replied.

He came back, a couple of shirts and ties in hand, and shut the car door. You began driving once again.

"So, Y/N, did you um, used to party a lot back in college?" He asked you. You smiled.

"A bit. I had some fun, that's for sure. I was always pretty focused on my academics, though. Not as much as you were though, I'm sure. A few of my friends used to call me "the fortune teller". I had a habit of making guesses on what would happen at the parties we went to. Who would hook up with who, who would black out first, stuff like that." You reminisced.

"Profiling your fellow party-goers." Reid chuckled.

"I suppose so."

You escorted Reid up to your apartment when you arrived. He commented that it seemed like a nice place. You thanked him. Casual small-talk was made. You began to dig through your closet, searching for a dress that would entice the unsub. "What color shirts did you bring?" You asked.

He quickly shuffled through his options. "Black, grey, white.. why?"

"Just wanted to make sure we wouldn't clash. Can't have a red dress with a blue shirt, right? We're supposed to be going to this party together."

"Oh, smart."

You pulled out two dresses, both of which were from your younger days. You prayed they would still fit. "Which one do you think?" You held them up to Spencer.

"Well, they're both.. they're both pretty. I like them both." He replied, analyzing them.

"Well, yeah . But I mean, which one do you think the unsub would prefer?" You chuckled.

He flushed. "Right. I'd say the dark red one. It reminds me of the dress from the first victim."

You nodded. The dress crushed velvet. Tight. Short. Exposing. But oh well, you figured, this was your job. "I'm gonna change in the bathroom. Feel free to change out here."

You exited the bedroom, leaving him alone. When you had finished slipping on the dress, which fortunately had fit perfectly, you slipped back into the bedroom. Spencer was buttoning up the last few buttons of his shirt. Your eyes followed his fingers, the way they methodically worked, and when he was done he looked up at you.

You both took a beat.

"You look great, Y/N." He coughed a bit, eyeing you up and down. "Ready to catch our unsub." He added quickly.

"You too, Doctor." You grinned. "I think we'll make quite a convincing pair." You grabbed some heels from your closet and motioned for him to follow you back out of the apartment. "Back to work we go!" You sing-songed, starting up the engine.

Almost the instant you stepped into the door of the BAU offices you were bombarded by Hotch a few additional FBI agents. Hotch began to go over the plan meticulously:

Make it appear like you've been drinking. Reid will leave to "go to the bathroom". You go outside for a "smoke break". The unsub will follow you from inside the club. The rest of the team will be staked out in a car near by. Keep the unsub talking. He'll offer to buy you a drink. Accept. He'll go back inside and bring it to you. It's drugged. Do not drink it. Keep the cup as evidence. That's when the others will come to put the guy in cuffs. Reid will be just inside if things seem like they're going to go sideways.

"Jeez, Hotch, I may not have an eidetic memory, but I can remember this. I promise."

Once you were wired up, JJ and Emily began the proccess of your hair and makeup. For a moment, it was almost cute. It was like you were getting ready for a girls night. Except, you supposed, that it was all in the name of baiting a serial killer.

When the clock hit 9pm you and Reid were shuffled off back into your car and given directions to the bar that you would be staking out.

"We didn't have much time to talk in there, what with Hotch being up our asses about the plan. How are you feeling?" You asked.

Spencer didn't reply. Nerves, you figured. "Spence?"

He shook his head, almost as if he had snapped out of a trance. "Ah, yeah sorry. I feel pretty good. I mean, I'm confident we'll catch our unsub." A moment of hesitation. "JJ and Emily did a great job on your makeup. You look... great."

You felt your face heat up. Why was a compliment from Spencer Reid making you nervous? "Thanks."

At 10pm you were pulling into the parking lot of the bar. It was almost full. Tons of people must've been inside. Your unsub included. You took a moment of pause. "Time to get into character." You wiped your sweaty hands on the crushed velvet fabric of your dress.

"The rest of the team must be down the block." Reid nodded.

You looked towards him anxiously and stepped out of the car. He followed suit, coming around to the passenger side and grabbing your hand. You squeezed it gently, not sure if it was to calm your nerves or his, or just because you wanted to.

"Come on, babe!" You exclaimed, pulling him towards the entrance.

It must've caught him off gaurd, but he just chuckled. "I've been waiting for this night all week."

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #all bets are off

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actress4him · 3 years

Text

Overexposure - Tears

(Prompt #30 for Summer of Whump)

Taglist: @inky-whump , @michelleswhumpyreblogs

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Warnings: lady whumpee (male whumper), captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, broken ribs, referenced stress positions, referenced sensory deprivation, referenced kidnapping, restraints, gag, locked in a closet

Another gallery exhibition.

Another evening gown, another diamond necklace.

Another night of smiles and laughter and glasses of champagne and a possessive grip on her waist while her legs threaten to buckle beneath her.

She almost thought that the people attending this party, these that wanted ‘raw and primitive’ photos, would look a bit more primitive themselves. But no, they’re indistinguishable from the last group, all sharp tuxedos and beautiful gowns and elegant socializing. The thought that there are so many people out there who like this kind of thing, who will pay so much money just to see these messed-up photos of her, makes her dizzy.

Though perhaps that’s just the lack of good food and sleep. Her mind isn’t processing well enough to tell the difference.

It never helps that she’s finally faced with the product of her torment, all over the walls and impossible for her to ignore.

A close-up of her face, bruises painting her cheeks, pupils blown wide and metal glinting across her throat.

An artistically angled shot taken from the floor up at her bent, straining body, shoulders contorted backwards and on the verge of dislocation.

Her figure huddled in a tiny ball in the shadows, face half-covered by a black blindfold and red headphones...so, he was taking pictures while she waited in that corner.

Every direction she turns brings back another, unwanted memory. Ellery wants to scream, to cover her ears and shut her eyes and make it all disappear. She’d even be happy going back to her tiny basement cell if it meant not having to see or hear any more of this party.

Throughout the evening she hears so many people complimenting Lucas on how ‘realistic’ the photos are, quizzing him on how on earth he manages to create such effects. Others seem less naïve, approaching him with knowing smirks and gleams in their eye, casting obvious glances up and down her body as if they still haven’t been satiated.

At the first exhibition she had been blown away by how so many people could be so blind. Now she’s beginning to wonder how many of them actually are.

All of it - the stress, the pain, the sorrow, the hunger and exhaustion - just keeps building, an unending pressure behind her eyes and underneath her ribs. She’s on the verge of either bursting into tears or exploding into tiny pieces when another man approaches them.

His hands are empty of champagne, unlike most, and instead of immediately turning on all the charm for Lucas, his brown eyes lock onto her with the smallest of smiles.

“You’re quite the beautiful model. May I know the name of the lady who made these intriguing portraits?”

“This is Sarah,” Lucas answers for her. It’s the name he’s given anyone who’s asked, though there haven’t been many. “And you are?”

“Henry Longmire.” As pretentious a name as any she’s heard tonight. The man seems to have to drag his gaze away from her in order to focus on Lucas. “It’s an honor to be able to meet both of you in person. I have to admit, I knew of your work for a long time, but it was only when Miss Sarah here became your muse that it truly caught my attention.” His eyes go straight back to her, his smile growing into something that she could almost label kind if she didn’t know better.

“Yes, she’s been rather popular. Glad to know you found something that strikes your fancy.”

“If I may...I’ve read some quotes from him online about his process, but I’m curious about yours. Your expressions in the photos seem so...genuine. How do you go about getting into the headspace for this kind of thing?”

For a long moment Ellery just stares at him, uncomprehending of the fact that he’s actually asking her a direct question. No one ever speaks to her at these events, they only speak of her and at her. It’s only when Lucas’ hand moves from her back to her arm, squeezing threateningly in the very spot where he knows her one long sleeve is covering up the still-healing knife wound, that she realizes she has to answer. She has to lie. She’s not sure if she can even speak without her voice trembling, much less come up with a convincing response.

Her lips part, brain reeling, and she lets the words slip out, hoping against hope that whatever she’s about to say won’t get her a beating later.

“It just...comes naturally.”

Lucas’ grip eases, and she wants to crumple with relief. But Henry Longmire isn’t done yet.

“How did you decide to get into this particular kind of modeling?”

Her mind goes completely blank. The last response wasn’t even particularly a lie, but this...how is she supposed to come up with a story for this on the spot? Lying was never her strong suit to start with, and now she’s working on night after night of sleep interrupted by pain and not having eaten since yesterday morning because Lucas, as usual, was ‘in the zone’ and forgot to feed her.

“I...i-it…”

“It wasn’t her idea.” The tight grip on her arm has returned, sending throbs of pain up to her shoulder. “She had never even modeled before, actually, if you can believe that!” Lucas laughs aloud at his own joke. “I first saw Sarah at the restaurant where she was working as a waitress, and I thought to myself, ‘This is the girl I need for this idea of mine.’ Because I had had this image in my mind for ages, and I was just waiting for the perfect model to come along. So I approached her, and asked her about it, and she was interested, and, well…” He waves a hand around the room. “As you can see, she’s a natural.”

The restaurant. Of course, how had she not realized before? All this time, she had wondered why me? Why and how did he pick me, of all people? And perhaps she still didn’t know why, but at least she now knew how. Suddenly she could picture him, sitting at a booth a few tables down from hers, nursing a coffee and just...staring. She’d laughed with the other girls that night about what a creep he was, but had then promptly forgotten he existed. Creeps happened all the time. He wasn’t anything special, or so she had thought.

The story he had told just now seemed to be essentially the truth, only there had been no ‘approaching’ or ‘interest’. Only hands grabbing her in the darkness of a parking lot, then nothingness, and waking up in a cell.

“Hm.” Henry nods, but he almost seems...skeptical? Except a second later he’s flashing a smile and all traces of whatever she saw are gone. “That’s quite interesting. So Miss Sarah, what’s it like for you? Do you ever, I don’t know, get scared of him, when he’s getting you ready for these photos?”

Why is he asking her this? Is he...does he...care? Does he know something is up? She wouldn’t dare to hope, not after last time, except there’s just something off about him, something different than all the other people they’ve spoken to. Lucas, unfortunately, seems to sense it, too. Not only has he gone back to squeezing her arm, but he’s stiff beside her, not at all liking the direction of these questions.

Questions. Oh, no, she has to answer another one. Another lie. Does she get scared of him? Well, no. Not really. She doesn’t get scared of him, she lives in a constant state of fear of what he’ll do to her next.

“No.” It’s all she can manage, not even a fake smile to go with it. But in the mindset of it not actually being a lie, her voice is steady.

“Of course not,” Lucas adds on, and his voice is as stiff as his body. “She knows I’d never actually hurt her. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe there is another guest waiting.”

“Of course.” Henry Longmire gives a respectful nod and backs away, but she’s fairly certain she’s not imagining the way that his gaze lingers on her, brow furrowed in...thought? concern? She tries to push it from her mind, tries not to let hope build.

The exhibition drags on, and she loses track of the man in the never-ending stream of clinking glasses and twittering laughter. She’s so, so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of being stared at, tired of, in turn, staring at herself being tortured. But most of all just tired.

When Lucas drags her across the room toward yet another group that he wants to speak to, her legs finally decide they’ve had enough of supporting her weight. She stumbles, only saved from hitting the floor by his other hand coming up and catching her around the middle, uncaring of the ribs that still haven’t healed and probably won’t as long as they keep getting abused like this.

Several of the people in the vicinity gasp, as if they’re actually concerned, as if they actually care if she gets hurt.

And it’s finally too much. Ellery can’t stop the sob anymore than she can keep from dropping all of her weight into Lucas’ arms, forcing him to lower her to the floor. Tears flood her cheeks, desperate to escape after an entire evening of being held back, and a small part of her has the presence to hope that they’ll wash away the makeup hiding her bruises. Maybe then, maybe finally someone will actually, really see her.

A small crowd has gathered, hovering over her, and the claustrophobia of it only serves to intensify her sobs. She just wants this to be over, wants to go home, but she knows, beyond the hitching breaths that bend her in half and send stabs of pain through her chest, that she’s only made things worse for herself. She can’t look at Lucas right now. She knows he has to be incredibly angry.

“It’s alright, folks, just give her some space. It seems our lovely model here has twisted her ankle.” Because of course he would have a lie ready for this. “You know how women are with their shoes. Can’t pick something practical.” As he laughs he slips off her shoe, the gold stiletto that he had made her put on.

A few guests titter with laughter, some offer coos of sympathy. Lucas stands and shoos them away. “Everyone please, continue enjoying yourselves. I’m going to take Sarah to get some ice for her ankle and a bit of rest, and I’ll return shortly.”

She wishes he would get her some ice, it sounds heavenly for her ribs about now. Somehow she doubts whatever he’s taking her to will be nearly as pleasant.

Scooping her up in his arms like he’s her Prince Charming, Lucas parades her across the room to much admiration. Somewhere just before they reach the door that leads further into the building, Ellery spots Henry Longmire again, and their eyes meet. Once again, she’s struck with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he sees her. He sees, if not what’s going on, at least that something isn’t right.

She can’t speak to him. She can’t even give him some kind of signal, not without Lucas seeing. But she tries her best to send a message with her eyes - help me, please - before they disappear into the back hallway.

“I don’t know what came over you, but that was unacceptable,” Lucas hisses as soon as they’re alone. He drops her feet unceremoniously, and she struggles to regain her footing while still being carted down the hall by her arm.

This place is unfamiliar to her other than the actual gallery hall, so when they stop in front of an innocuous door she has no idea what’s inside. Lucas pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door and revealing what seems to be a janitorial closet. Obviously he had stored some things here ahead of time, because the handcuffs that he reaches for don’t seem like they belong.

“You will stay right here,” he orders, wrenching her arms behind her back to cuff her, “and ‘ice your ankle’ until I come back for you.” He pulls something else off the same shelf, but she doesn’t get a glimpse of what it is before it’s pressing up against her lips. The angry look on his face warns her not to resist, to simply open her mouth and allow the knotted fabric to be slipped inside. He steps behind her, pulling the gag tight so that it cuts into her cheeks and yanking strands of her hair as he ties it.

Tears continue to slide down her cheeks, but they fall silently now.

“And if you kick, or scream, or generally make noise and try to get someone’s attention, your punishment tonight will be twice as bad.”

Shoving her forward, he slams the door shut and locks it again, leaving her to wait in the pitch darkness.

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amor-immortalem · 2 years

Text

A Surprise Party for You pt. 2

Part 1

Summary: Arella’s birthday is coming up and the Brothers are throwing her a surprise birthday party. Mammon enlists the help of his three eldest children to keep their mother entertained. What kind of activity will the three half-demons come up with?

“I’m bored…” Henry sighs into his phone as he waits for his aunt to join him for his part of the event. How he’d let his older cousins and parents talk him into helping with this he’d never know. “At least I get cell reception in here do I can do my gacha rolls… what’s more R.A.D. really doesn’t change all that much does it?”

“No, according to father the school hasn’t been remodeled in at least 500 years. Where are you anyway? What memory is your room based off of?” Solaris mumbles on the other side of the call. “And at least consider yourself lucky that you didn’t have to bring a change of clothes with you I did. Whoever decided to go the order that she made her pacts is going to have words with me...”

“I’m in the old Student Council room. You know the one that they don’t use now that the Student Council turned into the Board of Directors? And wasn’t it your dad that was the one who decided that?” Henry muses, “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter that much. I just don’t want to go to the party- you know uncle Asmo probably invited literally everyone and anyone... all those people there are gonna make my skin crawl.” As the purple-haired teen grimaces as a portal starts to spark open. “Oh! She’s here, I’ll let you go.”

Henry quickly hangs up the phone as Arella pops through the open portal before it closes with a ‘schwp’ sound.

“Well, that was a smoother transition than the car ride...” The human sighs, “He must’ve gotten more pointers from Solomon the last time he was here.”

“Auntie! Happy Birthday!” Henry waves her over from the two podiums he’s stationed at, “Are you ready to continue the game?”

“Thank you, Henry.” Arella smiles as she approaches the makeshift stage. “So what item am I after in this room?”

“Alright, check it! Almost 30 years ago, you faced off against my dad to figure out which one of you was the biggest TSL nerd! Hidden here in this replica of the Student Council room are the buzzers in which you two used to signal you were ready to answer! If you find those, you’ll be free to go on to the next room! This room also has a time limit to it- if you go over the allotted time... Well, nothing will happen, but you should still strive to beat the clock!” Dramatically the future Avatar of Envy strikes a pose causing Arella to laugh.

“There’s a time limit, is there? How long?”

“An hour. You shouldn’t need that long though.”

The human nods as she sets off in search of the buzzers.

・・・〆・・・

By the time Arella finds the last buzzer she only has a minute to spare. That was more challenging than she had expected.

“Who would’ve thought they’d be right in plain sight on the podiums,” Henry says as he watches the buzzers start to glow. It was time to see the memory associated with them.

“It’s no fair! How come your questions are so much easier than mine?!” Henry watches as his Levi, thoroughly irritated, complains. “I’m losing to a normie like you?! I can hardly believe it! I won’t stand for it, you must be cheating somehow!”

“Levi calm down,” Satan reprimands the third born, “You’re already such an expert on the material we just really wanted to see how much you truly knew.”

His younger brother’s words do nothing to calm the Avatar of Envy’s anger and before anyone knew it, he began his attack. Henry watches with wide blue-to-purple eyes as the illusion of his father whips his tail at the younger version of his aunt and she calls out for his uncle to save her. Before the blow could land however, Lucifer is there to swoop in and save the day as the scene fades away and the pair are left standing in the escape room.

“That was... intense...” the teen sighs.

“It was. It wasn’t much fun in the moment either. That was the first time I really realized that your father- or any of your uncles for that matter- could kill if they wanted to. It didn’t stop me from pushing my luck though.” Arella hums as another portal opens for her. “Well, I’ll get going now.”

“Good luck on the rest of your rooms, Auntie.” Is all Henry can say as she disappears.

・・・〆・・・

And so, the rest of the game carries on much the same way. Room after room she was able to find each item with varying levels of ease. Once Arella came to the last room, she was greeted by the future Avatar of Pride in the replica of her old bedroom in the House of Lamentation. The Human’s green eyes widened at the realization of what item she was looking for here. All of the rooms had been linked to a prominent moment she’d had with each of the brothers- most often, it corresponded to the memory of when she’d forged her pact with that specific brother.

The only two so far to not follow that formula were the rooms corresponding to Satan and Belphegor. Now it seemed that Lucifer’s would be just as different as the fourth and seventh borns’ had been.

“You got through the other rooms really quickly...” The black-and-orange-haired cambion smiles. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to make before the time ran out.”

“Even if I did run out of time, I would still play the game. You all worked hard to set it up for me so it would be sad if I didn’t get to finish it.” Arella looked around the room as she smiled. “So, I think I know what I’m looking for but... well, I hope I’m wrong because the memory associated with it is kind of heavy...”

“You’re looking for the item that was planned to be used to sever you from your magic.”

“The Night Dagger...” her face gains a grim expression to it. “Well, I’d better start looking...”

Solaris nods as he takes a seat on her old bed.

“If it's any consolation... the memory you’ll see has nothing to do with what happened with the Night Dagger. Father wanted you to see a happier memory with someone who passed a long time ago...”

“Thank you.” she smiles, “That makes things better.”

・・・〆・・・

She’s looked everywhere for that stupid knife, but it seemed to be nowhere to be found. It isn’t until she searches the bed that she finds it. The dagger glitters and shines in the light of the bedroom as she and Solaris stare at it and suddenly room changes as the door bursts open. The human’s head whips around before her eyes widen in shock.

“Arella! He proposed! He proposed!” There standing in the door way, practically vibrating with excitement was her childhood friend and the mother of her nephew.

“Aubrie, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!” Arella watches as a past version of herself rushes through them to throw her arms around the orange-haired human as she shows off the beautiful diamond ring. “I’m so happy for you.”

“It almost feels like a dream... I never thought we’d get here...” There’s a soft smile on her lips as a warm light envelopes the memory and it fades away.

“That was...” Solaris’ voice is soft as he fights back the urge to cry. “Do you miss her?”

“Very much so...” Arella smiles sadly. “She at peace now. It was nice to see her and hear her voice again after so long. This was a wonderful activity to do on my birthday. Thank you for helping your cousins pull this off.”

“I... yeah, it was no problem.” The half-demon smiles, “The games not over yet though. There’s still one more challenge waiting for you through that door. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” The human nods as she grips the door knob and crosses through the threshold.

On the other side of the door, Arella finds herself in a forested area with a well-traveled foot path laid out in front of her. Looking around, it’s very clear she’s not in the Devildom anymore or if she is, it’s not a part she seen before despite having lived here on and off for the past 20 plus years.

The sky was a light sea green color above her and to her right she could see a mountain range peeking through the trees. They seemed to gleam and glimmer like the range was comprised solely of gemstones. To her left there was a vast city of gold with a castle just a grand as the Demon Lord’s castle nestled right in the city’s center. Could this be?

“So ya got through all the rooms, huh?” When Arella turns, she sees Azalea standing next to her in her demon form. “Did ya enjoy it?”

“I did. I had a lot of fun thanks to you, your brothers, and your cousins but I can’t help but feel like this whole thing was meant to be some kind of diversion to keep me busy. Anyway, where are we?”

“I mean you wouldn’t be wrong... but I can’t tell ya why we’re doin’ this. It would ruin the surprise. As for where we are... we’re in Hell. The Fourth Layer to be exact. I thought you should at least get a chance to see it since you’ll never be able to come down here with Dad. I remember overhearin’ the two of ya talk about you wantin’ to come down here at some point...”

At her daughter’s words, the human nods. “So, what do I need to do here?”

Azalea only smiles as she takes off. “Chase me!”

・・・〆・・・

Everything was all set and ready to go. Now the only thing left to do was go home and change before coming back wait for the guest of honor herself. Mammon could barely contain himself- the look of surprise on her face would be all the reward itself. Despite how many years she’d been with them, they’d never thrown her a proper birthday party before.

“Papa,” Mammon’s so distracted he barely notices his youngest is tugging on his hand, trying to get his attention.

“What’s up, bud?”

“When’s Mama gonna get here? I’m bored and I wanna go home.”

“The party won’t start for another two hours so we’re gonna go home right now. We gotta change into some nicer clothes anyway.”

“Finally,” The black-haired boys sighs in relief before he fully processes what his father’s just said. “Wait, we gotta come back?! I don’t wanna.”

“Mahlon don’t start. There’s no one else that’s gonna be home to watch ya and you can celebrate your mother on her birthday. She works hard all year round- it's the least you could do. Now, walk with me.”

The five year old only puffs out his cheeks as Mammon takes him by the hand and walks him to the car.

・・・〆・・・

Aurelius is at home getting dressed for the party when Mammon finally gets Mahlon through the door. The teen grimaces when he hears the child being fussy and throwing a fit about having to go back to the castle. He knows his father is pretty pressed for time right now considering he couldn’t get his outfit laid out before he had to leave or else his mother would have known right away what they were planning.

“Mahlon, I already told you, ya can’t stay home by yourself and your mother would want to you to be at the party to celebrate with her anyway.”

“But I wanna stay home! I don’t wanna go back out.”

“Dude, what are you so pressed about anyway?” Having heard enough of the exchange, the white-and-black-haired half-demon decides to take over so Mammon could go get ready. “I’ll deal with this so you can go get ready.”

“Thanks. I got his outfit ready last night. It’s hanging in his closet so if you could get him dressed while I’m in the shower, I would appreciate it.”

“Will do. Cyrus just left to get Solaris from the last site like 15 minutes ago, so he’ll meet us at the castle. Also, Thirteen text me earlier and told me to tell you that she would be able to make it tonight since she tried to call you earlier, but you didn’t pick up.”

“Cool. Thanks ‘Relius.” Is all the Avatar of Greed says as he disappears up the stairs.

・・・〆・・・

“This way! Hurry!” Azalea calls as she jogs down the corridor while Arella was hot on her heels. “C’mon, Mum, ya gotta be faster than that if you wanna catch me!” She’d taken her mother all over the little recreation of the Fourth Layer until they’d reached the castle. This was the last leg of the game. Soon enough they would reach a door that Barbatos had linked to the ballroom doors of the Demon Lord’s Castle.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” The human laughs as she gives one final push, and she crashes into her daughter as the two go barreling through the door. On the other side, Arella is met with the sound of party poppers being set off as confetti rained down around her.

“SURPRISE!”

And Arella certainly is. She’d known her husband was up to something this morning, but an actual birthday party was the last thing the she would have expected.

“You guys, I’m-”

“Shocked, speechless?” Asmo is the first to step forward, throwing their arms around the human in a tight hug. “Happy Birthday, Birthday Buddy.”

She can only nod as she returns the hug just as tight.

“We know you don’t exactly like big parties,” Beel steps up next.

“But we thought maybe you might appreciate it this year,” It’s Belphegor’s turn to speak this time.

“You guys will never know how much I appreciate it. This must’ve been a lot of work.” Arella pulls the two into a hug.

“It definitely was,” Satan hums as he looks around, “But the look on your face was worth it. Happy Birthday, Arella. I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far.”

“I have. I had a great day thanks to all the kids.”

“That’s good. I was worried Henry my put a damper on things... Originally, he wanted to just stay in his room all day and not help his cousins. Isa and I were just barely able to get him to agree to help.”

“That’s odd... he seemed super into the escape room. Speaking of Isabella, where did she and the rest of my sister in laws run off to?”

“They’re in the kitchen helping Barbatos and Luke get the cake out here,” Diavolo comments. “Happy Birthday, my friend. Congratulations on another year.” He offers the human another hug.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m glad I get to spend it with you all.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Lucifer says as he seemingly pops up out of nowhere. “And I think the rest of my brothers would agree. You’re a special human, don’t forget it.”

“I don’t think I ever could. Thank you, Lucifer. For earlier- the memory from the escape room.”

“You don’t have to say it. I know you miss her as much as I do so I thought it would be nice to see her again. Even if it was only through a memory.” The first-born smiles.

The human only nods at that as she feels arms wrap around her shoulders.

“Guess who!” Thirteen declares as she covers Arella eyes with her hands and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Thirteen? You said you wouldn’t be able to make my birthday because of work.”

“Perhaps I just wanted to surprise you,” The reaper smiles, “Looks like I was outdone by Mammon and his plotting though...”

“I’m just happy to have you here. It doesn’t matter who outdid who. Speaking of, where did that demon of mine disappear to?" Arella looks around for him but can’t manage to spot him.

“Outside. Mahlon’s been acting like a serious brat ever since we all got back after going home to change our clothes,” Cyrus says as he approaches the group. “He’s seriously been pushing Dad’s buttons on purpose so that Dad’ll take him home like he wants.”

“It’s getting old real fast,” Aurelius sighs sporting a nice black eye from when his younger brother had hit him earlier, “I don’t know what’s eating at him today...”

“Aurelius, your eye- how did that happen?” Arella gently brushes her thumb over the injury on her second youngest’s face.

“The brat punched me while I was trying to get him dressed... I tried to ice it earlier. Does it look that bad?”

“A little...” The human nods. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“And I can get you some foundation to cover up the bruising, just come with me.” Asmo quickly escorts their nephew away to the coat room to get their purse and Arella takes her leave to check in on her husband and youngest.

As she almost to the doors, she’s stopped by her youngest two nephews, Oliver and Hakan. “Auntie where’re you going? It’s almost time for cake!”

“I'm just going to check on your uncle and cousin,” The human smiles as she turns to the seven and eight year old boys.

“Okay!” Hakan smiles, “Make sure you come back soon and have a big piece of cake with us, promise?”

“I promise.” She smiles as she ruffles the boy’s orange hair before finally pushing the doors open and stepping outside.

“I told you I wanna go home!”

“And I told you no one is gonna be home to watch ya and I’m not making any of your siblings leave the party. C’mon, we’re only gonna be here for only a couple of hours more, can’t ya just be good for that amount of time?”

Mahlon puffs out his cheeks. He looks like he wants to throw hands, so Arella clears her throat to get their attention and prevent the situation from escalating any further.

“What’s all this about now?” She asks.

“Mama!” The black-haired half-demon runs over to her as she picks him up. “Mama! I wanna go home. This isn’t how we celebrate your birthday.”

“I know, we did things a little different today than usual, but would you put up with it for me? Pretty please?”

The child looks like he’s considering it as he grumbles, “Fine but only because you asked...”

“Are you kidding me!” Mammon exclaims as Arella chuckles softly and Malon turns his head and sticks hit tongue out at the demon. “You little-”

“Ah, ah, no fighting, you two. Let’s go back to the party. I think they’re about to bring the cake out.”

“Sounds good to me,” The white haired demon hums as he joins the human, and they re-enter the ball room just as the cake is being placed on the table.

・・・〆・・・

As the party wound down to a close and it was time to head home, Arella collapses down into the passenger seat of Mammon’s car.

“You look thoroughly exhausted,” Thirteen smiles as she sets Mahlon down in the back seat. “Did you have a good time?”

“The best.” She hums, “I do think I ate too much cake though.”

“That’s good, I was worried you wouldn’t have had that much fun with a five-year-old clinging to your hip all night...” The reaper climbs into the backseat after buckling the half-demon in.

“It was still good. This was a break from our normal routine where we just stay home all day and then go out for dinner so that’s why he was so bothered.”

“He still didn’t have to act like a brat though...” Mammon sighs as he climbs in the driver seat. “Ready, ladies?”

With a nod from the human and reaper, the demon takes off for home so the adults could continue the celebration in their own way.

・・・〆・・・

end

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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isolaradiale · 3 years

Text

"Yeah, well, I can do it by myself," mumbles the young woman who, busying herself at her desk, also takes the time to imitate her superiors under her breath. Mentions of 'the results could be dangerous if you get it wrong' are said to herself in the lone room, the tone one of full on mockery as Capella continues to type away at her brightly coloured keyboard. Despite her angry clacking at the keys, the various stickers attached to the tops of her fingers and knuckles remain in tact.

"Just because I like to spruce things up doesn't mean I'm an idiot--" continuing her rant, it seems that the AI's voice from the computer chanting 'WARNING' over and over again go unheard by the young woman.

"I'll show them--"

'WARNING. COMBINATION CRITICAL. CONTINUE?'

"Yes! Stop interrupting me now!" yelling quite suddenly, Capella soon stops her venting and stares wide-eyed at the screen. Silence governs the office area for a few moments... Before a smile begins to creep onto her face.

"Oh, well. Would you look at that? A brand new anomaly... One no one has been able to do before! Hehe..."

☆ ★ ☆

Snowfall.

Nothing new about that. The citizens of Spirale would surely look upon the falling snowflakes with little concern, finding it to be the season where such a thing would happen (on an island, somehow). As the evening orange soon sets into a dark grey and eventually, black, the snow continues to fall slowly but surely from the sky. A few citizens might have noticed that something about the snowflakes seemed... A bit different but without having a closer look, nothing could really be detected and thus, onward into their homes did the citizens go for the night, hoping to get a good night's rest.

☆ ★ ☆

Upon waking the next day, however, the citizens would find sheets of ice layered on the ground, houses and any object outside. Funny; no rain had been heard to freeze over, as far as everyone was concerned... But not a big deal, right? Setting out for the day, the citizens go about their business as usual. Though... The ice itself ends up catching the attention of many. It looked like ice but at the same time, it was far too sparkly to be so; far too bright and almost crystalized. If one were to touch it, they, too, would find that it's not particularly cold to the touch like ice normally would be.

Not only that, but it's not... Slippery. Walking on it causes no slips or falls but the odd, uneven texture is apparent through the soles of everyone's feet and shoes. It takes a little bit but eventually, people begin to understand just what this strange 'ice' is, soon realizing it's not 'ice' at all.

The sheets of 'ice' are actually sheets of diamond.

The citizens can notice it now; how the odd snowflakes falling seem to be different and now, they are able to place exactly why. Some try to run back into their houses, hoping to avoid the oncoming ordeal-- only to find that they can't open their doors. The sheets of 'ice' have now become layered over certain areas and in this case, their own housing. Try as they might, there is no way to crack open the layers of diamond to get back inside. Again and again and again do some citizens try to destroy some of the sheets of diamond covering areas and places they need to get to, however, nothing works.

Because nothing is strong enough to cut through a diamond, after all.

☆ ★ ☆

So, what's happened?

Odd snowflakes have started to covered the isle of Spirale, coating some areas in a special sort of 'ice'... However, it's not ice at all; upon closer inspection, you'll see that it's actually sheets of diamonds covering the ground and various other things! No matter how hard you try, these special areas of 'ice' won't break. Even worse, as the 'snow' continues to fall every so often, certain locations and areas of Spirale begin to get closed off.

Wait, what?

Yeah! You know how yesterday you could get into your house and it started to 'snow' when you left this morning? Well, now there's a layer of 'ice' over it and you can't get back in! That sort of stinks, huh? Unfortunately, the 'snowfalls' are randomized so it's not really known when the special diamond flakes will strike next.

Will the 'snowflakes' and diamond 'ice' affect things other than the environment?

Yes! Long story short, they will also begin to affect the local monsters within the the outer areas of Spirale, such as the Mistwood. Rumour has it that even new creatures resembling diamondized, giant yetis are sprouting from large deposits of the diamondized 'ice', creating even more danger for those who decide to venture outside of the main wards where it's arguably more 'safe'. The ‘ice’ will also accumulate on objects left outside, too, so make sure you know where your weapons and tools are at all times! Unless you want them covered in diamonds, that is...

Will the diamond 'ice' affect my character?

Nope! You're not under the threat of being turned into a diamond person... But you're still in danger from being stranded out in the cold and being attacked by diamondized monsters. Heck, you're also probably in danger of someone else brandishing broken pieces of diamonds and using them as weapons! That also kind of stinks, huh?

Is there any way to break down the diamonds and the diamondized creatures?

As hinted above, yes! If you are able to find already broken pieces from larger diamond deposits (caused by other diamonds themselves falling onto each other), you are able to use those as weapons as you so choose. After all, the only thing strong enough to cut a diamond is another diamond!

My muse slept in when the first snowfall started; are they trapped?!

Essentially you can have the 'snowfalls' affect your housing (or a designated area) after they woke up and came back home. Or maybe they're just trapped inside there until someone else can break them out with the aforementioned, makeshift weapons? That's up to you!

Well, my muse can phase through things and/or teleport; they’re fine, right?

Yes and no! The diamonds are unable to be phased through so no matter how hard you try, it’s just going to look like you’re angry at the diamond deposits. As for teleportation, well... It only works if the place you are teleporting to isn’t completely incased in diamond.

For example; someone’s house is completely covered. In that instance, you cannot teleport inside of the house. However, the library is only half covered and thus, you would be able to teleport to the side that has not been covered as of yet. Think of the diamonds as a sort of neutralizing agent when it comes to abilities!

Do drabbles count?

Yes! However, they must involve your character interacting with something related to the event (whether it be any of the ‘ice’ or the monsters or both) and not simply an in-character reflection or commentary on what’s going on. Drabbles must also be a minimum of 500 words in order to count as event participation.

I have another question!

If you have a general question that wasn’t answered here, or if you have a question about your specific muse or a specific ability in mind, please feel free to send in a message to the masterlist and we’ll answer it as soon as possible!

How long will this event run for?

The event will run until February 5th February 7th at 11:59:59pm!

#isola event #isola event: shine bright

63 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 3 years

Note

honestly i could talk w band!hobi abt numbers all day, like i wouldn't even mind. what are ur thoughts on 27 hobi? i think they a bad bitch. also UM might i request a drabble abt like a film major! yn (that is very enthusiastic abt films and the aesthetics + cinematography and whatnot) w like,,, a theatre kid?? any of ot7 works fine and it's all good if u can't or don't want to! thankyouu 💜

muse of mine

pairing: namjoon x y/n

wordcount: 4k

glimpse: namjoon’s always been a little sensitive to feedback whether it’s positive or negative, y/n’s an endearing type of talker, and smuggled snacks to the theater haven’t ever tasted this sweet :D // gif from pinterest!

notes: i kinda switched it up a lil bit and made them more established in their respective fields bc my mind went berserk on this concept!!! also this is mayhaps my oNLY piece that’s just pure fluff

“27? The number? Hmm. That sounds... sexy.” - band!hobi

this been’s bugging you for the past half hour

this whole experience feels oddly familiar

you’ve been in this theater for half an hour so far to watch this play!!

lmao ur gonna admit RIGHT off the bat that theatre’s definitely not it for you

your slight unfondness for it is deeply-rooted back to university and for four years, you’ve consistently taken dumps on theatre kids even if it’s under your breath

alright it’s possible that you don’t hATE the actual people ( only some of them ;D ) themselves but rather this whole type of cockiness and the “i’m a direct descendant of shakespeare himself. trust me bro. on god” energy that they always seem to exhude

but realistically, maybe this deep-rooted hate stemmed from seokjin

he was the guy you’d share the exact same elective class with him for two straight whole semesters and you’ve been seatmates from time to time

homie took foreign language as an elective?????

the language is korean?????????????????

“wait b-but i — aren’t you — n-no but i really???”

that’s what you first sputtered to him in realization when he took his seat beside you

the two of you have only ever shown each other notes bc the other was dozing off and the occasional sharing of gummy bears that’s already pre-opened to not make any noise

but for some reason, it’s only dawned in you why seokjin’s a god in this class and he answers your questions without even looking at his notes by hALFWAY through the whole semester of foreign language

one day, u are gonna find a way to bodyslam yourself and never recover from it ever again

“mhmm. don’t sweat it, sweetheart. i personally think it’s very don quixote of me to y’know, take something as impractical and amusing as this.”

you snort at his choice of words because honestly!! you barely remember don quixote and jin’s use of it as an adjective jigs up a refresher course on your brain

who was he again??

was he the donkey

.. or are you thinking about shrek again because of your film analysis

you sWEAR there was a donkey in that story

it’s good fun to talk with jin even if he keeps sliding bourgeoisie words here and there and you’re a lil confused with all these references that he makes but that’s okay !!!

atleast even him saying it in a long-winded way that he was like someone from the merchant of somewhere, you know now that he pretty-pleased and charmed his way to the registrar for him to take korean as an elective

...

two weeks later, jin sits next to you in class

in ACTUAL non-elective, non-native language he already speaks class

now that you’re squinting a bit more, jin does look a little uh?? different

his hair that was once a hybrid of lavender and peach and pink and then blonde was now wholly black and it’s probably his original hair color because it matches with those eyebrows of his!!!

his combo of a black bomber jacket with a silk button-up underneath honestly SLAPS and it makes you forget how he used to exclusively wear only knitted shirts and argyle-patterned cardigans

you have ur jaw dropped because you totally would’ve fallen for seokjin jAW-FIRST

— if only he didn’t strike you as the brother type when he smacked the back of your head because you were falling asleep on class again and uhhh you mUst be forgetting that the two of you were sitting in front

you had no time to reevaluate whether you should develop a crush for him or not

he’s immediately slapping his hands on his knees, looking at you so intensely before pointing a finger at you with so much conviction, and then scoffing to himself

“switched majors to film. theatre was gonna be the death of me!!! y/n, if you even think about trying to switch to that cheap, amazon-ordered quill and tanning lights for stage lighting major, you’re absolutely dEAD to me-”

you’ve never had a conversation this striking nor long with jin but you genuinely have no complaints at all

seokjin talks pure shit about theatre and theatre junkies and everything in between for the WHOLE day

trails beside you for every single class you had, which was convenient because he can then sweet-talk his way again (if anybody even dared to question him) that he’s just newly-switched

sat with you for lunch and him not eating because he just needS to tell you all about it and you trying not to choke on your pasta as you try to reply to him

followed you back hOME and decided to crash the night there

yeah, that. your unfondness for theatre’s rooted on that one

uh-huh safe to say that you’ve become best friends with jin ever since that day

you’re a sponge for your friends and jin’s the closest one you have, so it was only natural that you soak up his distastes and whatnot

not to brag but aha :D

you add salt to the water while you boil pasta so u may be a little bit of a masterchef or somewhat, no big deal :D

he’s absorbed your fascination for all kinds of lights and fixtures that he has about seven different nightlights in the form of squishies or neon and everything else on his bedside table, in which he turns all of them on at night

fun fact: he’s capable of sleeping in the dark

jin’s the whole reason for your stance on this

he’s adamant about his points and you’ve graduated uni four years ago!!!

which is why you DON’T get why jin would give you a scented black envelope, with “don’t come to this” scribbled in gold at the front, carrying a single ticket to this play with a sticky note saying “don’t watch this at 7 pm, wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes, sitting at the ninth row from the back and two seats from your right.”

because of course!! what the hell did he expect you to do? NOT come to this play at 7 pm wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes then sitting at the ninth row from the back, two seats from the right???

OF COURSE YOU WOULD

your goal in life is to do exactly the opposite of what jin tells you. there’s literally nothing else in life you’d want to fulfill

he’s made it quite easy for you to spite him and although you wouldn’t admit it.,,.,., you may be a little petty ok

he’s the even bigger goof out of the two of you and you can never have the final say!! it’s always him and his wit and yOU being the dunce

it’s a lil sus that jin’s basically ASKING for it with his instructions but whatever

whatever it is, this is finally your chance to enact the final say and you’re gonna pull ALL the stops

all you know about theater-goers is that they dress fancy and wear these mini binoculars and that’s about it

there’s not even one film you know that you see anyone in the audience wearing a worn-in cardigan or even a puffer jacket even if the theater’s mad cold

all the people bring are scarves and shawls???? thee thinnest version of a blanket that won’t warm them up against the frigid airconditioning

that whole dress code sounds ridiculous!!! great please ring out this thousand-dollar dress im gonna wear to the theater thank u

you’re a little worried that you’re not gonna blend into the crowd, but after some digging about the invitation, formal wear is most definitely recommended

it’s an exclusive invite-only play which would be later released to the general public later on so yeah the situation dOES call for a gown thank u very much

also how could you forget that jin explicitly told you not to wear this type of attire

if you’re being humble right now, which you always normally are, even if that jUST sounded boastful talking about how you’re humble all the time —

you do look pretty breath-taking :-)

even when the doors weren’t opened and everyone’s just collectively loitering outside the hall, you’d feel glances at you

the sweet security guard did a double-take at you and mumbled a “very very nice evening to you, miss :D” instead of his normal “enjoy the show!” to the other patrons before you

you’re gonna soak all the silent compliments up and try to remember all of them before writing them on your journal later hee-hee

your midnight blue satin dress that’s floor-length and off-shoulder is dEFINITELY in your favor :D

your dress still glimmers even if the spotlight isn’t on you and you wish you weren’t shy to ask a random stranger to take a picture of you

going on self-timer isn’t ideal either when there’s like a hundred other people in the room

they probably wouldn’t even care if you took a picture of yourself!!! but in your head they probably think that you’re laughable so you’d rather not.. do that

the theater’s dark as hell if that wasn’t established

it is literally pitch black in the room and the ushers at each row holding the flashlights that are meant to guide the patrons aren’t exactly helpful

big kudos to them though,, must take a lot of self-control to not wave their lights like it was a rave :D

a flashlight tHAT bright?? whew pls is this what ships feel in the night

the last time you were in a rave, your thirty minutes of fun was cut short when seokjin immediately got hammered and wouldn’t stop throwing a fit if you didn’t drive him home that instant

his energy seemed to compelling everyone that he’s managed to somehow suck the energy out of a WHOLE rave so you took him home for everyone’s enjoyment :(((( except yours apparently

you’re trying hard to focus on the play that’s happening because for the past twenty minutes, all you’ve done is zone out randomly with ideas all of a sudden

you NEED to listen

....

uh-huh...

UH-HUH......

wait this is actually.. good

you find plays hard to follow and absolutely boring when you don’t immerse yourself in a run-down PRIOR to watching it in order to get

it’s the same analogy as reading the plot of a movie on wikipedia before watching the movie at the cinema.... absolutely useless

it sucks out the fun from something you weren’t supposed to know

watching plays is two hours of you being confused, going home to read the plot and only understand it by tHEN, and never coming to the theater again because you’d waste your money.... watching something cluelessly in the theater..... for a plot you’d grasp at home

but no

because this one

actually this one that you’re watching...

it’s not bad

it’s nice, actually.

within two minutes, you managed to grasp that it’s a story about a never-ending spring between these two lovers

there’s something about the whole setting of it actually that just sucks you in

in some plays, the outfits would seem so forced even in the given context that it reminds you of uh a particular superhero movie

and yes ur aware that stage makeup has to be enhanced so that people all the way to the back row would see

but there’s just something in this scene that’s laid out right-now that actually gets you in awe

it’s of the couple in the back of their pick-up truck and everything about it seems so natural

the background straight up looks like what it’d be if you were to go outside

the guy’s arm around her shoulder seems so natural and in nature that it doesn’t feel like a random cue in the script

the girl twinkles and it doesn’t even feel like a forced type of laugh you’d cue in attempt to warm the audience’s hearts

it’s of a plot where the the guy eventually falls out of love with the girl, while girl gets even more smitten with the guy at the same time

it’s what you take from the past ten minutes that you watch in dead silence, and you don’t even remember in the back of your head that you’re supposed to hate plays

“no way.”

you mumble in disbelief under your breath, head shaking profusely

is your mind playing tricks on you???

you’ve got too used to seokjin sitting beside you that you immediately turn to your right, whispering out your concerns

“is it just me or is she wearing a different shade of pink?”

you don’t even buffer for one second when you ask the stranger beside you

you’re so concerned that you’re looking at him intently while waiting for his answer that could either console or despair you, a random theater-goer that’s too noisy with her questions for her own good

it’s absolutely dARK as fuck in the theater but after awhile your eyes adjusted slightly

and the first thing you look at after the stage is him

him as in the dude in your right that you just asked all of a sudden

you could only see his silhouette and the faintest features of his face along with his well-dressed suit but god

... you are totally not lying if you say that even the barest silhouette of him doesn’t look handsome

you’re expecting him to tell you off for being so noisy but instead, he’s the one who takes you by surprise

“how did you notice that?”

“oh my god!” you exclaim almost too loudly that you yourself even jolts, the guy even making you duck with him slightly for a brief second, “im sO sorry!! am i accidentally spoiling it out for you?”

the guy blinks twice, lips slightly parted before shaking his head no

“no, no... this is the first screening — i mean uh, how would you know that?”

oh boy

you’re adjusting yourself on your seat, bum now warm as you try to explain and not be nervous because what if you just made a wrong assumption about this play and you’re sitting next to a goddamn tHEATRE BUFF???

“well i —uh, uhm what’s your name?” you’re flustered and the FIRST thing you ask is what was his name.,.,,

he seems equally as flustered before he adjusts his glasses, “o-oh uhm i’m namjoon...?”

alright! handsome guy is namjoon!

“you see, namjoon — okay it might just be in my head, but i tHINK it looks deeper with the light somehow. but uh...? the spotlight’s not following her and — is it just me or without the light, her sweater looks brown?”

you’re squinting and if u squint even more, maybe your contacts would just crumple by then

hold on a second

“brown, like — oh my gOD LIKE-”

namjoon puts a hand over his mouth before you could even gasp, hand reaching out for your forearm even before you manage to grasp his shoulder to take it in realization

was it under your nose the whole time??

“... fall.”

holy fucking shit

namjoon looks positively euphoric looking at your face of realization, his once-heavy chest about the whole scene becoming completely devoid of weight

“exactly!!”

his confirmation makes you inwardly squeal, grinning as you point at him and the stage back and forth

“i think this is the first play i’ve become ever interested in watching.”

okay what now

his ears perk up at that, your first sentence that you’ve said after your pink sweater that looks like spring also looks brown like fall in certain scene because of the lighting realization

“it is?”

he takes the chance to look at you as best as he could, trying to play his squinting as cool as he can

namjoon’s far sighted and the glasses he’s wearing are nOT up to date with his current grade bc he’s pretty sure his eyesight’s worsened the past month

he can’t make you out wholly, but he does know that you’re pretty

his eyes don’t linger on you because of the snacks you’re fishing from your purse while you talk that are absolutely illegal in this theater house lmao

but instead, his gaze lingers on you because you’re so pretty

the minimal light that’s bouncing off the stage is enough for him to see a faint outline of your features, highlighting your smiles just right and your dress to glint underneath

“mhmm. i actually hate plays,” suddenly, you’re not scared if namjoon happens to be some sort of theatre buff and you’re offending him because honestly, you feel at ease. “crunch?” you’re holding out the mini bar of chocolate out to him, one he politely declines to because his eyes are bulging out the next second

“you do????”

his genuine reaction indulges you, making you grin ultimately that you put off eating snacks for now to focus on him

“yeah! this is my hate outfit :D”

namjoon giggles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard

you automatically scoot closer because this time, it’s yOUR turn to shush him

this is totally for just the reason of talking more discreetly and not distracting anyone and is totally not an excuse to be closer to the next guy and touch shoulders with him then get a whiff of cologne because it’s rare for a guy to be handsome and aLSO smell good

your eyes get used to the darkness and eventually, you could make out features of namjoon beside you

he has the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen

and the way he looks at you makes you feel safe and even your height difference is visible with how probably lonG his torso is compared to yours, his gaze doesn’t make you feel small

namjoon’s still (unsurprisingly) far-sighted and ur so close that he’s a lil cross-eyed

fuck it he’s gonna go to ophthalmologist FIRST thing in the morning tomorrow

“then why are you here?”

“my friend seokjin,” you lean back upon realizing the original reason why you’re here, the situation being so ironic that you puff out a smile

your friend’s named seokjin?

cool :D kim seokjin is namjoon’s of his favorite directors eVER!!

second best for him actually though.,., no one could quite compare to his first

your explanation makes him cackle several times, a swell of pride recounting why you hate (it’ll be past tense probably after this one) theatre

“what about you?”

you turn the question to him, making his dimples disappear effectively that you think you’ve just spooked him

“i uh, well i always wanted to see a story that went like this, so i’m here.”

“you’re a critic? oh god. please don’t tell me you heard all my mumbles.”

no this is even WORSE

namjoon’s not a theatre buff

HE’S A CRITIC????????????

god im coming up

“don’t worry, i also think that the drapings must probably be dirty.”

he breaks out into a smile recounting how you were talking to yourself earlier, a snort escaping him involuntarily

“RIGHT??? it’s like how do you even clean them?? do they fit in washing machines or-”

my god he’s such a nice guy!!!

in fact, he’s everything you want in a guy

you’ve went through atleast twelve facets of emotions for the past hour and you’re not even dating!!!!!!!

“my thoughts exactly!! and if it’s by hand, how do you even scrub the entirety of it?? or wring the water out??”

namjoon KNOWS exactly what’s up :’)

“is there even a clothesline that’d bEAR the weight??”

the two of you are so happy that you just look at each other laughing, a moment in time before namjoon nudges you to lean back because the ending’s happening

you don’t even question him how he’d know that it’s the ending and not just another opening to a new scene, just listening to him

you’re so happy

the play made you happy but namjoon made you even happier :-)

“if you are a critic, you should probably open up your review with this chatty play-hating girl beside you, then at the end, close it off with how she loves it.”

it’s the parting conversation as you realize and holy fuck you are nOT ready for it

you r gonna drag this out for as long as you could <3

......

and namjoon wants in too <3

“noted. if i was a playwright, i’d even make you the lead. which detail should i include? offering me wrapper-covered rice crispy snacks, or asking how you’d watch it while going thru the bathroom?”

this feels so natural

as natural as the couple in the play you’ve just finished watching :))

“you’re hilarious,” you’re not even the slightest bit annoyed and your restrained smile tells him all about it

yea you may have brought in snacks illegally but you aRE gathering your trash up as you’re a decent human being

namjoon wishes you’d pick up after yourself slowly, standing up from his seat as he has the plan of picking up trash that isn’t even his

“what name should i put then?”

you’re silent and oh god he thinks you found his company stupid and would definitely not give him your name

you’re not ignoring him though!!!

his words are still stuck in your head, realizing it lately with his “which detail should i include?”

“me wanting to turn this into a film, actually.”

you test the words out on your tongue, nodding to yourself after a few seconds that you seem so sure of it

“yeah. i wanna make it into a film.”

the lights turn on after being dim for so long, namjoon’s eyes going wide trying to digest what you’ve just said

“w-what?

.....

no fucking way

HOLY FUCKING SHIT SWFRWFBWRHGBRBVWRV SWBHJSDB SHJAVBHGJDS BWHRGHBSVWBGRH

namjoon’s malfunctioning as he’s looking at you from eye to eye, bottom lip trembling while he’s so keen at pointing at you

“y-you’re miss y/n!!”

....

right

oH RIGHT

he’s a fan of yours??

namjoon’s fanning his face because he’s about to literally burst into tears

how could he nOT???

how could he not be emotional when all along, he’s been talking to his number one favorite director????

you and your films are the absolute gems of his life namjoon’s not even kidding

your films were world-renowned for being so natural and sentimental without loading too much into it!!!! you’re known for being so humble through the multiple back-to-back awards and praise you get!!!!

he cannot calm the fUCK down when you’re rubbing circles on his back

“you w-want to turn my play into a film?”

oh my gOD

you’re fumbling for the envelope and it’s only nOW that you realize that it’s not from seokjin in the first place

spring day a play by kim namjoon an invite for director y/n y/l/n

“it’s you!!!!”

“no it’s YOU!!”

jin’s plan worked alright :D

he’s just FOUR rows behind you lmao

it was just two weeks ago when yoongi, the executive producer of his film that he was directing, let it slip that he was co-financing a play

he met yoongi some semesters later after he became close with you, and he’s aLSO converted yoongi into hating theatre then he fit right in to your little posse of theatre kid-hating film students

that gave jin the laugh of his laugh and yoongi was not joking at all

“no, no. i’m telling you man. it’s different! i even have the script that i’ll let you read.”

and holy shit it IS different

if you see a couple tears on the last seven pages of yoongi’s copy of spring day’s script then mind yo oWN fucking business

then two weeks later, here he is :D

jin managed to also convert you to love theatre even IF it is namjoon’s play that did all the work

( also coincidentally found you a future boyfriend because he’s tired of seeing you alone and the closest you’d get to having someone is projecting your yearning into writing the scripts for the films you’d make )

he’s also secretly co-financed the whole play along with yoongi and he’ll drop that bomb later on lmao

“and that must mean i looked like a total FOOL beside you oh my god im so sorry!!”

namjoon panics at that, about to cry when another realization hits him when he’s about to put his head on his hands

“then that means the friend who gave you the ticket was-”

SEOKJIN VBFHSBVHSFBVSFHDVBSJFV SFJVJSFVSJVSSV SSV V FS FSV SFBVRBVRSVSWVGU

he cries to your shoulder and you never expected to be hugging and consoling someone you’ve just met two hours ago, a more than fond smile on your face he takes advantage of when he sneaks in the chance to ask you

“do you mean that?”

“now why would i lie to the playwright who’s been listening to me talk shit, then theorizing, then crying for the past hour?”

it’s true though

namjoon’s seen it all

he’s still handsome as ever even when he sniffles, his dimples on display when you return his question

“now did you mean it? writing me into your play?”

why are you even ASKING

he’s the biggest fan of u

namjoon’s made notes of your work, dedicated scripts to your movies, and he’s thinking about how it’s not yet hitting you how your whole epiphany about the pink sweater turning brown on his play,,, was entirely inspired from you and your affinity for lighting in your films

he thinks it’s still a little early to kiss you on the cheek even if you’ve already hugged, instead settling on pinching your cheek with satisfaction present in all corners

“you’ve always been my muse.”

#feedback pls and thank you :D I WAS SCREAMING THE WHOLE TIME I HAVE A TEST TOMORROW I NEED TO SLEEP #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon imagine #namjoon imagines #namjoon oneshot #namjoon oneshots #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon au #namjoon fluff imagine #namjoon fluff imagines #namjoon fic #namjoon fics #namjoon fic recs #namjoon scenario #bts namjoon imagine

123 notes · View notes

desiree-harding-fic · 4 years

Text

A TAZ Cinderella AU

You guessed it, folks, this is the full arc of what my Cinderella!au would have been for the Adventure Zone, if I had the time/inspiration to write the whole thing. Just imagine that all of this is paced out over a bunch of chapters of very pretty words, ok? ;)

That said, enjoy! I’m actually very proud of the thing I concocted in my my head for this!

To begin, a quick run-down of the situation as it stands at the beginning of the fic: Mostly Taakitz-centric, Blupjeans as a side plot. Kravitz is the Crown Prince of Faerun, his mother the Raven Queen current ruler of the kingdom, and him as her only son. Taako and Lup’s parents are both dead, and they live with their mother’s father: their grandfather Tostaada, along with the many aunts and uncles and cousins from Tostaada’s other children.

Tostaada has a house, several days travel (at least) from Neverwinter, a typical country home for the well-to-do. He’s somewhere between gentry and nobility, but his wealth has been in decline, as is often the case in these stories. His mistreatment of Taako and Lup comes from a disdain for their father. And it provides a convenient excuse not to pay servants.

Summary of the arc proper under the cut:

So we begin with a prologue (posted here) in which we see Kravitz and Taako, around the early teenage years (14-ish) and just get a little taste of how different their lives are.

Chapter one (also here) kicks off with Kravitz sneaking out of the castle in the early morning for a ride, musing at how busy he is and how stressful his life is trying to be in charge of a whole kingdom, etc. Upon his return, Barry, the royal head arcanist, and Kravitz’s friend, is waiting for him, and informs him that he has a meeting scheduled this morning with the Royal Council.

The Royal Council was originally meant to be a B plot in the story, something to help drive the thing forward, in part because I couldn’t think of a reason as to why the Raven Queen, who adores her son, would force him into marriage. There had to be an outside pressure. So the council was born.

The council was created during the reign of Kravitz’s grandfather, as a way of giving the people a say and lessening the power of absolute monarchy in Faerun, which was falling out of fashion. That was the intent, but, as we find out in the first chapter, the council is now filled with noblemen who haven’t really got the people’s best interests in mind, at least in Kravitz’s humble opinion, and get a good deal of say over what he does. There was never anything enacted that would allow Kravitz to either disband the council or enact term limits, and now, if he were to put such a thing to a vote, it would never go through.

The original council consisted of: Lord Sterling (Artemis’s father), Jenkins, Gundren & Jack (both recently deceased at the opening of the story), Governor Kalen, and Davenport. I promise this will be relevant later.

So in our first chapter the Raven Queen pulls Kravitz aside after his meeting and tells him, over a very tense tea, that he is turning 25 in a couple of months, and the council, as well as foreign powers, are getting nervous that he has no martial prospects yet, and as the Raven Queen has no other relations to carry on the monarchy in Kravitz’s stead, they kind of need to get a move on. Having it so that the Royal line could die out any minute isn’t great for cultivating confidence in the people of your kingdom.

Kravitz is understandably upset, being the romantic that he is (I love him), and he wants nothing less than to be married as the result of some political power play. And yet, there is low probability, at least in his mind, that anyone that will be “suitable” according to his mother, the council, and the people both in Faerun and abroad, will be anyone that he will even remotely like. But what can he do? He agrees to begin the process of finding a spouse at this year’s Harvest Ball, which will coincide closely with his 25th birthday.

Barry is actually the one that gives Kravitz the idea of throwing the doors open to the whole of Faerun, and Kravitz, seeing it as an opportunity to meet men who aren’t stuffy nobles he hates, strikes a bargain with his mother: a masked ball, three nights long. Kravitz will not know (in theory) who is wealthy and powerful and who is not, and will be able to choose at his discretion someone that he would like to pursue. Shockingly, the Queen agrees.

*~*~*~*~*

SMASHCUT to Tostaada’s country home. We see Lup and Taako going about their morning routine, making breakfast for the family, lighting the fires in the hearth, generally working their asses off. Mid-breakfast, there’s a knock at the door, one that Taako goes to answer. (This is a no-no. He’s meant to be more of a behind-the-scenes servant, Lup being the one who is seen. She’s slightly more favored by Tostaada. Taako is hated. But Lup is in the middle of something, so...) It’s a letter from the Raven Queen, an invitation actually, to the family Taaco, to come to Neverwinter for the three-night Harvest Ball.

The Queen’s intentions of finding her son a husband are not directly stated, but Tostaada is a shrewd, terrible old man, and it does not take him a moment to catch on. The family packs up, Taako and Lup and all, and heads to Neverwinter, the ball two weeks away.

While they’re packing, Lup pulls Taako aside and tells him her plan. They’ll be in Neverwinter for almost two weeks, ball included. And the whole kingdom will be swarming to the city for this, it will be more crowded than ever, and therefore will give them the perfect opportunity to run away from Tostaada. He’ll be so preoccupied he’ll never be able to track them down in the chaos of this event. Taako hesitates for just a second before he’s on board. They’ll run away mid-ball, when the family is gone, and by the time Tostaada realizes anything, it’ll be too late.

*~*~*~*~*

SMASHCUT back to Krav, chilling in the palace, it’s now two weeks before the ball (around the same time that Taako and co. get the letter, actually,) and preparations are well underway. During another busy day of overseeing some of the prep for the upcoming Massive Festival (TM), Kravitz runs across Captain Davenport, just returned from a long stint at sea.

They have a conversation about the state of affairs in the kingdom, Kravitz expressing his frustration at not only the ineptitude but corruption on the council, and his worries about this marital plan. He knows that Lord Sterling is going to throw his son Artemis at him relentlessly, but he hates the kid, and wants nothing to do with him, etc.

Davenport merely expresses that he has faith in Kravitz’s ability to turn it all around and make for a good king. That the recent loss of Gundren and Jack and the dragging on of the council replacing them doesn’t bode well, but that he needs to see the thing through.

He unfortunately agrees with the rest of the council, however, that Kravitz needs to be married, and soon. There’s only so long they can go dragging this out. Kravitz sees the sense in this and agrees, albeit reluctantly. At least he has the opportunity to find someone he actually likes.

Meanwhile, Taako, Lup, Tostaada and the family have arrived in Neverwinter and will be staying in a fine manor house in the upscale residential part of the city, and the family immediately sets out to find tailors and seamstresses who can get them all dressed up for the inevitable ball. The house is in shambles on the inside, the only way Tostaada could get it cheap, and Lup and Taako spend the afternoon trying to fix it up to live-able standards and clean it enough so that should the family be called upon, they’ll at least look respectable.

In the meantime, no one is home, and they begin to plan their escape.

They plan it for the third night of the ball. Tostaada will be furious if they leave sooner, being left with no servants to assist any upcoming nights. The third night, once the family leaves for the party, they’ll be in the clear. If Tostaada manages an advantageous match for any one of the cousins, he won’t bother with Taako and Lup anymore, and get better servants. It’s highly likely that in the next two weeks he’ll make several matches, so after the party is done they should be as safe as possible given their plan.

*~*~*~*~*

Everyone spends a week getting ready.

Istus, friend of the Raven Queen from a neighboring kingdom, arrives to the palace. She will be staying for the celebration, and for a while on either end. She and the Raven Queen have a conversation, in which the Raven Queen expresses her anxiety about the upcoming matchmaking process for her son. She does not want his marriage to end up like hers (loveless, purely political). She asks Istus if she will use some of her divination skills to look into the future. Istus agrees, and it is clear that she sees something very intriguing in Kravitz’s future. She does not say what it is, but she assures her Majesty not to worry.

The day of the ball arrives.

Now by some trick of fate, one of the cousins has received the wrong suit by accident, and Lup simply must go to the tailor and send it back, and retrieve the one he was supposed to receive at any cost. So Lup goes, and Taako doesn’t think much of it until she bursts back into the attic that evening, two garment bags in her hands. She says that there was a mistake, and that a noble man and woman didn’t pick up their garments for whatever reason; the week has been so chaotic anyway, and there was talk of them falling ill and being unable to attend the ball tonight, and the woman at the tailor shop felt so bad about the mistaken order she offered to alter them to fit Tostaada’s family for free, as a sort of “so sorry about the mistake” thing, and Lup said she would just take them, and isn’t it exciting Taako, we can use these and go to the ball tonight!

Taako is reluctant to accept this plan, but Lup says they’ll only go one night, just to see the spectacle, and then they can be home for the other two and prepare to run away, and besides, they’re starting a new life and this will be a fun way to kick it off, and the outfits even come with masks, Taako, please?

Taako finally relents, and they spend the rest of the afternoon getting the cousins ready to go to the ball themselves, along with the aunts and uncles and Tostaada himself, who is in one of his moods. It’s awful, but they finally get a moment away, and they sneak up to the attic to pull out their garments...

And they get caught. Tostaada never comes upstairs, but he was calling for them, one of the cousins having forgotten a brooch or something, they weren’t answering, and when he comes upstairs and sees them, he takes the garments, drags the twins downstairs, and lets the cousins laugh at them until they’re in tears, and the family rip the dress and the suit to shreds.

The thought that they would even show themselves is so repulsive to Tostaada, and he gets angry at the presumption of it all, and he locks them downstairs in the kitchen for the duration of the evening, the door swinging shut behind him with a heavy clang.

Lup is furious, Taako more resigned, as the house quiets with the eventual departure of the family.

An hour passes with them sitting in the kitchen under the house, Lup cursing her luck. If not for her stupid idea to go, they wouldn’t be in here, locked in, and they could work on their preparations to leave two nights hence. But now they’re completely useless.

The latch on the door to the outside of the house, the small yard in the back with the meager kitchen garden, comes undone, and swings open of its own accord.

A woman is there. Or at least it looks like a woman; she is cloaked, head to toe, even her face obscured, but there’s a shimmer in the air around her that they recognize immediately as magic.

Taako and Lup have been learning magic, little by little. Taako stole a book from the village a little over a year ago, but it’s slow going, especially with Tostaada always trying to catch them doing something “indecent.”

They’ve never seen anything like this.

The mysterious woman tells them she heard Lup’s frustrated shouting while walking by and wanted to see if they needed any help. Once they thank her for letting them out, she asks them why they haven’t decided to go to the ball; two young people like them at home on a night like this seems strange. Lup scoffs, says they thought about going for a moment, but they have nothing to wear.

Istus (for by now the reader surely knows it is Istus) cocks her head and says that that won’t do, will it? And raises her hands.

And in a moment their clothes are transformed, and Lup is dressed in a gorgeous gown in reds and golds, and feathered mask is on her face, and Taako’s in a finely made suit, his mask vaguely rodential. And the woman says that now they are well-suited for a ball. Taako and Lup are just gaping at her, but she shoos them along. Go, she says, and Taako feels a peculiar prickle up his spine when she tells them, when she tells him, it feels like, to amuse himself, to have a good time, to meet new people.

She warns them that while her magic is powerful, which is evident, it is sensitive to time. Wherever they are, at the stroke of midnight, the magic will fade, and their appearances will revert to what they were before.

Lup and Taako, wanting to go only for a few laughs and to spite Tostaada, say that this is more than enough time.

And they go.

When they arrive at the palace, it’s positively swarmed with people. They agree to meet by the front doors at a half hour before midnight, giving them plenty of time to get out without being seen.

And they go in.

They’re being jostled on all sides, and well, as much as they’d like to stick together it doesn’t really work out that way, and before he knows it, Taako is in the midst of a ballroom looking for Lup, and following the flow of the crowd -

And suddenly he’s face-to-face (or, well, mask-to-mask) with a very handsomely dressed man with a skull for a face.

A skull mask, to be exact, all silver and gold filigree and done up with rubies and diamonds, and his suit is fine, dark velvet in rich blacks and deep, deep reds, and he bows and Taako does, too, because he feels as though it’s the thing to do, and when the man straightens up he and Taako trade the typical small-talk befitting a prince and his guest (because, Taako realizes, with as many people seem to be looking at them, that is surely who this must be), and Taako says something witty that makes Kravitz laugh which I will not write here, because this is a summary, which means all I have to do is say when the jokes happen; I don’t actually have to write them.

Long story short, Kravitz pulls off his mask, and he asks Taako to dance.

The anonymity Kravitz was hoping to be afforded by throwing a masked ball has not really panned out. Everyone can tell exactly which mask the prince is behind, and once the receiving line began to form, there was really nothing for it. He likes the Mongoose-masked stranger, though, and would very much like to know him better. And so what if he’s abandoning the rest of the line? He’s the prince, thank you very much, and he can do what he likes.

Taako is sold the moment the prince pulls his mask off, because the prince is hot, and Taako feels rather gorgeous himself, and maybe this is the first night in a while that he’s had any kind of serious fun and he’s feeling a bit reckless, so he pulls his mask off too and they have a dance.

Or two.

Or three, talking all the while.

After the third, the prince bows respectfully and says he must see to his other guests, but that he hopes to see Taako again, and Taako, maybe just a little flustered, wanders over to the food.

Meanwhile, Lup entered the ballroom, having gotten a bit lost on the way in, shortly after the fateful meeting itself and what does she see but her brother, unmasked, dancing with a man who is most unmistakably the prince.

Which is really just perfect, isn’t it?

She pouts for a minute because one beautiful elf will hardly draw any attention in this crowd, except Taako’s dancing with the crown prince, so every eye in the assembly is fixed upon him, and seeing an identical twin will definitely lead to some word getting around. So Lup is confined to remaining masked for the duration of the ball.

Which isn’t so bad, since she was expecting that, after all, but neither is she looking forward to it.

She skirts the edge of the ballroom, finds her way to some refreshment tables, and she’s lucky her mask leaves most of the bottom half of her face free as she nibbles on the hors d’oeuvres set out and generally enjoys the spectacle. She is propositioned to dance a few times but after the prince removes his mask a large portion of the assembly does as well, and Lup rather sticks out for keeping hers on.

She isn’t given much more attention, then, as all of the other people around seem to write off the mask as a wish to stay hidden and therefore ignored, and while they aren’t wrong, Lup isn’t enjoying the ball half as much as she thought.

And then things go from bad to worse.

Some moron completely knocks into her and sends her drink, a strong red wine, all down the front of her, granted, magical and temporary, but very nice dress.

Lup’s going to be mad, but the man is so sweet about it, stammering his apologies, and completely red in the face and, frankly, such a dork that she really can’t be mad, and he does about some ridiculous business about trying mop up the wine and it’s completely hopeless, and Lup is bored -

So she tries casting prestidigitation on the stain.

And, somewhat to her surprise, it works.

This catches the man’s attention, who immediately straightens up and starts asking her questions about where she’s learned magic, and what other spells she knows, and what her name is. Lup, in a moment of impulse, introduces herself as Lady Lulu, which she cringes at immediately but sticks with. And the man is nice to talk to, and interesting, and apparently an expert in the arcane, which Lup is thrilled about. Out of all these people she ran into someone actually interesting.

At one point, she invites the man to dance, but he refuses, a bit awkwardly. He says he’s not very coordinated, but he wouldn’t mind taking a walk, if she wouldn’t mind either? Lup is going to say yes, but upon glancing at the clock, sees that it’s almost eleven-thirty, and tells him she has to go.

Taako, meanwhile, has danced with Kravitz twice more, and chatted a bit, and when he tries to extricate himself from his Highness’s presence Kravitz seems genuinely disappointed to see him go, and asks him if he’ll be back tomorrow night.

Taako, suddenly overcome with something that makes him want to make this man smile, says yes.

And then he goes to meet Lup at the front.

They head home, making their way through the streets which are not quite as crowded as the palace was, but are still significantly busy, as those who felt they would not be at home in the palace have taken to celebrating the harvest ball in the streets. Lup and Taako make it home unnoticed, and they chat a little bit about what they saw and what they did, and when Lup teases Taako about the prince, he’s unusually quiet. This worries Lup a bit, but she doesn’t press further.

Their clothes transform when they’re about 3/4 of the way home. When they arrive, they figure they have a few hours until the family gets home to begin making preparations for their escape. Around three, they shut themselves back up in the kitchen. Lup manages to find, from the outside, a way around the locked door that i haven’t decided on yet, because this is just a summary.

Wash, rinse, repeat. The twins are on their best behavior the next day as Tostaada and co. sleep through the morning, having been up late the night before, and while no one comes to call that afternoon, Tostaada still has high hopes for a match. Lup and Taako are locked in the kitchen, manage to get out -

And now, Taako has been nervous all day having promised the prince he would be back, and surprisingly, quite wanting to see him again. He’s pacing the floor when Istus arrives, transforms their clothes, and sends them off.

Lup is more than a little skeptical about this magic woman, but Taako wants to go, so she goes, and tries to put the bizarre-ness of it out of her mind.

Taako goes to the ball, meets up with Kravitz, and this time Kravitz doesn’t leave his side all night. Lup wanders around, still masked, until she runs into Barry again (not literally this time) and makes good on that walk in the gardens he asked her for last night. They both make it to the gates again by eleven-thirty, and make it home.

This night, however, something tips Tostaada off. Maybe it’s the way Taako moves, or maybe it’s his own paranoia, but something happens at the ball that makes him suspicious. I will not hash out what it is at this time because, again: Summary.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Istus, on the third night, gives Taako his most fabulous ensemble yet, a beautiful thing in deep blue and silver and gives him jewelry set in sapphires and, you guessed it, pink tourmaline (because I’m predictable). Including, most importantly, a pair of bracelets. As Lup is locking up the kitchen to go, Istus pulls Taako aside and hands him the bracelets, and tells him that they will not dissipate at midnight. She hints vaguely at Taako and Lup’s plans to go away after the ball is over, tells him to consider the bracelets a gift. They are two of a kind, she tells him, and perhaps they will fetch a price.

Taako does not know why this woman knows so much about their life, but he’s eager to get to the party, accepts the bracelets, and before he can ask her more, she’s gone.

They head out to the ball for the third time.

It is this night that we get the majority of the material between Taako and Kravitz. Kravitz, this time, is waiting right inside the door to the ballroom, and when Taako arrives he is immediately swept up by the prince into a dance. Although, after a few hours of dancing and eating and generally enjoying themselves in the ballroom, they take a walk in the gardens.

Meanwhile, it is at this time that we get the scene where Barry has been chatting Lup up, quite obliviously, and finally he asks her if she’d like to see his lab, unable to take it anymore, he’s so excited that someone’s interested in his work. Lup, of course, thinks it’s a come-on, as discussed here, but upon going up to Barry’s tower lab she realizes that he actually, genuinely was inviting her up to look at his research which is just... too cute.

Meanwhile, Taako and Kravitz are taking a stroll through the extensive terraced palace gardens, talking all the while and the both of them are just... enamored. Taako feels beautiful and important for the first time in a long time and it’s wonderful. Kravitz has found someone interesting and gorgeous and wonderful, and it’s just... too much. It’s hard to write in short form here that they’re in love, but they like... are. Just trust me. Not fully, because it’s only been a few meetings, a few nights, but there’s something there. There’s a pull that they haven’t felt before, and feels somehow beyond them.

They wander, and the gardens are beautiful, and the moonlight is beautiful, and they end up on a sort of terrace, secluded by trees, and the sea is down below them and they dance again, just the two of them, and then there’s kissing and it’s all very romantic, I promise. There’s a scene from it here.

Then the clock strikes midnight.

And Taako panics.

The time got away from him, he got distracted, and he tries to run, but Kravitz catches his hand and he’s begging Taako to stay but Taako can’t, because Kravitz doesn’t know what’s going on here.

He thinks fast. He unclasps one of the bracelets and places it in Kravitz’s hand and says so fast that if Kravitz wants to see him again he can look for him and Taako will have the other bracelet ok bye and then he runs.

He barely makes it out of the palace in time.

But of course, by this time, Lup is not at the front gates. They planned out a fallback location, less conspicuous, if one of them got held up, and Taako is already late, and he gets there as fast as he can, and Lup is pissed.

(she’s mostly just worried).

She kind of goes at him for being late but Taako just says he lost track of time, and whatever that feeling is in his voice makes Lup back off. She’s never heard Taako sound like that before. She lets it go, but she’s more worried than before.

They make their way home, ready to pick up their packs and run like they were planning. But they open the door to the kitchen, and there’s a thud, and a candle lights, and Tostaada is there, the contents of their packs spread out before him, and absolute fury in his eyes.

It’s awful. After his suspicion, he saw Taako enter the ball tonight. And knew it was him. And he was furious. He came home, headed them off, and yells at them something fierce, locking them in separate closets to deal with them, because they can’t be trusted to be together, they’ll scheme. (Some of the cousins, by the way, are here for this, because fuck the cousins).

They try desperately to break out. Banging on the door, trying to bust out the doorknob, to cast something on the door to unlock it, but they’ve been going three days only getting a couple hours of sleep a night. It finally hits them how exhausted they are. After a while, there’s nothing they can do.

Now you may say to yourself “this is awfully convenient.” And you would be right. But it’s also a fairytale, and this is a summary of a fairytale, so there.

Tostaada, because he fucking sucks, finds some way to separate the twins. Probably something along the lines of dragging Taako out of his “cell” and being like guess what I’ve always hated you and I’m a real bastard so you’re working for this shady caravan now, have a good time. Taako is Not Down to be separated from his sister but he’s also like hey fuck you to Tostaada and is going to dip from that caravan in about 30 seconds so he’s like yeah have a nice life, too, dickweed.

He slips away from the caravan in like... a day. Fuck those guys. He’s gonna go back and get Lup.

And just a bit later, Lup gets let out of the closet, and finds out that Taako’s gone. And she goes fucking berserk. She casts her first fireball (yes I know that’s now how it works in DnD but shhhhhhh it’s fine).

She burns Tostaada’s fucking dumbass city house to the ground. And Tostaada and the cousins are panicking but Lup is honestly like fuck the cousins, and she slips away in the chaos. Fuck Tostaada. Fuck the family. Lup’s going to go find her fucking brother.

*~*~*~*~*

We haven’t checked in on Kravitz in a hot minute, but he’s been completely smitten with Taako from the moment he met him, and has been saying as much to Mama Bird herself, the Raven Queen, who has been... a little less than stoked. She is skeptical because this isn’t going exactly as planned, and on top of that, Kravitz hasn’t even learned this man’s name. He’s an absolute enigma, and Raven worries not only that this man will potentially not be a good asset to the kingdom, but he also might not turn up and completely break Kravitz’s heart.

But Kravitz stands firm. The Queen said he could make his choice, well, he’s going to. He’s going to go after this guy.

...Or so he thinks. See, the Royal Council, as in all things, gets their say. And they’re not happy with this. Generally disapproving when Kravitz tries to make his own decisions, they say absolutely not to his wish to search for Taako. Raven tries to help by talking them down from letting them handle the search and keeping Kravitz in the capital to letting Kravitz go himself but only giving him a few months time. If he hasn’t found Taako by then, he’s going to have to call off the search altogether and look for another match.

It’s not good, but it’s something. Kravitz takes his bracelet and begins seeking out every elf in the land who even vaguely matches Taako’s description.

*~*~*~*~*

The elf in question is, at this point, on his own. Meeting up with your sister when you have no idea where she is and she has no idea where you are, and you’re running back and forth and missing each other, well. It’s difficult.

It takes them a little while to get back together, and I’m sure there are plenty of minor trials and tribulations along the way. I won’t go into them all here, because this is a summary.

*~*~*~*~*

Kravitz is on the move, looking for Taako. He searches and searches and comes up with nothing. It’s been two months. It’s almost the height of winter. He’s running out of his allotted time for his search. And that’s when it happens.

He’s riding through this one town, a ways from the capital, when he sees, there, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of silver and blue and maybe some pink, and he turns his head, and there’s the bracelet. The one Taako gave him.

But it’s not on Taako’s wrist.

Kravitz calls for the guards travelling with him and they stop the woman and they question her as to where she got that bracelet. She says that she bought it off a travelling salesman, and seems rather embarrassed about it. She’s reluctant to give it up, having bought it fair and square, but Kravitz pays her, and gets it back.

Kravitz is, of course, heartbroken. Taako said he would have the other bracelet. He told Kravitz to look for him. He said to look for him. If he gave it up, if he sold it, does it mean he doesn’t want to see Kravitz again after all?

Kravitz wants answers for a minute. But then he listens to reason. Or so he thinks. Discouraged, he returns to the capital, as per Lord Sterling’s suggestion.

Many people and things are trying to keep these two apart. It is at this point that these forces begin to win.

So he goes home, in time for the first snow to cover Neverwinter.

*~*~*~*~*

What Taako and Lup are up to in the meantime:

It’s pretty close to canon in that they mostly hop from job to job, and caravan to caravan, taking odd jobs and cooking and making their way. And it’s hard. It’s really hard. But something about it is good. This is the first time they’ve had, maybe in their whole lives, to just be in charge of themselves. They’re deciding their own destiny now.

Lup can see that Taako is different. Something has changed. The news that the prince is looking for him isn’t a secret at all, so she keeps a careful eye on him for how he feels about that. She brings it up a few times that maybe they could come forward in their own way, maybe let people know that he’s out there, but Taako keeps shutting her down before she can really talk about it.

As for Taako, he’s more than thrilled to finally be free of Tostaada, and to have his sister back after a few months of absence. But the whole thing at the ball and with Kravitz is... weighing on his mind.

I should explain the bracelet fiasco.

See, Taako and Lup returned from the ball, and the whole thing with Tostaada went down. Of course, while he was deciding what to do with Taako he confiscated the bracelet, and sold it off a bit later for whatever he could get. This is how it was able to travel so far from where Taako actually is; the jewelry seller went one way, Taako another, and Tostaada and the family, when they finally left Neverwinter, a third.

This is all running through Taako’s mind of course. It would be nice for Kravitz to find him, sure, but Taako was the one who set up the system of verification through the bracelet. Without it, what credibility does he have? And sure, maybe Kravitz will recognize him, but what if he doesn’t? It was dark, and it was only a few nights, and -

Anyway, Taako’s not going to worry about it. He’s fine, really, and it was only a few nights anyway, and what does he care about the dumb old prince. It’s not like Kravitz said he wanted to marry him. He just said he wanted to see him again. What the hell does that mean? And it’s not like Taako was the only one he spent time with at the ball.

Basically our sweet boy is snackin’ on a big slice of denial pie and it’s very sad.

Taako is saying that he doesn’t care whether he sees Kravitz again or not, but Lup can tell something is wrong. She suggests that they stick around in Faerun, work for the winter, and come spring, they’ll head out. They’ll hitch their way with the caravans, and work their way over the border. New country, new life. Leave all that Tostaada shit and everything behind.

Taako’s on board. They find themselves a job cooking and occasionally tending the bar at an inn, not a gross one but not the fanciest either. They’re going to work up some money, and they’re going to hit the road.

But back to Kravitz.

*~*~*~*~*

Kravitz is back home at the palace in Neverwinter. The first snow on the not-very-aptly named city makes traveling difficult. If Kravitz hadn’t already given up the dream of Taako, it would well and truly be impossible to find him now. No one in their right mind would send a search party out in the winter months.

So he’s essentially on house arrest.

And so begins the parade of potential partners. Everyone knows about the ball. Everyone knows now that the plan of having the prince find a partner there was a colossal failure. Every young and eligible nobleman in the capital who is even remotely interested in men gets thrown at this boy. Artemis Sterling most of all, a spoiled brat of a boy, who, when he’s not being absolutely appalling to people is boring them to death.

Kravitz is fucking miserable.

Does this make him think of Taako? Yes. Does he miss him? Absolutely. Does it only twist the knife of heartbreak in this boy who thought he had found someone good and then that person gave him up? 100 percent.

Kravitz is ready to jump off the cliffs out back the palace into the Stillwater Sea and swim to a new country when the word from Raven’s Roost comes.

Rebellion! Against Kalen, of all people! How could it be?

(Kravitz has hated Kalen for a while, but this certainly is a pickle).

Kalen is ousted, arrives in Neverwinter half-frozen and fuming, a few cronies on his tail, and chaos in the palace ensues. Who to believe? Kalen, who claims he has been unfairly attacked, or the people, claiming Kalen’s long-term abuse.

It all shakes out somehow. This is a summary, though, so I don’t have to say. Julia does something badass. Also she’s not dead. She and Magnus show up in the capital and there’s the whole them vs Kalen before the Raven Queen fiasco and finally she chooses the good people as the correct ones and Kalen is thrown in prison or banished or something lol idk.

And now there are... 3 positions on the royal council empty and it is essentially non-functioning. The kingdom is in governmental crisis. Magnus and Julia are at the palace. This whole rebellion/trial thing has taken most of the winter months.

Barry and Magnus become fast friends, which of course puts Magnus into Kravitz’s orbit more than the Kalen ordeal already has. And they begin talking. And at the prompting of Magnus and Julia being so in love, Taako of course comes up.

Magnus is all omg wow buddy that’s true love u gotta pursue that, and Kravitz is like ok but also consider he probably doesn’t even like me, and also it’s impossible, and also I can’t. To which Magnus says umm how do you know, and also bullshit, and also why not?

And why not indeed?

Well, Barry says, perhaps because the government is in shambles and to abandon everything now would almost certainly trigger all kinds of issues amongst the aristocracy, upon whom your hold is currently tenuous at best.

Kravitz says >:((

And then along comes Merle.

Merle comes moseying up the palace one day like hey guys how’s it goin’ I’m Merle, and the [PLACE WHERE GUNDREN WAS FROM] sent me here to be Gundren’s replacement on the Royal Council, after all I am his cousin, don’t’cha know, and sorry it took us so long, we had some issues to work through. He does not explain what these were, nor does he have to, for this is a summary.

Merle’s addition is a real gamechanger, because not only is he miraculously able to neutralize the more antagonistic personalities on the council (usually through saying something Kravitz can’t decide is crazy or profound), but also he’s a big advocate for let’s get things up and running again, starting with just replacing Kalen with one of these two nice people who Raven’s Roost seems to have elected to represent them.

Magnus goes “oh well I don’t know this is a lot of responsibility-” and before he’s even done talking Julia’s like “I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

This, of course, gets the council running, and, importantly to our plot, creates a majority of people who Want kravitz to Go After A Boy. They work on cleaning up the mess in Raven’s Roost, finally find a replacement for Jack (it’s Cassidy, also by election, which is a shiny new toy for these people) and they iron all of it out by the time Spring has sprung.

Kravitz says now can I go Find A Boy PLEEEAAAAASE I did the governing thing and everything. And most people’s reactions are omg I can’t believe you’re still talking about that but Fine. Take some friends. Kravitz takes Barry and Magnus and (mumble mumble some others idk like avi or someone don’t @ me) and is like BYE MY CONFIDENCE IS RESTORED AND I’M GONNA FIND A BOY.

*~*~*~*~*

So Spring Has Sprung.

Which means Lup and Taako are back on the move. Continuing their slow journey out of Faerun, working on their way (it’s nice to have money saved up, they find, but it’s not A Lot, and they don’t want to totally deplete it.) They usually stop for a week in a town, do some odd jobs, travel, stop for a week. It’s nice.

But they’re on the way OUT OF THE COUNTRY *cue dramatic music*

Will Kravitz Reach Them In Time? If he does, will Taako even Want To Go Back? All these questions and more exist at this point in the narrative.

*~*~*~*~*

Kravitz follows the lead of the bracelet. He does not stop for a week in towns. In fact, he’s pushing pretty hard. He tracks down the woman who points him to the seller who points him to Another travelling seller who points him to a jeweler in town who looks at the bracelet and says oh yeah, I got that from Old Man Tostaada, outside of town, he’s a proud type, but you should ask him.

Well. Kravitz certainly does.

In the nearly six months since Taako and Lup slunk and exploded out of his life, respectively, Tostaada has become an even crochetier, nastier, meaner old man than ever. He has no servants now. The cousins have to do chores, oh the horror. He’s propping his appearance of nobility up on pride alone. The house is in Shambles. It’s a whole Thing™️.

But one fateful springy day, one of the cousins looks out the window…

And Sees An Entire Royal-insignia’d Party Riding Up The Lane.

And promptly Panics.

Well Kravitz and co are ushered into the house with all kinds of Ceremony, and Tostaada is acting very proud, and Kravitz says excuse me sir, I was wondering if you might remember being in possession of this bracelet.

This is Bad News to Tostaada.

I may recall, sir, he says.

There’s a terribly polite and tense conversation after that. Tostaada refuses to say where he got the bracelet, even to royalty, being as old and spiteful as he is, and Kravitz is just about to threaten him with something terrible when one of the cousins breaks, and spills the whole story tearfully, about Taako and Lup and how they were treated and where Tostaada got the bracelet and “we didn’t know you wanted it, we didn’t know it was important, we swear,” and the only thing that keeps Kravitz from Severely Punishing them is that he refuses to waste any time getting to Taako, who he’s very keen to find now. Tostaada has no idea where Taako and Lup are now, though, so he wasn’t helpful in that sense. Only now Kravitz knows that they’ve Been The Fuck Through It, and that Taako didn’t give up the bracelet of his own accord, and so it’s possible that The Boy Still Likes Him.

And with renewed energy, off they go.

Tostaada gets stripped of whatever title he has left, or something, because FUCK him.

Kravitz and the gang are putting out the word that hey, we’re still looking for this elf, if anyone’s seen him, that would be great.

The thing is, this time, they’re getting leads, on account of Lup and Taako sticking around in places long enough to make a friend or two.

*~*~*~*~*

It’s later, and almost Summertime, baby, when Lup and Taako finally hear the news.

The prince is still looking for Taako? Damn. Boy’s serious.

Lup watches Taako’s face carefully when they hear this news. They’re leaving town. They only have one more before they reach the border and slip away. Lup says hey. Are you sure you don’t wanna come forward and say something?

Taako’s like no of course we shouldn’t do that don’t be silly it’s FINE. (It’s not fine, Lup can tell, but she’s not gonna push. This is Taako’s decision to make. They’re gonna make a fresh start in a new place. It’ll be great.

They start hiking to the next town, hobbit style. They make it out into ye woods and find a nice spot to settle down and camp. Make up a fire, get cozy, cook a little dinner, the whole shindig. They settle down to sleep.

Taako wakes up. In the middle of the night. The full moon is shining brightly down into the clearing they’re sleeping in and the fire is no longer the softly smoldering embers it was when he fell asleep. It’s nice crackling along. And sitting there, tending it, is a lady.

Lady is the only way to describe her. She’s in a gown of silvery thread with silvery hair tumbling down her back. She asks Taako if he’d like some tea. He can’t tell if the light in the clearing is from the moon, or the fire, or just from her. She speaks with a voice that just sounds so familiar, but that he doesn’t quite place.

She hands Taako a cup of tea. It’s floral and fragrant and lovely. She asks him what he’s running from. He says she sounds awfully condescending talking like that, and if she knew what he’d been through she wouldn’t act like leaving it all behind was such a bad decision. She says she never said it was a bad decision, she just wonders how much he’s thought about it, is all. There’s a quiet moment, as she sips her tea. She says, quietly, that perhaps Taako ought to be careful, not to run too far too fast.

And taako wakes up again. There’s a teacup sitting beside him. Empty. Clean. There’s no sign that there was any visitor in the night.

To Lup, Taako is acting weird the next day. He seems jumpy. He seems distant. She keeps worrying they’re gonna get jumped on the road, from the way he’s not paying attention to his surroundings. He’s in his head, even more than usual. But they manage to arrive to the next town without incident.

And Taako’s weird over the next few days. And Lup suggests on the fourth that they get a move on. There’s a caravan headed across the border tomorrow, we can go with them.

Taako looks at the drink in his hand for a long moment, not there with her, and she’s about to ask again when he says “maybe just a few more days.”

Taako doesn’t ask her for much. Taako seems very serious, and it’s kind of scaring Lup. But she agrees. A few more days is fine. Then they’ll go.

And a few days pass. And Taako’s weird. He keeps looking around corners like he’s expecting something to jump out from around them. He keeps looking down the street like he expects something to come barreling into town. But nothing ever seems to.

Come on, Taako, Lup says, three days later, while Taako’s dropped over a cup of wine in the local inn. Tomorrow some more people are leaving, mid-afternoon, they said, let’s go. Just over those hills and we can start everything over, make a name for ourselves. What do you say?

And Taako agrees.

They go to bed.

And, in the bright-mid morning the next day, Kravitz and the gang come riding into town, Raven Queen standard flying high over their heads, dressed in shining silver on black. Lup’s out on the street, collecting some last-minute supplies when she sees them.

Holy shit, Lup says.

She recognizes the Prince. She recognizes BARRY. And after her moment of gawking in surprise, the prince glances her way, and does a frankly comedic wide-eyed double take.

She does, after all, have Taako’s face.

He hops off his horse and very politely comes over and introduces himself, and identifies her by name (he met her grandfather) and asks, very kindly, if she might know where he can find her brother.

Lup does some quick mental calculus and says “yeah, I can show you where he is.”

That scene can be found HERE. (I truly can’t shortly summarize this one better than I wrote it so yikes secret few thousand words nested in this already monstrous summary, I’m sorry but not really I am sorry that it switches tense like three times, I do not have the energy to correct it).

Needless to say, they are reunited.

But it’s a lot to put on someone, the entire “come home with me I think you’re the love of my life even though we kind of only know each other a little, also if you say yes you might be responsible for governing a whole people” so Taako needs some time to think.

Kravitz leaves him some.

And then Taako and Lup have a long conversation, where Taako makes lots of excuses as to why he shouldn’t go with Kravitz, and Lup listens very patiently and nods and hums along, and then finally asks him if he thinks Kravitz will make him happy.

This stumps Taako for a good long time, standing stock still, looking terrified, before he nods.

Well, Lup says, I think you know what you need to do.

And Taako goes, the evening, as it’s getting late (which is about when he and Lup finished hashing it all out and he got his courage up) to Kravitz’s room in the inn, and Kravitz’s guards let him in, and oh. Oh Kravitz looks lovely, standing there, dressed down, comfortable in his own space. And Kravitz gets up and looks at Taako with wide eyes and Taako says, “I thought about what you said.”

“Yes?” Kravitz says. He might be crying. Taako can’t tell. He looks terrified.

“I think…” Taako says. “I think I want to go with you.”

Kravitz becomes a human embodiment of heart eyes and says “really?”

And Taako says oh my god yes but you have to not be weird.

“I’m not being weird,” says Kravitz, still heart eyes-ing, “I’m so not weird. I’m so normal, see?”

And they KISS.

*~*~*~*~*

Everybody packs up the next morning to head on their merry way home. Kravitz is over the moon. Taako is, kind of, too, but is trying to be chill about it. Lup tells Barry as they leave that she was the one he was hanging with at the ball that one time, good to see him again, and Barry becomes human heart eyes for approximately four seconds before he reigns it in and he’s like oh cool nice to officially meet you, and the two of them spend the rest of the trip circling each other trying not to act in love because like there’s a lot going on and Taako needs lup and all, and Taako and Kravitz are very amused by this.

Taako and Magnus become fast friends. And, he and Kravitz get time to properly get to know each other during all that travel together, and the scary thing is they fit better than they ever thought they would, they really do. Taako likes the boy more by the day. Kravitz is so smitten it’s revolting.

When they get back to Neverwinter, there’s a fair bit of fanfare and the Raven Queen makes a big stink about Kravitz shirking his duties and being irresponsible and whatnot, but he can tell she’s secretly pleased. She comes to like Taako very much.

And well… you know what’s next. After a bit, Taako and Kravitz get married.

*~*~*~*~*

EPILOGUE:

The marriage of King Kravitz to Prince Taako is known as one of the more fortuitous in the history of the nation.

Prince Taako, after his history as one of the working common folk of Faerun, went on to use his new seat on the royal council to champion reforms that changed the lives of working people everywhere. The laws he helped draft that established basic working condition requirements for those in domestic services helped launch a new era of equal pay and treatment for the working classes of Faerun, and a culling of the power of the wealthy.

He helped establish a new nation-wide system of government, based on regional elections, and with King Kravitz, gradually placed more political power in the hands of the people. The minimum requirements for the royal council to balance the number of aristocratic members with those without titles stands to this day.

Prince Taako was known, also, for his aptitude for the arcane. Though never did he manage to surpass his sister and brother-in-law in his lifetime, he is revered as one of the more powerful and skilled mages in Faerun’s history. Though perhaps more famous is his legacy as a great instructor in the arcane sciences, known especially for training Grand Archmage Angus McDonald in his early years.

Though perhaps chief among his achievements was his role in the war against the Hunger in the twenty-third year of King Kravitz’s reign. He was among those who formulated the plan to infiltrate the Hunger’s forces and carry out the assassination of John the Devourer. And when King Kravitz was injured in the final battle against the Hunger’s armies, it was Prince Taako who held the line, and was unmoved in the face of their power. For this, he became known during his reign as Prince Taako the Steadfast, though over the years his long-time connection with Lady Istus was cited as evidence to his improbable marriage and ascension to the throne being an act of Providence, and in many secret circles he was referred to as Prince Taako the Blessed.

Upon his abdication from the throne in the thirtieth year of his reign, Prince Taako and King Kravitz were succeeded by the former’s sister, Queen Lup and Prince Barold, whose daughter, Queen Lilliana, finally dissolved the monarchy in the twelfth year of her reign, thus ending the Faerun’s royal line forever, and ushering the world into a new era of peace and equality.

From: Faerun: A History by Lucretia Moreau, published 538 T.E.

*~*~*~*~*

BIG Thank you to @fandomsnstuff and @her-biness who helped me with this for a Long Time. The little cameo of the blupjeans baby belongs to @lillianabluejeans, and the last name from Lucretia is taken from one of my favorite fics, Bureau of Badass on ao3, by Chemicallywrit and miceenscene.

Bonus points will be given to those who notice the 500 references in here to various adaptations of the cinderella story :)

#taz balance #taakitz #blupjeans #taako taaco #lup taaco #kravitz #barry bluejeans #my writiting #my fic stuff #cinderella au #Thank you for making it all the way to the end #likes charge reblogs cast #(aka if u liked it pls pass it on for me :)))

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goulets · 3 years

Text

Heartland

Chapter: 4/9 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Roy Harper, Lian Harper, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

Lian looks proud. “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason. “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

It takes Jason a moment to process what Lian is talking about, and when he realizes it, Roy is suppressing a huge peal of laughter and Dick’s eyes are so wide they’re about to pop right out of his skull.

***

(romina)

The view has changed.

When Romina Falcone was a child, she had stood in this very office at the right hand of her grandfather and looked out this very window, down into the sprawling urban jungle. She’d thought Gotham City was beautiful. Carmine had a story for every building, every street, every truck and car and pedestrian. The businessman who needed funds to keep his product line moving, soon to be in debt to their family. The district attorney’s office who wanted to cut fiscal corners on an exterior remodel, soon to enter into a contract with them. The gas station at a particularly desirable intersection, soon to be abandoned and auctioned off - the delivery van pulling up to the pump, soon to motivate the owners to abandon it. There was nothing, he said, that was out of reach for them. There was no one who could afford not to answer their call.

She sits in the seat he once sat in, her brother at her right hand, the city laid out below her, and she sees none of it.

“Romina? Are you listening?” her brother asks, angry.

“Obviously not,” she tells him. Who would she pick out of this crowd, if she was her grandfather? The woman in the suit, maybe - a journalist, ambitious and easily bought. The corner bistro, in the red for the third year in a row, about to be turned down for a loan extension. The restless pawn shop security guard, washed out from the police academy, in need of a better outlet to exert his will upon the public.

One by one, she thinks. One by one, they will all be within her grasp.

“ - drives me fuckin’ insane,” her brother is complaining, now, to their cousin Antoni and their new employee, Tiberius. “Never listens to a goddamn word I say - “

“Mario.” Romina turns in her chair to face him.

“What?” he demands.

She raises a dark eyebrow.

He straightens, and appears to compose himself. Much better. “Sorry, Ro. There’s a situation at City Hall that I’ve just been made aware of.”

When he doesn’t immediately go on, she feels a flash of irritation. “Well?”

“It seems that several records were accessed over the weekend - the logs were deleted, but our alert system was set off before they covered their tracks.” A dark look passes over his face. “They were looking into Uncle Vincenzo.”

Romina understands. Vincenzo Rizzuto, her mother’s half-brother, is the name they’ve been recruiting under, a name relatively yet-unknown in Gotham. They hid the real Vincenzo well - Romina had Antoni remove her uncle’s head and hands after he killed him, and since the man had been in the country illegally from Montreal, there should have been almost no way to identify his body. The city coroner’s office hadn’t managed it, but obviously, someone else did.

She taps her fingers against the desk. “How inconvenient.”

Tiberius looks curiously between them. “Think it was law enforcement?”

Antoni barks out a laugh. Romina has to agree - besides, she’s been given the distinct impression that Gotham PD is more than willing to welcome them back into the fold.

Unruffled by their scorn, Tiberius moves on. “Surveillance?”

“Plenty,” Mario says. A vein begins to throb in his forehead. “Doesn’t appear to be tampered with. There’s a camera pointed directly at the terminal that was accessed. Didn’t pick up shit.”

“Ah,” Romina nods. An invisible researcher. This explains Mario’s bad mood. “A meta-human, then.”

“Fuckers,” Antoni grumbles.

Tiberius glances around at them, faint amusement in his pale features. “Can I speak freely?”

“No,” Mario spits, but Romina holds up her hand.

“You may.”

Tiberius cracks his knuckles. “I know your family is more...traditional, let’s say, but you guys aren’t seeing the big picture. A lot’s changed since your grandfather was in charge, not just in Gotham. Meta-humans are a resource. A fucking gold mine. You can hire them, create them, sell them, buy them - as a commodity, they bring a higher return than almost anything else out there. And the scope of the industry is unlimited. The Russians are already in the process of cornering the market in Bludhaven. You could have shipping routes all the way out to - ”

He stops, suddenly, because Mario’s patience has expired. He advances heavily on Tiberius, clicking the safety off on his pistol. Romina wonders idly whether it would be more prudent to buy off or to threaten the city clerk to alter their records. It’s too late this time, but it would do well to have someone in City Hall working for them, in the future.

“How many times,” her brother seethes, “do we have to tell you, Tiberius. We’re taking the metas out. Your freak squad has been running this town for too goddamn long.”

“Hey, they’re not my freak squad,” Tiberius protests, putting his hands up. “I��m just pointing out a business opportunity, shit.”

Antoni looks between them, interested. Romina sighs.

“Enough,” she says coolly. “Mario, stand down. Tiberius, you’ve overstayed your welcome. If I want business propositions from you, you’ll know.”

Tiberius straightens his jacket, glaring around at them all dispassionately. He’ll not last much longer, she thinks.

“Antoni, when are the trucks coming in from Chicago?”

“Should be within the hour, boss.” He grins at her. Romina feels a wave of affection for her younger cousin, all bloodlust and mania. If their grandfather had known him, he would surely have adored him as well.

“Go meet them,” she instructs. “Take Tiberius with you. He should meet our cousin Nicola, since he’s so interested in the family’s shipping routes.”

Antoni grins wider. Perhaps Romina was too careless with her phrasing - if Antoni can tell she means to replace Tiberius with Nicola Viti, then he can probably guess it as well. No matter. With both cousins watching him, he won’t have an opportunity to betray them.

Once they leave, Mario comes to stand next to her, turning his gaze out the window to mirror hers.

“It looks different,” he says, sliding his Beretta back into its holster. “That’s what you were thinking about, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replies. “But I find that the longer I look, the less different it seems.” And indeed, the view is becoming clearer. The run-down garage two blocks over, its owners tired and brittle and all too willing to sign away to new management. The half-finished housing project, abandoned by the city and looking for a new developer. The drug dealer squatting in its basement, hungry to ally himself with a steady supplier.

After a moment, Mario clears his throat. “We need to get rid of Tiberius. His ideals don’t align with ours.”

He’s right, of course. It won’t do to have one of their own sowing discord among the lower ranks. Romina has made one thing clear in their recruitment process - they’re not making a power play for Gotham’s meta-trafficking trade, not entering into competition with Scarecrow or Riddler or whichever absurd character is putting on a show to engage the Batman this week. They’re eliminating them. Meta-humans and theatrical villains might be an inescapable reality of their world, but Gotham belonged to their family first.

“I’m not ready for you and I to go public just yet,” she tells him. “We need Tiberius for one more thing, first.”

He doesn’t argue. “I hope it’s Susie. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

Romina scoffs. “She’s lucky that’s all I’m doing to her, after she disobeyed me. No, I’ll have him fetch her in a few more days. Do you think he’ll suspect the trap?”

“No,” Mario snorts. “He’s too convinced of his own importance. Didn’t even blink when I pulled my piece on him. He thinks he’ll wear you down, eventually.”

She nods, satisfied. “That was my read as well.”

“Is it really necessary, though, to risk alienating Susie?”

Romina purses her lips. “She was instructed to leave no survivors,” she says. “I served her an opportunity to settle a score up on a platter, and she repaid me by doing the exact opposite of what I asked. She knew there would be a cost.”

Mario looks skeptical. “Seriously, Ro, it was just a baby. It wouldn’t’ve even remembered its parents.”

“It doesn’t have to remember.” Romina thumbs over the scar on her wrist, the memento from all those years ago. “I don’t like giving orders to kill children, and I don’t expect Susie to like doing it, but it’s necessary to do. The Maronis left us alive, and where are they now? Scrambling in the shadows like rats, terrified to show their faces. You have to be prepared to hunt the children of your enemies, Mario, or they’ll grow up to hunt you.”

Mario grimaces. “It fucking creeps me out, when you talk like that.”

“It’s something our grandfather understood,” she tells him. “It’s practically colonial.”

“Jesus, Ro.”

She smirks. “Don’t like that comparison?”

“You know I don’t, but you’re right. Fuck,” he sighs. “Fine. I’m guessing you want to put Antoni on it?”

“It can wait, for now.” Antoni is reliable as a triggerman, with no limitations to speak of, but he does have a habit of going off-script, and Romina doesn’t want any more deviations in this particular directive. “As you said, it’s only a baby. It can’t pose a threat to us for some time yet.”

Mario exhales, relieved.

On to more pressing matters. “Do you know, I think it’s time we started recruiting in Bludhaven.”

“I agree,” he says, immediately. “The Russians have been struggling to gain a foothold since losing Intergang. It’s the perfect time to strike.”

“And once we deal with them, the entire canal will be ours,” she muses. “Start looking for someone to run the cement factory, will you? I want that housing project on 15th.”

Mario grins wolfishly. “You don’t think it’s too early for city contracts? We can’t take them out under Vincenzo’s name, you know.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it’s nearly time.”

The view is shifting, the longer she looks. The points of connection are starting to take shape, the lines of power that her grandfather once saw so clearly all leading back into the palm of his hand. Recruitment is child’s play - the people of this city are as tired of the Bats and the Jokers as she is. It’s more than a mission, it’s her birthright. Her father was too foolish and weak to recognize it, but Romina was born with her grandfather’s soul. Now, in his office, with the city laid out before her, she begins to understand how he must’ve felt, back then. She can almost taste it in the air. Gotham is ready to come back to them, and Romina is ready to seize it all.

***

(jason)

“I gotta say, I’m a little hurt,” Roy says, throwing a sideways look at Jason.

Jason’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s gonna follow up with something obnoxious, but he gives him an indulgent glance over his coffee cup all the same. “Yeah?”

“That you didn’t call me, you tool. Why wasn’t I the first person to know about this?! Instead I gotta hear it from Donna, who heard it from Wally, who heard it from Dick!! Not cool, dude!”

Jason feels a headache coming on. They’re out on the balcony outside Dick’s room, and it’s as spacious as a balcony for a single bedroom can be, but it’s starting to feel claustrophobic all the same. “It was need-to-know, okay? I was going to tell you, obviously. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve had a few other things on my mind.”

Roy isn’t having it. “You know how Wally knew? Because Dick called him to ask for advice. Because Wally is a father. Kind of like someone else you guys know, right?”

“I did call you,” Dick says from the balcony doorway. Dani is awake in his arms, and Roy’s five year old daughter Lian is at his side peering up at her in fascination. “You didn’t answer.”

Roy flushes slightly. “Well, without a text, how was I supposed to know why you were calling? I figured it was something like, world-ending-cavalry-calling thing. Can’t blame me for wanting to sit it out.”

Dick nods at Jason. “But you’d answer for him?”

“Hell yes I would. I happen to like him better, no offense,” Roy says, offense clearly intended. Dick rolls his eyes.

Jason doesn’t exactly know what went on between the two of them, except that it happened when he was dead. Roy hasn’t been forthcoming about it, and he’s never bothered asking Dick. Clearly it’s not completely water under the bridge just yet, but Dick looks happy enough to see him, and Roy didn’t even blink at letting Lian run off with him, so Jason thinks they must be starting to make up. Really, it’s the last thing he should be hoping for. Dealing with either of them one-on-one is bad enough. If they get chummy again, he’s done for.

“You’re shit out of luck, then,” he says to Roy, about half a second before he remembers the guy’s daughter is standing right there. “Crap. Uh, sorry, Lian.”

“Daddy says ‘shit’ all the time,” Lian replies, shaking her dark hair back from her face. “Shit is just poop, really, so it’s not such a bad word.”

Dick laughs. “So wise.”

“When can baby Dani learn to talk?”

“Um…” Dick looks at Jason, who shrugs helplessly. “Probably not for a while, I’m guessing. She’s only four months old, so she has a lot of milestones to hit before then.”

Lian tilts her head comically. “What’s mile-stones?”

“That’s just a name for important things that babies learn to do, sweetheart,” Roy tells her. “Things like rolling over, grabbing their feet, sitting up, and standing up. You hit all your milestones right on time.”

“Grabbing their feet? That’s silly, Daddy.”

“Hey, it’s an important motor skill, kiddo. Just as important as first words. You were a foot-grabbing prodigy, so I should know.”

Lian looks proud. “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason. “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

“We’re not - I’m not her dad, Lian. She’s not my kid.” Jason should probably just shut the hell up, since he doesn’t think Roy would be too happy about him explaining why Dani is in their care in the first place to his young, already somewhat traumatized daughter.

“We’re just taking care of her,” Dick adds, gently. Lian looks puzzled.

“So you’re babysitting her?”

“Exactly, yeah.”

“Hey pumpkin,” Roy says, reaching over and patting her on the cheek. “We’ll talk about this more later, okay? Let’s not ask too many questions to Dick and Jason, you know how silly Bats are about their secrets.”

“Oh, right,” Lian giggles, looking between them all conspiratorially. “Especially Mister Bruce, right, Daddy?”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “You told your daughter Batman’s secret ID?”

“You wanna fight about it?” Roy asks. His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of real challenge in his eyes.

Lian looks confused, and Jason takes pity on her. “Guys, knock it off.” He shoves Roy’s shoulder lightly, and shoots a hard look at Dick. “Not in front of the kids, come on.”

Dani, fortunately, diffuses the tension by spitting up in a truly spectacular fashion all over her onesie and Dick’s arm.

Roy bursts out laughing. “Okay, I gotta say, I do not miss that.”

“Did she just barf?” Lian looks horrified.

“No, this is something babies do a lot,” Dick reassures her. “Usually it puts her in a much better mood when she does it, so it’s actually a good thing.”

“Okay…” Lian says uncertainly. “It’s kind of gross.”

“Kind of,” Dick grins. “I’ll just go change her, and, um, wash up.”

“Can I help? Can I pick out her clothes?” Lian looks at Roy excitedly.

“Sure, you’ll be a lot better at picking them out than me,” Dick beams back at her. “Be right back, guys.”

Once they’re out of earshot, Roy turns to Jason. “I didn’t tell her Batman’s secret ID, just so you know. He told her himself a couple years ago, after the attack on Star City. We were all up in the Watchtower, and he didn’t have his cowl...it was such a crazy day, I honestly never thought she’d remember it.”

Jason nods peaceably. “I don’t really give a shit, to tell you the truth.” It’s not quite the truth, actually, but hopefully Roy won’t call him on it.

“Just saying. Anyways, Jaybird, what the hell is going on with you and Dick? Are you fucking?”

Jason almost spits out his coffee. “What?”

“Is it really that weird of a question? You’re living here all of a sudden, raising a baby together, I mean.” Roy tilts his head, looking remarkably like his daughter. “Okay, I guess you’re not fucking.”

“We’re not anything,” Jason says, more harshly than he means to. “Jesus Christ.”

Roy gives him a look of dawning comprehension, which Jason doesn’t like at all. “I see.”

“Do you.” Jason narrows his eyes. “Well, fucking don’t.”

“All right, all right. I’ll cut you a break since I remember what it’s like to be up to your eyeballs in diapers and sleep deprived as hell and being expected to deal with your asshole friends like everything’s normal.” He leans forward to pour more coffee in Jason’s mug. “Talk to me about the kid, then. You said she’s not sleeping very well?”

Jason shakes his head. “She was sleeping great until this past week, I have no idea what changed. Every single noise in the room wakes her up. And if she catches sight of me, it’s all over. She just cries and cries until I pick her up, and she wakes up again if I try to put her down.”

“Damn,” Roy says sympathetically.

“I haven’t gone out in four nights,” Jason tells him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dick’s got Russians to deal with in ‘Haven, so he hasn’t been able to take a night off, and I can’t…I just can’t leave her. Doesn’t seem right.”

“You shouldn’t, anyways, if your head’s back here,” Roy says. “Learned that one the hard way.”

“I don’t know what the fuck to do, then. It’s not a fever, she’s not hungry, or wet, she just won’t sleep.”

Roy leans forward. “Listen. This is actually a totally normal, completely awful thing called a ‘sleep regression’ that nobody fucking tells you about before you have a kid. They go through them every couple months, usually before hitting a major milestone. It’s fucked, but it’ll pass, I promise.”

Jason stares at him in surprise.

“What? I know things, fuck you.”

Jason kicks him lightly under the table. Not the best demonstration of thankfulness he could’ve come up with, but it’s all he’s got. “So what do I do, until it passes? Just keep holding her all the time?”

“You could try, but honestly, I think that’ll just make it worse. Do you have a white noise machine?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried really cranking that sucker up?”

“Yep.”

“Have you tried putting her in the swing?”

Jason frowns. “They’re not supposed to sleep in there.”

“What, really? Says who?” Roy looks incredulous.

“The fucking American Pediatric Association, that’s who. It says so right on the box. It’s a suffocation hazard.”

Roy’s forehead creases with worry. “No shit? Damn, no one told me about that. I used to put Lian to sleep in that thing all the time when nothing else was working.”

Jason spreads his hands. “Any other ideas?”

“Yeah, actually. Babies have REM cycles, you know, they’re just different from ours. When they’re in a sleep regression, you gotta wait until they’re deeply asleep to put them down. Give it, like, ten extra minutes after she falls asleep.”

“I can do that,” Jason agrees. “Doesn’t do me a lot of good, though, if she wakes up as soon as I fucking cough or unload my gun.”

“Oh yeah?” Roy cocks an eyebrow. “We’re unloading rubber bullets now?”

Jason kicks him again. “Shut up.”

“Shit, Jay. I just can’t believe Dickie is okay with it.”

Jason can’t quite believe it either. He keeps the loaded gun hidden in a shoulder holster under his jacket, but he’s not stupid enough to think that Dick hasn’t noticed.

Roy stretches his arms behind his head. “Sure nothing’s going on between you two?”

“Roy, I’m not having this conversation,” Jason says.

Roy grins. Jason hates that grin. “Alright. So, if she always wakes up when you’re in the room, don’t be in the room. Get a monitor and sleep in Dick’s room. Problem solved.”

Jason takes a long drink of coffee, trying to calm the sudden hammering in his pulse. “Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.”

“Why? If there’s nothing going on between you…”

“Roy,” Jason growls.

“Daddy, look! I helped baby Dani get dressed!”

They both turn to look at Lian in the doorway, standing in a superhero pose with her hands planted on her hips. “Ta-da!” she announces, leaping aside with a flourish. Dick appears behind her, lips pressed together like he’s trying hard not to laugh, Dani presented forward in his arms in a little red dress, red bloomers, and little red socks with white hearts. A little red bow is just visible among her tufts of black hair, and Jason’s heart throbs violently in his chest.

“Wow, sweetie!” Roy opens his arms and gives her a big hug. “Red, huh?”

“I think it’s her favorite color,” Lian says, shyly glancing at Jason. “It’s mine, too.”

Jason swallows. “Where the hell did that dress even come from?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking, he doesn’t have a clue where any of Dani’s clothes come from. They seem to just materialize in her drawers, and he could probably pinpoint who purchased each item if he laid them all out and put his mind to it, but he finds it’s much easier just not to think about it.

“I don’t remember who got this one, actually.” Dick peeks at the tag. “It’s Ralph Lauren. Maybe Helena?”

“Hey Dick, I was just spitballing ideas with Jason,” Roy says, suddenly. Jason goes to kick him again, but damnit, he’s still holding Lian. Using his own kid as a shield, the fucker.

Dick looks up from bouncing Dani, his eyes widening innocently. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, about your kid’s sleep issues. Jay said she’s startling easily, once she’s down.”

Dick looks at Jason apologetically. “It’s been rough,” he admits. “Sorry, I know you haven’t gotten much sleep either.”

“Apparently it’s totally normal,” Jason says quickly, glaring at Roy. “Roy says it’ll pass in no time. Don’t worry about me.”

“I was suggesting, actually, that she might have an easier time if Jason wasn’t clattering around all the time and waking her up,” Roy goes on, pulling Lian up into his lap. Jason is going to kill him. “You’ve got room, right, Dick? Makes more sense for you two to share so she can get some peace and quiet.”

“Oh!” Dick spares Jason a fleeting glance. “That does make sense...we have the video monitor, after all. You are kind of loud, when you take off your armor.”

Jason crosses his arms. Everyone’s a fucking critic. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor, whatever.”

Dick makes a face. “Jason…”

Roy gives him an exasperated look. “What is this, cooties? Are you twelve?”

Lian tugs at his sleeve. “What’s cooties?”

“It’s what Jason’s scared of getting if he sleeps in the same bed as Dick, sweetheart. It’s super silly.”

Dani has apparently had enough of being held on display like a doll, and fusses loudly, kicking out towards Jason and curling both hands up toward her face. Jason can tell she’s a few seconds from a full meltdown - they’ve been coming on faster and faster, since this whole “sleep regression” started. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, and Dick passes her over without a word. It’s a little terrifying how used to this they both are, Jason thinks as he brings Dani up to his chest. She’s already bigger than the tiny ten-pound bundle that had turned up at the Manor just a few weeks ago, and she’s outgrown the first sets of pajamas they’d put her in. He pats her back soothingly, feels the patch of drool on his shirt that indicates she’s stuffed her fingers in her mouth again. Normally, he’d drop a kiss on her head, but he finds himself reluctant to do so in front of Roy. He doesn’t want Roy to read anything into it - he’s already given away too much during this visit.

“Awww, she’s so cute,” Lian giggles, leaning against her dad. “I wish I could hold her, Daddy.”

“Maybe next time, honey. Baby Dani just wants her grown-up right now. You know how that feels, don’t you?”

Lian nods, looking up at Jason. “Yeah.”

Jason feels ridiculously exposed, under their twin gazes. If it wasn’t for Dani, he’d have jumped over the railing already.

“What are you guys up to for the rest of the day?” Dick asks, rescuing him from their unnerving combined perception.

Roy gives his daughter a nudge. “What are we doing, pumpkin?”

Lian lights up. “We’re going to see Donna!”

“Her favorite,” Roy confirms, grinning down at her. “They’re having a girl’s night, apparently. I’m not invited.”

“Maybe when Dani is bigger, she can come to a girls night with us,” Lian suggests wistfully. Dick looks sad, and Jason doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s never going to happen.

“Hey, wouldn’t that be fun.” Roy ruffles her hair playfully. “You’d have to share Donna, though.”

Lian pulls back to give him a reproachful look. “I know how to share, Daddy.”

“Sheesh, okay. Anyways, I’ll be around, if either of you needs a wingman,” Roy says, looking between Dick and Jason hopefully.

“I’m staying in,” Dick says. Jason blinks, this is news to him. “Russians are laying low, and no one’s sprung our Falcone cousin from jail yet, shockingly. I know you’re going stir-crazy, so I’ll stay with her tonight.”

Jason feels a surge of warmth towards Dick. He is going nuts, and not just from sleep deprivation. It’ll do him a world of good to get out and get some real exercise, check on all his favorites in the neighborhood and put the fear of the Red Hood back into all the local dirtbags. Tim’s been doing a more than decent job on keeping him updated, and Jason’s grateful, but there’s something to be said for good old fashioned violence when it comes to keeping his people in line. Jason’s itching for it - he hasn’t been back in the field properly for way too long.

“You up for it, Jaybird?” Roy asks. His eyes are practically sparkling - Jason can already feel the beginnings of regret. “It’s been a minute since we teamed up.”

Jason sighs out heavily. “Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Roy laughs. “It’ll be fun! I can impart more sagely parenting advice, you can, um - ” he cover’s Lian’s ears “ - b-a-s-h some s-k-u-l-l-s, it’ll be real therapeutic.”

Lian swats at his hands. “Daddy.”

Jason looks at Dick. “You sure B’s okay with you taking a night off?”

“I’ll make him okay with it,” Dick says grimly. “Besides, I miss her.”

God help him, Jason’s going to miss her too, when he’s out for the evening. Not enough to want to stay in, but damn close.

He looks down at her, dozing lightly against his chest, one round cheek pressed flat, the other drooping onto her curled up shoulder. An image flits through his mind - Dani, older, her tufts of hair grown out long like Lian’s, a wide, toothy smile on her face and her big brown eyes crinkled up at Jason. Calling to him, reaching for him. Daddy. It feels like a bullet piercing his heart, but he can’t stop imagining it. Can’t stop imagining her laughter, the solid feeling of her body in his arms…and someone else next to him, strong hands held out to catch hers, sweetheart sounding out in a voice he’s gravitated toward since he was thirteen years old -

“Jason? You having gas or something?” Roy sounds half amused, half concerned.

Fuck. “Headache,” Jason manages, shoving the intrusive images as far back into his subconscious as he can. God, does he know how to torture himself.

“Well, get rid of it. Imagine how embarrassing it’d be if you got k-i-l-l-e-d by some punk in the Bowery because you were off your game.”

Jason shrugs. “You’d avenge me.”

Roy laughs. “Damn right I would. I’d have to fight Dick here for the honor.”

“To get back at some Bowery punk? Nah, Dickie wouldn’t bother.”

Dick rolls his eyes, but his mouth is twisted with humor. “Hey, I might, depending on how embarrassing your demise was.”

Roy claps his hands. “See, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Dick goes pink, but he looks happy, at least. Jason imagines strangling Roy, to avoid anything revealing coming out of his mouth.

“I’d better go tell little D he’s got my patrol tonight,” Dick says, after a mildly suffocating moment of silence. “I’ll stick a bottle in the warmer for when she wakes up.”

“You are the worst person alive,” Jason tells Roy, once Dick is gone. “The worst. I literally don’t know why we’re friends.”

“Jason’s joking, sweet pea,” Roy grins at Lian.

Lian huffs dramatically. “I know that, Daddy.”

How the hell Roy Harper created such a great kid, Jason will never know. “What are you and Donna doing for your girl’s night?” he asks her, rocking Dani gently.

“So many fun things,” she tells him seriously. “I have a new Lego set, so we’re gonna build that, and then maybe we’ll play princess school? Or animal rescue school, or maybe both...and we’ll definitely watch a movie! And eat popcorn, of course.”

“Of course,” Jason nods.

She smiles at him, her nose scrunching adorably. “What are you and my daddy doing for your boy’s night?”

Jason makes eye contact with Roy. “Well, I doubt we’re gonna have as much fun as you.”

“No,” Roy agrees, tweaking her nose. “I think we’ll still have a pretty good time, though.”

***

Jason’s prepared for the worst, when they arrive in Crime Alley. He’s expecting his safe house to be trashed by squatters, his civilian apartment to be robbed, and all the local hot spots to be generally on fire. Well. Maybe not on fire, it does seem like Tim’s been doing a pretty good job covering for him. But still, he’s not expecting to roll into his territory and find it…quiet.

Roy takes to the rooftops, and Jason goes to the first busy street corner he sees. “Hey, Ginger,” he calls, jogging up to a working girl he’s got a friendly rapport with. “How’s it going?”

Ginger looks surprised to see him, but not unhappy. “You finally remember your address, Hood?”

“Doesn’t look like I needed to, though,” Jason remarks, glancing around. “Your girls are all good? Any problems that require my attention?”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Ginger looks over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to be there. “No Red Robin tonight? Damn.”

Wow, so that’s how it is. Jason’s already chopped liver. “Ouch,” he says in mock offense. “You know, it was me who told him which blocks to keep an eye on in the first place.”

“You can take that white knight shit straight back to wherever you’ve been hiding out, honey.” Ginger sounds unimpressed. He swears he was more intimidating a few weeks ago. She gives him a meaningful look and makes a shooing motion with her wrist. “It’s good to know you’re still in one piece, baby. Now run along, before you scare off all my customers.”

Taking the hint, Jason moves down the block to his favorite bar, a hideous dive run by a neighborhood relic called Mac Deveroux. Back when Jason was a kid, Mac had frequently paid him to make deliveries, taking alcohol and sometimes food to his customers who weren’t in a position to come and get it themselves. Most of the deliveries were superfluous errands that Mac could just as easily have run himself, but he liked Jason’s observational skills, and the real value of the trip was the gossip Jason was able to pick up along the way. Jason has no idea if Mac remembers him - it’s possible he had a dozen kids on his unofficial payroll, it’s equally possible that the years and the drinking have written Jason’s existence out of his mind. But the man is just as congenial and just as all-knowing about everyone’s business as he’s always been, so Jason makes it a habit to visit him and trade information.

“Hey, Mac,” he calls, pulling off his helmet and sliding into a seat at the end of the bar. He doesn’t always order a drink when he comes here, and he’s not planning on it tonight, but Mac seems to prefer talking to him in just the domino. “Been a minute.”

It’s early, so the place is still mostly deserted, except for a handful of local drunks in various stages of stupor. Mac looks startled for half a moment, then pulls his ballcap down and goes back to being inscrutable. “Glad to see you alive and well, Red.”

Why is everyone so surprised to see him? He’s only been off patrol for a week or so, and he was checking in every few days before that. “Some reason I shouldn’t be?”

Mac side-eyes him suspiciously. “Not especially. People talk. That friend of yours - Red Robin - stupid fucking name, by the way - he’s okay too?”

Jason picks up his helmet and switches the comm on. “Red Robin, Red Hood checking in. Are you dead or injured?”

Tim’s voice comes through almost immediately, annoyed. “Uh, no?”

Jason switches it back off. “Yep, still kicking. Pretty sure Batman hasn’t bit it either, but the night is young. What’s with the sudden concern for my well-being?”

Mac shakes his head. “Folks been talking lately, that’s all. Lots of shit about taking down the Bat, all the rest of the capes in Gotham. Can’t blame me for wondering.”

“People around here are always running their mouths,” Jason says dismissively. “Half the time they tell me about it to my face. Since when are you sweating shit like that?”

“Since it started seeming like more than just talk,” Mac says, serious. “I mean it, Red. You ought to watch yourself out there. And be careful who you talk to, too. I appreciate all you done for me, but it’ll be better if I don’t see you in my bar all too often. You need to chat, you’re better off coming in the back.”

Jason recalls how quickly Ginger had hurried him away, and feels his blood run hot with anger. So these fuckers think they can come onto his turf and threaten his people? They’re gonna be needing more than new kneecaps by the time he’s through with them.

He cracks his knuckles. “Right. Let’s go to the back, then.”

Mac meets him next to a stack of boxes behind his delivery door. He pulls out a joint and starts patting his pockets down, looking for a lighter.

“Here.” Jason fishes one out from his coat pocket, tosses it to him. Not like he’s lighting up much of anything these days.

“Appreciate you, man,” Mac says, catching it. “You want?”

Jason shakes his head briefly.

Mac nods, as though he expected Jason to decline. He exhales a stream of smoke. “Gives me a reason to be back here, you know.”

“Sure.” Jason leans cautiously against one of the stacks of boxes. “So, what’s all this chatter that’s got you and everyone else so spooked?”

“Hmm.” Mac takes another long drag off his joint. “Just a few too many mouths telling the same story in my bar, I’d say. I’m used to hearing guys talk big about taking you out. But this is different, they’re all telling the same story about somebody else taking you out. Taking all the Bat folks out, and the Jokers and the Scarecrow gang too. Saying it’s gonna be open season on all the capes and metas in Gotham, that sorta thing.”

Jason really doesn’t like the sound of any of this. “Who’s supposed to be taking us all out, exactly?”

“That’s the thing about it. No one wants to say, I don’t think most of ‘em even know. You heard about that bloodbath down by the docks, a month back?”

Jason tenses. “Uh-huh.”

Mac looks shrewd, suddenly. “You know who did it?”

Jason can tell from his tone that he doesn’t know, but that he’s dying to. “If someone like you hasn’t found out yet, Mac, I think it’s because certain people want it that way. Just like certain people don’t want you talking to me.”

“‘Certain people’ can kiss my ass,” Mac grumbles.

“Here’s a question, totally unrelated,” Jason says. “Does the name ‘Romina Falcone’ mean anything to you?”

Mac stares at him, dumbfounded. “No....Romina? Mario Falcone’s little girl?”

Jason shrugs one shoulder, trying to appear casual. “You heard anything about her being back in town?”

“No…she’s been gone from Gotham for years. Sad story, really. You know it?” Jason does, but since this is a casual inquiry, he motions for Mac to go on. “Her daddy was Carmine Falcone’s son, a real straight-shooting type, good student, honest, the whole nine yards. Never touched the family business.” Another long inhale off the dwindling joint. “When Falcone first went to prison, gotta be over twenty-five years ago now, the Maroni family took over. Mario wouldn’t throw in with them, so they killed him and his wife. The kids, Mario Jr. and Romina, went to live with relatives in Chicago, last I heard.”

A mob orphan, Jason thinks, just like Dani. Except that Romina and her brother hadn’t gone to live with just any relatives - they’d gone to live with the Viti family, headed by none other than Carmine Falcone’s bloodthirsty sister. “So, no one’s heard from her since then?”

“No one heard from her before then, either. She couldn’t’ve been more than eight or nine when all that shit went down,” Mac says doubtfully. “You sure your intel’s good?”

Jason’s deep in thought, suddenly. “Didn’t say anything about intel,” he tells Mac. “Just asking a question. I gotta go, though. Okay if I slip out the door here?”

Mac gestures obligingly. “Hey, be my guest. I’m gonna do myself a favor and forget this whole conversation now.”

Jason snorts. “Good idea. See you around, Mac.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch your back out there, kid.”

Jason’s out the door before Mac’s parting words echo back to him. Watch your back out there - what was he, eleven? Twelve, the last time he heard those words?

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Or, maybe Mac Deveroux has a better memory than Jason gives him credit for.

He puts his helmet back on. “Arsenal, status report.”

“All good over here, Hoodster,” Roy replies brightly. “Knocked out a handful of drunk and disorderlies outside a Buffalo Wild Wings just now. Didn’t realize the Bowery was so gentrified already.”

Ugh. “Not all of it is,” Jason sighs. “But, yeah. Sure isn’t how it used to be, over there.”

“No kidding. I’m watching this girl steal a souped-up Camero right now. Ran the plates, and based on the owner’s resume, I might let her get away with it.”

Jason snorts out a laugh. “Works for me. I’ll come meet you over there, just give me ten.”

He’s barely made it two blocks when Oracle’s voice sounds in his ear, her tone making him snap to attention at once. “Hood, we have a situation.”

He stops still on a dingy government housing rooftop. “Go ahead, O.”

“It seems Susie Falcone was sprung from jail earlier today - we missed it because her release was processed under another name, but I have the video feed, and it’s definitely her.”

Oh, fucking finally. Jason was starting to think he wouldn’t have a chance to get any real exercise tonight. “You got a name for me?”

“Guy by the name of Tiberius. Albanian, according to Red Robin. I’m running his face through Interpol, but it takes time.”

Jason hops onto a nearby fire escape and swings up to the roof of an office building to get a better vantage point towards the harbor. “Is B gonna crap himself if I take the lead on this?”

Barbara’s quiet for a moment. “Do you care?”

Jason flexes his hand over the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh. “I mean, no,” he starts to say, knowing as soon as the words are out of his mouth that it’s not entirely true. “Just...it’ll be a pain in the ass if I have to fight a whole fucking mafia, plus him, that’s all.”

Oh, incredibly convincing. Jason’s surprised he doesn’t hear her laughing down the line.

“I think you know how to avoid his ire,” Barbara says. “You’re closest, so I’m putting you on it.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Jason adds, feeling more like an idiot by the second. Forget Dick, talking to Barbara always makes him feel about twelve fucking years old. At least she’s not openly judgmental about it. “Hey, Oracle. One last thing.”

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“Can you do some digging into the Viti family? I feel like there’s gotta be a reason Romina came back to Gotham now, when she could’ve made a play for the city years ago. If she’s been in Chicago all this time, it’s probably something to do with them.”

“…Yes,” Barbara says, slowly. Jason hears a flurry of typing. “Since they trade over state lines, that data will be with the Feds…it’ll take me a little while, I’ve got my hands full with some more urgent things right now. But it’s a good idea, Hood. You’ll know more as soon as I do.”

“Okay,” Jason agrees. “Thanks,” he adds, lamely.

She lets out a short huff of amusement, and Jason’s past self cringes at him in embarrassment. “Oracle out.”

Right. Tiberius. Jason’s been waiting for a chance to take on this ostentatiously-named asshole. From his own observations that night with Dick, and from Tim’s reports, the guy is a particularly sleazy type of hired muscle. Fantastic. Jason needs the workout.

He gives himself a shake, and then takes off towards the police impound lot. Within ten minutes, he’s found a suitable bike and is on his way to the East End, changing comm channels in his helmet to call Roy. “Arsenal, are you good to finish up my patrol? I got a lead on somebody in this mob case I need to handle.”

“Wow, Hood. And here I thought we were having a boy’s night.”

“Hey, if nothing’s going on over there, you’re welcome to join.”

“Yeah? Hey asshole, stay down,” he snarls. “Maybe I’ll meet you after I finish up.”

Jason hears a moan and a thud on Roy’s end. “Anybody interesting?”

“Just some model citizen I found trying to drag a passed-out woman into his car. Said she was his girlfriend, but he neglected to mention she dumped his ass two months ago.”

“Break his legs,” Jason proposes, feeling a mild rage rising in his chest.

“Red Hood says I should break your legs,” Roy tells the guy. “It’s not really my style, but I’m just temping over here. You’d better leave town, because if he finds you doing this shit again, you’re gonna wish I took him up on it.”

Please, man, Jason hears in the background. He hadn’t honestly expected Roy to take his suggestion. Turning onto a side street, he hears an alarm start to go off somewhere close by. Robbery, sounds like. Exactly what he’s looking for.

“Alright, I’m starting my manhunt,” he says to Roy. “You’ve got my coordinates if you need to find me.”

Roy makes some kind of hooting sound that Jason takes to be acknowledgment. “Make me proud.”

Jason kills the bike in an alley and parks it under a staircase, slipping a loop of electrified wire over the handlebars. Easy enough to disarm, but he’s not planning to be gone long. The store being robbed is a liquor store, and the goons smashing it up aren’t criminals so hardened that they’ll take any effort on his part to crack. He storms in the front, grabs the first guy, and throws him over the counter. The second pulls a gun on him - he shoots it out of his hand a split second later, then fires three more shots into a glass case of upscale liquor, to fairly spectacular effect. The remaining guys all hit the floor, visibly terrified. Jason holsters his gun.

“Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing this little party you’re having,” he calls, kicking the fallen gun to the side. “I need to find a guy by the name of Tiberius. First one to talk gets to walk away.”

They all goggle at him. “Did he say Tiberius?” one of them whispers.

“We don’t know anybody called that,” the one he tossed behind the counter says.

Jason clicks his tongue. “Wrong answer.” He fires a rubber bullet into the guy’s shoulder, and he goes down. By the time they realize it’s not a live round, he’ll be in the wind.

He holsters the gun again, and turns his attention on the one he’d disarmed. “Your turn.”

“We don’t know where he is,” the guy says quickly. “I only met the guy once. He doesn’t give us orders.”

“Who does he give orders to,” Jason counters, advancing on him menacingly.

“Dealers, mostly? My cousin Zion reports to him, he slings down by the Wharfside Pool Hall. Swear to God, man, I haven’t seen Tiberius since he moved us all off the docks.”

Jason looks around at the wreckage of the store, realizing something. “You guys aren’t robbing this place, are you.”

They don’t say anything. Jason doesn’t need them to - their silence is confirmation enough. They’ve been tasked by Romina and her lackeys to trash this place and force the owners to sell. And now he’s helped them do it. Fuck, this is why he hates mob cases.

Nothing to be done about it now. Once he puts a bullet in Romina’s skull, maybe he can come back and see that these people get their store back. First, he’s gotta find her.

“Be seeing you, gentlemen,” he says, tossing out a couple smoke pellets. “Don’t expect it to be as painless next time.”

It’s a quick ride to the Wharfside Pool Hall, and Oracle sends him a photo of Zion Lee on the way. He finds him immediately, parked on the corner by the emergency exit. It’s a short conversation. Zion doesn’t know where to find Tiberius either, but he does tell Jason where to find his supplier, and once Jason takes a look at the supplier’s rap sheet, he decides there’s not going to be a conversation at all. Kidnapping, trafficking, sexual battery - hell, if Jason can’t find Tiberius tonight, at least he can take his aggression out on this piece of garbage.

He roars up to the supplier’s house on the stolen bike and throws a smoke bomb through the window, the rush of impending violence like fire in his veins. Then, as luck would have it, he sees a familiar muscular figure rushing out the back door towards a Jaguar that’s parked in the shadows at the end of a driveway.

Tiberius, in the flesh. Looks like Jason’s date with this supplier will have to be postponed.

Quickly, he considers his options. The adrenaline junkie in him is tempted by the prospect of a good old-fashioned car chase, but this area is just a bit too residential for him to be strictly comfortable with it. Too bad. He lets Tiberius get to the end of the driveway, and then he shoots out the Jag’s tires. Tiberius returns fire immediately, which, again, is not the most desirable outcome in a residential neighborhood. Jason aims a shot at his firing hand, but the guy is already ducked down and reloading.

Fine. Jason will just have to throw something bigger at him, he supposes. He revs the bike’s engine, kicks off and guns it towards the Jaguar, bailing off to the side when Tiberius stands up to shoot at him some more. The bike keeps going, propelled by momentum, and crashes beautifully into the driver's side of the Jag, knocking Tiberius hard to the pavement when the open door that he’s been using as a shield swings violently sideways with the rest of the car.

He doesn’t stay down, of course. Before the impact is even finished reverberating through both vehicles, he’s hopping back up, more nimbly than Jason would’ve expected, given his size, and taken off running down the street. Jason pushes himself up and hightails after him, the thrill of the hunt making him practically giddy, his heart accelerating with the pace of his boots against the concrete.

Damn, but it feels good to exert himself. Jason’s been cooped up for too fucking long. Tiberius is seriously in shape, and fast, almost as fast as Dick, too fast for Jason to catch without playing dirty. He’s running too hard to aim with any real accuracy at a moving target, but he squeezes off a half dozen shots at the car windows Tiberius is running past, and the resulting spray of breakaway glass slows him just enough that Jason is able to launch a kick at the back of his knees and tackle him to the ground. They tussle - Tiberius pulls a knife and manages to wedge the blade under Jason’s chestplate, but luckily the tip of it catches on the kevlar, and Jason is able to knock it away before it does any real damage. He headbutts Tiberius savagely, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling out over the basement landing of a boarded-up tattoo parlor.

Before Jason can get up and draw his weapon, Tiberius is on him again, fists coming in like hammer blows and seeking out all the soft spots of his suit with frankly impressive accuracy. Jason’s pulse is pounding in his ears, he’s always gotten a kick out of fighting guys that are bigger than him - though, admittedly, most guys he went up against as Robin met that qualification. Fighting Tiberius is a little nostalgic, in that sense.

How did he used to do it? Bruce had taught him all the fastest ways to incapacitate someone, and Jason’s lived enough by now that he can admit that more often than not, Bruce’s way works just fine. Maybe with a few embellishments, depending on the perp. He’d need better footing, but he could do that here. He could snap Tiberius’s collarbone with the flat of his hand, knee him in the balls, and finish him off with a punch to the throat. But before Bruce, before he’d had his street fighting skills polished and streamlined, a younger, scrappier Jason would’ve had a different strategy. Back then he’d had to be patient, had to last out his enemies and watch for the moment they overextended themselves, the moment they let their defenses slip because they were sure they had him. A school bully, taking his attention off Jason long enough to call to his friends. His mother’s heroin dealer, pausing at the top of the long brick staircase to tell Jason not to bother checking on her. Batman, parking the Batmobile in an alley and just leaving it there.

Nostalgia wins, and Jason waits. He takes the punches and waits until Tiberius gets cocky, having landed a few well-placed blows to his ribs under the thickest parts of his armor. He rears up over Jason, sneering, hand going to Jason’s throat, arm fully extended and vulnerable - and Jason moves. He rocks up into a crouch, catches Tiberius’s wrist in his hand and wrenches, shattering the bones in it easily and dislocating his shoulder in the process. Within a couple of seconds, they’re back on their feet, but Tiberius is unsteady, his breathing thick and labored, and Jason takes the opportunity to kick him square in the chest, sending him crashing down into the walk-out landing and through the building’s flimsy door.

Then he follows Tiberius into the basement, and before he can dodge, a bullet catches him right in the thigh. Shit. He’d assumed the gun had been lost back at the car, but he hadn’t actually checked - an embarrassingly rookie mistake, Jesus. His armor stops it, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. “Real cute,” he snarls, stomping on his opponent’s broken wrist and picking up the gun. He debates shooting him in a few non-lethal places, but Dick’s face suddenly pops into his head, and then Dani’s, and the worst of his anger ebbs away. He empties the clip instead, pocketing the gun. “Now that that’s out of the way, you and me, we’ve got a few things to discuss.”

“Fuck you,” Tiberius seethes, curled up and clutching his wrist in pain. There’s blood all over his face, dripping onto the floor.

“Better men than you have tried, Tiberius.” Jason rubs his hands together. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you. I know you’re working for Romina Falcone. I know she’s back in Gotham, and I know she ordered the hits on your old boss, and most of your old coworkers. I know you sprung her cousin Susie out of jail earlier today, and I know she’s got you running the drug trade down here. So don’t bother telling me any of that shit. I just want to know two things: what her endgame is, and where I can find her.” He steps on Tiberius’s knee, puts just enough pressure to make him cry out. “Talk. Now.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Tiberius gasps, kicking out uselessly with his other leg. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, just let me up.”

Jason stands back, ready to kneecap the guy permanently if he goes on the offensive again.

Tiberius sits up, panting. “Shit. Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“Hood, I lost your GPS signal,” Roy says in his ear. “Fortunately, the trail of destruction was pretty easy to follow. I’m on the warehouse roof outside, across the street.”

“She set me up,” Tiberius goes on. “She fucking set me up, that bitch.” He looks up at Jason, shaking his head. “Yeah, Romina asked me to bail Susie out of jail today. Probably so one of you fuckers would come after me. She’ll be pissed as hell that she didn’t get Batman.”

Jason grinds his teeth. “Arsenal, we’re gonna have incoming soon,” he barks into his comm.

“Thank God, I’d hate to get bored up here,” Roy replies easily.

“Whatever backup you have, it’s not gonna be enough,” Tiberius says. “Romina doesn’t take chances. I can’t tell you where she is, couldn’t even tell you the neighborhood. I’ve had two meetings with her at her office, they had me drugged and blindfolded coming and going. Drove for a long-ass time, too, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine,” Jason snaps. “So you’ve had meetings with her. Tell me what she’s after.”

“What she’s after? She’s after everything,” Tiberius says bluntly. “The whole goddamn city. Thinks it’s hers by right, because of who her grandpa was. She’s fucking nuts, even for Gotham.”

Everything. Jason turns it over in his head. She’s not just seizing control of the East End, not just the canal, but everything. They’ve got an overachieving mob boss on their hands. Out-fucking-standing.

“I’ve got twenty guys coming in hot, Hood.” Roy sounds tense. “More trucks pulling in. I can take down most of them, but I think they’re just the first wave. We don’t have enough ammo for this.”

“She hates you guys,” Tiberius laughs bitterly. “If you get away, she’s gonna lose her shit. Sucks I won’t be around to see it.”

“A real shame,” Jason agrees, distracted. He can hear the sound of fighting outside. Time to bail. “Who else is - “

“Hood, we have to go, now.”

Jason pulls the gun from his shoulder holster. “If you survive, I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promises, voice low and deadly. The look on Tiberius’s face tells him just how likely he thinks that is, and Jason can’t help but agree. The blindfolds, the errands, the lack of family connection all add up to one thing: disposable. Tiberius is no made man, he’s just a hired hand, and it’s clear Romina has decided to terminate his employment. Jason remembers Tim’s story about Tiberius passing around photos of murdered kids to the grunts at Intergang, and he feels no sudden impulse to drag the guy to safety.

Outside, he and Roy shoot their way through the dozen or so remaining mobsters, Jason aiming as non-lethally as possible. Roy’s taser arrows cut the last few down, and then they hit the street running, down the block, through a boarded up ice cream shop, down an alley, and up to the rooftops. Jason hears a few gunshots below them when they make the jump over a particularly wide gap, but he keeps them running north, away from the harbor and towards the river, hoping to lose their pursuers on unfamiliar turf. It works. Romina may have her sights set on all of Gotham, but most of her henchmen have seldom ventured more than a few blocks out of the territory they grew up in.

After about half a mile, they stop to catch their breath, and Jason sits down to massage his thigh where the bullet had struck earlier.

“How’d you get over here, anyways?” Jason asks. They’d left their bikes in Jason’s storage unit on the west side of Crime Alley, Roy’s borrowed from Dick for the evening. If Roy left the bike next to a shootout, Dick’s going to be mad as hell.

“Helicopter arrow,” Roy deadpans. Jason looks for something to throw at him. “No, I just took an Uber. Grand theft auto’s not really my thing, these days.”

Jason stares at him. “Since when?”

Roy shrugs. “Since Lian started asking questions about it, I guess. It’s just like...whenever she hears about a crime, like finding out why we lock the car doors when we leave it, she asks me all these details about it. Sometimes she asks if I’ve ever done it, and I can’t lie to her, you know? I want to be able to tell her what she wants to hear, which is ‘no, Daddy hasn’t stolen any cars lately’.” He points at Jason accusingly. “Whatever. Don’t judge me. You’re just lucky yours can’t talk yet.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Jason protests. He objects strongly to Roy referring to Dani as his, too, but that’s probably exactly why Roy did it, so there’s no point bringing it up. “I’ve got a safe house not too far from here, next to a chop shop. Does it count as stealing to Lian if the car is already stolen?”

Roy laughs. “Not sure she can parse the nuance there. How about you do the stealing, and that’s the technicality I can skate on.”

“Fine.” Jason gets to his feet, wincing slightly as his thigh burns.

“You all good?”

“Yeah, just got a lucky shot in. My fault for not checking to see if he still had the damn gun.”

“Hey, at least in the Manor you’ve got all the whole Bat Hospital at your disposal,” Roy grins. “Among other perks, of course.”

Jason is very glad Roy can’t see him blush under the helmet. He was just thinking about how he wants to get back and see Dani - how he’ll need to take his armor off to check out the damage to his leg - how taking his armor off always wakes her up, so he’ll have to do it in Dick’s room - how the offer is on the table for him to sleep in Dick’s bed -

Business appears to be booming at the chop shop, and Jason decides on stealing a flashy little Lexus coupe that makes Roy whistle in appreciation. They drive back through the Bowery, stopping once so Jason can beat the crap out of a bouncer-turned-wannabe-pimp trying to sell girls outside of a gentlemen’s club. Then they get back to the bikes, and he checks in with Oracle to see if there’s any other action they need to investigate before they call it a night.

“I think you boys have stirred up enough trouble tonight,” she tells him firmly. “There’s been surprisingly little action in your neck of the woods, actually. Bludhaven is the hot zone tonight, I sent Black Bat and Spoiler over there earlier to help Robin out.”

“Fingerstripes will be sorry he missed it,” Jason says. “Russians again?”

“Arsonists, this time. At least five of them.”

“Shit. Sounds more like a Gotham thing than ‘Haven.”

“It does,” she agrees. “It feels choreographed, somehow. I’m going to keep looking into it, along with the Viti family. Oracle out.”

Roy raises his eyebrows. “Arsonists, huh?”

Jason snorts in surprise. “You hacked my comm line?”

“Let’s put it this way: Babs let me hack your comm line.”

True enough. “Sounds like they’ve got everything in hand, at least,” Jason says. “Don’t really feel like dragging ass all the way to Jersey’s armpit. You sleeping at the Manor tonight?”

Roy scratches the back of his head. “Thought about it, but I think I’m gonna text Donna and quietly crash girl’s night. Whenever I get shot at, or almost blown up or whatever, I just kind of need to see Lian. Tell Dick I’ll bring the bike back tomorrow.”

Jason nods. “I’ll catch you later, then.” In truth, he knows exactly how Roy feels. He’s dying to get back to Dani as quickly as possible, to see her and touch her and make sure she’s okay. It doesn’t make sense - he’s the one who got shot at, she’s been in arguably the most secure location in the whole tri-state area. But somehow, in spite of his bruised ribs and what’s sure to be a wicked hematoma on his thigh, all he can think about is keeping her safe. He’d walk through fire to make sure of it, he knows without a doubt. Fortunately, all he has to do tonight is make the trek back over the Robert Kane bridge.

Roy gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then takes off in the direction of the old Titans bunker in Robbinsville. Jason parks the Lexus in his storage unit, arms the security system, and then kicks his bike into gear, making a beeline for the highway and the bridge, which will take him back to the Manor, and back to Dani.

***

#jaydick #taking huge liberties with canon over here but yolo #no one disregards canon more than dc herself #i promise the next chapter will have more actual jaydick and less Baby Justifying Plot ;;;;#my fics #heartlandverse

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obstinaterixatrix · 3 years

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Tagged by @madseason

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

this looks fun lmao. I’ll sort/date them backwards by date published. also it’s been long enough that I might as well include secret fic in the batch too just because there’s a fair amount of them.

being known, being loved, and other disasters you’ll never recover from (ORV) 2021 | After saving the world, almost destroying the world, and somehow surviving the end of the world—not exactly in that order—Kim Dokja spends his time unemployed.

a home to keep (out of reach) (Kamen Rider W) 2021 | After being on the run for a few weeks, Wakana knows that the best way to avoid getting caught is to be paranoid.

“I can’t stay” and other lies to tell (ORV) 2021 | “It’s almost hard to believe,” Yoo Sangah says, wiping away some lingering tears as they leave the hospital.

a fallen star won’t forget the distant sky (ORV) 2020 | There’s a feather-light touch against Yoo Joonghyuk’s head.

on your mark, get set...! (ORV) 2020 | “This was supposed to be about bullying Kim Dokja,” Han Sooyoung says as Jung Heewon secures a knot in the handkerchief now shackling her to Yoo Joonghyuk.

“an acquired taste is just a ■■ing hostage situation” (ORV) 2020 | Han Sooyoung doesn’t need long to pin down why Yoo Sangah’s in the party.

two sides, same coin (SVS3) 2020 | Considering how long and chaotic their courtship had been, Mobei Jun’s marriage to Shang Qinghua is remarkably uneventful.

plan and profit; a failsafe two-step strategy! guaranteed success! what could possibly go wrong! (SVS3) | The dilemma of whether or not the maybe-horny flower caused the, well, brief mouth-to-mouth between Shang Qinghua and his king has become secondary to the discovery that Mobei Jun, as it turns out, might be... rather fond of him!?

call and response (SVS3) 2020 | As much as it pains Mobei Jun to describe himself as such, he is undoubtedly a pitiful man.

on the dangers of indulgence: an unfortunate autobiography by airplane shooting towards the sky (SVS3) 2020 | Some time ago—years, literal decades by this point—Shang Qinghua wrote something self-indulgent.

withered leaves among decay (Original) 2020 | Ōu Qiūfēi finds a body in the woods.

Inspiration Strikes! And The Muse Is...! (Gopri) 2020 | The expression should be more… gentle, probably.

what happened to death of the author, bro (SVS3) 2020 | Once again, it’s time for Shang Qinghua to receive feedback from his most devoted reader.

misery and company (P5) 2020 | Summers in Tokyo have always been somewhat unbearable.

night flowers shirking from the light of the sun (Original) 2019 | The city of Tiěyáng is, frankly speaking, not that important to the Shénxià empire.

grey before dawn (Ultraman R/B) 2019 | Okay.

a little friendly advice may or may not go a long way (P5) 2019 | Guys.

a beef bowl's worth a thousand words (or something like that) (P5) 2019 | Do you have plans this afternoon?

the future looks bright (let's hit the kill switch) (Overwatch) 2019 | Hard light is a pain to deal with.

Light Chasers (P5) 2019 | So, things are getting weird.

there’s a bunch of these that could’ve probably been the same fic instead of two separate oneshots but I’ve never liked the pressure of a wip and I never know if I’ll get an idea for a follow-up.

patterns............ I’m bad at analyzing my own writing. the opening lines definitely skew longer as time goes on, but the one-word openings are outliers I think? definitely most of the opening lines just kind of toss you in... I guess...?? I think I tend to use the opening paragraph as a hook over just the opening sentence. maybe. out of this batch, my favorite opener is “So, things are getting weird.” strong start lmao. being known comes as a close runner up, though.

@dragonomatopoeia @r4bbitdragon @sinelanguage @randomidiocyncrazies @stuffandsundry @internetkatze @wovenstarlight @shesgayfolks @hirokiyuu but anyone who wants to Just Go For It (Or Ignore It)

#writing ramble #long post #if we’re mutuals and you write fic please consider yourself tagged (if you’d like)#there’s a couple folks where I’m like... hm... I’d like for them to do this... but I don’t want to break into their house by tagging them #if they’re not into it #or I might’ve just forgot someone. also a possibility.#also the color coding is cute thanks tumblr user madseason

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47-shades-of-hitman · 3 years

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In Your Likeness | Chapter 2 - You seem familiar

Four weeks later

The white noise of the lights around buzzed in your ears.

Sebastian walked up to you, cup of tea in hand.

“Here.” he said, placing it onto the table, the teaspoon resting in it rattling at the movement.

You sighed, leaning back, putting down the small pieces of equipment you were holding. Instead, you wrapped your arms around the hot mug, relishing in the sweet smell that came from the herbal beverage. You never took your tea with sugar, but opted to not tell him.

“Thank you.” you mused, smiling at him whilst bringing the cup up to blow into it, cooling it down just slightly. “Where would I be without you?”

Sebastian scratched his beard and smiled. “Well, for beginners, you wouldn’t be in sunny Jerusalem if it weren’t for my lead on a Piece of Eden.”

“That’s my lead, too!” sounded from the other side of the room, followed by a crumpled piece of paper being thrown at Seb’s head.

“Oi! Yeah, I get it, Miranda.”

“Sunny Jerusalem, you say?” you countered playfully, bending over your work again. “Then tell me, why are we hidden several floors underground instead of floating on the Dead Sea? I could’ve stayed in Tel Aviv to do more research there.”

Sebastian perched himself on top of the table you were working on, taking a swig of his coffee.

“Oh, come on (Y/n). You love Jerusalem. No-one who knows the city as well as you do. You’re only glad to be back.”

A large grin spread over your face, knowing he was right.

“(Y/n), take a look at this.” Miranda appeared at your side, handing you a yellowed folder.

“What’s this?”

“Information about your new target. Azra El-Sharani. A dangerous woman, mind you. She might seem harmless, but according to our spies, she killed her own husband. Templar ties? No doubt.”

You whistled through your teeth, flipping through the papers Miranda had so carefully compiled.

“I like a challenge from time to time.”

“This is not a game. Especially not here, on this soil. It’s drenched with blood of all kinds. Let’s not add too much to that, please.”

You tipped your chair back so you were leaning on its hind legs, balancing it just right.

“I know, Miranda.” you said. “I know this place like the back of my hand, but I know when to not strike. Thing is, if I don’t remind myself to have fun every once in a while, I might slip into madness. It’s not only what makes me the best at what I do – it keeps me that way, as well.”

Miranda nodded, her blonde curls bouncing at the movement of her head.

“Naturally. On with it.”

“Of course.” you replied. “I will let you know when I leave.”

As she walked off, the heels of her pumps clicking almost obnoxiously against the floor of the bunker, you leaned forward again, returning to your work. The acetone was sharp in its scent and stung in your nose, yet had evaporated in the time you had left it to dry. With practised ease, you re-assembled your bracer, clicking the blade back into place.

“You need to eat before you go.”

“Do I?” you asked your friend. “I believe I just had tea. With sugar, even though I never really take that in my hot drinks. That should give me enough energy for the rest of the day.”

Sebastian hopped off the table and followed you suit when you stood and made your way over to the exit. Grabbing your coat, you threw it over your shoulders. Despite it being your summer garment, it was immediately sticky against your bare skin.

“(Y/n), I am being serious. We can’t have you faint on us.”

“Being peckish keeps me sharp, Seb.” you explained, putting on the bracer. From the chest underneath the mirror hanging on the wall you took another gauntlet, this one equipped with built-in tranquilizer darts, which you could use should the need arise. You wished you had it on you on your previous contract the other day – that rival hitman, of whom you didn’t know the name.

He had crossed your mind more than once this month.

You shuddered, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the aversion you felt towards the ICA or the vivid memory of his impossibly blue eyes.

“Are you sure you’ve read the file well enough? We could go through it together while enjoying some sandwiches? I could get you some falafel, too? Or something sweet… Babka?” Sebastian tried.

You sighed, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Time is of the essence and there is no way that I can wait any longer. Jerusalem is waiting to be rid of her Templars. My absence has made the lower ranks lazy.”

Sebastian let his shoulders hang, knowing that there was no use in pressuring you any further.

“Alright.” he said, “Enjoy your surroundings. Many people would be jealous of you, regarding your whereabouts, I mean.”

You laughed a little at the IT-manager. “Oh, Sebastian. No one should be jealous of me in any regard. Anyway, isn’t your break over already?”

Sebastian checked his watch, hiding the expression of shock on his face. “Shit, I’m five minutes late. Never mind, I’m the manager after all. Good luck on your endeavours, now.”

You nodded and folded your hands on your back, watching him trot away, a certain spring in his step he always had whenever he was late.

Before you left the premises of your quarters, you dropped by Miranda, just as she had asked of you. However, when you turned the corner, you ran straight into her, almost colliding against her shocked face.

“Oh, (Y/n)! You startled me!” she breathed. “I was just about to get you, really. I just got a call from the Council’s office. They want you upstairs.”

“Why? What is going on, have they told you? I was about to leave for that file, actually, I—”

“I’m not sure, but the Eldest of Council told me that you needed to meet with him right away.”

“Mr Howard?” you countered, feeling your stomach tighten. He was the highest ranking member of the Council, making you immediately nervous.

“Yes.” Miranda sighed, seemingly just as scared. If Mr Howard called for you, it couldn’t be good.

“Thank you for letting me know.”

You rushed away, pushing through the doors after straightening the lapels of your coat in the mirror. Walking up a few flights of stairs to where the Israeli Council had their headquarters underneath Jerusalem, your mind started to run.

Was it something you had said, or did you take breaks that were too long? No, if that had been the case, you wouldn’t be called into office. After all, you were the best Assassin they had and the most hard-working one at that. If you took a break that was ten minutes longer than planned, it—

You halted mid-step, standing still for a moment as realisation hit you. The agent from the ICA you had run into a few weeks back… Mentally cursing, you rubbed your forehead in frustration, resuming your walk to the main office, though with a heart that was even heavier. They must’ve found out that there were rivals on their turf. Took them a long while, too. Perhaps you should’ve reported it, but you hadn’t regarded it as a threat.

Oh, you were going to get the lecture of the century. On why you should’ve killed that hitman instead of letting him walk out, or at least how you should’ve neutralised him. About how he had probably now killed someone prominent within the Creed and that it could’ve been prevented if you had ended him. Perhaps you’d be banished for negligence or charged with the guilt of a fallen brother- or sister-Assassin.

Your knuckles rapped on the metal door in front of you and you took a deep breath. A Master Assassin felt no fear when it came to scaling buildings, killing people in high places, taking Leaps of Faith. .. And yet, you were about to shit yourself because you had to speak with your superiors.

“Enter.” sounded the way-too-familiar voice of Thomas Howard, Eldest of Council and thus, the highest power when it came to the Brotherhood of Assassins. And so you went, closing the door behind you after slipping through the tiny gap you had created by pushing it open.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you were surprised at how confident your voice sounded.

“Yes, Miss (L/n). You may approach.”

The walls were covered in photographs of places, people and objects, red thread lined through here and there, revealing the on-going development of plans. You halted at the front of Mr Howard’s oaken desk, folding your hands on your back.

The middle-aged man looked at you thoughtfully.

“Miss (L/n)… You’ve been our best Master Assassin ever since your brother died. Is that correct?”

“Affirmative, sir.” you replied, swallowing away the lump in your throat at the mention of your deceased brother. “For five years now, sir.”

“Time and time again, you’ve proven loyalty to the Creed. I would trust you with the Brotherhood’s most secret investigations concerning Pieces of Eden and the extermination of Templar forces.”

You bowed your head humbly. “Thank you, sir. I’m honoured to hear that, sir.”

“Now.” he said, standing up, his robes swaying at the movement. “I need you to follow me.”

Why the secrecy, you wanted to ask, but opted to bite your tongue instead. It would be too rude a question, especially to the Eldest.

And so you went after him in silence, the only sound the beat of your footsteps.

“I will explain in further detail later, but we’ve picked up on a lead that runs deeper in importance than just exterminating the Templar Order. No, what we found will shake the world. You’re my most capable Assassin, so I need you on board.”

You nodded. “Sir, I’ve sworn fifteen years ago that I would do my all for the Brotherhood, that I would give my life and my dignity if it meant to serve it,” you paused before adding “...Sir.”

Mr Howard hummed in response. “I don’t think you’re going to like this, though.”

“Sir?” you asked, but he didn’t reply anymore.

“How about my other mission, sir?”

“I’ve placed Bethany on it. She’ll handle it just fine.”

“But Bethany is just a novice, sir. She won’t be able to—”

“I need you here.” Mr Howard said, displeased with your prying, and the tone of his scolding voice made you immediately cast your eyes downward.

“I apologise for my nosiness, sir.”

“Alright.” he said, and swiped a key-card to open a large, thick door.

The room was near empty, an ominous hue omitted by fluorescent light, a large table littered with files and documents in the middle. A few members from the High Council stood around, but an unfamiliar woman had her eyes on you. You locked her gaze to yours and raised an eyebrow.

Who was she?

“Here at last, Thomas.” an older lady you knew well stated, clearly unhappy with his late arrival. Siobhan Vermont glared at the two of you with narrowed eyes.

“I apologise, Mrs Vermont. The most important thing is that we’re here now, and I guess there are a lot of questions.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but someone cut you off before you could even start.

“You withheld information from us, (Y/n). You forgot to mention a rival assassin roaming the streets of Jerusalem. Someone of your ability should notice a thing like that right away.”

Casting your gaze downward, quite ashamed. “I apologise, sir. I should’ve reported it, but I threatened—”

“We already knew of their presence.” Mr Howard said. “There is no harm done, yet keep it in mind next time something like that happens.”

Your head whipped up to him and you frowned in confusion.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

Mr Howard walked to the strange woman and whispered something to her. She nodded and went to the adjacent room silently.

“This is a mission we hoped we never had to plan, but the situation forced us into cooperation with people who have ties to the ICA. Something big is going to happen, something that will make the entire world shudder, something that will make the eradication of our own, current enemies seem insignificant.”

Mr. Howard ushered you to the middle of the room, to the table, and on the other side of it, someone was being led forward as well.

When you halted and looked up, resting your hands on the files underneath you. In front of you, mimicking your position, he stood.

Icy blue eyes met yours, something in his gaze stirring.

“We meet again.” he dryly stated.

You sighed, feeling puzzled, then, your gaze hardening.

“So it would seem.”

#in your likeness #IYL #agent 47 x reader #Agent 47 #Assassin's Creed X Hitman crossover #Hitman fic

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