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luveline · 1 year

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SPOILERS FROM SPIDER-MAN ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE BELOW

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers for satsv

I hope it’s okay that I took this for a request anon! this is a follow up to The Wishing Tree so you’re welcome to read that beforehand if you want to, but otherwise I think if you’ve seen the movie you’ll hopefully understand what’s happening anyhow. miguel x fem!reader

Miguel's been different lately. Ever since the night he got mugged, he's changed. There's something he's not telling you. You wonder if you should ask him about it, but guiltily, shamefully, you don't want to. You don't want this to stop.

Because all of a sudden it's like he's in love with you again. You're being cruel to him, you worry, in thinking he didn't love you before. Of course he did. Just getting married, having a child together, it’s changed you both so much over the years, it's only natural that the honeymoon affection faded. Natural, and yet you'd been missing it. You didn't realise how much until now.

Miguel gets home from work now and he's tentatively sweet. Before, he'd get home, sighing from how tired he felt, overlooked and overworked at Alchemex, and there'd be little energy left in him for more than a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder squeeze. You missed him and you were glad to have him home, but you wanted more from him that you felt you couldn't ask for.

These days you're waiting by the door and pretending you aren't. You'd be embarrassed if he found out. Maybe he knows; there's no reason for you to be sitting on the stairs with a half full laundry basket in hand, but there you are, your heart racing with an almost teenage-like excitement.

"Hey," Miguel says, smiling as he brushes through the door. "Are you okay? Why are you sitting there?" He waves his hand at you ineffectually as he takes off his coat, hanging it on the rack.

"Just got tired," you lie, slightly breathless at the sight of his smile.

He really looks like he adores you. All the time. It's making you weird, but how are you supposed to react? You'd never slander him to anyone, but it had been so disappointing to wait for him and get brushed off night after night. You know he was tired. You know he was doing it for you, for Gabriella. But you can't help feeling the difference.

"You sure?" he asks, tucking his bag into the hutch.

You nod.

He nods back, murmuring, "Okay," as he leans down to kiss you. On the lips, and not the cheek.

He takes the laundry basket from your lap quicker than you realise. You can't stop him in time as he steps around you on the stairs and races up them to the bathroom where the washing machine resides. Your heart jumps into your throat —he'll see the full load and he'll know you were sitting there with the basket for no reason at all. You'd wanted to look busy, and now you'll look like a fool.

You follow him slowly, not wanting to see. Miguel loves you, but he's always said you need affection more than the average person. Not once had he implied that you should feel bad about that, but you had anyhow. What if he thinks you're being childish, wanting to see him?

He puts the basket next to the washing machine, barely looking at it. "No more chores," he says, grinning at you. "You do too much."

You blink. "You think so?"

"Do I think so?" he asks, with a fond incredulity. "You're always doing something. Washing, cleaning, cooking. All you have to do tonight is sit down. Can you do that?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," you say.

Maybe this will wear off. Someone held a gun to his chest and it unsettled him, knowing how close he was to dying. He's feeling grateful for a second chance, and it's manifesting in all this extra care and adoring. In another month, he'll settle down. Still your husband, still an angel, but not so touchy.

Or maybe he'll stay like this. It's been three weeks now and he shows no signs of stopping, if anything he's getting more and more affectionate every day. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind last night while he was sitting at the kitchen table, expecting him to kiss your cheek and gently nudge you away, but he'd covered your arms and held them, kissing a tender line from the crook of your arm to your shoulder. When he spoke it was with a warm, almost husky cadence. Hello, you.

He's staring at you. "What are you thinking about?" he asks.

"Nothing." He raises his eyebrows at you. "Nothing, just wondering what to make for dinner," you say.

His hand finds your wrist, pulling you toward him. "What don't you understand about sitting down? I can make dinner."

"You've worked all day," you protest.

"What have you been doing?" Miguel pulls your hand to his chest. "What, am I a bad cook?"

"I'm always asking you to cook," you say.

Miguel kisses your knuckles where they rest against his collar, rubbing them with enough tenderness to have you reeling. He must see something in your face, because the lovey-dovey softness in his own expression melds to hesitation.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

When he looks at you like that, you can't lie to him. "No. It's not that something is wrong, exactly, but… you're being so nice to me."

Distress or something similar flashes in his eyes, so quickly you think you might have imagined it.

"I'm not usually like this," he says carefully.

You're expecting him to be offended by what you aren't saying. You've had similar fights before. I don't have time for this, cariño.

You shake your head vehemently before he can get the wrong idea, but he isn't mad. His hands are soft as he grasps your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing quarter circles as soon as they touch down. Your surprise is obvious.

"Do you wish I was nicer?" he asks.

"You're plenty nice, my love, really. That's not what I meant."

"No, but humour me."

You grab his elbow. "It's not about being nicer. I just… I know I can be a bit much for you, and I know what happened was scary and confusing, and now you're back safe, you– you don't have to do all of this. Not if you don't want to."

He's classically handsome and has been since the day you met, but there's something to be said about how love changes his features. How affection for you softens his strong jaw, his thick eyebrows inching up his forehead just so.

"I don't want you to be nicer," you say quietly, looking down at his chest. "But this has been nice. I finally feel like–"

You stop short as Miguel takes your face into his hand. His thumb along your jaw, he tilts your head up straight.

"What?"

"I was worried maybe I was getting to be too much for you," you say. "But not lately. I'm sorry."

The look he gives you is peculiar. He looks sorry, which is both unexpected and not, and he looks glad. Like you've told him something he wants to hear.

Light from the frosted bathroom window catches his eyes, has brown turning to liquid honey, his lashes a neat hedging that grows fainter in the sun. They lower as his gaze falls to your mouth.

"Can I…" he trails off.

He shakes his head gently and leans in, pausing a half a centimetre from your lips. You lean in to meet him.

He kisses you as though there's nowhere in the world he needs to be besides here. He's been so many things since he got home that day, hesitant and hungry, undecided and undulating in his touches. Even late at night, with a hand on his abdomen and your face hovering over his, it was almost like your enthusiasm surprised him.

And now he's realised that you're surprised in turn.

"If I ever gave you the impression," he says, breaking the kiss suddenly like he can't not say what he's thinking, "if you ever for a moment thought that I didn't want too much, I'm sorry. I was an idiot."

"It's not like that," you insist.

"I've been different, I know that. Tell me if it's good or bad different."

You wrap your arms around his neck, on tiptoes to hug him properly. He leans down again, taking the bulk of your weight in his arms like it's easy. Your heels lift off of the tile.

"Good different," you mumble into his shoulder.

"Was that so hard?" he asks.

His playfulness rears. You try to get out of his arms before he can start, but his hands dive for your sides. His tickling makes you laugh so loudly that Gabriella abandons the TV in her room and demands to be tickled too.

—-

thank you for reading and sorry the formatting on this post is ugly but there’s no way for me to put a spoiler warning before an ask so I thought it was best to screenshot the ask and put it underneath one myself!

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sunflowersandsapphires · 3 months

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Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil.

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses.

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge.

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

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justakidicarus · 8 months

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Alastor has something he fears.

With how modern media has been going, well written characters are harder to come by, so I am very pleased to see how Alastor is written in the season 1 finale of Hazbin Hotel. Admittedly I did not watch the episode in full, but two major scenes are what I want to talk about.

Adam vs Alastor, and what I want to call Alastor’s interlude (his verse in the final song).

During Alastor’s fight with Adam, Alastor has clear technical advantage, but Adam’s sheer firepower overpowers him. Everyone has probably seen the “What just happened?? … Fuck.” Moment. Now most writers would write another character coming in for a save, or in the context of Hazbin a regular sinner would keep fighting.

Alastor is not your average sinner.

He accepts his defeat and slinks away before Adam can land the finishing blow. This is actually a massive thing no one really talks about, the fact that instead of staying to fight Alastor acknowledged when he was bested and left to fight another day. He is a fucking smart guy but this moment, when he chooses to lose rather than die, is super important to his character, and becomes clear in Alastor’s interlude.

Alastor is terrified of dying.

And I really do mean terrified.

Throughout the song you can hear the emotion in his voice (holy shit did Amir Talai do a good job). His facial expressions are panicked, especially during the line “died for his friends” and the close up at “The constraints of my deal surely have a back door,” that line in particular really capturing the picture of panic and terror. When he first speaks of dying, he looks more angry, but the rest of the verse he just looks terrified. Even if he may be a sinner and thus, has already experienced death, it remains his greatest fear as evident by his reaction to nearly meeting it.

Which makes sense when you look at the context of his death.

Alastor was shot in the head while occupied with burying a body in a hunting reserve. A gunshot to the brain is a quick and near instant way to die, especially since he likely wasn’t aware of the hunter and gun. To him, he heard a loud bang and was suddenly in hell. He has never experienced death properly because he didn’t even have a moment to process that his time was up until he was in the afterlife. Even in the afterlife, as a sinner he can’t permanently die, the only way possible is being killed by angelic weapons.

Weapons like what Adam wields.

Most people believe that Alastor retreated when his staff broke because he couldn’t fight without it, but I actually believe it’s because he realised that Adam could actually kill him. For the first time in his entire life, and afterlife, Alastor was faced with the possibility that he would die. For good.

And he was terrified of it.

He fled not because he couldn’t continue to fight, but because he was scared of fighting Adam and running the suddenly very real risk of dying, but hiding it as best he could. This is obviously made easier by his constantly smiling mouth (which I don’t think he can stop doing if you look at the stitched from his deal with Charlie) but there are a few signs. He loses control of his power such as his left eye and shadow. His ears tilt back as he’s getting up, a sign of distress in animals, and when he first gets up he looks around alert despite knowing the threat is in front of him, classic prey animal behaviour. Not to mention there’s almost 10 seconds where he doesn’t get up and is just on the ground with his face obscured while Vox gives his declaration. These behaviours could be pain related, he does have internal and external bleeding from Adam’s attack after all, or it could be fear based. Still, his interlude leads me to believe it’s a mix instead of solely the former.

Finally his sudden dedication to finding a loophole in his deal with his unknown contractor (I’m hesitant to say Lilith but idk).

From what I can gather by his actions surrounding the hotel and his strange dedication to Charlie and the hotel’s wellbeing, I’m inclined the believe his deal centers around protecting Charlie and the hotel. A deal he now desperately wants out of. It’s no secret that Alastor hates being on a leash (Husker found that out the hard way) but how the fuck did he even end up on one in the first place if he hates it so much?

Simple, he didn’t see it as a bad idea at the time. That or he could have died without it but we don’t know that yet

If what he got in return was a good deal of power or something else he coveted, why wouldn’t he take the deal to play secret bodyguard and watcher for the princess of hell, one of the most well guarded people in hell, and her lofty idea that ultimately will fail and likely gain no traction at all? It’s practically free power.

And then Charlie starts pissing off all of heaven. And dragging her father and whole host of powerful and dangerous beings into her charade.

Now this is becoming a bad idea he can’t back out from.

And then he almost dies.

Why would the try to escape his deal? Alastor values his life above all else and his greatest fear that I think he now knows about, is the fear of death itself, a suddenly very real risk with the people Charlie, the person he’s forced to protect, is angering. Alastor wants out because of that sheer human thing that is the fear of death.

That’s why it’s such great writing.

Alastor is scared of death and that is what makes him human.

It’s a part of his character he can overcome or fall victim to, something that makes his character relatable and 3D rather than a distant mask. It’s something that makes him human, and that’s especially important in a character that was once just that.

No matter where Alastor’s character goes in the future, if he overcomes this fear and is somehow redeemed (plausible in the way the show is going), or if he is a villain for a future season brewing in the shadows, still driven by this fear that is so central to his actions (again, plausible with how the show is so far, he still had a villain moment after all even if it was a humanising one), Alastor’s character has actually gained so much depth, and all from one little scene sharing one shard of humanity he has left.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin spoilers #Hazbin deep dive #alastor #holy shit have I been analysing Alastor from this one scene #I just love proper character writing and as cool as Alastor has been I’m glad he has a fear

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nanamis-bigtie · 4 months

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Round 4: It's Nice to Meet You

about, rules & navigation | previous round

You made a big step today - you're moving from dating app to an irl meeting! You planned a perfect outfit and packed all the necessities - and now you're on your way to the arranged spot. You simply can't wait to see how your chosen men will act around you when seeing you in person.

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

Meeting with a Tinder date in a place where lots of people can see you is a reasonable strategy but when you finally arrive at the small harbor, you start to worry you might actually miss your date amidst the crowd. You have his photos, a detailed description of his outfit for today and determination to climb a tree or something if needed to see him better—yet you worry it might not be enough. Not when you're running a little late and boarding has already started.

You keep stubbornly tiptoeing and straining your neck until the river of people pushes you closer to the cruise ship and forces you to accept your fate. Well, they won't let you in without a ticket anyway, so you may as well wait for him by the control point.

"Here!" A warm hand grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the stream, close to the barrier separating the pathway from the sea. "You're Y/N, right? I'm sorry, the crowd pushed me out of my spot."

He's shorter than you thought, on the rather average side if not shorter. Despite being a little overdressed for a vacation cruise and sweating in the full sun, he's beaming with a friendly smile, not bothered by the inconveniences. The same warm hand soon squeezes yours, firmly, with a little shake that has more in common with business meetings than with a date.

"I'm Hiromi. It's such a pleasure to finally see you in person."

As you exchange greetings and niceties, you join the queue and finally make your way to the deck. Much to your pleasant surprise, you're directed to the VIP section, with more comfortable seats, a separate bar and way less people around you two. He definitely didn't scrimp on his date plans.

"If you ever have enough of the noise and heat, we can move under the deck," he follows you to your chosen seat and takes one in front of you—close but keeping a respectful distance. "The VIP section is glazed. Ah, and there's another bar, too. Speaking of, would you like something to drink? Everything is on the ticket."

"You're well-versed," you point out once he's back with your drink of choice and a glass of orange juice for himself. "Not your first time here?"

"I like their cruises, I was on a few." Hiromi says with a blank face before he breaks into a smile again—and then into laughter. It might be a stress response, to resort to humor, but you like it on him. When he does so, he relaxes and his words come out more natural, finally shaking off the impression of a smooth but possibly not-so-honest talker. "And... Well, I won't lie, I had a date here already. In similar circumstances, even."

"How did it end?"

The answer is obvious and you're a little angry at yourself for slipping like this right at the beginning—but he takes it calmly, doesn't even try to hide his expression with glass when he takes a hearty sip, "I guess I didn't meet her expectations. But still had a good day. Both of us, I hope."

Nanami Kento

You decide to take the route right by the sea, barefoot on the wet strap of the sand, waves lazily licking your soles. Google maps lied a little about the distance towards the beach bar, but you don't mind—it's a very pleasant walk, with breathtaking views of the sun nearing the horizon and filling the sky and the sea with gold. You can barely tell the difference between them, even the sand under your feet blends into the whole scene, making you feel as if you were treading through the fields of glitter.

It's magical.

You haven't exchanged any guides regarding your meeting, but something tells you he won't be waiting inside. Being so drawn to the sea, he's bound to appear closer to your route—and indeed soon you recognize him in front of you, crouching by the sea and staring into the distance with peaceful expression. He's wearing long pants, folded a little under his knees and wet at the edges. At least his blue shirt has short sleeves, but it's barely unbuttoned under the stiff collar.

You don't want to interrupt his quiet moment with a sudden greeting, your steps slow down the more you approach as you unwittingly start to sneak. But he tells your presence with ease.

"I suppose you're the person I'm meeting tonight." He says as he gets up and straightens his back, his voice oh so deep yet, what you've already expected from him, dry and formal. "I'm Kento Nanami. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He wipes his hands dry with a handkerchief before he offers you one. The handshake is short, as if he was hesitant to touch you at this phase of the date. With a different person it would probably bother you but after the time you already spent together chatting it would weird you out far more if he suddenly acted less formal. You let him be; intuition whispers to you that trying to force him out of the shell will only irreversibly ruin the mood.

The bar—you've named it his favorite in your thoughts—is on the less busy side, small and cozy, and directed to the tourists who put pretty views and peace of mind over partying. You don't have to put shoes on to stay inside but you still choose one of the tables on the sand. There are more people around, but the music is calmer and melting just right with the hum of waves.

Kento compliments your choice, and you can pinpoint a shade of relief in his voice. He really wanted to stay on the beach but didn't want to go against your wishes, it seems.

After the waiter takes your orders—your date insists on paying and encourages you to order whatever you like—you finally have an opportunity to get a closer look at him. His face, neck and forearms are sprinkled with bland, sun-kissed freckles and his glasses left a little paler strip at the bridge of his nose. You expected his eyes to be blue but upon closer inspection you're not sure anymore what their color is.

"I got you something," he fishes a little bundle out of a pocket and offers it to you on open palm. "I— Hope this is not too forward? I haven't been on a Tinder date before. Please excuse me, if I'm doing something inappropriate."

Ryomen Sukuna

You've known he's huge from the very beginning. But you would have never expected he's THAT huge.

Your date towers over the crowd, the tallest of passing people reaching a little over his shoulders. He attracts attention without even meaning to; well, it would be hard for a man of such monstrous posture to blend in, especially with his pink-dyed hair and tattoos reaching as far as his face, but it's not his body that attracts most of the attention. Witnessing this charismatic, magnetic energy in real life has an even bigger impression on you than the glimpse of it you witnessed through Tinder.

You can't help but let it swallow you. You approach closer like a moth drawn by a light.

He's dressed simple—in jeans and white shirt—and it gives you a little confidence boost. You weren't sure if you had anything appropriate for an art gallery and felt your best choice still had you underdressed a little. Who could have known you would be invited to a photo exhibition? But if the originator of the whole adventure imposes a casual style, your outfit is more than fitting.

"Hi!" You announce your presence a few steps away from him. You tried to not get too close but you still have to strain your neck to look straight at his face.

Sukuna peels his eyes from his phone, puts it into the back pocket of his jeans, takes his sunglasses off and hangs them at the edge of his shirt, right at the casually open top button, "Y/N. Finally in person."

He takes a good look at you, from heads to toes. It's a fast flick of eyes, not lingering anywhere long enough to feel inappropriate, but you still can't shake the feeling of being scanned off. He must have been curious of you with the same intensity as you were about him...or so you hope. You're not entirely sure if his reactions are positive or not.

"I don't have a compliment that wouldn't be a shameless copy of what I already told you," he finally says with a smile. It's not a smile you would call pretty but it suits his features. It carries a hungry, almost dangerous, vibe to it—and it has you a little weak in the knees. "So, let me just say that the reality has greatly exceeded my expectations."

You want to return the favor with a compliment on your own but he doesn't let you, becoming you closer and herding you towards the door of the gallery.

"Unless you would prefer a lunch beforehand?" He asks, opening the door for you. There's some gallantry behind it but from his decisive moves and posture you guess it has less in common with being nice and more with a casual dominance. Sukuna is used to calling the shots, he's the leader of the pack, a man who doesn't hear a "no" often. Proposing you an alternative is a mere courtesy, not an option he really reckons with.

"Interaction with art works up an appetite." You decide to follow and see where it is going to lead you.

As you pass by him, he leans down and close, his face close to your ear now, "I promise you won't be bored with me."

Kusakabe Atsuya

You haven't visited the old part of the town yet, so you've been really looking forward to this meeting. Unfortunately, the weather had different plans for you and your little Tinder date. By the time you finally make it to the appointed spot—by a historic fountain on the western corner of the main plaza—the "concerning but not dangerous" clouds lingering over the horizon turn into a storm.

In panic and trying to find a safe spot between equally startled tourists, you struggle to send him an update. You just know he's one of those guys who would wait in the spot even if an apocalypse unrolled around. The last thing you want is to get him both wet and disappointed or worse. But you also can't stop and type in peace, unless you want to be run over or soaking wet yourself.

Finally, you manage to push past the crowd into an ice cream parlor and pounce at a free table for two. You send him your localization and pray he's not one of those middle aged guys who are technology-phobic.

He appears shortly after, wet and miserable. His shirt, undeniably elegant in its intended state, is almost transparent and clinging to every crevice of his hairy torso. Oh. That pool photo definitely wasn't photoshopped. From close and in motion he looks even more ripped.

Luckily, you, just in case, took a towel with you. You offer it to him and, reflexively, throw it on his head to do the drying yourself. He tenses under your hands but doesn't protest, eventually even leaning for it. You hear him exhale a little louder as you make your way through his hair and his shoulders tremble when you brush the towel at the back of his head.

But when you slide it down his neck, he gently takes it out of your hands and dabs the excess of water from his arms and torso on his own.

"I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to go like that. Lemme at least—" Atsuya's face tenses in panic as he reaches for his wallet, soon to be replaced by an overwhelming relief at the sight of his money somehow surviving the deluge. "Lemme treat you for this inconvenience."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. Not more than mine, I could have checked the forecast too."

"I insist. Maybe at least a small coffee?"

After a few backs and forths you settle on something more than a coffee. After the show he gave you through the chat you haven't expected him to be quite smooth-tongued; in no time he backs you into a corner and keeps pressing until you agree to accept one of the more expensive positions from the menu to go with said coffee.

When your fancy ice cream desserts finally arrive and you reach for your spoons, you notice his hand trembles in a very characteristic way, one you would rather associate with an addict than a man hungry for a sweet treat.

He notices your curious stare but slips a hearty spoonful into his mouth before treating your curiosity, "I've quit smoking recently. When I need a cigarette, I go for sugar instead. Usually, I have lollipops on me but... I guess it doesn't suit dates, won't you agree?"

Ino Takuma

There aren't many people around, but the area is still noisy and buzzing. Apparently, the spot is popular with the local youth. At the first glance you're ready to bet there's not a single person older than mid-twenties within the range of your sight. Everyone is in swimsuits, predominately of the sports kind, and heading towards the cliffs. Some take a turn and make their way down, towards the wild beach nearby, some climb straight to the top.

You have a swimsuit on too, just hidden under the outfit you chose for the date. You stand out and it has you a little antsy, even if no one is staring. Maybe you have overdressed a little, but you really wanted to make a good impression on your companion.

Takuma, of course, is in swimming clothes only, too. He spots you from a distance, waves his greetings and comes running, beaming with an excited smile. He has longer hair than on photos from his profile; his selfies showed mostly his body, so you haven't really paid attention to anything above the neck level.

"It suits you," you let the thought slip aloud then point at the frivolous strands falling over his eyebrows.

"You think so?" He coils one on his finger. "They keep telling me I should finally get it cut. 'Cause I don't see what I'm doing. Even if I do."

"It would be a disservice."

"Then I'll keep it longer." He brushes the fringe out of his eyes, quite contrary to his statement about being able to see just fine. "For you."

You two join the group heading down to the sea. It's a lot of stairs to beat and you can't help but be a little anxious about climbing them back. It's hot and humid and, even if with your date's help, you'll definitely be spent after swimming. From what you've already assessed, there's quite a distance to make from the beach to the base of the cliffs.

Takuma notices your worried expression, "We don't have to swim right under the cliffs. To be honest... I don't think we can even. It could be dangerous."

"Usually it is safe!" He quickly adds, seeing the mixed feelings in your eyes. "But today we have cliff divers. We gotta stay at a distance."

Explains why some people head towards the top instead of the beach.

Chatting casually and savoring your stamina, you make it to the bottom of the stairs as the last ones from the group. Your date stays really close, and you have a feeling he's waiting for an opportunity for some casual physical contact, supporting you on a steeper stair, holding your hand or the like. You don't give it to him, curious if he's going to push his way unprompted, but he's patient, way more patient than you'd assume from his age and attitude.

"Have you ever tried it?" You point at the commotion in the distance and silhouette of a person jumping off the cliff.

"A few times, yeah." He protects his eyes from the sun with a hand, to see better. "But I prefer safer stuff. Don't want to get killed for an adrenaline kick. How would I then bathe in the sea with pretty people?"

Choso

Free ticket for a night-long concert is not a temptation you would be able to resist. Especially when it comes to this place. Since you were invited, you did a lot of research about this place and your excitement was only growing with each passing hour.

And when you found out there's going to be an unplanned change of the opening band—and that it's HIS band that's going to perform—you became simply ecstatic. You're going to have a rare chance of seeing this shy, rather insular man in his waters. You're insanely curious how is he going to behave on the stage, how is his voice going to sound from the speakers, how is he going to look in a scenic makeup and outfit.

He keeps apologizing through the whole day, though, for this sudden change of plans. You can't convince him that for you it's not an inconvenience or that you can go for another date if enjoying the concert from the audience together is what he really wants. He's stubborn in his panic and you start to worry he might actually call the whole deal off but eventually you get a dry "I hope you will like our performance" and you take it as his final decision.

You're welcomed and encouraged—and you're on your way to enjoy every single bit of this night.

The club is not particularly crowded but there's enough people to make for a decent audience. You order yourself a drink and settle on observing the scene from a safe distance. Now it's only him that matters to you. Dancing and partying and experiencing the concert to its fullest can wait.

Despite the different appearance you recognize him immediately. Visual kei style really suits him; it brings the best out of his naturally handsome face and adds him loads of confidence. You can't say you know him for real—you've chatted only on Tinder, after all—but he still feels like a completely different person when performing. His shyness and awkwardness is nowhere to be found, there's only his deep, velvet and full of expression voice and sultriness of his body and expressions. He doesn't move around much but he puts so much energy and passion into his presence that he somehow fills the scene, leaving the rest of the band behind himself.

You're so disappointed they played only two songs before they're called off and another band takes their place.

You send him a quick text, describing where you're sitting, and take a selfie with a barely touched drink in your hand. You were so lost in the performance that you forgot about it.

More or less in the middle of the new band's performance a man from security approaches you with an invitation to the backroom. You're almost shaking with excitement: the night just keeps getting better and better. Sneaking in like a groupie, about to see the lead voice of The Band in person!

From close, Choso looks tad tired and miserable—but it only adds to the charm. He's visibly nervous and does a little jump when he spots you at the door, then stutters when he's trying to greet and compliment you. Finally, he settles on just walking you to a more private area; you sit together on a fatigued sofa, bottles of cold soda in your hands.

"I'm sorry for the change of plans. I hope you had fun despite that?"

Geto Suguru

He's running late.

He warned you he had an unexpected event this morning and it threw the whole day for him upside down so you're not really angry - just a little bored when stuck alone in a cafe that's indeed perfect for audio sensation, providing you have a conversation partner to utilize that feature. On its own, the place is almost too silent, suiting more a library than a place to enjoy coffee and lunch. Majority of guests are busy with their laptops and books, the muffled hum of unvarying jazz music is interrupted only by the typical coffee bar commotion - and even that is less noisy than what you've seen around. As if the whole place was designed

You're not sure if you actually vibe with it - or quite contrary.

For the tenth time within the last twenty minutes, you check Tinder for updates. The last message from him came two hours ago, promising he will definitely make it, begging for your patience and promising to pay for everything you order today. You don't want to overuse his generosity, so you ordered yourself only a single coffee, from the bottom side of price range

The sound of the door opening should be a loud stimuli but in this weird place even this is not louder than a regular whisper. You don't pay it much more attention than simply noticing it happened, all of your focus plastered to the empty chat. Should you prompt him to hurry? He's not online though and as far as you're aware, he's driving, so he won't check anything until he's arrived anyway.

Maybe you will kill some time with checking other Tinder profiles... You had some new interested men, after all.

Out of sudden a big someone puts their big, warm hand over your eyes. It's not pressed tight to your face, but your vision is blocked by its palm and your senses full of the herbal scent of hand cream.

"Guess who?" Soft, elegant voice whispers right into your ear, so close you feel the warmth beaming from his breath. You heard it only a few times, modified by the speaker of your phone, but you have no problem pinpointing it to the right face.

"You scared me!" You don't intend to pretend otherwise. Before you connected the dots, your heart already started fluttering in your chest like a startled bird. Though, you're not sure whether the reason is solely fear - or the sudden, unexpected closeness too.

"I'm sorry." Suguru takes a seat in front of you, hangs his bag at the back of his chair. "For the prank and delay. I was stuck in traffic. What a horrible day."

He quickly studies the menu, then takes a look at your lonely glass, "Only a single coffee? I told you to spoil yourself. It's my treat."

You tease him, claiming you were afraid of being wimped out, but he doesn't follow the bait, answering as calmly and carelessly as possible without making the situation unintentionally tense. Together you decide on lunch, a new coffee for you and a green tea with honey for him.

"I chose this place for you to listen to my voice better, but I can't help but be selfish instead." Once back from the bar, Suguru leans in your direction, chin resting in his palm. "Your voice is mesmerizing. I'm glad I got to listen to it."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #bas writes #jjk #resort romance

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lias-writings · 1 year

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Be my MJ??

pairing: spider-man!bella x reader

tw: kissing, mentions of food, fluff, established relationship, flirting (?)

a/n: hey!! so few days ago bella reposted the photo of them like a spider man ^ and i had this idea, there are few changes, like bella’s taller than reader, they are not famous obviously, and they are still british, but live in queens, so does reader but reader’s ethnicity isn’t mentioned.

also!! this is an au! you can imagine it as one of the spider-verse if you wish to (that’s how im imagining it) but it’s up to you <33

summary: you found out your partner is the spider-man everyone is interested about and not just a regular teenager as you thought.

you always thought that you had a pretty average life, and you did. you were going to local high school/college, you went to house parties with your friends and you had a partner, who you loved and who loved you.

and there you were laying on your bed scrolling thru your instagram looking at all the posts updating about the local superhero spider-man.

no one really knew who it was, no one knew if it was even a man but no one would guess it a teenager from queens.

as i mentioned before, you were doing basically nothing when you heard a knock on your window.

you almost jumped from your bed in shock but when you looked to the window’s direction, outside you saw nothing but dark night and noisy New York City.

you would go back to your previous action if you didn’t heard that sound again. this time you were sure it wasn’t just in you head so you grabbed the nearest thing- a hair brush, and put it in front of your face in a protective way.

you expect anything, a confused bird, witch on a broomstick, kidnapper or even a fucking alien but not this. not the superhero in a red costume, named after an animal you feared the most.

THE spider-man was outside of your window. at that moment you thought nothing could surprise you more, but hell you were so wrong.

the person just pulled their mask down, and at that moment your heart stopped. it’s not a middle aged man, it’s not another rich dude who became a superhero, it’s your partner bella.

you were staring at the window for good minute while bella was waving at you and signalising that they want you to open the window.

when you kind of pulled yourself together you slowly opened the window, still taken away a bit.

“hi.” they said with a little apologising smile.

“hi.”

“i-i can explain, all of this”

“i’m listening” you weren’t as confused as you were moments ago, now you felt more angry because they’ve been lying to you.

“okay, so- i kind of was bit by a spider- radioactive spider and since then i can do this” they started explaining and then shot a web right from there wrist at the direction of your door - “and this” they continued as they sticked their hand to the ceiling and crawled around a little.

“how long have you been this spider-person?” you asked knowing that spider-“man” has been around for few moths at least, but you wanted to hear it, you wanted to know why they didn’t trusted to enough to tell you sooner.

“a year” they almost whispered with a guilty face.

“a year?!” you almost screamed but luckily realised, that your parents are downstairs, soon enough.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you, i know i should have, but-”

“but what? am i not trustworthy?” you cut them before they could finish their sentence.

“no! of you course you are, i-“ and as they were speaking they slowly walked closer to you.

“if you knew, it would put a target on your back, which is the last thing i want, i love you and i’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” now your waist were completely hugged by two arms of theirs and they were resting their forehead on yours.

“even now it’s dangerous for you to know but i’m gonna do everything i can to protect you.” they finished as they gently kissed your lips, while stroking your waist.

the kiss made you completely forget what were you mad about so you dived more into it.

moments after you both pulled away in the need of oxygen but still kept your faces close.

“so you’re a spider-man, huh?”

“yeah, most girls would kill to be at your place” they smirked.

you let out a sarcastic gasp and pulled out of the ‘hug’, so you could touch the place where your heart is.

“oh really? just so you know i’m still mad at you for lying to me.” you made a fake insulted face at them as they chuckled.

“guess you don’t want this then.” they said as they leaned out of the window to grab a plastic bag that was there the whole time. you leaned your body closer to them in a curiosity and your eyes brightened when they pulled out your favorite food/sweets.

“so this is the biggest advantage to date spider-man?”

“no you haven’t seen the best yet.” they winked at you as they handed you the meal.

#bella ramsey x reader #im so nervous to post this omg😭#bella ramsey #bella ramsey fanfic #bella ramsey fluff #happy pride 🌈#spider man #lia writes 🌷🛍️

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howlsofbloodhounds · 2 months

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Because I had headcanon that Color is Autistic and has developed special interests in things such as photography, travel, maybe even things like social advocacy.

Maybe even philosophy and psychology. For now, in this posts, I’ll focus on the big two: photography and traveling. (I will also touch on how Color’s physical disability, chronic fatigue, his autism, and perhaps his ptsd/ separation anxiety from Killer also effect his ability to engage in his interests in another post.)

I think he’d develop some decent if not above average technical knowledge, such as camera types and functions. Detailed understanding of different types of cameras (DSLR, mirrorless, point-and-shoot, medium format, etc.) and their specific functions.

Knowledge about various lenses (prime, zoom, wide-angle, telephoto, macro) and their applications. Mastery of camera settings like ISO, aperture, shutter speed, and how to manipulate them for different lighting conditions and artistic effects.

In-depth understanding of how aperture, shutter speed, and ISO interact to create a properly exposed photograph. Proficiency in using software like Adobe Lightroom, Photoshop, or other photo editing tools for post-processing and enhancing images.

He’d learn about artistic elements such as composition techniques, lighten and color theory. Develop a familiarity with compositional rules like the rule of thirds, leading lines, framing, symmetry, and how to creatively break these rules.

Knowledge about natural and artificial lighting, how to use light to create mood and depth, and techniques like backlighting, side lighting, and using reflectors. Understanding of how colors interact, complementary colors, and how to use color to convey emotion and direct viewer attention.

Awareness of different photography styles (portrait, landscape, macro, street, documentary, astrophotography, etc.) and genres, and what makes each unique.

Knowledge about influential photographers and their work, such as Ansel Adams, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Annie Leibovitz, and contemporary photographers.

Understanding the evolution of photography, from daguerreotypes to digital photography, and significant milestones in the field. Awareness of current trends in photography, popular styles, and emerging technologies.

And, of course, he’d develop and grow practical experiences and hands on practice. Experience with on-location shoots, managing different weather conditions, and adapting to various shooting environments.

Knowledge about how to properly maintain and clean camera equipment to ensure longevity and optimal performance. Skills in troubleshooting common issues like lens flare, sensor dust, or focus problems.

He’d have a deep enthusiasm for specific techniques or subjects he enjoys photographing, whichever or whatever you all think those could be exactly.

Likely to have personal photography projects, well-organized portfolios, and possibly an online presence showcasing their work. Extensive collection of books, articles, videos, and tutorials related to photography.

A special interest in traveling, in addition to photography, would manifest in the character in several ways, showcasing their passion and extensive knowledge about various aspects of travel. Here are some specific aspects:

For his interest in travel, he’d be very well versed in the planning and research process. Color might create comprehensive travel itineraries, meticulously planning each day's activities, routes, and schedules.

He might gradually develop an extensive knowledge about various travel destinations, including historical sites, natural landmarks, cultural attractions, and lesser-known gems.

He’d display a proficiency in booking flights, accommodations, and transportation, as well as understanding visa requirements, travel insurance, and local regulations.

An expertise in packing efficiently, knowing what to bring for different climates and activities, and how to pack photography gear safely for travel. Color is likely to show a very deep and profound appreciation for different cultures, learning basic phrases or even fluency in multiple languages to better communicate while traveling.

He’d definitely show a deep interest in trying and understanding local cuisines, knowing popular dishes, and even recipes from various regions. He’d have at least some knowledge about local customs, traditions, festivals, and etiquette to respect and immerse themselves in different cultures.

He’d certainly develop some geographical and historical knowledge, with a detailed understanding of world geography, maps, and the ability to navigate using traditional maps as well as digital tools.

Knowledge about the history of the places he visits, including significant events, historical figures, and the cultural evolution of the region.

He might maintain detailed travel logs or journals documenting his experiences, including photos, notes, and personal reflections. He’d definitely collect souvenirs, postcards, or other memorabilia from his travels; often gifting them to beloved friends.

He’d probably engage with travel communities, forums, and social media groups to share experiences and gain insights.

This special interest would possibly lead to him gaining a lot of practical skills, such as in budget management. Expertise in budgeting for travel, finding deals, and managing expenses effectively.

He might display an ability to adapt to different environments, handle unexpected situations, and problem-solve while on the go.

Although it’d probably be harder for him than most, particularly if he has a harder time handling and dealing with change—especially if the change is unexpected and unplanned.

Knowledge about staying healthy while traveling, such as understanding local healthcare options, vaccinations, and travel safety tips.

He’d like combine both interests by using his photography skills to capture stunning images of the places he visits, creating travel blogs or photo albums to document his journeys.

He might create photo essays or visual stories that capture the essence of the cultures and places he explores. Share his travel experiences and recommendations with others, possibly through writing travel guides, blogs, or social media content.

All this is to say that Killer would definitely encourage Color to come with him to explore abandoned places and ghost towns, and Color’s going to be so overjoyed he starts hand flapping. He’s going to take so many pictures, he’s going to remember it forever.

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sunstone-smiles · 1 year

Text

Measuring Mishap

(I’m sorry that the picture is so blurry-)

Author’s note: Another fic with Miguel after I said I would only make one? I couldn’t help myself. Can you blame me? Lol! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Across the Spider-Verse

Characters: Miguel O’Hara and Lyla

Word count: 2,242

Summary: Lyla is assisting Miguel by measuring him for a new spider suit, but a small mishap occurs in the process that leads the AI to instead discover a playful piece of information about him that can make him laugh.

—

It’s hard enough tearing Miguel away from his work, let alone asking the man to stand still. He always has to be active with something, whether it’s skimming through files, capturing anomalies, or making sure that everything in the Spider-Society is in working order, so taking a break is not one of his strong points.

Miguel huffs as he stands in his spider suit on a short, cylindrical platform, his arms crossed. Above him, two robotic limbs hang from a steel frame like the strings of a marionette. A yellow strip of measuring tape is held in the metal fingers of the robotic hands as the contraption measures Miguel from shoulder to shoulder.

Miguel taps his foot on the ground and exhales an impatient sigh. “Lyla, how much longer is this going to take?” he turns to the AI in question, who’s floating beside his head.

“Just a few more measurements and you’ll be good to go,” Lyla taps away on a digital screen in front of her. Matching her own hand movements in sync, a robotic hand taps at the air alongside her while Lyla makes her note. “What’s the rush anyway? You don’t have any meetings scheduled for later.”

“I just want to get back to business, that’s all.”

“Business?” Lyla hovers backwards, almost offended. “I’m measuring you for a new suit to enhance your abilities so you can catch anomalies with more ease,” she demonstrates by controlling the robotic limbs to take Miguel’s arm away from its crossed state, then measuring it from shoulder to wrist, “It doesn’t get more business-y than that.”

“You know what I mean, Lyla,” Miguel shakes his head. “Work, reports, surveillance, making sure the anomalies are properly contained—instead of standing still like this. That kind of business.”

Lyla pulls the measuring tape and the mechanical arms away to type another note. “Yeah, I get it. But doesn’t it feel nice to take a break every once and a while? It definitely gets you away from those screens you always slouch over.” She throws a teasing grin at him and tries to straighten out his back with the robotic hands, like she’s posing an action figure. “I mean, just look at what it’s doing to your posture!”

“My posture is fine,” Miguel grumbles. He shifts his shoulders. “I only feel like every single second that I’m away from my hands-on work, another multiverse is potentially being swallowed whole.”

“Ugg, you’re being dramatic again. And also mathematically incorrect. On average we have three anomalies each day, meaning that every twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds another multiverse is in danger, not every single second.” She smirks down at him, pleased with her correction.

Miguel rolls his eyes. “Can we just get back to the task at hand, please?” He starts to fidget in his spot, like stretching out his arms to keep himself occupied, yet he’s moving around too much for Lyla to continue measuring him. The AI temporarily hangs the strip of measuring tape on the metal frame above them.

“I’m just saying that you can benefit from loosening up for a bit,” Lyla’s ramblings begin to wander as she tries to position Miguel with the mechanical arms to stand still on the platform, but she’s not paying complete attention to where the robot hands are drifting, “You know, like taking a moment to de-stress. It wouldn’t hurt to try—”

Lyla is suddenly cut off by an uncharacteristic yelp emanating from Miguel. Miguel snatches the robotic wrists away from his sides and fires a glare at Lyla, “Watch where you’re putting these things!”

Processing the aftermath of the yelp, the AI quickly deduces that while she wasn’t paying attention, she must have accidentally squeezed his sides.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Lyla regains control of the robotic limbs. She properly guides them back towards his torso, but Miguel flinches away, as if on reflex. Lyla tilts her head in curiosity. She shrugs it off and maneuvers the arms close to his sides to hold him straight, but again, Miguel jumps away without her touching him, as if he was suddenly anxious of the mechanical hands.

She tries once more, but every time the robotic hands get close, he recoils and restarts her progress. Lyla narrows her eyes at him and pouts. “Miguel, hold still,” she tries to catch him without him flinching away, almost like corralling a startled horse into a stable. She attempts to grab at his arm, “I can’t get accurate measurements if you keep—”

“Hey!” Miguel tenses up with a squeak when she mistakenly pinches at his ribs.

Lyla pulls the robot hands away, smiling with intrigue at the sound Miguel just made. “What was that?” she giggles.

Miguel tightens his arms closer to his chest, almost like he wanted to sink into himself. Miguel clears his throat. He adverts his eyes from Lyla's gaze. “It was—”

“Nothing?” she cuts him off with a sly smile, “I thought you would say that. Analyzing what just occurred now.”

“Lyla wait, don’t-

The pixels of Lyla’s heart-shaped glasses flash twice. “Analyzing complete. I detected a hint of laughter in your voice. And came to the conclusion that…” Lyla pauses as her data is pieced together. “No…” her mouth widens along with her eyes. “No way!” her voice heightens with excitement. “You’re—!”

Miguel barks, “Don’t say it!”

“You’re ticklish!”

Miguel face palms with a growling sigh, flinching just hearing that word. “You said it…”

Lyla giggles excitedly, almost squealing like a fangirl. “How am I just learning about this now?! I need to know all the juicy details! Like, where are you the most ticklish?” She teasingly moves the robot arm with wiggling fingers towards his stomach. Miguel quickly grabs the wrist of the contraption before it can make contact.

“L-Lyla! This is not the time for these unnecessary activities!” he shoves the metal limb away from him.

“Nah, I think this is a perfect time! What you need is a good laugh!” She commands a robot limb to grab Miguel’s left wrist above his head, like she was innocently going to measure his arm for his new suit. “So, are you ticklish here?” Lyla quickly says and flutters her fingers to control the robot’s fingers to do the same into his underarm. Miguel sucks in a gasp and swiftly yanks his arm down, bringing it close to his body and clinging tightly to his own wrist.

“Hey!” Miguel snarls towards the AI, but Lyla had already zoomed behind him and switched to his other shoulder.

“Or here?” Lyla wiggles the chilled robotic fingers into the side of his neck. Miguel instantly scrunches up his shoulders and growls to hold back any further reaction to the tingly scratches. Trying to fight back, he attempts to nab the robot hand out of the air, but Lyla promptly dodges herself and the hands out of the way and behind him.

“Or how about here!” Lyla slips both robot hands into Miguel’s underarms from behind, striking like a snake. Miguel yelps and arches his back from the surprise, immediately clamping both of his arms to his sides and snarling to cover up any giggles that need to be stifled.

“L-Lyla!” Miguel barely chokes back an audible giggle from slipping through while trying to squirm from her grasp. His mouth twitches on and off with a smile that shows off his fangs and his frame begins to lurch forward, like he wants to curl up into a ball, the longer he holds his laughter.

“Come on!” Lyla exclaims from behind, “Stop hiding your laughter! Let me hear it!”

Miguel has to hold strong. Who knows what data-collecting Lyla can do with one of his giggly reactions if she gets her hands on it. She of course wouldn’t do anything that could hurt him, but the flustering earful of teases that he’ll hear afterwards is enough to keep himself from giving in to the easy route. Miguel faces this like a challenge.

He growls through his fangs like a big cat fending off a stronger force. “Absolutely n-not! Aye!” he squeaks when Lyla moves the mechanical hands down to both of his sides, clawing into the vulnerable area. Miguel throws his arms around himself in defense, his smile turning more wobbly by the second as he tries to hold back the giddy bouncing of giggles jumping on pogo sticks in his belly.

“Ah ha! Getting closer! I just have to get past your stubbornness!” Lyla smiles and moves one of the robot hands towards his ribs, teasingly scratching at a spot between the curved bones through the material of his suit. Miguel jolts and snickers start to spill out through hisses bypassing his fangs. He squeezes one arm to his side while the other tries to pry the robotic wrist away from wiggling into his ribs. She’s getting closer to breaking through the dam of his laughter and she knows it.

“Knock it ohohoff!” a giggle slips through Miguel’s defenses. He’s doomed. Lyla grins. Now is the moment she’s been waiting for.

Lyla’s glasses flash when she sees the opening she was planning in her sight. The other robotic hand by Miguel’s side whirs with Lyla’s control, then strikes directly at his tummy, swiping its clawed fingers back and forth like a sponge. “Gotcha now, Miguel!”

“GAH! Lylahahahaha!” Miguel finally bursts into robust laughter. He stumbles backwards, nearly falling, but Lyla places the palm of the second robot hand on the center of his back to stabilize him. However, although he’s still standing, his wriggling torso is caught in between the clawed hand vibrating at his tummy and the one stabilizing him. He throws his giggling head forward with a huge, fanged smile on his face, then grabs at the robotic wrist in an attempt to tug away the mischievous machine hand at his stomach. “Dahahamn it!” Miguel shouts through his laughter, knowing that Lyla has come out victorious. One of the strongest spider-men has been defeated by his own AI with a little bit of tickling.

“There’s that laugh I was looking for!” Lyla smiles along with Miguel. “Why did you have to go and hide it? Now I have to make up for all the laughter I missed!” Seeing another advantage to tease him, Lyla scoops up both of Miguel’s wrists in one robotic hand and pulls his arms out in front of him.

“I’ll take those, thank you,” she beams above him. She then uses the unoccupied robotic hand to reach the ticklish places she tried before, now that the gates that were holding back his laughter have erupted.

Miguel squeals and jolts with laughter as the free mechanical hand scritches and scribbles at the rest of his torso. Lyla swiftly switches from spot to spot, like a scratch to his ribs, a squeeze to his sides, a scribble or two to his belly and underarms. She pokes around his whole torso, sending Miguel into a squirming, giggling frenzy.

“Lylahahahaha!!! Quihihihit it!” Miguel attempts to tug back his arms as his joyful laughter fills the room. He releases a snort, then buries his face in his shoulder, trying to hold on to any dignity he has left.

“No wonder you couldn’t hold still! You’re just that ticklish!” Lyla giggles at Miguel’s reaction. “Ironically though, I’m still able to get some measurements from you. Of where you’re the most ticklish, that is, which I determine to be your belly! Your laughter is zero point five decibels higher in that spot than the rest of your tickle spots! Watch!” Lyla then takes the opportunity to return to scribbling at his stomach, causing Miguel to squeak and increase the volume of his laughter, just as expected.

“LYLA!” Miguel calls out her name again in an attempt to scold her, even though his voice is currently laced with silly sounding laughter, “Thahahahat’s enohohohough!!!”

“Aww, so soon? But alright, I gotcha,” Lyla smiles and releases his wrists. Miguel instantly wraps his arms around himself, panting as he catches his breath from the tickle attack.

Lyla floats over to his shoulder. “See? Now wasn’t that fun?”

Miguel huffs out a growl. He glares at Lyla out of the corner of his eye. “That was NOT fun!”

“Say what you want Miguel,” Lyla shrugs with a lingering, all-knowing smile on her face, “but I can read that your body language is much more relaxed than it was before.”

Miguel opens his mouth to counter her, but he stops himself. He looks away from her with a defeated scowl. A small blush heats in his cheeks. He, unfortunately, can’t argue with her data about him feeling more relaxed.

Lyla hovers back to his other side to grab the measuring tape that she had previously hung on the contraption's metal frame. “Now, let’s get back to business. I still need to finish measuring you for real.”

Miguel flinches away from her, reflexively bringing his arms close to his body for split second defense. “There’s more?!” he frantically questions.

The AI chuckles at his flustered reaction. “Hehe, relax Miguel. I promise I won't tickle you on purpose,” she holds out a reassuring, open palm. “But you better hold still this time,” she ends her sentence with a lighthearted smirk.

Needless to say, Miguel fully understands that he should listen to her advice, but at least the short break in the middle of their work wasn’t a total waste of time.

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv lyla #lyla spiderverse #sfw fanfiction #sfw fanfic #sfw tickle fic #tickle fic

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verysmolnerd · 1 month

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Tailor of the dark side

Kylo ren x reader

I’m not well-versed in Star Wars lore, since I’m a newer fan, but I tried my best. This was loosely based on some segments in my life, but I just wanted to add a Star Wars spin with a new favorite character of mine. I have intentions with learning the lore just so my fics can have that semi-realistsic feeling to the source material… well, as much as an X Reader fic can be.

tw: none! Enjoy!

Your family has been doing this since your elders can remember. The reason why? You’re not so sure; your distant relatives assume it was by force, others say it was willing. Regardless, you spend your days measuring the sizes of the high-ranking officers and sewing them their apparel.

Your family had been through it all, the sith, the empire, and now the first order. Each one with the same goal, and yet, fails to complete it. Not that you care anyway, you’re not paid to be on the battlefield; you’re paid to sew.

That being, you’re often overlooked by most of the staff. Only a few cleaning droids stayed longer, but no two were ever the same. That didn’t stop you from being respectful to them, and their silent beeps of approval are heartwarming on this cold ship.

You have a few rare visitors, well, they’re almost celebrities with their position throughout the bases and the galaxy. Some of them even addressed you by name, filling the soundless void when you measured them.

Even General Hux has graced you with a visit for his new overcoat measurements. Saying that, “Your skills are above average. It’s admirable to those unworthy.” His cryptic and intellectual comments were not even remotely flattering, you just nodded and watched him leave.

But nobody truly talks to you; or holds a meaningful conversation. You’d kill for one at this point; with the rate of insanity you’ve been driven down.

Maybe you might leave, and do something meaningful with your life. You have generations of pay from relatives working the very same position you are in… maybe that was their intention. To leave, and live a life they couldn’t.

…So you packed up the few things you needed and set off for another planet. You were discreet, disguising yourself as a mechanic, so getting on a ship to deploy troopers was easier than you anticipated.

The ship landed on a planet that goes by the name of Yavin-4. There are suspects that this planet housing a very powerful rebel base here. Which explains why you’re essentially swimming in stormtroopers.

The ship had one last jerk before opening the doors, pinching you between the armor of two stormtroopers. You seethe in pain, but their gloved hands were quick to catch you before you stumbled or fell.

Then, like the sea, all of the troopers piled out and waited for attention. You slinked away and swapped clothes. You started to walk towards the forest, enjoying the natural elements in stark constraint to the cold, dead, and monotone environment on the ships.

You decided to live amongst the trees, making a shelter with the help of the locals. You’ve learned quite a few languages on the ship you were on, it seems to help you out a lot then.

And just like that, weeks had passed by in your new life. You’ve learned how to survive alone, like you used to always have but without the first order. It’s nice, calm. It almost doesn’t feel real at times.

However, one evening brought another change in your life.

You were atop one of the infinite trees on the planet to watch the sunset. The locals said it would be beautiful this time of the year, so you had to see it for yourself.

Your eyes gazed upon the pink sky, only for you to find that multiple first-order ships had come to land. Not really a big idea, they do this all the time and haven’t looked for you… however, there are more; the faint overshadow of a star destroyer within the atmosphere of the planet.

You narrow your eyes. It’s not just any Star destroyer.

It’s the finalizer.

It seemed that your past has come to find you. You didn’t seem to sneak away like you thought you did after all. Tragic, but now isn’t the time to dwell on such things.

It’s not just the main base of the First Order, but a whole fleet of Star destroyers could be seen behind it. Your eyes widened; only something like this would end up in a genocide.

That being, it doesn’t take long for the entire planet to get alerted. Ships were already rising above the tree lines and that’s when the faintest specks in the sky turned into tie fighters.

You need to find a way off the planet. Not out of fear that the First Order will find you, but that you will be dead amongst the crossfire. With the new supreme leader of that white operation, there’s no doubt that they will spare no expense in wiping any living organism off a planet.

You rejoin the semblance of a society when you stumble upon an area littered with X-Wings, Resistance attack ships…. You’ve found yourself on the hidden rebel base and you barely even recognized it.

Pilots and droids rushed left and right attempting to load others on ships hastily taking off. That being, you were ushered with a group of technicians on a cruiser.

The ship was silent, everyone held their breath as it took to the skies. X-Wings defended the ship mercilessly as the ship flew amongst the stars. Explosions could be seen or heard all around the ship.

You shuddered, feeling some sort of pulse being applied to your entire being. Was it the weight of the situation getting to you? Or was it something else? You are well aware that the force is rare, but it’s possible that one force user could be near.

You couldn’t entirely dwell on it, because the ship shook and the lights went out. The ship has been boarded, and that pulsing feeling has only strengthened. The force user was there and you really don’t want to figure out who it is.

A red, cross-like glow illuminated the other end of the hallway. It almost parallels with the story you’ve been told of what Lord Vader did many years ago. Fitting for a descendant of him. The soldiers shot at the Sith Lord.

It’s like history was rewriting itself. The lightsaber was effortlessly -yet with extreme precision- swung around and deflected the shots fired at him. Shouting increases when their comrades are being carelessly murdered without any afterthought.

However, it was only a matter of time before he got across the hallway and got to you as well as with the other resistance members. So, you ran inside one of the escape pods and took it while others were hopping on smaller escape ships on the bay.

You were pressing the buttons to initiate the escape sequence when you saw the door to the room was blown off. A loud clang could be heard on the opposite wall. The glow of the red lightsaber poured through the destroyed doorway. Your stomach formed a deep pit when the panic from others became prevalent.

In comes Kylo Ren, and you launch the escape pod; dropping into the abyss of space.

You weren’t much of a pilot, but that doesn’t mean you’re completely helpless. You can certainly get away if the attention is focused on the other smaller cruisers sent to pick up the remaining resistance.

You aimed the ship back to Yavin-4, knowing that you’d have to find some sort of transportation ship to leave the planet when the fight was over or at least died down. You glance at the battle surrounding the battle.

As much as you prided your sudden ability to evade others perusing you; keeping such a thing up couldn’t happen forever. The chase would have to end.

So, while the eyes are on the resistance, you plunge for Yavin-4. Holding your breath as if that could hide you from the roar of the TIE fighters and the explosions of destroyed ships.

And your time had just run out. Two TIE fighters have launched cables that latched onto your escape pod. Then your fight or flight responses shined above all fear. You flipped the ship rapidly, tying the two fighter ships together.

The two ships tried desperately to get away, but you weren’t allowing that. You spun the ship in a bunch of circles, swinging the two ships around the battlefield. One last yank, the tow cables snapped and they both smashed into a nearby star destroyer.

You made a silent cheer, but that was quick to die when you felt your ship caught into a tractor beam. You sigh in defeat, knowing you can’t fight it. So, you slinked your way to a seat and just waited to be docked and boarded.

At least you’re sitting down, you’re not sure how long it’s been since it was just you atop a tree, losing track of time within warfare has been a common thing with anyone in the First Order. The only person that would know the exact time, down to the second, would be the general and those at the command center.

The ship jerked as it was brought to the docking bay. The doors to your escape pod drop. The general, of all people, is greeting you here. That’s so unlike him, and you’re not important enough to even be graced in his presence. Save for that one time he went on another stead to pick up his clothes. (his subordinate was probably murdered, this is the First Order we’re talking about here)

“It seems we’ve underestimated you, tailor. Your alliance to the First Order is far stronger than most.” Hux preened, but his face was unreadable, “You have my respect for leading us to the resistance base camp.”

Your eyes widen. It was you. You were the reason why they found the base on Yavin-4. But how? It’s not like you have anything on you that can be tracked.

“That was your intention, was it not?” Ah, there’s that familiar glare you’re used to. You nodded, “Yes it was, general.” No sense in taking some random punishment, you know that any issued by the general are quite brutal.

He didn’t give a response to your answer, he gesutered fro you to stand and follow him. So, you did, not wanting your head to be on display amongst the rest of the First Order Traitors. You may not be in deep trouble, but you’re still walking on eggshells… just like when you did sew for everyone here.

You don’t entierly recognize the hallways that you walk down, but the echos of the past still linger within the souless walls. However, you know an important room when you see one.

For starters, the furniture is far better than any section of the base, not to mention the security for the room requires a few more troopers to watch over. Not to mention, being escorted by the general. Nothing good comes from those rooms. Normally, whomever enters it, doesn’t come out.

You were put in the cetner of this room at a standstill, the general left without a word and the stormtroopers migth as well no be there with their soundless movements.

You can’t remember how long it was that you stood there, once again, it had been a long time since since you were in a stationary position like this. It makes you wonder how you put up with this before.

You flinch when the door opens. Then it’s like your very soul was trying to leave you body when you saw who entered the room.

Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren.

You got on one knee, “Supreme Leader.” You avert your eyes, but you catch the sight of his boots. He’s circling you, as if you were mere prey. “Stand,” his modulated voice shook you to your very core.

You rise to your feet, your eyes trained on the wall. You kept your mind empty, but your stomach was reeling when his cape grazed your legs.

“At ease,” he said, the traces of mirth escaping him. Yes, you still have your manners. You loosened your posture and met his masked gaze.

“You led us right to them.” He said, soft yet blunt. “I’m not sure how you did it.” You clarify, not sure if he can force read your mind or not. “General Hux tracked your location through your identification card.” Now you felt stupid. You still had it on you for the sake of having any identity or a form to purchase items.

“However,” He drawled out, “Your presence was far simpler to track.” You didn’t have the words to respond to that, not sure what makes the supreme leader tick. His destructive fits are known throughout the galaxy.

“Are you hiding your sensibility to the force?” You shake your head, “If I am force sensitive, then only you would know, supreme leader.” You knew you had to choose your words carefully; high-ranking officers have been killed for less than punishable offenses.

“You have been overlooked by my officers,” it was a statement more than a question. There’s no sense in telling him what you know, it’s not like it’s anything useful, “That I am used to, supreme leader. My job, among many, is overlooked.”

He says nothing, allowing you to continue,“Who do you think sews the banners, designs our logo, writes propaganda, and makes recruitment stations? The people who cook your dinners? There are more like me than you know, supreme leader.”

If you’re going to die, well, might as well get your point across…

“We all made the same loyalty pledge that you did.” You remember when he was brought in by Snoke, you were roughly the same age. He was so timid then, moreso overhwelmed. He couldn’t stand at attention properly nor anybody see him as compitent or a real member of the first order. That’s what the rumors were, at least. The more chattier officers would tell you everything, true or not.

Then he started getting angry, really angry. His rage won many battles against the reistance, and that got him the role of commander. Snoke made this quite the event to the point where he got the equivalent of a coronation. You were amongst all the unsung memebers of the regime, painting for the back of the room.

Until now, you’ve only seen him twice….But why are you thinking about this?

“I.” His crackled voice brought you out of your own head, “I’ve seen you.” At the promotion ceremony. But neither of you said that. He searched through your mind, must’ve thought you were familar. “So have I.” You said, filling the silence.

“You’ve been here all along,” he changed gears in the conversation, “But you’ve never called for me.” That’s an easy answer, one you didn’t have to think about.

“Snoke sent me your measurements, he didn’t want you to associate yourself with lowly personnel like myself.” You didn’t even think of it as an insult. With such a long line serving the dark side, it wouldn’t do the first order good if such tradition was served at the hands of an unstable man. (From what you heard at least, he’s been eerily calm when you’ve seen him)

That name didn’t sit well with him, the clenched fist an echo to what he could do to your lungs. So it’s your turn to change the subject…to save your own skin.

“My family has been supporting the darkside for a long, long time.” You say, “My mother was the one who made vader’s cape. And my grandfather with the emperor’s robes.” That piqued his interest, you’ve been here all this time. Present, but out of sight.

He didn’t answer again, and you knew that this was going to be awkward. It doesn’t appear that the supreme leader has spoken with anyone who was not involved directly with warfare.

Then he felt a tugging sensation. It was light, but not with the force. Rather, you had reached up and thumbed his clothes. You had every right to, it was your job..

And for once…. An action like that. didn’t bother him.

“You could use a new wardrobe.” You say, eyeing his garments. They look like they’ll form holes soon, something needed to be done. He felt exposed like this, unsure of what to do. “May I?” You pulled out an old measuring tape, you’ve had it on you and almost forgot about it… until now. You could probably use your skills to ensure your safety.

He made no movement to deny you, so you serve behind him and get the basic measurements, nothing too detailed, but enough for a general idea.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” you say, moving back in front of him.

“I’ll show you to your room.” He declares, moving out of the small room and back into the hallway.

“Yes, supreme leader.”

….”Call me Kylo Ren.”

“What?”

“Please…”

“Ok then, Kylo Ren. I’ll follow you.”

#kylo ren x reader #fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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millenialfanfictionaddiction · 2 years

Text

Being Nekoma’s Omega Manager:

Alpha Bokuto’s Crush

Alpha! Kotaro Bokuto x Omega! female manager (YN Kuroo) (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: SFW, mentions of mates but basically all fluff

A/N: ok I can explain… yeah I can’t but the idea of omega verse has been on my mind for a while and this is me exorcising that 🫠 also I’m not sure this would be classified as “traditional ABO omegaverse”. It’s my first time trying this genre so please don’t come for me 😅 I promise I’m willing to learn!

As if being an omega wasn’t hard enough, you were one of the few omegas that populated the halls of Nekoma

The school was comprised of mostly betas and alphas, including your big brother, Tetsuro Kuroo

Tetsuro was the head alpha and captain of Nekoma’s volleyball team

Tetsuro was big, strong, smart and a great leader

You were much the opposite of your brother, small, average, and rather shy

Nothing about you stood out particularly and you liked it that way

You weren’t popular but not exactly a wallflower either

You fit in with your own friends, who were compromised of mostly betas

Your smell was a pleasant, light floral- often making the atmosphere around you calm and serene

Tetsuro often described your scent like the wind blowing through a field of fresh flowers in the summer

Kenma, Tetsuro’s best friend and beta, told you that you smelled like perfume

“Umm thanks Kenma?” You’d say as he shrugged

“At least it’s a nice perfume smell!” Inuoka, another beta from the volleyball club added

While you got along well at Nekoma, you mostly hung out with your brother and the volleyball team

They had accepted you into their pack as an omega and someone they cared very much for

Yaku and Kai, both Betas, adored how small you were and how much you cared for the team

Yamamoto, another Alpha, watched you like a hawk and treated you like his own sister

You became so integrated into the team that eventually, you just naturally became their manager

“You’re always here Yn, might as well put you to work!” Coach Nekomata laughed

It worked out well for you because you were safe and you felt extremely needed within the pack

Your scent often helped calm down Kuroo and Yamamoto when they got irritated by Daishou and the Alpha’s of Nohebi

“Hey you got yourself a cute little omega I see,” Daishou said, “maybe you can let us borrow her for a while?”

Kuroo and Yamamoto both growled at the threat presented to them

Yaku and Kai told you to ignore them but your instincts told you other wise

You approached the boys, releasing a calming scent to calm them

“I’m sorry but I belong to Nekoma’s pack,” you say sweetly as you pull the two dumb alphas with you

While you loved your pack, you had yet to become attached to anyone in particular

Your inner omega hadn’t been stirred up by anyone at the school or at any of the teams practice matches

A lot of your fellow omegas were bonded to alpha’s already and sometimes, you felt lonely, desiring your own alpha

Your brother told you to be patient, that your day could come

You knew he wasn’t too excited for you to find a mate, wanting to keep you safe and protected within his pack for as long as he could

However, that would change when Nekoma’s training camps started

You were nervous but excited for everything new

Kuroo had told you that you would be the only Omega at the camp as the teams were comprised of Betas and Alphas, including the managers

You knew you’d get along with the managers no matter what, having met Karasuno manager before

When the teams arrived, you stood next to Kuroo, hiding slightly behind him

They had all been very pleasant to you, greeting you kindly

A large bus arrived, commotion stirring from it as soon as the doors opened

“Bokuto you need to chill out,” a voice sounded as you watched a very large man bounce off the bus

“Akaashi, you know how excited he gets when it comes to training camp,” one of the managers said as she followed the bouncy man

You watched as the black and silver haired man stood by the bus, the rest of the team piling off

You couldn’t see his face but his presence made the atmosphere shift around you

The wind was blowing a little strong, you hair flowing around your face as you pulled it from your mouth

Bokuto stopped, frozen as he smelt the air, his lungs expanding as he took in the beautiful scent

His body reacted before he had a chance to think, urging him to find the source of the pretty smell

He turned, his eyes lading directly on you as you stood slightly behind your brother

You were so tiny and meek, it drove him to the brink

He had never felt this way about another person, let alone an omega

He let the scent of you wash over him as his body carried him towards you

“Bokuto where the heck are you going?” Akaashi said as he made his way over, eyes fixed at on you

Kuroo watched as Bokuto approached, shifting in front of you as a low growl sounded from his throat

The growl from his friend and rival sent Bokuto into protective mode, his scent immediately changing as he bared his teeth

Akaashi came next to Kenma as they both watched , Kuroo standing his ground as Bokuto began to stare him down

The teams knew not to get involved when two alphas met toe to toe

Not only because a fight would surely ensue but also because they noted your presence close to the scene and didn’t want you to get hurt

“Omega,” Bokuto said, a low growl sounding from him as his piercing hazel eyes locked on yours, pupils dilated , “mine.”

You stiffened, as you took in Bokuto’s scent of warm, fresh cotton

You body began to heat up as you felt a soft whimper escape you lips

A whine that called to him, telling him that you found him just as attractive as he found you

What the heck were you doing? You body was acting on its own accord as the tall alpha loomed in front of you

You peered around your bother who was locked in a heated glare with Bokuto

You hadn’t seen Kuroo this angry in a while, not even Daishou’s annoying comments stirred this much emotion

You snapped from your haze, pumping calming pheromones into the air to defuse the tension between the two alphas

You could sense the tension dissipate, as your brother and Bokuto both calmed down, Bokuto’s eyes returning to normal

Bokuto looked from your brother to you, his face relaxing as he calmed down

“Who is this Kuroo?” He asked, still staring at you

“My sister and Nekoma’s manager now back off!” Kuroo growled

“Tetsuro its ok,” you said softly as your brothers head snapped to you

“I’m YN, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, a soft smile appearing on your face

“I’m Kōtarō Bokuto, it’s a pleasure,” he said, still staring at you

Kuroo was getting annoyed at how Bokuto was staring at you and what was with him calling you his earlier?

Kuroo could sense the change in Bokuto’s behavior and he didn’t like it one bit

He knew the alpha was interested in you, his scent reeking of possessiveness

Thankfully, Yaku and Kai came to the rescue

“Come on YN, we have to finish setting up the gym,” Yaku interrupted, sensing the tension forming and wanting to remove you from the situation

Yaku and Kai both knew things could escalate quickly and didn’t want to risk you getting hurt

“Oh of course!” You said, running to meet up with Yaku and waving to Bokuto

Bokuto watched as you left, your scent hitting him smack in the face once again

“Stay away from my sister Bokuto,” Kuroo growled as Bokuto smirked

Yeah there was no way in hell that was going to happen

As the training camp progressed, you felt not only the eyes of your team on you but the eyes of Bokuto as well

He watched you every spare second he could, his eyes finding you in every setting on the gym

“Looks like we won’t need much encourgement today,” Yukie said to Akaashi who nodded, watching Bokuto as he watched you

“I’ve never seen him like this before, do you really think-” Washio said as Akaashi nodded

“I’m not 100% for sure, but I think so,” he said, still watching as Bokuto’s eyes lit up at the sound of your laugh

He hated how close the betas of your pack were standing to you

Kenma and Inuka all but on top of you

His inner alpha yelled at him to stop them, halt them from getting any closer to what was his

He released a low growl, heard by Akaashi as he tried observed you

“Bokuto, we should get to practicing,” Akaashi said as Bokuto snarled

“Yeah, I need to hit something. I’m pissed off,” he barked

You stiffened, hearing the snarl permeat your ears from across the court

Bokuto was fuming as he slammed spike after spike into the other side of the court

“Hey Yn, can you fill up our water bottles please?” Kai asked as you chirped in surprise, Bokuto stopping when he heard you

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry, I was just zoned out! I’ll get right on it!” You said, grabbing the crates and hoisting them into your arms

“Hey can I help you with those?” Bokuto said, approaching you as you carried your teams water bottles to the fountain

“Oh no I’m ok! I don’t want to interrupt your practice!” You say, smiling back

“It’s ok, I’m on a break! And those look really heavy,” he says, extending his hand as you blush and hand him the bottles

You walk to the fountain and began filling up the bottles, Bokuto standing close by you

“Thanks so much Bokuto,” you say

“Please call me Kotaro,” he responds as you nod

“Kotaro it is then!” You giggle as Bokuto’s chest fills with pride at your name rolling from your mouth

“You are really pretty Yn and your scent is beautiful,” Bokuto bluntly stated as you felt your face heat up

“Umm thanks Ko, Kenma says it smells like perfume,” you say shyly

“Well it’s the best perfume I’ve ever smelt before,” he said as you felt your body heat, his scent becoming strong as you talked

You talk a little as you fill water bottles when suddenly the foul stench of anger fills the hallway

“BOKUTO!” Kuroo shouts as you chirp suddenly, eyes widening

Bokuto responds to you, his instinct to protect your from anyone and anything stronger than ever

He stands in front of you, arms crossed as you peer out from behind his hulking form.

“I thought I told you to leave my sister alone!” He barked as Bokuto growled back, his stench reeking of possessiveness

“I’m only helping her and stop being so protective of her Kuroo!” Bokuto snarled out the command as you stiffened

“She’s an unmarked omega Bokuto and she’s my baby sister so no, I will not back down!” Kuroo says as your eyes widen at the realization that both men are getting extremely angry

The smells mixed together and assaulted your nose as you tried your best to stay calm

“I would never hurt her Kuroo! I think you already know what I want,” Bokuto snarls as Kuroo’s eyes flame with anger

You try pumping your scent into the air as the men’s eyes dead lock on each other, eyes blown wide as you try desperately to calm them down

Unfortunately for you, it’s not working

“Whoa hey what’s going on here?” Yaku says, coming out into the hallway with Akaashi, Kenma and Kai

“Kuroo calm down,” Kai says as Kuroo’s vision snaps to Kai

“Back off! This is between Bokuto and me,” Kuroo shouted

Driven by your instincts, you do the only thing you can and begin scenting Bokuto

You had never scented anyone before, not even your own pack mates

Usually your calming scent filling the air was enough to chill the mood but your instincts drove you to do more

Your wrist rubs up and down his arms, as you see his form relax, his eyes shifting to you

Kuroo’s eyes turned towards you as he watched your eyes lock with Bokuto’s

He knew what this meant, and while he wasn’t happy about it, he could tell you wanted this

“Kotaro, it’s ok. Tetsuro is just looking out for me. He knows how dangerous it is being an unclaimed omega,” you say

“I want to be your Alpha Yn,” Bokuto says suddenly as your eyes widen

Akaashi palms his face knowing perfectly well that the customs of courting an Omega

“Bokuto, you are suppose to ask her with a gift you know,” Akaashi says, as you smile

“Oh right, uhh, hold on!” Bokuto says, ripping off his practice jersey as well as his T-shirt

“Here you go Yn,” he says, handing you his T-shirt

Even Kuroo is like “really YN? This is what you want?”

You accept the T-shirt, holding it up to your nose as the scent of Kotaro, the scent YOUR Alpha wafts through your nose

“I love it Kotaro and yes, I’d love to court you,” you say as he smiles

“Well HEY HEY HEY!” He screams, lifting you into the air and spinning you around

Kuroo stands there, his arms crossed as he just shakes his head

“You sure you want this Yn?” He asks as you nod

“Honestly this was the cutest courtship proposal I’ve ever seen,” Yaku says, wiping a tear from his eyes

“Akkaaaasshiiii we are going to have to make room for Yn on the bus!” Bokuto says as you smile, shaking your head

“Bokuto YN isn’t coming with you,” Kuroo notes

Bokuto’s eyes widen as he looks to you as he deflated, hair and all

“Sorry Kotaro, I can’t just transfer schools! But I can come visit you on weekends and we can FaceTime everyday until we can see each other?” You say as your alpha perks up and smiles

“Come on YN, I gotta show you all my skills while we are together! I need to prove that you have the bestest Alpha around!” Bokuto says, dragging you back to the gym as you giggled

“Well it finally happened,” Kenma said, walking back with Akaashi

Akaashi just smiled, knowing that, for a while at least, he wouldn’t have to worry about Bokuto’s emo modes for a while

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kit-williams · 7 months

Text

Happy Valentines day

Male Lead: Gabriel

Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Space Marine Husbandry Sentience/Non Canon

Canon Status: Canon for the Non Canon (basically sexy marines are non canon so please do not label this Space Marine Husbandry use the Space Marine Husbandry Sentience tag)

I'd like to thank Barn Anon for infecting me with their precious non murderous baby their Blood Angel Gabriel and giving me permission to 'Go nuts' in putting their blorbo in smexual situations.

tw: Smut, I know some people will add the fact that the word love is used so yeah I use the word love in this.

He croons to you in gothic sprinkling in some English but he prefers to tell you such romantic things in High gothic as he can easily find his words in his native tongue as his slowly kissed up your leg and down your arm... running his tongue over your arteries.

You were a nervous mess as you felt like a pervert? Sex with Astartes felt oddly taboo... though you felt your head swimming as you looked at Gabriel in a different light... you had let a man into your home... you had let this hyper warrior male into your home, you had let him take care of you, you had been taking care of him, you both had given each other affection... you felt like a pervert taking something wholesome and turning it to lurid. But Gabriel assured you that it was far more of him seducing you verses him being seduced by you.

He coos with a laugh as you worry about being some degenerate and reminds you of how the only real degenerates are Emperor's Children. His large mouth presses to yours as his hands move down your to your waist as he pulls you onto his chest. The height different wasn't that bad... but your hips could not grind against one another as you two kissed. But he still kissed you slowly and tenderly.

A large hand of his ran over the swell of your ass, palming and massaging one of the cheeks as his other kept your mouth moving against his but holding your chin gently. His tongue slipping between your lips as drool oozed out of the corners of your mouth as your smaller tongue was bullied into compliance by his own. You finally pull away to breathe as you sit on his stomach. He looks at you like there was fire in his eyes... like you were the center of his world... like how all those love songs teenagers sing completely miss. How that puppy love doesn't compare to the way Gabriel looks at you.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt pulling it off over your head... feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as it doesn't come off sexily or cleanly... you forgetting a button... oh how self conscious you feel but when you finally get your shirt off you're left looking down at him. He just has to loosen a few things and then he is naked. There is a bit of a belly on him but it feels so firm... his pectorals look firm and almost like a body builders but you can see the layer of fat that just barely covers the muscles. You do your best to not look behind you and between his legs... you feel him nuzzle your softer flesh and watch the pleasure move on his face.

You look back and just watch him slowly harden then seemingly quickly harden and you look back and he looks at you with a hungry yet cheeky stare as if watching you watch him was a turn on. He's big... not as massive as you were expecting but if he was the size of an average man he'd be on the longer and girthier side of the scale... a fit but not impossible. You swallow and blush looking away from his red eyes, "I... I think you'll fit."

"I know I will... even if you are on the smaller end I will be careful." He coos as you feel his hand that was on your ass move down and his finger... his middle just dip into your sex. You lay on him as he just gets you ready... the way he breathes in your ear... his mouth on your shoulder and neck, the way his teeth just rest on the skin as he kisses and sucks. How strange you feel breathing in his ear and moaning softly into his shoulder. "Are you ready?" He says softly.

"Y-yeah." you say nervously as you feel the head of his cock pushing and prodding against your sex as you swallow and use his hands to balance as you push down. The slickness of your sex allows his cock to glide through you as you soon feel your hips against his. "Oh god you actually fit..." The blush dances over your face as your walls clench around his cock.

Gabriel just nods as his head is against the pillow as a hand rests on his forehead as he feels the way you clench around him and the warmth of his hips against yours. How you tremble before you lie down just resting your head against his body. "Gabriel..."

"Yes Darling." He says with a strained voice trying to not move though that slick warmth that he rests inside of you makes it very hard not too.

"Please move." You say as he spreads his legs and bends his knees, you can feel him raise his hips off the mattress slightly as he churns his hips up slowly. You moan softly as he pulls in and out of you slowly but this intimate position makes it feel a bit more intense. You moan in and out panting softly as his breath shutters out as his hand rests on the back of her head as his eyes look over at her mouth wanting to kiss her hard... perhaps after bringing her to orgasm in this position.

Gabriel feels odd... as he has thought of how he wants this to go.... and idea of how he would go through this. He had a plan all the way up to this point and now he was running blind. He tried to keep his hips slow and steady but his enjoyment was growing stronger and stronger as he increased his pace as his fingers played with your hair. Your moans of his name cause him to press his hands into your thighs a bit harder to squeeze the flesh there, feeling the soft flesh against his firm hands.

He arches and hisses in delight as you run your hands through his red locks, running your nails against part of his scalp as he groaned with restrained desires. Missing your mouth against his... you could see it in his eyes how he would stop what he would be doing and just pick you up to kiss you like a lover... just like the way he had earlier in the day kissed you till your lips felt numb.

You pant his name and he could smell what was coming. He rolled his hips along with yours as the world became so small and consisted of his body and yours. You feel that slow build up of an orgasm slowly and lazily reaching its climax as you do not shriek in pleasure but gasp softly as it comes to you like a tender lover.

You feel Gabriel's mouth on yours as your tongues play with each other. Your naked flesh pressed against his enhanced body... "Gabriel... Gabriel did you..."

He shook his head, "Not yet." He breathes out as you feel your back against your plush bed and look up at him. Saliva connects your mouths as he pulls away and you watch the strands snap. He really does look like an angel. You think as he just smiles so handsomely down at you... how could someone be so handsome?

You gasp and moan as you feel him slowly slide in and your hips fitting snuggly against his. You watch him press his chest to yours as one of his hands comes behind your head and cups it as his face presses into the top of your head. "I would kiss you and your neck but I'm just a little bit too tall to do that."

You feel him all around you as his arms hold you in and he is above you and one arm behind you as he thrusts into you as the bed creaks from this position as he soon moans feeling your mouth on his for a brief moment to kiss and suck on his flesh but that is forgotten as he hits that right spot inside of you. You chant his name as he rocks deep inside of you arching under him as he builds up another orgasm for you.

He pants and breaths delicate words to you... how you are gorgeous... how you feel so wonderful around him... how he loves you so... and you feel like a yowling cat besides him as you just start to chant and cry out his name. You hear something rip as his hand twists the bedsheet too tightly as that sing song like tone of his voice slips to something deep... a noise you can't explain yet it sends a thrill down your spine.

He arches his back slightly in a position that mustn't be comfortable but he forces himself to crouch over you to press his mouth against yours while rocking against you. You feel your own eyes roll back as you grip the back of his head tightly, trying to wrap your legs around him still. His mouth slips from yours as you let out a pleasured scream for this orgasm. He stills over you just breathing hard.

"Oh by the Throne you're tight." He manages to breathe out before looking down at you and crooning your name, "I didn't hurt you?"

"Hurt? No... oh God no. Did you cum inside of me?" You say lifting your head looking at where you two were joined as your walls were still tightly clenched around him trapping him in place.

"Was I not suppose to?" He asks a bit worried looking down at you.

"Don't worry about it." You can't help but moan softly as he slowly pulls out. You watch how his pupils nearly devour his eyes as he looks at where he just was. Gabriel wouldn't deny the fact your body wasn't closing up right away... there was something amazing running through him at seeing you gaping wide with his cum slowly oozing out of you.

You smile as his eyes look at you and he crawls over you again pulling you into his arms and kissing you again tenderly and very much full of all of his love. He rubs his face against yours and croons in gothic at you. You laugh no longer feeling that nervous energy that you felt at the start... no longer feeling like a pervert as this felt right with how he holds you tight.

"Love you Gabriel." You say pulling away to breathe.

"I love you too." He purrs back as you lay with him not worrying about anything for awhile before life has to move on. You lay on his chest focused on how his fingers move against your back and his lips against your own.

The everything Taglist:

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty

#barn anon #warhammer 40k #OC: Gabriel #Space marine #space marine x reader #x reader #tw: smut #non canon #tales from the barn #sentience au #blood angel #valentines day

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reasonsforhope · 1 year

Text

"If I wanted to convince you of the reality of human progress, of the fact that we as a species have advanced materially, morally, and politically over our time on this planet, I could quote you chapter and verse from a thick stack of development statistics.

I could tell you that a little more than 200 years ago, nearly half of all children born died before they reached their 15th birthday, and that today it’s less than 5 percent globally. I could tell you that in pre-industrial times, starvation was a constant specter and life expectancy was in the 30s at best. [Note: This is average life expectancy, old people did still exist in olden times] I could tell you that at the dawn of the 19th century, barely more than one person in 10 was literate, while today that ratio has been nearly reversed. I could tell you that today is, on average, the best time to be alive in human history.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll be convinced.

In one 2017 Pew poll, a plurality of Americans — people who, perhaps more than anywhere else, are heirs to the benefits of centuries of material and political progress — reported that life was better 50 years ago than it is today. A 2015 survey of thousands of adults in nine rich countries found that 10 percent or fewer believed that the world was getting better. On the internet, a strange nostalgia persists for the supposedly better times before industrialization, when ordinary people supposedly worked less and life was allegedly simpler and healthier. (They didn’t and it wasn’t.)

Looking backward, we imagine a halcyon past that never was; looking forward, it seems to many as if, in the words of young environmental activist Greta Thunberg, “the world is getting more and more grim every day.”

So it’s boom times for doom times. But the apocalyptic mindset that has gripped so many of us not only understates how far we’ve come, but how much further we can still go. The real story of progress today is its remarkable expansion to the rest of the world in recent decades. In 1950, life expectancy in Africa was just 40; today, it’s past 62. Meanwhile more than 1 billion people have moved out of extreme poverty since 1990 alone.

But there’s more to do — much more. That hundreds of millions of people still go without the benefit of electricity or live in states still racked by violence and injustice isn’t so much an indictment of progress as it is an indication that there is still more low-hanging fruit to harvest.

The world hasn’t become a better place for nearly everyone who lives on it because we wished it so. The astounding economic and technological progress made over the past 200 years has been the result of deliberate policies, a drive to invent and innovate, one advance building upon another. And as our material condition improved, so, for the most part, did our morals and politics — not as a side effect, but as a direct consequence. It’s simply easier to be good when the world isn’t zero-sum.

Which isn’t to say that the record of progress is one of unending wins. For every problem it solved — the lack of usable energy in the pre-fossil fuel days, for instance — it often created a new one, like climate change. But just as a primary way climate change is being addressed is through innovation that has drastically reduced the price of clean energy, so progress tends to be the best route to solving the problems that progress itself can create.

The biggest danger we face today, if we care about actually making the future a more perfect place, isn’t that industrial civilization will choke on its own exhaust or that democracy will crumble or that AI will rise up and overthrow us all. It’s that we will cease believing in the one force that raised humanity out of tens of thousands of years of general misery: the very idea of progress.

Changing Humanity's "Normal" Forever

Progress may be about where we’re going, but it’s impossible to understand without returning to where we’ve been. So let’s take a trip back to the foreign country that was the early years of the 19th century.

In 1820, according to data compiled by the historian Michail Moatsos, about three-quarters of the world’s population earned so little that they could not afford even a tiny living space, some heat and, hopefully, enough food to stave off malnutrition.

It was a state that we would now call “extreme poverty,” except that for most people back then, it wasn’t extreme — it was simply life.

What matters here for the story of progress isn’t the fact that the overwhelming majority of humankind lived in destitution. It’s that this was the norm, and had been the norm since essentially… forever. Poverty, illiteracy, premature death — these weren’t problems, as we would come to define them in our time. They were simply the background reality of being human, as largely unchangeable as birth and death itself...

Between 10,000 BCE and 1700, the average global population growth rate was just 0.04 percent per year. And that wasn’t because human beings weren’t having babies. They were simply dying, in great numbers: at birth, giving birth, in childhood from now-preventable diseases, and in young adulthood from now-preventable wars and violence.

It was only with the progress of industrialization that we broke out of [this long cycle], producing enough food to feed the mounting billions, enough scientific breakthroughs to conquer old killers like smallpox and the measles, and enough political advances to dwindle violent death.

Between 1800 and today, our numbers grew from around 1 billion to 8 billion. And that 8 billion aren’t just healthier, richer, and better educated. On average, they can expect to live more than twice as long. The writer Steven Johnson has called this achievement humanity’s “extra life” — but that extra isn’t just the decades that have been added to our lifespans. It’s the extra people that have been added to our numbers. I’m probably one of them, and you probably are too...

The progress we’ve earned has hardly been uninterrupted or perfectly distributed... [But] once we could prove in practice that the lot of humanity didn’t have to be hand-to-mouth existence, we could see that progress could continue to expand.

Current Progress "Flows Overwhelmingly" to the Developing World

The long twentieth century came late to the Global South, but it did get there. Between 1960 and today, India and China, together home to nearly one in every three people alive today, have seen life expectancy rise from 45 to 70 and 33 to 78, respectively. Per-capita GDP over those years rose some 2,600 percent for India and an astounding 13,400 percent for China, with the latter lifting an estimated 800 million people out of extreme poverty.

In the poorer countries of sub-Saharan Africa, progress has been slower and later, but shouldn’t be underestimated. When we see the drastic decline in child mortality — which has fallen since 1990 from 18.1 percent of all children in that region to 7.4 percent in 2021 — or the more than 20 million measles deaths that have been prevented since 2000 in Africa alone, this is progress continuing to happen now, with the benefits overwhelmingly flowing to the poorest among us.

Vanishing Autocracies

In 1800, according to Our World in Data, zero — none, nada, zip — people lived in what we would now classify as a liberal democracy. Just 22 million people — about 2 percent of the global population — lived in what the site classifies as “electoral autocracies,” meaning that what democracy they had was limited, and limited to a subset of the population.

One hundred years later, things weren’t much better — there were actual liberal democracies, but fewer than 1 percent of the world’s population lived in them...

Today just 2 billion people live in countries that are classified as closed autocracies — relatively few legal rights, no real electoral democracy — and most of them are in China...

Expanding Human Rights

All you have to do is roll the clock back a few decades to see the way that rights, on the whole, have been extended wider and wider: to LGBTQ citizens, to people of color, to women. The fundamental fact is that as much as the technological and economic world of 2023 would be unrecognizable to people in 1800, the same is true of the political world.

Nor can you disentangle that political progress from material progress. Take the gradual but definitive emancipation of women. That has been a hard-fought, ongoing battle, chiefly waged by women who saw the inherent unfairness of a male-dominated society.

But it was aided by the invention of labor-saving technologies in the home like washing machines and refrigerators that primarily gave time back to women and made it easier for them to move into the workforce.

These are all examples of the expansion of the circle of moral concern — the enlargement of who and what is considered worthy of respect and rights, from the foundation of the family or tribe all the way to humans around the world (and increasingly non-human animals as well). And it can’t be separated from the hard fact of material progress.

Leaving a Zero-Sum World Behind

The pre-industrial world was a zero-sum one... In a zero-sum world, you advance only at the expense of others, by taking from a set stock, not by adding, which is why wars of conquest between great powers were so common hundreds of years ago, or why homicide between neighbors was so much more frequent in the pre-industrial era.

We have obviously not eradicated violence, including by the state itself. But a society that can produce more of what it needs and wants is one that will be less inclined to fight over what it has, either with its neighbors or with itself. It’s not that the humans of 2023 are necessarily better, more moral, than their ancestors 200 or more years ago. It’s that war and violence cease to make economic sense...

Doomerism, at its heart, may be that exhaustion made manifest.

But just as we need continued advances in clean tech or biosecurity to protect ourselves from some of the existential threats we’ve inadvertently created, so do we need continued progress to address the problems that have been with us always: of want, of freedom, even of mortality. Nothing can dispel the terminal exhaustion that seems endemic in 2023 better than the idea that there is so much more left to do to lift millions out of poverty and misery while protecting the future — which is possible, thanks to the path of the progress we’ve made.

And we’ll know we’re successful if our descendants can one day look back on the present with the same mix of sympathy and relief with which we should look back on our past. How, they’ll wonder, did they ever live like that?"

-via Vox, 3/20/23

Note: I would seriously recommend reading the whole article--because as long as this post is, this is only about half of it! The article contains a lot more information about the hows and whys of human progress, and it also definitely made me cry the first time I read it.

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granolawriting · 1 year

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Could I request a platonic piece with Anakin and a teenage Padawan reader who’s having nightmares she thinks are visions? If this isn’t your style that’s ok ^^ If you do write it, plz tag my sideblog, eternalwanderlustvagabond

Oh sweetheart, this is totally my thing! I just don't see all too many people wanting it, is all. I will gladly write any kind of fic, and this one was a sweet deviation from the norm. thank you for the request <3

·˚ ༘ fears of a padawan; Anakin comfort text ·˚ ༘

word count: 1.2k!

request for @eternalwanderlustvagabond :)

Screams. That's the thing that you remember most. Alongside the clashing of blades and the thuds of bodies dropping, that's all that stays in your mind as you wake up covered in your own sweat. Heavy breaths, petrified over what you’ve just seen.

For weeks now it seems, every so often you’ll have a dream, perhaps, of what seems to be all of your friends, family in a sense, in a battle they can't win. It haunts you. You don't even want to sleep properly anymore, anything to get away from the prospect of those visions returning.

Visions. They have to be. Despite being only a padawan, you found yourself to be quite the well-versed one. People had a lot of faith in you, they roped you into the same category they often did Anakin-- which undoubtedly made him one of your closest confidants. Both having been picked by the council to train past the average due date, and both displayed grand abilities with the force. But he just seemed to have such a better time handing such a blessing and a curse. You were in awe of him.

These dreams, premonitions, began to affect even the way you trained. Staying up until late into the night, and limiting your sleep to short increments that don't lull you into enough comfort to dream, doesn't do too well with days that require mental strain and physical fitness. You began falling behind in a way, and people noticed. You were stuck at a crossroads of sorts; did you relieve yourself of having to handle these visions you had, or did you rest yourself well enough to perform at the level everyone expects you to?

Then, it’d hit you. You'd never properly talked to anyone about this, you never told anyone how you felt, keeping it locked away deep inside of you you’d rather carry your sorrow by yourself and bear the consequences of silence than speak up about it. A part of you felt as though it wasn't important enough to justify a council meeting, that your pain didn't warrant any help, and you didn't want to be a burden to anyone else in a way. Who could you even talk to about this? Surrounded by younglings who wouldn't understand, or padawans focused on their own training, and heaven forbid you spoke to the higher-ups on this matter-- when they have actual pressing matters to attend to. Some worse than your dreams. You decide to stay to yourself once more.

The soft clacking of blunt heels echoes in an otherwise empty hall-- another unsuccessful training session under your belt, apparently. You felt dejected, and those around you grew curious about your behavior. Another night you would spend awake in your room, tossing and turning over the fears that you couldn't tell anyone about. Or, so you thought.

A second sound of feet growing rushed in the hallway you both shared, an unfamiliar tune of what seemed to be an even unfamiliar stride draws ever close to you until you look behind you to see who could greet you at a time like this.

“Hey, do you think we could talk for a minute?”

It was Anakin. You had almost forgotten about him as you were so wrapped in yourself, but this question makes your heart drop. Is he here to talk about your low performance? Did your master send him? Did something really happen and you never said anything?

“Oh, of course, what's the issue?”

You respond in the most casual tone you can muster, just barely coated over the fear and worry lacing every syllable you speak.

“Is, everything okay with you? I mean this genuinely. I've seen the way you’ve been training recently-- it's not like yourself. And I know you like I know myself. You are strong, and something really must be getting to you right now, I can almost see it in your eyes.”

You stand there silenced for a moment.

“Oh- but, please, correct me if I'm wrong. I don't mean to assume I just wanted to check on you. I care for you.”

You feel a tear well in your eye at the sound of that. He was your friend. And as you stood there, a mouth slightly open as you tried to get the words out you felt that realization wash over you. Maybe he could do something about it, maybe he would understand what you were talking about-- maybe, he's experienced them too.

“Anakin, I've been having visions. Visions of our masters, our friends, they were-”

Getting choked up on your words for a moment you pause to compose yourself. Anakin looks at you with eyes full of attentiveness, not a smidge of judgment is found within his eyes focused on you, a mouth closed to allow himself to listen and even more let you compose yourself without interruption.

“They were, in a battle that can't be won. I watched them get hurt, and fail. There was nothing I could do, it was like I was an outsider to my own future. And, I can't sleep over it. I can barely eat anakin. To be honest I'm a mess. And I just don't know what to do, I don't want my family to die.”

A frown forms upon Anakin's face, but it's a sentimental one. Empathetic, even as he opens his arms for a hug and you with tear-ridden eyes follow his embrace. His arms folded around your back he soothes your sniffles into his robe with a thumb tracing your back, and a soothing reply;

“Oh- oh, it's okay. I know what you’re talking about, truly. It's okay to be afraid of those. You love us, and we all love you just the same. There's no reason to feel bad to be so scared of things like that, it's more than natural. But listen to me okay?”

He raises his hands to your shoulders, as means to look directly into your eyes before what he says next;

“You don't have to worry, okay? You and I are alike in so many ways, and I can promise you, they’re not visions. No matter how vivid they may be, the force can't do that to us. You can't see into the future, not even master yoda can, okay? So don't feel like you have to bear that kind of burden. You’re just afraid, and that's okay. I am too. Every day I walk these halls I worry I won't be good enough. And sometimes, that seeps into my dreams as well. And I feel hopeless, just as you are. But you can't let that overtake you. The only way to overcome these dreams is to overcome the feeling of not being good enough to help those you love the way they help you. And the first way to start is knowing that you help me, just as I help you too. We’re in this together okay? And we always will be.”

His eyes are stern, but they’re coated with care. Said with a small smile on his face to comfort you, he brought you into an embrace once more.

“You’re a wonderful person, okay? And I will always be here for you. Always."

Is said close to your ear, a comforting voice and body overwhelms you and he holds you once more, and as you allow the tears to subside the words he said to you truly resonate with you. You are more than your fears, and your insecurities. And he's reminded you of that. Those who are strong, first have to convince themselves that they are strong. And just like Anakin, you wish to be strong. And with him by your side, you’re sure you can do just that.

#anakin skywalker #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #anakin x reader #hayden christensen #sw anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin fluff #anakin comfort #sw fluff #star wars fluff #x reader #fluff #anakin

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haveyouheardthispodcast · 7 months

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400* Completed Polls!

I have noticed that we get tags from people shocked that so few people have heard of specific podcasts, and overwhelmingly these tags are left on polls that have a much higher heard-of-rate than normal.

So here's some stats about what has been "normal":

The mean "Haven't heard of this podcast" results is 75.1%.

The median is 82.1%.

(The mode is 91.1%, but this type of stat isn't particularly relevant for this data. It represents 5 datapoints.)

According to Microsoft Excel, if more than 69%** of our voting base has heard of a podcast, then it is an outlier.

The first quartile (which means 25% of the polls are under this number, and 75% are over this number) for "Haven't heard of this podcast" is 67.0%. The third quartile is 91.0%.

Only 54 podcasts have been recognized by half or more of our voters. Below the cut are the 30 podcasts that have been recognized by 60% or more of our voters.

There is a loose correlation (r²=0.427) between the number of votes a poll receives and the proportion of people who have heard of it. This correlation could be messed up with outliers — that is the polls about podcasts that leave our normal audience are often ones that are very well known on Tumblr. Unfortunately, Google Sheets does not have an easy way to recognize outliers, like Microsoft Excel does. Additionally, what is considered an outlier for how many votes a poll seems to change with how many polls we posted that day.

So frankly I do not know how do control for these outliers to give a more accurate r².

If you want to see the other stats I've compiled, a copy of the Google Spreadsheet is here.

Without further ado, the thirty podcasts that at least 60% of our voters have heard of:

The Magnus Archives

Welcome to Night Vale

Critical Role

The Ben Shapiro Show

My Brother, My Brother, and Me

Dungeons and Daddies

Alice Isn't Dead

The Penumbra Podcast

Wolf 359

I Am In Eskew

Friends at the Table

Malevolent

Not Another D&D Podcast

The Silt Verses

The Bright Sessions

Sawbones

Within the Wires

The Daily

Dateline

Wooden Overcoats

The Last Podcast on the Left

You're Wrong About

Hello From The Hallowoods

Where Do We Begin

Hello from the Magic Tavern

Stellar Firma

My Favorite Murder

SCP Archives

The Orbiting Human Circus

The White Vault

*Not counting the accidental 24 hour poll that is currently being rerun (although those stats are included in our averages, it lowered the minimum votes from 168 to 135 and is an outlier that should not have been counted for some stats but I want to keep it for other stats, so it's still in the data).

**Technically 68.8%, but a) 69% is a funnier number, and b) most of our polls get between 200 and 400 votes, so Tumblr's rounding to the first decimal is already too precise to be frankly accurate.

***This chart is not actually by how many posts were made that day, but by the date ranges surrounding the queue rates. The 24-hour poll has been removed from this data.

#I am SO sorry this post got so long. It was supposed to be short.#Not A Poll #Statistics #As always the stats have been compiled by Mod Nic and þei do not have access to the askbox so leave a reply if you have questions.#Also I am so sorry there's only 17 more polls queued up which is just over four days. I started playing Baldur's Gate III on Valentine's Da #and those 40+ hours have been carved out of sleep and poll making.#I did try to lower the queue rate but Tumblr wouldn't let me so if the queue runs dry that is why.

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roseandgold137 · 1 year

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Hi. I need more janethelena content 😭 I am absolutely starved and I love your work. So. Sandsmark-Drake family hcs 🙏💕🤗💖?

I think abt them so much but it’s so difficult to actually put things into words so sorry if this doesn’t fully make sense lol 😭 I’m also gonna keep at least this list as when the kids were toddlers/~5/6 for convenience bc that’s when the fic will be happening, but I might reblog with hcs for when they’re older

Cassie hated courgette but loved cucumber. She once mixed them up and cried for three hours straight when she was three. Helena tried to explain that she could just… not eat them. Cassie didn’t listen she ate them anyways. And was absolutely devastated about it

janet sleeptalks. Once she did it when Helena had just got back from a late shift at the museum (which needed Wonder Woman intervention bc the haunted statues came to life) (average Helena sandsmark experience) and Helena almost had a heart attack

tim has no sense of what they look like until he’s like four 😭 he’s in crèche drawing helena with purple skin and blue hair and Janet with green skin and rainbow hair and Cassie as some kind of red shape in the corner, and then getting upset when they ask who’s who

Helena bought Cassie and Tim kid archaeology sets one Christmas, had a lovely day, looked out the window later that afternoon and saw at least three flower gardens completely destroyed

janet cooks the most amazing food, like she’ll start off “sorry it’s not great I threw it together from scratch” and it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever eaten.

tim (age 2) spent half an hour trying to make a snow angel one winter then cried bc it “looked weird”

Helena LOVES fish. She has fish paintings. Fish keychain charms. Fish fossils. She finds out bruce goes fishing with dick sometimes and immediately invites herself.

janet meanwhile LOVES dinosaurs. Again dinosaur everything. She had a paleoart phase during her divorce arc bc she wanted to try something different that didn’t constantly remind her that she just left a perfectly happy (if perfectly platonic by that point) marriage

cassie bit people. And showed Tim how to bite people better (he hadn’t even grown teeth at this point so she eventually gave up bc he “wasn’t biting right” like girl he has nothing but gums pls)

tims fav Disney princess movie is sleeping beauty bc Cassie wouldn’t let them watch any of the other ones for years

helena once broke into the house by accident bc she forgot her keys but she was so tired she didn’t even think abt what she was doing until she’d already picked the lock

cassie ran an illegal pokemon trading card cartel on the kindergarten playground and wasn’t revealed as the culprit until like a decade later + another one that isn’t necessarily a drake sandsmark household headcanon but it’s a funny (to me) fact abt the every good gold digger verse

Jack met Hal after he and Janet divorced, set Hal and Janet up, things didn’t work out, so janet turned around and set Hal up with Jack instead. Obv that didn’t work out either but it’s funny. To me.

#every good gold digger #asks #janet drake #helena sandsmark #archeology wives #tim drake #cassie sandsmark #headcanons #:) thanks for the ask #Hal meaning Hal Jordan btw

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batsandbugs · 2 years

Text

Bruce Wayne's Headache Classification System Chapter 4

IKEA Verse

AN: I'm so sorry for disappearing for months again, things have been very hectic for me, but I finally got this done so at least I'm starting off the new year strong. No promises as to when the next one comes out. I hope y'all enjoyed this fun little look at the girls. I wish I included them in the first story, but I wasn't thinking at the time. I choose Steph for the POV because I felt her internal snide commentary could help balance Cass's more quiet reserve. There was an alternative ending for this that had Marinette using her powers more, but I decided to go with something softer and mushy. It felt in line with where Marinette would be comfortable showing the depths of her powers and continuing to drive the Batfam insane by not finding out how her powers work.

Chapter 4: Interlude - The Stalking of Daminette, a Treatise by Steph and Cass

Slate grey skies hang heavy over Gotham promising rain. The city isn’t any less busy for it, especially not during the day when most sane people agree, on average, it’s safer to conduct one’s business. Steph thinks that’s boring of them, but eh, she parkours over rooftops and punches goons as a night job, so maybe she’s the crazy one.

Wait. Weather. Grey Skies. Rain on the horizon and all that jazz.

Not the best of circumstances for a stakeout, but they’ve survived worse.

The rooftop they posted themselves on is comfy at least. No bird’s nests, piles of beer bottles, or scattered needles. Not too high they can’t observe the streets below. But not too low to the ground for people to notice they’re hanging out up here. Which is, strictly speaking, not exactly legal.

Also, they don’t want Damian to spot them.

Steph sighs, peering down at the coffee shop she knows Damian is sitting at, but she can’t see. She pops an M&M in her mouth and nudges Cass. “Pass me the binoculars?”

Cass lowers the equipment with a blank face stare. Well, blank face to anyone who wasn’t siblings with her. Steph is familiar with her pseudo-adopted sister’s micro-expressions. This one read clear as day, ‘why didn’t you bring your own?’

Steph blows out a frustrated pout, “I forgot, okay? Damian slipped out of the manor all wily and suspiciously and we followed him on a whim. I didn’t think to grab them. Couldn’t figure we’d pull a stakeout on our own little brother.”

Cass signs, “I had mine with me.”

“Yeah, well we don’t all hide stakeout equipment on us at all times like over-paranoid busybodies!”

“You had snacks on you.”

Without a trace of guilt, Steph grabs another M&M and places it in her mouth. “Snacks are not surveillance equipment. They’re a normal thing to keep in your bag.”

“Your bag also contains mace, a taser, and smoke pellets too.”

“It’s Gotham, sis. That’s just best practice.”

Cass rolls her eyes, but hands over the binoculars.

“Yay! Thanks.” Steph places them to her eyes. It takes a second to adjust before she focuses on the cafe down the street. Damian sits at an outdoor table, alone, sipping a drink out of one of those tiny white teacups.

Pshh, what a pretentious little twerp.

“Wonder who he’s meeting?”

“IKEA girl?” Cass says aloud softly since Steph’s looking down the street and can’t read her hands.

Steph grins wildly, searching blindly for another M&M with one hand, holding the binoculars steady with the other. “Oh, I hope so. Timmy’s frantic rambling over her is the most entertained I’ve been all year. And Jay’s spittin’ steam over her little trick on him.”

“Dick’s worried.”

Steph waves a hand clutching three pieces of candy with a careless air. “Dick’s always worried, Cass. He’s a serial worrier. He doesn’t know how to do anything but worry.”

Steph pops the chocolate into her mouth, watching Damian peer up from his phone and scan the street with keen eyes. She’s, like, seventy-two percent sure he doesn’t know they’re watching him. After all, they’re halfway down the street, fifteen stories up, lying belly down on the roof of an office building. But it is Damian. The League and Bruce trained him. Steph’s still convinced the little brat has the psychic power to know when he’s followed.

“No info.”

Steph sighs at the short-remark reminder of her family’s tendencies to stick their noses fucking everywhere. “Yeah, well maybe she has decent cyber security for her life. More people need to do it these days.”

Silence.

Groaning, Steph grabs another few M&Ms out of pure stress. “You went looking too, didn’t you?”

“Little brother.”

Good lord, this family. They’re lucky she loves them so much.

“Yeah, yeah, I care about the brat too, doesn’t mean he needs his hand held constantly. He can make his own choices. Including hanging out with people, regardless of if his extremely invasive family managed to compile a dossier on her entire life.”

“You said we follow.”

Steph scoffs through a mouth of chocolate, “Yeah, ‘cause he was actin’ sus, just because I think we should leave her alone doesn’t mean I don’t think we should annoy him by stalking his date.” She focuses back on Damian. “Plus,” she mutters. “I don’t want to deal with Bruce bitchin’ about that car chase we pulled with the Volkov Family gang members, so this seemed like the better option.”

It wasn’t their fault the stupid goons running point from the pet shop’s back room decided to run on them.

“We helped,” says Cass resolutely.

“I don’t think B will see it that way.” Steph readjusts the binoculars and notices Damian’s attention sharpening. He looks out onto the sidewalk, eyes focusing on a person drawing closer. “Oh, oh, oh I think she’s here!”

There, approaching the café, in the cutest little yellow dress, a woman approaches and pauses by Damian’s table. Thanks to the high-tech binoculars she can view every emotion flickering across Damian’s face as his newest acquaintance greets him. He places down his cup and vacates his seat, pulling out the opposite chair and allowing the young woman to sit, before retaking his own.

Steph whistles lowly.

“Hmm…” prompts Cass.

“I- I don’t think the others are joking. He- he just pulled out her chair for her.” They are all capable of manners. Alfred made sure of that. Even for those in the family who’d joined later. (The disparity between the manners the Drakes’ taught Tim and the actual behavior expected of a Wayne was night and day and not in a good way. Meanwhile, people like Cass or Damian needed teaching ground up how to interact with people without pulling weapons on them. Quite frankly so did the rest of them, but Alfred was unafraid and whipped them all (metaphorically) into shape.)

So, yeah, manners.

Something they all could do.

But not necessarily likely to be performed by all.

Especially Damian.

Damian is like a feral raccoon who wields a bowie knife when it comes to Untested People. Short. Prickly. Rude in the way where you know you’re getting insulted, but the conversation already turned the corner and you stand there, shell-shocked, that this kid verbally bested you six ways to Sunday.

Of course, Damian isn’t much of a kid nowadays.

Standing as tall as Bruce and starting to shake off the lankiness of his teen years, Damian was growing into, as a posher person might say, 'a fine young man’. Steph still remembers him as that little feral kid, who only smiled when besting others or petting furry creatures. But no, now he’s smiling at other things. Adult things. Things that happened to include pretty French girls.

“She’s dangerous,” says Cass.

Steph pulls down her binoculars to find Cass peering at the seated couple with her phone, camera mode engaged, and zoomed in to see their interactions.

“Why didn’t you use that in the first place?!” Steph asks, annoyed. Reaching towards the candy wrapper her fingers find empty plastic. Damn it.

Cass narrows her eyes at her screen, ignoring the question. Steph huffs. Rude.

“What do you mean dangerous?” Replacing the binoculars, she focuses back on the couple. If she didn’t know who Damian was, her eyes would slip over them as another pair of lovebirds, eking out a final moment of good weather before Gotham’s stormy ways crushed the vibe. “She’s a little slip of nothing.”

“So am I.”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but you were trained to fight since birth. She looks like the human embodiment of sunshine.” And the woman does. From this angle, she sees both their faces while they talk. The girl, Marinette, has sleek black hair possessing a blueish shine. Striking bright blue eyes and a smile that lit her face like the summer sun contribute to the overall impression this was a very normal, very friendly person.

“Looks are deceiving.”

“Of course, they can, and I’m not sayin’ she’s not sus, but…” she gestures down. “Look at them! This is the most normal I remember Damian acting in his life. Would he do that, could he really do that if he thought she was dangerous?”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me! I’m serious! Sure, she might have powers, so what? Lots of people are magical and metas these days. Doesn’t mean she’s inherently dangerous.”

“No info.”

“Good security.”

“Something to hide.”

“A healthy sense of caution.”

Cass snorts. “She moved to Gotham.”

Steph pauses. And yeah, when you consider where the girl came from (Paris! Freaking Paris) and what she was studying… Moving to Gotham for a fashion degree sounds like moving to Las Vegas to join a nunnery.

“Yeah, okay that’s weird, I fully admit that. But maybe she has, like, I dunno? A danger kink or somethin’?” Steph shrugs. “Which, you know, is kinda good 'cause I think the demon brat has one too, so they’re like a match made for each other.”

Cass shoots her a highly unimpressed look.

“What!? At least I’m trying to think of somethin’ plausible, instead of jumpin’ to the doomsday scenario like the rest of you paranoid weirdos.” She turns back to her binoculars and her long-distance observing. “Listen, doin’ the whole overbearing intrusive family routine maybe isn’t the best way to act the first time Damian has, voluntarily, shown interest in a person more than complimentin’ their fightin’ skills.”

She places the binoculars back up to her eyes and watches Damian and Marinette chat. Damian’s smile hasn’t disappeared yet. In fact, it’s grown even larger. Marinette says something, her accent strong enough to throw Steph off on the exact words, and Damian throws back his head in laughter.

It’s a normal human reaction, laughing with such abandon. But it’s so not for Damian, that Steph’s mouth drops open in shock.

“Please tell me you took a picture of that?” she asks. Dick is so bound to freak the fuck out when he sees this.

“Mh hmm,” Cass hums in agreement.

They probably spend another thirty minutes watching the young couple. Cass takes pictures, and Steph makes commentary whenever Damian or Marinette looks sickeningly sweet. Cass sends the photos over to Steph’s phone, and in turn, she sends them to Dick. Most people would probably find it mind-numbingly boring, but both of them spend hours casing joints and running point of stakeouts before, so less than an hour is easy. But as the top of the hour approaches, the grey skies grow darker, and rumbling thunder appears.

Steph watches Damian blink as if shocked the weather suddenly turned bad.

Shit. Bruce would so kill him for that lack of awareness. “He’s in so deep,” she mutters.

“No covering. Will get wet,” Cass warns about their own situation.

Steph sighs, placing down her binoculars. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Damn it, I wanted to keep watching them.”

Cass tucks the phone into her pocket with a sly smile and signs, “I took plenty of photos. We should go and find cover. Can’t head home yet because we took the bikes.”

“Yeah,” Steph mutters. Quickly though, she grabs the binoculars again and looks back at Damian and Marinette. The couple grabs their umbrellas – smart of them, too bad Steph didn’t think of those when she impulsively decided to follow Damian – and head off down the street. Together.

The date, apparently, isn’t over yet.

“Do we wanna trail them?” she asks Cass. “Any chance you stored umbrellas in that bag of yours?” Half joking, half serious. What? You never know.

Cass shakes her head though. “No, but I do have ponchos. Do you want to follow them? They’ll be heading inside. Damian will surely spot us.”

Steph snorts, highly doubting it. “He’s so damn distracted at the moment, I’m pretty sure an alien invasion could happen down the street and he wouldn’t notice unless little-miss-sunshine started screamin’.” She grins, wide and mischievous. “Pass me a poncho sis. We’re not giving up this hunt yet.”

Despite the high-quality ponchos, they still end up quite soaked. That’s the tradeoff for having an unnoticed trail high above their intended targets. Sharp stabs of water bite at their faces, as they race across the rooftops. Steph’s shirt clings stuck to her body, damp and humid between the poncho and her chest. Damn, a shower is gonna feel soooo good later.

For any normal person, the weather would make it impossible to follow the young couple. Not to mention the distance from the ground. But Steph and Cass were trained by the best hunters in the world, following their prey was simple – if very wet and uncomfortable – matter.

Rain pours from the sky even faster, thunderous noise drowning out all other sounds, and quickly empties the streets below. The typically numb Gotham populace seeking shelter from the crappy weather. Eventually, Marinette and Damian duck into an older building, the overhead awning buckled in from the rain collecting on top. The windows are dimly lit, and a cracked and faded sign flickers reading:

MAGNUS ANTIQUES ~ EST. 1902

Cass and Steph cross over the street with a quick grapple line. Both wouldn’t dare under normal circumstances; it’s the middle of the day and they aren’t even in domino masks. The slip in procedure would hardly endanger them with nobody around, heavy clouds turning the early afternoon dark as dusk, and the rain pouring thick sheets, obscuring even the highest tech cameras. They land on a building next door, and carefully climb down the siding, landing in the alleyway, behind the antique store.

A young man, in his mid-twenties, slouches against the brick wall a few feet down the alley huddled under another old and tattered awning that barely keeps him dry as he vapes. The shop’s back door sits propped open with a crate, and it takes all of a second while the man leans against the old brick façade with his eyes closed enjoying his few minutes of damp peace for Steph and Cass to slip quietly inside through the back door.

Score!

An old, musty smell hits them as they creep through the back entrance. Piles of boxes line the walls, old antiques half-boxed, or laid on shelves. The store is dark and stale. All of old Gotham oozes an aura of grime and darkness to it, like no matter how hard you scrub the walls and floors will never be clean, the shadows grow thicker in corners, and the cold lingers even in the depths of summer. But that might just be the fault of an old store with even older objects inside. Steph’s never put much stock on that old fairy tale of Gotham being cursed and all.

Under a worktable sits a box – of what she could generously call towels but would more accurately call rags – and they wriggle out of the rain-soaked ponchos. Steph stuffs the soaked ponchos in the box and pulls out a handful of the least questionable-looking rags. Handing one to Cass, Steph does her best to sop up the worst of the water.

“I’m gonna get blisters later,” Steph whines softly, her toes wriggling in soaked-through socks.

“You always have blisters, all of us do,” signs Cass, drying the front of her shirt.

“No, we have calluses, we haven’t formed blisters since we were teeny tiny baby vigilantes who didn’t know shit and our bodies thought they had the right to strike about their living conditions.” Steph tries to wrangle the water out of her hair. “We wear waterproof suits though, so my feet don’t get regularly soaked.”

“Well, sorry for not having pocket rainboots too,” Cass signs sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“How unprepared,” Steph shoots back, gaining another eye roll in return.

Steph pulls her hair into a ponytail and wrings out her shirt and feels slightly more human now they’re back on dry land. Cass, with her pixie cut, vigorously scrubs her hair with a towel before it flops out, mostly dry. Lucky.

Quietly, both of them creep out of the back workroom. A glistening crystal doorknob attached to an old wood door sends Steph cringing when it creaks open into the store proper. Dim lighting flickers above, a high wine pitch of electricity crackles in the old wires. Tall shelves chock full of nick-nacks and blasts-from-the-pasts cast the store in even deeper shadows. Heavy rain pounds the building’s walls, mixing with the hum of electricity. Barely any light pierces through the charcoal clouds, which traps the store in an evening aesthetic rather than the middle of the afternoon.

Steph turns to Cass, signing, “Spilt up? Or stick together?”

Cass shakes her head. “Stick together, two chances to spot us are worse than one moving target.” Steph nods in agreement.

The store is quiet, minus the rain and a faint sound of classical music drifting from the front. Steph pads softly over wooden floorboards, which look like they’ll creak if you look at them wrong, and Cass follows behind, silent as a mouse. Rows of shelves stretch from front to back, ladened down with objects, Furniture and old clothes pile up on the sides. It is a chaotic, yet organized mess. None of it’s her style, but she’s sure Tim would enjoy it in here.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they creep from aisle to aisle listening for the low drawl of Damian’s pretentious voice. The store’s chaos turns what should be a straightforward search into a winding maze, but eventually right before they turn a corner, Damian’s distinctive scoff rings through the air and stops Steph and Cass in their tracks before giving the game away.

Ducking into one of those separated booths – the kind most antique stores were made of, creating tiny stores within one big one – a genuine score, because Magnus Antiques only sported a few. Fully cluttered with racks of mothball-smelling vintage clothing, the booth made for a perfect hiding spot, while also allowing them full-view access. Steph swipes a dull scarf off the table and ties it over her head, helping to disguise her distinctive blonde hair, as she hides halfway into a rack of big, dull winter clothing. Cass, using her smaller size and an all-black outfit, gracefully climbs an antique dresser and camouflages with an elaborate black feathered bouquet.

Truly, masters of stealth.

Damian and Marinette walk into view; fully focused on the shelves before them, and completely oblivious to the stalker duo creeping in on their date.

“I can call us a car. We do not need to linger until the storm passes,” Damian says with that highly entitled vibe he always gives off, despite Steph knowing Damian’s pretentiousness is mostly a font these days.

“Oh, come on Damian,” chides Marinette, crouching low to look at the bottom shelf. Her accented lilting voice is soft but carries in the quiet store. “It’s just a little bit of bad weather. There’s no reason to call a person to drive through it, we don’t want anyone hurt in an accident. We can wait it out here.”

Damian’s face contorts, “Here?” Eyeing the shelf full of porcelain dolls with dread – which, you know, totally fair. They were creepy as fuck.

But Marinette rolls her eyes and shifts through the pile on her side. “Yes, here. It’s like a treasure hunt, you never know what you’ll find.” She pushes a large black blanket off a cardboard box and smiles wide. “Ooh, see, a whole box full of ribbons and trim.” She fully falls to the floor and starts pulling rolls out of the box.

“Careful, we are likely to find germs.” Damian swipes a finger across the shelf and pulls it away covered in dust. He grimaces. “Or tetanus.”

Marinette giggles, like actually giggles, and not out of politeness either. She genuinely finds Damian’s offbeat, dry-as-a-bone, humor funny. Steph, safely out of sight, rolls her eyes. Oh, good lord, they’re perfectly horrible for each other.

“Says the man willing to climb into a box store air vent shaft at the drop of a hat.” Steph watches as Marinette sets aside a number of trims to buy.

Damian places a hand against his chest, offended. “That was tactical. This is stubborn desperation.”

“We were on the run, sounds a bit like desperation to me.”

“On the run? We were hunting our prey.”

Marinette’s face turns questioning, “Oh I’m sorry, did you not get chased by Jason with a nerf gun through half the store and the back areas? Was I not barely outrunning Dick before I took out the store’s electricity? We won by luck and the skin of our teeth. That does not sound like apex predators to me.”

Damian turns to the shelf he’s standing on, and, with a mutter, Steph barely makes out, says, “We could have taken them.”

“Sure, in a fight,” says Marinette without skipping a beat. And oh, isn’t that interesting. Steph knows the boys don’t tone down their personalities and skills the same way Bruce does (he doesn’t so much as tone down, as does a complete one-eighty, but it works for B, so Steph ain’t hatin’) when out of costume, but even they wouldn’t be so stupid as to act completely like their vigilante selves. It’s still, you know, not a lot, and Marinette probably saw more than most due to the game’s competitive nature. So, for her to say she could take them in a fight, with certainty, means she thinks quite highly of her own skills.

She could totally be overestimating herself.

Or… the rest of the family could be right, and Marinette is very dangerous indeed.

“… but we weren’t trying to take them in a fight, we were trying to outlast them. And anyway, it’s a moot point, we won, they lost, and now they hate me.”

Well, at least she was perceptive, Steph would give her that.

“They don’t hate you,” Damian shoots back.

Marinette rises from the floor holding an old roll of ribbon, bright emerald green, the lettering faded and worn on the cardboard spool. She lets out an inelegant snort, “Fine, Dick is suspicious, Tim is frustrated, and Jason hates me.”

Oh, she’s very perceptive.

Damian pauses for a second, then tilts his head and smiles thinly. “Yes, it is quite likely Todd does hate you. But he should blame me, not you. I told you what to say. He’s directing his anger all wrong.”

Steph blinks. That was… a shocking amount of self-reflection from the demon spawn. All directed towards this tiny little slip of a woman who looked like she could barely harm a fly, much less impress the likes of Damian Wayne. At this point, Steph has to believe this girl is magical because this shit is just unreal.

“Perhaps, but what I said obviously scared him-”

“That’s what we were trying to accomplish,” Damian mutters, mulishly.

“And one day I will learn the context of it, so I can properly apologize.” Steph watches Marinette’s eyes; focused and regretful. “I know I do not have their trust, and I do not have the right, but when I do, I will.”

Damian’s face flickers through emotions faster than a roulette wheel, eventually settling on a variation of soft and amazed Steph’s only seen on a besotted movie protagonist. And barely makes out his words. “I have no doubt you will earn those secrets. Your heart is big enough, and your will strong enough to melt my family’s own.”

Oh.

Steph's mouth falls open in complete shock. Damn… just, damn.

This isn’t just a crush.

This is full-on, head-over-heels, besotted beyond belief, in love.

Damian is implying Marinette is important enough to earn the details of Jason’s death, to know why he was so scared of his family being hurt and dying and him unable to help (yeah, Jason ranted to her about Marinette’s little speech; yeah, it was harsh, but what else could you expect from Damian, he doesn’t do shit by halves). All of that implies she’ll learn of their identities, the biggest secret their family kept under lock and key. Only a handful of Justice League members and assorted friends (and enemies) knew of their full identities.

This is a girl Damian met two and a half days ago.

Steph, nearly so lost in her own shock and incredulity, almost misses Marinette’s reaction.

Face flushed and eyes tilted down, Marinette’s smile conveys embarrassment, joy, and a hint of sadness all at once. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re very sweet?”

Sheepishness seeps into Damian’s face and body, as he raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, a move making him look exactly like Dick. “Most people say the exact opposite, or they are in the middle of cussing me out.”

He’s not wrong.

Marinette's smile grows wider, “Well, I’m-”

“Not most people.” Damian and her finish together with a look building the foundation of an inside joke.

“No, all the more I learn of you,” Damian says, tone fond. “I find you are definitely not most people.”

“I aim to impress,” Marinette says, with a sly and besotted smile, and Steph doesn’t know if she will pass out from the sweetness or vomit, and at this point, it could go fifty-fifty. The woman looks over Damian’s shoulder. “Looks like the rain stopped.” Steph vaguely sees weak rays of light coming from the store’s front. The kind indicating the Gotham sun, a rare and noteworthy presence, has burst through the clouds to shine upon rain-soaked streets. “I should probably head back to my apartment before it starts again; I have a commission project to work on.”

Damian readjusts himself, folding away the soft, besotted emotions until he looks more like himself again. “And I need to return home as well, my father’s back from his business trip and will wish to speak with me.” He winces, “He is most likely already speaking with my brothers, which means I need to run interference before they blow the entire situation out of proportion.”

Marinette smirks, unrepentant and teasing, and for the first time Steph understands why Jason kept ranting ‘she’s just as demented as he is’, “To be fair, we did set Tim on fire, and break the store multiple times.”

Damian smirks right back, and “First off you broke-”

“We, don’t forget your part with the display and tying up a security guard.”

“-second, we set fire around him, he wasn’t hurt. No one got hurt. Except for their pride.” He pauses, and amends, “Well, perhaps that unpleasant woman at the end had an aneurysm with her screaming, but that’s hardly our fault, so it shouldn’t count.”

Both of them laugh until it fades into a contented silence. Then, Marinette places a dainty hand on Damian’s arm, and says, “This was fun. We could… do it again sometime?” For the first time, uncertainty crosses the young woman’s face.

Damian’s face, on the other hand, is as eager as Steph has ever seen it. Wow, what must his head and chest feel like with all these new intense emotions bandying about? “Uh, o-of course, yes, this was fun. We’ll… text?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Marinette leans down and picks up the small pile of trimmings and ribbon she found in the box earlier. The spool of emerald ribbon balanced on top.

“You took the bus in? I can walk you to the stop?” Oh, kid; if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Marinette tilts her head, “Didn’t you ride in on a motorcycle? Shouldn’t you take advantage of the break in the rain?”

Damian shrugs off the offer, “I drive in far worse than a little rain regularly..”

“Don’t compromise your safety for my own, I can take care of myself perfectly fine,” Marinette says.

“I’m sure you can, but I want to,” insists Damian. “I parked near the bus stop’s location, it will be no trouble.”

“Alright then, maybe on the way you can tell me more about that art store you mentioned was down my way, I’m looking for a new set of brushes; mine became damaged in the move.” They walk down the aisle and swiftly out of view and hearing range.

Steph doesn’t move, and neither does Cass until Marinette pays for her purchases, and they hear the door to the shop open and close with a creak and a chiming of bells. A second more passes by, before Steph slips out of the clothes rack, and Cass descends the dresser, and they stand in silence for a moment.

“Whelp,” Steph says, popping the p. “That was certainly something. I don’t quite have the words for it yet, cause my brain’s still rebooting. How about you Cassie?”

Cass shakes her head, then pauses, contemplation playing across her features. “I still think she’s dangerous. Her body has the grace of a fighter, with years of practical experience moving quickly and efficiently. But I don’t think she uses her magic, whatever it may be, to influence Damian.” Cass smiles, now looking like a cat holding a canary between her lips. “That’s all due to him being very, very in love.”

“Great, so I wasn’t the only one seeing literal hearts in Damian’s eyes, cool, cool, cool.” She stretches her arms high above her head, spine popping brutally, as she tries to get feeling back in her limbs after observing the two lovebirds for long. “Well, I’m not in the mood to deal with Bruce and his game of twenty questions, so what say we go eat? How ‘bout the new Italian place that opened near my apartment, worse case it starts raining again and we head back there, we covered and hid the bikes well enough.”

Cass nods and they leave the store, passing by an ancient old man seated at the front desk totally absorbed in a creaking leather tome. Summer sun barely peaking through gaps in the clouds. It hasn’t truly stopped raining yet. The sky drizzles a small smattering of rain, and fog mists up from the pavement. It’s a pleasant change from the chaotic, faint oppressive feel of the antique shop.

Steph’s brain turns over the interactions she witnessed between Damian and Marinette. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. People meet, flirt, and fall in love all the time. But it just is because it’s, well, Damian. Even as a little kid he always seemed so removed, he really wasn’t, but he was good at pretending. Steph never pictured him falling in love, not because he wasn’t capable of it, but because she always thought he’d be too prickly for anyone to break through his walls. And certainly not a civilian who had no clue about their double lives.

Steph hopes everyone comes out on the other side, lives, and emotions relatively intact, and in the meantime, she plans to wring this situation for all the blackmail material it’s worth.

#daminette #maribat #damian x marinette #damianette #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #the ikea verse #headache classification system #cass and steph are here!#mlb crossover #maridami #ml x dc #damimari #the great ikea game #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne

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