#She is stubborn as hell and often tests her limits with him

[caycanteven]

"You are a stubborn little thing, do you know that?"

"I do. Though, would you have me any different?"

"No, I would not."

"Why?"

"I would miss the way your soul burns with passion for what you believe in."

"How romantic. Anything else?"

"...and with how adorable it is that you think you can challenge me."

"Ah, there it is."

[frozenover--dreams]

CONSIGLIERE ⊹ he/she

"Consigliere is probably the best, I suppose. He doesn't talk much to me. She doesn't need to. I see how she moves, how she works. He doesn’t get his hands too dirty, but he knows where the blood lands. He’s a bridge more than a blade. Always interacting with the others, keeping things in motion. He's steady. Professional. There’s not much to say because he doesn’t leave loose ends. Words or otherwise. That kind of quiet discipline? It’s rare. I respect it. He’s not flashy, but he’s the spine of the operation. Still, I watch her closely. Still waters can run deceptive. But so far, he’s never given me cause. Good kid. Reliable. Doesn't need my praise, and maybe that’s what earns it."

➥ Consigliere excels in cooking. He often is found making dinner for the others when Mafioso is out on business (most of the time it's because he's checking on Eunoia, or hunting over one last time.)

➥ Consigliere knows all the groups favorite or safe-foods. He knows what to cook when Mafioso is upset, even if Mafioso doesn't express his upset.

➥ He often is making sure everyone has eaten before eating himself, or resting. He's stubborn.

➥ Consigliere doesn't talk much. He prefers action, presence, and the moment over words or expressions. His quiet nature reflects control, not passivity.

➥ He's observant and precise. Always knows what’s happening without needing to ask. He doesn't need to bother anyone.

➥ Functions as a bridge, not a blade. He connects people, maintains balance, keeps things moving.

➥ Steady and professional. He is consistent, dependable, never leaves loose ends.

➥ Unflashy but essential. He often acts as the “spine” of the operation rather than the face. He's often making sure the others don't get hurt. If someone (most of the time, soldier) gets hurt.

➥ Consigliere doesn’t need praise. That exact humility makes him deserving of it. He has a good relationship despite knowing when to back down and listen.

CONTRACTEE ⊹ he/she/they

"Contractee… oh, Contractee. He’s got the spirit, I’ll give him that. Hell, he’s got more spirit than sense, but sometimes that’s what gets the job done. Creativity’s his curse and his charm. You send them to do one thing and they come back having done three, none of which you asked for, and somehow it all works out. Well, most of the time. He’s stupid, yes. Bright-stupid. That rare, unpredictable kind of idiot genius. I find myself shaking my head every time she opens her mouth, and yet, somehow, I always end up smiling afterward. He drives me mad. But damn if she isn’t one of a kind."

➥ Contractee is full of spirit. He's energetic, enthusiastic, always throws himself in headfirst. It's.. weirdly effective. Things somehow work out, even if not as planned.

➥ He has more passion than precision. Often lacks forethought, but makes up for it with sheer drive.

➥ Contractee is.. unpredictably creative. He is always ending up doing more than asked, often in bizarre or unexpected ways. He's stupid, and due to this fact, he can be extremely frustrating. His words and actions can provoke eye-rolls.

➥ Despite his sheer madness, he’s hard not to like. He is unique in a way that makes him unforgettable.

➥ Despite his energy, he can't handle loud noises all too well. He knows asl, when things get too overwhelming.

SOLDIER ⊹ he/him

"Soldier’s got the most energy, without a doubt. Boundless. Restless. Troublesome as hell. If something loud's going down, he’s in the middle of it. If not, the cause of it. He tests the limits, pokes the edges, burns the wick at both ends. Half the time I want to wring his neck, the other half I want to bottle whatever’s fueling him and sell it. But he’s got guts, and guts go a long way in this world. He doesn't scare easy. That recklessness could kill him if he’s not careful. Although, that same fire? It’s saved all their hides more times than I can count. He keeps the place alive, and I can’t pretend I don’t appreciate the uproar every so often."

➥ High-energy and restless. He's constantly moving, never truly still. He's always in the middle of trouble, if not the cause of it. His noise, passion, and fire keep things from going stagnant. He can be exhausting, yes—but essential in his own loud, wild way.

➥ Pushes boundaries a lot. He tests rules, authority, and the patience of everyone around him. He's fearless to a fault; boldness often borders on self-destructive. He doesn’t scare easy, no matter the situation.

➥ Soldier can purr and make small noises, good at mimicking animal sounds.

➥ Enjoys sitting in and just spending time while someone does any form of chore or task. He likes the company.

CAPOREGIME ⊹ he/him

"Caporegime.. he’s unmistakably the funny one. Quiet when you look at him, but that’s just camouflage. You listen in when he thinks nobody’s paying attention, especially during their late-night antics, and he’s the one keeping the room warm. He’s got a wit that sneaks up on you. It’s dry, sharp, sometimes too sharp. It's always well-placed. Doesn’t need to speak much; when he does, it lands. He’s observant. I think he sees more than he lets on. He’s a mood-keeper, even if that’s not his job on paper. That humor of his? It’s a defense, and I know it. But it’s also a gift to the others. Keeps 'em sane. Keeps 'em together. I see that. I value that."

➥ The “funny one," so he's considered. Caporegime is known for his sense of humor, even if it’s subtle. His humor sneaks up on you; dry, clever, and sharply timed.

➥ He blends in easily; doesn’t draw attention to himself. Quiet glue of the group. He stabilizes with warmth, subtlety, and timing. Speaks rarely, but meaningfully. When he talks, people listen.

➥ Emotionally intelligent — picks up on moods, knows when to lift the atmosphere. He sees more than he lets on; always watching.

➥ Unspoken emotional anchor — keeps the group’s spirit intact, even if unofficially.

➥ Uses his humor as a defense. His jokes are a shield, but also a sincere way to connect.

➥ Deeply valued. It might not always be recognized out loud, but his presence matters.

➥ Caporegime is often the one who cheers the others up when theyre upset, if they dont go to mafioso to hide in his coat or ask consig to make them something first

➥ Knows asl well, he often translates for contractee when he's available. He also offers to teach the others when asked.

➥ Horrible at cooking. He's banned from the kitchen.

[maythevoidnotscreamback]

Reblogging because I wanted to add more to my story idea. This also has reference to my added bit of Sentinels having extra Guides to form Domains because Sentinels are rarer then Guides.

Anyway! One could have it that, in the beginning, when Usa transforms she just fuckin' Zones Out to the point that she blacks out until her energy is so low, not due to hunger or not eating, her fuku 'taps out' (like, she could disappear and be gone for days, acting like Zoicite Moon in the 90's episode 33, and not know until she comes to in an abandoned place after her fuku is gone, returns home, and sees the news of what she did in her Zoned Out, instinct driven sense for 'love and justice') and Luna don't know what to do because she's a Mauian who served the Lunarian Queen and the Sentinels and Guides have only ever been a thing on Earth. Something she'd never even known about until she woke up there but it's not like Usa can just stop being SM (from what I've been able to infer there were a few episodes before Ami came along); there isn't anyone else and once the other Senshi start awakening the poor girl's instincts are screaming at her (not to mention her as yet unknown Bond as Princess toward her Guardians) to protect her Domain as is her privilege and honor as a Sentinel.

Hell, she might even meet the girls in a different order in such an AU. (I.E. - Usa's parents' are freaking out because she can't seem to keep from Zoning and subsequently disappearing so they take drastic measures. But because the brooch is activating her latent Lunarian DNA she's getting stronger faster than a still growing Sentinel usually does, especially a teenage girl Sentinel, so once Makoto (the trauma of her parents' death causing her to go online similarly to Mamoru) is able to show not only compatibility but that she can handle Usa when she's Zoned Out as a civilian she transfers before Ami even shows up and because she's a Guide to Usa she gets more money from the Government to ostensibly put to her Sentinel's health as per the Law so that Guides aren't put out because their Sentinel needs to eat.)

And what about poor Mamo? Depending on which canon one goes for, (I'm using the 90's anime specifically for this post) he could just as easily be going missing as often and as long as Usa, cuz TK is still following Moon around but never close enough for long enough, (there have been many instances of people finding different types of food flora, not that some of them know that because while some of it can be native to the region/climate others aren't and some people just don't know enough to be able to tell, just remarking how someone's gone and planted a strange tree and/or bush or something of the like in this location 'last night' or 'an hour ago' or what-have-you, in weird places they weren't that have been picked clean or instances of places being completely dug up with no rhyme or reason) to get her centered any faster/earlier cuz he's a blank slate going off his instincts of his past and as a Guide regarding his Sentinel at the time), but despite the signs of his having come online a Sentinel, he's still very much a Guide, and no one has any idea what the fuck's going on with him (cuz his own black-outs are caused by Usa transforming, not because he's Zoning like the doctors are trying to gaslight him to think because 'what else could it be?! You're a young man so you're obviously a Sentinel who don't know his own limits and stubborn about getting with a Guide! What? Your test results? Those are just... wonky for some reason; there must be something wrong with the machine.') or what to do about it.

Sailor Moon Sentinel/Guide AU: a story idea

Has anyone thought of how this premise might go?

Like, I thought of this trope almost immediately after I found a reblog over on queenrisa14's page that was originally posted by silvermoon424 about how great SM does about showing positive masculinity. With Mamo being the Empath/Healer/Support with his Psychometry and healing abilities in manga and crystal canon he's the obvious Guide and Usa being the (reluctant but still) Fighter/Troubleshooter/Saviour with the powers she has no idea what to do with but learns as she goes as the Sentinel.

The way I see it, if one did this as an actual Senshi AU - rather than some form of aged-up AU where the semi-feral she-cop or detective Sentinel gets with the cute doctor Guide that treats her in the aftermath of or during a case (just as an example) - Usa could have a more hellish time with everything because she's meant to be powered up when in her fuku, right? But being a Sentinel means, since she already is that way naturally before Luna comes along, that the single dial she's already having trouble with keeping below an eight on a good day, because her instincts came online on her fourteenth birthday, has cranked itself and an additional four to nine dials she wasn't aware of to ten when she transforms.

Mamo could be completely unaware he's a Guide, and thus not on the list for Usa to test compatibility at the time, because he's one of the hella rare ones who went online super early due to his accident, not to mention the rampant sexism where 99 times out of 100 the Guide's a woman and the Sentinel's a man, and his Psychometry and status as the reincarnated Prince isn't helping (the Prince hadn't been a Guide, after all) by amplifying his power as a Guide while also messing with, and thus sabotaging, the results of the Guide Test. So he knows there's something 'wrong' with him, he just doesn't know what specifically.

Hell, for this AU, (if one is so inclined to make it that way, one doesn't have to if not) one could also have it be that not only are Sentinel's rare but because of that rarity it isn't out of the ordinary for one Sentinel to have multiple Guides; called a Domain. There's the Main Guide(s), that is the sexual/romantic/closest Guide(s) depending on the sexuality and openness of the Sentinel and Guides, and the Support Guides, the one or more other Guides a Sentinel has found compatibility with for when they don't have a compatible Main Guide or said Main Guide(s) can't be or isn't around but there's no sense to be any more intimate than when they first met so these Guides are allowed to have other relations with others who aren't their Sentinel and fellow Guides if they so choose. Especially if the Sentinel is 'powerful' in whatever sense. It's to keep the sense the Main Guide isn't in danger of becoming an unwitting prisoner/hostage/abuse victim to their Sentinel out of the public concerns. So Usa has her Mamo-chan as her Main Guide and her Senshi as her Support Guides, they work together like a web, when he can't be there but in the event one wants the girls to have a love life they can because Sentinels are only Tyrants over their Domain, instead of the Protectors of their Domain, when they have some form of mental illness or personality disorder not unlike those who form Cults.

Because Usa would never want to control who her friends love or want to share their time with or where they go. She'd want them to be happy and if her Domain expands because of it, because all under a Sentinel's umbrella, even if not one of their Guides, or part of another, subordinate, Sentinel's Domain (Uranus + Outers) is part of their Domain, then all the better!

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Hi can I request a peter parker x barnes-Rogers reader (steve and Bucky's daughter) and me and Peter find out I'm pregnant with Peter's baby and we try to keep it a secret but everyone is suspicious of us cause I've been really poorly lately and Peter is being overprotective and one day Peter accidentally says "don't do that it could hurt the baby" or "and everyone freaks out and me, Peter and my dads have a long talk but everything is fine thanks xx

Unexpected

Pairing: Peter Parker x Barnes-Rogers! Reader

Requested?: Yes!

Word count: Almost 7k

Warnings: Pregnancy, some angst but thats it I think?

Author's Note: Yessssss this was so fun to write! Very excited to be back to posting on this page again. Thank you so much for the request! Hope to start adding in more content soon, so if yall have any requests feel free to send them in! And if you have requests sent in already, know that I love you and I will be getting to clearing out my inbox here pretty soon 🥰

Taglist: @just-that-bi-girl , @winterfrostsarmy

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In retrospect, the entire team should have realized what was going on with you a lot sooner. To their credit, most of them had noticed that something was different about you, but other than Nat and Wanda none of them had a guess as to what exactly that was. 

The men appeared completely clueless in respect to the cause of the recent changes in you. Even Clint, a married father of three, hadn't caught on even after he'd seen you leaving the bathroom having clearly just thrown up. Tony had been the closest to figuring it out of the all men, having noticed your odd mood swings and crying fits as they became more and more frequent. He noted the same behavioral pattern as he'd found himself stuck in after the Battle of New York, and secretly worried for your mental well-being. He hadn't felt comfortable enough to broach the topic with you just yet though, instead opting to watch you from a distance for the time being. 

The women, however, seemed to understand almost instantly what was going on. Nat had figured things out once she realized that you had been skipping training lately and noticed that you and Peter barely appeared to leave one another's sides for even a moment. Wanda based her guess almost solely upon the fact that she could just feel that something was different about you; your entire energy had changed in the last few weeks and she noted it even before Peter had. Both women had their suspicions, but had seemingly agreed to keep their thoughts to themselves until you were ready to tell the team what was going on. 

Your dads were a different story altogether. 

It took Steve and Bucky much longer to notice something had changed with their daughter, Steve longest of all. Either you'd done a great job of avoiding your Pops or he'd been incredibly unobservant (or more likely both), but he hadn't seen anything that he would've considered out of the ordinary for you. 

That is, until today. 

"AAAAUUUUUUGGGGH"

Steve was on his feet in an instant, sprinting into the kitchen at the sound of your enraged scream. He skidded to a stop and surveyed the room with a trained look for the source of danger, but found none. In fact, you and Sam were the only two in the space as far as he could tell. Sam's back was pressed snugly against the furthermore countertop as you practically cornered him, the older man clearly caught off guard by your sudden burst of rage. You flung your hands around wildly as you yelled, one gripping a box so tightly that your knuckles were beginning to turn a concerning shade of white.

Completely bewildered, Steve watched in stunned silence for moment as you fumed and screamed expletives at the slightly-terrified looking Sam, without any clear indication as to what had happened. 

"I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE YOU, YOU GODDAMNED ASSHO-"

"Y/N Barnes-Rodgers!" Steve scolded you finally, momentarily stopping your verbal assault. "What in God's name is going on here?" 

Your eyes turned to your Pops' briefly before flickering back to glare in Sam's direction. 

"Pigeon-brain ate the last of my oreos," you seethed, walking forward and jabbing an accusatory finger to Sam's chest, his hands instantly flying upwards in surrender.

 Steve felt his jaw drop in utter disbelief.

“You-,” 

“What’s with all the commotion in here?” Bucky interrupted, striding into the kitchen much as Steve had moments ago and joining his husband's side with a confused look on his face. Steve crossed his arms and frowned at their daughter. 

“Apparently our daughter is screaming at Sam because he ate her cookies.” your Pops explained tersely.

“Not cookies, oreos,” you muttered, glare never wavering from Sam. You furiously threw the offending empty package roughly at his still bewildered face in lieu of another expletive. Sam was evidently so bewildered, in fact, that he didn't even flinch as the box hit his head and bounced pathetically to the floor. 

Bucky raised his eyebrow. 

“And that’s why you’ve been screaming like that?” he confirmed. You nodded, arms crossing your chest stubbornly. 

Bucky shrugged, looking towards his husband with a look of indifference. “Makes sense.”

“No, it absolutely does not make sense,” Steve lightly scolded, glancing at Bucky with a pointed look before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N you’re completely overreacting. Apologise to Sam right now.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you gaped at your dads with an expression that was equal parts betrayal and rage. 

“No.”

“No?” Steve repeated incredulously. He stared at you with disbelief, looking between you and Bucky like he was hoping he’d somehow misheard you. You met his glance with an equally stubborn look as you planted your feet solidly beneath you and tightened the cross of your arms. “What do you mean, no?”

“You heard me,” you spat, unwavering. 

Sam merely looked confused as he watched the two of you argue, if albeit still a bit scared, but Bucky was sure his shock was evident on his face. You never back-sassed your Pops, not even when you were really angry, and Bucky only felt his disbelief grow at the prospect that your attitude was all due to a few cookies. 

"Y/N, you don't get to tell me no," Steve ground out carefully, voice stern with a rare sort of parental authority he seldom had to use with you. In fact, Bucky was pretty sure he hadn't actually heard him use this particular tone since way back when you were a toddler testing the limits of your dads' patience. But unlike your three-year-old self, you didn't back down at your Pops' disapproving tone; in fact, you met his intense stare with a flippant roll of your eyes, deepening your dad's shock at your abrupt behavioral shift. 

"He fucking knows what he did, everyone knows those oreos are mine," you snapped, eyes alight with a kind of fury the likes of which your dads had never seen from you before. 

"Language!" Steve gasped at his daughter, his authoritative tone giving way to a spluttering one of complete disbelief. 

"FUCK OFF!" you shouted instantly. 

"HEY!"

Bucky had officially had enough. Irritation blossomed deep within his chest at the hurt he saw wash through his husband's eyes at your vulgar screech. Teenaged angst was one thing, but it was entirely another to blatantly disrespect Steve like you were. He still didn't know what was really causing you to act like this--because no way in hell could this be all over some oreos-- but he'd definitely passed the point where he even cared. 

"Doll, that’s enough. Clearly you're upset, but you cannot speak to your Pops like that," he practically growled. You turned your attention to your dad with the same kind of indignant irritation in your eyes, a flash of fresh anger rolling across your face at the sight of Bucky's equally irate expression. 

"You can fuck off too," you spat.

 Bucky's jaw clenched dangerously, the muscle in his cheek jumping and twitching as he took in his daughter's crass retort. Sam had long since left the scene, the nearly suffocating tension officially too much for him to take. Steve's eyes went wide for what felt like the millionth time since he'd first walked into the kitchen. If he hadn't known something was wrong before, he undoubtedly did now. 

You may not disobey him often, but you never snapped at Bucky. 

Steve had long since accepted that, though you loved the two of them the same, you'd always liked Bucky more. A daddy's girl from birth, you and Bucky had always been inseparable-- so for you to now scream and curse at him like this was like a flaming-red flag in Steve's mind. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

"Excuse me?" Bucky hissed. The two of you faced one another, arms crossed and expressions grim. You planted your feet even more solidly underneath you, staring your dad down with a fury so intense it was almost palpable. If it weren't for the overall tension of the situation, Steve might've teased the two of you for your near-mirrored positions. 

"Y/N? What's going on, I thought I heard yelling?" Peter asked as he practically skidded into the kitchen. He immediately joined you, face morphing into a look of utter concern at the sight of yours and Bucky's standoff. Steve braced himself, mentally apologizing to Peter for the verbal assault that was surely coming his way. 

But it never came. 

It was as if all the unwarranted anger was sucked from your body in a rush as soon as you caught sight of your boyfriend. Your face crumpled into an anguished expression, and Steve could see how the tears welled up in your eyes instantaneously. Peter clicked his tongue in pity and you thrust yourself instantly into his awaiting arms. He gripped you tightly, and you eagerly buried yourself further into his embrace. Face smashed tightly against his chest, you began to sob uncontrollably.

Your dads gaped at the scene, wide-eyed. 

"S-sam ate my oreos a-and now everyone's mad at me, and I j-just wanted my snack!" you all but wailed, voice muffled by Peter's body. 

Bucky blinked once as he turned to his husband, total confusion written all over his features. Steve just gaped in response, unable to formulate a semi-coherent thought, let alone words. 

"Oh angel, it's okay," Peter cooed softly into your hair, hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you continued to cry. "I can go and get you more oreos; don't cry Y/N/N, I'll just run down to the store right now to get you some."

Lifting your head from his chest, you seemed slightly placated and hopeful as you sniffled and looked up at him. 

"C-can I come with you?" you asked him shyly, tear-stained cheeks turning a slight shade of pink at your childish request. Peter smiled fondly down at you, clearly happy to see that you were feeling better. 

"Of course, it'll be nice to walk with you," he smiled sweetly at you and lightly kissed your nose. You giggled as you removed yourself from his embrace before walking over to your dads. 

"M'sorry I shouted daddys. Love you guys!" you apologized in a chipper voice before kissing both of the men's bewildered cheeks. 

The two supersoldiers both stood in stunned silence as they watched you leave hand in hand with Peter, who briefly shot them an apologetic look before the pair were gone. Steve thought he heard Peter mumbling something to Y/N as they left, but the only words he could pick out were "not good to get so worked up", which only confused him further. 

"What in the hell was that?" Bucky grumbled, face still crinkled with bewilderment. Steve simply shook his head. 

"I have absolutely no idea. I've never seen her behave like that, have you?"

"Nothing like that, but she was acting funny the other day too," he frowned, recalling the scene he'd walked in on just a few days prior. "She was full out sobbing on the couch a few days ago over a toilet paper commercial."

Steve gaped at his husband. 

"Sh-she...what?"

"Doll have you seen your Pops? I can't find him any-"

Bucky's question died in his throat as soon as he hit the threshold of the TV room. You were curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees as sobs racked through you. Peter sat next to you with his eyes crinkled in concern and hands rubbing gently at your shoulders as you cried. 

"Y/N what's wrong, why are you crying?" Bucky asked. Feeling his protective instincts kick in instantly,  he couldn't help but search the room with his eyes in search of any danger. Finding nothing, he narrowed his eyes at your boyfriend.

"Did he do something?" Bucky demanded. "Parker I swear to God if you hurt her I-" 

"What? N-no I didn't do anything Mr. Bucky I swear!" Peter spluttered, eyes widening in fear at the terrifying look in your dad's eyes. 

"Bullshit, then why's she crying like that? Of course you did someth-"

"N-no it's not P-peter dad!" you interrupted tearfully. "There was an ad on TV that just made me emotional okay? You know, the one with the boy crying in the bathroom and his dad offers him toilet paper for his tears?"

There was a beat of silence. 

"Doll, you really mean to tell me that you're sobbing over a toilet paper ad?" Bucky asked, brows furrowed in disbelief. You sniffled as you nodded, and fresh tears began to pick your eyes once more. 

"Yes! I mean it's just so inspiring," you blubbered. "I mean how often do you actually get to see a teenaged boy cry on TV? Never, cause toxic masculinity standards in this stupid patriarchal society we all live in say otherwise! And not only does the dad accept that his son is crying and is allowed to feel real emotions, he sits down to talk with him about them! I just got so happy thinking about all the little boys who will see this ad and feel the validation that they're normal for feeling sad every once in a while!"

Bucky just stared at his daughter with a blank look for a moment; he looked like he was unable to formulate a single response to the information he'd just been given. 

"Well that's...uh….that's great I gue-"

"I can't believe you would just assume that me crying just had to be because of something Peter did," you interrupted, angrily brushing the leftover tears from your face. "It's so unfair, you always blame him for everything!"

"I-uh," Bucky stammered, flustered by the sudden change in your emotions. You scoffed and stood quickly from your spot in Peter's embrace, crossing your arms petulantly. 

"It's true dad, you're always looking for something to yell at him for! It's so biased and unfair," you practically yelled. "Honestly it's such prejudiced bullshit. Some kind of outdated 'lock up your daughters' rhetoric that I can't believe yo…"

At some point during your impassioned speech you began stomping away from both your dad and Peter while still ranting. As your shouts became fainter and fainter Bucky found himself directing his dumbfounded expression at Peter instead. In a rare show of solidarity with your boyfriend, Bucky silently begged for an explanation as to what on earth had just happened. 

Despite the way his heart was hammering wildly in his chest Peter remained silent. He offered only a passive shrug to your dad before he clambered to his feet and began following after you. If Bucky hadn't been caught so off guard he surely would've been suspicious at the visible sweat that was beading on Peter's forehead and the way the young boy's hands trembled as he quickly left the room, the question of what was causing your mood swings laying thickly unanswered in the air. 

"What the fu-"

"She...a toilet paper ad? Really?"

"Yep, a friggin' toilet paper commercial," Bucky nodded solemnly. Steve blinked once, shaking his head. 

"So what did you do?" he asked incredulously. 

"Nothin'," Bucky shrugged. "She was so damned worked up that I figured she needed some space, and by the time I went to talk to her she'd already seemed completely fine. Thought it wasn't worth upsetting her all over again."

Steve snorted. 

"Yeah right, you were just too scared you would make her mad again," he chuckled. 

"Hell yeah I was," Bucky admitted freely, crossing his arms and shooting his husband a defiant expression. "You've seen her, you know how terrifying she can be when she's pissed!"

Steve chuckled once more, shaking his head fondly. 

"Mmmm, and I wonder where she got that from."

Bucky narrowed his eyes and scowled at the implication, a surly look overtaking his features. Steve couldn't help but laugh outright at the expression on his husband's face; it was the exact same face you always made when you were annoyed, right down to the little pout in your lip. 

"For the last time Stevie, she doesn't get that from me," he grumbled. 

"Sure Buck, whatever you say," Steve laughed. 

Though your odd behavior and mood swings were at least now on both your dads' radar, neither had any clue as to the actual reason for your sudden changes. The pair of them chalked up the incidents to little more than teenaged angst, however they had no idea how wrong they were nor just how soon they were about to find out what was really going on. 

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

"I don't understand Y/N," Steve stated carefully. "Why exactly don't you want to go with the team?"

You shifted your weight from foot to foot anxiously, huffing out a breath in mock annoyance and very real frustration. 

You'd been in the training room, lightly working out with Nat and Wanda when your Pops and Tony had walked in to announce that there was an urgent mission that apparently would require the entire team. Internally cursing your timing, you'd tried to sneak out of the room unnoticed, but as your luck would have it, your dad caught you. Now you were stuck arguing with your dads, the attention and curiosity of everyone in the gym directed at you. 

Your heart was thrumming wildly in your chest as you furiously racked your brain for some way, any way, out of this assignment and this conversation without an actual reason. 

Well, a reason you were actually willing to give, that is.

"Why does it even matter?" you snapped, hoping that no one clocked the tremor in your voice. "It's not like you guys even need me anyways."

"Doll, you always jump at the chance to come with us," your dad interjected. "So what's so different about today?"

"I just don't want to," you whined, lying through your teeth. "I'm tired and I don't feel good."

"But you were literally just training?" Sam pointed out. You narrowed your eyes at him, irritation bubbling under the surface of your anxiety at the contradiction. The older man shrank back a bit under your firey gaze, the previous incident in the kitchen clearly prominent in his mind as he stepped behind Wanda. 

Clint snorted. 

"If you could even call that training," he mumbled under his breath. Your jaw dropped. 

"What is this, gang up on Y/N day?!" you sassed as your arms flew to cross your chest defensively. Your Pops shook his head. 

"We're just worried Y/N/N," he reassured, brows furrowed with concern. "You've been behaving very strangely lately, and this is just one more thing."

"Yeah doll," Bucky nodded, agreeing with his husband. "So what gives?"

Your pulse sped up once more at the direct question, a sickening feeling rising in your throat like bile at the realization of just how suspicious your dads were. Unable to think clearly through your panic, you did the only thing you could think of. 

You scoffed in fake disbelief, rolled your eyes, and began stomping out of the room. 

"Y/N Barnes-Rodgers!" your dad shouted in an indignant and angered tone. "We are not done talking about this!" 

Damn. 

"What?!" you whirled around, stomping your foot like a child. "I just don't want to go this time okay?"

Bucky's face turned red at your open defiance, but Steve interrupted before he could even open his mouth to snap back at you. 

"No Y/N it's absolutely not okay," he scolded. You felt the burn of unshed tears prick your eyes as they searched desperately around the room, mind racing to think of an excuse that would get you out of this situation. 

"But-"

"No, no buts Y/N," your dad barked, clearly having composed himself enough to speak once more. His arms were crossed as he glared at you, and the stubbornly annoyed look on his face was enough to make the tears in your eyes begin to fall. A feeling of utter entrapment and fear settled in your chest like a suffocating weight as you felt the hot, fresh tears stream down your cheeks. 

"Doll, are you crying?" your Pops questioned incredulously. "What on earth is going on with you?"

"Nothing! I just can't go today," you blubbered, past the point of being able to hold back your sobs. 

"You can't go, or you won't go?" Bucky asked pointedly, evidently not swayed by your tears. 

"It doesn't matter," you cried desperately. Your dad's eyes bored into yours directly as if he was searching your brain to find out what you were holding back from him. 

"It clearly does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be acting like this," he continued harshly. "I'm not sure what it is you aren't telling us, but I don't even care at this point. Stark said he needs everyone and your Pops told you to go, so you need to get yourself together and go and get ready."

The tears were now cascading down your face in giant streams and your face was growing warmer by the second. You darted your gaze back and forth between the other team members' faces, still searching for some kind of last minute way out of this situation. Finding only curious or concerned expressions, you turned back to your dads with wide eyes. You felt your mouth go dry as your lips open and closed wordlessly, the severity of your current predicament weighing you down more and more by the second. 

"I-"

"No. I don't want to hear another word from you Y/N," your dad snapped. "Go and get ready for the mission now."

"But she can't go!"

Time stopped for a split second as the entire room's heads snapped towards the desperate shout.

Peter had only just entered the training room, wondering where everyone was, when he caught the tail end of your dad's order. He couldn't help but blurt the first thing that'd come to mind, the implication of which only dawned on him afterwards. As he rushed to your side he shot you a sheepish look, and you internally cringed a bit at his slip. 

Even though you were certain Peter's involvement would only further reduce your already slim chances of getting out of this mission without a full confession of what was really going on, you couldn't help but feel an inkling of relief as his eyes locked with yours. His hand immediately intertwined itself with yours once he'd reached you, and your belly fluttered with a warm tinge of comfort with the simple touch.

True, things were probably about to go sideways for the both of you, but at least Peter was here to go through it by your side. 

"Excuse me Parker?" your dad spat incredulously, eyes blazing with anger at your boyfriend's outburst. "I don't recall asking you for your opinion on my daughter or what she can or can't do."

Peter stood a little taller as he looked Bucky straight in the eyes with an unprecedented amount of determination. 

"She can't go." he practically growled, eyes stern and unyielding as he openly defied your dad. He was standing a half-step in front of you, tense back partially shielding you from the rest of the team as he spoke.

 Even with his face turned the opposite direction you could see from his profile the way his brows were furrowed and how dark his normally chocolate brown eyes had gotten. You felt a slight shiver run up your spine at the fiercely protective energy Peter was radiating, and your heart felt a bit lighter at the way he stood up to your dad on your behalf. You squeezed his hand in an effort to ground him, and he softened marginally as he glanced back at you.

Your dad however looked as if he might combust soon based on the way his eyes bulged out and his face turned a concerning shade of red. 

"What's that supposed to mean Peter?" Steve interjected carefully, his hand reaching up to rest comfortingly on his husband's shoulder. 

"It means exactly what we said," Peter said firmly. "Y/N cannot go on this mission today."

The team watched the interaction between you, Peter, and your dads with their heads bouncing back and forth between the four of you like they were watching a tennis match. Not a word had been uttered from a single one of them, and yet they stood completely transfixed as they waited patiently to see the outcome of the argument. 

"And why, pray tell, is that Parker?" your dad hissed, scowl etched across his features. 

Peter's eyes traveled to yours, irises swimming with a silent question. Realizing that there was no way out, you took a steadying breath as you nodded softly and squeezed his hand once more in reassurance. Peter smiled at you fondly before dropping his smile and turning back to your parents. 

"She can't go because...it could be bad for the baby."

You could've heard a pin drop in the training room. No one made a sound, no one even dared to breathe. The shock in the room was palpable, but you couldn't be bothered to even glance at anyone other than your dads, their reactions the only two that mattered to you in this moment. 

Though you'd expected a rather explosive reaction from your parents (especially from your dad), you were met instead with blank stares. Your dads were simply staring at you and Peter in stunned silence, and their lack of a response actually frightened you more than the screaming you'd been anticipating for weeks now. The beat of silence seemed to stretch on eternally, though in reality it was probably no more than thirty seconds. You watched nervously, your hand becoming sweaty in Peter's as you waited. Finally, your Pops blinked and opened his mouth cautiously. 

"Bad for the wha-"

"I SWEAR TO GOD PARKER THAT'D BETTER BE SOME KIND OF DISGUSTING PET NAME FOR MY DAUGHTER."

Ahhh. There it was. 

Your dad had clearly broken through his frozen thoughts enough to respond, and you would've laughed if you weren't so terrified. He looked positively furious; his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them and his face had darkened from red to an almost purple color that looked painful to say the least. His murderous gaze was hyper-fixated on Peter, and you couldn't help but step in front of your poor boyfriend in an effort to take some of the heat off him. 

Peter, evidently, was having none of that, and he frowned before pulling you backwards and tucking you into his side tightly. If you hadn't been so focused on your dad right now you might've rolled your eyes at his over-protectiveness. Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of his embrace as you took a steadying breath. 

"It's not," you responded as calmly as you could manage while your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your throat. "I'm pregnant."

Silence enveloped the room once more, and you could've sworn it was even more awkward than the first time. It must've been, because you could see Nat and Wanda ushering the rest of the team out of the gym out of the corner of your eye. You weren't quite sure if you were grateful for the privacy or more scared of how your dads would react now that you were alone.

Your dads stared at you and Peter with wildly different expressions. Steve was staring off into space and looking as if he was either going to throw up or pass out soon, and Bucky still looked as if he was about a half a second away from murdering Peter with his bare hands. To his credit, Peter was still standing by your side with the same look of determination as before despite this, but you could feel the way his pulse was hammering through his veins as he too carefully surveyed your dads' reactions.

You stood quietly, trying to be patient as you watched them, but the suspense and anticipation quickly became overwhelming and you couldn't help but blurt,

"Say something!"

Though both their gazes snapped up to your face with your plea, yet neither your dad nor you Pops said anything. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to explain yourself. 

"I know that you're probably in shock or angry or maybe both- and honestly that's completely fair!" You rambled breathlessly. "I know we're still only eighteen, but I really think everything's gonna be okay? Really, I do. And I'm so sorry about today, believe me this isn't how we planned on telling you at all bu-"

"You're not coming on the mission," Steve interrupted, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Nor is Peter. Your dad and I will be back later, and we're all going to have a long discussion."

It felt like all the air was sucked out of your body as you watched your Pops pull your dad towards the training room exit. You hadn't been fully sure of just how you were going to tell them, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine that it would come out like this. Tears once more welling up in your eyes, your heart sank as you realized just how disappointed and angry they were. 

"I love you," your voice cracked as you called to their retreating forms, unable to bear the sight of them leaving without reminding them. They both paused in the doorway, and without turning back both muttered that they loved you too before they were gone. 

As soon as they left you immediately twisted yourself and thrust your face into Peter's chest, the tears flowing steadily as you sobbed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your shaking form, lips finding the crown of your head and hands rubbing soothingly across your back. 

"Th-they hate me now," you whispered brokenly into Peter's soft hoodie in between sobs. "They hate me Pete, they're n-never going to forgive me for this!"

Peter shushed you quietly, gentle lips kissing your hair as he began to sway you back and forth slowly. 

"They don't hate you angel," he soothed. "They're just surprised. Disappointed in the timing maybe, but they'll get over it. I promise."

"I never wanted it to go like this," you cried as you pulled your head from his chest slightly. Peter's hands left your back for a moment to come and rest on either of your cheeks. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before retreating upwards to look deep into your eyes. 

"I know you didn't sweet girl, but it did," he said gently as he brushed away some of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. "It did and it's going to be okay. We'll talk to your dads when they get back and clear everything up. And no matter what, you and I are going to get through this together, okay?"

You sniffled softly, nodding sadly. Peter's eyes were swimming with guilt and dejection at the sight of the empty expression on your face. He didn't know how to comfort you in this situation, but it was like every molecule in his body was demanding he do so. He leaned down once more to press a loving kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips. 

You sighed, head retreating back to his chest once your lips disconnected. Sadness was still swirling in your stomach and you just longed for the feeling that being in Peter's arms brought. He seemed to understand perfectly- as he always did- pressing his cheek to the top of your head and wrapping his arms tightly around you without a word. The two of you stood there for a while, bodies entangled as you continued lightly swaying back and forth. Peter's hands continued to roam up and down your spine and your tears began to slow and dry. 

Eventually you hummed, stepping back and up on your toes to press an appreciative kiss to Peter's face. He smiled as a faint pink tinted his cheeks at your display of affection. You giggled, slightly amazed that even after everything you two had done, something as simple as a peck on the cheek could still make him blush.

"Thank you," you said quietly, looking up into his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at you in confusion. 

"For staying with me through all that. I mean it's you, so I wasn't really worried...but my dad can be really frightening. So thanks," you half joked. 

Peter chuckled lightly as he pulled you back into his arms once more. 

"Of course angel. Told you, I'm never going to leave you. Even if your dad is super scary. You two are stuck with me now. I'm never ever going to leave you or our baby," he vowed quietly into your hair as his hands reached down to rub the small but growing bump in your tummy lovingly. "We're gonna get through this all together, as a family."

You felt tears well up in your eyes once more, but this time out of sheer love and happiness.

 Damned hormones. 

"You're gonna be such a good daddy Peter," you whispered gratefully. Hearing the slight crack in your voice, Peter pulled you away from his chest gently to wipe your tear stained cheeks once more. 

"Hey now, no more tears today," he scolded playfully as he tugged you across the room. "When's the last time you ate something? We have the whole kitchen to ourselves now, and I bet my babies are hungry!"

You chuckled lightly as you allowed him to pull you along with him towards the kitchen. All the while, he chattered happily about the new article he'd just read about the specific nutritional needs pregnant women have, and your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were still apprehensive about the upcoming conversation with your dads, but you were definitely feeling better. As much as their approval and involvement would mean to you, you'd come to the conclusion that as long as you had Peter by your side everything would work out alright. 

Somehow.

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

"Petey, are you sure you don't need any-"

"No! Nope. I've got this," your boyfriend interrupted stubbornly. You signed, hand absentmindedly rubbing across your swollen stomach as you watched him struggle with the latch on the new crib the two of you were setting up. 

Well, the crib that Peter was setting up. 

It'd been a few months since the team had found out about the newest upcoming addition to the Tower, and you'd decided that it was time to begin decorating the nursery. Tony, of course, had offered to have someone come in to do all the heavy lifting, but Peter was insistent that he be the one to set everything up. His protectiveness over you and the rapidly growing child you were carrying had only increased as the months went on, so much so that you were lucky now if he'd even let you stand for long enough to watch him put the baby's furniture together. It was endearing, really, how much he cared for the two of you, but you'd be lying if you said that you weren't becoming a little frustrated with how little you could do to help. 

"Really Peter, I can help," you grumbled, annoyed. "I'm pregnant, not disabled."

"Of course you could help angel, but I don't need help," he grunted, eyes never leaving the mass of parts around him. "You already have to do all the work of growing and housing our baby, the least I can do is build the crib!"

"Housing?" you teased, quirking an eyebrow.

"You know what I meant," he grumbled, and you couldn't help but chuckle at his growing frustration. 

Peter was clearly losing his grip just a bit as he struggled to make sense of the instructions that had been provided with the pieces. He sighed, throwing the pamphlet down on the ground before trudging over to where you stood, leaning against the changing table that he'd put together a few days ago. 

"I've engineered web-fluid from absolutely nothing, re-built computers from scratch and yet I can't even manage to put this stupid bed together," he whined as he dropped his head down onto your shoulder in defeat. "M'gonna be a terrible father."

"Ohhh bubs," you cooed sympathetically, smile falling quickly and heart lurching at the tone of pure dejection in his voice. 

You wrapped your arms around him, one snaking around his back and the other cradling his head. Your fingers began instantly carding through his chocolate-brown locks as he nuzzled his nose lightly into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His hands wound their way around your waist too- or as well as they could with your round tummy in the way- and his own hands began absentmindedly tracing patterns over your bump.

"Peter you have to know that isn't true," you soothed, kissing his cheek softly. "You're going to be an amazing dad."

He hummed non-commitally. 

"You think you're not?" you challenged, fingers halting their dance against his scalp. "Do the thing."

He raised his head from your shoulder, brows furrowed in confusion. 

"What does that have to do with-"

"Do the thing," you interrupted sternly. He sighed and knelt down, grumbling inaudible complaints as he went. Once he was face to face with your bump he placed his hands on either side, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your stretched-out skin.

"Hi baby, it's me, your daddy," he spoke softly into your stomach, lips so close that you shivered with each breath that ghosted over your clothed belly. "I love you so much."

The baby responded instantly at the sound of Peter's voice, feet jabbing out and kicking excitedly from within just underneath where his hands lay. You felt your heart skip a beat at both the feeling the movement in your belly and the sight of the dopey smile that lit up Peter's handsome face as he felt his child's kicks. You rubbed over his hands lovingly and smiled down at him.

"See bubs? He starts throwing a party in there every time you do that. He loves you so much already, that's not gonna change," you reassured him softly. Peter's smile dropped just a little. 

"But the crib-"

"Fuck the crib," you responded stubbornly. "You are the most caring, sweetest, and most thoughtful person I know Peter. You're going to be the world's best dad."

"Whoa whoa, believe we're the ones with the mugs that claim that title," a voice chuckled from the doorway. 

You smiled fondly, eyes darting to find the sight of your Pops leaning casually against the frame of the door with your dad standing just behind him. Both had amused smiles on their faces, and you grinned widely. Even Peter smiled as he rose to his feet and wrapped one of his arms around your back to pull you into his side. 

"Okay, third best dad in the world then," you amended, grinning. 

"That's better," your dad piped up, smiling. "Now what's this I hear about a faulty crib? Sam said he can hear Peter cursing all the way from his room."

Peter groaned, tilting his head backwards in exasperation as you laughed out loud. 

"It isn't faulty, I'm just an idiot," Peter grumbled. Everyone but him chuckled, and your dad walked further into the room. He clapped a hand on Peter's back as he grinned at the younger man. 

"Normally I'd agree with you, but I know if I do Steve will bring up how Y/N had to sleep in the bassinet for like 6 months because we couldn't figure out how to put her crib together."

"You mean you couldn't figure it out," your Pops snorted from his place in the doorway. "As I recall, I was not allowed to help with the furniture because you were determined to figure it out on your own."

Bucky shrugged, seemingly indifferent to his husband's insinuation. 

"Whatever. Point is, I wanted to see if you wanted some help putting it together. Thought I might be able to give you some tips," your dad continued. Peter's smile widened, and he nodded eagerly before your dad knelt down to help try and make sense of the directions.

The discussion after the incident in the training room had gone much better than you would've ever imagined. Both your dads had been relatively calm once they'd returned from their mission, and surprisingly there had been no screaming, no crying, and no threats towards Peter from Bucky like you'd been picturing. The four of you had sat down together and had a long, mature discussion of what your plans were in terms of raising and caring for your child, and by the end your dads had even seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of being grandparents. Their involvement and excitement had only grown in the following months to the point now that you felt silly for ever having been frightened to tell them. 

And now as you stood watching your boyfriend and dad work together to put your child's room together, tears began collecting in your eyes and you felt your chest warm with feelings of overwhelming love. Steve, noticing your tears, moved to wrap his arms around you and you leaned your head against his shoulder. Rubbing your belly lovingly, you couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over you for the men in your life and love for the little one that you'd all be meeting soon. 

[mari-lair]

Norray halloween week Day 1: Ghosts!

If curious, below are some random info about this Teacher/ghost AU

Ray got a gun and he can use it. The ghost gun isn’t able to touch, much less physically hurt anyone, but it replicate the sound of a real gun, which contributed a lot to how low priced his haunted house rent has become. It nearly gave Norman a heart attack the first time he heard it.

After being dead for a while, Ray learned how to turn visible and invisible at will and play around small objects such as paper, shoes and butcher knives. He can control up to 4 small objects at a time or something relativaly heavy like a chair if he really concentrate. The more he got the hang of controling and moving small objects the lower his house rent become, rarely getting aggressive but still able to physically hurt people. On All Hallows Eve he can posses people’s bodies and get out of the house he haunts, but he always ends up back to his empty ‘home’ when the night is over.

Ray is an incredibly fast learner. Just by observing the people that visits his house, he learned a decent amount of modern english and understand the basics of how tecnology is a  thing now -he wished this advanced tecnology was invented when he was alive. It would make the of lack of food and nutrients less of a deadly nightmare in open sea.

As a pirate, Ray used to be the one in charge of doing most of the bloody work and take the night watch, protecting his captain’s back from both outside and inside forces. He was constantly alert, borderline paranoic. But as the years in death passed, he grew more calm, very patient. He usually don’t mind new people in his house, happy to learn more modern english and befriend the guests willing to tolerate him. If a new guest cross a line however,  Ray will do his best to scare them away. Hurt them or kill them by manipulating knives if he sees fit.

It’s very rare for adults to see Ray as anything other than a nonsense they have no energy to deal with or a warning sign for their crumbling lives, so he usually hang around kids. The childish company mellows him with time.

Ray is from a time where death was common and getting hurt was inevitable so what people consider pretty serious is something Ray considers mild “Why are you being so dramatic about seeing some bone? Be grateful your hand is still attached to your wrist after you slaped your daughter. If it wasn’t for her wishes you wouldn’t have legs to run away.”

Norman is considered a genius and have countless prizes under his belt. He wanted to go to the moon when he was a kid but because of his weak health, he knew he would not be acepted in the space program. He decided teaching was the next best thing later on, accepted as a teacher in a prestigious school while still young. He enjoys and understand all subjects but love history the most, unable to deny it was hard and frustrating to teach a whole class of teens at times but still liking his job. Having one student that was genuinaly interested in his class was more than enough to make his day.

When Norman first started teaching, he felt more responsable than he had his whole life. It wasn’t a bad feeling per see, but it made him anxious so he called his little sister Cherry once a week to ask her questions about her teachers and make sure he was doing a good job.

Norman may not be the funniest of teacher but he’s still a favorite for his palpable cares for his students. He does not make the subject easier than is requested but he put a lot of effort into making people enjoy their world history, teaching with passion and seriously answering any questions, no matter how silly or joking it sounds. He’s understanding and try his best to help those with dificulty with the subject, always giving people second chances, having lost countless nights of sleep correcting re-writen essays after deadlines and turning his test questions into podcasts for students with adhd, aware the big historical excerpts are fundamental for answering the test but too hard to focus, specially with limited time.

The lambda crew are problem children. Norman went the extra mile to save Barbara and Zazie from failing classes even outside history and left Vincent startruck with his wide knowladge about not only world history but a ton of subjects he could be teaching too if he wasn’t overworking himself. Norman is both happy to inspire the squad to study hard and also very awkward by their blind admiration.

The teacher had a firm “ghost don’t exist”  mentality, which is one of the reasons he brought the haunted house in the first place. He had chalked Ray up as an halucination from his sleep deprived brain, having the rotten luck of buying the house right after a bad guest owned. The ghost got more annoyed than usual from things as insignificant as Norman keeping the lights on for too long, putting music Ray doesn’t vibe with, or just acting unfairly cute, to more personal matters such as Norman studying about Ray and his family lives. They used to have a distant and bad relationship but once Ray noticed Norman had only admiration for history, being genuinaly kind when trying to talk instead of mocking his existence, Ray apologised. Norman was still wary at first but they quickly hit off, enjoying to learn what the other had to offer and matching in wits.

When Norman catch a fever or a bad cold Ray gets wary. He know, on some level, that medicine have evolved a lot, but he remenbers way too clearly how serious even the weakest of diseases could get if not imediatly treated.  He always stick by Norman’s side when the teacher sneezes, not taking his eyes off him. Usually Norman keep working when he catch a cold, so Ray learned to float Norman’s grading papers out of his reach when coughing joined his sneezes. Floating a paper is enough to get Norman to take a break most of the time, but if the get stubborn Ray will stop playing nice. Just lower his voice to comander mode and order “Rest. Now. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.” and Norman does what he’s told, it’s very unconfortable to have a gun in the face and he does feel very tired.

When Norman is seriously sick, not just coughing but stuck to his bed. Ray freak out and fear for his life. When it reached this level, most of his crewmates died or had to be thrown in the sea to not infect other. Yes Ray know it’s not as bad anymore, but even when he observed guests, they rarely got sick, and when it got bad they where taken to a doctor. Norman lives alone so he got no one to feed him and bring him blankets or take him to the doctor if he lies for hours in bed. Ray was all the help he would get and he is fucking dead, he can’t measure his temperature or take care of him properly. Ray does tries his best though. He concentrated a lot to float heavy blankets and pillows towards Norman. Imediatly fetching any pills asked of him and doing his best to make him tea. It isn’t tasty, but Norman still appreciates his care.

Ray is the first to fall in love, he think “If only I could  kiss this fool and hug him, I would do it on the daily. I wish he was alive back then... He would love meeting Emma...” at least once a week but a big part of him is just “Forget scurvy! Norman would die of cold or malnutricion before he reached 10. Thank god the helpless bastard took his sweet time to be born.”

Ray cannot touch any eletronics, he can’t even come close without phones, computers, and tvs turning to statics, so Norman buys an illustrated book about the Red Mane Pirates for Ray to see his crew again. He know is not perfect but is the best he can offer whenever Ray expresses missing his family.

They read together. Norman occasionally teaching a new word to his ghost and Ray correcting any historical inacuracy. It’s fun.

Norman finds an illustration of an alive Ray sleeping in the mast waaay too beautiful. Ray snort at the romantized draw, disolving into laughter by how Norman failed to hide his blush.

It became a habit to read history books together and tease each other. More often then not, it lead to a history class and way to much sass on both ends.

“Wait, so there really was a world war? I heard about it from old guests but I thought they were exagerating when they called world war! And what do you mean 2? There was a second one??”

“How did miss the second one? It was HUGE, quite horribl-”

“You were not even alive when it happened.”                                        

“Tecnically, you weren’t either Ray-” 

Ray is a bit scared of how attached he got to Norman, knowing eventually the man would die. He hopes it will take a long time, and that once he had a painless death, he will become a ghost too, but he doesn’t really believe Norman will ever turn into a ghost. Ray knows not everyone that dies became a ghost. Since someone as compassionable as Emma -even if she was forced to have blood and dirty choises on her hand to survive the merciless seas- was not cursed to became a ghost, he was confident someone as kind as Norman would dissapear from Ray’s afterlife once he died too.

More of this AU here

.

And since you reached the end of this text wall. You can have this bonus Norman being awkward/excited about their growing friendship.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Meet The Furys

Characters: Erik Stevens x black!reader, Nicky Fury x daughter!reader

Summary: Its time for your dad to meet your boyfriend.

Warnings: None

A/N: Based off this imagine. After almost a year its finally here! I hope you all enjoy it.

“Okay, remember to play nice. My dad can be intense.” You warned Erik before ringing the doorbell.

“As long as he ain’t on some fuck shit.” Erik was already not too fond of the work your father did.

“Erik!”

“Aight, I’ll be nice.” He changed the tune of his story when he saw the crazy look in your eyes.

The front door opened and revealed Tony Stark. “What are you doing here?” You asked shoving the cake in his hands.

“Nice to see you too, kid.” He kissed the top of your head. Despite your love-hate relationship, Tony was like a big brother to you. Actually, all the avengers were like older siblings to you.

“Stevens.”

“Stark.”

Erik and Tony greeted each other. Neither one liked the other. You believed it was because there was no room big enough to hold both of their egos.

“Please you two, no arguing today. I got enough to worry about.” You continued to venture into the house.

“Erik, my man!” Sam came up and clapped Erik’s hand and gave him a one arm hug. “What you been up to?”

Tony leaned into you and asked, “Why doesn’t he greet me like that?”

You rolled your eyes and turned over your hand. “You know why.”

“Shit, nothing. I’m just out here trying to survive.” Erik ended the clap with a snap. He hit Sam in the middle in the chest. “I see you hitting them weights. You out here trying to get swole?”

“Nah, man I’m trying to get like you.”

“Trust me you don’t wanna be like him.” You interrupted the nigga-fest before it went too far.

“She’s always hating.” Erik whispered to Sam. “I’ll get at you later.”

Erik followed you throughout the house. The two of you constantly stopping to greet everyone. Eventually, you made it outside to see your dad at the pit.

“Hey Daddy!” As you reached up to kiss his cheek, you had to restrain yourself from hitting Erik when you heard him mumble, “I’m the only one she calls daddy.”

Nick put the spatula down and hugged his baby girl. “How is it possible you get more beautiful every time I see you?”

“I get it from my daddy.” You boosted his ego. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You tugged on Erik’s hand to bring him next to you. “Daddy this is Erik, Erik this is Nick Fury.”

Erik stuck out his hand to shake your dad’s. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Nick looked at the young man’s hand for some time. Before everything went down in Wakanda, Nick heard of Erik or better yet Killmonger. He wanted to bring him into SHIELD, but decided he was too volatile and stubborn for the organization. Now that same man is dating his baby girl. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

“Hmmph.” Nick looked Erik up and down before shaking his hand. “You treating my daughter right?”

“Yes, sir. I’m the one you should be checking on.”  Erik rubbed up and down on the bicep you hit him on earlier. “She’s always hitting me.”

“Don’t act like you don’t deserve it. You always testing me.” You bucked at him.

Erik was about to mush your head, but he remembered his surroundings and that he was supposed to be making a good impression. “See, you got a little thug over there.”

“She ain’t the thug I see.” You knew your dad would be snarky when he met Erik, but you didn’t think he would be going this hard this early.

You saw Sam behind Erik, cracking some joke with Bucky. Quickly, you motioned for him to come get Erik. “E, you wanna go grab a drink and dig into that cake before anyone else can?”

Erik looked to you if it was okay for him to leave. Even though he was already itching to leave he didn’t want to piss you off.

“Yeah, go.” You waved him off. “Me and Daddy need to have a talk.”

With your go ahead, Erik took off. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold his tongue.

Once Erik was out of earshot, you poked your dad in the shoulder and got on his ass. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Nick played dumb as he flipped the burgers.

You flicked your dad’s ear and quickly got out of arm’s reach. “That elitist nigga bullshit you just pulled by calling Erik a thug.”

Nick gave you the full Fury glare that was usually reserved for Tony. He pointed the spatula at you. “You got that one free lick. You don’t get anymore.” Closing the pit, your dad came next to you. “And the last thing I wanna be is one of those siddity niggas. I just…I just expected you with someone different that’s all.

“Elitist bullshit.” You mocked him by singing.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I was a little elitist. I’ll be better, I promise.”

If you consider better as not talking to one another then better happened. The barbecue was tense due to the obvious animosity between your dad and boyfriend. No matter how hard you, Sam, Bruce, and Steve tried to ease the tension, somehow your dad and Erik found a way to throw off-hand comments. And Tony was no help because he liked to add fuel to the fire.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Sam complimented Erik’s hair and your dad mumbled, “I don’t know why you young niggas think that’s a good look.”

Erik’s smile before he said anything told you everything you needed to know, and you knew there was no way to stop it. “I’m sorry that your receding hairline made you cut your hair. But hey, you rock that Samuel L. Jackson look.”

“What’s wrong with Sam L? That man got style.” Nick looked at Erik incredulously. He choose the wrong one today. “And while we on the subject of hair. Son, if you can’t grow a full beard then at least have the sense to cut that shit off.”

You almost spat your drink out. Erik’s been using some oils to grow his beard completely and it was working so well, you thought it was full. Leave it to your dad to find the last patch.

“At least I’m not dressed like Shaft. Nigga it’s 85 degrees right now, why you got on that hot ass leather duster for? Ole Little Bill lookin ass with an eyepatch.” Erik refused to be outdone by this old head.

They continued to trade jabs. It was like watching a tennis match when neither player could score. Each jab was hitting its mark. If this wasn’t your dad and Erik, then you would be cracking up like everyone else.

You needed to stop their bickering before it got too far. Out of the two, your dad would be the easiest to stop. “Daddy!” You called out to him, trying to redirect his attention.

“What?!” Both Erik and your dad turned to you. When you saw your dad’s face processing that Erik answered as well, you knew right then and there you would have to kill Erik. You’ll just tell T’Challa and Shuri that he died in a horrible car crash. It would be believable, because that nigga doesn’t know what a speed limit is.

Sam slid out of his chair in silent laughter, Tony spat out his drink and was howling in laughter, Steve’s face flushed red in embarrassment for you, Bucky looked like he wanted to congratulate Erik, Wanda and Nat offered you sympathetic smiles, and Peter was confused to why everyone was in a state of shock.

That shit-eating grin was wiped off Erik’s face when he looked at you. Was it possible to plan your own funeral, he thought.

“Y/N, why did he answer you?” Nick asked his lovely daughter. He knew his daughter was grown and she was most likely doing grown people activities, but that didn’t mean he needed to be blatantly reminded of it.

“Cause I’m her daddy, nigga!” Erik was done playing nice. Nick Fury needed to know he was serious about you and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Tony wiped tears from his eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.” Nat kicked the leg from under his chair causing him to fall.

‘Thank you’ you mouthed to her. Tony obnoxious ass was next on your hit list after Erik.

Standing up, Nick pointed between him and Erik. “Me and you about to have a little talk.”

You tried to follow them inside the house, but your dad stopped you. He said they needed to have a talk man to man.

The longer they were away, the more you worried. For sure, you thought you would hear yelling. Neither one of them were afraid to get loud. Maybe one of em killed the other, you thought. Nah couldn’t be, neither one would go quietly.

Suddenly, your dad’s laughter was wafting through the air and that didn’t happen too often. Rounding the corner was a happy Erik and your dad, laughing with each other like they just weren’t at each other’s necks.

“What is this?” You asked surprised that they weren’t arguing.

Erik came to your side and kissed your temple. “Me and your pops came to an understanding.”

“And that is?”

“None of your business.” Your dad told you, leaving you speechless. Wow, did your dad and Erik have secrets now?

You asked Erik the same question and got the same answer. Erik was your best bet to tell you their secret, so you pinched him to get him to spill the beans.

In less than five seconds you felt a flick to your ear. “Keep your hands off that boy. I forgot how mean your little ass can be.”

You grabbed your ear and looked at your dad in awe. “What the hell is this?! Y’all friends all of a sudden?” You had to be in the twilight zone, because now your dad was defending Erik.

Both men turned to you and simultaneously repeated, “None of your business.” You decided to give up for the moment. You would have to divide and conquer to get any info.

The rest of dinner went really well considering where it started. Instead of roasting each other, Erik and your dad ganged up on Tony and it was your turn to laugh at his pain and suffering.

At the end of the night, it was only you, your dad, and Erik left. On your way out, Erik promised your dad he would come to his poker night and that they could hustle Tony out of some money. These niggas were really best friends now.

Finally, in the car you could try to pry some information out of Erik. Your dad would never tell you what they talked about. He was the king of secrets.

“What?” Erik’s lip slightly curled up when he felt you staring at him.

“What did you and my dad talk about earlier?” You pinched his arm. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business.”

Erik slid his eyes at you when he came to the stop sign. “Imma handle that ass when we get home.”

“Promises, promises.”

Erik shook his head at you. He contemplated telling you the truth and decided to give you an abridged version, because he knew your ass wouldn’t stop bugging him until you got something. “All you need to know is that we both have your best interest and love you. Anything else you wanna know, you gotta ask your pops.” Taking the hand that was intertwined with his, Erik kissed the back of your wrist.

That answer would have to do for now. Just like Erik said you could get the rest from your dad with a lot of  begging and honestly, Erik might tell you more, because either way you looked at it you were daddy’s little girl and neither one of them would want to disappoint you.

Tagging:@lostennyc @chaneajoyyy​ @vikkidc​ @ginghampearlsnsweettea @honeyflii​ @youwishiwasyobabymama​ @just-juicee​ @quietpoeticheart​ @soufcakmistress​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @marvelmaree​ @thickemadame​ @titty-teetee​

[moldisgoodforyou]

give a little: chapter five (college!jj maybank x oc)

MASTERLIST

pairing: jj maybank x oc

synopsis: charlie and jj finally go on a date. a fight ensues. 

warnings: violence, fighting, drinking, swearing, explicit mentions of sex, all characters are 21+

wordcount: 2.9k

_______________________________________________________________________

JJ came back to the Chateau that night with an ear-splitting grin, practically beaming. The other Pogues were all lounging around the living room, Sarah included. 

Immediately, John B was suspicious. “What did you steal?” He asked, looking over his friend for a sign of something hidden in his pockets. 

JJ laughed and showed John B his empty hands. “Nothing, bro. Just in a good mood, I guess.” 

Pope was kicked back on the couch, his feet on the coffee table. “Ten bucks you went back for more ice cream.” 

Kiara wrinkled her nose. “Is ice cream a dirty metaphor now? He wasn’t with her, he was at work. Right JJ?” 

Sarah turned to them, confused. “How is ice cream a dirty metaphor?” 

JJ put his hands up and went to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Hey, hey! Stop the interrogation! No, Kie, ice cream is not a dirty metaphor. Mind out of the gutter, woman.” 

Pope furrowed his brow. “So you did get ice cream.” 

JJ just grinned as he took a sip of the beer. 

Pope turned to Kiara, who was already grumbling. “Ha! Ten bucks, hand it over.” 

She fished a bill out of her pocket, scowling, and slapped it into Pope’s hand. “How did it go?”  

Sarah looked back and forth between Pope and Kiara and JJ. “I’m lost, someone catch me up.” 

John B looped his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “JJ has a fat crush on Charlotte Walker - god, Charlie, she’s not even here dude -” he corrected himself at JJ’s glare, “- and he made a fool of himself at the ice cream place she works at but she’s clearly not into him.” 

Pope shook his head. “You’re missing half the story, you didn’t see her drunk and hanging all over JJ at the party.” He put on a high-pitched voice as an impression. “Can I stay the night, JJ?” He dropped the voice, pointing at JJ. “And this fool thinks she asked him to be her boyfriend.” 

JJ put the drink down, giving John B and Pope a dirty look through the whole retelling. “First of all, I’m right here, quit talking about me like I’m not. She did! I guess we’re dating now. Second of all, she’s hot, but I don’t have a ‘fat crush’ on her. She’s just cool.” 

Kiara crossed her arms, doubting the story. “So you did hang out today?” 

JJ nodded, drinking his beer. “Yeah, we had to establish the rules -” his eyes widened at his slip and he cut himself off with another swallow of beer. 

Kiara and Sarah both jumped on that immediately. “What rules, JJ?” Sarah asked skeptically. 

JJ glanced around, as if checking to make sure no one else heard, and sighed. “Fine. She wants me to pretend to be her boyfriend, just for the summer, so she can get back at Rafe for cheating on her and piss him off.” 

Sarah frowned as John B and Pope began cracking up. “He cheated on her? I didn’t know that,” she said softly. 

JJ nodded in confirmation and threw his bottle cap at Pope. “Shut up! I’m just helping her out!” 

John B rolled his eyes. “You’re doomed, bro.” 

JJ glared. “But you guys can’t tell a single soul. I mean it. I already broke the first damn rule by telling you, but you guys would have figured it out soon enough anyway.” 

Kiara raised her hands in confusion. “How is that even going to work?”

JJ shrugged. “We go on dates in public, make out at parties? Easy.” 

Pope nodded. “Uh huh. Sounds like all risk, no reward.” 

JJ smirked. “Oh there’s reward, all right.” 

All the Pogues groaned at that, Sarah throwing her pillow at JJ. John B and JJ argued back and forth for a bit until JJ saw Pope and Kiara shaking hands out of the corner of his eye. “Hey! What are you betting on?” 

Pope grinned sheepishly. “I bet Kie $20 that you two will be dating for real by the end of the summer.” 

Kiara shook her head. “Hell no. I know Charlie, she’s stubborn as hell.” 

John B cocked his head. “By the end of summer? I give it a month.” 

Sarah laughed and elbowed her boyfriend. “Just be smart about it, JJ? This just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.” 

Since she started dating John B back in high school, she had grown to be close like a sister to JJ. Although they were talking about her brother’s ex, she had seen the way he treated girls over the years and figured he deserved what was coming. 

JJ nodded. “It’ll be fine, Cameron. I’ve got it handled.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Charlie texted him later in the week, early in the morning. 

Charlie: want to get dinner tonight? 

JJ: Sure is the wreck fine? 

Charlie: I was thinking the country club? on me 

JJ: are you asking me on a date, Walker? 

Charlie: I guess I am

JJ: Do I have to wear a suit

Charlie: no, no, just like a polo. I can pick you up from your place with john b? at 6? 

JJ: See you then

After the short text exchange, JJ frantically started going through his closet. “John B!” He called out, coming up empty-handed. 

While he had gotten a few solid scholarships (one thanks to an essay carefully ‘edited’ - one might say plagiarized - from Pope) and made his way through college with a handful of part-time jobs to keep up financially, he never adapted his style to the typical frat boy attire, hating how Kook-like it was. Lucky for him, John B was a Sigma Nu at UNC and Sarah had molded her boyfriend’s style to fit a little bit more of her taste. (The bandanas stayed.) 

“What?” He called back, walking into JJ’s room. “Dude, it looks like there was a hurricane in here.” 

JJ tossed another rejected shirt onto his bed. “I need clothes, dude. I’m going on a date at the fuckin’ country club.” 

John B laughed. “You’re in deep, JJ. Is this with Charlie?” 

JJ nodded. “Yeah, and I’m sure we’ll see Rafe there, so I gotta look good. For her. You know.” 

John B shrugged. “Sure. Come on.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, Charlie was completely unbothered at work, having sent off the text without a second thought. She told herself it was just a test, to see if this whole fake boyfriend thing would really work. But throughout the day, she couldn’t get her mind off the blond boy hovering over her, his necklace dangling over her chest, his hips getting closer...she shook her head to clear her thoughts as more customers entered the shop. By the end of her shift, only a half hour before she needed to pick JJ up, she had worked herself into a ball of nerves and could hardly concentrate. 

She raced home, only ten miles over the speed limit, sprinted into the shower, and after hurriedly applying a tinted lip balm, mascara and eyeliner, she looked at her appearance in the mirror, wet hair and all, and frowned. She would have to drive with the windows down and hope that was enough to make her hair acceptably dry. Charlie pulled on a sundress and checked her watch, cursing as she realized she was already late. 

JJ sat on the steps on the Chateau, anxiously bouncing his knee as he waited for Charlie. He checked his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes, then messed with his hair. 

John B slapped at his hand, having tried to tame it for JJ. “Quit, you’re gonna screw it up! It’s fine, she’s coming.” 

“I look like a fucking Kook,” JJ groaned, tugging at the collar of his polo. “And she’s late.” The sound of a car sounded in the distance, and JJ practically jumped up seeing her car round the corner. 

John B clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You look good. You’ll be fine, JJ, it’s just a date.” He left him on the porch, then went inside to watch the interaction through the blinds in the living room. 

Charlie smoothed out her dress and checked herself quickly in the car mirror, then got out and walked down the drive to meet JJ. “Hey, Maybank,” She smiled. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I mistimed work and then had to rush to get ready.” 

He wiped his palms on his shorts and smiled back. “It’s okay, I wasn’t waiting around.” He went in to hug her as she went in for a kiss on the cheek and she bumped her nose awkwardly into his shoulder. “Oh - uh, okay, ready to go?” 

She blushed in embarrassment and John B, sitting in the living room, slapped his palm to his forehead. 

JJ laughed softly and nodded, walking out to the car with her. “I like your makeup like this. It didn’t really seem like you at the party.” 

She shook her head and smiled, starting up the car. “That was the work of Grace and her eyeliner skills, I can hardly do it on my own.” 

JJ tugged at his collar again. “Got it. Um, so your family, they’re members at the country club?” 

“Well..not exactly. My grandparents are, so we have passes once a month if we want to eat or golf or whatever.” 

He laughed. “So you’re like, half-Kook. Why do you work so often?” 

Charlie shrugged. “I guess you could say that? I’m on scholarship at SC, but I needed a way to pay for Kappa. I get paid like a normal employee at the shop so I can stay in the sorority.” She paused. “My grandparents on my mom’s side aren’t doing the best, so. Most of the money goes there.” 

JJ frowned slightly, putting his hand on top of hers on the gear. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” 

She shook her head quickly and pulled up to the club. “It’s fine. You look really good, by the way, I didn’t tell you that.” 

JJ beamed and walked around to get her car door, offering his hand. 

“Wait.” Charlie surveyed his appearance first, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his polo. She smiled and took his hand. “Much better. Hungry?” 

He laughed as his stomach growled. “Starving.” 

The two had a fairly uneventful dinner, save for Charlie spilling her half her glass of white wine all down the front of her dress with a well-timed joke from JJ and an extreme lack of hand-eye coordination on her part. He only laughed harder at this, offering her his napkin and teasing her about her flushed cheeks. 

After she settled the check, ignoring arguments from JJ (and swatting away his hand when he pulled out his wallet), the two walked around the pathway by the golf course. Charlie took his hand, swinging it between the two of them. “Thank you for coming. It’s fun, hanging out with you.” 

JJ smiled, bringing their intertwined hands up and kissing the back of hers. “Of course. But - not that I mind - but how exactly is this going to get back to Rafe? For your master plan, and all?” 

She tilted her head toward the course, lowering her voice slightly. “Because he golfs on this course every Tuesday and Thursday with Topper and Kelce at 6:30.” Just on time, the three boys came into view to golf the next hole. 

“Ah. Right. And dinner?” JJ questioned. 

Charlie grinned. “You’re the one that said we needed to work on our chemistry, Maybank.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, Charlie Walker.” 

Charlie smiled and reached up on her toes, kissing his cheek. “Who, me? Never.”  

After going first in the round, Rafe jogged over to Charlie on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here, Charlotte?” 

JJ moved his arm protectively to wrap around her shoulders. 

Charlie nodded at JJ. “We’re on a date.” 

Rafe scoffed. “You? With him?” He jabbed his thumb toward JJ. 

Charlie frowned and stepped slightly in front of JJ, her body pressed against his. “Don’t act so surprised, Rafe.” 

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You want to waste your time with trash, go ahead.” 

At that JJ moved quickly to react, but Charlie turned and put her hand on his chest, looking up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Don’t, JJ,” she murmured, before turning back to Rafe. “Fuck off, Rafe, don’t talk like that.” 

Rafe sneered. “You know, Maybank, that’s not the only dirty thing she does with her mouth.” 

With that, JJ jumped forward, grabbing a fistful of Rafe’s shirt. “Don’t you ever - ever - talk like that again about her. I know what you did, asshole.” He told him through gritted teeth. 

Charlie quickly came up and wedged herself in between the two of them, facing Rafe, gently pushing JJ back. “JJ. Let’s go.” 

Reluctantly, JJ let go of his shirt and stepped back - just as Rafe spit, directly onto Charlie’s face, though it was intended for JJ. 

Without missing a beat, Charlie raised her fist and slammed it into Rafe’s face, so hard they could hear the crack of her hand connecting with his cheek. Her ring left an imprint and made a small slice under his eye.

“Fuck you.” She choked out, then stepped back and grabbed JJ’s hand as he stared at her in awe. 

Rafe went down to his knees, pressing his hand to his cheek. “Fucking bitch,” he groaned out.

At the sound of sirens over the golf course loudspeaker, Charlie cursed under her breath. “Shit. We gotta go,” she said quickly, then started running. 

JJ ran with her all the way back to the car, letting out a whoop along the way. She fumbled with the keys back at the car and JJ grabbed them from her, getting in the driver’s seat. “Just get in, Charlie!” He yelled, high off the adrenaline from the almost-fight. 

Charlie barely made it into the passenger side before JJ threw the car in reverse and the tires squealed as they tore out of the parking lot, back toward the Chateau. 

“Holy shit, are you okay? I’m gonna kill him.” JJ shook his head, glancing over and rubbing his thumb over her cheek. 

Charlie let her head fall back into the headrest and cradled her fist in her other hand, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve never done that before.” 

He let out a short laugh. “It didn’t seem like it. I didn’t know you had that in you.” 

She mustered a small smile as JJ pulled up to the Chateau and parked. “This fucking hurts,” she whined. 

He frowned, taking her hand and inspecting it. “You gotta punch with your thumb out, you might have broken it. We gotta teach you how to fight, baby.” 

Charlie groaned, a few tears running down her cheeks. “I’m gonna be in so much fucking trouble with my grandparents.” 

JJ winced. “Maybe. Let’s deal with this hand first, pretty girl.” 

They both got out of the car. JJ held her face in his hands, wiping away her tears gently with his thumbs and gave her a small kiss on the forehead before bringing her into the Chateau. All the Pogues sat around, discussing how JJ’s date probably went - and they all fell silent once they saw the two. 

Except Pope, who was facing away from the door and didn’t hear them walk in. “He’s obsessed with her, there’s no way -” he yelped as Kiara stepped on his foot to shut him up. 

“Oh, uh, hey guys! Wait what’s wrong?” Pope asked. 

Kiara noticed Charlie holding her fist and went to grab a bag of frozen peas for her without JJ even asking. 

JJ cleared space on the couch for the two of them and sat them down, taking the peas from Kiara and wrapping it around Charlie’s hand. “This one here decided to channel Floyd Mayweather on the date,” he teased. 

John B looked at the two of them, confused. “What happened, Charlie, are you okay?” 

Charlie let out a sheepish laugh. “I, um, hit Rafe.” 

JJ shook his head, grinning proudly. “Punched Rafe,” he corrected. 

Kiara’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit.” 

Charlie gasped as she tried to flex her fingers, tears welling up again. 

JJ took her hand gently and moved it to his lap, holding the ice on it for her. “Keep it still, Charlie, you’re gonna hurt yourself more,” he admonished gently. 

The other three Pogues exchanged not-so-subtle glances at JJ’s gentle nature. Charlie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth in pain, leaning her head into JJ’s shoulder. 

Pope broke the silence, blurting out. “So are you two a thing?” 

John B sighed as Kiara put her fingers to her temples, rubbing them. “Real subtle, Pope,” John B said. 

Charlie laughed softly, lifting her head. “I mean. We’ve been hanging out.” 

JJ’s face fell slightly and he shrugged, trying to brush it off. “No need to put labels on everything, Pope. Charlie, let’s go to my room, I think I have something that can help you more than the ice.” 

Charlie nodded and got up, following him out of the room. 

The second they heard JJ’s door click shut, John B and Kiara threw their pillows at Pope. “What the hell, Pope, we’re not supposed to know!” Kiara whispered. 

Pope raised his hands in defense. “I thought I would help move things along! It’s been two weeks already!” 

John B groaned, shaking his head. “This is why you’re a terrible wingman, Pope.” 

TAGLIST: @jiaraendgame​ @hmsjiara​ @booksandshish​

[tiaragqueen]

Effete

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Alastor x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,2k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, confinement, mention of murder

[Edited]

***

I can't believe I've regressed far enough to like this bastard, but I have no regrets. And it's very, very self-indulgent.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“When we first met, I didn't know what to do. So, I gave you my heart. Now, it belongs to you.” - Gave You My Heart [Teenage Bottlerocket]

Perhaps, you’d grown comfortable with him. Perhaps, his jovial and charismatic façade had fooled you a bit too much. Perhaps, you were just stupid for dismissing Vaggie's warning as mindless concern and ended up falling into such a flagrant trap; one that you could’ve avoided had you take a step back and perceive the world through a realistic eye.

This was Hell, not Heaven. The inhabitants constituted of wicked humans whose circumstances had forced them to act that way or personal autonomy. Therefore, it was only natural to presume that their attitudes remained the same and reformation had probably never crossed their minds before. Sure, a lot of them suffered in here, but wasn’t it the very definition of punishment? To make them suffer for their sins?

And, well, some people enjoyed dwelling on this pandemonium and planned to dominate it. Namely, Alastor himself. You had an inkling of suspicion that he only assisted Charlie to use her to expand his already large territory; something that Vaggie shared.

Unfortunately, it remained just that; an inkling. It didn’t blossom into a full-blown paranoia and overprotectiveness like Vaggie had so readily displayed to her girlfriend.

No, you’d regressed.

All traces of apprehension and skepticism from his abrupt appearance vanished the moment he serenaded and bantered with you. It came to the point where you fell into melancholy whenever he ‘disappeared’, giving tight-lipped smiles to concerned questions and often ignored people on accident. Being a sensible person, it didn’t take too long for Vaggie to put two and two together and, suffice to say, she looked rather… disappointed in you. Even Husk noticed this and wondered, aloud, if Alastor had ‘poisoned’ you with his ‘shitty’ grin somehow.

But you genuinely liked Alastor, and although you knew he would never reciprocate your feelings aside from a sneer, you wanted to keep this childish crush alight. In a way, it reminded you of your old life where you used to get all giddy over attractive men, even if they didn’t exactly possess a ‘boyfriend material’ or even good personality to begin with.

You just… hadn’t considered the possibility of him liking you back. And, maybe, his infatuation had overstepped the boundaries a little. But that was to be expected, no? He was a demon, after all. So you shouldn’t hope for a benign, or even fair, treatment beyond courtesy from him.

Because, as he’d kindly remarked, you’d brought this upon yourself. Therefore, it was your responsibility to deal with the repercussions.

Was it really your fault, though? You just wished for romantic love and attention from a special someone; something that you never truly had even during your lifetime.

And, perhaps, that was what plunged you to Hell in the first place. You were so desperate for affection until you willingly gave them everything, only to ended with a crushing disappointment once the truth manifested. From cheating to manipulation, you’d endured it all. And then you murdered them slowly, painfully, methodically. You’d reminded yourself many times that you wouldn’t fall in love again, but every lesson and bittersweet memories seemed to have escaped your brain the second someone displayed a hint that they liked you somehow. Never mind that it was probably platonic or accidental, you’d cherish it.

However, it was different now. You were no longer able to kill the men who had disappointed you, or tortured them until they begged for undeserving mercy because Alastor was stronger than you. He’d been here longer than you were, and he’d committed crimes more than you did.

Now, you were the captured one. The tortured victim. And you were what you’d always been; a hopeless romantic.

“Good evening, my dear!”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Oddly enough, he always came whenever you recollected your first meeting with him, as though he knew that his appearance could exacerbate your predicament. You began to wonder whether he could secretly read minds, or if he was just that good at reading you. The latter didn’t sound as farfetched as the first one considering how… manipulative he was, and something that you hadn’t fully swallowed despite being aware of his intelligence.

Alastor burst into the room and skipped towards your cage. It was tall enough for you to stand at half your height, yet narrow enough to limit your movements, and was made from sturdy iron painted in gold to appear deluxe. You didn’t react well when he told you that he’d abducted during slumber and tried to stab him, thus, the cage became your new ‘room’. It was rather pitiful to see you slumping on the floor like you’d lost all hope in the world, but it was better than seeing your reckless attempt of murder. And he wouldn’t deny the surge of pride he felt whenever you pleaded him for something so mundane like food and never bothered to conceal it, either.

That just served to further established his power over you, whether you admitted it or not. Without him, you wouldn’t survive and Alastor reveled every moment of your dependency. It was nice to watch a cautious girl like you gradually stooped at his allure until you collapsed, the lights in your eyes dimmed to mere voids.

However, it was just a little ‘love test’. Alastor would surely release you after you’d ‘proved’ yourself, because even he was still capable of doing ‘good’ sometimes, however vague it sounded. He only wanted to see whether you were worthy of his love, although he didn’t know how to love beyond himself.

Then again, why did it matter? As long as he provided you affection, you’d surely be able to overlook his ‘deficiency’, right?

“Hey, Alastor.” You raised your head and smiled weakly, stretching his already wide grin. Ah, that expression was always a joy to see.

“Dear, have I told you how positively radiant you are tonight?” With your slightly hollow cheeks and fish eyes, he could marvel it all day without getting bored. He smiled when you nuzzled into his palm and caressed your jaw. “And you’ve been such a good girl, too. I think you deserve a reward for your behavior.”

Euphoria suddenly filled your whole being as you perked up and stared at him wide-eyed. “R-really…?” you whispered hesitantly, afraid that it was just a diabolical joke on his part.

Alastor nodded giddily, though it wasn’t due to the prospect of rewarding you. No, your happiness was simply contagious for him to repress. And it wasn’t as if he’d ever bothered to mask his feelings from public, anyway. “Why, of course!” he beamed, eyes narrowed. “I have a reservation waiting for us in an exclusive restaurant. Only the best for my darling, no?”

Envy and resentment slithered like poisonous vines around your thumping heart as you watched him producing a key from thin air. Why couldn’t you have the same power? Why was life so hell-bent on torturing you even in the afterlife? Why were you born with such bad luck in romance?

And, most of all, why did you still fall for people like him – the chaotic yet charming men – despite knowing the inevitable pain that would soon follow?

Your parents once said that you could be too stubborn for your own good, and you rarely learned your lessons. Well, would they laugh at you now?

Alastor gently guided you out of the cage and stroked your disheveled and dusty hair. “Oh, my. Look how dirty you are, my dear.” he tutted, shaking his head in disapproval. “Well, I believe we have some time to spare. So, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

[greywitch]

EVEN IF IT TAKES ALL NIGHT OR A HUNDRED YEARS

some pre-fragment of the deep sea picture drama shenanigans featuring c.c. x lelouch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Of course I am." C.C. grabbed the two shirttails of Lelouch's blouse before he could finish pulling his arms through and dragged him closer. Lelouch grunted unhappily, pausing with his left arm at an awkward, uncomfortable angle in the gossamer sleeve as he shot C.C. a constipated glare.

Pretending to be none the wiser, she hummed, "Why wouldn't I be?"

As if to emphasize the point, she traced a finger down the flat plane of Lelouch's stomach, nail scraping lightly against pale, unblemished skin. C.C. could practically feel the goosebumps rising in her wake, the featherlight shiver ricocheting down his spine, as he yanked his arm through the rest of the fabric and jerked away again.

"Oi."

She laughed despite the warning in his voice and met disapproving violet with golden abandon and Chesire aplomb. Still so sensitive ten years later. She doubted that would change in another ten or even a hundred. Lelouch was stubborn like that, but so was she.

"Relax, Lelouch. I know we're on a time constraint," C.C. amended though the smirk never quite left her face. She pulled him close again, this time by the waistband of his satiny culottes. Lelouch let the motion carry him forward, releasing a drawn out sigh in the process. His hand took up his signature gesture, halfway between thinking and exasperation, with his fingers steepled against his forehead and his eyes shut against the sight of C.C. knotting his shirt and deliberately exposing his abdomen.

"You couldn't find something less... translucent? Or more... well, just, more?"

"It's your fault for not coming with me. And if I recall, you only said, 'whatever fits,' when I asked. Would you rather wear the dress?"

"Obviously not," he snapped, more chagrined than angry.

C.C. hummed again, testing the strength of her knot with a little tug. "I thought you'd have gotten used to this by now between the cross-dressing festival and that once at the Chinese Federation. Besides, it's not often that I get to see you like this. Can you blame me?"

Lelouch huffed like a put-upon child, crossing his arms low over his stomach as if to guard against C.C.'s mischief. "Now you're just starting to sound like Milly."

"Maybe she had the right idea." C.C. straightened and turned toward the duffel of supplies sitting on the floor. She dug out a purple shawl and handed it to him before continuing to root around. The studio they rented didn't have much by way of lighting, only the single naked bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling and flickering in and out. It was modest accommodations but the closest they could get to the naval base as civilians. "Speaking of which, you never did make good on your promise. And I was so looking forward to being President of the Pizza Club."

"I never promised that."

"Oh, didn't you, Mr. Vice President?"

She found the accompanying headband for his outfit. Tossing it over her arm, she focused on fixing her own first as she pivoted to face Lelouch fussing over the wrinkles in his cloak and the tangled frills along the edge.

"Were you that looking forward to being a student?"

"I was. There wasn't much to look forward to being cooped up on the Ikaruga." Speaking of the Black Knights and Ashford Academy now felt like eons ago. C.C. was sure that was doubly true for Lelouch who'd literally gone to hell and back in the interim. "But I suppose I found a suitable alternative."

"And what's that?" Lelouch cocked his head at her, the knit of his eyebrows both a little curious and a little wary. His fingers nimbly worked at the knot of his shawl as he waited for the answer. C.C. let him wait, indulging in the dramatic pause as she finished smoothing her headband into place.

"President of the Annoy Lelouch Forever Club~♥" She adopted her high-pitched tone that never failed to get on his nerves and felt rather gratified when his eyebrow twitched. She didn't reflect on what she said until after she'd said it, the implication of forever slotting into her speech so easily that she wondered when she'd started thinking about them in those terms.

Lelouch didn't miss a beat. "Well, you certainly have a talent for it."

He reached for the hairband and visibly refrained from pulling a face at the (admittedly unnecessary) tassels.

"You'll look good," C.C. assured before kneeling back down to the duffel and pulling out the rest of their accessories. Lelouch sighed like a weak breeze behind her, all defeat and no defiance.

"What is this supposed to be?" He picked up the choker she laid on the ground.

"Just wound it around your neck and keep the pendant in the front."

"Is all of this necessary?"

"You want to be convincing, don't you?" C.C. grabbed two pairs of shoes from the sack and lifted them to the light. "Heels or flats?"

"Flats."

They finished dressing in silence. The sparse apartment echoed their brisk movements, shoes tapping against scuffed linoleum. They'd be leaving this place soon. She'd already packed their things, which wasn't much besides what they could carry on their backs. They were always on the move, so no one place kept them for long and nothing accumulated. But they always tried to bring a little home to each house. The framed picture of Nunnally, Suzaku, and Lelouch sat next to a neat stack of letters on the discounted ottoman she'd picked up at the flea market. A few origami cranes decorated the dining table. She'd stuck her Pizza Hut loyalty cards to the mini fridge with limited edition Cheese-kun magnets. These were the little things she hadn't packed yet that always went into the suitcases last.

One day, they would finish. The hundreds of fragments they'd already collected, the hundreds more still left—one day, they would have them all, their friends would be dead, and then what would happen? What was the after?

"You might still get the chance."

"Hm?" C.C. roused from her self-reflection, eyes focusing on the tablet being offered to her. It only took a glance for her to understand Lelouch's meaning. "You made progress on the next fragment?"

"Fragments. I believe there's more than one. The reports are inconsistent with one Geass user."

C.C. tugged on her earring absentmindedly as she read it. "An all-girls boarding school in Switzerland..." she murmured before the realization clicked into place, and a grin spread across her lips. "I thought you said you never wanted to cross-dress again."

Motioning Lelouch forward, she set the tablet back down and opened the palm of her other hand to reveal more earrings. Before Lelouch could say anything, she clarified, "They're clip-ons."

Lelouch shuffled forward, looking none-too-happy but standing still enough for C.C. to lean up and catch his earlobe.

"There’s a difference between want and need," he grumbled. "Anyway, there’s your opportunity."

"I think I'd make a better teacher, actually." Her voice had dropped to a low murmur at this distance, ghosting across Lelouch's cheek in light, playful breaths. Her bright amber eyes filled his vision, focused to his right. "That's your plan, right? Divide and conquer?"

“Why would you make the better teacher?” he scoffed and turned his head when she rocked back onto her heels to pick out the second set of studs.

“Clearly because I’m more knowledgeable.”

”In history, maybe.”

"And it’s not any fun being a student if you're not one with me."

Lelouch blinked. C.C.'s completely serious expression belied the teasing statement. “You’re ridiculous.”

”I’m the ridiculous one?” she laughed as she fastened the last hoop, and despite the mission looming over them, Lelouch couldn't help laughing too.

His watch beeped, the telltale signal snapping them back to reality. All traces of amusement immediately disappeared from his face as he silenced the sound. “We’ll discuss this later. It’s time.”

"Alright." C.C. backed away and picked up her duffel. She took one last thing from it and tossed it to Lelouch before zipping it up. "Don't forget your veil. I'll meet you at Point B in half an hour."

She'd already opened the door and stepped halfway across the threshold when a pressure on her wrist stopped her.

”Wait, C.C.”

”What is it?” C.C. glanced over her shoulder in time to watch Lelouch raise her hand and press the back of it to his mouth.

”Be careful.”

It wasn’t a kiss; it was softer than that, exceptionally gentle, a prayer not unlike the ones she whispered every morning before waking and every night before falling asleep. That their time would last a little longer beyond what C’s World would allow. Perhaps some things didn't need to be said. Perhaps the future could remain a mystery as long as she could have this present.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" C.C. laced their fingers together. "I'm C.C., and you're L.L., right?"

[avecorviidae]

Fic: mainlining the spiraling spherical truth of the universe

Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: T Relationship(s): Male Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Male Sole Survivor & Shaun Word Count: 5012

Ao3 Link

Toby descends into the Institute to find a son that's old enough to be his father, and despite that, still looks at him with a very careful sort of vulnerability as he walks with him through the pristine white laboratories, introduces him to his heads of staff, shows him orderly living quarters and serene recreational areas, looks at him sidelong like he's always waiting for Toby's reaction, like he wants him to be proud.

And there's a part of him that wants to pull his son close to him, and tell him, yeah, it's fantastic, this thing you've built, I'm proud of you, I love you.

But Toby knows what the Institute does. He's been smuggling synths out of here with the railroad for months, and they're fucking terrified, gun-shy and shaking, watching over their shoulders for the coursers that will surely, inevitably come to reclaim Institute property. and the way Shaun talks about the folks above ground - so dismissive, as though the towns and cities and communities and bonds, the buildings and the families and the love and the art that people on the surface have created, don't matter because it's not pure, not clean,and he just as much wants to grab Shaun by the shoulders and shake him, go, don't you know that I'm one of those people? That you ought to have been too? That it's beautiful up there? That in the face of all this awful fucking shit, I've found people that have, against all odds, refused to be anything but kind?

So Shaun says, "What do you think of my home? Of everything I've built here?"

And Toby says, "I'm sorry. This wasn't what I wanted for you. This place, it's beautiful, but it's not the world I'm from. It's not a world I can ever be a part of. And you can run your lungs dry justifying every awful thing I've ever seen the Institute do by saying it was a mistake, or for the greater good of mankind, but I'm sorry, kid, the mankind you've got down here isn't any better than the mankind I’ve got up there. I love you, and I am so fucking glad I’ve found you, but I can't support you with this. The things you do here - it's gotta change."

"Please," Shaun says, "Father, let me show you- the work we've done down here-"

And Toby just shakes his head, and says, "I've seen the work you've done. I’ve seen the people it's hurt. That's enough for me."

There is a hard, tight hug, and some tears, and Toby leaves the Institute with his son's permission and blessing, and in the seconds before Toby relays out, they look at each other with hard, tight eyes, and Shaun's got a look about him, stubborn and angry, and Toby, with a sinking sense of dread, thinks, that's my boy,'cause if he's a bullheaded little shit, then he got that from Toby and not a damn place else.

.

“Aw, hell,” Nick mutters, as soon as he finds it. “Guerra? Think you might wanna see this,” he calls over his shoulder to the other room of the abandoned house, where Toby and his terrifying friend had been digging through cabinets looking for unexpired food.

Eli appears in the doorway a moment before Toby does, hand already drifting to the holster at her hip. “Christ,” she says softly, as soon as she looks down, sees the baby sitting on the filthy floor at Nick’s feet, gnawing happily on its chubby fist. It’s about the fifth word he’s ever heard her say, he thinks, and definitely the one with the most feeling behind it.

“Nick?” Toby calls, as he rounds the corner, “Everything alri- Oh. Oh.”

In a moment flat he’s crouched on the floor, waving fingers at the little one’s face to catch its attention. “Hey sweetheart,” he says gently, all bright and smiling. “What are you doing alone all the way out here, huh?”

Pointless question, really. Toby knows as well as Nick does that there’s no good answers to it. Whoever the kid was with before was either dead, or ought to be dead for deciding to leave it behind.

Toby grabs it under the arms and scoops it up, tucking it snugly against his hip. It makes a hiccupping, surprised little noise, looking at Toby with wide, guileless eyes.

(He oughtn’t call the kid an it, really. Most of the humans he knows have been nice enough to do him the courtesy of a pronoun, he can at least return the favour.)

“Okay, sweetpea, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” He’s talking to her in a low, sorta sing-song voice, swaying gently, and it’s right around then that Nick remembers that Toby’s got a kid. Well, it’s not as if he forgot, it’s practically the first thing the guy says to half the people they meet, I’m looking for the man who took my son. But this is the first time Nick’s looked at him and really understood what that means. ‘Cause it’s gotta be some paternal instinct, right? The way he comforts her like he’s not even thinking about what he’s doing, like it comes as easy to him as breathing.

She’s been alone long enough to be soiled, so Toby sends Eli off to look for a metal washbasin, pours some of their purified water in there, warms it over the fire for good measure. Grins when he dips her little feet in there to let her test the temperature and she starts to giggle and kick, splashing him right in the face. She seems delighted with the bath in general - Nick guesses he would be too, if he’d been waddling around in a stinking diaper for however long. (He sometimes gets - phantom memories, he supposes, of what it’s like to have a human body. Sometimes feels a strange nostalgia for the sensation of hunger, or genuine, non-battery-related exhaustion. He has never once missed the ability to excrete.)

Toby’s only got eyes for the kid, all attentive and careful as he cleans her off, and Nick finds himself making an awkward sort of eye contact with Eli, who shrugs slightly, expression as blank and unreadable as it’s ever been. She’s sat herself down cross-legged on the rug, ostensibly relaxed, but Nick’s travelled with enough mercs, knows she’s one of the smarter ones, knows how carefully she’s positioned herself, sat between Toby and the door, rifle across her lap, angled towards the open window. It had used to make Nick nervous, how careless Toby seemed, like he’d never been taught to watch his own back. Guess he gets it better now, the idea of having someone that you trust enough to watch your back for you. He feels safer these days, walking into a room full of strange humans, with Toby at his side, fending off any synth-averse sentiments with a truly aggressivedegree of cheeriness.

“Are you old enough to talk?” Toby asks, to absolutely no response from the babbling kiddo. Still, she’s clearly charmed with Toby, like just about everyone is, and she’s watching him with big, happy eyes as he chats at her. “Can you say... Toby? To-by?”

She laughs, and Toby snorts, swipes a little booger from under her nose, and Nick’s struck again by how unthinkingly he does it, like it’s just second nature to him. “Alright, maybe that’s too hard. Let’s try... Can you say aaaaahhhh?” He goes all dramatic with it, roars like a little deathclaw, and the kid laughs, delighted, and copies him, screeching with all her tiny little lungs can give.

“Awesome, sweetpea! And look at those teeth! You’ve got a whole bunch! Think you can handle some tato stew?”

She’s got no idea what he’s saying, of course, but she’s very agreeable as he lifts her out of the water and pats her dry with one of his clean shirts, dresses her as best as he can given their limited supplies.

Feeding babies is, apparently, a spectacularly messy process, but Toby seems inexplicably delighted to have half of a perfectly good meal splattered down the fronts of him and the kid.

“We’re, what, five hours from Diamond City?” Toby says, eyes not leaving the kid as he waves a spoon enticingly in front of her face, trying to coax her to open her mouth.

“Six, if we take the long way around Hangman’s Alley,” Eli says, almost making Nick jump out of his circuits. She says it real neutral-like, almost careful, makes no mention of the fact that they’d packed for a week out in the wasteland, a job for Nick’s agency, nearly halfway from here to Sanctuary, with no plans to turn back.

“Six,” Toby repeats. “Okay. We’ll catch a few hours’ sleep here, set off at dawn. Someone in the city will be able to take her in.” The kid finally takes her spoonful, only a little of it dribbling down her chin this time. There’s an odd, hard set to his face that makes Nick some weird sorta mix between nervous and sad, a kind of seriousness that doesn’t often touch Toby unless it’s something to do with Shaun, or the gal that Kellogg killed, his life before. Makes Nick almost want to rest a hand on his shoulder, say, look, she’s sweet, but you know you can’t keep her. not now, not here. she ain’t a lost mutt that you’ve found in an alley, and she can’t be what you’re looking for, not when you’re still following leads on your boy. But Toby knows that, doesn’t he? It’s why they’re heading back at dawn. Why he’s going to knock on the schoolhouse and ask around for any families that’d be able to care for a kid her age, why he’s holding her so close on his lap now, his nose and lips pressed into the dark, downy hair on her head. He knows, maybe better than any of them, what he can’t have.

.

Despite that - Toby does go back. Gets a message on his Pip Boy from Shaun, asking if he would like to visit, for coffee. They sit in a careful, studied sort of silence at the table, Toby sipping on the freshest fucking coffee he's had in 200 years and feeling conscious of the fact that he's probably leaving dust and various other wasteland detritus all over Shaun's bright fucking white chairs

"I just-" Shaun starts, shakes his head. “You're from before. When everything was pristine, when humanity was striving forwards. We're doing that, here, now, looking to the future. How can you support the people up there, stuck in the filth and ruins of the past?"

Toby leans back in his chair, sighs. "Forward isn't necessarily a straight line. Sure, back in the day, we had working air conditioning and fancy vending machines, but the way I was- the way I am- was illegal. It was an unkind fucking world, and all the shiny trinkets didn't do a whole lot to hide that people were paying a few hundred bucks a month for medication that they needed to live. Down here—you’ve got the science down, I won't deny it. Clean food and water, medication, synthetic life. The kind of shit we read comics about when I was a kid. But up there? Shaun, they've made art. You can't walk thirty feet in Diamond City without hearing someone playing guitar, there's murals on old billboards, I once met an old church choir made up entirely of ghouls. Here, you're taking care of the body, but Shaun, humanity needs a soul."

The kidbot - Toby can't bring himself to think of him as Shaun, despite the fact that he's got Toby's eyes and freckles and smile - steps into the room with something in his hands, freezes in the doorway when he sees Toby sat at the table.

"I was just-" he starts, looking back at the door like he's thinking of bolting.

"It's alright, don't mind me," Toby says softly, waving the kid in.

"What did you need, Shaun?" Shaun says. Fuck, that's going to get weird fast.

The kid shuffles his feet, something guilty about his face. "I was trying to make my remote control car go faster, but I think I broke it." He holds the little shiny red racecar up to Shaun and Toby for inspection. Toby's actually got a similar one back at the house in Sanctuary, blue paint fading to an off-green, some rust gathered around the wheels. He'd managed to fix up a little motor in it to make it go one night, and he and Hancock had spent half the night racing it against a rat. Good times.

Shaun peers over to inspect the car with a distant sort of interest, but Toby can see where the kid's gone wrong. He's always been good at that shit, fiddly little stuff to do with his hands. Besides, his dad taught him his way around a motor back when he lived out west and they had the truck, and he fixed garage doors for a while when he and Val were trying to get on their feet in Boston.

"Give it here?" He holds out a hand for the car, and the kid hands it over. It takes him a couple minutes of fiddling with the multi-tool he keeps in his coat pocket, but he returns the car with a perfectly functional suped-up battery, and the kid grins when he sets it down and sends it careening off out of the room and down the hall, says, "Hey, thanks!" and runs off after it.

The door slides closed behind him, and Toby finds that he's smiling softy after him, and when he turns back to Shaun, he's looking at him oddly. Do you think you would be capable- Shaun had asked, that first day, Of loving a synth? As though it were a human?

Toby knows he is, as surely and intimately as he knows every crack and tear along the seams of Nick Valentine's face, knows the whirring and clicking of machinery under the skin when he's lying with an ear to Nick's chest, the black metal of his spindly hand tapping an arrhythmic beat on Toby's shoulder.

"Don't you know what you've made, with synths? the Gen 3s, they have free will, they feel.They're feeling for the first time, it's incredible."

Shaun tuts dismissively. "They're just machines. They cannot feel. The Gen 3s have some errors which seem to cause them to behave... erratically. The defects, they are violent and dangerous, and cannot be allowed to roam free."

Toby raises a single, skeptical eyebrow. Shaun wilts, just a little, and Toby realizes that he's just given his son his first ever I’m not mad, just disappointedlook. What an exciting moment in his parenthood journey. "Yeah," he drawls, "so violent and dangerous that they desperately run away from the coursers that want to bring them back to be dissected, and go looking for help and shelter, usually blending in peacefully into human settlements in an effort to live a normal life and find a purpose. Real terrifying. Shaun, jesus, this is what I'm talking about. You've created people, and you have the chance to care for them, to guide them into being a person, and you're treating them like defective equipment! Up there, at least, they can find community. They can find home."

.

You’ve never personally met the General of the Minutemen.

Which, like, you get it. He’s this big important guy, right? Dragged the Minutemen out of ruin and obscurity singlehandedly, spreading goodness and justice wherever he went, and you’re just a farmhand from fuckoff nowhere. You and your folks joined up with the Minutemen because it was your best shot at protection from the local gangs of raiders and other assorted scumbags that tended to make your lives miserable, and all the righteous justice and fun uniforms and shit were just a bonus. Still, you believe in it, right? And you’re grateful. So when the radio call comes through that Garvey and the General want to retake Fort Independence, set up a big fuckoff stronghold, yeah, you want to get involved. You’re twenty-nine and pretty much the most exciting thing you’ve ever shot is a real sad looking radstag, so you’re pretty excited at the prospect of some real action.

When you roll up to the diner across the wharf from the old fort, there’s a few campfires burning all around it, sleeping rolls and tents and scattered packs, folks sitting around on upturned cars and half-rotted benches, cleaning rifles and gnawing on jerky and passing around canteens. Preston Garvey, the biggest bigshot the minutemen had before the general came along, greets you at the door of the diner with a big smile and a clap on the shoulder, tells you to make yourself comfortable, introduce yourself to your brothers in arms. apparently the general’s travelling from pretty far west, and he’d had to detour south to rendezvous with an ally of theirs, so it’d be a few days yet before they mounted the attack on the fort.

There’s folks from all over the commonwealth here, and all sorts. Salt-of-the-earth farmers like yourself, hoity-toity Diamond City types, rough mercenary-looking people, all breaking bread and listening to the radio, singing along to the same five fucking songs, and you’re right there along with them, sipping whiskey and drunkenly drawling Johnny Guitar into the shoulder of one of your comrades.

The General arrives near sunset, and if Garvey hadn’t greeted him as such, you’d never have guessed it. You’re not sure what you expected – maybe a big buff blonde guy waving the star spangled banner, maybe someone more like Preston Garvey himself, big tough freedom type – but it wasn’t the unassuming kid who pulls Garvey into a brief, warm hug, grinning wide as Garvey claps him on the shoulder. You wouldn’t put him at older than twenty-one, and he’s small, got this kinda delicate look about him, all freckles and big puppy eyes and bouncy, curly hair in a cute little ponytail at his neck. He looks soft, and you’re pretty fuckin’ sure that he’s not really the General. Like, okay, maybe he’s got the title, but it’s cause somebody’s his daddy, right? Something like that. Anyways, he’s just some ditzy, pretty kid who smiles at folks and tells them everything’s gonna be okay, and Garvey’s gotta be the real brains of the operation, the one who does all the bloody, dirty work to make it happen.

The attack is being mounted at dawn, and when y’all are gathered round for the strategy meeting, you figure Garvey will take point on explaining everything while the kid smiles and nods along. Still, he seems to have half an idea what he’s talking about as he points to things on the map of the fort, asks questions about fortifications and potential choke points, takes shit into account when Garvey or one of the other more experienced vets chimes in with an idea. It’s just weird to see, you guess. This bright-eyed, smiley kid squatted on his haunches, his pouty, round face all serious as he stares down at a war plan. Fuck’s sake, he’s still got baby fat clinging to his cheeks, he looks younger than your baby cousin.

The plan, such that it is, is not the most complicated thing you’ve ever heard. There’s a bunch of slimy monsters holed up in the fort. You and your comrades will storm the fort, and shoot the monsters. Simple enough. Some of you will be scattered around outside, taking the high ground and moving up to the turrets once the towers have been cleared, to provide ranged support and catch any little bastards who try to escape down the hillside. You’ve all got a nice little stockpile of frag mines to take care of the egg clutches. Gross. You reckon it’ll work, though.

“Gonna let y’all go to catch some sleep before we get this started tomorrow,” the General says, addressing his little crowd of soldiers as a whole. “But just wanted to say one thing, so listen up. If you find yourself shit out of luck tomorrow – if you’re cornered, run out of ammo, get too scared, too tired, too hurt to keep fighting? Run. Scram. Get the hell out of dodge. I know it’s the coward’s move, I know it doesn’t make for a good story, I know it feels like deserting. I know you probably joined the Minutemen because you believed in it, believed in what we do, and you’re willing to die an honorable death doing it – and I’ll be honored to fight and die alongside you. But in the end, that’s just a big old castle with a bunch of mirelurks crawling around in it, and that’s not worth dying for. The fort is a symbol, and in my eyes, no symbol will ever be worth more than people. I’d rather each and every one of you ran away from it screaming and lived to tell the tale, than if we managed to take the fort, but at the expense of half of you getting gutted by some overgrown crabs.”

It is the weirdest damn speech you’ve ever heard, and the weirdest part of it all is, you’re pretty damn sure he means every word of it. He’s looking around at you all like he’s trying to remember faces, nervous sort of energy to the way his fingers tap tap tap on the stained yellow paper of the map at his feet.

“Besides,” he says, smiling ruefully, and you realize that this kid’s carrying an exhaustion that’s older than the fucking war, “If y’all keep on dying, people are gonna start saying that we’re called the Minutemen on account of us managing to lose another man every minute.”

.

They keep irregular coffee dates. Fuck if Toby knows why Shaun keeps inviting him. Fuck if Toby knows why he keeps coming back. Maybe it's the same reason for both of them. Shaun is his son, and Toby loves him, wants to know him, even if he hates him half the fucking time.

The Railroad's suspicious of his intentions, and he has to smile his way into a restricted lab and bring them back some stolen synth research to convince them that he's still on their side, despite getting cozy with the Institute's director. Desdemona's angry that he won't commit to destroying the place from the inside out, but... he's talking to Shaun. It's philosophy and ethics, and even Toby's got to admit that the serene quiet of the Institute is a good place to do it, and Toby brings him little oddities he's found along the way, comics that survived the old word, photographs and holotapes, even shows him some of the sketches he's done of the folks he's met above.

Toby starts bringing toys for the kidbot. They're nothing near as shiny and pretty as the ones he's got down here, but he seems to still love the scuffed up Nuka-Cola van Toby had found in a ruined comics store, goes wide-eyed and amazed when Toby hands it to him.

.

It's a peace that wasn't meant to last, of course. Most of the Minutemen settlements at this point are informally doubling as Railroad safehouses, Dez and the rest delighted to have farms to send newly-escaped synths to, places where they're guaranteed jobs and work and purpose, and folks who will look after them and check up on them like they're family.

Preston flags him on the radio, lets him know that there's been reports of coursers at five different settlements across the Commonwealth. They're going after the escaped synths, and they're more than willing to kill any humans that get in the way.

Nick gives him a dark old look, that, "We've both seen two hundred years of the world going to shit and you and I both know this doesn't end well"look. They recall everyone to the castle, it's the most fortified place they've got, the best shot they've got at defending their people. They all arrive within a couple days, plenty of them with coursers on their tails, and Eli dispatches them with quick, clean shots, the respect that one hunter shows to another. For days, the coursers keep coming, and Toby's people are getting tired. Shaun's not responding to any of his efforts to contact him on the radio, and with grim finality, he lets Preston prepare the Minutemen and the Railroad to invade the Institute and take down the Commonwealth's boogeyman, once and for all.

It's surprisingly quick work in the end, Toby using the access Shaun gave him to relay his little army inside, and they make quick work of the synths that patrol the halls. Ss soon as alarms start blaring, all the humans in clean Institute whites panic and scram, which makes Toby's job a hell of a lot easier. Place the detonator on the central reactor, ignore the frantic ticking of his Geiger counter and the vague feeling that radiation might be making his teethbuzz.

He tells Preston to issue the evacuation order, get as many people and willing synths out as quickly as they can, and he and Nick trek up through the eerily empty halls to the director's quarters.

Shaun's in some kind of biobed, skin ashy and face gaunt, eyes half-lidded as he watches Toby step softly into the room. the kidbot's sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled around himself and shaking, and as soon as he sees Toby, he darts up, wraps arms tight around Toby's waist. Toby keeps a firm hand on his back, comforting as he knows how to be, in a situation like this. He meets Shaun's eyes.

I didn't want it to come to this, is what neither of them say, but both of them mean, when Toby blames him for the death and pain the Institute's wrought on the Commonwealth, when Shaun spits back that Toby is destroying his life's work. But what's done is done.

"...You'll take the boy?" Shaun asks wearily, looking at Toby's hand, still keeping the kid close to his side.

"Of course," Toby says, rough with feeling, "Yeah, of course. We're taking everybody, everyone we can get out. We'll take you, too."

Shaun shakes his head. "No. I want to rest now. I don't want to live to see the destruction of my home."

"Neither did I, but I managed, didn't I?" Toby snaps, then shakes his head. That was, well. Mean. Even for him. "You wanted progress. You wanted to move forward. You don't always get to choose the direction that goes. You don't just give upwhen you lose."

Wordlessly, Nick hefts the kid up against his hip, and Toby guides his son to a wheelchair near the bed, pushes him back down the sloping halls to the relay point, where the last party is getting ready to leave, waiting only on their General. Preston and Dez give him hard, unreadable looks when they see who he's pushing, but they've both got the good sense not to say anything, especially with Nick hovering over his shoulder and Eli quickly returning to his side.

.

Later, much later, they return to Sanctuary.

The kid wants to be called Callum. He read it in one of the comics Toby gave him. Toby had helped him to set up a bedroll and a lantern in the upstairs nook of Toby and Nick's home, had tucked him into bed wearing a soft shirt of Toby's that went down to his knees, hugging the bedraggled teddy bear he'd left the Institute with to his chest, and Callum had said, softly, "Night, Dad,"and Toby had smoothed a hand over his soft, perfect, synthetic hair, and said, "Night, kiddo."

At night, Sanctuary's strung up with lanterns and cooking fires, soft orange glows from inside the windows of the carcasses of old homes, flickering lamps in garages and driveways. It's more crowded than usual, on account of it being something of a celebration, the end of the Institute, and all. There's most of the Minutemen from across the state, the Railroad HQ, and the Institute evacuees, scientists, citizens, and synths all. Deacon and Hancock are arm wrestling, and they've drawn... quite the crowd. The Institute evacuees are slowly, surely mingling with the Commonwealth scum, who are meeting them with only minimal suspicion, and mostly good-natured heckling about the ugly white clothes. Someone's playing Johnny Guitar, obviously, and the soft strumming mixes with the gentle, constant murmur of a hundred or more voices laughing and talking and singing.

Toby finds Shaun on the outskirts of the celebration, his wheelchair parked in the dim driveway of the house that he was supposed to grow up in. Toby wonders, vaguely, if that's a coincidence. He's avoided this house, since he woke up. Maybe he's more like Shaun than he's wanted to admit. He's wanted to move forward.

Toby sits beside him on the concrete, follows Shaun's gaze to further down the block, where Preston's got an arm around Desdemona's shoulder, making some kind of triumphant speech, most likely.

"So," Toby says eventually, with a strange sort of serenity. He's got a thin layer of dust and sweat on every inch of his skin, and his fingers probably smell like battery acid from the plasma cell ammo, and his lip is still tingling from the little shock he'd gotten when he kissed the open circuitry on Nick's cheek. He's aching and stinking and exhausted, and he's never been happier. "What do you think of my home? Of everything I’ve built here?"

Shaun sighs softly, and after a long moment between them, says, "I don't know this world. but I suppose I'll have to take after you, and learn to adapt."

He stands, puts a hand on Shaun's shoulder, squeezes. "That's all I can ask for."

[cometchasms]

More Sky the Cat headcanons; Angst addition! (warning: mentions of character deaths and torture)

Due to side effects from the tests of Project Starstruck, Sky's skin is incapable of healing itself. Any wounds she gains will never close and heal, meaning she's essentially constantly bleeding out. Luckily, her paint abilities bleed out first and form a second skin of sorts over the wounds to stop her from dying of blood loss

If the paint is removed, a massive gash on her back- gained from escaping Narmik's underground lab- will kill her almost instantly due to its severity.

Oh, also the paint is actually paint.

It's technically her blood mixed with toxic and complex chemicals that makes it look and act similar to paint.

All those marks on her fur? Yeah, open wounds with a layer of toxic blood keeping her from dying.

Sky underwent a lot of painful experiments during Project Starstruck: Burning, electrocution, injections. More often then not she spent her time in pain as the tests began to alter her body drastically.

Sky and her sister were placed into Project Starstruck when Sky was 7 and Fayla was 10.

Sky had a girlfriend during her stay in Narmik's lab; a spotted owl named Coren.

Fayla was killed during a tests that Sky was supposed to endure. The calico knew it would be a fatal one and took Sky's place in hopes of saving her.

Sky, Fayla and Coren would often talk about escaping while in their cells: how they would get out, where they would go, what they would do first.

Sky and Coren didn't make an attempt to escape till four months after Fayla's death.

Coren stayed behind to give Sky a chance to get out and was supposedly shot to death by guards.

Sky has a weak heart, due to it having to pump not only her blood but the chemicals that form her paint as well. Her Derby outfit features a heart monitor on the chest plate to make sure she doesn't push herself too far past its limits.

Despite the weak state of her heart though, Sky still has a need for thrills and often willingly puts herself in danger of a heart attack just to have an adrenaline rush. (Shadow found out and now acts as a voice of reason to stop Sky from taking things too far)

Sky has frequent nightmares where she talks with a dead version of herself who accuses her of being the cause for Fayla and Coren's deaths.

If Sky becomes too emotionally overwhelmed, her body loses its control over the chemicals flowing through it, resulting in the chemicals tearing apart her body from the inside out.

This state is what Sky refers to as being "Starstruck", wherein her mind will go into a zombie like State from the pain.

Sky is deathly afraid of snakes thanks to Narmik. Most reptilians upset her and put her on edge, but she has full blown panic attacks at the sight of snakes.

Now for some nice and fluffy hcs to lighten the mood~

Sonic refers to Sky as "Starburst"; his reasoning is she's bursting with energy and her markings make him think of stars when they flash with her powers

Oh yeah Sky has a major weakness for small and/or soft things.

This girl is prideful and stubborn as hell, and is willing to do just about anything to prove a point.

Seriously, she once threw herself off a building just to make a point to Shadow that she's capable of handling herself alone....

[yoolee]

if lee wrote otome | #6 Spaghetti Hot Mess-tern (in Space)

The whole genre of Westerns is problematic at best, and I recognize that without knowing the best way to address it, and I want to at least acknowledge that before diving in here. My grandpa and I would watch them when I was little, and then college introduced me to Firefly and y’all, I’m sunk on Space Westerns, so here we go.

Premise:

At the raggedy edge of the galaxy is a planet that’s little more than rocks, dirt, rattlers and folks with nowhere else to call home. Some came to get as far from the law as they could, some ran out of money on their way to somewhere better, and some folks are just plumb crazy enough to like it. It’s where you can’t trust the lawmen to be on your side or their own, where missionaries sing from street corners and saloon girls pour you a whiskey and charge you for two. Money talks here, not that anyone’s got much of it. It’s the end of the line (maybe even yours)

Heroine:

The new sheriff in town. Or, well, planet, as the case may be. From the inner planets—far more technologically advanced, far more rightly reined in by law and order—she knew she wanted to be a part of the big picture from a young age. A promising, brilliant cadet, she was on track to be the top graduate, assigned to the cushiest position, when a test of obedience showed that she is not above taking the law into her own hands, and with her own interpretation. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep peace and order, even if it means being a little shady. There was a massive scandal, and now she’s being shuttled off to a backwater planet no one’s ever managed to keep lawful—but you can bet she’s going to. A competent, cool-tempered diplomat who believes, despite the evidence, that there’s a small dose of reason in everyone’s heart, and has made it something of a personal mission to bring those bits to the surface of the people in her new home, and such is her stubborn, creative nature, that through hook, crook, or xanatos gambit, she often succeeds. And when she doesn’t, that’s what laser guns are for.

Supporting Cast

THE DEPUTY: A trembling, timid coward. There’s just no way around it. They are paranoid and pessimistic, morosely convinced of their own ineptitude. The depth of their terror is outmatched only by the size of their heart, which is squishy and generous and so terribly large that it often gets them into trouble (or terrifying, horrible situations like facing down outlaws). It’s their heart that is filled, perhaps more than anyone else in the abandoned planet, with a veiled courage, because while every bone and drop of blood in their body hollers at them to run for the hills every time they’re called on to do their job, somehow, it always gets done, because the thing they fear most is failing the people who depend on them. Equal parts relieved that they’re finally getting a sheriff and horrified that she’s not exactly as upstanding a citizen as was expected – and that she’ll get herself killed trying to clean the place up.

SALOON OWNER: Though she’s fond of playing the damsel-in-distress, she is anything but. It just suits her to not be seen as a real threat. She is as sweet, loving, and feminine as she presents herself, but she’s also independent, rational, and when the time calls for it, absolutely ruthless with a level-headed calm in the protection of her property, business, and people of interest. She runs a tight, tidy ship so that she can afford to be charitable and generous when she chooses too, and her friendly free-spirit belies a shrewd mind for business and making deals that are inevitably skewed in her favor, and though her feistiness is dressed in a firm sophistication, make no mistake that it’s there. Luckily for town, this poised lady is steady believer in spreading the good stuff around (not the least because it keeps everyone on her side when it comes to outside threats), and she’s considered something of a motherly figure to more than a sizeable chunk of the town.

THE REGULAR: A former fighter with his heart ripped right out of him. He’s been drunk for a decade and seems determined to stay that way. He functions surprisingly well for someone who always has whiskey on his breath and in his blood, which probably has something to do with building up a tolerance. Gregarious, friendly and good-natured, he’s the town fool and he doesn’t care. He has a plan to drink himself to death and just hasn’t gotten there yet, and if he can make a few people laugh in the meantime, well, someone oughta be able to. Sober—not that you’ll ever see him as such—he’s a steel-eyed soldier who survived four years of hell strictly on the basis of skill with his weapon, and as hard as any bounty hunter in the territories.

THE MAGNATES: (also possible LI’s MAYBE)

‘Railroad’ Baron: sole control of transport around the planet - actually a decent human being, but running a rough, tough business so can’t always give into bleeding heart because it would mean going under.

Port Authority: sole spaceport on and off the planet - greedy, greedy, pays off just about everyone and since no one ELSE has any money, they’re all too eager to take what’s offered. Leader of what amounts to a bunch of space pirates that they allow to dock - and wreak havoc on nearby systems - with the excuse that no one ELSE is paying to land on this rock

Arms Dealer: cold, cold, cold as ice. Takes advantage of the desperation, limited oversight, and lack of options to build an empire out on the middle of nowhere. Works closely with Port Authority, even though all three are in uneasy alliance at best, mostly only united in keeping the sheriff out of their business.

The Mine Owner: Majority property owner of the lesser-explored reaches of the desert planet, they’re keeping it under wraps just what’s under those mountains - and what they’re making from it. Philanthropist, but slippery slippery.

Love Interests

THE POSTULANT: An aristocrat from the inner planets, stranded out in space after a bad business deal destroyed her family and they had to hide from the debtors. Ladylike, but back her into a corner and you’ll find she’s as feisty and scrappy as her brothers (the saloon’s piano player and an outlaw, respectively)—not that she’ll ever admit a day in her life that they’re related to her. She may love them, but her position in the town is precarious enough without letting it get around she’s got a drunk and a criminal as her only living kin. She hasn’t got a penny left to her name, so she falls heavily back on manners as her strongest defense, and has the elegance and propriety of any lady in town, though she longs for her spoiled, pampered life back on her home planet, and daydreams about it frequently. She has moments of clever, curious sarcasm… when she’s not being a prissy miss. (sibling to Accidental Outlaw)

THE ACCIDENTAL OUTLAW: In over his head and going downhill fast. A funny, friendly artist by nature, he got tired of being teased for his love of painting as a kid and insisted someday he’d be big, bad, and tough. Only now he’s living it, and he just wishes he could be home again with a brush and a pad of thick paper. But on the raggedy edge of space, with the gang he runs with, that’s an attitude that will get you killed. His skill with his hands has shifted from holding a brush to pulling a gun, his eye for detail keeping him alive and alert. Each day he gets a little bit harder, a little less laid-back and easy- going, but his kindness hasn’t been stomped out yet. When he can, he tries to smuggle a few credits to his sister and brother, though for their own safety they can’t claim him as a brother anymore. And sometimes, when everyone else asleep and it’s just him and his horse, he draws in the sand, and remembers what it was like. (sibling to Postulant)

THE ‘BODYGUARD’: Competent. Frighteningly, efficiently, competent and doggedly persistent. All of which, perhaps, would be admirable traits, if it weren’t for his rather (to all appearances) complete and entire lack of a moral compass. Cold to their core, utterly ruthless and unswayed by social order or cries for mercy, their cruelty is almost casual, as efficient as anything else they do, and they’ve taken lives in the name of their employer without so much as batting an eyelash. When called upon to be by that employer, they are als adaptable – able to change themself into whatever is needed: thief, an enforcer, a smuggler, a searcher, a bodyguard, a body burier or a straight out murderer. Doesn’t matter, one way or another. Perversely loyal, in their own way, but to whom and why is something only they know. Runs too cold to have any temper to speak of, and their even-keeled approach to everything can be unnerving. (works for Arms Dealer)

(may swap gender) THE SMUGGLER (idealistic outlaw): Reckless, selfless, arrogant, sly as fox and chivalrous as a knight, always ready to stand up and for those whom authority ignores or oppresses. She is clever, heroic and undaunted by the law, and, due to her talent for making frequent escapes from perilous situations, often arrogant and a little too sure of herself. She is good-natured and merry, a generous optimist at heart who would give her last credit to a hungry traveler if she so much as heard their stomach grumble. She is incredibly idealistic, and while outlaws aren’t often noted for their morals, she has hers, and sticks to them. She has a knack for disguising herself, and charisma aplenty to convince other to go along with her. When she wants something, she can come up with a plan as wild as she is, and so far, she’s had incredible luck in making them come to pass…(officially works for Port Authority, but is spiting them)

THE HOMESTEADER: Prideful, stubborn, organized—some would say obsessively so—practical and quick-tempered, a control freak who insists on doing things exactly right, in their precise way and in the proper order. Everything has a place and its place is particular, and woe to the unwary who tries (intentionally or otherwise) to disrupt that structure, particularly when it comes to their farm. Harsh, unforgiving, and abrupt as the land they live on, their mercurially tempestuous nature is somewhat legendary in town, as is their minute attention to details no one else will notice. In fact, the whole town might have written them off as an unhappy hermit, save for their habit of taking in and caring for strays no one else wants, though they’ll and grumble about it the entire time. That soft side, though, is reserved strictly for children and small animals, and those rare, few friends who sometimes get a taste of it through snarling stubbornness. Anyone stupid enough to think that those small kindnesses by a small-time farmer make for a weak target will find themselves sadly mistaken—they guards their farm and their charges with double-barrel shotgun and an aim as spot-on as their attention to detail.

THE INVENTOR: A self-taught genius, who learned from scraps and clips of lectures when the planet actually gets intergalactic service. Mostly designs weaponry, because that’s where the money is, and they’ll compromise their morals and ethics a bit if it means they can afford to buy equipment and build their dreams. Incredibly creative, prone to talking to themself as they work, able to make do with scrap parts and trash. Has a bit of a complex about the fact they never went to formal universities. Quick-tempered but also super, super easily distracted. Less reckless than they used to be since one of their inventions took off part of an arm. They learned how to make their own prosthetics/assistive devices and are constantly fiddling with them. Really just wants to be left in peace to invent but also likes to explain, at length, all of the exciting STUFF everything can do so is in constant war with themself over introverted and extroverted tendencies.

See the rest here or if that doesn’t work, from my masterlist

[xaviernoire]

 We’re thrilled to have CHAERIN XAVIER join us as a STUDENT of the Academy! They look at lot like JENNIE KIM and are 21, going by SHE / HER. We hear they’re an ADOPTED child of CHARLES XAVIER, and also answer to NOIRE. They’re said to be CLOSED OFF and are able to SUPERNATURAL SWORDSMANSHIP. Please join us in welcoming them aboard!

BASICS FOR CHARACTER:

name: chaerin xavier (formerly jung) alias: noire age: twenty-one face claim: jennie kim pronouns: she / her parents: charles xavier biological or adopted: adopted if they are a child: chaerin is enrolled in the academy and studying combat training & telekinesis (specifically related to blades of any kind).

BACKGROUND:

biography: chaerin’s birth seems rather normal compared to other mutants, but circumstances surrounding the pregnancy were anything but. her parents were scientists, and due to the nature of their job, both the mother-to-be and the twins she was carrying were exposed to multiple kinds of radiation. it went unnoticed until she fell sick on too many occasions, eventually leading to the premature birth of her two children and her untimely death.

life went on for the jung family, and those who knew the patriarch saw a change in him after his wife’s death. they watched him grow colder and closed off. watched as he refused all their help with raising his two children, claiming it was his responsibility to his wife. it seemed like a noble cause, and an expected reaction to such a tragedy. no one could have guessed what was really happening, the reason for all the privacy and secrecy. the jung twins weren’t normal, and only their father was aware of their mutation.

from a disgustingly young age, chaerin and her twin brother were treated as his test subjects rather than his children. unable to love them after they were the cause of his beloved’s death, he hired nannies to care for them, leaving him to focus on a newfound passion: mutants. with his kids both showing signs of powers before they could walk or talk, his work and life fused into one and became about them. maybe he thought he was doing them a favor, helping them grow, learning all he could about this unexpected development. but at it’s core, it was his own kind of punishment for taking away their mother.

when she was only ten months old, still crawling, her father found her in the kitchen, near the open dishwasher, knife in hand. immediate alarm set in until he realized she was unharmed. it seemed like nothing, just a coincidence, until the same thing happened a week later. but this time he watched as she threw the knife at the wall, the blade sticking into it perfectly. it wasn’t just unlikely now, it seemed impossible. but he already knew his kids could be capable of the impossible.

from then on, she was supervised constantly. a baby with a nearly magnetic attraction to knives wasn’t safe for anybody. but under controlled environments he tested her powers, let her play where she couldn’t hurt anyone. as she grew older, her powers grew with her. with her father to continuously push her, she learned more and more about what she could do. she learned how to properly wield a sword, how to throw knives, how to use an enemy’s own force against him. without knowing it, she was trained to be a weapon. and the head of the jung family knew more than the average person about weapons.

there was no rest, no love, no smiles. just tests, a new trial every day. some were medical; he wanted to know what made them who they were and how despite being twins their powers could be so vastly different. others were physical; he wanted to see how well they were developing. when she grew stubborn and refused to play along, he’d include her brother, using him as a threat to get her to comply. protecting her brother always came first; she’d easily sacrifice her own well-being to protect him. they were all each other had.

she was twelve when the avengers came to take her father away. he wasn’t a good man, they said. something chaerin was already aware of, even at a young age. he was creating weapons for villains and those against the law. they hadn’t expected to find two children, but it didn’t take long for them to figure out what to do with the twins. charles xavier stepped in, accepting the kids into his school. before she knew it, professor xavier had signed the adoption papers, accepting the twins into his family. taking responsibility for them. she knew it was his brother who had won him over; she had always been more stand-offish, sharp corners and blind rage. but a quick hug (something unheard of towards everyone other than her brother) showed her appreciation to the man.

at the school, with the help of her new father, she discovered her weapon of choice: her dual katana blades. he  even commissioned ones made out of vibranium so that they could absorb, store, and release kinetic energy in battle. she was able to train without the pressure of her birth father. she belonged to no one but herself, and she intended to grow her powers, pushed even further by the thought of revenge against the man who had nearly broken her and her brother. even though she was learning about her powers, what her father put her and her brother through was their own personal hell. 

chaerin only agreed to go to the academy because of her brother. there was no way they’d be seperated, and she didn’t necessarily care about the noble act of being a hero. she was never much of one to look up to, never big on saving anyone other than her twin. but she tried for him. and (even though she’d never admit it) she wanted to try for the man that took them in when they had nothing.

powers and abilities: supernatural swordsmanship - the ability to wield a sword with supernatural proficiency in speed, power, and skill, allowing them to perform seemingly impossible feats with ease, such as cutting through near invulnerable or intangible materials, blocking or deflecting things that would normally be impossible to block/deflect.

STRENGTHS:  + enhanced agility & power - when it comes to wielding a blade of any kind, chaerin is faster, stronger, and more reactive to what is happening around her. her dual katanas can barely be seen as their slicing through the air, seeking out their target. + deflection - her blades can be used not only offensively but from a defense stand point as well. her agility and power combine to make it seem effortless to deflect projectiles (or enemies in general) coming her way. + kinetic energy absorption - her katanas absorb and build up energy from hits they take (similarly to black panther’s suit) which she can eventually use to deal a stronger blow against enemies. + blade telekinesis - includes (but is not limited to) summoning a weapon or controlling the path of a thrown bladed weapon.

WEAKNESSES: - certain off-world metals and materials are unable to be penetrated by her blades. - a weapon is required. while she’s done her best to train her physical form over the years, she’s comparably useless without some kind of blade to wield against other supernatural beings. - there is no elevated healing. chaerin heals like an average person and has spent months out of commission due to pushing herself too hard and breaking something. - has trouble pulling back. her power is strong, and chaerin isn’t always the best at reeling it in when appropriate (though it’s something she’s working on in the academy). - she’s not immune to her blades. her over-zealousness has often ended with deep gashes and required stitches.

what have they brought with them to this universe/timeline: her dual katanas, a specially carved dagger that her birth-father originally gifted her, a journal that she writes in from time to time.

anything else? headcanons? you know what to do: + seojoon is her twin brother and she’s hella protective of him and will kill you if you hurt him, she does not care about the repercussions and no one is an exception. + she only wears black, it’s almost always some kind of loungewear, and she rarely wears any kind of makeup. honestly puts no effort into how she looks and finds it pointless.

[fiercyy]

Till Death: Chapter 3

Co-authored by @holyfuckabear

Summary: A canon rewrite fic. Seventeen-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki has become a superhero overnight. This entails a lot more oversight than he was lead to believe there would be. Is this his life now? Being stalked by some tiny woman, hell-bent on bossing him around? (For the record: yes.) 

He was five years old when his mother moved the family to Karakura, so he has very few memories of the time before. 

His life changed swiftly. His new preschool was, in a word, monochromatic. There were at least a couple other mixed kids at the other one, but he was the only one here. His mom was happier, that was good. Yuzu wasn’t sick as often, Mom said that being out of the city smog helped. One day he suddenly had a father.

Or maybe that’s just the blur of young memories.

.

. 

It’s been a really long week. He hasn’t been sleeping much, what with his new Soul Reaper duties. Weirdly, Mizuiro’s been getting on his nerves, but he has no idea why. And he’s not really getting this section in Maths, so he’s going to have to do some extra legwork to figure it out. Plus Tatsuki’s been going through something so it’s not like he can ask her, like he usually would.

Also, he lives with a raging maniac. 

Well… another raging maniac, but this one lives in his closet, not down the hall, so it’s twice as annoying and he gets zero respite.

It’s only Wednesday and he feels like he’s counting down the seconds until the weekend. All he wants is some quiet time to himself. He wants to sleep, finish his homework and maybe read something for fun instead of class for a change.

Ichigo’s already reached his threshold for social interactions and he has two days to go. 

He’s not going to survive this week.

.

.

One moment she’s sweetly feigning interest in Keigo’s prattle, the next she’s shouting for Ichigo to pull himself together after having his arm nearly ripped from its socket.

Such is the duality of Rukia. 

The former freaks him out more than the latter.

Ichigo gets used to her. Rukia’s around all the time, she is inconveniently, loudly present. She doesn’t have to say anything. Her existence is loud. He was studying on his bed instead of his desk the other day. She appropriated his desk chair, wheeled it close to the bed and used his spine as a footrest as she blew through his collection of manga. When he complained, she actually shushed him. “I’m at a really good part and you’re distracting!”

“...!”

He’s used to the real her; the pushy, stubborn drill sergeant. He acts on her say-so. It’s the sparkly, girly princess that freaks him out. He has no idea what to do with that. Every day it’s like stepping into the twilight zone and how has nobody noticed how fake it all sounds? He’s the only guy who’s made it out of Plato’s cave. He wants to physically shake his classmates and shout “Don’t you realize it’s all just bullshit shadows on the wall?!”

He doesn’t, but he really feels like it. 

This is what his life has come to.

Normalcy is running around the city in the dead of night, searching for monsters to slay. Normalcy has become acting on orders delivered by text-message and bunny-shaped shadows.

.

.

Normally Rukia wouldn’t fraternize with the humans, but Orihime makes it very hard to keep her distance. She invites her into the inner sanctum of high school girl-dom, a complex set of social systems that Rukia has zero experience with. It’s surprisingly lovely. 

She can be completely genuine with exactly none of them, but it’s still nice.

They eat lunches on the roof, tangential to the boys. They stand at each other’s desks between classes. They escort each other on routine errands, simply for the pleasure of each other’s company.

????

It’s baffling, but fascinating (she’ll never admit it, but it makes her feel warm inside). And mimicking the girls does wonders for the authenticity of her acting.

Orihime looks at her askance every once in awhile, but she seems to understand the principle. She never addresses it in private anyway.

The boys and girls occasionally drift together. This is in part due to Tatsuki and Ichigo’s friendship and in part due to the conventional social mores of the human world that dictate that genders must interact, but never fully integrate. 

She likes Chad, he’s sweet and quiet, clearly very intelligent and has a sparse way with words that she finds refreshing. Keigo is a massive idiot, but there are worse things to be. Mizuiro seems very sweet, but he’s always asking her to help him with schoolwork and tends to sit very close as she badly explains grammar structure.

Ichigo is Ichigo. 

“Rukia, I made cookies for everyone!” Orihime jolts her from her contemplations to remind her that there are worse casts of characters to be among. 

Then she takes a bite and valiantly tries not to spit out the edamame chip cookie. 

.

.

Chad’s a very large young man. He’s also Mexican. He tends to stand out in crowds, particularly in a population like Japan. He’s quiet, so people tend to forget he’s even around. They’ll say things in front of him, thinking he’s not listening. Or worse, they think he’s too stupid to understand what they’re saying. 

He speaks three languages, but whatever. 

So when Ichigo and Rukia run off together for the third time in a week and the guys immediately turn to gossiping hens, he figures no one’s expecting a response from him. He sighs. People should really learn to mind their own business… then again he’s a hypocrite, he’s just not asking his questions out loud.

Whatever.

Maybe his mind’s just under occupied these days, but he’s been contemplating the mysterious case of the delinquent and the new girl. Specifically, with respect to the ghost problem that Ichigo’s been dealing with for as long as he’s known him. It’s not that he’s seen them do anything suspicious, but the Kurosaki clinic was destroyed and the next day Rukia Kuchiki shows up at school? A prissy, perky, pretty girl appears and suddenly Ichigo’s asking her how high he should jump? Chad sees her for what she is, because they’re the same. She’s quiet because she is always listening, her attention is eerily laser focused. 

After school he goes to his part-time job at the library. Today is Wednesday so it’s Reading Circle for the daycare kids whose parents work late. Chad has been slowly making his way through Howl’s Moving Castle, chapter by chapter. It’s taking him twice as long because he reads the chapters in Japanese, then English, but he thinks it’s worth it. He likes Sophie, she’s very sensible. That is a girl for whom words have weight and meaning. 

After that he meets up with some of the guys he’s played a couple gigs with.

“Give him to Chad,” says one, of a supposedly cursed Cockatiel.

Chad sighs, “what’s your name?” he is awfully cute. 

“Yuichi Shibata, what’s your name mister?” And then a metal beam falls on his head.

He’s nothing if not polite though, so he introduces himself.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Sado Yasutora.” 

.

. 

Rukia is always flexing. She’s always testing her limbs and joints, stretching and pulling at them, trying to find their limits. She feels too big for her skin, too strong for her fragile bird bones. This body is not real but it’s her reality.

The human boy took her powers. She’d only meant to give him a little, just enough to end the fight. Turns out, she miscalculated. And now she’s living on dwindled reserves and the foreseeable future looks like a long, winding wait for her powers to return.

But they will return. Little by little. 

At first, she could feel herself getting stronger by the day. She has recovered enough that she can do the most basic kidou: mild restraints and minimal healing. It’ll probably be months until she’s recovered! Months in the human world, with a boy left to do her work. 

So she flexes, she tests the limits of her strength and gains micrometers where she can. 

In the meantime, at least she’s learning leadership skills. 

.

. 

There’s an adjustment period. They aren’t quite working like a well oiled machine yet. That’s the thing with new partnerships, they have to learn their roles. They’re treading new ground together and some growing pains are to be expected. And then there are some details that turn into unexpected issues. 

.

. 

The can rattles as she shakes it in her hand, the sound makes her heart race. Tatsuki bites her lip, planning her first stroke. The side of the bare building is a blank canvas, her canvas. She wears gloves while she does it. Intent on keeping the evidence off her fingers. A bright splash of orange against white stucco. 

Her mother thought painting classes would be a good enough creative outlet. Don’t get her wrong, it did give her the skills to pull this off. 

A big, orange asterisk. The start of a dandelion. She shakes her can of yellow, setting the orange down. It tips onto its side and rolls deeper into the alley. 

“Shit.” Tatsuki mutters, following the can. 

It stops against the sole of a shoe. Tatsuki’s eyes trail up from the shoe to some legs, then a torso. Her mouth goes dry and she chokes when she sees the face. 

Ichigo, slumped against a dumpster. His eyes are open and glassy. She doesn’t see his chest moving. 

She stands there for who knows how long before her brain gets her body to react. She presses her thumb to his pulse, but all she can feel is her own heart hammering against her thumb. 

“Ichigo.” She quavers, grabbing him by the arms and shaking him. He’s warm, but not very.

“Ichigo!” Tatsuki slaps him across the face. His head flops, limp.

She covers her mouth with her hand, swallowing the whimper that lets loose her tears.

He’s dead. Oh god, he’s dead just like Masaki.

She was supposed to protect him. 

Her hands shake as she reaches for her cellphone. There’s a splash of orange paint on her glove and she stares at it for longer than she should.

She dials, but before it can ring, she hears approaching footsteps.

“Come on and get in there then.” The voice sounds familiar but Tatsuki’s ears are still ringing. 

“Hello, what is your emergency?” 

Tatsuki opens her mouth to speak when she hears Ichigo groan. 

“Ugh, why does my face sting?”

“Ichigo!” She scrambles to check his eyes and throat.

“Get off me, wouldja.” He pushes her off.

“You were collapsed! I thought you were dead!”

“Ma’am, are you still on the line?”

“Thanks, we’re good. Bye.” Tatsuki hangs up. Her gaze skips between Ichigo, who is sitting slumped against the alley wall, and Rukia, who is standing off to his right. “Rukia, when did you get here?”

Rukia swallows, “Oh, I was just passing by!”

If Tatsuki had less adrenaline coursing through her system she might have questioned the validity of Rukia walking around alone at night and just happening to stumble upon them.

“I heard you yelling and I came running!” 

“See, that’s a good samaritan,” Ichigo means for this to sound sincere but it comes off sarcastic. Which is actually how he means it. 

“Why don’t I help you bring him home to the clinic,” Rukia suggests, an ounce too chipper. 

Tatsuki nods numbly and each of them grab one of his arms to sling over their shoulders. They make a comical trio, lumbering along the Karakura streets. Ichigo is utterly fine and has never felt more emasculated. 

He tries to protest, but Rukia shuts him down. “Oh dear, you shouldn’t strain yourself Kurosaki! I’m not very strong, but Tatsuki is. We’ll help you get home safe!”

When he gets home and his father starts gushing over his non-existent injuries, Ichigo honestly contemplates quitting. Being a superhero isn’t worth this. 

.

. 

From there, things go from annoying to maddening.

Everyone seems to have something to say about the ‘hot new transfer student’ and the ginger thug who always seems to be hanging around her. 

Keigo is very proud. 

Mizuiro is overly solicitous with his promises that he’s not flirting with her, that he’s into older women. 

For Ichigo’s part, he’s sure that Rukia is way older than even Mizuiro’d prefer but would happily step aside in favor of their future bliss. 

.

. 

On Thursday Chad brings his new pet to school. None of his teachers bother him about it and at lunch, his friends clamor over the strange bird with the expansive vocabulary. 

Everyone, that is, except for Ichigo and Rukia. 

“Chad,” asks Ichigo, tentatively, “where’d you get the bird.” 

“A guy…” 

This seems like a perfectly reasonable response to Chad, but Keigo is unsatisfied. “Why are you always too lazy to tell the actual story?! Some guy?! What guy? Where? Does it have to do with the car that hit you yesterday? Come on!” 

And so it goes. 

Ichigo continues to stare at the bird through lunch.

“Do you need some help with that?” Mizuiro asks, startling Ichigo out of his revery. But he wasn’t addressing him.

“It’s this infernal juice box!” Rukia exclaims, sounding uncomfortably too like her demanding self. 

Ichigo sighs and takes it from her, pokes a hole with the straw and never lets his eyes stray from the bird. 

Mizuiro throws up his hands in mock defensiveness and shoots Ichigo a sly look before turning back to the one-sided conversation Keigo and Chad are still having. 

“You’re right you know,” Rukia says around the straw. “There is something odd about that bird, but it’s not evil. It’s just lonely.” 

Rukia knows how it feels. Lately she’s been feeling homesick for the 13th Division. 

“We’ll take care of it tonight.” 

“Awesome, I didn’t need to study anyway.” 

“Is that sarcasm?” 

“No ma’am,” he replies, sarcastically. 

“Your friend… is he like you?”

“What do you mean? Mixed?”

“No, you idiot. Can he see spirits?” 

“Not… that I know of.” 

“Do you know him well?” 

“Sure,” Ichigo scratches his nose and contemplates Chad, “Back in middle school I was already attracting a lot of… negative attention ‘cause of my hair. One day I ran into these guys who really meant business. They were gonna mess me up. Then Chad showed up. Ever since, we’ve watched each other’s backs.” 

Rukia turns to look at the giant too.

“He never fights back, just stands there, puts himself between bad guys and whoever they’re trying to hurt. So-” 

“So you fight for him,” Rukia finishes.

Ichigo glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.” 

“You’re a good friend, Ichigo.”

“Yeah, I come in handy.” He wouldn’t admit it, but her esteem feeds something inside him. It feels suspiciously like pride. 

.

. 

“What can I do?” 

“Assume the fetal position and stay out of the way!”

And so it goes. Everyone in the Kurosaki household has a role to play. Ichigo gets the shit kicked out of him, Karin and Yuzu get first aid certified and help dad out in the clinic. One of these things may or may not be more useful than the other.

Chad comes into the clinic clutching Yuichi’s cage in a tight fist and slumping against Karin and Yuzu’s shorter statures.

There’s a bruise like a clawed footprint spanning Chad’s entire back, but Karin is staring at the bird.

.

.

Friday morning, Karin’s not at the breakfast table. Yuzu says she’s sick, but Karin’s never been ill a day in her life. There’s a sick feeling that makes him short on breath and nauseated. Worry and suspicion cloud his thoughts.

He knocks on her bedroom door and enters.

Karin is curled up on her side, sweating and clutching the blankets.

“Karin?”

“ICHIGO!” Isshin shouts from downstairs. “Chad is missing!”

Torn, Ichigo glances from Karin to the door and back again.

“Go,” she grits. “Go.”

He does.

He sprints out of the house and soon finds Rukia at his side.

“Any idea where he would go?”

“Not yet.”

“Ichigo.”

“Yeah?”

“Listen to your heart.”

“What?!”

“Like we practiced, feel for the bird’s soul.”

“...Right.”

He tries, he really does. He’s not so good with the sensing yet. He knows something’s wrong when he grasps at a thread, only to find himself running in circles. And then, across the way he spots Karin, slumped against the fence, struggling to remain upright. “Karin, what are you-?”

“Ichigo, I need- I need to tell you something.”

“Karin, you should go back to bed.”

He’s so afraid for her. Something is very very wrong. But one crisis at a time please.

And Rukia’s looking at his sister in that contemplative way that frightens him, like she’s a specimen for study, a code she can crack. He cannot let her dig too deep here, or else-

“Ichigo, take her back now,” Rukia commands. “I’ll go on and find Chad myself.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re in no condition to fight a hollow on your own. I can’t just leave you!”

Rukia purses her lips and says very seriously, “Worry about your sister for now, I can handle everything until you get there. Go, go on, the faster you get her home, the faster you can come help.” She’s about to take off before he stops her.

“Wait. Don’t risk yourself for my sake.”

She smiles at him, “A veteran soul reaper never takes unnecessary chances.”

This would be more reassuring if she hadn’t nearly died saving his life on the day they met.

.

.

Karin is living someone else’s nightmare. She keeps seeing things in flashes. Blood, murder, screams of terror. A red stain soaking the brightness of the morning and dripping in streaks like sunlight. There’s a little boy, a lot like her, trapped in the body of a bird. He doesn’t want to be free either.

He just wants his mom.

“You have to tell him,” she rasps, clutching her brother’s shirt. “Tell him that if he crosses over he can be with her again. His mom. Don’t let him be alone anymore.”

Loneliness so crushing, it stretches out into infinity and throws dust covers over every possibility.

.

.

Whatever senses Rukia has are dulled either by the gigai or her weakened state, so parsing out the soul ribbon belonging to Yuichi is difficult, but eventually she finds the thread.

She ends up on an empty side street when she feels a cold lick of fear slide up the back of her neck. A hollow.

“Mmm, I ordered chicken and I get a steak as well. How fortunate for me. Hello little Shinigami.”

Rukia leaps out of the way just in time to avoid the hands that strike out to trap her.

Well, now or never.

She dodges again and lands on top of it. Mustering every ounce of power she has, she fires a kidou cannon at it’s hunched back.

It works!

Giddy and triumphant she whoops. And ducks out of the way again. He misses her by a hair. She fires another cannon.

Suddenly, the surges of blue light emanating from her palms are joined by fists. And the roars and blasting noises joined by a chorus of cries.

Chad punches the hollow square in the mask and Yuichi screams for him to run away. Can he see it? She wonders, before he breaks out a combo aimed at thin air. That’s a no... He shouldn’t be fighting anyway.

The hollow sets it’s sights on Chad. Rukia acts fast, running at him full tilt and body-checking the young man out of the way of the oncoming attack.

“Thanks,” Chad grunts.

The hollow flails in pain. She took out huge chunks of its hide with her spells, but it soon regains its faculties.

It laughs, “Try as much as you want, you can’t save the boy. He makes pretty good bait, don’t you think?”

Rukia assesses the situation. She’s weaker than she’s ever been, her only allies are a bird in a cage and a blind human who does not want to fight. She doesn’t know his reasons but she can understand that. She just needs to get behind it again, it’ll be vulnerable from the back. She also needs to get some high ground so its mask will be in her sights.

“Chad!” she calls, “Give me a boost!” She doesn’t give him a chance to process or respond before getting a running start at him. Fortunately, he’s a smart young man. She plants her feet in his cupped hands, “2 o’clock!” and vaults into the air.

Rukia sails above the hollow’s head in an arc. She twists in mid-air and at the precise angle where she can see the base of it’s skull she fires the strongest cannon she can muster.

.

.

Ichigo’s arms curl under Karin’s knees and shoulders, he presses her nose into his collarbone so hard she thinks it’ll bend. She sweats and swears. Over his shoulder, like a pin of light in the encroaching darkness, she sees a woman in white. She presses a pale finger to her lips and fixes her in a steely gaze.

There is a ghost that Ichigo cannot see, lurking behind him.

Karin is no longer afraid.

She’s terrified.

.

.

The hollow twists at the last second but it’s a critical hit. It staggers forward and drops to its knees, giving Rukia and Chad time to regroup.

Rukia’s breath is ragged from exertion. She doesn’t have the energy reserves necessary to end this fight, but she can stall long enough for Ichigo to arrive.

They make a good team, Chad and Rukia, it takes very little verbal communication to effectively coordinate their attacks. He tosses, she twists, they deal blow after blow. She wonders if it will be enough.

The trapped spirit cries in his cage. He pleads with the hollow, even as they have him on the ropes. His fear has solidified into an unyielding thing. It grips at him, drags him down, prevents him from making a single move.

All the while the hollow takes advantage. This one likes to talk. He brags about the night they all died. He croons that Yuichi’s mother looked so beautiful with scarlet in her hair. He tells them that in her final moments she did not beg for her son, but for him to stop. He’d known many women like her, but nothing tastes as good as your last meal.

Chad’s stomach roils at the implications. He burns to shut him up.

So Chad throws all of himself into one final punch. The white mask cracks.

.

.

Karin does not know why it’s this spirit with whom she feels this strong a kinship. She doesn’t know why the last vestiges of her denial are being ripped away from her and shredded before her eyes.

What she knows is this:

Her life is wrong.

How did she get here?

.

.

Ichigo considers his begging sister.

They’re almost home.

He turns around.

.

.

The hollow shatters into pieces, flying apart and dissolving into nothing.

Chad has become fixated on his fist. He can’t look away. He is both intoxicated and frightened of his own strength. He just slayed a dragon. He just conquered an army. He summited a mountain. He has done the impossible with just this hand. Once, he swore to his Abuelo that he would never raise it.

He wonders if Abuelo would consider this his own defense.

Never raise a hand until you have extended it.

But a monster cannot reach back.

He’s made the right decision, but it does not feel like a victory.

“Are you alright?” he asks both Yuichi and Rukia. The latter stares at him in shock, then calculation.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says with her eyes. He nods.

Moments later, Ichigo arrives on the scene with Karin still in his arms. He sets her on her feet and looks around, searching for impending danger.

“It’s over,” Karin assures him breathily.

He looks to Rukia for confirmation, she nods too.

Karin approaches Yuichi and Ichigo follows close behind, at the ready in case of a fall. She kneels in front of the bird and Ichigo falls over himself trying to keep her upright.

“I’m fine,” improbably, Karin laughs and pushes his hands away. “Hi,” she greets the bird, more politely and patiently than she’s ever greeted a living human.

“Hello,” perhaps Yuichi senses their kinship too.

“My brother is going to take care of you now, okay?”

“Can I… Can I stay with Chad? He’s nice.”

Karin agrees, “if you want to stay, you can.” Rukia opens her mouth to argue, but at Ichigo’s quelling look, she silences herself. “I understand, I’d want to stay too. But if you move on, you can see your mom again. And there’s a whole other world waiting for you. You won’t have to be a bird anymore.”

“I don’t mind being a bird…”

“I know you’re scared,” Chad joins Karin on the curb. They make a strange picture: a giant and a tiny tomboy kneeling and conversing with a cockatiel on the side of the road, flanked by two schoolkids with grim expressions. “But everything will be okay.”

“And I’ll get to see her again?”

“Yeah,” Karin smiles and thinks of Masaki. “I’m sure she’s been waiting for you all this time.”

“Okay,” Yuichi agrees, “I’m ready then.”

Rukia pulls on her glove. Ichigo braces himself for a blow that doesn’t come. Instead, she places her hand above his heart and gives him a gentle push.

Ichigo falls out of his body gracefully. Chad catches him before he falls.

“Yo.”

“Hi.”

“...Hey.” Karin says breathlessly, looking not at his body, but at his soul. For the very first time.

Ichigo has five konsos under his belt, but each time is just as brilliant as the last. He gently presses the hilt of his sword to Yuuichi’s forehead (or whatever a bird has?). Aquamarine light guilds the cage and the next moment Yuuichi is gone. The bird is just a bird.

.

.

It’s Friday night and Ichigo just wants to sleep.

But he’s got homework.

He’s mentally exhausted, he’s hit his threshold, he just wants to be alone. Monday looms out in front of him like a spectre. It’s so far away but he knows he’ll blink and the reset button will be hit.

He taps his pencil against his notebook as he fixates on the next problem. Three more and then he can get back to the half-read novel lying cover-side down on the corner of his desk.

Rukia is sitting on his bed, reading Volume 2 of Super Kaiju Maids (“Maids who transform into giant monsters to fight EVIL!”), her back against the wall, feet peeking over the edge. Her head tilts sideways and eyes widen at a particularly suspenseful part. She squeaks and gasps with the twists of the plot.

Ichigo sighs, he’ll finish tomorrow.

He grabs his novel and rolls his desk chair closer to the bed. He leans back and puts his feet up, his left ankle, brushing Rukia’s thigh.

They read side by side well into the night.

[notjustabadguy]

“Ghost” Characters in Hogwarts Houses

Sam Wheat - Gryffindor

Sam is about as Gryffindor as you can get. The defining traits of a true Gryffindor are bravery and chivalry. These are often accompanied by a strong sense of right and wrong, an unwillingness to concede ground or admit defeat, and an affinity for action in times of crisis.

Like every House, though, Gryffindor qualities have both positive and negative aspects. The strong moral code can make some Gryffindors see the world in terms of black and white, blinding them to the grey areas. The reluctance to admit defeat can become stubbornness, and the desire for action can lead to rushing into danger, without stopping to properly assess the threats in a situation.

Sam shows all of these qualities, both positive and negative, in spades. He proves his bravery and chivalry by literally giving his life to defend Molly. In the struggle with Willie, another Gryffindor trait is displayed as well: the trademark recklessness shows in his attempt to get the jump on an armed mugger.

His strong sense of justice is shown as he unravels the truth behind his murder and makes it his mission to punish those responsible. And his persistence in this mission, despite being at a distinct disadvantage (being incorporeal and unable to communicate traditionally with the living) demonstrates the strength of his determination and his unwillingness to surrender.

All in all, Gryffindors are good people to have on your side. Some of their qualities may be slightly irritating to those who prefer calm rationale and trying to see both sides of a disagreement, but when you’re in any kind of trouble, a Gryffindor is the best asset you can have. They’re big on standing up for the little guy, loyalty to their friends and loved ones, and fighting the good fight. As such, Sam is an excellent representative of the Lion House.

Molly Jensen - Ravenclaw

Ravenclaws are best known for their intelligence, creativity, and reasoning capabilities. Though primarily regarded as the House that scores well on tests and overachieves at all things academic, Eagles are also the artists of Hogwarts—the writers, painters, musicians, etc. As such, Molly was fairly easy to place, being a sculptor.

She also displays other Ravenclaw qualities: intelligence, a reliance on academia, faith in the system and the rules that have been set in place, a healthy dose of skepticism, and an aptitude for calm, rational discourse and problem-solving.

As with the Lions, many Ravenclaw characteristics are a two-sided coin: for example, they tend to have too much confidence in the system, assuming that the established rules to govern any situation will do exactly as intended, without taking human error into consideration. Ravenclaws also like to talk disagreements out calmly, which is usually a good strategy, except some people don’t want to talk—they just want to hurt you. And that skepticism can lead to an inability to set logic aside sometimes and just have faith.

Molly’s speech patterns indicate high intelligence, and her reliance on systems of authority is demonstrated at several points—from her worry over the critic from the Times, to the outcome of her visit to the police station. The Ravenclaw affinity for talking things through shows in her attempt to inject cool rationale into the situation between Sam and Willie, inadvertently making it worse instead. And of course, her skepticism is displayed in her disbelief of Oda Mae; despite her heart telling her it was the truth, her rational mind couldn’t conceive of a world where spirits existed.

Despite their shortcomings, Ravenclaws are excellent to have around. They help provide much-needed perspective to the Gryffindors and Slytherins in their lives, who are often all too willing to go full steam ahead and damn the consequences.

Carl Bruner - Slytherin

Putting the villain of the film in the “evil House” may seem like a pretty straightforward decision, but as many of my Followers may have already guessed, there’s a lot more to it than that.

Most of the villains in the Harry Potter series are Slytherins, which makes many Potterheads see Slytherins in a negative light. But the Snakes have had their share of good guys too: Snape and Slughorn are excellent examples, and both of the Cursed Child heroes are Slytherins as well. And some of the nastiest antagonists in the series are from other Houses (Quirrell and Lockheart are Ravenclaws; Wormtail is a Gryffindor).

In fact, “evil” is a concept that has nothing to do with Sorting. The defining traits of Slytherin House are ambition, resourcefulness, and cunning. Snakes also traditionally prize self-preservation. In addition, Slytherin shares a number of characteristics with Gryffindor, including determination, pride, and, as Dumbledore points out, “a certain disregard for the rules.” Gryffindor and Slytherin are, in fact, very similar Houses in many respects: most of the talents of Gryffindors are shared by Slytherins, and it is only in values that they truly differ. Lions are guided by morality, whereas Snakes are guided by pragmatism.

In the Slytherin mindset, if you want something, you should take it; if you don’t need to endanger yourself, don’t. Guilt is an abstract concept which has little place in practical doings. However, this does not erase the concepts of friendship or loyalty, and can even make them stronger in certain personality types. Snakes often form strong bonds with others, because one’s friends or family are seen as an extension of oneself; therefore, it is in a Slytherin’s best interest to look out for those they are close to.

Carl’s ambition and self-serving qualities are shown over and over throughout the film—even early on, before the big reveal. In fact, one of the earliest lines references him as being “obsessed” with money, something he willingly admits. His “certain disregard" for the rules of law and morality—essentially considering them obstacles to the quickest and easiest way of attaining his ambitions—is demonstrated at several points, most notably in his laundering money, but also in his pursuit of Molly.

The Slytherin pragmatism is also showcased in this instance: while Sam was alive, the knowledge that Moll was his best friend’s girl stopped Carl from making a move. Harming his friendship with Sam would have harmed him personally on an emotional level, so it would have been going against his own interests to risk it. But when Sam died, he was removed entirely from existence in Carl’s limited worldview, leaving no “real” obstacle to a relationship with Molly, only that abstract concept of guilt.

And of course, Carl’s value of self-preservation ultimately became his downfall. Everything he did to extend his own life, even to the point of endangering Sam and Moll, only led him more surely to his eventual death. This is the great flaw in the “practicality” of the Snake House: what many Slytherins view as abstract sentiments are quite real factors in life, with real consequences.

Slytherins can be some of the best friends you’ll have: they can help the Eagles in their lives loosen up, aid their Lion pals by doing things a Gryffindor might find morally ambiguous or distasteful (usually without the Gryff’s knowledge), and they’ll fiercely protect those they are loyal to by any means necessary. But they can also be dangerous enemies if those loyalties shift. Carl’s loyalty to his friends was eventually outweighed by his loyalty to his own ambitions, and that proved disastrous for everyone involved.

Oda Mae Brown - Hufflepuff

Oda Mae was the hardest character to Sort. She has some qualities of other Houses: Slytherin’s cunning and self-interest are most prominent, but she also shows a Gryffindor’s bravery in times of great peril, and even some Ravenclaw creativity. In a way, though, that made the choice to place her in Hufflepuff even more obvious.

Hufflepuff is the “odd House out" in Hogwarts. The fandom doesn’t quite know what to make of them, nor do other Hogwarts students. Voldemort’s infamous words about Cedric Diggory as a “spare” echo the sentiments of many. A lot of Potterheads can strongly relate to the confusion demonstrated in a line from the well-known fan parody A Very Potter Musical: “What the hell is a Hufflepuff?”

The problem with Hufflepuff is that, while many Badgers display certain supposedly defining traits—hardworking, cheerful, friendly, honest and genuine, patient, and modest—there really is no requirement for being Sorted into Badger House. As the Sorting Hat quoted Helga Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot, / And treat them just the same.” Hufflepuff is essentially the House for those who do not have strong tendencies for any of the other Houses: those who are not particularly brave, ambitious, or intelligent. While Hufflepuffs can certainly be all three of those things (look at Cedric Diggory for bravery, Newt Scamander for intellect and creativity, and Ernie Macmillan or Zacharias Smith for ambition), the point is that, while they may all exist in Hufflepuffs, none of them are the driving personality traits behind any Badger.

Oda Mae fits into this “not fitting in” bracket fairly well, as well as displaying some of the more common Hufflepuff traits: namely, being open and genuine, upbeat, and fairly impartial in questions of morality. While the Gryffindors and Slytherins are busy butting heads and the Ravenclaws are either trying to separate them or rolling their eyes at the whole silly affair, ’Puffs will just get on with their own business.

Oda Mae also, in the end, demonstrates another of the Hufflepuff tendencies. Many people, both wizards and fans, tend to underestimate Hufflepuffs. They are considered rather dull, even downright stupid (“Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers”), and quite timid. None of this is true. Hufflepuffs are often quiet about their accomplishments, but that should not fool anyone into thinking the Badgers are not a force to be reckoned with. Their House mascot is subtle evidence of this: a real-life badger may look cute and cuddly, but a single African honey badger is able to kill three lions on its own. Oda Mae doesn’t seem like a hero for most of the film—she just wants to stay out of danger and get on with her life the way it was before she met Sam. She is easily mistaken for strictly comic relief. But she ends up being the deciding factor in pretty much everything.

It’s additionally worth noting that one of my favorite fan theories is that Hufflepuffs are the House with the most natural talent in Divination, which is the closest thing in the Potterverse to Oda Mae’s psychic talents.

Willie Lopez - Slytherin

As previously stated, Slytherin’s defining traits are ambition, cunning, a strong sense of self-preservation, and an emphasis on achieving goals rather than on how said goals are achieved. Willie displays all of these, in practically every scene he’s in.

Willie certainly doesn’t have the intelligence of a Ravenclaw, but he does possess a sort of animal cunning—probably the only reason he survived as long as he did in the dangerous life a small-time thug. His selfishness and value of his own life above others are demonstrated in his flight from Sam’s spirit, abandoning his erstwhile partner and leaving Carl to fend for himself when things got ugly. And of course, his ambition and lack of respect for laws and ethics are displayed by his profession as a hired gun.

The trademark Slytherin pragmatism is even more pronounced in Willie than it is in Carl... this is made especially clear in the scene where Carl confronts him over his violent methods. “You killed a man,” Carl accuses him. “You were supposed to steal his wallet!” Willie simply returns, “That was a freebie!” He seems genuinely frustrated by how upset Carl is. The idea that Carl might have actually valued Sam’s life, not just his address book, is apparently unimportant to him.

Willie reminds me a lot of Crabbe and Goyle, Draco Malfoy’s goons: a somewhat dimwitted, amoral, violent personality kept around so that Draco (or Carl, in this case) doesn’t need to personally dirty his hands. He certainly isn’t a good representative of Snake House’s positive traits, but he belongs there just the same.

Image Credits:

Background: Hogwarts Sam: Harry Potter (House Crest from this image) Molly: Ravenclaw Student 1 by akirastock Carl: Draco Malfoy Oda Mae: Hermione Granger (tie and House Crest from this image) Willie: Gregory Goyle

Images of Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, Tony Goldwyn, Whoopi Goldberg, and Rick Aviles taken from Ghost (1990).

Edited with iPhoto, Preview, and Paintbrush on Mac

This is my first real attempt at photomanipulation, and I don’t have Photoshop, so please be gentle with me!

[the-writers-bookshelf]

Just sharing my oc Iiestr and some of the building I've done! He's my favourite of because he was originally a cat person, then a cat shape shifter, then a person, then a cat, and now he is a shapeshifter (panther) with different names every time I polished him up: Finn, Flynn, Flyn, Jean, and finally Iiestr. He comes from Deliengea, a fantasy world.

Also, my writing blog is here for more info @nothingbutchilledwriting

Iiestr wanted nothing more than to be just like his mother: Proud, hard-headed and stubborn. She was the most amazing warrior, holding her head high against anyone and anything, and admired her skill, expertise and determination. He wanted to be revered, respected, as a figure of strength, endurance, and everything else his mother stood for. She played by her own rules, listened to nobody but herself, and tolerated no bullshit.

He has, in some aspects, lived up to his mother’s name; being the stubborn, relentless, and proud mf he is. However, most of her teachings were lost on him and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach the same calibre of his mother’s technique and precision.

(Having come from a low income, poor and struggling background, Iiestr didn’t have much to look forward to. He only had his mom and her teachings but he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Many of his early teenage years consisted of scavenging, pick pocketing and surviving on crumbs that it left no time or room to practise what she taught him. It didn’t help either that the military beat what little knowledge he had left out of him.

Iiestr doesn't quite have a goal. He just wants peace and quiet. Nobody to bother or pester him during his alone time (read all the time), and no noise, questions or emotions or people he has to be considerate of.

He exists in the present and has very little planning for the future and takes it day by day.

He just really needs his space and doesn't enjoy any many people in his personal bubble or even 10ft away from him. He doesn't trust people and would rather keep his distance than test boundaries or limits, so he can come off as cold or standoffish to people who are new to him. His comfort and safety always come first, no matter the situation, and he'll ensure that himself first hand if need be.

However, other than this, there is another thing that Iiestr would probably want the most is to have Murtair back. They ended with a nasty fight and he hasn't seen Murtair for months now. Missing the company of his partner and his shenanigans (despite Murtair pissing him off half the time just for shits and giggles), Iiestr regrets walking away even though he was completely justified to do so. He's still very hurt but wants to amend the relationship before it's too late, except he doesn't know how and his pride prevents him from making amends. So he just sits and waits, hoping that Murtair would come to him first so that he didn't have to take that first step.

He can be a sarcastic ass and really cold but to be honest, he just doesn't know how to express himself all that well, often too tired to talk, and doesn't trust strangers. His interactions with the group are probably the my favourite aspect of his character because he can go from the protective big brother with the twins to being an absolute douche to Elodea because he thinks it's fun to wind her up.

His voice is kinda low, not really deep kinda average, and he has a light scottish accent. He doesn't sing but he does enjoying humming. If he tried singing he could be decent but he doesn't enjoy it. Can't whistle to save his life.

Pasive agressive and incredibly violent. Iiestr doesn't like people and he isn't the best with interactions so he has made a few enemies. When he gets into a fight, he fights dirty and anything goes. He won't actively pursue an enemy but if he does happen to find one, Iiestr is one them before they can blink.

He's cold and vulgar and doesn't really give a shit. Intimidating as hell, merciless and an asshole when he wants to ward people off.

When it comes to fear, he squashes it down and forces himself through it. He sees it as weakness and refuses to let himself give in to fear, or even feel it for a moment. He ignores it, sweeps it under the rug, but once he gets overwhelmed, he's running in the opposite direction.

People think he is anti social but he can be really open and conversational with particular people. So most of the time he is by himself (by choice) and avoids crowded areas. His social battery drains real quick, not that he has much to begin with, and he needs time after to recharge.

Iiestr's biggest turning point was when he lost his mother. She was his biggest supporter, his source of love and affection. Constantly teaching him new skills like archery and sewing.

But when she suddenly disappeared at age 10, he felt like he lost a piece of himself along with her. Crying out in the middle of the night for months on end for somebody that would never come.

Since then, things just started spiraling down hill faster than Iiestr could cope with.

He was practically alone after this, since nobody knew where his father was either. And he didn't have any known relatives. So for two and a half years, he lived by himself, pick pocketing, stealing and doing whatever he could to get money.

This lead to him getting thrown into prison multiple times, getting roughed up by random strangers who had a strange vendetta against kids, and accidentally getting involved with dangerous groups and practises.

Those two and half years, of dealing with the loss of his mother and the constant fight to survive, had left him cold, emotionless, distrusting of people and with a shit tonne of trauma. He was no longer the happy, go lucky boy he was before. The shy kid that would hide underneath his mother's dress, playing with the rabbits in the garden while his mother watched. That boy was gone.

He picked up bad habits such as slouching from his mother cause she always seemed to hunch over. But as soon as she noticed, she actively put effort into standing straight so that Iiestr wouldn't grow up with crap posture (he still slouched though).

His mother taught him how to play a wind instrument, similar to a flute. He wasn't very good at it but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, his mother would ask to hear him play, especially in the the mornings, while she gardens.

She also taught him useful skills such as seeing, how to mend clothes, stitching and such. Teaching him archery aswell because he saw her do it once and he was so fascinated that he demanded she teach him.

With the archery, she taught him never to use animals for target practise or to kill without reason. If he was going to kill, he had to pray for the animal before killing it and he had to use the entire body and leave nothing to waste.

THIS IS SO COOL and so emotionally wrenching and just wonderful!!! You will ALWAYS hook me into reading any fiction with a cat-related character :) :) :)

Followed your writing blog for more updates!! ♥