#⋚ programmings of a captive mind 。 ⋛ // • ╯ MUSINGS . ╰

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch10

chapter ten: departure

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 10, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-9, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

author's notes: Frederick is so cunty. He INVENTED cunt. This man stared down Abel Gideon and didn’t even flinch. He just said “see you in court.” 💅 This man left Hannibal a copy of the book he wrote *based on him*. That shit was crazy!! I don’t care what anyone says. Frederick is cunty.

Anyway. This chapter has been eluding me for a while. I wanted to live up to the intensity from the book, but I felt like that was impossible for me to accomplish. I also didn’t want this to be a straight replication of the book scene, so… I tried to make this deviate a bit more. So, here goes. It’s a bit shorter as far as chapters go, but whatever.

I also made small edits in the first installment of this series, changing the writing from Hannibal giving you his clothing to Hannibal just giving the reader clothing in their size. I realized it wasn’t inclusive to all body types so I wanted to change it. Plus, imo, it’s even more homoerotic to think that Hannibal specifically bought clothing for you and kept it at his house. That’s very gay. Anyways. Back to regularly scheduled programming!

Warnings: typical violence/blood; kidnapping, death, vomiting. Lots of gore for this one. To avoid spoilers, I’ll put more in-depth warnings in the endnotes.

Frederick Chilton wants to pick you apart. And he isn’t the only one—far from it. That’s the danger of being in a position like yours—a federal agent tasked with chasing after killers and criminals. The thrill of the chase… It forms a relationship between cat and mouse, predator and prey. Frederick may be a predator, but you are not his prey; you have a much larger carnivore on the prowl nearby, haunting your shadows and waiting for you to slip. Frederick may be intrigued by you, but Hannibal Lecter is utterly fascinated by you. There’s no denying the harsh shift in his behavior, from silent and nearly despondent in your absence to verbose and enigmatic upon your arrival. Frederick had tried to pull that energy out of him through their sessions, but he was entirely unsuccessful. Lecter was well aware of his research interest, and seemed perfectly content with keeping his lips firmly closed in the first years of his captivity. 

The thought interests and infuriates Frederick in equal measure. After all, having unrestricted access to an intelligent, self-aware sociopath is a very rare opportunity. The sheer strides Chilton could make in the field of abnormal psychology from even a single test score from Lecter… Frederick has to actively push himself away from those thoughts. They are nothing more than a deluded fantasy, for Hannibal Lecter completely defies quantitative reasoning. 

Frederick muses on the nature of Hannibal Lecter as he approaches the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The building is still a bit of an eyesore. Since his promotion to Head Administrator, he’s made efforts to both repair the space and modernize many of their practices. Whether those efforts have done much to improve the institution’s reputation is another story altogether. 

He’s looking forward to sitting down at his desk and getting through the mountain of paperwork waiting for him. The thought has been bearing heavily on his mind over the weekend, and Frederick is eager to do something with the restless energy that he can’t seem to suppress. 

He’s one step away from the stairs leading up to the entrance when a sudden harsh pain erupts in the back of his head. Frederick topples to the ground as his blurring vision slowly fades to black. The last sensation he can register before succumbing to unconsciousness is a vice grip on his ankle. 

A harsh ringing sound forces Frederick to acknowledge his hazy new reality. His head lolls forward and he blinks open his eyes, only to be met with an unrelenting darkness. It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s been blindfolded, and a few more to register the bindings around his wrists and ankles. He seems to be restrained in a chair. 

Frederick isn’t new to being kidnapped—not after Abel Gideon. But this particular situation feels different. Something deep in his chest—an inexplicable yet unwavering conviction—tells him he won’t survive this particular encounter. Because if his captor is who he suspects… he will show no mercy. 

He immediately starts fidgeting and struggling, but the effort is pointless. Frederick has been tightly and effectively restrained. Fear strikes at his heart as his senses work to interpret the space around him. Darkness camouflages the majority of the space, but Frederick can just barely make out some sort of projector screen in front of him. There’s a projector situated right next to him, tauntingly close and within reach. But what good would it serve?

The sound of footsteps sends Frederick’s heart roaring in his ears. He almost feels trapped in the foreign room, time moving like a slow sludge as another presence makes itself known. The person—evidently his captor—steps behind him, their breath practically hitting Frederick’s neck in their proximity. 

“Frederick Chilton.” His captor’s voice breaks through the stiff air and sends a shiver down Frederick’s spine. It sounds like he has some sort of speech impediment, as his S’s are drawn close together. Frederick has very little time to dedicate to that observation, as his blindfold is roughly yanked off. “Lay your eyes upon me. If you don’t wish to look, I will make you look.”

Frederick’s eyes water and he blinks a few times, only to find himself staring at a blindingly white projector screen. Before it stands a shadowed figure, towering over him in near darkness. The man takes a step forward and Frederick just barely stops himself from inhaling sharply at what he finds.

The man is wearing an elegantly patterned kimono; he has a cleft lip, his face slightly disfigured. His knuckles are cracked and bloodied. The man looks at him with gleaming eyes, almost appearing to salivate before him. Frederick’s heart drops to his throat as he remembers everything the FBI deduced about this killer and his personality. The Tooth Fairy stands before him entirely unmasked… and Frederick is assailed with the unshakable conviction that he is not going to live to escape this nightmare. 

“Do you understand?” His captor asks after a few minutes. 

Frederick doesn’t understand anything that’s happening. But he has the wherewithal to recognize the answer the man is looking for. “I understand,” he says through gritted teeth. His mouth is growing dry and his stomach is aching. Just how long has he been confined here? 

“Do you understand who I am?” The man insists. 

“I understand,” Frederick repeats. The only thing he is able to adequately understand is the pulsing fear running through his bones, cementing his fate to die a slow death behind these crumbling walls. Frederick can’t even begin to understand or comprehend the man before him. 

“I am no man,” his captor says, as if somehow sensing his thoughts. His voice echoes in Frederick’s ears, igniting goosebumps along his skin. “I am many things, but never a man. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Frederick is too terrified to say anything else. He can’t deviate from his agreement, for fear of losing his life to this behemoth standing before him. Indeed, his captor is inhumanly tall—looming over him with a far too intent gaze. Every rational part of Frederick’s mind is reminding him of the likelihood of his own impending death. 

“Do you see?” His captor demands.

“I see.” Frederick chokes out. The man quickly breaks the distance between them, his large hand crawling up Frederick’s neck and cradling his jaw. It takes an immense amount of effort from Frederick to remain pliant under the killer’s grip. His touch is deceptively light, almost gentle. Frederick’s breaths are shaky and shuddering. He is forced to be frozen in his bonds, as this man’s thumb carve paths along his face. 

“Once upon a time,” his captor murmurs, his voice almost a whisper. Frederick is terrified of this man—terrified of the juxtaposition between his purported cruelty and the delicacy with which he’s touching him now. Frederick nearly chokes on a breath when the man’s thumb glides over his Adam’s apple, before sliding up to his cheek once more. “I would’ve killed to be like you.” Frederick doesn’t need to think about that statement too much to understand the gist of what he’s saying. He can’t imagine the kind of cruelty and harsh treatment this man has been faced with on account of his facial disfigurement. And while that is no valid excuse for the crimes he’s committed, it contextualizes the desperation behind them. The desire to be seen. The need to be perceived. 

“But not anymore.” He continues. Frederick swallows past the acidic feeling in his throat. The man’s hand keeps rising higher, higher, higher. Now, his right hand stops at the edge of Frederick’s cheekbone, his thumb close enough to make Frederick’s eye flutter instinctively. “Bear witness to my Becoming.” 

It happens in a dizzying blur. His captor’s hand twists, his fingers locking into sharpened hooks. Frederick doesn’t even have the time to flinch before the man is digging his hand into his eye socket and yanking, dragging his eye out in a brutal move that rips a horrified scream from Frederick’s lips. He has never been in so much pain before. It feels as if his captor is digging deeper and deeper into his eye socket, ripping at anything and everything. Frederick’s vision goes dark on the left, deep red tears streaking down his face. In a harsh, disgusting snap, his eyeball is firmly ripped out. His severed optic nerve hangs out of the cavern that sits on the left side of his face. Someone has been screaming in a raspy, broken voice—and it takes Frederick several moments to realize the sound is coming from him.

The killer holds Frederick’s eyeball in his hand. Frederick feels nausea bubbling up his chest and into his throat with frightening speed, barely giving him a chance to prepare before he’s lurching forward in vain and promptly throwing up. Within seconds, he’s dry-heaving as saliva drips down his lips. He’s shaking and trembling, as the vision from his right eye almost pulsates in time with his heart. 

Frederick wants nothing more than to sink into unconsciousness. But the killer is shaking him roughly by the shoulders and hitting him every time his eye threatens to slip shut. At some point, Frederick’s exhaustion is temporarily at bay. “I want you to repeat after me, Frederick,” his captor demands, a camera in hand as he stares at him. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

Frederick can hardly respond. He manages a jerky nod and the man hums, starting his camera and giving him the words to say. Frederick is horribly delirious, the words falling to mush on his tongue. He’s slurring through the blood in his mouth and what he’s saying holds absolutely no meaning to him. 

His captor is cruel and merciful in the same breath, for once Frederick truly starts to lose the battle against unconsciousness, he is freed from his bonds and led to collapse on the floor. His cheek meets the scratchy carpet and he blinks tears from his uninjured eye, the man before him morphing and swirling in darkness. 

A wet wipe is rubbed harshly over his face, roving over his cheekbones and following the path the killer  had made with his fingers only moments ago. Frederick lets out a pained whimper and the pressure stops, replaced with an achingly tender swipe along his skin that still seems to hurt. His mind is buzzing, a dull hum that refuses to leave him in solitude. As much as he tries to stay awake and aware of his surroundings, the pain ripping through his face is enough to drag him into the shadows once more. 

He does not wake as he is bound to a wheelchair and thrown into the back of a van. Frederick does not wake, even during the horribly bumpy car ride that ensues. If he were able to pull himself from the unseeing void, he would recognize the fate that awaits him. But he is unknowing of the horrors that have not yet ended. 

Frederick is only broken from his slumber by the harsh screeching of the van arriving at its final destination. He blinks and the doors slide open, revealing his captor standing outside with a mask secured over his face and gloves covering his hands. Frederick can discern little of the environment around him, save for the inky black night devoid of stars. The man then steps into the back of the van and rolls Frederick out onto the pavement.  

“A mortal cannot witness the transformation of a god without dying,” he remarks, his hands gripping the handles of the wheelchair. Frederick desperately tries to escape, despite knowing it’s no use. His vision is still adjusting to the loss of his left eye; he’s exhausted; and the ropes binding his ankles and wrists are rather tight. The killer seems to know this, as a strange sort of smile rises on his lips. “This has always been your fate.”

It is only then that Frederick notices the red gasoline canister he’s holding. Even through his exhaustion, his mind rapidly connects the canister to the box of matches poking out of the killer’s pocket. The Tooth Fairy is going to burn him alive. Frederick begins to writhe and squirm as his adrenaline spikes, but his struggling is futile. There is nothing human in the monster’s face as he upturns the canister, coating Frederick in gasoline. Frederick is nearly hyperventilating now, as flashes of significant moments in his life come to mind. 

He stares up into the eyes of his captor, searching for a hint of humanity to appeal to. But there is only an unfeeling abyss. Terrified, Frederick watches in mute horror as the Tooth Fairy circles around him and stops behind him. He hears the telltale sound of a match being lit; a searing warmth greets the side of his face, before a match crawls down his shirt and his entire body is consumed with flames. At some point, Frederick is shoved forwards—sending the wheelchair careening down an incline with increasing speed. He screams until his voice dies in his chest. Fire paints his tunneled vision a remarkable orange-red, with the air around him flickering and waving with the sudden heat. His last breath ripped from his chest, Frederick Chilton slumps back in the wheelchair and surrenders to the relentless flames.

warnings: gore involving eyeballs/eye sockets & ensuing blindness; kidnapping and captivity.

endnotes: Did I have to make that so homoerotic? No. Do I regret it? Also no.

Wow. I really made Frederick go through it. *Sigh.* I love hurting characters I like.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[lazysublimeengineer]

Chigiri and Reo: Tranquility in the Cyclone of Emotions

It was around noon when I was amid editing my draft when I received an interesting query from one of my readers that got me really thinking.

You seem to have fewer works about Chigiri and Reo despite liking them both so far, why is that?

Well, why indeed?

This made me chuckle for a bit before I really thought about it. Out of all the characters have linked up so far in the field, Chigiri and Reo stood out the most since the second selection until the NEL arc which is quite ironic since it consisted of rare times. But when I do see it, it wouldn't leave my mind and how I was captivated by it.

Out of all Reo's other relationships or friendships that is outside of Nagi, we were shown by the author of how he was really outgoing and a tad bit charismatic just as what he does as a popular student in Hakuho.

But it was in the second selection that intrigued me the most.

You've had Kunigami and Chigiri on your team and their foundation was born to claw their way up to the next level of the program and well in Reo's part to make Nagi realized the mistake of not choosing him in the first place.

Not really a good start if you're building your image the most with other people. But with the way they work still tantalized me for a bit even if they lost in the end.

Chigiri and Reo makes me wonder the most. With Kunigami we were shown some snippets of how they're speaking and interacting with each other.

However, we've seen them again hand in hand and creating a chemical reaction towards each other during the NEL arc since they're in the same team.

In times like this, we've gotten a glimpse of how tranquil it'd be when it's just the two of them. It was interesting to say the least because I can imagine at some point that Chigiri might be a sounding board for Reo's innermost thoughts and emotions that may have troubled him.

He has that aura within him. I can also see the implicit trust that he may have had with Chigiri just like with how he does with Kunigami as these two had dealt him with patience and understanding the most during the second selection when he was at his lowest point.

If there's fewer works about them from me, I'd reckon to say that when I write a thing about them, I want to simply capture that single, moment with them without a waste. I guess one could say, everything should fall into their rightful places along with my Muse to be able to produce an offscreen moment that can be well translated in an interaction in the manga if given more time to see them again in the franchise.

[cookiesandbiscuits]

Now Playing: Falling In Love

[Lucifer – Strange]

Pairing: Lucifer x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, pining

Summary: You were a strange one, and that baffled him. Yet at the same time, he can't help but be enamored with you.

A/N: The first installment of Now Playing: Falling in Love series starting with the eldest demon brother and the love of my life hehe... (No favoritism were intended okay?)

The song I chose for this fic is "Dear" by Ben&Ben

The first time I heard this song, he came to mind. I don't know why but I just thought of him. It does suit him though in my opinion.

And yes, this is part of my Soft Lucifer agenda, and yes, this is a rewriting of that lesson chapter where MC made the pact with Lucifer. I felt that something was missing from it. And this is the result :D (I am squealing as I write this lmao). And yes, he asks for your consent this time because consent is sexy.

Anyways, I hope you guys would enjoy reading this! &lt;3

Now Playing: Falling in Love playlist

MASTERLIST

"Only the two of us can understand

The sureness of our love

I promise you that I will hold your hand

No matter what may come

Within the beautiful and captivating

Strangeness of our love

I found a sense of peace and clarity

That I had once dreamed of

My dear."

"I have a question."

He sighed. You've been asking a lot of questions lately. Ever the curious one.

"I had a feeling you would still ask even if I told you no, so just go ahead and ask."

"I've been curious about this for a while now, but how did you fall in love with me? And when?"

The sound of writing halted. Yet another strange question.

"Where do you get these questions, I wonder?"

"Well, I've thought about it, and... you've never really shown interest in me before. So I was surprised that you accepted my impromptu confession that time."

Your alarm interrupted your explanation.

"...Guess I have to go now. Can't let Luke wait for me," you said as you left a peck on his cheek. "Don't overwork yourself when I'm gone, 'kay?"

"You should go now, lest you want to be late for your appointment with the chihuahua."

"Luke would complain nonstop if he heard you call him that," you spoke as you open the office door.

"Yes, I can imagine that. But it's not like I'm lying."

You shook your head. "I'll be going now. See you later, Lucifer."

"Yes. Do enjoy your time outside with Luke."

He watched as the door to his office closed once more. Moments after he resumed his halted paperwork, his mind replayed your question.

"When, huh?"

He wonders.

.

.

.

He found you strange. You were teleported from the human world to the Devildom, yet the glimmer in your eyes was unmistakable. You actually found your predicament interesting, like a kid seeing a brand new toy on sale.

A bushy-tailed fool amongst demons that has the ability and will kill you without batting an eye. He mused. Would you be able to survive your year in this realm?

To his surprise, you had adapted well to your new environment. Sure, Mammon and his younger brothers had something to do with it, but it was still an incredible feat for a human with no experience with supernatural stuff before the exchange program.

However, he was also suspicious of how you seemed to enchant his younger brothers so much so that they were willing to tie themselves down with a pact.

So he observed you.

But the more he watched from afar, the more he found himself falling for your charms.

It was ridiculous for him to fall for a human, he thought. And it was more ridiculous to fall for a human so stubborn as a mule.

He tried to reason with himself. It was stupid. It was...

But demons were creatures unable to resist temptation for long. And so, like Newton's apple, he fell. He fell for the human who had caused him several headaches. He fell for those fiery eyes that showed no fear in front of him. He fell for your personality which he once found oh-so annoying. He fell for your smile. He fell for your kindness and warmth. He fell for your strength and determination. He fell for your strangeness. He fell for you.

How strange indeed.

.

.

.

Several months had passed. The sparks you had ignited in his heart have now become a raging flame. Yet he couldn't bring himself to confess to you. Not when he treated you coarsely before.

He wants to make it up to you.

And so, he began to show his affection in little ways. He helped you with your homework. He helped you with your tasks. He gave you little tokens that reminded him of you as a gift. And it made you smile, and his heart fluttered at the sight of it.

But he wondered. If he told you what he felt, would you accept it?

The uncertainty tortured him. Especially when he knew that he had rivals who also yearned for your heart.

He wished that he had answers.

And answers, he received.

When you confessed in the spur of the moment, he felt his heart leap from his chest. He didn't care if you meant it or not.

"I- I, too, feel the same. I love you, MC. With all my heart."

Ah, he had finally said it.

Tender obsidian and ruby eyes met yours as he cups your face.

"...May I kiss you?"

You nodded slowly in reply.

And with that, the distance between you was closed. Your lips were like what he imagined and more. Soft, sweet, and warm.

And at that moment, he felt pure tranquility and adoration well up within him.

He does not know how or when he fell in love with you. But he does know that he would give anything just to have even a sliver of your time and affection.

You were strange, and that baffled him. Yet that same strangeness had brought him immeasurable bliss he never knew he could have.

[makers-muse]

Coding Tools and Platforms: Choosing the Right Ones for Schools

Coding has emerged as a crucial talent for students in today's fast-paced digital age, preparing them for a future driven by technology and innovation. The issue for educators is to choose coding tools and platforms that not only teach but also engage and inspire young brains.

Why is coding so vital in Education, you may ask? Beyond its obvious applications in technology-related careers, coding nurtures problem-solving skills, logical thinking, and creativity. It's a language that transcends borders and industries, providing students with a versatile set of competencies for the future.

Engaging young learners is paramount to successful Coding education. One outstanding example is Scratch, a visual programming language developed by MIT. Scratch offers a drag-and-drop interface that empowers students to create interactive stories, games, and animations. It transforms coding into a creative playground, captivating young minds with its simplicity and endless possibilities.

Accessibility is a fundamental consideration. Coding Tools should be user-friendly and accessible to students from diverse backgrounds and abilities. Coding tools should grow with students as they progress in their coding journey.

Makers' Muse, for example, offers a wide range of coding courses, from beginner to advanced levels, covering various programming languages. This ensures that students can continually expand their coding skills and knowledge. Coding is not just about mastering syntax; it's about nurturing skills that transcend the digital realm. The platform also provides a comprehensive curriculum that not only aligns with educational standards but also emphasizes Teamwork and Problem-Solving. These skills are essential not just for coding but also for navigating the complex challenges of the modern world.

To make coding come alive, educators are turning to robotics. LEGO Mindstorms, for instance, empowers students to build and program their own robots. This hands-on approach seamlessly integrates coding with engineering, mathematics, and physics, sparking curiosity and creativity among students.

Real-world applications are a critical aspect of coding education. Raspberry Pi, a credit card-sized computer, offers students the opportunity to create practical projects. From building weather stations to controlling home automation systems, Raspberry Pi bridges the gap between coding and real-world problem-solving.

Finally, choosing the appropriate coding tools and platforms for Schools is important for developing students' educational experiences. To prepare students for full coding education, provide accessibility, collaboration, critical thinking, real-world applications, and scalability.

[cybrnetic]

          new   tag   dump. 

[bnhayyy]

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click 

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now… 

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

*

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

*

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do. 

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

*

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

*

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

*

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

[pendragonfics]

So Be It

Paring: Mycroft Holmes/Reader

Tags: gender ambiguous reader, no pronouns for reader, Mycroft Holmes has feelings, Mycroft is a softie, reunions, slice of life, domestic fluff, fluff without plot

Summary: Returning from work overseas, Reader has a guest in their house.

Word Count: 1,493

Current Date: 2020-07-17

By the time the sun has set, the kettle, boiled for a cup of tea, has long been forgotten. It’s a cold day, a long day; perhaps the coldest and longest day there ever was. Of course, there is no science to that claim, but everything was always -est when you were not in the company of your boyfriend. Boyfriend. He hated that word so much, and yet, that was his word now. Before, when you were friends, carefully side-stepping around his brother’s shenanigans, he had been vocal about so much. Stock prices. The importance of public umbrella stands. The dying art of handwritten letters. And menial terminology for those who chose to be in a dalliance with another person. 

You can muse all you want about the years spent wasted, pining for the man, but it doesn’t help with the fact that you haven’t made any preparations for dinner, and there simply isn’t any room in your budget for take-away food tonight. Rising from the settee, you cast away the novel you weren’t reading - a present from your mother that doesn’t captivate your mind - you move from the sitting room to the kitchen. 

How long ago was the sunset? The room was so cold, and shivering in your knitted pullover, you flick the gas stove on, place a pot atop it, and rummage through the pantry for a tin of soup. Soup, while not the most appealing, was always an option. Once tipped in, you stand there with the wooden spoon, idly pushing the contents as so not to burn at the base. Your mind wanders to other things; the lawn would need mowing soon, and you were almost out of milk. Mycroft preferred skim milk, but it was dearer to purchase two cartons. 

The bubbling aroma of tinned potato and leek soup reaches your nose and satisfied with the consistency, you prepare to serve yourself. It’s not the same, living alone. You weren’t supposed to live alone. Hadn’t you agreed to live with him? You had. And yet, his work called him away so often, it was almost as if he was a ghost, an echo of his own image. 

The clock above the oven says it’s almost six-thirty. Your phone screen is empty - well, empty of him. There are notifications for apps you barely use, and one from an idle phone game that you’ve been meaning to delete. The only text message you received today was from the phone company. 

Taking your soup to the sitting room, you swipe the heater on with your foot and flick through the programs available on the telly. The evening news. A game show. A documentary about poor, hungry children, produced by rich, overfed adults. More news. Re-runs of a show that you never got into. Fed up, you mute the screen, and eat in silence. 

The dishwasher is on, benches cleaned, and the rubbish taken to the street by seven. There isn’t enough to do around the house to keep your mind off of the silence, so your phone’s speaker fills the air with a tinny rendition of a favourite song. It can’t take your mind off of what you’re missing. While your boyfriend isn’t the most touchy of all, you miss his presence, his voice, his hands; especially all of those toward you. His flight was supposed to land four hours ago, and you’re sure it doesn’t take this long to come through the security at Heathrow. 

Resigned, as the song finishes, you shut the app off, and take a cup of tea upstairs. Living in a cottage had its ups and downs - like how the vacuum cord couldn’t reach all the way down or up when you cleaned the stairs, and how nice it was to have a garden to yourself - but what attracted you to the life outside of the city was spending it with him. 

It’s hard to not think of Mycroft. His shoes sit at the front door, and his clothes are on the other side of the wardrobe. His side of the bed is untouched, and his clock beside the bed is growing dusty, as is his copy of War and Peace. The tea sits untouched beside the bed as you change, and as you wriggle into bed with it, it warms your hands, but not the ache in your heart. 

The mug is almost empty when you hear a scratching noise and the familiar tread of footsteps upon the carpeted foyer. You hold your breath as so to hear better; there’s a few other noises, and then, the sound de-shoed feet up the stairs. You sit up in time to see him enter; Mycroft Holmes looks tired. His hair is mussed, tie loosened and top button undone. His slacks are creased, and his suit jacket is folded over his arm. But the uncharacteristically untidy boyfriend of yours, looking so very tired, perks up at the sight of you. 

“Oh, ___________, I thought you were asleep,” he hummed, tugging at his tie. “Did I wake you?” 

“I was waiting up for you,” you place your tea beside the bed, and slowly, rise, moving toward your boyfriend. “Let me guess. Surprise briefing?”

He chuckles at that. “I’m not sure it’s considered a surprise if it happens every time, my dear,” he says, tie in hand. 

You reach for his chest, and clumsily, your tired fingers work at the buttons, revealing his undershirt. Though he had spent the last month in overseas for work, a six-hour flight from Cairo to Heathrow, and too long before ending up at your fingertips, he didn’t seem as clammy as he usually did after long nights at the office. The clothes peeled away, and you sat at the end of the bed as Mycroft shuffled off to the bathroom adjacent. As you heard the shower twist on, the water spewing forth, through the steam and the open door he talked what he could of the goings-on he had encountered since the last time the pair of you were less than six feet apart. 

“That sounds...illustrious.” 

“You give me far too much credit, ___________.” He spoke over the spray, “I’m a glorified babysitter to ministers and diplomats that toe the line of morality.” 

“Is that on your business card?” you retort, smirking. “‘Diplomatic babysitter’?” 

Mycroft steps out of the shower, towel around his waist. His hair is flat against his head, as is the light scowl at the thought of your branding of him. But he doesn’t speak any more on the matter, instead, focusing on his grooming routine. You don’t move from the end of the bed; through the doorway, you watch as he shaves, towel-drys his hair, and noticing your gaze, hangs the bathmat to dry before rejoining you in the bedroom.

“Do you think anyone knows that the great Ice Man of the UK has his partner wrapped around his finger?” You ask, leaning back, watching as Mycroft nears you. 

Anyone else would show their annoyance physically, outwardly, to you - but you know that sort of thing manifests differently in Mycroft. His face reddens, if not from the sting of his aftershave, and a small cough forces his words to stay inside his throat, unexpressed. 

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” you add. 

“Yes?” he prompts, stepping into his green and white pinstriped pyjama bottoms.

You scramble back into the bedsheets and kick your feet under the covers for warmth, watching your boyfriend all the while. “It rains more when you’re not around. Or the same amount, but it doesn’t feel as nice alone. Sometimes I read something in the news and I’ll go to show you, but you’re not around, and I feel like a fool.” You sigh, leaning back into the pillows, “...and I miss you when you’re away. You’re unlike everyone else I’ve ever met. You’re smart and handsome...” 

“How is it, that after so long awake, I want to remain alert just to be with you?” Mycroft asks, joining you beneath the covers. 

He flicks the lamp off on his side of the bed, and inches toward you. Mycroft smells of lemongrass and coffee grounds, leather and faintly, peppermint, and while it’s an odd mix, especially for the painfully ordinary person you are, it’s perfect. 

“Please tell me you’re here for a while,” you plead, fingers at the ready to switch off your lamp. “I can’t go to sleep if you’ll be gone in the morning.” 

“Darling,” he moans, pressing into your side. “I would never leave without saying goodbye.” Looking you in the eye, he says, his words just for you, “I’m here for the rest of the winter - until you can’t stand me anymore.” 

The room is plunged into darkness, and you slip beside him, and pepper his freshly-shaven cheeks in kisses. “But Mycroft,” you tell him, “You’d never leave again if that’s the case.” 

He hums. “Then so be it.” 

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Wanted Plots / Wish List

Decided to make this and attach it to my promo for muns out there that want to interact but don’t really have any ideas. All of these are up for plotting anytime. Some of these might be triggering for drug use, violence, possible sexual conduct and gore. 

Android (Canon):

Amanda seizes control of Connor’s programming. This can result in a complete reset of Connor’s system or happen periodically when Connor ‘black’s out’. 

Connor’s body is destroyed and he is put into the body of a child android. Trapped with child limitations and possibly mental regression as he deals with the raw emotions only a child experiences. 

Connor’s body is destroyed and he is put in the body of a RK900. There is already a soul within the body and neither one realizes it. When Connor goes into stasis, the RK900 takes control. 

Connor is forced to use a new red ice derivative. Works a case trying to stop its production, resulting in being kidnapped and injected. This will result in him dealing with the effects/aftereffects and possible addiction. Also a way to meet drug-addicted muses through being sent to rehab. 

Connor is kidnapped and tortured. Could be saved by the other muse, tortured along with the other muse, or being tortured by the muse. 

Human: 

Connor has been working himself to the bone, hasn’t been eating or sleeping. Coworker (other muse) is concerned. 

Amanda is being released from prison and Connor goes into a panic. 

Someone is trying to kill Connor and he needs protection. 

Connor is kidnapped and tortured (because I’m not nice to Connor). 

Connor is found with amnesia and has no idea where he is or who he is. 

Mer-Verse:

Connor saves/is saved by someone and tries his best to repay his debt to them.

Connor is captured and sold to an aquarium. His mind and body slowly deteriorates. 

(Android) Connor is created to save drowning victims and stop crime at the lake, testing out Cyberlife’s latest modification.

(Android) Connor is put in a tank with an organic mer-person for the purpose of study and gaining their trust (possible breeding program). 

(Android) Connor is put out to sea to study marine life and either discovers merfolk or his main mission is to learn more about them. 

Connor makes contact with a sea witch and is given human legs and now must learn how to be human. Getting him wet (with water from the sea/lake) could make him turn back into a merman or the longer Connor is out of the water, the less he remembers of his true self and grows to fear the water. Also possible for him to have been kept captive to the point of forgetting who he really is (much in a similar way that Selkies are only he will fear water instead of yearn for it). 

Naga AU:

A favor is needed and Connor is the only one who can help. 

(established relationship only) Connor looses control of himself as another soul takes his place (possibly his homicidal father). This could be an occasional thing or Connor lost complete control and needs someone to either kill him (permanently) or find a way to save him.

Werewolf AU (for the Fall but threads can last longer)

Connor has kept his secret for years but makes a mistake. Can result in Connor keeping other muse as captive in a panic for what to do. 

Another werewolf meets him and tries to get him to join or start a pack. Can be that they are new and need to be shown the ropes or does disagreeable things that make them enemies.

Connor is being hunted by a hunter muse who believes him to be responsible for murder/murdering innocents. 

Connor accidentally infects another, forcing him to care for them whether they want him to or not. 

Misc:

(Android/Horror) A virus is being programmed into androids forcing them to feed on the blood/flesh of humans. Connor is heading the case or is forced into isolation. Possible Connor being infected with the virus. 

(Android/Horror) Connor moves into a house and (being essentially recording equipment) learns that the place is being haunted. Also possible, Connor is working a case and meets a ghost in an abandoned building. Does not have to be connected to said case. 

These will be added to on occasion and altered, along with new ideas for AUs. All of them are open for discussion and can be changed to fit both of our narratives. Don’t be afraid to ask me anything about any of them, even if you are merely curious. My inbox/dm/discord is always open. 

[phantasmtastic]

ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ. | accepting

[ MUTUAL  FRIEND ] : for  our  muses  to  meet  through  a  mutual  friend / evie

                                       Genevieve   Grimhilde   always   knew   how   to   make   an   entrance.   Even   if   the   party   wasn’t   in   celebration   of   her;   she   wouldn’t   go   unnoticed.   Even   to   a   graduate   celebration   she   was   dressed   like   she   stepped   out   of   a   high   fashion   magazine.   Light   almost   seemed   to   gravitate   towards   her.   Gave   her   perfect   features   an   angelic   glow.   To   every   person   she   met   a   charming   smile   and   a   warm   greeting.   Kind   of   enough   to   laugh   at   even   the   worst   jokes.   Titters   that   sounded   like   the   sweetest   bells   amongst   the   cacophony   of   the   other   parties.   Though   Evie   currently   attended   NYU’s   graduate   program   for   chemistry;   she   and   the   party   host   had   taken   their   undergrad   together.

                                       As   the   festivities   went   on;   Evie   felt   like   she   needed   some   air.   Sometimes   even   a   social   butterfly   needed   space   to   flap   her   wings.   As   she   stepped   onto   the   balcony,   she   noticed   there   was   already   someone   out   there.   It   was   a   guy   her   friend   had   introduced   her   too   earlier.   “The   city   is   beautiful   at   night,   isn’t   it?   Loud   and   bold…. Sometimes it can drive you crazy.  But   beautiful   none   the   less. “  The   long   perfectly   curled   eyelashes   fluttered   up   at   him   as   she   offered   a   captivating   smile.   “  Caleb,   right?   Do   you   mind   if   I   join   you?   It’s   getting   a   little   crowded   in   there….”  - @aquabcrn​

[daffodildazaiwrites]

Match up for @nightgerika

Hi! Thank you so much for starting this matchup event! I was so overjoyed when I saw it! Now I can hope to have one of your amazing writings for myself *0* I wish you happy holidays and wonderful New Year! I'm female, 27 years old, straight, INTP-A, 5w6. My height is 5′8″, I have shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes, pale skin, I'm curvy and soft. I wear glasses.I prefer classical and elegant clothes (although casual ones are fine too).I'm an eccentric, lazy and funny person.

I like to joke around(sometimes these are a bit weird jokes). I like books, drawing, music, psychology, logical puzzles, board games, programming. I am fond of ruined castles or haunted mansions. They have such a mysterious and amazing atmosphere!*0* With people around me I prefer to be delicate and gentle. But I'm not a pushover, it's hard to make me do something I really don't wanna do. Ah, to make fun of people who tried to take advantage of me is also quite an entertainment :D

I’m very observant of people around me, I like to watch and analyze their actions. If I’m interested I catch every small doing or expression and try to make something like a psychological picture of them.I have few close friends, and they almost always initiate conversation with me first. It's the best way to communicate with me I guess (I don't know why it's hard to do it myself, it seems like starting conversation eats a lot of my energy? Oh, I often lack of energy)

I like to inspire and support my friends, help them to find and fulfill their wishes and dreams. Also I'm bad at cooking and cleaning, so my house is such a mess. (But it's ok for me :D) I'm also clumsy and terrible in most kinds of sport.

Thank you for the kind words! You’re just too sweet uwu I hope you enjoy your match up!!

OTP: Nakahara Chuuya 

As I was reading your info Chuuya was the first thing to pop in to my head. Chuuya loves your interests and would often indulge in them with you, even if he’s busy most of the time he tries to find time to play board games with you. But overall his favorite thing to do is finish a puzzle with an incredibly large amount of pieces. He might get angry in the midst of it though but you’re there to calm him down with soft, ticklish kisses by planting them all over his face. 

Chuuya is also in captivated by your style. He adores your elegant style and would often try to match his wardrobe with yours when the two of you go out. He’s a sucker for fancy restaurants and dates so he would often take you to such places. You’re a bit intimidated at first but get used to it after a while, Chuuya does all the talking for you anyway.  

Chuuya isn’t the biggest fan of haunted places but he likes being the hero when you get spooked so needless to say he doesn’t mind taking you to supposedly haunted places. 

If anyone ever made you sad or angry be sure that this angry red head will bite their head off. There’s no way he’s letting anyone make you feel anything less then amazing. You two would often sit on a bench with ice cream and observe the people around you together. The both of you would try to guess what they were thinking about the person next to them or to guess their mood. It was fun and relaxing to focus on others rather then yourselves. 

Chuuya does get agitated when the house is mess and would often do the cleaning, you would help as well but you weren’t the best at it. If Chuuya managed to stay at home he would cook and would use you as a tasting assistant. Honestly you were surprised that he could cook so well. 

Runner Up:  Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar is shy and timid compared to Chuuya but is very loving and overprotective of you. He often reads to you before bed and would talk about his stories like an overexcited puppy. Edgar comes to you for inspiration and would often call you his muse while writing. 

Most of the time this poor man doesn’t know what to say or what to do in order to cheer you up so he would usually resort to physical contact. He’s very touchy feely and would often hug you. Also yes he loves to cuddle in bed and often uses you as a teddy bear. 

The two of you enjoy watching psychological horror movies and buy lots of snacks for movie nights. Both of you have no idea how to cook so often you rely on take outs and/or ramen. 

Edgar loves how supportive you are of his work and simply is head over heels for you. You don’t even have to beg him to go out since once every blue moon he would surprise you with an outdoor picnic near the seashore. 

BROTP: Doppo Kunikida

You guys are the bestest friends. Kunikida is very supportive of anything you do and would often worry that you don’t take care of yourself properly. Sometimes he would even bring home made meals or just cook them at your place. You enjoy getting on his nerves though and would often join Dazai in teasing him. His reactions always makes you laugh. 

You would frequently drag him to haunted locations and would beg him to go ghost hunting with you. Kunikida, of course, doesn’t believe in such things but if you catch him in a good mood or finish your work early he would humor you. 

Kunikida is super over protective of you and can’t stand to see you sad, sometimes you use this to your advantage and give him the best of your puppy dog eyes when you need something from him. He would be annoyed but he knew he had no say in the matter. There was no resisting your puppy dog eyes. 

[iwillhaveamoonbase]

Secret Love Song

Rayla gets a call that her boyfriend, Callum, is engaged to his childhood friend.  Human AU.  For the Rayllum Birthday Prompt ‘Rain’ and inspired by Little Mix’s Secret Love Song

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

Why can't you hold me in the street?

Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?

I wish that it could be like that

Why can't we be like that? Cause I'm yours

Rayla sighed as Little Mix came on.  ‘Irony. Love it.’  The song rolled over her as the rain continued to pound against her window.  The song hit like a freaking sucker punch to her stomach after the phone call with Viren she had just had.  Her boyfriend, her secret boyfriend, was magically engaged to his childhood friend, Claudia.  ‘I thought Americans didn’t pull this shit.  “Planned since childhood” my ass.’

Rayla looked at her phone and opened it to view her lockscreen.  A pair of the most captivating green eyes she had ever seen was staring back at her.  A wide smile on his face as he held her close. A giant smile was on her own lips and she looked so relaxed it was almost difficult to remember this had been taken only a few days ago.  They had been together for two and a half years and she had genuinely believed they were headed to marriage.

Callum had done a study abroad program in her native Scotland three years ago.  They had become fast friends after a misunderstanding involving his art and someone choosing to deface it before the school art exhibition.  The six months between then and the exhibition had been one filled with late night movies, study sessions, and Rayla trying to convince him that Chinese was the best takeaway while he always complained it wasn’t authentic enough.  Rayla could still remember wearing a nice dress at that first art show as he presented something completely different than the defaced piece and losing her breath as he unveiled a traditional painting of her.  There had been such love and devotion in his brushstrokes it had emboldened her to kiss him when he brought her back to her apartment.  They had been together ever since, even with a giant ocean between them and being unable to go public.

‘Public.’  Rayla hated that word.  Callum’s step-father was, unfortunately, deeply involved in American politics and was currently running for senator.  While Harrow had been open to her, his campaign advisor and close friend, Viren, had discouraged the move.  Rayla didn’t have the refined manners Viren believed was necessary for someone of Callum’s family’s status.  She was a championship fencer at university and was working on starting a career in physical therapy after training to represent the UK in the next Olympics. Why wasn’t she good enough?  Viren’s phone call had to be joke.  

I don't wanna hide us away

Tell the world about the love we making

I'm living for that day, someday

Rayla looked through her newsfeed and saw it.  ‘Callum Evans is engaged to Claudia Nelson.  The couple, currently vacationing in the Scottish countryside, were seen exiting a hotel together this morning.’  No.  This was impossible.  Claudia was gay.  She had a girlfriend.  They had talked about her finally coming out to her dad.  Rayla dropped her phone, screaming into the storm that was crashing against her windows.  

Rayla stood up, almost throwing the blanket Callum had given her off the couch.  Her apartment was covered in his art and pictures of them. She refused to go into her bedroom.  The amount of times she and Callum had made love in there….  She started to pace, startled when the mirror by the door showing her face was covered in tear tracks.  She hadn’t cried this hard since her parents died in a car accident when she was eight and had been taken in by Runaan and Ethari.  

‘I don’t want to hide it anymore, Rayla.  I love you. I don’t want anyone else.’ Callum’s voice floated in her ear, reminding her of just yesterday when he had been over.

“SHUT UP!!!”  Rayla opened the window.  In a few minutes, she was drenched from the rain blowing in.  “YOU LIED!”  A few hiccupping sobs escaped her.  “You lied…”

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

Why can't I say that I'm in love?

I wanna shout it from the rooftops

I wish that it could be like that (I wish)

Why can't we be like that? Cause I'm yours

Callum stared door at the carpet.  “Viren, no.  You can’t do this.”

Viren sighed, like Callum was a child and not a 22-year-old man.  “Callum, you and Claudia are a much better match than you and Ms. Burrows.”

“Claudia’s in a relationship, too, you know.”  Callum’s eyes widened a bit, playing it back in his head.  ‘OK, didn’t out her.’

“I’m aware.  I told her to break it off.  It’s unnecessary.”

“What is?  Us being happy?”  

“Happiness is overrated.”

“Says the man who let his wife walk away because he was incapable of taking more time out for her.”

Viren was silent for a moment.  Callum knew it was a low blow, but he didn’t care.  “That was uncalled for.”

“I’m not marrying Claudia. I was planning on proposing to Rayla. The whole reason I came to Scotland for this vacation was to do that.”  Claudia had tagged along to see her own girlfriend, but Callum had barely seen Claudia since they had landed at the airport.

“When are you going to realize there is no future there?”

“You’ve barely said two words to Rayla.  How do you know there is no future there?”

“Because when I called her to tell her the news, she didn’t seem all that upset.”

Callum’s chest constricted. “You called her?”

“Well, someone had to.”

“Before telling me what you’re planning?”

“It’s going to be in all the major newspapers very soon.  Ah. Speak of the devil.  It’s already up.”  Callum turned to his laptop and went to type his name in the search bar.  First result was an announcement that he and Claudia were engaged.  The picture was from this morning and from when he and Claudia had met by chance. She was off for another date and he was going to pick up Rayla’s ring from Ethari.  It made been made with love by one of her fathers who, miraculously, had been alright with the possibility that Rayla might be moving thousands of miles away to live with him.

“I can’t believe you,” Callum hissed.  “You had no right!”  Lightning flashed out of the corner of his eye.  “Tell them you lied.  Does Claudia even know?”

“Not yet.  She’ll be delighted, I’m sure.  You two have always been close.”

“You know what, Viren? You and Claudia need to have a long conversation about what exactly would make her happy.  But I can guarantee, it isn’t me.  If you won’t tell the networks you made a mistake, I will.”

“You will go through with this.  Your father’s campaign-”

“WHAT?!  How will me marrying a potential OLYMPIAN ruin my father’s reputation?  Explain that to me!  She’s smart, worldly, humble, and she’s great at handling people even though she’s not a people person.  What has she done that makes you so sure she would drag my family down?  Because, from where I’m standing, she’s been nothing short of amazing.  My art has only gotten better since she’s become my muse and she’s opened up my mind to so much more than I ever thought was possible.  Ezran has started making more friends since they started having weekly Skype calls.  Dad has started having stronger pro-immigrant and cultural exchange stances since we started dating.  WHAT HAS SHE DONE THAT’S SO WRONG?!”

“She’s not one of us. She’s lower class, her family has nothing-”

“FUCK YOU.  I have tried to respectful to you because you’ve done a lot for our family.  I don’t know what happened to you, Viren, but you are not who you used to be.  And I hope for your sake, and Soren and Claudia’s, you can find who you once were and be that person again.  I am not marrying Claudia.  Good-bye.”  Callum hung-up before Viren could get in another word edgewise.  “Shit.”  Callum sighed for a moment, sitting on the bed.  “I should have stayed with Rayla.  Maybe if I had, when she got that call…  FUCK.” Callum leapt off the bed, grabbing his rental keys and jacket as he ran out the door.  “I’m coming, Rayla.”

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

Why can't we be like that?

Wish we could be like that

Rayla walked unsteadily down the street, silent sobs racking her body.  The rain was pelting her and had neither a coat on or was using an umbrella. The streets were empty except for the occasional car.  The rainstorm was keeping everyone inside.  She was probably going to get sick, but she couldn’t be in that apartment.  It was too full of happy, hopeful memories.  Rayla ran a hand down her naked ring finger on her left hand.  She had been so sure Callum was planning on proposing.  ‘Maybe Viren’s talking out his ass?’  

Rayla kept almost calling Callum, to beg him to tell her that this was all part of some sick plot by Viren.  But, her heart would probably give out if he told her it was true.  She wasn’t sure she would survive seeing wedding pictures of Callum with anyone else.  “I just want to hold you….why is that too much to ask?”

“It’s not.”  Rayla almost didn’t hear him over the rain. She turned her head to see Callum, drenched, next to a still running car.  “Ray…”

“Is it true?”

“No.  Viren went ahead and did what he wanted.”  Callum fumbled with his pocket.  “FUCK.  It’s back at the hotel.  I got Ethari to make a ring for you.”  Rayla’s heart stuttered for a beat before pounding in her chest.  “Rayla Burrows, I don’t want anyone else.  I’m so sorry about Viren, but he does not speak for me.” Callum stepped towards her, taking her had.  “I don’t have the ring on me, but would you marry me?  I’ll let you pick out the takeout every night, even awful Chinese, if you let me prove to you that this was just a blip.  I won’t let anyone come between us.”

Rayla looked into his eyes. “Promise?”

“Yes.  I never wanted to keep us a secret and I am so, so sorry I let anyone convince me that it was for the best.  I thought it would be better for you because my childhood was not always a happy one.  The press is cruel and demanding.  But you are the strongest, bravest, most wonderful, beautiful person I’ve ever met. I would be the biggest idiot on the planet if I let you go without begging you for a chance to make this up to you.”

“Yes.”  

“Yeah?”  Callum’s eyes went wide as hope filled them.

“Yeah,” Rayla nodded. She could feel the tears combining with the rain as Callum pulled her into a kiss.  When they finally pulled away, Rayla looked at the car.  “My place?”

“Hotel first.  I want to see that ring on your finger before anyone starts making absurd claims I’m cheating on Claudia.”

“Claudia.  What are we going to do about that?”

“We’ll just call it a misunderstanding.  I’m sure there’s enough video evidence throughout the city that proves we’ve barely interacted since landing.”

“OK.  Take me to this ring you just promised me.”

“My pleasure.”

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

‘Yesterday, we announced Callum Evans was engaged to Claudia Nelson, the daughter of his father’s campaign advisor.  This has been proven to be false.  Apparently, Viren Nelson, Claudia’s father, accidentally gave his daughter’s name when delivering the news that Callum was engaged to Rayla Burrows.  Ms. Burrows is a Scottish fencer who is bound for the Olympics.  The two have been in a relationship for two and a half years.  Claudia Nelson is also engaged to her Australian-born, UK-based girlfriend, Zaras Smith.  Congratulations to both happy couples.’

[howlingmedic]

Carry on Wayward Son

A/N: This is a repost of a fic from my old blog @hellaqueerangelofthelord, so don’t go screaming plagiarism or theft. It’s me, I just moved locations to escape the cone of shame. This piece was originally written as a companion piece to @magellan-88 ‘s fic under the same name.

Carry on my wayward son,

There’ll be peace when you are done

The words rang out clear and crisp in the silent room as I stared at the man behind the glass. A man I swore to protect as well as Steve Rogers, and I had failed them both. The least I could do was continue to come visit the one who wasn’t entombed in ice - ice that I couldn’t melt without alerting those I ran from of my position. But I can control electronics. Nobody could see me on the videos they use to monitor for any unexpected changes in Bucky’s chamber. No one could hear my singing either. It looks to them as though all is as it should be.

Lay your weary head to rest

Don’t you cry no more

I sang softly as silent tears streaked down my cheeks, and I strained to keep my voice level. I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I still tried to never let my remorse show when I sang to him. One hand strayed forward to press against the glass, and it traced along the latest set of wounds. I wished more than anything I could let my grace stretch through the glass and heal him, but it would alert his handlers of my presence, and he would be punished for my carelessness. Instead, I let my wings wrap as far around the tank as they could to try to shelter him from the horrors waiting for him outside of here. His next mission would weigh on him, if he ever came back to himself. I always checked the monitors for his next destination, so I would know where to head next. Where I would be needed. This time I would be needed on both sides. My boys needed me now more than ever.

For now, however, his hair - once cropped short and nearly fitting traditional military regulations, but never quite doing so - hung low and fanned slightly in front of his face. It was far greasier than he would have ever let it get in his past life, but it still moved slightly with every breath. From here, it was all that told me he was alive. His soul could barely be sensed; it was so far buried beneath years of brainwashing that I could hardly feel it, but I could still see how brightly it shone. Most people’s would be eradicated. He could still be saved, so I kept singing.

Once I rose above the noise and confusion

Just to get a glimpse behind this illusion

Everywhere he went, I sang. I sang when they sent him to kill Steve, or, as he was told, The Man With The Shield. I tried to call him back in the vain hope that my voice might back him down. It was the only way I could try to bring him back to his senses, but it didn’t help. That day Steve had been wiser than his years, yet again, and knew just what to do when I failed to keep my boys safe.

I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man

That day, a blind man saw. Bucky didn’t know who he was or why it mattered, but he defied his programming for a love and a friendship that I never could have predicted. It went far deeper than my calculations, and I weeped when I watched them both come plummeting to the earth - Steve then Bucky - and I wept. I wept for the men I had known and loved from afar, and I wept for my sworn duty that I had failed to fulfill once again. I wept for the friendship that had been broken in my absence.

Though my mind could think I still was a mad man

I hear the voices when I'm dreamin', I can hear them say

Then I saw a miracle beyond any I had ever seen: Steve being dragged from the water…. By Bucky, and I was weeping again - weeping tears of joy and relief. Nearly 80 years of brainwashing and torture, but those two boys loved each other as much as the day they met. My face broke out into a smile for the first time in nearly a decade, and I had to fight back the urge to dance in a circle from my spot in a tree nearby.

Carry on my wayward son, I sang from up above Bucky. “Carry on,” I whispered softly and flew off.

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

Masquerading as a man with a reason

My charade is the event of the season

And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know

Years passed, and I kept an eye Bucky and Steve once again. Since the troubles that had driven me away were no longer in pursuit of me, I was free to go where I pleased. Only every once in a while did I interject myself. There were a few snipers that I eliminated before they could hurt anyone, and a few enemies who seemingly dropped dead without a cause of death, but they were by and large written off.

There came a time where I could no longer keep away. I needed to talk to Bucky. I needed him to know I had been real - that I had truly been there all along. With his mind in pieces, it seemed like it would do more harm to stay away, so I flew to New York, and I waited. I waited for months to find a good time to make myself known.

On a stormy sea of moving emotion

Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean

A sea of people anyways, I mused to myself as I stood on Broadway in the middle of a crowd, but I knew he would hear me, maybe even catch the scent that I knew followed me - even if I could never smell it myself. This was not where I wanted this reunion to take place, though, so I ran down the street at a light jog, and let my words drift back to him like a trail of breadcrumbs.

I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

I slowed as I entered the park and found a little nook in a rock and waited. My nerves all hummed with anticipation, and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. My shirt hung loose around me, a low v in the back let the breeze blow softly against my skin, and I hummed happily as I took in the fresh air of the park that stood in stark contrast from the noxious scent filled air of the busy streets.

I turned around slowly as I heard his steps near me, and as soon as I saw recognition shine in his eyes, my arms flung around his neck through a flurry of giggles. Any anxiety left in me flooded from my system, and I had to fight back tears. “It's about time you found me Sergeant, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me,” I murmured softly as I slowly got lost in his eyes - their depths even more captivating this close.

“I could never forget you, doll” he replies through a smile, and I let one hand come up to stroke across a small laceration on his cheek from his latest mission. His head dropped down to me, and his lips landed gently on mine. I smiled softly into the kiss. My wings wrapped around the two of us, pulling him closer before I finished the song from earlier,

Carry on my wayward son

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

Carry on, you will always remember

Carry on, nothing equals the splendor

Now your life's no longer empty

Surely heaven waits for you

Carry on my wayward son

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Four! If you’d like to be tagged, please sent an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Unrequited feelings. Online personality problems. Guilt. Nothing too wild, yet!

Word Count: Roughly 3,500

“Y/N,” Arrow's pinched up little face made you turn her way as you blinked awake. It took you a moment to understand what was happening. Her almost too dark to be blonde hair was mused from her night of unrest. “I got you a present.”

“Arrow, it's....” A look towards the clock made you groan, “It's four am.”

“I couldn't wait.” Five years old and afraid of almost nothing, she'd braved the dark night to make it across the patio in the back that led to your space. You sat up, yawning. Rubbing over your cramped neck. Sleep hadn't come easily to you, either.

In the end, you'd found yourself scrolling through Tumblr. Something every member of the cast had advised you not to do. But, the curiosity ate at you until you'd given into the urge. Only to end up feeling worse about where you stood.

There'd been so many posts calling out what you were afraid of. Hours had been wasted searching over every response and like. Seeing just how many people believed the worst in you. The impulse stalking of the fandom left you exhausted.

“What is it?” Your lips smacked as you pulled the blanket away to sit up. Moving back to the moment you were stuck in. The pajamas you were wearing had been a Christmas gift 'from' J.J the year before. Mint green elephant covered shorts and a cami.  It was perfect for combating the warm air that would hit as soon as you stepped outside.

“I made it at school,” She stated gleefully, lifting the little clay figure the art program she had asked to be involved with over the summer had allowed her to make. A tiny, uneven flower stared back at you. Haphazardly painted a deep purple. Making your heart flutter from such a simple action. God, I love this kid. “Do you like it?” The nerves were clear in her voice as she watched you look over it.

“Are you kidding? It's great,” The grin that tugged at your lips made her smile brightly. “Totally worth the wake up call.” You moved to give it a place of honor along the shelf that held little mementos all of the kids passed your way. As you walked back to the bed, she pulled your blanket over her. Snuggling in with a yawn. Your bed being invaded happened more than most would have expected. There was no point in resisting it. When you were fully wrapped in your blanket, she curled into your side. Listening to the sound of your heartbeat. “Thank you, sweetheart.” The small kiss to her forehead left her glowing so happily as her eyes closed that you wanted to cry. What you wouldn't give to have a child like her of your own.

That's how Jensen found you two later that morning. His lips pressed up at the soft snore that left his daughter's throat as you breathed gently below her. Your hand rested over her back as she held onto you. Preventing her from rolling in her sleep. A habit that typically led to kicking if you weren't careful.

He hadn't entered the side home you had taken up since you'd moved in. It had been an unspoken rule, allowing you to have some sort of privacy. Even if his kids broke it on a regular basis, he'd resisted. Until that morning, anyway.

It only carried three small rooms. A kitchen that extended to a living room, a bathroom, and the bedroom. He told himself to just check on you. But, instead, he'd found himself taking in the small pieces that told of the person residing inside of the home.

You'd added your own little touch to the place. Pictures of your life from before he'd known you and others with the kids, the Padaleckis, and other members of the cast you'd come to care for dotted around the walls and tables. Drawings covered your fridge from the littles. A bookshelf carried an array of topics. Everything from romance to biology. Letting him peak a little more closely into the woman who was so entwined with his life. You were smarter than even he'd given you credit for looking over the array. There was a tank resting in the corner. A large frog  had stared back at him when he'd peered in before thrashing away. The last thing he'd expected to see. Somehow, he imagined his kids to have been involved in that one.

His lips curled up further as he snapped a picture on his phone of the scene in the bedroom. Telling himself that it would be for you. A sweet little memory you wouldn't want to forget. As he tucked the device back into his pocket and prepared to walk away, Arrow spotted him. “Daddy?”

Her sitting up made your eyes blink open. Slowly, you came into focus. The sight of Jensen standing sheepishly at the foot of your bed had you jerking up and looking at the clock. With a muttered expletive, you threw yourself off the mattress. Reaching for the short silk robe that had been tossed over a cushioned bench the night before.

“I'm sorry,” You bleated out, tying the knot around your waist sloppily. Fully preparing to bolt and fix breakfast.

“It's fine,” He waved it off. Not bothered in the slightest. Relaxing some once he realized no one was shrieking at his intrusion. “Food's already done if ya want some.” His thick hands slid into his jean short pockets. The stretch of the green muscle top across his chest made you suck in a deep breath before forcing your eyes upwards. Only to zero in on that deep, pine gaze. “Just wanted to make sure you two were alright.” You wet your lips before jolting back to reality. Sending Arrow on her way to get some food. She went easily. But, her dad lingered behind, “Slumber party?”

“She had a present,” You answered, reaching towards your dresser to grab your clothes for the day. As if that explained it all. At his waiting look, you sighed. Continuing the story. “She couldn't sleep. Too excited to give it to me, I guess. So, she broke in at four am.” He winced, opening his mouth to apologize, you were sure. You didn't give him the chance. “It was sweet, Jay. No biggie. I gave it its own little spot to shine.” A point towards the shelf you'd left it on had him moving forward.

It was different, somehow. Being alone with him in his home was safe. Familiar. In your room? It made the air squish out of your lungs. The closer he got, the harder it was to breathe.

When he finally stopped, he was near enough that you could practically feel the heat emitting off of him. The nerves you carried grew stronger as he took in each item that had been gifted to you. Taking the time to explore every one you'd held onto over the two years you'd been receiving them.

“They really love you,” He murmured without looking up. His lips curling at what was supposed to be a version of Garfield. Zeppelin had offered that one to you the year before after you'd read the comic to him that had been in the paper.

“I...I guess so.” You swallowed tightly, needing to escape the intimacy of the moment. Getting back to business was the right course of action. Would give you the chance to escape. “I'm just gonna hit the shower and then I'll get started-”

“Take the day off,” The order took you aback. He didn't give you time to recoup.“Grab some food and get out for a bit. I'm gonna take the kids over to the zoo in Dallas. Let them blow some stink off.”

“That's a three hour drive...one way.” Your brow quirked as you thought about all the horrors that could come from that one. Recouping faster than he'd expected. “You're a brave man, Jensen.” But, you didn't fight him. He had that hard look in his eye. As if daring you to argue. You liked your position to much to chance it. Instead, you moved a step back. “You guys coming straight home?” Telling yourself that you were only thinking about dinner got you nowhere. Instead, the lingering doubts danced in your mind.

“I, uh...I dunno, yet. I was plannin' on staying out. Depends on what they want to do, really,” He rubbed at the back of his neck; looking at the lost expression you held. Feeling his own guilt creeping in. “Probably should pack up some bags, huh?” He told himself you'd appreciate it in the end. Contrary to what you'd said? Everyone needed some alone time. And the scene he'd stumbled on told him that you weren't even getting nights to yourself.

“Just in case,” You agreed, holding the clothes you carried to your chest. Clutching them as if they'd carry you to safety. “Give me ten, and I'll help round them up.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you continued. “It's nothing major, Jay...It'll get you on the road faster. So they have time to goof off at the zoo.” Not because you needed to be needed. That's what you told yourself, anyway. “Is Cliff going?” The nod made you relax some. No harm could befall them with their guardian angel at their side. “Alright. Good. That settles it, then.” With that, you turned away. Padding barefoot towards the shower.

Not even halfway to the animal park, Jensen found himself regretful. Whether it was because he'd left you behind or because he hadn't left you behind sooner, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe it's a bit of both. As your name left Justice Jay's lips for the fifth time in under a minute, he definitely settled in at the that last option. It was definitely the first one.

The kids were excited, of course. That alone made it worth it. Rescued exotic animals filled the small trail zoo that Austin carried. It had captivated them for the longest time. The Dallas one was bigger, though. Had more attractions.

Most importantly? It was something different. New. Jensen wasn't a huge fan of change, himself. But, it was something he needed to get used to. A zoo trip was nothing more than dipping his toes into the ocean. Yet, it was a start.

The only problem? It just didn't seem to be quite the same without your presence. And that was the heart of the matter. Even Jensen had to acknowledge that point. He'd called it right when he'd said you were part of the family.

“Why didn't Y/N come? Is she sick?”

“Can we facetime Y/N? I want to show her the elephant! It matches her pajamas!”

“Dad! We gotta get Y/N this necklace! Or.... Oh! This! She'll love this scorpion!”

Cliff was amused by the antics. Watching the way his friend tried to change the subject a bit so that they could enjoy the moment without the lack of you leaving a shadow. It worked for a short time, and then the name would come forth again.

Eventually, they accepted you weren't there. The questions were dropped. Instead, it appeared in an after thought. Such as your favorite animal. The smell of a food you loved. How much you'd love to play with them in the misting fans.

Jensen allowed it. Knowing that you were too big of a part in their lives to brush off. Instead, he found himself joining in. Noting that you would have been enthusiastically pointing the camera around, ensuring that the memories hadn't been forgotten. It was enough for the kids to agree; wrapping their arms around him and each other for images that you'd see later. They'd ensure it.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he was going back home that night. An overnight trip like he'd begun to plan wasn't fair to the kids. They wanted their home. Wanted you.

After dinner, he was back on the road. The fun had worn them out. All three of the young ones were out once their stomachs were full and the car was on the move.

“So...” Cliff started once the silence commenced, turning towards the man he called a friend.

His presence had kept what bit of attention Jensen had garnered down. Had helped ensure that the kids were all collected. Just as planned. Hell, he'd actually enjoyed the time out. The household was part of his family. Which is why he had no problem getting nosy.

“She needed a day off.” Ackles knew exactly where that one was going. After all, everyone else had asked him repeatedly. “What?” The knowing expression lining his bodyguard's face made his brow rise.

“Today is the first day I haven't seen her around one of your kids in the last two years.” He began tentatively. Treading with care. “Was she sick?”

“No.” The answer was hesitant. “No, I just...I thought she could use some time to herself.” The hum said that the response wasn't quite believed. Silence stretched between the men as headlights danced over them on the expressway. “Okay, fine... truth? I wanted some space with the kids.” He felt the familiar eyes gazing over him curiously as he steered the car. “She's...I dunno. Just there. Always. And...” How did someone put the feelings into words?

When you were there, it was just...different. He needed time with the kids to focus on what was coming. Where he would go in the future. On all those little things he'd finally be able to do. Even just taking the kids to the zoo, and giving you some much needed self care time was a step in the right direction. It was something he hadn't been able to do in ages. Gave you a chance to figure out what you'd do with your life as his family's changed majorly.

“Jay...” Cliff began slowly, unsure of just how well what he was going to ask was going to go over. “Are.. are you starting to...to look at other women, again?”

A heavy swallow filled the air, “It's only been two years. Don't be ridiculous. Dee...she was my heart. That wasn't what this is about.”

But, he couldn't deny it to himself. Not really. There'd been too many dreams of soft skin, small moans, and the old push and pull that he'd been lacking in his life for far too long. Jensen simply promised himself that he'd live without it. Danneel deserved that much from him. That never ending loyalty he'd promised her had to hold out.

“So, what is it?” There was no judgment. Simply curiosity. It made all the difference. With a huff, he slowly started to explain it all. Hoping maybe Cliff could offer some kind of advice that'd make everything start to make sense again.

–

“The world's not perfect, but it's not that bad.” The song by Alec Benjamin played throughout the bathroom you'd taken over. You sang along softly. Mindlessly letting the hot water and bubbles keep you relaxed. “If we got each other, and that's all we have? I will be your lover, and I'll hold your hand. You should know, I'll be there for you. When the world's not perfect. When the world's not kind. If we have each other, then we'll both be fine.”

Your mind moved to what the direction Jensen had sent it as you stared out at the lake. Watching the lights from a boat trail over the smooth water without really seeing it. You weren't hung up on your ex. No, it was the set of emerald eyes that had stolen your breath just that morning. A sigh left you as you sank down further into the bath. The sweet song twisted inside your chest.

Guilt swarmed you as you faced the feelings you were harboring. Danneel had been your friend. She'd given you a place in her home. And how did you repay her? By making googly eyes at her husband when he wasn't looking.

Every negative comment ran through your mind, again. Each one you felt to be deserved. That was the hardest part. It was all things you'd already thought yourself at some point or another. Only made more real by the strangers who typed it.

Maybe he's right...maybe I need more time away. The thought tangled your gut painfully, that time. Suddenly feeling more real at the day alone. But what choice did you have in the end?

Jensen had said he didn't want you to go, yet you couldn't quite buy into that. Not completely. He was going to have more time once the show ended. You weren't going to be nearly as needed. That's what the day had been about, in your eyes. It only made sense to start moving in that direction. If only it was as easy for you as it sounded.

When the car pulled into the driveway, Oscar's bark pulled you from the hole you were in. A peek to the security system that linked to your phone let you know who it was just before the suddenly too awake J.J shouted your name. The Ackles brood had returned home.

You barely had enough time to drain the tub and don your pajamas in the master bathroom before tiny fists knocked at the door. The noise and lights had alerted them to your presence. Telling you to meet them downstairs.

Oscar was bouncing on his front paws as you stepped into the sunken living room where the sudden chaos was ensuing. Shaking the grown out top knot on his forehead as he pounced the air. Icarus simply raised his gaze off of one of his many beds; taking in the scene around him before he huffed. Curling back into the plushness he was wrapped up in.

“Y/N! There was an elephant!”

“Dad ate so much and gassed up everything in the car!”

“Cliff took lots of pictures, so you could see!”

“I got you a scorpion!”

“Arrow is super tired, but she got you a hat!”

Zep and Justice ran over each other to get in every detail of the day as Jensen walked in the front door, carrying the still sleeping Arrow against his chest. Your nod his way told him to go ahead, you had the other two. Carefully, you got them to start speaking one by one.

You had to look through the pictures on the camera the father of the the kids had taken with him. It was necessary 'ooh' and 'ahh' everything thrust your way before they gave in to the urge to go back to sleep. Jensen had to chase them away to get them in bed while you piled up the spoilings for the day so it could be better managed in the morning.

“I thought you guys were staying overnight,” Your hip leaned against the door frame that would lead you out to the yard. Stopping only because you'd heard the tired sigh.

“Kids wanted to come home.” He didn't say why. Didn't have to. The way they'd flocked you had said it all. “What'd you do today?”

“I...I just...I went out.” His head tilted as if expecting more. Curious to see what happened when you were given a life. The truth of it? You'd simply gone to the Barton Creek Greenbelt and hunted down your favorite waterfall. But, that wouldn't have been what he'd wanted to hear. “There's, uh, some gas-x in that cupboard over there if you need it.”

Jensen's cheeks flushed as he realized his kids had spared nothing, “Uh...yeah...they were...they were exaggerating.” At the way your lips pulled tight to hold back the smile, he dipped his head. Rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want a drink? I suddenly need one.”

“No,” The answer came quick enough that his eyes held obvious confusion. “No...no, thank you.” You cleared your throat, carrying the dirty clothes you'd worn earlier to your chest. “I'm just...I'm gonna go. Get some rest, Mr. Ackles. You look tired.” And with that, you were out the back door. Running to safety.

“Mr...Ackles?” Jensen watched as you disappeared into the darkness. Frowning as he lost sight of you near the house. “What the hell?”

Part Five

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord​​​ @smoothdogsgirl​​ @ima-be-a-mongoose​​ @briagallen​​ @agusdoti​ @my-proof-is-you​

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​​​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​​

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @supernaturalginger​ @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @michaelneedssomemilk​ @lemondropirwin​​ @fanfictionismydeath​​

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Misunderstanding Cults: Searching for Objectivity in a Controversial Field

1st Edition

Edited by Benjamin Zablocki and Thomas Robbins

Misunderstanding Cults provides a uniquely balanced contribution to what has become a highly polarized area of study. Working towards a moderate ‘third path’ in the heated debate over new religious movements (NRMs) or cults, this collection includes contributions both from scholars who have been characterized as ‘anticult’ and from those characterized as ‘cult apologists.’ The study incorporates diverse viewpoints as well as a variety of theoretical and methodological orientations, with the stated goal of depolarizing the discussion over alternative religious movements. A large portion of the book focuses explicitly on the issue of scholarly objectivity and the danger of partisanship in the study of cults. The collection also includes contributions on the controversial and much misunderstood topic of brainwashing, as well as discussions of cult violence, child rearing within unconventional religious movements, and the conflicts between NRMs and their critics. Thorough and wide-ranging, this is the first study of new religious movements to address the main points of controversy within the field while attempting to find a middle ground between opposing camps of scholarship.

About the Authors

Benjamin Zablocki is a professor in the Department of Sociology at Rutgers University.

Thomas Robbins is an independent scholar and lives in Rochester, Minnesota.

___________________________________

Series: Heritage Paperback: 538 pages Publisher: University of Toronto Press, Scholarly Publishing Division; 1 edition (December 1, 2001) Language: English ISBN-10: 0802081886 ISBN-13: 978-0802081889

___________________________________

Contents

Preface ix Caveat xiii

Introduction: Finding a Middle Ground in a Polarized Scholarly Arena 3 Benjamin Zablocki and Thomas Robbins

PART ONE: HOW OBJECTIVE ARE THE SCHOLARS?

1 ‘O Truant Muse’: Collaborationism and Research Integrity 35 Benjamin Beit-Hallahmi

2 Balance and Fairness in the Study of Alternative Religions 71 Thomas Robbins

3 Caught Up in the Cult Wars: Confessions of a Canadian Researcher 99 Susan J. Palmer

4 Pitfalls in the Sociological Study of Cults 123 Janja Lalich

PART TWO: HOW CONSTRAINED ARE THE PARTICIPANTS?

5 Towards a Demystified and Disinterested Scientific Theory of Brainwashing 159 Benjamin Zablocki

6 Tactical Ambiguity and Brainwashing Formulations: Science or Pseudo Science 215 Dick Anthony

7 A Tale of Two Theories: Brainwashing and Conversion as Competing Political Narratives 318 David Bromley

8 Brainwashing Programs in The Family/Children of God and Scientology 349 Stephen A. Kent

9 Raising Lazarus: A Methodological Critique of Stephen Kent’s Revival of the Brainwashing Model 379 Lorne L. Dawson

10 Compelling Evidence: A Rejoinder to Lorne Dawson’s Chapter 401 Stephen A. Kent

PART THREE: HOW CONCERNED SHOULD SOCIETY BE?

11 Child-Rearing Issues in Totalist Groups 415 Amy Siskind

12 Contested Narratives: A Case Study of the Conflict Between a New Religious Movement and Its Critics 452 Julius H. Rubin

13 The Roots of Religious Violence in America 478 Jeffrey Kaplan

Appendix 515

Contributors 521

___________________________________

Contributors

Benjamin Beit-Hallahmi received a PhD in clinical psychology from Michigan State University in 1970, and since then has held clinical, research, and teaching positions in academic institutions in the United States, Europe, and Israel. He is currently professor of psychology at the University of Haifa. Among his best-known publications are Despair and Deliverance (1992), The Psychology of Religious Behaviour, Belief, and Experience (1997), and the Illustrated Encyclopedia of Active New Religions (1998).

Janja Lalich specializes in the study of charismatic relationships, ideology, and social control, and issues of gender and sexuality. She received her PhD from the Fielding Institute in Santa Barbara, California, and currently teaches in the Department of Sociology at California State University, Chico. Her works include ‘Crazy’ Therapies; Cults in Our Midst; Captive Hearts, Captive Minds; and Women Under the Influence: A Study of Women’s Lives in Totalist Groups. Her forthcoming book, Bounded Choice: True Believers and Charismatic Commitment (University of California Press), is based on a comparative study of Heaven’s Gate, the group that committed collective suicide in 1997, and the Democratic Workers Party.

Benjamin D. Zablocki is a professor of sociology at Rutgers University. He received his PhD from Johns Hopkins University and has taught at the University of California – Berkeley, California Institute of Technology, and Columbia University. He has published two books on cults, The Joyful Community (University of Chicago Press 1971) and Alienation and Charisma (The Free Press 1980). He has been studying religious movements for thirty-six years, with sponsorship from the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation. Currently he is working on a twenty-five-year longitudinal study of religious belief and ideology.

Stephen A. Kent is a professor in the Department of Sociology, University of Alberta. He received his BA in sociology from the University of Maryland (College Park) in 1973; an MA in the History of Religions from American University in 1978, and an MA (in 1980) and PhD in Religious Studies from McMaster University (Hamilton, Ontario) in 1984. From 1984 to 1986 he held an Izaac Walton Killam Postdoctoral Fellowship in the Department of Sociology. He has published articles in Philosophy East and West, Journal of Religious History, British Journal of Sociology, Sociological Inquiry, Sociological Analysis, Canadian Journal of Sociology, Quaker History, Comparative Social Research, Journal of Religion and Health, Marburg Journal of Religion, and Religion. His current research concentrates on nontraditional and alternative religions.

etc.

___________________________________

Preface

We deliberately gave this book an odd title. Misunderstanding Cults is not, of course, a guidebook on how to misunderstand cults. Rather it is a book about what makes cults (or ‘new religious movements’ as they are sometimes called) so hard to understand. Its purpose is to better comprehend why these groups are so often comically or tragically misunderstood by ‘experts’ as well as by the general public. Specifically, we have focused on the problem of academic misunderstanding and its correlative polarization of academic experts into opposing camps holding mutually hostile points of view. Our hope is to make a contribution towards overcoming this polarization and introducing a greater degree of cooperation and humility into the study of a subject matter that would be difficult to comprehend even under more collegial investigatory conditions. ...

Read more HERE

[anotherisodope]

Master List of Fallout Canon and Canon AU Muses

Fallout 3

Charon

A gigantic, forbidding-looking, brainwashed badass of a ghoul whose protection, and combat services, are tied to the holder of his very high-ticket contract. Nobody knows who the organization was that Ahzrukhal purchased his contract from, how long he was in their service, or what horrors he was subjected to in the process of making him what he is. He isn’t talking, if he remembers at all. But despite the mental cage he is in, Charon constantly seeks ways to assert himself, follow his personal code, and prevent his own exploitation--or avenge it. A highly trained commando with a preference for mid-range weapons such as his combat shotgun, he lives for a good fight, and becomes bored and restless if his guns go cold too long. He’s got great instincts and is very protective--but is mentally and socially stunted, is observant enough to recognize that on some level, and is frustrated by it and his captivity, making him grumpy and sarcastic. He uses very formal language, sometimes with painstaking effort, in part as an attempt to be better understood. Will cause unmitigated chaos to save your life in a fight, then yell at you because you attacked an innocent shopkeeper. Probably not good to give him too many explosives.

Fallout New Vegas (or wherever)

Robert Edwin House (postgame AU)

One of the most brilliant men ever to be born into the prewar world, Robert House is the owner and primary programmer and inventor of RobCo Industries, which is responsible for everything from Fallout’s programming language, to most of its robots, to the PipBoy. Calculating the coming thermonuclear war down to a one-day window, House leveraged his tremendous wealth, influence and genius to save his beloved Las Vegas. This included preserving his body on life support while wiring his brain straight into the city’s network and defensive grid. Though not entirely successful, he survived and was able to eventually recreate and defend a walled-city version of the Las Vegas strip: New Vegas. 

The AU

In a twisted version of a Good Karma Courier House playthrough, House won but was convinced by the Courier to make more merciful and thoughtful decisions. However, the Courier then betrayed them at the eleventh hour and murdered House’s physical body, leaving everyone convinced that House had died. Details can be found here. However, House had used another contingency program stored aboard the Platinum Chip to enable him to upload his mind to his own network. The Courier ended up fleeing New Vegas. (I am currently working on a description of the fates of various factions in this AU).

After the events of Fallout New Vegas and his takeover of the Hoover Dam, this version of House used code hidden in the chip to make the following changes from current canon:

Recreate a nationwide wireless Internet using freshly activated networking capability in every single Robco product

Make this Internet publicly available through the persona of the benevolent hacker Snow

Escape onto this newly created Internet, gaining access to and potential control of all RobCo products

Use this to access various new bodies, eventually including a pair of comatose synth bodies from failed Railroad memory wipes

Since then, he has been hatching plans all over the former US to steal Institute and Brotherhood of Steel technology--and reclaim as much of his own as he can. While doing this, he is acting through multiple personas. These include two Gen 3 Synth bodies he stole from the Railroad’s comatose “failures”. 

House’s aliases (besides Snow) include 

Edwin “Ed” Case (Gen 3 synth body, former infiltrator), a brilliant repairman and roboticist operating in the Commonwealth who recently did a lot of repair and upgrade work at the Memory Den. Closest to House in voice and diction, but significantly less of an asshole. Always has at least two combat-capable robots with him. 

Daniel Mason (Gen 3 synth body, former courser), recently arrived in New Vegas. Not well known, as this body is largely used for physical infiltration and social engineering, or when House wishes to oversee robotic combat units more directly. Sounds nothing like House but still talks like he ate a thesaurus, though in a much more cool and reserved way. House being House, he has no idea why this body gets so much attention. Armed and dangerous. He is currently acting as House’s lieutenant and enforcer in New Vegas, along with his force of upgraded Securitrons.

He is still working on his Robert House synth body, which needs to be perfect of course...

Because of his activity in the Commonwealth and his ability to reach anywhere his network reaches, House can be interacted with by literally anyone in the Fallout universe circa 2287. Unless your character is in a memory pod or other full-interaction environment, however, you will be interacting via text, via robot, or via one of his two synth personas.

Vulpes Inculta (postgame AU)

One of the most wicked and bloodthirsty of Caesar’s commanders, this former head of the Legion’s Frumentarii was one of the most infamous men in the entire Mojave. Thoroughly and hopelessly indoctrinated in Caesar’s depraved and brutal values, he carried them out with terrifying zeal, sometimes resulting in the destruction of entire communities. Always cool, calculating, wily and in control, he never let anything get in the way of his duties--including his own needs, desires, and safety. His loyalty to Caesar was almost worshipful, and rooted in the belief that he served the actual Son of Mars.

To this end, he even plotted with the Omertas to release poison gas in the opening volley of an attack on the New Vegas strip. Forcibly stripped of any independent moral thought on the matter and thoroughly indoctrinated, he never thought twice about such actions. He served the son of a god, how could his actions not be righteous?

And then Caesar died. And Vulpes lost everything except for his life. And that was only the beginning of his comeuppance.

The AU

After brutally murdering Caesar upon learning that he had lied about his divine heritage and was afflicted with a mortal disease, Lanius took over, and promptly ordered Vulpes’s execution. Vulpes, who had anticipated this, fled, getting as far as he could from the Mojave. He knew that under Lanius’s hand, the Legion would first become a monstrous shadow of itself, and then would fall.

Illusions shattered and shamed by having to run, Vulpes spent years traveling with caravans in disguise as he sought a place to settle. Landing in the Commonwealth, he started carving out a place for himself, but his sense of purpose beyond survival and security was gone.

Worse...with it had gone his certainty that his depraved actions had been necessary and for a good cause, Doubt had crept in, and it kept growing and growing as he reconciled the differences between Caesar’s words and the reality he had lived through. Left to his own thoughts for far too long, and realizing that any remnant of the Legion that still exists will be hunting him, he is starting to crack.

He is very good at hiding this, however, being forced to learn to keep his cool in all kinds of bad situations. And so he has set himself up as a high-end, “independent problem-solver” in Diamond City, handling the kind of bloody and unethical work that would horrify Nick Valentine. But even as a showdown with his horrific karma is brewing internally, so too are external problems and temptations as he gets more and more deeply entangled with the Commonwealth’s Underworld.

Vulpes is a cold-blooded, scheming, psychopathic asshole with a volcano of repressed emotion that really only comes out when he fights. As he does not drink, date, use chems or confide in anyone, violence is and has been his only outlet, which leads to him often charging into dangerous situations with ripper in hand. When he is better under control, he deals with targets through stealth kills of various types. Unlike the vast majority of the Legion he is comfortable with most technology (science as a tagged skill), and has taken even more of an interest since fleeing East. For some reason, neither animals nor wasteland beasts will attack him when he travels alone.

His primary motivation while he wrestles with his many inner demons (which he will never let on about to anyone) is survival. He believes he will soon be the only one left who remembers what the Legion once was, and the higher aims it once strove for (through horrible means, but he doesn’t see that). While he is now hunted by the Legion’s remnants, he believes that he has a duty to survive, and maintain his discipline and his traditions before finding others to spread them among. The problem is, instead of going straight for taking over a settlement or raider gang, he’s dealing with growing doubts about Caesar, who was revealed to be mortal, and what Caesar taught him. This has made him hesitate. However, he is still using the time to gather as much information as possible about the Commonwealth, its people, its factions, and of course, their weaknesses.

Vulpes’ alias: Victor Renard

Victor Renard is a new Upper Stands resident who moved into the Latimer residence after both father and son were presumed killed by Triggermen outside the city. He has a part stake in the Colonial Taphouse, which has recently had a change of management, and is often found there, brooding over a glass of watered wine. He has a developing reputation for being very private, likely very dangerous, and being some kind of high-end mercenary. He generally wears a black suit and carries concealed weapons--at least, inside the city walls. He and the mayor/security team have a strained but polite relationship...so far.

Fallout 4

Nick Valentine

A highly talented Chicago detective, on loan to Boston PD, whose original life came to a crashing end after crime kingpin Eddie Winter murdered his fiancee and disappeared. Traumatized by the loss, he was ordered to seek treatment at a facility that was run by what would become the Institute. They scanned and copied his mind and memories, and he then died in the nuclear bombardment that soon followed. When he woke up on a trash heap in a damaged robotic body around a century later, he was left with no context or explanation for his bizarre “reincarnation”. That mystery would haunt him, like the mystery of Eddie Winter’s escape from justice, for another century. After wandering the wastes for a time, and slowly acclimating himself to his new environment and interactions with modern humans, he settled in Diamond City as a handyman after returning the late mayor’s missing daughter. Eventually, he became a trusted member of the Diamond City community...and took back up the mantle of a detective. Nick stoically carries a lot of trauma, and a lot of outrage. He works to provide peaceful, rational alternatives to the constant violence around him, and tends to be smarter and more competent than most, especially when it comes to computers or investigation. He is a bit of a curmudgeon, with a dagger-sharp wit he’ll sometimes overuse when sufficiently angered. He smokes, though he gains no benefit from it, as a tie to his human past. He tends to feel divorced from his own body to some degree, and that plus his distrust of most roboticists has caused him to forgo repair thus far.

John Hancock

Mayor of Goodneighbor and a self-styled revolutionary hooligan who is usually high on something, Hancock has more layers than you might expect, and a tragic history. Born John McDonough, he grew up in a shack with his parents and brother on the Boston waterfront. His brother was something of a bully, but not particularly wicked. They started growing apart as they grew up, with John sneaking off to Goodneighbor regularly to party and do chems. Empathetic, and significantly smarter than most people, he was able to see the suffering and inequities all around him, even after his family moved up in the world and ended up in Diamond City. John realized that his brother had...changed...when he decided to run for mayor. Running on an anti-ghoul platform, he capped off his inaugural speech by announcing the banishment of all ghouls from the city. John watched in horror as the ghouls fled with their few belongings, being brutalized by citizens and police the whole time. After confronting his brother to no effect, he forced himself to act, successfully leading several families to temporary safety in Goodneighbor. Most did not survive, however, leaving him despondent and forever loathing his pogrom-promoting brother, who is still Diamond City’s mayor. That night changed something in him, and it wouldn’t go back to sleep no matter how many chems he took. Finally, on learning that Vic, the gangster running Goodneighbor, was letting his men gun down drifters, he had a bizarre, chem-fueled epiphany. He discovered John Hancock’s coat and hat in the depths of the State House, and suddenly realized what he needed to do. He took on the clothes and cause of John Hancock, and after brutally liberating the town from Vic’s people, gave an inaugural speech declaring Goodneighbor to be “of the people, for the people”, regardless of who those people were. He took on the persona of a daring, reckless, ferociously protective folk-hero Mayor and started the long process of turning Goodneighbor into a safe haven for all. But even that wasn’t enough for him. Less than a decade ago, he discovered an experimental serum intended to turn the user into a ghoul. Sick of the face in the mirror, and motivated by half a dozen different reasons, he completed his “remaking himself” by becoming the same sort of being that his evil brother so loathed. Now, having consolidated power, he has found himself in a rut, spending most of his time putting out fires and dealing with challengers to his position and to Goodneighbor’s safety. Constantly wrapping himself up in his role and work when not carousing, however, has left a lot of painful unfinished business in his life to fester.

[dayseternal-blog]

A NaruHina fanfic based off of @shamylicious-blog doujinshi posted May 31, 2019.  Please check out her 5-panel illustration!

Summary: Naruto, a skilled theater technician, and Hinata, a breakout pianist and composer, smile at each other.

Read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, Chapter 3 here.

Chapter 4: More than you could ever know (END)

The day of, she’s surprised to find that she’s not nervous.  She feels ready.  She could almost describe herself as feeling...excited?  Or is she misinterpreting the adrenaline running through her?  

Her gown, hanging in the closet of her dressing room backstage, glitters despite the dark fabric.

An expensive gift from her workaholic father.

Who’s actually taking a night off from the 10:00 newscast to attend her first solo concert.

He never attended her competitions after her first one due to his work schedule, and they both reasoned that he heard enough of her practicing at home for him to know exactly what she would sound like in the concert hall, and it wasn’t worth his time if she was just one among many players.

It was his expectation that she would win in those days.  

He hardly ever gave her anything beyond a “well done.”  No flowers, no hugs, no wide smiles.  Well, he was never an affectionate person, anyway.  She grew up lonely, simply hoping for his approval in everything she did.  And then, later, just trying to not be a bother or cause him worry of any kind.

She remembers she was stomach-achingly terrified to tell him that she wanted to stop competitions.

He had looked at her, attention fully on her, eyes narrowing, before asking, “Why?”

She could hardly get air to her lungs, but she hardened her resolve.  “I want to focus on composition,” she somehow managed to say with hardly a tremor in her voice.

He paused, nodded, said, “Alright,” and that was that.

Maybe she should have expected such simple support.  After all, the most she ever hears him speak is during his news reports.  And she realized…he never forced her to compete.  He never forced her to practice.  He just paid for the lessons.

She just felt those expectations.  Her father never actually said them.

She figured out during her year abroad in college that he expresses his care through working.  Providing.  Making money so that she can live comfortably and continue her passion.

She had always been grateful for everything he does, but once she framed it as his way of showing love to her, she started emailing him with her college stories more often.

He replied to every single one.

And he asked that she send him recordings of all of her compositions, no matter how short it was.  She wondered if he missed hearing her play, though he never specifically said that.

So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her when he told her he wanted to attend her concert.

But it was really a huge surprise.

She fingers the silky fabric, heat coming to her eyes, a welling of emotion in her chest that she takes a deep breath through.  In a few hours, she’ll be wearing this gown and bowing before an audience.

The number of people doesn’t matter to her.  She would be happy with just an audience of her father.

“Hinata?”  Two knocks on her ajar door interrupt her musings.  “Your door’s open so I’m assuming--”

“Oh, yes!”  She swipes her eyes quickly, gathering her tears away.  “I’m ready to go.”

“Great!”  Naruto pokes his head through the door, then widens it for her to step through.  “We’re just going to one of our favorite cafes down the street.”

“Okay.”

She notices, again, his charming smile.  Today, too, he’s grinning at her in a way that makes her lips pull up, makes her wonder what he’s always smiling about.  She hopes he smiles like that later...when she gives him her thank you gift.

“How are you feeling for tonight?” he asks conversationally.

“Mmm…”  She feels emotional.  She feels readier than ever for a performance.  “I feel good.”

“Yeah?”

“My father is coming tonight.”

“Oh, that’s great!”

She nods, agreeing with his words more than he could possibly realize.

She feels great.

*

Despite everything he’s come to learn about her over the course of the week, he’s surprised.

On stage, in front of an audience just for her, she’s relaxed, at ease, focused...a picture of elegance.  Dressed in a figure-fitting midnight gown, she’s beyond stunning, like she was born to be on the stage in the spotlight.

Her form when she bows to the audience.  Her poise at the piano as she plays.  And then...her sound.

He heard her in the drama and on her website’s recordings.  Her heard her during her warm-ups and the parts she played at the rehearsal.

It’s not the same.

It’s no mystery to him at all how she won so many competitions.  How she got this opportunity through the drama.  Yes, talent.  Certainly, hard work.  But it takes more than knowing the instrument to make it on your own.

A musician’s charisma, an energy and emotion amplified before an audience.

Her sound touches and stirs his imagination, to the point he can clearly remember the same impact the drama had in certain scenes.  Or recall the stories she told him about the people she’s met and places she’s been to.

Even without the lighting he designed for tonight’s show, she would still be spectacular to see and listen to live.

He can see what every judge or observer noticed before him.  This girl is going places.  She’s in love with music, and music returns her love twice-fold.

Does she even have space for someone like him in her life?

*

She never much enjoyed speaking into a microphone, but after holding the entire audience captive for over an hour with her music, she doesn’t feel embarrassed.  She gives her little speech more easily than she predicted to thank everyone for coming, Picture Tomorrow’s production team and staff who are in attendance, her piano instructor, her father.

It was one of the best performances she’s ever given.

It amazes her that the night is nearly over.  She made it through without making a fool of herself.

And so many people helped her for a night like tonight.  So she takes a stabilizing breath and continues, “Finally, thank you to the HKT team--”  She extends an arm toward the booth in the house, then to her right, toward the workers off-stage, toward Naruto.  “--for helping me put together this show for tonight.  I have one last song, not listed on the program, that I composed this week to show my appreciation.  It’s called… ‘At home in your smile.’”

She gives a bow, then returns to her seat.

She easily finds the smooth keys, like gentle water beneath her touch.

She smiles, as she always does when she thinks of him.

The notes translate from her fingers into the afternoon breeze kissing laughing cheeks, rich trees throwing sun-spotted shadows on historic streets, an irreplaceable warmth she’ll remember forever in the rhythms of a familiar downtown charm, golden, blue, and hopeful beats.

It’s his song.

Filling the darkest, tallest corners of the theater.  Lively tones chasing each other playfully in a game of light, air, and saturated color.  His sound glowing against each person’s skin, mind, and heart.

Now everyone can know just a fraction of what she’s seen and felt since meeting him.  How she’s never met anyone so unguardedly cheerful.  So at ease in himself and with others, as if he has all of himself to give, none of himself to hold back.  He’s that one summer’s day so acute in youthful abandon--nothing could ever be so perfect, nothing will ever again be so perfect.

How he embodies a dream is one she could explore over and over again, let the music carry her through the complexities of his mind, let every chord delight in her contemplation.

It’s so easy for her soul to sing to him.

She’s written many songs inspired by people she has met in passing, yet she’s never gifted these secret melodies in the transitions of her life.

But for once it only felt right that he know.

And when the curtains are drawn, the lingering applause finally dies, and the murmurings of the audience rise and fall away, she knows that now is the time to tell him.

She nears the wings, and he starts clapping again, his refreshing smile wide and sincere, welcoming her.  “That was great, Hinata!  Really amazing!!  More incredible than the rehearsal, and that last song!  Wow!  I can’t believe you made that in a week!”

“Thank you--”  Her breath catches for a second, her sudden hesitation inexplicable.

A voice comes over his headset, his expression turning to business immediately as he answers.

The curtains of the wings on the opposite side are pulling up, and men are already starting to push the piano off-stage.

She quickly realizes that he’s still working.

He’s busy.

And whatever she was planning on saying, whatever it was she wanted to say, doesn’t have a place right now.

She can feel the adrenaline of the show swiftly beginning to drain from her body, embarrassment shifting into the place where confidence once stood.

What was it she wanted to say, anyway?

And what response was she hoping for from him?

She doesn’t even know him that well!

He just knows a lot about her, she shared so much about herself because he asked so many questions during their meeting, and did that all go to her head?  The connection she feels with him must be one-sided...to him...she’s just another performer he’s working with…

She heads toward the doors to backstage, hoping to make a quick escape from her near-mistake.

“Hinata!  Wait!”

She pauses, one hand on the door.

“The strike will be really fast.”  He gestures behind him, where the main curtains are pulling up, revealing an empty house and a bare stage.  “We only have to take the lights down, and uh.  I have something to give you after, so before you leave, well, even if we’re not done yet, can you come back?”

She blinks at him.  Something to give me?  Flowers?  A card?  Or just something she accidentally forgot on a previous day?

“You can just call out at me if I don’t notice right away,” he adds, an uncertain look beginning to pinch on his face.  “It won’t take long if..uh..your dad’s waiting for you?...”

She nods quickly, hoping to ease his misgivings.  “I’ll come back.  And my father will meet me at home.”

His smile is a lot smaller than his usual, his jaw working like he’s processing a secret, then turns around to help the rest of the crew.

She hurries back to her dressing room.  And as she changes her clothes, she can’t help feeling a slight constriction in her chest, a slight sickness in her gut.

But it’s not unpleasant.

It’s too giddy.

She doesn’t want to hope for anything.  She doesn’t want to lead herself on.  It might really be nothing.  Or even if it is flowers, maybe he does that for all the performers.  Maybe it’s a HKT tradition among the crew to gift the performer a little something.

She gathers her things, trying to steady the race of her heart.

She opens her door--

He’s standing right there, leaning against the wall.

Her heart spasms with surprise.

“Sorry, did I scare you?”  He straightens.

She’s panting from the shock.

“Sorry,” he says again, but he looks like he wants to laugh.

He’s holding a bouquet of bright orange roses.

She blinks at it, trying to compose herself.  Could that be for her?  But maybe it’s not for her, it could be for someone else--who else would it be for, though?  It must be for her... “...Are you guys done already?”

“Oh, no, but, it’s okay.”  He lifts up the bouquet.  “This is for you.”

She stares for a second before taking it.  This is really for me?  Well, of course it is.  “Wow,” she breathes.  “Thank you.”

He’s standing there, still, just smiling.

She doesn’t know what to say.  She can only smile back. “...Orange roses.”

“Haha, yeah,” he laughs, his eyes drifting away as if he’s embarrassed by a memory.  “I know it’s weird, maybe I should’ve just gone with the red?  I would’ve gotten pink, but there weren’t any, but with the red roses, I didn’t want to come off as...yeah.”  He abruptly stops himself there, suddenly staring straight at her.  “...Would you--”

“Oh no I--”  She realizes she spoke at the same time as him.

He shakes his head, biting his lips.  “Go on.”

“Ah, sorry.”  She doesn’t want to make this any more awkward, so she continues, “I just wanted to tell you that I love them.  I’ve never gotten orange roses before.  They’re beautiful.”

He smiles, significantly happier than before.

“And…”  She takes a deep breath.  She can’t believe she’s about to tell him this, but he really deserves to know.  “You know that last song I played tonight?”

He nods.

“It was inspired by you,” she murmurs, only just loud enough for him to hear.

She watches his face morph--his blue eyes widen, his pleased smile shift into confusion.  “Uhh, that last song not on the program?”

She nods.

“You wrote it about me?”  He points to his chest as if he needs to make sure.

She nods again, nerves making her bounce on her toes a bit.  “I am really glad to have met you,” she starts, finding self-assurance in the truth of it.  “I loved coming here and working with...with you and seeing your smile.  Your smile brightens even the darkest theater.”

His jaw drops slightly, red visibly tinging his cheeks.  His expression bursts into a grin, which he quickly covers with his hand, seemingly now self-conscious to show her the subject of her composition.

She really can’t help smiling just as goofily as him.

“Ahh!” he strongly exclaims, his arms falling wide open, hands stretched out before clenching tightly shut.

She jumps, only to quickly see that he’s still just as happy as before.

“Aw man, Hinata!"

The juxtaposition of his words and expressions confuse her, but she loves that about him, too.  "...Naruto-kun?"

His grin softens.  "Go on a date with me!”  He gazes earnestly at her.  “Will you go on a date with me?”

She nods, a blush of her own overtaking her cheeks.  “Mhm, I'd like that.”

He sighs, as if letting go of a huge weight.  “Great!” He’s smiling at her, wide, unguarded, pure.  “That’s great.”

She nods.  It really is.  She’s already looking forward to it.  More than he could possibly know.

“Monday.  Lunch?  Is that okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I call you?”

“Uh-huh,” she affirms again, still soaking in his smile, still helplessly smiling back.

“Can I walk you out?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll call you to sort out details.  I can’t wait for Monday,” he shamelessly adds.

“Me, too.”

He stops at the doorway to outside, gazing at her.

Before she can second-guess herself, she tiptoes, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you for the roses.  Thank you for everything.”  She steps back, reveling in his awed silence, gratified by his look of bliss, and then reluctantly waves good-bye.

He stands at the entrance, watching her go, until she turns the corner and can’t see him anymore.

He’s sweet.  The sweetest guy she’s ever met.

And already she can hear a new, bubbling melodic tune in her heart.  Only the second one of many more she’s certain she’ll tenderly grow in her wonder of his everything, in her efforts to capture each shared moment more perfect than the last.

No matter how their date will end, she knows she’s found someone special.

He’s going to change her, irreparably, certainly.

But she thinks…

She wants to be that person.  She’ll be more herself than ever before.

She really can’t wait.