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ventya · 2 years

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The Hoppers AU (a foster au)

cw: child abuse, gun threats (so sorry i totally forgot about that part)

“I have a son and two daughters.” is one of Hopper’s favorite answers he can give. At first was strange to get used to, it was foreign to his tongue. But he grows to really love it. What he loves more is talking about them.

El was the first of three he got to foster when she was pretty young, it was hard at first. Hopper wasn’t completely new to parenthood, but El had come from a difficult background. Music, TV and eggos got them closer. She was easy to love however and grew attached really quickly. She opened the quickest of the three.

Max came in later, the same age as El both entering middle school. So he thought it would be a good idea. And it turned out that Max was harder to crack. She was quick to throw a temper than El had been and would glare at him the way El used to (still does but it's milder). The difference is that Max knows how to be mean with her words. El wasn’t like that. But Hopper just knew that this was all just a facade to protect herself because when she was with El everything seemed to fit. He could still see her quick temper, but it was a fire not an explosion. She stood up for both of them and it warmed Hopper’s heart to have someone stand up for El when he couldn’t. It took a while for Max to open up.

It was night time when Hopper was awakened, “Dad, dad.” El was over him and the worried eyes awakened him. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did something happen??”

“It’s Max’s brother...” Before he started fostering Max they had told him about her brother, step-brother, how he was also in the system and the woman didn’t recommend him. He was older than Max, prone to violence and since she knew he had El: “Hopper, it’s better and safer.” Hopper had felt a bit sick at her words, but not like he knew the kid.

Hopper found Max in the kitchen close to the home phone, tears rolling down her cheek. “He sounded really tired, I’m really scared for him. He tells me not to worry but the last time he told me that...” more tears roll out of her eyes, “he said- he said-” Hopper’s eyes grow concerned, and leaned down grasping Max’s shoulders to ground her.

“What did he say?” He asked.

“He said that they have a gun,” she sobbed. “Billy wouldn’t say but they threatened him why else would he know about the gun!” Her little hands had grasped his shirt trying to shake him. Hopper was rather horrified, he wasn’t sure what had horrified him that Max seemed to be aware of what went on in terrible foster homes and being terrified for brother or that there was a foster family threatening a kid with a gun.

“Do you know the address?”

Max looked up at him and nodded her head, there was this fire in her eyes. Then he got the girls in his car driving to Byers. He felt bad for waking up Joyce but when he explained everything and a look of understanding flashed on Joyce's face the guilt washed away. He thanked her before he was back in his car this time alone driving through the night. Turns out that the family Max’s brother was staying at, did have a gun and did threaten him with it. What did surprise him was the 15 year old boy carrying a black eye and bruises he found that was Max’s brother. He had a similar if not more angry and scared look on his that Max had when he first met her. Hopper had called for help to get the foster parents arrested dealt with while he worked with the boy.

“What’s your name, kid?” He didn’t have Max’s red hair instead blonde mop of curls but he did have freckles Max has.

“Billy.”

“How about I take you in, Billy,” he asked they were sitting outside on the pavement. Hopper had a blanket draped over the kid. Billy didn’t answer. “You’ll get to live with your sister again.” This got his attention again, eyes widened looking at Hopper.

“Max? You fostering Max?”

“Yeah, I am. She is the one that gave me the address.”

“Is she doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded “She’s doing great at home and school.” Billy seemed to relax at that.

“That’s good.” Then he looked away again hugging the blanket tighter around him. Almost like he forgot Hopper’s invitation.

“Billy, my offer still stands.”

“You have someone other than Max?”

“Yes, my daughter El.”

Billy snorted, “They won’t let me. I’m too violent.” Billy hugged his legs. Hopper frowned leaning forward then shook his head.

“I will get you, don’t want you ending up somewhere this bad again.” Billy didn’t believe Hopper, didn’t believe that someone like Hopper would fight for him when no one else did. But Hopper did. He was persuasive with the social workers in charge and then some others. So as long as Billy would never miss school and his group meetings during the weekend Billy was allowed to live with Hopper. The reunion between Max and Billy was really sweet, Hopper teared up. Billy living with them made Hopper question the social workers because Billy might have issues with him but to El he was really sweet and caring. Sure him and Max fought but it never seemed serious, Max was attached to Billy’s side. El started to grow attached too. Hopper soon too.

“I want to adopt you.” El was smiling brightly next to Hopper. Max’s eyes widened in awe looking up at Billy, who smiled at his sister.

“See I told you they wanted to adopt you,” he mused taking her small hands in his. Smiled at her with an earnest smile. Hopper frowned a bit.

“I want to adopt both of you.” Hopper corrected himself after clearing his throat. This time it was Billy’s turn to gawk and Max’s eyes moved from Hopper to Billy so quickly it was comical. “This situation,” home “we have made here is going really well and I just thought it be good to make it permanent. No more social worker, no more foster homes. Just-”

“Home.” Billy whispered, gaze shifting towards Max then El and back to Hopper again. The word might have been foreign on his tongue, but the feeling wasn’t. In Billy’s mind the people right here with him are the perfect description of what he would call a home.

“And a family. If that’s alright with the two of you.”

Max eyes bubbled with tears looking at Hopper and El then turning to Billy with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, pretty alright with me,” Billy seemed to fight his own tears when Max’s start rolling down her eyes, but not without a bright smile before she hugged Billy and then jumped towards El and Hopper.

“All three of them are so stubborn, but they are great ” Hopper boasted.

“I wonder who they got their stubbornness from,” Joyce had a teasing smile on her face.

“Haha.” Hopper gave a dry laugh.

“So, how long do you two think it’s going to take for dad and Joyce to start dating?” Max plumped down next to her two siblings.

“2, 3 months.” Billy thought out loud with a shrug and Steve, who was sitting at Billy’s side, nodded in agreement.

“Older people usually need a lot of more time.” Steve said. Max and El shared a look. “What?”

“How long did it take you two??” Max asked with a raised brow and El giggled. “If it wasn’t for the two of us who knows how long it would have taken you to get together.” Steve’s face was flushed red.

“Wait what?!” Billy and Steve asked at the same time.

“You think we really needed that many rides??”

“Since we helped Billy and Steve maybe we can help dad and Joyce.” El put her hand on Max’s with a determined look on her face.

“We need to make a plan.” Max then grabbed her sister’s hand to run to a more secluded area before Billy or Steve could stop them. They watch Mike and Lucas follow the two girls.

“I can’t believe this.” Billy mumbled leaning back into the couch. “Wait-no I can believe it.” He grumbled laughing lightly causing Steve to chuckle.

“I feel like we should have guessed it too, I mean they were asking us for rides a lot.” Steve leaned his head against Billy’s. The blonde snorted.

“Yeah, we should have.”

“Maybe we should thank them...”

“No way, those two little gremlins should have kept to themselves. Imagine if we thank them.” Billy pretended to shiver gaining a snort from his boyfriend. “Now poor Joyce and dad have to deal with them. A moment of silence for them.” They got silent before bursting into giggles.

“You love them,” Steve mused.

Billy sighed then let his head drop onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes shifting from his two sisters plotting with the rest of the party to his dad, who was rubbing his neck obvious blush on his cheeks talking to Joyce. “Yeah I do.”

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #el hopper #jim hopper #steve harrington #harringrove #where you belong #long post #i need to be stopped #very self indulgent. i just love the idea of them being their own little family #idc idc idc i love them

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bestdamnshot · 1 month

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bit of a shit head-canon but in my head seb is a dad, a really good dad despite his own shit upbringing. mostly modern Seb bc he can be more open when it comes to affection & supporting his kids etc. & I mostly picture Seb being an amazing girl dad in modern hence my oc Astrid comes in & is the reason I started having this whole head-canon in the first place right? But even though I first imagined them having a really shitty relationship bc the first time I wrote her I pictured her showing up at Seb’s door step at age 14/15 angry, a troubled kid who mirrored teen seb a lot bc essentially that is when I pictured he accidentally conceived her & bc he was a kid himself he ran & didn’t look back bc he was terrified he would be an awful father. & honestly given what he went through who could blame him? (Or ether he just never knew she even existed until then lmao, couldn’t decide which I preferred bc the latter was hilarious to me at the time)

anyway in that AU he’s confronted with a lot of the shit he had to face a lone through this kid he has to form a relationship with & he heals through that a bit. But that was really the first time Astrid Moran ever came to exist.

In most of the dad Seb AUs I’ve done he’s raised her as an adult since birth but in any AU, he’s just the complete opposite of his own father bc I like to think that even though he probably does have a lot of issues still, he can be impulsive & have a bit of a temper, he can do his best to not scar his kids the way he was scared & just tries to blow off steam when he’s out murdering for his boss instead of blowing at a toddler for pouring syrup on his shoe or something (which he would never do regardless bc Seb’s always been soft in my head, like really, truly soft. Deep down. Like he’s never lost that little five year old persona who kept a piece of the mischievousness, curiosity, play & love that kid naturally had before losing Alex at age 6.) but that view is mostly for modern Seb.

for Victorian Seb is a bit trickier for me personally anyway bc I love soft seb so much but I base off Vic seb mostly off The Hound of the D’urbersvilles the most in terms of personality & that mother fucker was FUNNY. But the bitch had major Anger, addiction & a whole slue of issues I can’t possibly try to replicate, specially towards a child bc I would only turn him into Augustus in a way & I don’t want that for Seb. So I do make him a little soft, but to make thighs more tense for him & easier for me to write that rougher Sebastian I decided his child, my OC Dorian Moran is a biracial child seb gets stuck with after he does what he does abroad, but before he can run away like he always does Dorian’s mom dies during child birth & Seb, well he has to take DAMN RESPONSIBILITY for once. (Wrote a whole fickler for this LMAO https://teenbasher.tumblr.com/post/184379231091/bloods-thicker <- read here if you want )

Victorian Seb is harder for me in this regard bc his personality is definitely vile & abusive but even then he stands for his child a bit more than his own dad ever did for him, at least he learns to with time, even though at the beginning he is absolutely awful to him. Bc let’s face it, seb is not a patient or kid man. So dealing with a toddler is very hard for him. But despite how much he dislikes his kid & how mean he can be towards him. I like to think that seb does care for him & despite everything, he invests in Dorian’s care having a nanny for him & eventually possibly having Moriarty help him tutor the boy ( since ya know he essentially lives with the man, & yeah a brothel is not the best place to raise a kid, but he’s trying, right?) & I like to also think that at least once in his life Sebastian stands up to someone discriminating against Dorian, perhaps bc of his race or his ilegitimen status, & maybe when Dorian is older & Seb has become more fond of him bc he learns to see him as his son & recognizes quirks maybe he had in his youth & generally learns to love Dorian as the son & human being he is. At some point Seb has to come around & at least show Dorian once that he got his back. Like damn.

anyway this think pice went wildly longer than I planned bc I originally just wanted to state abt how Astrid was mostly a Modern OC while Dorian was Victorina but I went too into thought about Dorian bc I love him & I feel bad I haven’t spent more time developing his character & relationship with Seb (ooooh!! Specially bc I think it would be nice & a total slap on the face to Seb if Moriarty offered to educate the boy. Not only in maths & science & all of the academia, but as an heir of sorts, teaching him the other side of the business eventually, bc think about it, who the fuck is going to suspect a biracial lad in Victorian England runs a world wide criminal empire after the very napoleon of Crime himself , master of disguise & perception Professor James bleeding Moriarty) not only inherit him but taught him since childhood. Plus since Seb would teach him to shoot & handle guns (as a matter of manly honor obvs & not an excuse to bond with his son) Dorian would be the whole package in terms of running Moriarty's criminal enterprise, becoming an incredibly powerful assassin.

#Rant #think piece #Head canon #sebastian Moran head canon #Dad Sebastian #victorian Sebastian Moran #Modern Sebastian Moran #Oc Astrid Moran #Oc Dorian Moran #Just me ranting over imaginary shit happening in my head 🙃

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crellanstein · 4 years

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Prodigious

I find it odd how the fandom focuses so much on Aang’s childhood being ruined when he learned he was the Avatar at 12, but there’s very little talk about how discovering she was the Avatar as a toddler affected Korra’s life and how she was raised.

But we’ll circle back to that...

Because this is a good starting point to talk about one of the most prevalent themes in the story, which the mainstream discussion of tends to only focus on a few characters -- That is the Child Prodigy.

We’ll start with the two most obvious. The ones we always talk about.

Azula.

The clearest example of your typical child prodigy (if there is anything typical about a prodigy). Azula showed early mastery of very advanced Fire-Bending techniques, and is the only Fire-Bender to use blue flames, which was intended to make her stand out amongst the other villains but is also indicative that her Fire-Bending is more pure and powerful (blue flame is produced when burning pure O2 or fuel without contaminant at a very high temperature).

All this lead to her being praised and favored by Ozai as a child, but as double-edged swords go, this also meant she had a lot of pressure on her shoulders to never fail, and she rarely did. Her ego matched her talent, and let’s be honest she was the baddest bitch the show had ever seen. Conquering Ba Sing Se, defeating the Avatar in combat, and dropping some of the most devastating lines of dialogue in villain history; she was a force nobody wanted to reckon with.

And that become a problem for one asshole in particular...

Being jealous of his own child is just one item on a laundry list of reasons why this guy is the worst father in the history of fathers. Azula had begun to outshine him with her victories, and Ozai’s maniacal ego couldn’t handle that, so he left her behind to babysit the Fire Nation while he went out to burn/conquer the world, which also was her idea.

And while this wasn’t the only thing that aided in her demise, it certainly was the final straw which sent her spiraling down into this...

In the end Azula is a sad example of how certain unfair expectations are placed upon talented children, and the more they succeed, the more these expectations grow and weigh on the them until they either disappoint those looking down on them or surpass and embarrass their elders.

It is a lose-lose situation which inevitably destroys them.

There is a similar example of the child prodigy, but his story goes a little different.

Aang.

Even as a twelve/thirteen year-old boy Aang by far has the most impressive stats among any character in the Avatar universe.

Basically mastering 3 of the 4 Elements in less than a year, after mastering Air by the time he is twelve (not to mention inventing his own Air-bending move, the Air scooter).

Aang is an example of a child prodigy who had too much thrust onto him at too young an age because of the talent he showed; because of this he panicked and ran away, and the world was worse off for it.

Aang/Sokka/Katara’s story is all about how in times of War, responsibilities normally handled by adults are pushed onto kids who then have to grow up very fast in order to deal with it all.

The message is clear. War robs the young of their childhoods.

Now, let’s talk about a different kind of child prodigy.

The Unacknowledged.

Yes, of course I’m talking about Toph, the greatest Earth-Bender to ever live.

Because of her blindness, Toph’s family tried to keep her sheltered and safe by hiding her from the world. Refusing to believe she could ever be more than helpless. Anyone who has seen the show knows that is far from the truth.

But because her potential went unseen, there were some negative effects to her personality. Initially, she resented her parents, and rebelled; which established a certain level of independence, a bad attitude, and a hot-headed streak. Over time spent with the Gaang these behaviors subsided because she finally had friends and they accepted her for who she was. By the end of the series she was fully willing to accept aid from them when she needed it, like holding on to Sokka’s arm in environment where her bending couldn’t help her “see”.

Toph’s story is a foil to Azula’s, both showed immense talent and badassery, but while recognition of Azula lead to ever-mounting pressure for her to succeed; the lack of recognition for Toph created a need for her to be acknowledged and set an undercurrent of frustration which leads to her acting out in the ways she does.

The lesson to take from Toph’s story is not to shelter your kid from the world out of fear for their safety, and to be open to recognizing their talents, not shun them.

Next are two more Unacknowledged.

Katara and Sokka.

Their story, and the reason behind their circumstances, is one of the more complicated and nuanced ones in the series, so here we’ll focus on how it fits into the subject of discussion.

Because of the War, Katara was robbed not only of her mother but also of any Southern Masters to train her, and any role models Sokka could have looked up to left with his father to fight. Because of this Katara’s potential and Sokka’s genius went unacknowledged not due to neglect but rather due to circumstance. (Yes, I think Sokka is a genius, how many 15 yr olds do you know that can plan an invasion, design submarines, and spit poetry off the cuff?).

This is a further example of how War robs kids of necessary childhood experiences, and these two robberies had particular effects on both Katara and Sokka’s character developments.

Sokka had the responsibility of protecting his home put upon him at a young age. The men of his tribe leaving prevented him from completing his rite of manhood until the Gaang ran into Bato of the Water Tribe, and early on Sokka was constantly trying to prove himself as a man and a leader. Sokka is one of the smarter characters of the series, but he rarely got credit for it until the third season. Not to mention that because he wasn’t a bender he often seemed less useful than the others. The circumstances of war made his talent go unnoticed and because of that he often was unsure of himself and overcompensated to prove something.

Speaking of talent going unnoticed.

Katara is definitely one of the more talented benders of the series. After training herself for years with little progress, she essentially mastered Water-Bending in a few weeks under Master Pakku. While her anger towards the Fire-Nation mostly centers around the loss of her mother, it can’t be ignored that the delay in her training was a direct result of the Fire-Nations’ actions. Toph’s anger and frustration vented itself as rebellion. However, the same frustration and anger is within Katara, but because she wasn’t as natural a bender as Toph she sought to learn and be respected, and when that was denied to her is when that anger bubbled to the surface in some terrifying ways.

While Toph’s talent went unnoticed because of her families neglect, Katara and Sokka’s wasn’t acknowledged because there was nobody to acknowledge it. Because of that both brother and sister wanted to prove themselves to the world.

And then there is Zuko.

I know what you’re thinking. Zuko wasn’t a prodigy, his Fire-Bending skill didn’t catch up with Azula’s until the finale and he never mastered Lightning-Bending, but this section is about the Unacknowledged.

Zuko had many other talents besides Fire-Bending, he was a master swordsmen, and was able to successfully break into every secure facility he attempted in the show (which was almost every secure facility the show featured). Unfortunately, these talents were never recognized, because the only thing the royal family cared about was bending ability (It’s possible the reason he learned the sword was because he lacked skill in Fire-Bending).

As per usual with Zuko, this part of his tale is quite sad. Many can relate to being outshined by a sibling, and when it becomes all too clear that one cannot match another’s talent it’s quite understandable to focus on what they do excel at, but even then there is no promise of recognition for their own talent. Zuko was even mocked by his father during the solar eclipse when Ozai tried baiting him into attacking with his swords.

This lack of recognition is one of many sad aspects of Zuko’s early life, but it is a definitive example of one of the hardest unacknowledged prodigy’s cross to bear. The Outshone prodigy, one whose talents are never noticed because a bigger and brighter star stands in the way of such recognition, and arguably the most frustrating type mentioned here. Toph/Sokka/Katara all came from situations were there was no recognition being given to them or anyone, but Zuko had to bear watching massive amounts of praise be piled on to his sister while he and his accomplishments went by the way side.

Ozai summed up the situation best.

“Azula was born lucky, Zuko was lucky to be born”

Alright now where have I been going with all this?

So, far we’ve covered a lot of wrong ways to treat a child, whether they show talent or not, and how the circumstances of war can also take many things from children.

But what happened to Korra?

(Before we get into to this I should state that I like Korra, and the purpose of this is not to bash her as a character or her arc, but rather to give a little of my insight into it.)

It’s well established that Aang was told of his heritage too young, and that was a detriment on his development into an adult, but what would have happened if he realized his powers himself not long after he could walk? We’ll never know, but we do get to see the effects it had on Korra.

When she revealed herself as the Avatar, Korra set her entire life in a new direction, and because Aang tasked the White Lotus with finding and training her that direction was out of her control. There are two key differences between Korras’ and other Avatars’ lives.

1. She grew up in isolation on a White Lotus compound.

Every Avatar before Korra we know of spent a portion of their early lives traveling the world in order to master the elements; along this journey they not only learned how to bend the other 3 elements, buy also many things about the 3 other nations and the world they are tasked to protect as a whole. By confining Korra in safety and bringing the masters to her the White Lotus deprived Korra of this opportunity to learn and grow and understand the world and the people within in. It also deprived her of learning modern bending styles until she reached Republic City.

While this might have kept Korra safe from the Red Lotus, it grew within her a naiveté about how the world worked, and because of this when she actually did venture out into the world she was terribly unprepared for it.

2. She was trained and mastered 3 of the elements by the time she was 16.

Most Avatars don’t know they have this power until they reach 16 and then they spend several years learning to control it. Korra’s natural talent in the bending lead to her training being expedited not by necessity like Aang’s, but due to her talent and eagerness. Korra excelled at the physical part of being the Avatar and because of this by the time she reached maturity she had become over-confident in her abilities and true to what her Fire-Bending master said in Ep.1 she lacked restraint.

I’m not saying her bending isn’t great, but rather because it is so great it’s her go-to solution to anything, and she enjoys that so she uses it with enthusiastic gusto and not a lot of thinking before striking.

This overconfidence coupled with her naiveté of the world is what lead to many of her rash decisions and actions, most of which had negative consequences, and I believe are the reason behind some fan are dissatisfied with her. Aang had been almost the complete opposite, even by the age of twelve he was an experienced world traveler and an incredibly humble guy.

Some may have been dissatisfied by these character decisions, but they served a purpose, they are only the beginning of her arc. The internal challenge Korra must overcome through 4 seasons is to humble herself before the world, and learn from it. This was finally achieved in the 4th season when the metal poisoning in her body forces her to face others in the world as equals, only then had she completed her journey.

And why did it all go this way?

Because she is a very unique child prodigy, what she demonstrates in the first episode of LOK would be akin to a toddler playing the violin or hitting a three-pointer; she could bend 3 elements close to just after learning to walk. That is the kind of prodigious talent rarely seen because it is mostly impossible. How does a rational person handle a child like that?

It’s a tough question, and something this essay has been circling around the whole time. Each example here is the wrong way to handle talented and different children, but what is the right way?

As always look to Iroh.

Who treated his surrogate son Zuko with both respect and compassion.

Unlike Toph’s parents, Iroh worried over Zuko’s well being, but also allowed him to be independent, make his own decisions, and take his own risks.

Unlike the Nomad Leaders, he didn’t want Zuko weighed down by his position in the world and the responsibility that came with, and always encouraged him relax and take advantage of the moment.

Unlike Ozai, Iroh would always be there to support Zuko in his victories and his failures. Iroh shows him the right path but does not force him down it.

And even after Zuko betrayed and abandoned him.

Iroh was never angry with him, and embraced him upon his return.

He wanted Zuko to grow and be a better man. Even if Zuko wasn’t a prodigy like his sister.

And that is the answer here. The way to raise a prodigy is the same way anyone should raise any child. Love, Support, a Guiding Hand rather than a Forceful Shove, Recognition of What Makes Them Unique, and Forgiveness When They Falter. The problem comes along when you start treating children differently because you see them as different or special. All children are different, all children are special.

Kids are kids, and they all deserve a proper childhood.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Just thought about this as a story or headcanons, maybe the lords in re8 have a child, which is the reader and they are somewhere around 7 in the beginning. You can do them all separately, like first part would be Heisenberg, then Dimitrescu, Beneviento, and then Moreau, so the reader would accidentally do something and they are scared that the lord that is their parent would be super mad and they run away and the lords reactions to their child being gone and maybe the reader goes back to the village older, maybe 14 or 15 and the lords are emotional when they finally reunite with the reader. Maybe at first they don't recognize the reader at first, thinking they are just an outsider until they see something that they gave the reader as a birthday present and they recognize them. And it's just full fluff in the end? This has also been bugging my mind for a while 🤣 sorry if this ask was complicated to read

Heyy ~ lovely idea as always hun! I changed it up a bit, hope you don't mind and still enjoy reading it nonetheless 💗

Alcina Dimitrescu

- Being the youngest Dimitrescu, you were expected to be a bit of a spoiled brat since our mother and sisters looked after you like the most precious and rarest gem in this world - Surprisingly though, you were a very well behaved child - A shy, quiet, well-mannered kid that followed their mother's rules like they were the law - But even you weren't immune to that childish curiosity that every kid possesses - So you had to go on and break a rule or two eventually - However, the biggest one you broke, the one that had you sweating nervously, was sneaking down into the basement where the wine your mother and sisters were so proud of was kept - With trembling hands you picked up one of the bottles, the one with the most interesting pattern on the bottle, and began to expect it - That’s when a noise suddenly echoed throughout the basement, causing you to drop the bottle which broke as soon as it the ground, sending the red liquid splashing everywhere - You were mortified - You were only six at the time, you couldn’t think of a strategy to fix the mess you had made - So instead, you chose to run and hide, convinced you’d get in A LOT of trouble when your mother would find out - The place you chose to hide in was a run down part of the courtyard where you were least likely to be spotted by anyone or anything - Your plan started backfiring only about an hour after you settled in your hiding spot - The cold was starting to be painful on your skin but you refused to go back in - Before you knew it you had passed out, deleting any memory of what was to happen afterwards - Upon waking up, you found yourself in your room, changed in a new set of clothes and void of the chill you were suffering from before you lost consciousness - It didn’t take you long to notice your mother sitting in a chair next to the bed, struggling not to drift of to sleep, her face looking like she had aged about ten years in the span of a few hours out of worry - “Mom?” You spoke up weakly, startling the woman who was on her feet and crouching down closer to you within a second - “Y/N, darling, why’d you do that? You had me worried sick.” Alcina said, her hand gently caressing your hair, none of that sternness she was known for left in her - “I’m sorry, mama. For scaring you and for the wine bottle. I didn’t mean to...” You tried saying but got choked up by your tears - “The wine be damned. Nothing is as important to me as you are sweetie.” She said, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before climbing in bed with you and wrapping her arms around you, her embrace so warm and comforting - You never doubted your mother’s love for you, but that moment only made you more sure in it and made you love her triple the amount you already loved her

Donna Beneviento

- Donna had always been generous with the amount of dolls she allowed you to have and play with - Although, the ones she gave you were not infected with her Cadou and couldn’t move or speak on their own as to not scare you - However, you were still allowed to play and talk with Angie who you were raised to see as a sister - And just like sisters, you and Angie also fought every now and then - But, this one time, she really angered you and with all the strength of a six year old that you possessed you threw her across the room - She hit a wall hard enough to loosen one of her arms and it fell off - That’s when you knew you were practically dead in trouble and ran to hide under your bed - As you were climbing up the stairs though, you could still hear Angie’s screaming and crying from downstairs and Donna could no doubt hear it as well - So as to avoid running into her, instead of hiding upstairs, you went into the basement - Where you had never been in, by the way - Meaning you had no idea what horrors awaited you there - Mannequins, doll parts, terrifying dolls which moved on their own - In your eyes it was a pure nightmare - Seeing the dolls turning their heads to follow your movement, some even raising an arm as if to greet you almost made you scream several times but you didn’t want to give away your hiding spot - And that’s when the laid out mannequin on the table, one you were already terrified of, turned it’s head to look at you, opened its eyes and mouth - The radio on the other table turned on simultaneously, all of it being too much of a scare for you to be able to suppress the scream you let out - That’s when you felt a hand on your shoulder and screamed even louder, even beginning to cry - The hand turned you around and you were suddenly facing your mom who looked scared and concerned, a little paler than usual too - You took no notice of that though, seeing as how you ran right into her, hiding your face in her hip - “I’m sorry mommy! I didn’t mean to hurt Angie! Just please don’t let them scare me anymore!” You cried, your tiny hands balled up in fists, clutching to Donna’s dress as if for dear life - The woman was relieved to see you were safe although still a little confused as to why you had even run down to the basement in the first place - And then she thought a bit more about what you had said - “Oh dear, you thought you were in trouble? Angie’s perfectly fine, Y/N. Her limbs come off loosely all the time. You didn’t even actually hurt her.“ - Seeing that your distress was showing no sign of decreasing, Donna picked you up and proceeded to carry you up to where Angie was so she could apologize for making you feel guilty in the first place

Salvatore Moreau

- Being a young kid, the Reservoir was a rather dangerous place for you to wander around in unsupervised - Usually you’d stick to the safest area, aka the one furthest away from the water, and would only be allowed to see the rest of your dad’s property with him by your side, holding your hand to make sure you wouldn’t fall - But one day, as you were sitting in at the entrance of the Reservoir, in the small body of water by your feet you saw a golden fish - Mesmerized, you foolishly ducked down to try and touch it but it, of course, swam away - Oh but you were far from prepared to let it go - So you chased after it, watching its glimmering skin rush under the surface of the water, going further into the dangerous parts of the property - You were mindless to the fact you were entering a territory that was originally forbidden to you - That is until a wooden board on the dock broke under you, causing you to fall in the water - And being only barely six years old, you didn’t know how to swim so before the panic had even worn off completely, you started screaming for help, praying your father would hear you - And boy were you in luck - A giant fish emerged from the water from underneath you, carrying you on its back to the dock you had fallen from - You scrambled to get to the safe half of it and sat on the ledge - By the time you were able to look around with clear vision instead of the blurred with tears one you had been struggling with seconds prior, the monster fish was gone - And your dad was standing on the dock next to you - “You see no why you aren’t allowed here, child?” - You nod, sniffling and running to hug him, relieved to be in your dad’s safe embrace - Despite the efforts to be stern, Moreau crumbles back to his usual loving and caring self, being the best father in the world in your eyes - He carried you, piggy-back style back to the safe space of the Reservoir

Karl Heisenberg

- It goes without say that, growing up in a factory as dangerous as Heisenberg’s, there’s certain amount of rules you have to respect for yours and your father’s safety as well as the successfulness of his experiments - But there was no force that was able to keep you away from this one machine that looked far too interesting for you to overlook - You couldn’t help but go up to it every now and then to look at the blinking lights and the tempting colorful buttons - And then there was one day when just looking didn’t satisfy you - So you went on to press a few buttons, in the order of your favorite colors - It didn’t take long for you to realize how poor that decision was - When sparks started flying from the machine was when you finally decided to back away and that satisfying your curiosity wasn’t worth it - But it was already too late - The whole process had stopped, the conveyer belt of murder machines pausing mid-movement suggesting the whole operation was hindered - “Y/N? What on Earth are you doing?” - Your dad’s voice had never terrified you so much - All excuses and apologies you wanted to say died down in your throat at the sight of your mildly agitated father standing behind you with an unimpressed look on his face - He wasn’t angry by any means but your vision was too blurred by tears for you to be able to see that - “Dad, I’m so sorry!” You cried, running to hug him, back turned to the malfunctioning machine you believed you damaged beyond repair - Wrapping his arms around you, he gave you a quick hug before stepping around you and approaching the machine, fixing it with the press of a few buttons - “Hope that teaches you a valuable lesson not to break the rules kid.” He said with a crooked smile, ruffling your hair while you still stared at machine in disbelief

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allandoflimbo · 3 years

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Ashens (Part 22)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 3,600

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

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He’s been gone all morning. You don’t know where he went and you didn’t ask before he left. Whatever it was, you weren’t too concerned, anyway. It was about time you two had some space. It helped clear your mind and helped you move on. You were moving on.

There was another reason you were thankful he had left for the morning. You could feel the chills run up the sides of your arms, goosebumps appearing where your skin was once smooth.

You eyed the closet doors curiously. It was almost eerie how quiet it was around you. You dropped your eyes for only a moment before raising them up again.

You had to do this. You were going to do this.

You finally gather the balls to do something you’ve been wanting to for some time now. It had been eating away at you like mad.

Once in front of the closet, you crouch down. You raise your left hand slowly roll the doors open, your eyes immediately dart down to the little black box on the ground. Exactly where he’d left it.

Part of you was happy that it remained untouched.

Per Steve’s orders, you had both buried any of your weaponry about a mile before reaching the wall nearly three months ago. You weren’t supposed to be bring any inside with you. It was forbidden.

It had shocked you when you and Bucky had been arguing about going after Ashen and he had pulled out a G19, angrily strapping it onto his leg to prove a point. He obviously snuck it in. At the time, you hadn’t really given it much thought. You were more shocked that he ignored his best friend’s request.

Now, it concerned you for different reasons.

You sat criss cross in front of the box, staring at it for a few more long seconds. Taking in a deep breath, you opened it. It opened with a small click.

There it was.

Matte black. Subtle but deadly.

You eyed the gun like it was a ticking bomb. You’ve never held a fire arm before, but that wasn’t necessarily why you were nervous. You were nervous to know why the hell he had it stacked away in your bedroom when you knew he didn’t even have the intention of killing anyone on this mission. He made sure to make you aware of this, many times.

You also knew it wasn’t to be used on you. There was no way.

The only other plausible reason he had it, kept you on edge.

You didn’t want your thoughts going there.

You reached slowly for the gun until you felt it lay heavy in your right hand. It was heavier than it looked. It felt deadlier than it looked.

You swallowed thickly, allowing yourself to think the worst.

Was he going to use this on himself?

You suddenly wanted it as far away from you as possible.

Your hand trembled slightly as you put it back in its place, letting your fingers linger on the ridges for just a moment.

You let out a long breath realizing.

When you had eyed the closet, you didn’t really think it through.

What were you going to do once you had it in your hands? Were you going to get the gun and hide it? Were you just curious? Was there something about it that secretly terrified you and you weren’t going to believe you really saw him hold it until you held it yourself?

You shake your head, pushing the box back into its original place. You were over exaggerating.

He probably just brought it in case you both needed it for self protection.

You looked over at your black back pack right next to it and pulled it out.

You fished inside, looking at different things you forgot you still had. You had your grey sweater, scarf, and beat up boots at the bottom. It smelled dusty.

You stuck your hand into the front pocket of the backpack, pulling out a note. It wasn’t your first time reading it, but you need the gentle reminder.

Thank you again for doing this. Thank you for helping me out and for agreeing to our plan to help Bucky be happy again. We can do this together. That plan, to me, is the most important thing right now. Thank you for doing whatever it takes to mentally convince him he deserves happiness. What you’re doing means the world to me, y/n. See you both again very soon. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.

Steve

You felt small tears in your eyes at your promise. If only he knew how it wasn’t so easy. You closed your eyes tightly together, took a deep breath, and placed the note onto your chest.

I’ll keep trying.

+ +

You didn’t understand these jobs that came with your ID. You didn’t understand most of what you were being told to do, but you did it anyway.

At the end of the day, your number one plan was to still kill Ashen. So you went through with what Bucky ordered you to do until it was time.

Your first day at the tower started off better than how you thought it would. Mr. Hyde was a old gentleman in his late 50s. He had short white hair and a nicely trimmed white beard to compliment it. He knew you were learning and that this would be your first time working up to a secretary job, so he started you off with small assistant duties like transporting paper work around the building, scheduling, and grabbing anything personal he may need here and there.

The best part was when he gave you a tour of the building, the whole reason you even were excited about it. Maybe this was why this was written into the mission.

He explained to you what each floor was but never took you past floor 15. You eyed the buttons on the elevator suspiciously.

He said that wasn’t their area and that “we didn’t need to worry about it”. You needed a special code to access those floors anyway.

You quickly made a connection. You wondered how Bucky had gotten in the other day.

The atmosphere in the elevator went cold when you stopped somewhere on the seventh floor and a man dressed in black and gold walked in. It was a fitted suit, expensive looking, and he had a cold look in his eyes. You swallowed thickly, looking away from him. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, trying to conceal your tattoo as much as you could.

Something about this man was off.

You heard the term Coroner a lot when you worked serving drinks. They weren’t the coroner most people knew, they were cop meets bounty hunter.

There was just something about them that left you uneasy. He stood in front of you and you felt yourself shuffle back a few inches. You looked over at Mr. Hyde and he gave you a small smile.

You smiled back.

+ +

It wasn’t until your fourth day at the building when things finally took a turn.

Bucky was going to meet you at a stairwell for floor eleven. He was going to trace Silas down once and for all. The night after the ball, Bucky was went traced them down to see where they would take the new import. According to what he overheard, there had been some complications and it wouldn’t be administered until today.

You got up from your seat, pretending you were just looking for the restroom, when you turned down the narrow hallway and went for the door that led into the stairwell.

You had three floors to climb up to meet him.

You were on the ninth floor when you turned the corner of the stairs and your heart nearly jumped up into your throat.

His face, his hair, his eyes, and his damn voice.

It all hit you at once and you turned back the direction you came from, leaning back against the steal rods. You put a hand up to your head as you felt dizzy. You could feel your heart beating away like crazy and you felt that anger you harbored down for so long.

It was him. The face from the diner and the face of the man that killed your mom and dad.

Ashen.

And he was with another woman.

“He’s our child and he’s dying!” The woman shouted. You could hear the tears in her voice.

“I know but there’s not much else I can do,” the voice. It was deep and violent. You hated it. You hated him, “He woke up this morning, cured! Without us even giving him the dose of the chemical. It’s obvious his plasma contains some kind of fending off mechanism. It took years, but he obviously survived it and no longer has it.”

You took a deep breath as you processed what you were hearing.

Had the little boy been infected with the virus, but now was doing well?

“And?” The woman insisted.

“And?” An evil laugh came from within Ashen’s chest, “We need all his blood, goddamn it! We need it distributed to our men if we want our side to stay strong once we go out there!”

“You can’t possibly still think—“

“It’s our world —“

“But we are safe here. Our son is safe here!”

“You didn’t think we’d all stay stuck in here for all eternity, did you? Hydra and Sword is to control the world, not the city. These walls kept us safe long enough and our son is well now, and we might have the cure in our hands. It’s all we need to conquer.”

You could hear sniffling.

“You can’t kill our son.” The woman begged.

“No,” he said slowly, “Not yet at least. We need trial periods.”

“Ashen, please-“

“I sacrificed everything for him!” A shriek followed by a gruntled groan came from the woman and you wondered what he was doing to her, “I cut the plan short, of us taking the capitol, because of him! I was minding my own business that night before I got the call. I took the risks, I found the refuge, I found the goods, and I called an initiative, and now look at us, we’re all safe. And our son just also happens to be the possible cure for all of this. If Hydra completing this mission requires my son’s life, so be it.”

“I won’t let you hurt him! I won’t let you pick at him with needles and knives. He is my baby boy!”

“Was, honey, was.” You could hear a loud smack, “And after him, you’re next.”

“What?”

“Now let’s get back in there and congratulate him.”

You could still feel your heart beating away inside of your ears as you heard the shuffling of their feet, followed by the closing of a door.

This was way too much information for you to process. This was too much for you. Suddenly, you cursed Bucky for making you work intel. Intel was the worst part.

You knew this information and now you had to tell him without freaking out, or worst, freaking him out.

It didn’t take much longer for a familiar face to turn the corner of the stairwell.

His blue eyes met yours over his scarf.

“What the hell are you doing here, I said eleventh —-“ his voice faltered as he watched your stricken face. His own eyes fell and he raised a hand to the back of your head and caressed it softly, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

“I—“ you whimpered out. Bucky hushed you as he leaned his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes tightly together, “I—he—“

“Breathe. Breathe. Breath for me.”

You took in a deep breath and controlled your breathing.

When you opened your eyes he was staring straight down at you.

“I saw him.” Bucky’s eyes darted over your face, knowing exactly what you were talking about. Who you were talking about, “I saw him.” You repeat again. He nods, “I can’t stay here, Bucky. Not when he’s here. He killed mom and dad, Bucky.” You whimpered into a cry.

“Hey, shhhh,” he brought his hand to your jaw and ran his thumb there gently, “shhh. I’m sorry,” he straightens his head up over yours and places a kiss on the top of your head, “I’m sorry you saw him.”

You ran your hands up his chest and softly pushed him away from you. Bucky’s face fell, along with his hands at his sides. You looked away from him, running the back of your sweater-clothed hand underneath your nose.

You needed to create distance. You and him, whatever it was, was no more.

“I overheard them.”

“Them?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Yes, them. Him and what I can only imagine is maybe his wife? I don’t know, it was another woman. The little boy’s mother.”

Bucky took a deep breath.

“Okay, and what did they say?”

“He’s going to kill him. He can potentially save us, save all of us, but instead he’s going to kill him, I—I—“ you were freaking out as your ran both hands down your face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The boy!” You shouted quietly, pointing to the direction where the stairs continued. “Ashen is after the boy. He’s going to kill the mom and he’s after the boy, too.”

“What? Why? Why is he after his own son?”

You took a deep breath and met Bucky’s gaze again. His jaw was tight and he looked apprehensive.

“They think the cure is in his plasma.” You say slowly and carefully, knowing how much weight the words held.

“The cure?”

“For the virus. The boy’s blood.”

Bucky let out a long breath, running a hand through his own hair now and pulling on it.

“And why does he want the child dead? Does he not want the cure?”

“No, no he does.”

“What? He wants it just for himself?” You whined as you looked away again, “Y/N, you came on this mission for this reason. It’s for you to give me the important information you have right at this moment. Tell me, why does he want the boy dead?”

“He says he wants to make enough just for Hydra and Sword,” Bucky’s face went pale, “I’m assuming it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else after that having access to it. He kills the boy, no more cure for anyone else.”

“That,” his tongue clicks, “That’s absurd. Hydra wants to recruit more bad, not kill off the remaining race. It defeats the purpose of world domination.”

“I think they have a change of plans. They said they want to control the rest of the world.”

“With a raging virus? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. That was all he said before I heard him choking his wife. I don’t know what they plan to do after they go out there, protected. I don’t know.”

“And in that vile? What was in the vile?”

“I don’t know, a trial drug. But nothing as good as the boy’s blood.”

Bucky lets out a long breath as he walks back and forth, clearly stressed and overwhelmed. You watched him, intrigued. You’ve never seen him worry like this before.

“Shit, shit, shit.” he mumbles under his breath, “What do we do? What do we do.”

You stare down at his feet as they continue to move across the floor.

“I think it’s obvious what we need to do.”

“What?”

“We need to take him.” You say seriously, looking Bucky dead in the eye.

“We need to take him.” He says back.

“We can’t let Hydra have access to the cure and let the rest of the world burn and we can’t get him get killed.” You place a hand on Bucky’s arm to stop him and he looks up at you. You could practically see the emotions in his eyes, “He’s just a little boy.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t just go in there and take the kid. I can’t just kidnap someone’s child.”

“Why not?” You ask simply.

Bucky lets out a scoff.

“What?”

“Bucky look at the stakes here. He wants him killed, he’ll build an army to dictate the rest of the world. Bucky we have no other option. This is the end of the world. There is no time for common courtesy.”

“Okay. Okay, just relax. We need to plan this through, okay? So far us two and his parents are the only ones who know about him right?”

“I mean his doctor probably knows too and also the scientist he’s working with. The man who probably sent in those viles.”

“Those viles can be good too, right? We need to take those, too. At least a few. There has to be a reason they brought them in. Maybe they aren’t timely useless. Trial drug or not.”

“So we take the boy, now—”

“We can’t, y/n.” Bucky says strictly. You don’t expect his hand to cup your cheek again. It takes your breath away. Why was he behaving this way? “He said he’ll wait anyway. They probably need to run tests first. We still have two and a half months left in here. If we take him now, they’ll notice he’s gone, and Hydra’s already suspecting there’s intruders inside the wall. It’s too risky. We need to wait,” he runs his hand over your chin and tilts his head slowly to the side. A pained look is in his eyes, “I know you want to, and I want to, too, but we need to do this carefully.”

“So what do you suggest?” Your voice comes out rough.

“I don’t know, maybe we can keep an eye on him or something.” He says. “His father works here, maybe you’ll see him around. Warm up to him. Make sure he’s safe.”

“Ashen knows what I look like.”

Bucky nods.

“I know that. Maybe there’s something we can do. Maybe I can find where he stays in the building. I’ll figure something out. And you’ll be safe, I promise. He won’t see you.”

You believe Bucky’s words and you nod.

“Okay.”

“What do you think? Should we risk him seeing me?” He says with a small smile on his face.

You look at him incredulously.

“Are you dumb?”

“What?” He asks like it’s nothing.

“You’re Captain America’s best fiend. If you really think he wouldn’t recognize you right away and run and tell his dad, you’re insane.”

___

It had been a successful day. It was exhausting and you and Bucky were both clearly burnt out, emotionally and mentally. A lot happened for both of you. You both took a shower, individually of course, you had dinner and you finally got him to watch the first half of Titanic. It was a long night.

But it wasn’t the end of the day yet.

You sat on the bed crisscross and in your PJs, looking out into the city, deep in thought.

Bucky moves over to you and across the bed and you close your eyes tightly together, feeling the bed dip down. You can feel him as he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll save him, okay? Imagine how much Steve will love us when you come back not only with a life saved, but with the cure.” His words are gentle and sweet, but hold so much weight over you.

You couldn’t do this. You made that promise a few days ago.

“Look, Bucky I don’t think we should do this anymore. Our agreement.” You say quietly, your voice breaking off at the end.

He went still and you felt a cold rush where he began to remove his hand from your skin.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that—“

“Bucky—“

“I didn’t know you weren’t in the mood. I’m sorry.”

“No,” you say quietly and so heartbreakingly slow that you know he can feel it too. Why did it feel this way? “It’s not that.” You slowly turn around to face him. He’s got both arms stretched down on the bed below him, palms down, and he’s staring at you like he was afraid you would hurt him again like you did the other night. You looked away from him and pushed yourself away to give you both more room to breathe

“Sweetheart—“

“I’ve decided to go out with Pietro again,” You watch as his eyes drop from your own to the spot just next to your arm. He swallows hard and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that isn’t necessarily jealously, “We want to see where it goes. I know we’ll only be here a little while longer, but who knows the future, right? What if I see him again?”

Bucky swallows again and clears his throat.

“It wouldn’t feel right doing that to him.”

“Oh.”

“So, uh,” he straightens himself out until he’s standing, and he pulls his shirt down in a sort of fidgety way you almost find adorable if it weren’t for the heartbroken look in his eyes, “you’re gonna date?”

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, feeling a tightness in your chest that you couldn’t bare.

Why did it feel like this?

“Yeah. I deserve someone that will take care of me like that, don’t you think?”

Bucky’s eyes are unreadable at that point. This was what he wanted, right? For you to move on and meet someone better for you?

“You’ll find a guy your age, you don’t want an old thing like me, anyway.”

“You do.” It hurt him to say it. It fucking destroyed him in the goddamn core.

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bi-bard · 3 years

Text

Picture Perfect - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Picture Perfect

Pairing: Winchester Brothers X Child!Reader

Requested: by @isatkj

Word Count: 1,356 words

Warning(s): mentions of death, potential violence.

Summary: (Around Season 8 or 9-ish) The perfect town... that wasn't supposed to exist. Now, Sam and Dean have to figure out what caused this city to suddenly pop up on the map.

Author's Note: I took so much inspiration from season 14, episode 15 because of the general vibe of the whole episode.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

--Third P.O.V--

Dean pulled the impala up to an open gas pump. While his brother got the gas, Sam opened the passenger door so he could go over the facts.

"So, there have been strange occurrences around a small town about three hours outside of Seattle, Washington," Sam relayed. "Insiders rarely come out and the outsiders that go in don't usually get back out."

"No one's making a huge deal about this," Dean asked.

"Well, it's supposed to be an old ghost town," Sam explained. "But it's not. Functioning stores and living families."

"So, something has got this town up and running but the people in it are... what performing sacrifices," Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged.

"How far out are we," Dean asked.

"A few more hours," Sam replied.

"Hold on boys," the brothers looked over to see Death standing in front of the car. "I have some information you need about this little town."

"And that is...," Sam asked after Death had trailed off.

"You shouldn't go in," the being replied. "The person running that town is incredibly dangerous. You'll be dead in moments. The residents won't let you get close enough to harm the child."

"The child," Dean noted.

"The child is raising the dead," Death continued. "This upsets the natural balance of things. The source must be removed."

"'The source' is a child," Sam argued. "You can't just kill a child."

"I can, and I will," Death just seemed to shrug.

"Do you know why this kid wants to bring people back," Dean asked. "Before you become an asshole and murder someone who hasn't even gotten to middle school?"

"Almost a year ago, the child lost both of their parents," Death explained. "That's when their powers first spiraled. It started with only their parents. It then spread, like a virus. Soon, a whole town was standing in a spot where there should be rubble."

"You're going to kill a kid that lost their family," Sam asked.

The brothers stared at Death in shock. Death seemed annoyingly unaffected. To him, this was the only way to put things back in order. To the boys, this was a clearly scared kid that went through the same pain that they did.

"You can't do this," Dean shook his head. "We won't let you."

"You don't have a choice-"

"Give us a chance," Sam snapped. "It's a kid. A scared kid. Give us a chance to talk to them. Just a chance."

"No."

"Come on!"

"I'll give you one chance," Death replied. "If you fail, I will finish the job."

As the word "job" was spoken, Death vanished from the boys' sight.

Sam and Dean jumped back into the impala and took off. What was supposed to be another three-hour drive was done in a little over two. Neither brother knew how they didn't get pulled over but they didn't care.

Dean pulled the car over to the curb.

"Woah," Dean mumbled as they got out.

It was the picture-perfect town. There was a small dinner, a library that was actually being used, cookie-cutter houses. Sam and Dean looked at each other.

Locals were looking at them as the brothers walked by.

"So, where do we find this kid," Dean asked.

"Well, look at the signs," Sam pointed at the businesses. Most of them had (Y/l/n) on their signs. "It's the most common name. If we can find that house, we can find the kid."

Everyone's house had little signs. It was very clear this town was designed by a child.

"Well, hello," a man walked up to the brothers.

"Hi," Dean said awkwardly.

"Can I ask why you boys have decided to visit our little town," the man asked.

The boys looked at each other for a moment.

"We were admiring the lovely houses," Sam lied. "We have been considering moving for a while and this town seems lovely."

"Well, there aren't any vacancies," the man replied.

"Oh, that's a shame," Sam shrugged. "Is there someone else we can talk to? A mayor or something? I don't want to insult you but maybe you missed something."

The man's smile dropped, "You can't go near them."

"Why," Dean asked.

"You'll hurt them," the man glared.

It was like that was a signal. All of the people on the street stopped, turning to stare at the brothers. The brothers looked all around them.

"We're not going to hurt them," Sam tried to explain. "We're trying to help."

"No," the man snapped. "You're trying to take us away."

When the man stepped forward, the brothers knew it was time to run. They sprinted down the street as almost a whole town chased them.

"Sam," Dean yelled, pointing at a house. "There, look at the sign!"

"(Y/l/n)'s house!" was written on the sign.

The brothers ran through the front door, locking it. No one banged on the door.

"They don't want to hurt (Y/n)," Sam said. "We should be safe here."

"Hello there," a man and woman walked out to see the brothers.

"The parents," Sam mumbled.

They looked up to the stairs when the floor creaked. There was a young kid standing up there.

"Hi, (Y/n)," Sam said softly, trying to keep from scaring the kid. "I'm Sam, this is my brother, Dean. We're here to help."

"Why," the kid asked. "I'm happy here. Everything was fixed."

"Do you know why," Sam asked. The child seemed confused at the idea that something caused this. "You brought them back, remember?"

"Don't," the dad said in anger. "You don't get to hurt (Y/n)."

"Sam," Dean mumbled.

One more shared look and the two took off. They ran up the stairs, the undead parents on their tails.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, leading (Y/n) back into their room. Dean slammed the door, locking it and being ready to hold it shut.

"What are you doing," (Y/n) went to fight Sam, but obviously didn't get far.

"(Y/n)," Sam knelt down and grabbed (Y/n)'s shoulders. "You created this town. Your parents died and your powers went out of control. No one here is supposed to be alive."

"You're... You're lying," the child yelled, shaking her head. Dean leaned into the door when (Y/n)'s parents started banging on it.

"I know it's hard," Sam continued. "It's terrifying but you aren't going to be completely alone. Right now, you're putting yourself in danger. That's not good, is it?"

(Y/n) shook their head.

"I lost both my parents too," Sam said. "It's scary but you have to let these people go. They have to move on. I promise, they'll be much happier."

"I don't wanna be alone," the kid mumbled, tears falling down their face.

"You won't be," Sam promised. "Dean and I will make sure of that."

The banging stopped. Dean stood up straight again.

The cookie-cutter house faded. Instead of falling from the second floor like they should have, they were just on the ground by an old building, already crumbled and destroyed.

Sam pulled (Y/n) into a tight hug as the kid sobbed. Dean walked over to them. He and Sam shared a sad look. Sam slowly stood up, letting the kid hold his hand as they walked to the impala.

Death was waiting for them.

The brothers froze, Sam pushing (Y/n) behind him.

"Good job boys," Death complimented. "However, there's still a problem. The child doesn't have control over their powers."

"We can teach them," Dean argued. "We have enough experience with powers that we can help."

Death took a step forward.

Both the boys moved to be more in his way.

"Fine," Death stared at (Y/n), who was still hiding behind Sam. "I'll have my eye on you."

With that, Death disappeared again. (Y/n) stepped out from behind Sam.

"He's not very nice," the kid mumbled. The brothers couldn't help but chuckle. Understatement of the century.

"Come on, kid," Dean nodded toward the car. "Let's make sure we have a comfortable place for you to sleep for the night."

The boys didn't expect to leave the town with a kid but it definitely wasn't the weirdest hunt they had been on.

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

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#winchester brothers imagine #winchester brothers fanfiction #winchester brothers x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader

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uwuwriting · 4 years

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Sakusa and Ushijima seeing their wife and child at their game.

Request: UM EXCUSE ME BUT DAD PRO PLAYERS ARE A MUST HAVE IN MY LIFE. I know you haven’t done anything with dads yet but maybe Skusa and Ushijima seeing their wife and child at one of their game. It’s a surprise though so they don’t expect it. THANK YOU!

OMG ANON THIS IS AN AMAZING ASK. I have another dad related ask which I’ll get to later this week I hope *or maybe next week*. I haven’t written Sakusa before so I’m sorry if he’s a little OOC. Hope you like it. Love yaa.💖💖💖

rules

warnings: fluff

characters are aged up

Sakusa Kiyoomi

-How did you manage to end up with a child from this man?

-I mean mister germaphobe here actually slept with someone? And got her pregnant?

-In all seriousness he would do anything for you and his son.

-From the moment he was born, Oomi was wrapped around his little finger.

-Not being able to see you two as much as he wants leads to him being kind of a push over with both of you.

-He will shower you with affection after sanitizing you, the house, your son and himself giving you as any kisses as possible and then cuddling you during the night, holding you as close as possible.

-As for your son...he will be spoiled from sunrise to nightfall.

-He wants a new volleyball even though he has 3? Done.

-He wants a toy that he saw at some random store? Done.

-You’ll have to talk to Oomi about it since you are starting to become the bad guy since you are the one who says NO every once in a while.

-Poor man wants to make up for lost time.

-Your son has gotten into volleyball of course, even at the early age of five he already trains with his dad whenever he can.

-So when Oomi has a game that isn’t in another country your son is ecstatic.

- “Daddy’s game is in Tokyo this time! It’s not that far! Can we go please????”

-You wanted to go yourself, it had been ages since you had seen one of his games in person.

-So you agreed under the condition that he keep it a secret.

- “Let it be a surprise for daddy hm?”

-Once Oomi left for the match you went to your bedroom and put one your Black Jackals n. 15 jersey.

-Then you went to your son’s room finding him struggling to put on his makeshift MSBY 15 jersey that his dad bought him for Christmas.

-You helped him and you were out the door in no time.

-Entering the gym you took your seats in the bleachers and waited for the match to begin.

-Usually you would text or call Sakusa to wish him good luck but not this time.

-And boy did it affect him.

-He was so grumpy during warm up until he heard a very familiar squeal when they stepped on the court and were getting into receiving position.

-Looking at the bleachers he immediately spotted you, holding your son in your arms both of you adorning his number.

-He was filled with so much determination and giddiness that it was a shocker to Atsumu who saw his teammate smile for the first time.

-After a successful game, he will rush home accompanied by the two of you, listening to his son rambling on about what he saw and what he wanted to learn.

-He will shower doing his usual routine of sanitizing and cleansing his skin from germs with the power of the gods before scooping both of you up and cuddling you on the couch.

-He thanks you for going to his game because you pushed him to give his all.

-Might promise his son to take him to his practice the next day.

Ushijima Wakatoshi

-Our baby Toshi here has wanted to start a family with you for so long.

-Since you graduated high school and moved in together to be exact.

-He knows however that his occupation keeps him away from home a lot and he wouldn’t want to raise a child who doesn’t know him.

-He wants to be there for everything.

-So when you announce a few years later that you’re pregnant he is almost panicking.

-He has to be here for everything.

-You sit down and talk things through agreeing and making compromises, finally getting to the exciting part that was that you were having a baby!!

-Fast forward five years later and now you are a mother of two.

-A five year old boy who has you hair and his eyes.

-And a three year old girl who has his hair and your eyes.

-They are literally a mix match result of the both of you.

-Despite their age they are both crazy over volleyball, practicing with their dad when he doesn’t have practice and even attending his practices running around catching balls.

-They are adorable to say the least.

-Toshi is there for the majority of the important moments and he spends all his free time with them, trying to make up for lost time.

-They always accompany you to the airport to say goodbye no matter the time and are always with you to meet him when he comes back.

-Facetime before going to bed is a must if you want them to sleep in their beds, otherwise they’ll take over your bed and basically kick you out.

- “We didn’t talk to daddy!” your daughter would say with a pout that looked too much like your own.

- “Yeah and now you lose bed privileges.” your son would add before hopping onto the bed.

-At first you thought they were kidding but when they wouldn’t budge you had to call Wakatoshi and complain about your kids’ bullying.

-He would of course laugh at first and then ask to see them.

-So yeah.. they are overly attached to him.

-It makes you jealous at times.

-So when a game was close to your house the kids started acting more like angels than ever.

-They would do whatever you wanted and not question you.

-That’s how you knew that they wanted to go to the game.

-You see your kids had two modes 1) I’ll help you drive mom crazy and 2) don’t you dare breath in my direction.

-So when they both wanted the same thing mode n. 1 is in constant affect and you’re kinda scared of how easily they work together when they want to.

-You surprise them with shirts with their dad’s jersey number as you yourself are wearing one of his older jerseys.

-Now your daughter prefers your shirt and will ask if there’s another one which she can wear as a dress but sadly there isn’t (she would also look like a potato sack with Ushijima’s huge shirt one her).

-When you get to your seats the match is starting and your son is scanning the other team as they serve.

-Both Ushijima children follow the ball with such concentration like wow.

-Then the ball falls on the opposite side and dad Ushijima is going for a serve.

-Both of them are screaming/chanting for their dad and you were certain that they were they were the loudest in the gym.

-Ushijima looks at them( he spots them immediately no matter where he is )and gives them a soft smile, his whole body swelling with bride and fuzziness.

-The whole game continues with the two of them cheering and you laughing next to them as you see how terrified some of the opponents are.

-True Ushijima strength right here.

-After the game its ice cream and a family outing because he is just so happy and proud he could combust.

TAG TEAM AY:

@brattyquirks @the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings

#haikyuu sakusa #sakusa #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima haikyuu #ushijima x reader #ushijima x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyu!!#haikyuu

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athenawasamerf · 4 years

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Feminism in Egypt, Part 2

FGM

FGM has a long, bloody history with African and Arab women. Some people say it originated in Ancient Egypt; others lean more towards it being a Bedouin Arab tradition. I’m not here to discuss the origin story of one of the most horrific human rights infarctions on earth. I’m here to talk about the current feminist struggle against it.

FGM was outlawed in Egypt in June of 2008, and a 2014 survey showed that a whopping 92% of married women and girls between 15 and 49 years old have been subjected to FGM (I will talk more about the inclusion of 15 year olds in official surveys of married women in a post about child brides), and that 72% of these crimes were carried out by doctors. In 2008, a DHS survey of women and girls in the same age range showed that 63% of them were in support of FGM as a practice. Of those 63%, 60% cited husband preference for ‘cleaned’ girls, and 39% cited religious reasons. All of these are easily googleable facts, but these things always sound so clinical when they’re presented like this. Cold, sterile, detached. So, let’s get a little deeper into it, shall we?

Girls in Egypt are mutilated anywhere between birth and marriage, but mostly before the age of 15. These are children. Every single year, we have cases of babies, toddlers, children, young women dying from botched mutilations and infections, especially after the 2016 criminalisation of FGM practitioners. Parents will take their daughters to backwater clinics, or have ‘doula’s who have no medical experience of any kind visit them at home, and cut into the flesh of their young daughters with non-sterile equipment, often without anaesthesia.

I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who got topical anaesthesia that wore out halfway through. I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who were dragged, kicking and screaming, and held down by family and neighbours forcefully as their bodies were torn into. Of girls who bled for days, of girls who had to have their legs bound to each other for weeks, of girls who couldn’t stop screaming in pain every time they went to the bathroom, to complete apathy and even disgust and anger from their families, of girls who were snarled at for making noise while their bodies were being torn away on their own beds, of girls who still have constant pain over a decade later, of girls who hate themselves and hate their vulvas, and hate their lives. Of girls who are suicidal, of girls who are terrified of marriage, who have trust issues, who can’t handle the thought of anyone touching them there again, after the first time being so traumatic and painful and horrifying. All of this is done while the family, and even friends and neighbours, celebrate in joy. It’s even tradition in some rural areas to take all the female children of the family to get ‘fixed’ together, dressed in pretty dresses and fancy shoes.

I’ve also heard of women who are asexual due to trauma, whose husbands rape them continuously, who are abused for refusing sex, whose families disown them for being such a disgrace, whose husbands divorce them and leave them for dead, whose husbands marry multiple women besides them, and they are left to fend for themselves, unable to get a divorce and move on, and completely abandoned by the people they trusted the most. They’re told the angels will curse them all night for refusing sex, but what about their trauma? What about their feelings? What about them, as people? Nobody cares.

So, how did we get here? There are 3 main reasons.

The ’’religious’’ folk will cite a (weak) hadith as their proof that FGM is a good, healthy practice. It goes that the prophet saw a woman going to get her daughter cut, and he told her to ‘not cut severely, as that is better for the woman and more preferable to the husband’. Apart from any implications of misogyny in this hadith, it has been disputed multiple times, along with a couple others in support of FGM. You can read more about that here.

Regardless of the truth of FGM having Islamic support, the reality of the matter is that a huge amount of actual, real life Muslim people cite these hadiths as their reasoning to mutilate their daughters, and everyone sees that as completely justified. The truth of the matter is this: Someone put these hadiths into the public conscience knowing full well they will be used to abuse, maim, hurt, kill women for centuries. Whether that someone was prophet Muhammed himself or later scholars, no one can actually ever know.

The second, more indirectly religious and directly misogynistic reason, is to ensure ‘purity’. You see, as I’ve talked about before and as many of you already know, women in Islam and in MENA in general are seen and treated as property. The family’s honour lies between a woman’s thighs. A young girl who speaks to boys her age in the most innocent context possible can be subjected to house arrest, beatings, forced stopping of her education, even death, for daring to put the family’s honour in jeopardy. A girl who has a boyfriend, well...

In a society that places so much value not only on women’s virginity, but also on their complete removal and separation from the male sex at any cost, it’s not very surprising that tips and tricks like using FGM to ‘cull a woman’s sexual desire’ spread like wildfire. Girls are mutilated to make sure they don’t become wh**es. This is said frankly, openly, it’s common knowledge. If you refuse to hurt your child in this way, you will be met with disdain and disgust, and even wails of despair, with shock, with animosity. “Do you want her to become like a prostitute and ruin your family name? Do you want her to walk around uncontrolled? Don’t you know what shame she will bring on you?” These statements are directed at girls as young as... in the womb, if you show your dissent early enough.

And the final reason is the least of them to hide under religious pretences, and the most misogynistic: Because this is how men prefer their wives to be.

You might think when I say preference here, I mean it in the way I mean, “Oh, I personally prefer brunette hair,” but you would be sorely mistaken. By prefer here, I mean demand. I mean a man could force his grown wife, through physical force or through abuse, to mutilate her body for his satisfaction. I mean that men will sneer at un-mutilated women. I mean that men will beat their wives on their wedding night to within an inch of her life for ‘cheating’ them if the wives are not mutilated. I mean men will suspect their wives of adultery and murder them, which carries a reduced sentence of ‘time served during investigation’, just for the simple act of having intact genitals. I mean men will divorce their wives on their wedding night for being unharmed, for being whole. I mean men will act so entitled to women’s bodies that they will always have the assumption that the ‘product’ they are ‘buying’ is cut to taste, and they will become violent and aggressive and murderous if they find out this is not the case.

I personally don’t know whether or not I’ve been mutilated. With such high numbers in Egypt, the likely answer is yes, but I genuinely have no clue. I am not allowed to ask about these things, or I’ll be seen as a loose wh**re. My parents would beat me up and they still wouldn’t allow me the dignity of knowing whether my own body has been altered against my will. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out.

The feminists fighting constantly for tighter regulations, for harsher punishments, for longer sentences; these women are seen as the spawn of the devil. Accusations of loose morals are thrown their way day in and day out. Death threats and rape threats (’that’s what you want anyway isn’t it?’) are hurled at them from every direction. They are silenced. They are ridiculed. But they are prevailing. This year, the Egyptian president has decided to alter the FGM laws to cover loopholes, and possibly to increase enforcement. He has also altered the charge set to doctors who perform FGM which results in death from manslaughter to first or second degree murder.

The problem, however, remains in lack of reporting. Ever since the criminalisation of performing FGM in 2008, and the setting of punishments in 2016 as a minimum of three months’ jail time, to a maximum of 2 years, or a minimum of 1000EGP to a maximum of 5000EGP fines (63.71 to 318.53 USD), and until 2018, and possibly until today, not a single mutilator had been convicted.

Imagine being fined as little as 60 dollars for the permanent mutilation of a little girl’s body. And even that is not happening.

People refuse to report the monsters who do perform this, despite a 2012 gynaecology convention condemning the practice, and calling it an inhumane act, and stating quite forcefully that it is not a medical procedure, and that it is an infringement on the human rights of women and girls, which medicine and medical ethics do not condone. And yet, the public opinion remains the same: this is their business, it is not our place to intervene. It is not our place to get this fine young man thrown in jail, or fined, for performing a ‘cleaning’ procedure, and besides, wouldn’t you rather they had a medical professional perform it, rather than an uneducated woman, or a barber, or a butcher? It is not our place to report this family and tear them apart - what did they ever do to us that we may hurt them like this?

No one ever asks what little girls have ever done for us to fail them like this.

#egyptian feminism #radical feminism #RadFem #fgm #female genital mutilation #tw: violence #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: mentions of death #tw: misogynistic slurs #tw: fgm #feminism #anti-fgm #islam critical

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

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A Loki TVA/Lokane fic. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (of 6)

Shine a Light, part 5

He is aware that the love of his life is digging her fingers into his arm and saying his name.

He is aware of Stark standing to his other side, visor off, speaking to someone on the phone. His voice is hard.

But most of all, Loki is aware that all their lives were just changed by a great big terrifying rip in the seam of reality.

Neither Jane nor the Avenger could possibly be completely sure of what they saw. Loki, as much as he desperately wants to, harbors little doubt.

The man he held in a death-grip only minutes ago and who just now disappeared through a doorway conjured out of thin air was somehow … himself.

Another him. Just as the man had said.

After witnessing from afar the double kiss Jane, Loki, who was coming back from a swim, had been more than ready to skip past introductions and just sever the intruder’s head from his body.

But as soon as he had laid hands on him, a torrent of images had flooded his mind – chaotic, confused images that seemed to span past, present, future and beyond.

The shock had made him lessen his grip and the double had used his (his!) magic to throw him off.

With some distance between them and Stark suddenly there as well, Loki had tried to let his rage quell the dizzying realization. Unsuccessfully.

He is still shaking, clutching a dagger in each hand. He drew them instinctively as the other made for the door.

He should have caught him!

“Loki! What did he say?!”

“What?” His thoughts are racing in too many directions to hear her.

“The … man, what was he saying to you?!”

Jane is looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, worry and urgency all over her delicate features. Though not fear, Loki notes. His ever-brave wife. Both her hands are now clamped around his wrist.

That thing kissed her.

The daggers disappear and Loki wraps both arms around the mother of his unborn child, almost crushing her to his chest while still staring at the spot where the double vanished.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, love”, he murmurs. He suspects things are very much not okay.

So does Jane, of course.

“Loki, was it … oof, not so tight … “

She wriggles against him, and he remembers his amor. And her condition. He immediately relaxes his arms a bit while letting the leather and metal melt back into the clothes he wore before: Black jeans and a fitted, dusty green t-shirt (his “rockstar outfit”, Jane had called it, when Loki first started switching up his human wardrobe some years ago now). Drops of saltwater still cling to the ends of his slightly curly raven locks.

“Tony! Jane, Loki! What on Earth was that?”

Pepper jumps out of the car parked in front of the house and runs towards them. She must have seen everything as she drove down the road following her flying husband.

“The verdict’s still out, Peps”. Tony nods at Loki. “You wanna chip in here? I just called the boy-scout at headquarters and told him to be on guard for one of the magician’s interns playing a prank”.

Loki shakes his head slowly.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Stephen had anything to do with this”.

“You’re right, I didn’t”.

All four of them turn around to see the sorcerer step out of a swirling ring of light, his cape billowing around him. The mahogany floor and paneled walls of his Manhattan mansion are briefly visible behind him before the portal closes with a hiss of little sparks.

Strange is wearing an even sterner expression than usual which only adds to Loki’s growing sense of dread.

Tony, however, groans loudly.

“Dude, really? Couldn’t you at least have let us have dinner before party crashing? Not shaming your bachelor lifestyle or anything, but this was couples’ night!”

“Tony!” Pepper hits her husband on the arm.

Strange ignores him.

“I’m afraid the arrival of your surprise visitor indicates that a set of … unfortunate events have been set in motion”.

As always, his voice is as even as if he was reading the weather forecast, but by now Loki has learned to differentiate the (very) subtle nuances between scorn and sincerity. Strange places his hands behind his back and regards them coolly. “I’ve had Wong reach out to Doctor Banner and director Fury. They should be here shortly. Stark, you may want to-”.

Tony narrows his eyes, lip twitching.

“Hey, Bleeker Street, you know I have low tolerance for you showing up and barking orders without giving two f**** for context. How did you even know that something was going down here? By all means, don’t keep us in suspense until the cavalry gets here”.

Strange doesn’t answer, but the way his eyes dart to Jane sends needles through Loki’s heart.

“Let’s go sit down, shall we?” With one eyebrow raised, Strange puts on a suave smile and gestures towards the house. The effect is a little startling.

Jane ducks out from under Loki’s arms. “Jane, don’t you want to-“. She brushes him off.

“Yes, good idea, Stephen. Let’s go sit down”. She motions for Strange to follow. “Welcome to our home. I was actually making drinks before, but I think I need to add a bit more kick to them…”

Her voice is oddly calm, and Loki fights the urge to grab her and magic them both far, far away, not caring that she would be furious with him for making decisions on her behalf.

He’s brought back to the present by an even odder sound as Strange actually chuckles.

Loki is not sure he’s ever heard it before. Then again, it’s not that he really knows Strange when it comes down to it. Like Tony, Loki finds the wizard exceedingly arrogant.

Pepper is the first to follow Jane and Strange across the lawn while Loki and Tony hang back.

“Real ladies’ man when he wants to. Who would have thought”. The billionaire superhero scoffs. His suit has folded itself off and into a briefcase next to his feet.

“Tony-“

“Uh oh. First name basis. So this really is an emergency”.

Loki faces his friend. Often in the past years, as they’ve grown steadily closer outside of “work”, he has secretly marveled at how long they’ve come since someone threw someone else off a building after being called a diva.

And attacking a city with an alien army.

Jane always insisted the two “hotheads” (her word) had a lot in common when not trying to murder one another (be it with weapons or sarcastic commentary), and Loki has to admit she was right. The metal man is fiercely intelligent, and Loki has been enjoying the quick-witted snark between them infinitely more than he ever valued the company of Thor’s band of gullible warrior groupies on Asgard.

“Well?”. Tony is regarding him with eyebrows raised, expectant. “Give me your take on this cause I’m starting to put together some rather outlandish theories myself here that I’m kinda hoping you’ll thwart ASAP”.

Loki draws in a deep breath.

“That thing with Banner at the tower two years ago-“

“Fuck!” Tony exhales, exasperated. “I knew you were gonna say that”. He squints into the distance towards the ocean, his mouth a tight line. It’s a rare day that Tony Stark is caught under a clear blue sky without sunglasses but for once he doesn’t seem to notice.

Loki takes a step closer to him and lowers his voice so they won’t alert the others just yet.

“I told you then and you didn’t want to listen! Everything about Bruce’s story was off. I know he didn’t remember much after Steve took him down, but you all pretty much accused me of trying to get back at him for, well, you know what, and I kept telling you I thought someone had gotten to him! Now-“

Loki searches for the words. It’s beyond absurd.

“That man was a version of me, Tony. I have no idea how, but I felt it. I saw into his mind. It was filled with images from my past and then … other, recent memories. Dark ones. He came from nowhere. Literally. It didn’t feel like a place. I tried to discard it as a trick, you saw that, but…” Loki runs his hand through his moist hair. “Stephen obviously felt something tear open too. And that is not a good sign”.

He has Tony’s full attention.

“Tear open? Could this other you be associated with your old boss? With Thanos?”

Loki winces.

“No, I don’t think he’s involved”, he says sharply. “But I can’t be sure …”

Tony catches his tone pats his shoulder. “Okay, okay. Shake it off. Didn’t mean to suggest anything. Let’s say he’s not. I’d much prefer that, at least until the wizard presents us with an even uglier imminent threat to the universe. Which, judging by the fact that he’s even here, willingly sipping cocktails in your kitchen as we speak, he probably will”.

Tony throws his hands up with a dramatic air.

“And here I thought the most challenging part of this weekend would be to convince you two to come see Hamilton with us in the city next week!”

“Who’s-“

“Never mind. Did you get a look at that gadget your guy was holding? Boy, he looked like an office slave who’d slept under his desk for a month before getting fired, didn’t he? Were you ever into accounting yourself by any chance?”

Loki shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Immediately he sees the image of the double kissing Jane, his arms wrapped firmly around her supple body. Rage rushes right back through him and his eyes snap open.

“Stark - I can’t. But yes, I did notice the device. It looked like a phone”.

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think it was the new iPhone”.

Tony shakes his head.

“The two of us and we didn’t take him down. Fury’s gonna have our badges”.

The director of SHIELD and Bruce Banner arrive barely 15 minutes later through a portal in the middle of the meadow-like lawn, following Wong and both looking grim and out of place as they weave around patches of wildflowers to reach the porch.

“Gentlemen, I trust you’re well”. Loki greets the trio with an only vaguely sarcastic nod as he holds open the screen doors to them, like a good host. Despite what some may still think, he can behave.

He could have just used magic of course, but he figures Banner is freaked enough as it is just by being here. The scientist hasn’t spoken more than five words to him since 2014 and at least three of them were expletives.

Once inside the small living room, Bruce goes to stand by the window and busies himself polishing his glasses with a little too much vigor than seems warranted.

He avoids Loki’s eyes but looks up and smiles wearily as Jane comes over to say hello.

Fury leans against the doorframe to the hallway and crosses his arms, face a closed book, and, by the sound of it, Tony is going through the cabinets in the kitchen trying to find something to spice up Jane’s pre-dinner cocktails.

Pepper is talking to Strange and Wong on the blue IKEA couch (assembled by magic after the attempt to go at it “as a team” turned into a shouting match), and Loki is about to politely ask Strange to please spit it out right this minute, when Jane is next to him, taking his hand.

“We need to talk. Now”.

Her voice is low and steady but her eyes insisting. She squeezes his fingers.

He squeezes back. “Come”.

Loki looks to Fury but he’s focused on Strange who’s listening very closely to something Wong’s saying.

Not letting go of Jane’s hand, he turns towards the kitchen. In the doorway they pass Tony who’s now holding what appears to be a glass of scotch. He must have given up on the gin and tonics.

“Hey, where are you two going? Forget about playing hosts okay, let’s just get started with part two of the evening’s entertainment”.

“In a minute”.

Jane pushes past him, ignoring Tony’s look and dragging Loki with her.

She closes the door behind them.

“Okay, so…” Jane looks around nervously in the small kitchen with the rustic white fronts and old brass handles. She loves that kitchen. They haven’t changed a thing since moving in. Loki reaches for her, but she takes a step back. “Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have gotten there faster. Did he …“

“I need you tell me exactly what he said to you”.

She is absentmindedly opening and closing her fists in the way she does when that brilliant astrophysicist mind of hers is working out an intricate problem in the lab.

Or, Loki knows, when she’s about to deliver him bad news.

He clears his throat. “He said he was me. And that something big was happening”. There. “And then he said he was sorry”.

Jane studies his face.

“That he was sorry? For what?”

“He didn’t say. He stepped through the door”.

Jane is quiet and now it’s Loki’s turn to try and read her expression.

“What did he say to you? I assume he pretended to be me …?”

Jane holds up a hand and bites her lip. Loki swallows.

“Loki, when we were staying at the flat in London, after we defeated Malekith…”

“What?” Loki furrows his brow in confusion. “Why are we-“

“The poison from the monster’s blade, it had you slipping in and out of consciousness for days. You were so feverish…”

“Yes, I know. I was there”. Loki’s blood is slowly turning very cold, but he musters a smile. “And you were amazing, love. Although some might say you took adv-“

Jane interrupts him in the middle of his blossoming smirk. A slight blush appears on her own cheeks.

“Yes, um, it’s not about that day”. She gives him a stern look. “The other day, later, when Thor left after you two went and had your, um, talk … there’s something I need to tell you …”

The door to the living room opens behind them.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, Doctor Foster, I would very much like to hear this too”.

Stephen Strange steps into the kitchen. The door closes behind him.

Part 6

#loki #loki series #lokane #tva loki #loki fanfic #loki ff #lokane ff #lokane fanfic #loki x jane #jane foster #shine a light #plainlo inthemorning #doctor strange #stephen strange #tony stark

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

REQUEST: Can I request Bokuto with a soft & short manager s/o and she always helps the team cheer bokuto up when hi is in emo mode and like a lot of fluff🥺👉👈

A/N: Tumblr is being a whore with their Keep Reading button, putting it on the ask and shit smh. So I apologize for the repost.

alate. | bokuto kōtarō

word count: 1776

warnings: none

(adj.) having wings; lifted up in flight

Official match protocols only allowed one manager on the court for each team. Fukurodani Academy’s Boys’ Volleyball team always had their lenient but reliable third year managers to get the job done. Third-years Yukie and Kaori had been your final salvation against the inevitable fate of having to care for the raucous boys alone. But today with some lucky fortune of theirs, they’d somehow coerced you into taking their place.

“...Will I experience any internal combustions by the end of the match?”

The three of you stood in a personal circle at the entrance to the gym. The three managers of Fukurodani, with your two seniors looming over you like two scheming birds of prey. They didn’t even have to ask why you were so worried; despite being a second-year, this was your first time to stand on the court with the team instead of panicking on your own on the sidelines. This time, you were in the game, up-close-and-personal.

“You’ll do fine~” Yukie grinned, raising her right hand in a lazy ‘OK’ gesture. “Besides, you’re a total expert when it comes to giving Bokuto a good knock in the head.”

If Bokuto’s vanity was a chronic disease, he’d need more than just a “good knock in the head” to be cured. But Yukie wasn’t wrong. Your praises, in comparison to the others’, had a quicker, more powerful effect on the ace. Though you weren’t sure if that skill of yours was more of a blessing than a curse...

“W-well, I’ll do my best,” you muttered, fiddling with the hem of your track jacket. Your seniors exchanged a look before smiling softly at you.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Kaori piped up as you lugged the bag full of empty bottles over your shoulder. “Can you act a bit bashful when you’re complimenting the captain?

“Why’s that, Kaori-san?”

“Bokuto thinks you look cute when you’re embarrassed.”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

‘Cute’? What did that even mean? Did Bokuto always think people were ‘cute’ whenever they flash a single praise at him? Not that you remembered... What’s with that, you grumbled, angrily trying to get the concept into your skull.

Your eyes darted back to the court where—much to your distress—the other team just had to be painfully good at blocks. Now, you just hoped that the boys wouldn’t get too disgruntled.

The score was 12-15, with Torasaka Metropolitan High in the lead. Though Fukurodani had obtained their twelfth point with a lucky read on Torasaka’s setter dump, things were obstinately bleak for your team.

“I want to try it!” you heard Bokuto exclaim excitedly. From afar, you could already spot a few sullen scowls begin to form on his teammates’ faces. “Hey, ‘Kaashi, do you want to try that block with me?”

The setter sent you a pained expression enough for guilt to comically swallow you whole. Returning his attention to the ace who’s practically bouncing on his heels, Akaashi sighed. “Bokuto-san, let’s focus on our normal blocks first.”

A child! you thought incredulously as you watched the captain stick out his tongue at him. Though Bokuto was particularly a sight to behold when he’s in top form, just how confident could he be, trying something so risky in a middle of a tight match? Or was he just a complete and utter numbskull? You thought he was rather amazing for the juxtaposition... in a Bokuto fashion, of course.

As Washio prepared to serve, you watched the ace literally vibrate with eagerness of having such an “interesting enemy”. Whenever Bokuto got extremely fired up, it was your inevitable fate that you just couldn’t look away. The way his jersey hugged his hulking frame as he flexed his muscles in preparation to follow the path of the ball, it was nearly bewitching. If he had been like this his entire life, you were sure your heart wouldn’t take being with Bokuto for a mere second.

“It’s up!” Torasaka’s libero signaled, cleanly receiving Washio’s serve (much to the player’s frustration).

In your memory, Torasaka High wasn’t a much known threat until just recently. “Their new first years block like a fort,” you remembered what Coach Yamiji had said in the bus that morning. Despite far from being as crafty as Nohebi or as versatile as Nekoma, Tokyo teams were a force to be reckoned with.

What a terrifying sport, you thought to yourself for what seemed to be the fifth time this month.

“Left! Left!”

On the other side of the court, Sarukui, Bokuto and Akaashi scrambled to follow the ball’s trajectory. Though you were only a rookie in this entire volleyball thing, you were quick to notice that Bokuto’s footsteps were a bit smaller and slower than the first two...

Wait, is he planning to delay the timing of his block now?!

It was definitely a quick from the other side. It was evident, even to you. And when the two jumped to block the ball with their ace lagging behind, the ball had already streaked over him at a dangerous angle. Point Torasaka.

Landing on the pads of his feet, Akaashi’s expression shifted between “candidly annoyed” and “visibly concerned” as he watched the captain raise his head for his team to see.

“You’re kidding me...” Sarukui groaned under his breath. Behind him, the others followed promptly with their own reactions of disbelief.

His infamous salt-and-pepper hair deflating alongside his shoulders, Bokuto whined, loud enough for you to hear from the benches. “The hell... I thought I had that block mastered. Why’d they have to make it look so easy?”

Time-out! Akaashi turned to you and the coach a with pleading stare, hard enough for your supervising teacher to shoot upwards and signal the referee for their second break of the match.

Groaning, you stuffed your face in your hands, hoping that your senior managers in the audience were praying for your good health.

“What were you thinking?!” Coach Yamiji hissed, giving the sulking ace a well-deserved smack to the side of his head. Bokuto didn’t even flinch. “You could’ve—”

“Coach. Let me.”

Snapping his head in your direction, the old man grew pale when he heeded the dark aura that spewed from your body. Even the others, though they were only watching the entire event go down, was hyper-aware of the invisible, nightmarish fog that came with your frustration.

You’d always seemed so sweet and indulgent, never angry. Never. And yet Bokuto had finally gotten you to drop the tether that held your patience together.

Walking to Bokuto, you sent him a scowl so cold, he forgot how to blink. The rest of the team, the coach, your teacher and even Yukie and Kaori in the stands shivered from the sudden gust of frosty air that oozed from you. Some of the audience surprisingly turned their heads to watch the spectacle of the tiny Fukurodani manager who seemed like she was about to trample on their ace.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

“Bokuto, you—!”

You froze. No. If you scolded him now, that only make matters worse. Bokuto didn’t fare well when he was scolded by Kaori or Yukie either. Besides, you were his manager, not his mother. But what else were you going to do?

Bokuto thinks you look cute when you’re embarrassed.

Swallowing a nagging lump in your throat, you recalled the words of your seniors. Embarrassed? How do you do embarrassed? Was that even a thing you could pull off manually? Taking in a deep breath, you tightened your fist before loosening them in front of your body. Something was better than nothing.

“B-Bokuto-senpai...?”

“Senpai?!” the others snapped towards you, jaws on the floor. Even Bokuto was stunned.

Eyeing his interested gaze, you continued, fidgeting bashfully, “Bokuto-senpai’s such a slob... If you just listened to the others... you’d be a lot cooler...”

Komi tugged at the back of Konoha’s jersey, whispering in the blonde one’s ear, “She’s pulling out the ‘Cute Tsundere’ card!”

Stupefied, the wing spiker muttered, “Bokuto’s actually taking the bait... Scary. L/N-san’s scary.”

And take the bait he did. You didn’t even realize how red you were with the way he was looking at you—and the shade was fully unintentional, much to your chagrin. But Bokuto’s sullen mood was far gone, replaced with the brighter interest of infatuation.

“A lot cooler...?” Bokuto savored your words in his tongue, before whipping out both his hands to grab at your shoulders. “Y-You think I’m cool?!”

You didn’t even have to pretend to be shy anymore. The close contact of his skin, the scent of his sweat mingled with the musky aroma of his cologne and the pinkish tint on his cheeks. It was too much, and you soon wondered if Bokuto had always seemed this charming to you.

“Y-you airhead! Of course I do,” you mumbled, lowering your sight to the floor. “You’re already really good at volleyball, but you do things like forcing yourself to do a block you can’t do just because you want attention and... and now everyone has to bear that burden.”

“Please go on a date with me.”

You flinched in his grasps. This was escalating much faster than you’d hoped it would. Unable to register what he had said, you asked him to repeat himself.

“The cute Y/N-chan thinks I’m cool. That’s like a dream come true, right? So if I become cool again, won’t you go on a date with me?”

How unbelievable. One second he almost reminded you of the small boy that lived below your apartment, and the next he was like some sort of phantom thief, ready to whisk you away from the confines of your castle and steal your heart. You smiled earnestly; Bokuto Koutarou really was a man of many wonders.

Slipping yourself away from his grip, you raised an index finger between his eyes. “If you win... I’ll consider it.”

Like a phoenix rising from its ashes, the ace lit up once more. Revived, renewed, and heart set on taking you out. While dragging Akaashi back onto the court, Bokuto made it a point that he was looking at you all the way. You giggled. What an interesting person.

From the stands, your gaze traced the motto of Fukurodani’s Volleyball Club. Pour all your soul into each ball. Bokuto played with passion, with his emotions and whenever the time was right, with his logic too. For a while, volleyball seemed like the last thing you’d want to spend your life doing. But seeing the ace’s blushing grin to you when they’d scored the final match point... it might not be as bad as you thought it’d be.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu #hq #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou imagine #bokuto koutarou scenario #sfw #bruh haikyuu writing #fukuroudani x reader

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theggning · 3 years

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I'd you've discussed it before, I missed it. So no pressure if you don't want to rehash, but ... Can I get your general thoughts on Elder Maxson? Your opinion of him/headcanons you might have?

He's such a complex character imo, and lately he's been living rent free in my head.

Yeah, absolutely! I’ve previously given him a lot of shit and I make fun of him often (we all know What He Did) but he is actually a really complex and fascinating character.

I actually feel really sorry for Arthur Maxson. The poor kid never had a chance to be well-adjusted or have a normal life. Arthur is the last living descendant of the man who founded the Brotherhood of Steel, and he comes along at a time when the Brotherhood is heavily struggling for relevance. In the west, they’re strictly and dogmatically isolationist, and you end up with groups like the Mojave chapter fading into obscurity in a bunker. In the east, you’ve got Owyn Lyons, who makes a stand for what he believes in (altruism), gets his entire chapter disowned, and loses half of his soldiers because they disagree (the Outcasts from FO3.)

Meanwhile, Arthur carries the blood and the name of the one person EVERYONE in the Brotherhood believes in. When we meet him in FO3, Squire Arthur Maxson is a smart, shy, gentle 10-year-old boy who’s been sent eastward away from his parents both to protect him and to “make him stronger” (his parents die while he’s away.) He had no friends his own age and no friends at all, actually (except for Liberty Prime-- a journal entry mentions a scribe chasing Arthur out of the lab and scolding him for trying to befriend a machine.) He hero-worships Sentinel Sarah Lyons, but he’s too young and clumsy to follow her out into the field. Everybody treats him like a small soldier or a messiah, no matter how he tries to downplay his lineage and claim to be a normal boy. This literal child spends his entire life being told he’s special and mighty with a “soul forged from eternal steel.”

The pressure and the expectations eventually start to push him into embracing his “destiny.” By 12, he’s improved his combat skills enough to kill two raiders on patrol. By 13, he single-handedly kills a deathclaw (and earns his face scar.) By 15 he’s taking out important super mutant leaders. And by 16, he’s so hardcore that the West Coast BoS gets back in touch with the East and names Arthur Elder. At the age normal teenage boys are socializing with peers or having friends or letting their brains finish developing, Arthur Maxson is the goddamn supreme commander of a military force. And the East Coast BoS actually thrives under him, becoming more powerful and relevant than they’ve ever been. And this is how we go from the shy, quiet squire to the charismatic, highly-beloved (MOTHERFUCKING 20-YEARS-OLD) Elder Arthur Maxson in FO4.

I wouldn’t say that FO4!Arthur buys into his own hype. Despite how he’s been treated his whole life, he doesn’t believe that he is a god or a messiah. But he does believe literally every single word of the BoS codex. He does believe that they are saving humanity and doing what’s best for the future. He has been living as the legend people expected of him for years now, and is determined to continue down that path.

I think in his own twisted way, Arthur actually does care about the people of the Commonwealth, as he claims to. But it’s in the same way that a king cares about his subjects. He knows what’s best for them and doesn’t really care to seek their input before doing what he likes. Though he genuinely does believe the Institute is evil and he genuinely wants to protect the world from their menace, he also comes to the Commonwealth because he wants to lead his own glorious war of liberation, the way Owyn Lyons did in the Capital.

Also, for all people claim the BoS were “ruined” by Arthur in FO4, keep in mind that

A. Lyons’ BoS and their charity and altruism were actually outliers- most of the BoS are a bunch of isolationist asswipes (see: the entire West Coast branch) B. The BoS hating non-human races is the norm, not the exception C. Arthur has actually fairly smoothly integrated BoS traditions with Lyons’ more fair and altruistic beliefs (which he grew up with.) He clearly maintains a lot of respect for the Lyons family (even if the current BoS party line is to denigrate them in favor of praising Arthur.)

Here are some things that Arthur has commanded of his BoS that make them the kinder, gentler version of the faction, and also just some general nice things he’s done as Elder:

Civilians are ordered to be treated fairly. BoS soldiers are not permitted to harm them (except in self defense) and any and all tech they possess is to be traded for fairly with food and medicine. If they refuse to trade, they are left alone.

BoS soldiers are to defend civilians and initiate proactive strikes on super mutants, feral ghouls, Institute synths, and other threats. BoS vertibird crews are to protect caravans from above.

BoS soldiers are to be monitored for mental health concerns as well as physical. Arthur explicitly orders Cade to treat all mental conditions the same way he would treat an injury.

He shows deep personal concern for his staff and crew. This is notable in the terminal entries re: Ingram, where Arthur is apologetic for denying her field duty-- and when she disobeys him and goes to Mass Fusion anyway, all he does for punishment is to write her a sternly worded letter.

Arthur Maxson is a cold, brutal, unflinching military dictator with a god complex. He is a lonely, frightened child carrying the weight of the world and desperately trying to prove himself. He’s a compassionate, charismatic leader. He’s a terrifying enemy. He’s an idealistic liberator who wants to protect humanity. He’s a dogmatic bigot who thinks evolving his views is showing weakness. He’s all of these at the same time. He could only get the wide and varied fandom reception he does by having this many facets of his personality, and by being one of the most complicated characters in the game.

And okay, I’ll say it: his beard and his jacket are pretty sexy.

#fallout 4 #arthur maxson #gg answers #i pick on him but honestly maxson is really interesting #he's just mean to my boy so i want to give him a swirly #he's a great and complex ally/antagonist and they did an amazing job with him #fallout meta

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unjourjeseraideretourpresdetoi · 3 years

Text

9/10 Chapter 1 - Malt

I started writing a bit of a Harry/Kim fanfic??? Because why the hell not. Anyway, here’s the first part of it. I’m kind of just making it up as I go with a few specific ideas scattered in my head. Spoilers for various plot points. Here’s a sample before the cut. Feel free to send any suggestions or critique, since it’s been ages since I have done much writing. Still working on getting a feel for Harry’s skill voices.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Hello again, Harry boy. The midnight train to Fuck-All-Borough is boarding once again, and you’ve pre-paid your seat. YOU — Okay. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Yes, that’s right. Let’s drive right into the sweet, succulent sopor of oblivion. Let no feelings come to pass, no sensations, just the pure bliss of the radiating void. YOU — But aren’t you here? ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — That’s just it, Harry. I’m nothing. I am the pale of the mind, I am the deafening silence, I am the black canvas that stretches taut when you close your eyes. I am the swaddle that cradles the mind and the ocean you will drown in. I am born of you and someday, you will die in me. LIMBIC SYSTEM — But not yet—something still stirs in this weighted sack. Something heavy, and sore, and full of noise that steadily rises into a crescendo.

PERCEPTION — And then you open your eyes. And it fucking hurts. PAIN THRESHOLD — Dear god, it’s like a jackhammer on a pogo stick on another jackhammer. PERCEPTION — You realize there’s a smell you haven’t smelled in a few weeks now that’s uncomfortably emanating from your form. Al Gul. COMPOSURE — Oh. You finally did it again. You fucked up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So we got a little smashed. Who cares. You know what’s a great way to stop feeling sorry about it? Getting smashed again. AUTHORITY — No. YOU — Why am I always fucking things up? HALF LIGHT — Because life is terrifying. LOGIC — He’s right about that one.

YOU — What was I doing last night? ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like I said, getting smashed. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Painting the world with a palette of sugary booze and sad, old rock and roll for sad, old rockstars.

YOU — Who did I hurt this time? DRAMA — Mostly, just yourself. VOLITION — A small miracle, if so. You’re used to self-immolation. YOU — But why? Why now? We were doing better. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speak for yourself. LOGIC — You do know that you can’t just ride out two decades of practiced chemical drowning on a workhorse of piety and guilt, right?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — This ceaseless dependency on cocktails of narcotics and spirits has weakened you shamefully. PERCEPTION — You look around your dimly lit bedroom, eyes half-closed anyway to quiet the searing pain in your cerebral cortex, slowly putting the pieces back together as the rest of your body wakes up.

YOU — I was having a shitty day. I was stuck on a case and my mind just kept drifting into half-remembered past mistakes. After work, I decided to do it. I called her again, like an idiot. I thought to myself, I can do this, I can let her go, and I’ll tell her I’m finally over it (almost). INLAND EMPIRE — But that is not how it went. She had prepared for the next time you would call. The last time was terrifying enough, torn awake at 3 in the morning, listening to your desperate lies, digging through past trauma.

YOU — “Hey, uh, Dora. It’s Harry. I’m sorry—“ PERCEPTION — A sharp sigh breaks your concentration. DORA — “Let me stop you there, Harry. Because I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this six years now but it feels at least twice as long. So since you can’t put an end to it, I am. Don’t call again. You won’t be reaching me at this number anymore.” PERCEPTION — Before you can react, there’s silence. And a dial tone. YOU — Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

COMPOSURE — You stumble through dialing the number again, fingers slipping the first time from nerves and connecting the second, with no answer. You try again. And again. And then you stop trying. It takes everything in you not to smash the phone where it sits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You need to smash something. If we can’t smash the phone, we HAVE to smash something. REACTION SPEED — Your feet are already taking you away from the pay phone, one thought ahead of the rest of you. You barely round the corner into the alley before you plant your fist full force into the nearest brick wall. PAIN THRESHOLD — Your hand spirals into a fractal of pain, blood dripping down your busted knuckles, slowly running down the dirtied wall. You can feel the cracking of your knuckles, like a brittle lacework of glass strapped down only by the leather of your worn-out hands. HALF-LIGHT — Get out of here. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Now that you’re done smashing your fist, it’s time to get the rest of you smashed. YOU — “Fuck it. I’m getting a drink.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — From there, it was a blaze of sweet, hot fire down your throat and back up again, run ragged from shitty karaoke and mild alcohol poisoning. But the film reel is running thin, and you’re struggling to get anything else from your memory bank.

YOU — How did I get back? I don’t remember walking home. ESPRIT DE CORPS — You asked for help.

HAND-EYE COORDINATION — You pat at your pockets, searching for the right one, not quite remembering what you’re doing but knowing the answer you thought of for a fraction of a second is somewhere in there. After a moment, you find it, carefully tucked away but nevertheless damp with sweat from your slacks.

“If you need to talk— 005-93-88-651 Lt. Kitsuragi”

INTERFACING — Your hands are a bit shaky, but you dial out the number on the slip of paper in your hands. PERCEPTION — It rings once. Twice. A third time. And then you hear the receiver click. KIM KITSURAGI — “Hello?”

SHIVERS — In a small apartment in Central Jamrock, not too far from Precinct 41, and not too far from the Jamrock Public Library, Lieutenant Kitsuragi sits on his bed, some light reading in hand, winding down for the night. His new apartment is still filled with cardboard boxes here and there, in no particular hurry to be unpacked. The lights of the city pierce through like little pinpricks in the glare of his bedside window, still insistent on their presence even in the quiet of a cool spring night.

YOU — “Hi, Kim, I uh…” Your voice shakes and you lose your words for a moment, because some part of you really didn’t expect him to pick up. KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective? It’s after midnight.” DRAMA — It’s already that late? You must’ve woken him up. A bad start. YOU — “Uhh… sorry, I uh. Wasn’t looking at the clock. We can just talk tomorrow—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re drunk.” COMPOSURE — Fuck. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth anymore. Another bad phone call. It takes everything in you not to cry. You do anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Where are you?” YOU — You manage to croak out enough to say “Sunshine’s Hideaway. Bar on 12th street.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses a moment, thinking. “...I’ll be there in a few minutes.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He’s thinking about the best route there. LOGIC — He doesn’t have his motor carriage right now. He’s going to have to walk it, and it’s cold out. YOU — “I… you don’t have to do that, I’ll just—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “Harrier, just shut up and park your ass somewhere warm until I get there.” AUTHORITY — He’s doing it! He’s doing the eyebrow thing but on the phone! I didn’t know he could do that! YOU — “Yessir.”

It probably takes about 15 minutes for him to arrive, though each minute feels like five. You feel like a child waiting for their parents to come pick them up at school. You’re pretty sure everyone is staring at you. You can’t really see through the blurry bokeh of your stupid tears. But you can just barely make out the door of the bar opening, followed by a silhouette marked by orange slipping through. Lieutenant Kitsuragi spots you after a moment, and you quickly try to wipe your eyes like you haven’t just been crying the whole time as he approaches. KIM KITSURAGI — You can hear him pull at the chair next to yours, calmly settling into place. “Hello, detective.”

YOU — You try to pull up some words, but you just find yourself nodding appreciatively as you try not to grimace. COMPOSURE — Somehow, the moment his eyes fall on you, you feel like someone just ripped the rug right out from under your feet. You slide down on your elbows, face pressing down onto the table in humiliation, locking your hands together on the back of your neck, like you’re trying to hide in a little tomb of your own arms.

KIM KITSURAGI — You hear the lieutenant take a deep breath and sigh. He unzips his jacket, stifling him in the warm interior of the bar. “That rough, huh?”

YOU — You don’t want to say anything, but your mouth opens before you can stop it. “I’m such an asshole, Kim. I keep fucking everything up, over and over, no matter how hard I try. I just. Keep falling back into my bullshit.” Your voice shakes as you get the words out. “Is this just as good as it’s gonna get at this point? Have I fucked up entirely too much, entirely too long, am I just… this constant trainwreck now and forever? How much of myself have I wasted away into nothing, doing this shit? Acting like a child. Acting like an animal. It feels sometimes like all I have is more downturns. More hurting people. More hurting myself. And I’m so, so fucking tired… and I don’t wanna do this anymore. If this is how it is, I don’t want to… be.” Your voice stops making any noise by the time you reach the end of that.

HALF-LIGHT — And then there’s silence. You know this silence. It’s the sound of someone deciding they’re sick of your shit. This is the moment he realizes he really, truly does not know you and you don’t know him. And he knows he has to get out of here, before you take him down with you, like you’ve done to so many others. EMPATHY — But then there’s a hard pat on your back. Thumping against a hollow drum, ringing through your electrified lungs. KIM KITSURAGI — “It’s okay, detective.” PERCEPTION — His voice is soft and careful.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Honestly, it’s astonishing you’ve held out this long. It’s barely been two months since Martinaise. Since the Whirling. Throughout my time in the RCM, I have seen many good officers break over less. I didn’t know you before March. I don’t really know what kind of officer you might’ve been before that. But who I am familiar with is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, the officer I met two months ago, who is probably the strangest man I’ve ever met, but he is also the most relentless, the most stubborn, the most annoying, and honestly, the most sincere man I’ve ever known to grace the RCM. He is a man who cares enough to find the time in his busy workload to help people he just met, whose troubles he sniffs out like a bloodhound, offering them the help that no one else would. No matter how trivial, or how complicated. I don’t know if this selflessness is something you picked up because you don’t know how to help yourself, but I do know there’s a real effort in there. There’s a real, true love for the people of Revachol. And I know how much this job takes out of people. You can’t turn every mistake around in just a few months. Probably not even a few years. But I think what matters is that you are trying, and I can see how much it hurts you to feel like you’ve failed in that. Please don’t think that tonight is a sign that you can’t do better. Tonight is a dam breaking in the expectations you’ve built up for yourself after staring down your own potential.”

PERCEPTION — Are you laughing? Or is that crying? INLAND EMPIRE — It feels like there are ghosts escaping your every breath. Like parts of you are desperately rushing to the surface, tearing through flesh and bone, clawing at a chance for freedom. The lieutenant’s arm still rests heavily on your back, the only anchor your spirit has left as it dissipates into vapor and rushes through the night.

VOLITION — You cry until there’s nothing left in you anymore.

KIM KITSURAGI — After a moment, he realizes you’re staring at him, then adjusts in his seat, leaning forward and settling his arms in front of him. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?” YOU — “I uhh... probably. My leg doesn’t hurt as much right now.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm.” He mutters, getting up from his seat. “At least there is that small grace. How far is your place?” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You’re pretty sure he’s offering to walk you back. You’re not a child, you can get home perfectly fine on your own, thank you. YOU — “Ten blocks.” COMPOSURE — You quickly try to rise to your feet, but it becomes immediately apparent that the floor has been replaced with a rickety old carousel, and you promptly lose your footing. REACTION SPEED — Before you can even attempt to figure out what is happening, you realize that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has wrapped one of his arms around your back. PERCEPTION — His grip is tight and you can feel the muscles tensing in his forearm against your back. Once again, its presence stabilizes you, a beacon for your twisting senses to converge upon. It takes a few moments for everything to slot back into the correct place. KIM KITSURAGI — “Are you sure you’re alright, detective?” DRAMA — His concern is quite sincere. YOU — “I just gotta sleep this off.” You say as you steady yourself back upright.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Let’s get going, then.” He nods to you as he zips up his jacket again, then stretches his right arm out behind your back. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — No, dude, fuck that shit, you’re sick of people propping you up because of your stupid leg, we can do this shit on our own! YOU — “Thanks.” You steady yourself against his arm and extend your left against his back as well. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Hey, what! DRAMA — By now, the lieutenant knows when you’re just trying to bullshit and act like a tough guy. It’s time to drop the act, for now. He knows you need the help. You wouldn’t have called him if you didn’t.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s all I got. The rest is just black. YOU — Ugghhhhhh damn it. Like Kim hasn’t seen enough of me making an ass of myself by now. EMPATHY — On the bright side, his mental image of you can probably only improve. Hopefully. Maybe. YOU — Whatever. What time is it? PERCEPTION — You look around for your alarm clock, and find it knocked onto the floor beside your bed. It says 9:53. YOU — Shit. Did I have work today? ESPRIT DE CORPS — No. Your hours have been temporarily reduced during your recovery period. YOU — Right. Okay. I should probably get up and do something about this headache.

You throw the blanket off of your body and gradually roll yourself out of bed, bones creaking with aches and pains, limping across the room and dodging various discarded clothes and shoes that litter the floor. You twist the doorknob and open your bedroom door, making your way across the living room, towards the bathroom.

REACTION SPEED — Wait! There’s someone… on the couch? PERCEPTION — A figure of a man lies on the couch, covered with an ugly patchwork blanket, still sleeping. Next to the couch, an orange bomber jacket rests. Wait… is that Kim? HALF-LIGHT — OH MY GOD, you’re half-naked, GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PUT YOUR PANTS ON BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOURSELF. SAVOIR FAIRE — You quickly backpedal, trying not to make any noise, and press your door shut firmly, hoping that you weren’t noticed. YOU — Why is he here??? I thought he just walked me home? HALF-LIGHT — Stop thinking and get your damn armor on! VOLITION �� Armor? We didn’t find any armor pants in Martinaise. DRAMA — He’s being metaphorical. You hurriedly stuff your legs into the closest pair of semi-clean trousers before peeking out the door again.

PERCEPTION — The lieutenant is still asleep on the couch. SAVOIR FAIRE — Alright, go time. You sneak through the living room and into the bathroom, carefully trying not to creak the medicine cabinet as you get yourself some painkillers. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Down the whole bottle! Party time! VOLITION — No. We are not doing that.

After taking the recommended dose of painkillers, you peek out into the living room again. PERCEPTION — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is still resting quietly on your couch, lying on his back, tightly wrapped in the ugly spare blanket from your linen closet. You suddenly realize there’s something different about the living room… such as, there’s less garbage everywhere. EMPATHY — Did he clean the room up for you? Or maybe for himself?

You exit the bathroom and slowly cross the living room, stopping halfway through, looking at the lieutenant again. PERCEPTION — He looks peaceful, and his face relaxed and still. With his glasses off, you notice more of the shape of his brow and his tired eyes. His breathing is slow and measured, with quiet sighs. One of his arms dangles out from under the blanket, his hand just barely off the floor. His fingers are thin, bony, weathered from work, with little scars and blemishes that have mostly faded away.

SUGGESTION — Hold it.

YOU — What?

No one replies. You stare for a moment, feeling a tension in your chest. Curiosity snakes through your skin. You step closer towards the couch, then slowly crouch down, meeting the lieutenant’s eye level.

SUGGESTION — Hold it. Please.

You reach forward, and the lieutenant suddenly stirs.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mmnh…” His eyes flutter open. “Oh, good morning detective.” YOU — “Uh, yeah. Good morning.” You casually withdraw your hand and rest it on your leg. “Why are you here…?” KIM KITSURAGI — “You don’t remember?” He asks with a hint of concern. YOU — “Well, mostly. I remember you helped me walk home, but after that, it’s fuzzy.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so just the normal amount of alcohol-induced forgetfulness.” The lieutenant nods at you, then sits up on the couch. He reaches for his glasses on the side table, then folds them open. “I decided to stay here on the couch, just in case...” He trails off. EMPATHY — To keep an eye on you. In case you started doing worse.

YOU — “...Thanks. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” KIM KITSURAGI — “No need to apologize,” he says with a slight smile. “Honesty, I’m… glad you asked for help instead of isolating yourself. That would have been…” He pauses, looking for the correct words. “Not ideal. What time is it, anyway?” YOU — “Bit after 10.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Already that late? Good thing I’m not working today.”

YOU — “Sorry to make you clean up after me.” You say, glancing across the room. KIM KITSURAGI — “Well, no, it’s not your fault or anything. You didn’t expect company.” He seems a bit self-conscious suddenly, looking away. “I suppose it’s more like I don’t know how to leave a mess alone.” SUGGESTION — You’re not sure which mess he means—the apartment, or you. EMPATHY — It’s both. You feel a slight embarrassment tingling across the surface of your skin and decide to change the topic.

YOU — “You said you have the day off?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes, I have a few errands to run, part of some loose ends to clean up for my transfer to 41. But I can get those done any time during the day.” SUGGESTION — You should— YOU — “Do you wanna go get breakfast? I know a good place down the street.” You say it before you can even finish thinking. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits quietly for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Hmmm… sure, why the hell not. I’ve got some time to spare.” SUGGESTION — Jackpot! YOU — “I’m gonna go get dressed, you’re welcome to the bathroom if you need it.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds good.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Time to get stylish! LOGIC — Not that stylish, it’s just breakfast. Don’t make it weird. INLAND EMPIRE — Hey, weird is our thing! YOU — I think I’m just gonna wear whatever’s clean and doesn’t smell repulsive. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Oh, sorry, didn’t know we were Boring Cop today.

After taking a quick glance at what’s available, you decide to just go with a simple, pastel gingham button-up and a fresh pair of jeans. Glancing at your coats, you grab a blue blazer with a checkered lining.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Oh my god you look like a nerd. RHETORIC — No, he looks smart. Ready to have a battle of the wits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Yeah, like I said, A NERD!

You quietly ignore the high school bullying going on inside your head as you exit the room. Lieutenant Kitsuragi glances at you from next to the couch, in the middle of putting on his jacket.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No disco today?” He says with a slight smile. YOU — “All my disco’s due for the wash.” KIM KITSURAGI — He tugs at his collar and settles his jacket into place. “It’s almost odd to see you in something so… tame.” YOU — “I mean, I still got the jackets from Fuck the World and Piss F****t if you change your mind.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Somehow I doubt the waitstaff would be understanding of the artist’s statements at breakfast.” He lets out a small chuckle. EMPATHY — There’s a surprising softness in his response. KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m all set to go if you are.”

The two of you head out of your apartment and set out down the road, your destination just two blocks away. The streets of Jamrock are already lively with pedestrians and motor carriages milling about. Before long, you arrive at a staircase with a weathered, striped canopy hanging above, quietly announcing its presence with simple text saying “The Lazy Daisy”. You and the lieutenant head down the stairs and enter the little eatery, pushing past the door and being met with the sweet and salty smells of this morning’s meals. You wave to the waitress and take a seat at a little table in the corner.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant takes his seat across from you, his eyes studying the surroundings. “You know, I never noticed this place before.” YOU — “Yeah, it’s easy to miss amongst all the other businesses on this road.” KIM KITSURAGI — “But you remembered it?” YOU — “I think my feet did.”

WAITRESS — A cheerful, pudgy woman in her forties wearing a striped apron walks over to the table, little menu books in hand. “Good morning officers! Thanks for stopping by the Lazy Daisy today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

YOU — “You wanna get a pot of coffee, Kim?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sure, that sounds fine.” WAITRESS — “Alright, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu!”

You already know what you’re going to order: skillet hash with a side of toast. You watch the lieutenant look the menu over and find yourself wondering what he’ll order. YOU — “You seem like an Eggs Benedict kind of guy to me.” KIM KITSURAGI — “I was thinking about trying this malted waffle actually. It’s been a while since I had a good waffle.” He replies, not looking up from the menu. “But you are correct, I do enjoy a good Eggs Benedict.”

YOU — “Can’t go wrong with either one.” WAITRESS — The waitress returns, a full pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. She gently places the pot of coffee at the center of the little table and places the mugs down on either side. “Alright, so what can I get for you boys?” YOU — “I’ll go for the skillet hash with a side of dry toast. And the lieutenant here…” KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ll take a malted waffle with a side of bacon.” WAITRESS — “Sounds great! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

You turn your attention to the coffee and partially fill both of the mugs, absent-mindedly adding a sugar cube and a little cup of half-and-half to yours and stirring, watching the color spread and blend. You look up and notice the lieutenant surveying the restaurant again.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmmm… yes, this place certainly seems your style.” YOU — “What, sad and old?” KIM KITSURAGI — He smiles slightly, but his brow betrays his discomfort. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of… eclectic, stubborn, lively.” He glances at the walls covered in various posters, art, and rock and roll memorabilia. YOU — “Disco.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Disco.” He nods affirmatively.

You absently stir your coffee and lift it to your mouth to take a sip, mulling over topics of conversation. RHETORIC — Go for a standard sort of icebreaker, what’s the latest with him, that sort of thing. ESPRIT DE CORPS — Let’s talk work. Trade some gritty case stories with him! INTERFACING — Maybe you could talk torque dork to torque dork? EMPATHY — Neither of you have motor carriages right now. That would just be a bummer. INLAND EMPIRE — Ask him to tell you a secret! AUTHORITY — That one never works.

YOU — “You just moved into your new place, right Kim? How is it?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmm, it’s not bad. I had to make a few concessions but… there’s a bit more floor space than my last place. I finally have a good space for a proper desk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now the only trouble is getting a desk up three flights of stairs.”

YOU — “I can lend you a hand with that if you want. I have reason to suspect I may be a former gym teacher.” PERCEPTION — You can’t really hear it, but judging by the steam rolling away from the mug at his lips, you can tell the lieutenant let a light chuckle out through his nose before taking another sip of coffee.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I find something suitable.” RHETORIC — Great job! Look at you! You’re so good at talking like a normal person!

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant casually withdraws his notebook from his jacket and starts perusing it while he slowly sips his coffee. YOU — “Hey, no working until we’ve had breakfast.” KIM KITSURAGI — He barely moves, glancing upwards at you and cocking an eyebrow. AUTHORITY — It’s fine, that brow is only operating at about 25% capacity. You got this. YOU — “Take a break, lieutenant.” You place your hand on top of his, gently encouraging him to lower the notebook onto the table. He nonchalantly relents, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking it under his other arm, which rests casually on the table. His glance wanders away from you and out towards the windows. EMPATHY — It’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed or just playing up indifference. Perhaps you shouldn’t have grabbed his hand like that.

You take a moment to look around the restaurant, passively taking in the surroundings that feel intensely familiar to your instincts, but strangely recent to the rest of you. It’s a weird feeling, one you’ve been experiencing just about everywhere you go in Jamrock. Places that you know but have never seen. Drifting shadows of the person you once were, and still are, half-buried in a haze. Your head fluctuates in the pressure, a mix of pristine images just out of reach and faint illusions gripped tightly in your palm.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s low voice suddenly pulls you back to reality. “Everything alright, detective?” INLAND EMPIRE — There is a hole in my brain. YOU — “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the usual.” You pause, contemplating your next words. “Grinding the bourgeoisie into sausage for the proletariat and whatnot,” you lie. KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so nice of you to join us, Comrade Mazov.” YOU — You quickly bust out your trusty finger guns and fire off two shots, clicking your tongue as you snap your fingers. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is unphased by your reckless discharge of live rounds that undoubtedly rain chaos upon the once peaceful restaurant. DRAMA — C’mon, he probably thinks it’s at least a little cool. EMPATHY — It’s not, man.

RHETORIC — Let’s get back to the list. What else can we talk about? YOU — “Tell me a secret about yourself.” KIM KITSURAGI — He sighs. “This again?” YOU — “You know it.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses for a moment. “No.” YOU — “Aww, come on.” KIM KITSURAGI — He raises one eyebrow. AUTHORITY — Oh god, we have full capacity brow-raising. I repeat, full capacity!

KIM KITSURAGI — His brow lowers slightly, offering a challenge. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. Maybe if you can think of a single piece of personal trivia you haven’t already divulged entirely unprompted to any random passerby, we can come back to this topic.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He does not believe that his terms can be met. He is secure in that. SUGGESTION — Challenge accepted! YOU — “Deal.” DRAMA — You’re gonna need to work on this for like, at least 8 hours probably. Maybe more like 20.

WAITRESS — The same woman reappears with a tray in hand, radiating the unmistakable smell of hot, fresh breakfast. “Here you are, sirs!” She gently slides the plates in front of each of you. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need! Enjoy your food!” PERCEPTION — You notice the name on her apron: Denice. YOU — “Thanks, Denice.” WAITRESS — She offers a polite smile before leaving.

You immediately start digging in, shoveling the mixed bits of potato, egg, bacon, and cheese into your mouth, savoring the salt and fat of a hearty breakfast. It’s your favorite meal, but you don’t always have the time or energy to get anything decent most mornings.

SUGGESTION — Hey, I just had a great idea! Offer Kim some of this shit. YOU — You finish the bite you have in your mouth quickly. “Hey, Kim, you wanna try some of mine?” KIM KITSURAGI — He blinks. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty here.” He looks down at the colossal waffle on his plate, barely dented. YOU — “Yeah but this is like, stupid good. I’ll even let you have some egg yolk.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Very generous of you.” He smirks, then studies your plate for a moment. “Hm… sure, why not.”

You slide your plate a bit closer to him. He holds his fork up, surveying for the ideal sample size. Then, he strikes, claiming an entire egg for himself.

YOU — “Woooow.” You feign offence. KIM KITSURAGI — “Sorry, detective. I’ll need to confiscate this. I believe it may be connected to a case I’m working on.” He tries to keep a straight face but the corner of his mouth is slightly turned upwards. In seconds, he files the evidence into his mouth and promptly destroys it.

YOU — “Can’t believe the corruption I am witnessing here.” In a counter-attack, you jab your fork into one of the untouched corners of the lieutenant’s waffle. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stabs his knife down across from your fork, as if ready to engage in combat. He stares you down, brows furrowed with the illusion of authority. “Detective, I would tread carefully if I were you. You have entered enemy territory, and I have the high ground.”

PERCEPTION — You can feel your face turning red in the heat of the incredibly stupid breakfast battle you have entered. AUTHORITY — Do it! Let loose the dogs of war! Get that fucking waffle! KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant narrows his eyes at you, his concentration unwavering. The authority levels are building in his brow. They are charged to 50% capacity. DRAMA — I have an idea, sire.

YOU — You relax back in your seat, looking behind Kim. “Oh, hey Captain Pryce, here to enjoy the best breakfast in Central Jamrock?” KIM KITSURAGI — He quickly turns his head to look behind him. SAVOIR FAIRE — In an instant, you slice a corner of the waffle free from Kim’s plate, casually sliding it onto yours. KIM KITSURAGI — Realizing the feint, he snaps his attention back to you, glaring.

YOU — You pull your plate back, then pick up your mug, gesturing towards the lieutenant with a slight smirk. “Truce?” KIM KITSURAGI — Studying you for a moment, he reluctantly picks up his mug and clinks it against yours. “For now.”

#disco elysium #de spoilers #disco elysium spoilers #fanfic #koko fic #de fanfic

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anerdinallherglory · 3 years

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Approaching Sun (30)

Author’s Note: Happy late Valentine’s Day! Fun note: I actually started A.S. on this very same holiday a couple years back. And I did not expect the length or plot this story has taken at allll. Again, I am sorry this is so late. I am hoping to update a LOT more this summer (only one summer class this time!) Unless I get the new job that I am hoping for (fingers crossed). But if I get this job, my free time to write will really open up for me. So it’s a win-win for this story either way.

Also, I want to especially thank these readers: adarkunicorn, softshelldefence, seafoamsands, hatakeliz, harza4925, peachop, cheese-and-biscuits, epitomeofprocrastination, tamnobela, and andreeastroe. These readers really encouraged me to keep writing this story after I was ready trash and take it off all of its publishing sites. You can thank them this story continues.

To all my reviewers, I seriously love you ALL. I am hoping I will get to a point where I can take a break from student emails and respond to each and every one of your reviews in the future. That will be my new year’s resolution this year! I am going to be better. You are all amazing and bring me so much joy and encouragement.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

Chapter 30: A Very Dangerous Game

Sasuke hated Kaguya’s sand dimension even more than he disliked the desert that covered the vast majority of the Land of Wind. This dimension was forever hot despite that the dimension’s otherworldly moon hung low in the dark horizon, a massive orb of blinding white that mirrored the Earth’s moon in exact replica. Sasuke had always felt like the illusion was a reminder of the Otsusuki people, and that Kaguya had designed this dimension to display something that reminded her of home. To Sasuke, the dimension moons eerily reminded him of Kaguya’s pupil-less irises, always watching the spaces that existed between nothing.

Glaring at it in paranoid response, Sasuke, deprived of chakra now, walked toward it slowly and determinedly as a challenge. He would show her exactly how her dimensions were now his domains. The Uchiha decided he would walk freely here because he couldn’t do as he pleased his own world. He wanted to scream curses at that eye-like globe, demanding the Otsusuki show up and take him on now in his weakened state.

“Come on!” he screamed. “All of you! What are you waiting for? Let’s get this over with! I will find you all eventually!” He wanted it done. He wanted this over. He wanted to have a life despite his promise to be the worlds’ sacrifice for peace.

As if to taunt him, Sasuke’s shuffling feet snagged over something in the sand, and he glanced down at his feet in surprise. A ninja’s vest, half-burnt away from acid, displayed itself like a green bearing flag left behind by those who had explored a barren planet. Even though Sasuke had been the only human to ever walk here, Sakura’s old vest that Sasuke had used as a teleport connection between dimensions back when he had been trapped here, always served as a call to his more current jumps. In other words, every time Sasuke had come here over the past couple of years, no matter where he opened the portal, he would always land within a few feet of it.

In the past, he had thought of removing it because it was a painful reminder in many ways. But as he returned consistently to the same spot, Sasuke began to theorize that it had something to do with his ability to travel here. At first, Sasuke believed it was because during teleportation, his path crisscrossed into a connection that had already been created and used before—this was the most likely explanation; his chakra simply wasn’t strong enough to rip a new tear in the fabric of space and time. But as he looked at it now, Sasuke wondered if there was more to it than that. Did emotions tie him to this piece of fabric? And because Sasuke’s friends always existed somewhere in the back of his mind, did his chakra seek it out as something familiar to secure itself to before flinging him through the vacuum of nothingness?

Sasuke glared back at the moon in hatred, wondering too, if it could be just a sick part of Kaguya’s illusions, knowing that the vest had in the past and always, always would continue to stop the Uchiha in his tracks. A temptation reminding him of a different life, one that would cause him to ignore the Otsusuki. Kaguya would want that.

He sat down beside it despite how much he wanted to turn and walk away from it as he always had. This time, he let it be his beacon out of the void, drawing some sort of strength from it in his chakra-deprived state. The whole point of being this exhausted was to avoid thinking of her, but the tattered shinobi vest always pricked him with guilt, especially now when he had left her alone in Sunagakure despite his promises of partnership. It was as if the green material had a voice of its own, saying “See how far she would go for you?” And Sasuke, keeping his thoughts private from the ever-watching rock above, would think to himself “I am doing this for her, too. She will understand eventually. She will accept just how far I am willing to go for this peace we both envision. We have the same goal.”

As Sasuke thought these thoughts again, Sasuke accepted that if they couldn’t be united in love, then at the very least, they would be united in the same goal, the same vision of happiness. It comforted him ever so slightly.

He sighed as he fingered the chakra pills at his waist, guilt invading his chest and suffocating him. How could he tell her his true feelings and make her accept what he was willing to accept? How could he satisfy the both of them and do the least damage?

Sasuke exhaled and leaned back in the sand once more to sleep, sweat beading across his brow in the high temperature. He turned on his side and faced the vest in exhaustion, pretending it was her—pretending to be satisfied with this small piece of the woman he loved and would ever allow himself to dream this close to.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The blackness pervaded all of Sakura’s senses as soon as her feet hit the ground opposite the giant hole she had just created in the sand. She blinked hard, hearing the cursing and alarmed proclamations of those she had attacked. The darkness was like a leaden mist before her eyes and Sakura instinctively created the sign of “release” for genjutsu. And whether it was from her lack of chakra, or because this was a ninjutsu, Sakura’s attempts yielded zero results. The blackness remained and blinded her past several inches in front of her face. When she heard Isao’s shout for her, she had no choice but to dart forward blindly, determined to reach him before someone else did.

“Let go of me!” the child screamed, his pursuer unfortunately catching up with him. Sakura navigated through the pillars of sand-dripping earth that now projected themselves in the air around her. With hands outstretched, she cursed herself. The blow had meant to disorient her opponents and it had, but this damn thickening darkness made it difficult to move forward through the landscape of her own destruction. Thankfully, the waterfalling crumble of sand masked her rushed footfalls.

The kunoichi drew upon her chakra once more, but it came as slowly as before, the medicine still lingering in her system with its toxic chakra clotting effects. Sakura moved hurriedly ahead, hoping that she wasn’t the only one choked with darkness.

Isao’s curses came and Sakura finally rounded a huge boulder to find herself facing the back of the thug’s head. He had his massive hands around the child’s throat, weapon tossed aside in favor of a crueler death to the victim that had caused him so much trouble. Despite his struggle for his life, Isao made eye contact with her the moment they were close enough to see each other. His attacker saw recognition register in the boy’s eyes and spun to face her. But it was too late. Sakura’s kunai was slicing the gray flesh of his throat before he even had time to see her, a final blow that had been delayed from earlier, but determined by fate to be his cause of death. The brutish ninja dropped to the ground instantly and Sakura justified the blood that pooled freely at her feet by remembering his cruel actions to the child that struggled to catch his breath before her.

Sakura picked up the abandoned weapon, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. The sound of the man’s death had betrayed her position, and the footsteps of his companions crunched closer to her location. Terrified, Sakura clutched the child, pushing him behind the jagged column of rock behind her.

“Isao,” she pleaded in a whisper. “You have to make a run for it.”

“I won’t leave you,” he declared, determined to fight to his death for her.

“The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help,” she said honestly. It was a half-truth. There were only a few realities before them, and Isao making it back to the village and bringing help was not likely due to how much time it would take. But Sakura was desperate to remove the brave child from the scenario. She cared too much to let him sacrifice himself for her.

“Miss—” he protested, but Sakura propelled him forward in the blinding darkness, an enemy’s footsteps rounding the earth that cloaked him. It was too late to argue, and Sakura turned to face the phantom-man who stepped toward her in visibility, shadows curling around him as he cleared a path through the inky mist.

Sakura faced him squarely, taking a defensive stance and raising the wicked katana with her sharper green eyes, sending a stare to him along the metal’s surface. The shadow-wielding ninja smirked and the rest of his crew appeared beside him.

“Go!” she screamed in final command at the child whose feet took off into the black at her back.

Sakura brandished the sword in confident threat at her attackers, herself serving as the shield between herself and Isao; they wouldn’t move an inch in pursuit of his direction if she had anything to do with it. Sakura had never wielded a sword before, but in the absence of chakra, she would become a master at it in this moment. Sakura was a kunoichi, a medic, a chakra control master, the pupil of a legendary Sanin, a rising legend herself, and today, she would add something else to her list. Scratch that. She would two things tonight: she would eradicate this new movement of anti-peace revolutionaries, and she would do it at disadvantage with the weapon of her enemy.

. . . . . . . .

As Isao ran, he clutched his side in pain, a sharp stab in his waist. The man who Sakura had killed moments before must have broken one of his ribs as he crushed Isao to the ground. At first, the young ninja pitched forward in blackness, half-debating to turn back to help the pink-haired ninja. But Isao knew the truth. He had been foolish to pursue her and her kidnappers alone and he cursed himself for his rash decisions in his fear of losing sight of them; he should have told someone else even if he lost their trail. Any of them, anyone at allwould have been better help to Miss Haruno than he had been.

Isao’s bravery amounted to nothing and it was evident in every piercing word from the medic kunoichi: The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help … Isao let the command fuel him forward despite the pain, until the night faded into morning hours later and the mighty walls of the Sand Village came into view.

He didn’t know how much time had passed and he didn’t wait to scream for help. The Kazekage was not in the village—he had overheard that much. Neither was the teammate that traveled with Miss Haruno. He yelled the only name he could think of, the name his heart still cried out to despite how much he hated him. The roaring sand shrouded his cries, and the prison walls would buffer it completely, but Isao begged to the air, shouting over and over, “FATHER! HELP ME!”

. . . . . . . .

The taste of the chakra pill was bitter, smoky and acrid. The Uchiha almost gagged trying to swallow it down, and he silently confirmed that Sai had been right—although Sasuke hated to agree with anything his entitled replacement said. What had he called them? Mudballs? Despite the accurate term, Sasuke feared his kunoichi companion more than he hated the taste, so he would keep the complaint to himself.

The pill pooled in his stomach and Sasuke took a breath, focusing on the ignition starting in his core. The rush of power was exhilarating as it topped off his chakra supply, overflowing visibly in a blue-purple halo around him. It sizzled along his skin and Sasuke grinned wickedly as a spiraling vortex appeared before him, much larger than any he had been able to create on his own before.

This was it! It was working! He pushed beyond the core dimension easily, his ready supply of chakra speedily fueling the tunnel between the void, but it ate and ate away at his energy and the color disappeared from his skin. Running off his own meager supply now, Sasuke exhaled and grinded his teeth in concentration. Finally, the connection was made and Sasuke threw himself through it.

He landed roughly, skidding to a halt, and he was ironically thankful for once for the Land of Wind’s high volume of sand. Sasuke found himself smirking up at the lightening sky as he recovered, because this was his first victory in a long struggle of jumping dimensions. To the Uchiha, it was proof that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do: beat Kaguya and the Otsusuki clan at their own game in their own territory. Giddy in his success, Sasuke used the last of his dwindling energy to rise to his feet, his thoughts immediately turning to the woman who had helped make this all possible—he hadn’t achieved this on his own; Sakura deserved the credit. And it was the first time that Sasuke could admit that he needed someone else’s help in his goal.

The dark walls of Sunagakure cut the bright morning horizon in half and Sasuke’s gut twisted in a combination of emptiness and guilt at the thought of returning to Sunagakure to face his friend after their… kiss. Sasuke was torn between finding her immediately to tell her that their plan had worked, pretending the kiss never happened in typical Uchiha fashion. But the time he had stolen away from her “to think” brought him to only one conclusion: he needed to apologize—again—and at least explain why. He had made her a promise to be a partner that depended on each other, and here Sakura was continuing to keep that promise, while Sasuke stole moments of happiness and bailed when he had to face the consequences. Suddenly remembering their sunset conversation the last time he had returned after leaving, Sasuke felt a fresh stab to his consciousness as he recalled her statement: “a part of partnership is communication.”

Sasuke slowly made his way toward the village gates. When he passed through the canyon-like entrance, people greeted him with “good mornings” while others stared openly at him. Their gazes were a little different, warmer, and Sasuke wondered if his teammate’s influence in the hospital had something to do with his newreception in Sunagakure now.

Feeling even more ashamed, Sasuke resolved himself for his female companion’s wrath and made a straight line for the hospital.

When he entered the hospital’s double doors, Sasuke came upon a scene that made his stomach drop into his feet. Kankuro, who was haggard from exhaustion, and had apparently returned sometime in the night, was fisting the collar of a hospital staff member.

“What do you mean they’re not here?” he bristled. “If she’s not in her rooms, then she should be here. Where’s Mako? Where’s the kid?”

“I don’t know sir,” came the panicked response from the employee, terrified to be facing the Kazekage’s right-hand man. “I’m sure they’re in the village somewhere.”

Hearing those words had Sasuke acting before thinking and the Uchiha rushed forward to fist the shirt of the same medic. “Are you talking about Sakura?” His eyes darted between the both of them and Kankuro’s grip released from the startled staff’s shirt in the same moment he shoved Sasuke’s own hand away.

“Where the hell have you been?” Kankuro accused icily, and a fire Sasuke didn’t even know he had left in him, surged from his throat in anger.

“What the hell is happening?” he demanded, taking another step toward the puppet wielder.

Kankuro pinched his nose in frustration, then beheld him in shock. “You mean Sakura isn’t with you?”

Sasuke eyes widened in immediate response, an answer refusing to form on his lips. Instead, he shouted, “You don’t know where she is?!”

Kankuro frowned deeper at his sudden animosity. “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning,” he explained quickly. “The innkeeper said she never came back to the inn. Mako, another medic, and Sakura’s young patient are missing too.”

Sasuke didn’t wait for any further explanation before he began sprinting up the stairs to the second floor of the hospital, the filter for his behavior now completely removed. Let everyone think what they want! That bastard! When Sasuke got ahold of Mako, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Sasuke’s feet were unusually heavy and his breath labored as he continued climbing to the third floor toward the medicine preparation room they had occupied together only recently.

“Sakura?!” He kicked open the door and furiously searched the vacant room with his eyes. After seeing no one, Sasuke stared at the empty couch where they had sat so close to one another the night before last. As if his memory of her there could recall her, Sasuke gazed openly at it, breathing hard.

Having followed the Uchiha, Kankuro appeared in the door behind him. “We’ve already checked the hospital. She isn’t here. We need to check the rest of the village, quickly!”

She couldn’t be missing. Was she really with that assistant of hers or that child? Were they off somewhere else doing something medical, or were they truly missing? Shit. Shit. Shit.

He turned on Kankuro in his unnerved rage. Sasuke wanted to demand where they had been, he and the Kazekage, but Sasuke remembered that Sakura had told him that they were investigating trouble near the border. He cursed himself again for being selfish and leaving her here alone.

As if reading his thoughts, Kankuro explained, “I was sent back by the Kazekage in the night. He is handling a situation regarding the ninja Sakura said ambushed you both in Tanigakure. The incidents were apparently related.”

“What do you mean?” Sasuke suddenly asked, a deep and cutting sensation coming over Sasuke that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time: fear.

Kankuro looked down and away from him, debating on how much to reveal. “With some unmentionable methods, we were finally able to find out who their target was,” he finally informed with a sigh. His eyes rose to meet Sasuke’s and the Uchiha saw the same raw fear mirrored in Kankuro’s eyes. “It’s Sakura.”

At the very moment that Sasuke’s knees felt like collapsing beneath his weight, the same staff member that the two ninja had threatened seconds before, came running into the room, panting heavily from having hiked the floors.

“Come quickly,” he urged between breaths, turning immediately to run back down the steps. “Isao has returned.”

Kankuro made eye contact with the Uchiha before they both bolted back down the stairs, taking two and three steps at time. Sasuke cursed his lack of chakra that kept him from just teleporting downstairs.

Sitting in a chair, the child clutched his side. Sasuke noticed that he kept trying to rise, but the staff held him down as they tried to bandage a wound on his arm. Deep purple finger marks circled around the child’s neck like a collar.

“Not me! Her! Go find her, please!” he shouted as he struggled against them.

“Calm down boy,” a woman medic urged. “We have to staunch the flow of blood from your arm.” The child looked at his wound as if he didn’t even know it had been there.

When Isao caught sight of Sasuke and Kankuro, he started to cry. “HELP! Please help!” he shouted, and they quickly moved to hover over the child. Kankuro suddenly kneeled before him, taking the gauze from the medic and wrapped the child’s arm himself as he questioned.

“Speak kid,” Kankuro urged, “What is going on?”

“Miss Haruno,” he choked between tears. “She’s still out there! Please, we have to go!”

Before Kankuro could ask the child why, Sasuke did something appalling, an act that Sakura would be disappointed in him for. His sharingan flashed bright, soaking up the last of his chakra like a sponge, and he caught the panicked child’s stare in his own crimson and purple one.

Just as he had to Isao’s father, Sasuke stepped into the child’s memories. Isao’s recollections were almost too overwhelming for Sasuke to handle at the moment, each image dripping with the fear in which young ones saw the ninja world. There was also bravery in them and familial concern for the pink-haired kunoichi. Sasuke skipped through the memories like speeding up a film, an act that made his head throb in pain. He didn’t care about his own state at the moment though, seeking the green-eyed face of the woman he had come to love.

There. Isao’s most recent memory Sakura was of her telling him “to go get help.” Sasuke didn’t have time to go back further and he let the memories play out from that point, mapping the child’s nighttime desert sprint, hours long, from the empty desert back to the gates of the village.

Not needing to explore the child’s mind further, he released Isao and they both gasped. Sasuke clutched his eye, ignoring the angry glare on Kankuro’s face. He didn’t care about Kankuro’s morals or even the child’s shocked state at that moment. There was only one thing he cared about. He would let the child explain the details to Kankuro; Sasuke didn’t have the time to explain things to Kankuro. Instead, the Uchiha did the unthinkable, playing the very dangerous game of popping another chakra pill into his mouth as he sprinted out the hospital doors.

#approaching sun #approachingsun #sasusaku #Happy Valentine's Day #Sakura Haruno #sasuke and sakura #ssfanfiction #sasusakufanfiction #Sasuke Uchiha #sasukeshinden #sasuke shinden #sakura hiden #naruto fanfiction #narutolightnovels

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achliegh · 3 years

Text

Olive and Otto

Masterlist :)

@domesticatedbeetlenamedjorge

This is an AU still set in the SW universe but a little to the right and maybe down the block. I want Leo to have a little secret!

This is the 19th chapter of this little series I have and it's a little spicy. Enjoy!

This is a big one!

TW/CW: Smut, Drama, Arguing, Questioning Sexuality, Food, Panic attack

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Kids… Leo has kids. Leo has twins… TWINS! Finn was just blinking at them still as a statue while Leo's mom brought all the kids' stuff in and Leo was wiping the tears off the little boys, Otto, face. He must have left them to pursue his dream, suddenly he feels light headed, when Otto turns his head and on the right side just above his ear, he has a crescent shaped surgery scar. He watched Leo run his thumb over the scar lovingly and it makes sense.

Leo being the loving and considerate person he is, shaved the sides of his head like his… sons. INK had the right side of her head shaved too, was this because Otto was worried he wouldn’t fit in or something like that. Then Finn remembered the Tattoos! O&O behind Leo's ear on the right side of his head. Everything has a meaning.

The kids he would hear on Leo’s phone calls… Olive and Otto

Why would he keep them hidden from the team though. Why hide them from the world? If you search Leo you don’t find his offspring on his google profile. WHAT THE FUCK!

Holy shit, INK is the mother of Leo’s kids! No wonder they have such a special bond! Then again, they are both big ole gays so how the fuck does that work! He was so confused. He felt a tug on his pinky finger and looked down, those striking blue eyes stared up at him. Olive had the same shape of doe eyes that INK has, actually she looked so much like her except for her eye color, curly hair and… dimples. She was smiling at him and his heart melted into a puddle like ice cream on a hot day. He squatted down to her height and was surprise when she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered to him.

“Thank you for staying with daddy.” She pulled away after pecking him on the cheek and ran to find her mom. Putting a hand over his mouth he couldn’t help but smile. Finn has always loved kids but he couldn’t imagine having kids so young. Was he ready for this? Should he get involved with Leo and his family. What if he messed up and the kids grew up horribly and it was his fault. What if the kids just hated him, or if one of them hated him!

“Fish?” He looks up to see Leo looking at him nervous as he holds Otto on his hip. The child is nuzzling his neck and yawning, tired from the long car ride. “Are you okay?” Leo looked terrified, Finn was guessing that his twins had driven a few possible suitors away. Finn didn’t know if he could take care of a child, he could barely take care of himself. Leo was still a child, well not really but still.

“How old?” He looks at Otto who shy's away from him by shoving his face back into Leos neck. “How old were you?”

“15, it was the one time INK and I ever did anything like that” He is looking at the ground in shame. “It was a 1% chance, we even used protection and she was on birth control. She was on that because her cycle is so bad but we thought it wouldn’t happen, somehow it did. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.” He kisses Otto’s forehead and looks at Finn for a second then looks towards the kitchen where he can hear Olive and his mother laughing. “My mom was actually really excited, I had come out to her before we even knew INK was pregnant. She said she didn’t care as long as she got some form of grandkids.” He laughs a little and Otto whines as he jostled him. “That's when INK was kicked out and she lived with us, she dropped out of school for that year because it took such a toll on her body, I felt so guilty the entire time. Then this little thing developed a small tumor in his brain last year, had surgery and asked us to have hair like him.” He tickles Otto's stomach for a second, he wiggles and Leo puts him down as he runs to Olive.

“I never would have guessed”

“I try to keep them out of the public eye, my parents didn’t tell the world about me until I could decide if I wanted to be in the public eye. I plan to do the same for them, plus it isn’t safe. There is also the stigma of teenage parents, you know, bad parents who neglect their kids to go out and party. Stupid shit like that. I don’t want to hear it from the league, its my family. I don’t want to be criminalized for them. They’re my life!” Looking at Finn with eyes that are begging him to understand. “I send most of my paychecks to the kids because they need it more than me. They need me but I need to be here.” He sighs “Once they lay down for a nap we can talk about this more, okay?”

“Can I call Logan over to have this talk with him too?”

Leo swallowed as his nerves were coming back.

He nodded

#leo knut #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #o'knutzy #o’knutzy

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voidstilesplease · 3 years

Text

Swords and Arrows

or That Summer When The Ares and Athena Cabins Finally Allied For Capture The Flag part 1 of 3

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

(A Steo Demigod AU) || For @anonymous's prompt: "Scott as a Roman demigod instead of Greek" || word count: 2,647 || The Entire Demigod Series -> [AO3][Tumblr] (it's finally a working link tfg)

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

"Why the long face, little brother?" Tara asks cheerfully, wedging herself on the bench between Theo and one of their half-siblings, and placing down her tray brimming with colorful food as opposed to Theo's bleak and half-empty one. She grins at Theo, but he's not in the mood to return the goodwill.

Theo pokes half-heartedly at the contents of his tray: a lonely sealed bag with a couple squares of ambrosia inside - the food of the gods - some cheese and two slices of wheat bread. "Don't call me little brother," he mutters with little heat, leaning to the table to whisper a request to his goblet, which immediately fills up with sparkling water.

Tara looks over Theo's head at Fred, their Head Counselor, sitting on Theo's other side. "He's not back yet?"

Fred shakes his head, wiping the bbq sauce at the side of his mouth. "Nope," he replies, popping the 'p' and catching on to the question without much elaboration. By now, there's only one 'he' that reduces Theo to a brooding and sulky man-child. "He hasn't answered Theo's last IM, too."

"Try the last five Iris Messages," Theo grumbles in annoyance. He turns to Tara, face contorted in a sour expression. "I mean, how difficult is it to take my call? He always has drachmas in his pocket exactly for this reason."

"He's probably busy disintegrating monsters," Fred says reasonably. Which, of course, makes sense. Monsters make the most infuriating and persistent roadblock of all. They make any journey twice as long for demigods - if they don't manage to kill you, that is. "Or, you know," Fred adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "maybe he's being an accomodating companion to the Son of Jupiter."

Theo grinds his teeth hard and fixes his head counselor with a death glare. Fred only shrugs at Theo's reaction, obviously aiming for the exact response, and chuckling through a bite of ambrosia. Theo has half a mind to punch him in the jugular. He doesn't need a reminder of who Stiles is with, thanks. Spitefully, he harshly impales a piece of grape from Fred's tray with the tines of his fork and shoves it to his mouth in the most menacing manner he can project.

It only makes Fred guffaw, spraying bits of food onto the table. The campers across from him slide their trays away protectively, shrieking an indignant chorus of "Fred!" as they make sure no stray bits made it into their platters. Fred raps at his chest as he reaches for his goblet, still laughing his dumb ass off while trying to wave his hand in apology.

Their neighbors also share their opinion on the appalling table manners of the Ares brood - spitting out food may slightly be a common scene from their lot, unfortunately.

Brett from the Apollo cabin throws corn kernels at Fred, a strange display of solidarity if you can believe it, while Ara, the half-Korean junior counselor of Athena cabin, gives the Ares and Apollo tables a look of disapproval. She's a pretty terrifying 15 years old, which is why Stiles is extremely fond of her. With Stiles gone to New Rome the first week back to camp, Ara is doing a kickass job taking over the head counselor duty. (But, to Hades with it, Theo would much prefer Stiles to be scowling at their table.)

"Okay, first of all," Tara says over the little chaos. "Fred, you're disgusting. Second," she holds Theo's chin to compel him to look at her, then smirks, "Stealing a piece of fruit is not a cabin 5-worthy intimidation tactic."

Theo opens his mouth for his scathing retort, but at the same time, one of Stiles's younger siblings points in the direction of the cabins. "Hey, it's Stiles!"

Many heads look up, but Theo springs to his feet instantly, scanning the area for Stiles. He catches sight of him almost immediately, bounding to the Mess Hall in his orange shirt, face bright under the camp's enchanted borders, as radiant as the last time Theo saw him four long months ago. Without much thought, Theo finds himself carried by his feet towards Stiles.

Stiles sees him coming too, and his smile broaden. Theo sprints, forgetting himself and where they are. They meet halfway, by the entrance of the Mess Hall, with Theo knocking into Stiles's open arms strong enough that it's a surprise they're still upright on the ground.

Theo squeezes him to make sure his mind did not conjure a Spectre to appease his longing. Stiles feels solid under his hands, if a little sweaty, and he smells as if he was run over by monsters. But underneath the grime, he catches the scent of Stiles's favorite body wash. He feels himself sagging in satisfaction.

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

Theo doesn't know how long they stood just smiling at each other, but they break apart at Chiron's pointed clearing of the throat. It's not even in Theo's head to be embarrassed by his actions despite the cackling and many leering faces of the other demigods. Mr. D merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, though the twinkle in his eyes can only be from amusement.

Chiron is sitting on his wheelchair today, hiding his horse's ass behind the illusion of human legs - why he still does it is a wonder - and rolls forward to them.

"Stiles Stilinski," he greets merrily, the lines of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. "Welcome back." Chiron gazes a little behind them, then, nodding kindly towards another boy Theo only notices, is standing patiently at a distance.

The boy, Scott McCall, son of Jupiter and a praetor of the Roman demigods' army, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, steps forward to bow his head in respect of the centaur. "Chiron," he also acknowledges Mr. D who didn't bother to get up from the head table. "Lord Bacchus."

"Hm," Mr. D hums without correcting the demigod, sipping on his diet coke dismissively.

Theo doesn't hate Scott, but he also doesn't like him - strongly, irrationally, dislikes him. Instinctively, he shuffles closer to Stiles as if his boyfriend is going to dissolve into the Mist if he isn't close enough to pull him back.

Theo's been agitated since Stiles told him, a week prior, that he was flying to New Rome in California where Camp Jupiter is, the Roman camp, for a 'friendly' visit. Everyone's allowed to cross borders, but no one has really done so just to tour around. After all, the camps are on opposing sides of the country and monsters don't pause to consider not killing vacationing demigods.

A couple of times before last week, when Theo visited Stiles in his Manhattan apartment, he'd, out of the blue, mentioned the varied courses and scholarships that New Rome University offered, as Theo laid his head on Stiles's lap while the latter read. Theo hadn't minded it at the time, as Stiles quickly dropped the subject. But another month passed and Stiles mentioned it again, randomly, during one of their IMs, adding that he might check into the enrollment requisites. Theo started to worry, then.

If Stiles goes to New Rome for college, Theo can't follow him. He never even got to finish eighth grade. And Scott, he's one of the Romans, their leader, and grudging as he is to admit, one of Stiles's friends now the more he visits Camp Half-Blood. He will eagerly encourage Stiles, telling him of the countless perks that Camp Jupiter has. He will be as big a hero there as he is in Camp Half-Blood, and he can rise to praetorship alongside Scott if the Legion so wishes it.

Scott is not a bad person per se, but he wears the color and insignia of the place Theo might lose Stiles to. And if Theo blinks the wrong way, he might not see quick enough that Stiles is being whisked away to the other side of the coast, leading a life without him.

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

After officially welcoming the son of Jupiter to the camp, feeding him, and getting him settled in Cabin One, the campers go about their daily routine of training.

The blade vibrates when it hits the shooting log, right on the marked spot. Then it disappears into thin air and reappears in Theo's hand only to be thrown back to the same spot. He does it repeatedly, unrelentingly, until Tara aims with his bow and hits his blade with an arrow to send both weapons clanging to the ground, a few meters away.

Theo heaves; he doesn't even know he's breathless just from throwing until then. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he nods appreciatively at the bow in Tara's hands when his sister stands beside him with a smile. "If we aren't siblings, I'd mistake you for a daughter of Apollo."

"Please," she laughs, opening her palm, gesturing at the fallen weapons. Both her arrow and Theo's blade fly to her hands in a matter of seconds. "I don't want to light up like a glow stick while waxing poetry during a fight." Children of Apollo don't actually do those in the middle of a fight, but they do glow when they're healing, and they can make others speak in rhymes just for fun. Tara offers the knife back to his brother. "Also, we're children of Ares. By birthright alone, we should know to wield any weapon of war."

Theo takes the knife and snorts, "And yet, I suck at archery."

"I can't summon weapons out of thin air," She points out, grinning at him as she puts the arrow back to its sheaf. "I guess we just can't have it all or Zeus would be zapping us one by one."

Theo scoffs, leaning into position to begin throwing again.

"Speaking of Zeus," Tara says, a playful tone in her words. "Where's your favorite son of the Sky God?"

Theo spares her a glare before flinging his knife and burying it onto the battered practice log. He purses his lips before answering, "He's at the Big House with Chiron, Mr. D, Stiles, and the other head counselors." He clenches his fingers around the blade's hilt when it returns to his hands. "They're talking about a little orientation on New Rome University's scholarships and handing brochures and study guide for the DSTOMP." Theo doesn't bother hiding the acid in his voice from his sister. She'll recognize it anyway, even if he masks it with neutrality. He can't mask it with neutrality.

She quirks a brow, "You don't sound too eager," she notes. "Are you still jealous of Scott, little brother?"

"I'm not jealous of Scott," he says, gritting his teeth. "And don't call me little brother."

"Why are you so strung up, then, if you're not baselessly jealous?"

He finds his reply being interrupted for the second time that day, this time by a distant rumbling coming from the sky. All activities on the ground cease as everyone turns to the increasing volume of an invisible running engine. Theo scans the space above them, at first not grasping anything in motion, until a burst of light reveals a flying, glowing red bus coming down fast to the ground.

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

Someone goes to alert Chiron as the rest of them scamper to the landing site by the amphitheater. The bus landed surprisingly smooth, despite its breakneck descent.

"Is that a Ferrari bus?" One of the campers points out.

Sure enough, the logo at the front of the vehicle, a black prancing horse on a yellow background, is of the famous luxury sports brand. But why would there be a flying Ferrari bus at Camp Half-Blood?

"Oh gods," Lori gasps somewhere on Theo's left. "Is that dad's sun chariot?"

As if on cue, the bus door opens, and a teenager who looks about Theo's age exits, wearing what he can only describe as a hipster look. He flashes a blinding grin - and quite literally at that, since they have to shield their eyes momentarily from the glimmer of his teeth - clears his throat dramatically, and announces:

"Hello demigods

The sun landed on your grounds

I am so awesome."

There's silence at first, then a series of enthusiastic applause from Brett and the rest of cabin seven comes next. The teenager bows theatrically, although Theo finds nothing extraordinary about what he just said. But soon, the others join in with half-hearted claps, recognizing the powerful aura suddenly seeping into their skins that could only mean there's a god among them - well, another god, aside from Dionysus, their Camp Director. And with the terrible haiku, there will be no mistaking who graced their camp today. The last time Theo had seen him, during the almost war on his first year at camp, the god had worn the body of a muscular mid-20's blond man. Now, it seems he favors to look even younger despite his four thousand years.

"Lord Apollo," Chiron's voice drowns out the applaud as he trots forward, now in his form as a white stallion from the waist down. "It's a pleasant surprise. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

Mr. D isn't as warm. He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bother, what brought you here now?"

Apollo's bright persona doesn't falter as he gestures at the bus - that is apparently his sun chariot. Theo remembers the time when he almost drove Apollo's chariot, if the Hermes cabin did not snitch it from under their noses, and thus putting three cabins grounded after a severe prank war. He had to take Liam's dish duties and pay him just so his present for Stiles could be delivered in time for Christmas.

"I'm here at the request of my little sister." The god says proudly, as the door opens again, this time with grumbling teenage and prepubescent girls coming out from the bus. All dressed in the same outfit: silver jackets, silver camo pants, and black combat boots, and they carry at their backs a quiver of sharp silver arrows. They glance at Apollo with apparent distrust, standing as far away from him as possible, as the god continues, "To deliver her hunters safely while she's away on a personal errand."

Several demigods groan in displeasure at the news, and even Chiron's lips form a thin line, though he tries to smile through the tension. Mr. D seems to be delighted now, though, happier to see the strange, vicious-looking ladies than his own brother. Personally, it feels like an omen of danger. Mr. D is never happy unless something perilous is about to descend upon his campers - even if his own daughter, Malia, is among them.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo." One of the hunters says albeit she looks physically pained by her words. She stands at the front of the group, a silver ring headwear around her head, with bouncing black curls, a pointed nose, and a strong chin. The other hunters also look at her when she speaks. It's easy to recognize her as the group's leader. "And thank you, Lord Dionysus, Chiron, for accomodating the hunters of Lady Artemis."

Chiron nods at the girl, eyes softening with kindness born out of familiarity, "You're always welcome, Allison."

Mr. D laughs boisterously, then. Like his punishment has just been lifted and he can go back to Olympus and away from the brats, celebrating by getting drunk on wine after years of prohibition. "Well, at least, Capture the Flag this Friday seems more enticing now, don't you think so, Chiron?" He gives a wicked grin at his campers, not waiting for a reply, his change in demeanor promising a torturous next few days for the demigods. "Ready to lose the Camp Half-Blood banner to these little girls for the 58th time in a row?"

~•~

#steo #steo fic #demigod au #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #so idk what the heck happened #but i wrote 1k words more than my target word count #ahdbdjdjskxb idk #also for the demigod anon here's a response to one of your prompts!!#it took a hot minute but i hope you see this #scott mccall #brett talbot #tara raeken #allison argent #fics tag #demigodseries

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