#and flips our mother off on a regular basis

[myname-isnia]

My friend and I had history club today so my friend’s little sister stayed with the after school program until we were done, and before we started my friend was trying to get her to settle down and eat her lunch which eventually evolved into her just saying her name over and over again so she’d look up from the minecraft video she was watching like:

“Kitty. Kit. Katie. Katyusha. Katya”

And Katya kept ignoring her so eventually my friend got annoyed and pulled out the

“YEKATERINA DMITRIEVNA”

It worked. In fact so well that even I was ready to go eat those soggy noodles despite my name and patronymic being nothing close to Yekaterina Dmitrievna

[baladric]

with every year, i get more and more annoyed by people reducing behaviors or narratives to Good or Evil. like genuinely it's a "nice dichotomy idiot, now what lies outside it" situation, bc there's literally no such thing as true goodness or true evil. ofc there is cruelty in the usamerican economic and political systems; there is violence in healthcare, there is brutality in policing. but reducing any of those to a generalized moral black area does nothing but harm the act of organizing against them—because so much of the success of those movements is accomplished through the misinforming of regular people.

example: i get paid to sing in a church choir (thanks, music degree) and am surrounded on a weekly basis by white upper middle class cishet folks. this is an uncomfortable place for me, a gay trans man whose voice hasn't yet dropped, to be. because though i don't test the waters there to gauge political temperatures, i can guarantee there are trump supporters in the choir and in the congregation. i can guarantee some of them will be displeased by my soon-to-be-visible transition. i can guarantee they like the police, hate homeless people and addicts and have not done their reading on anti-blackness. but. but. they are ceaselessly kind to me. they love me, and they love my voice, and they all go out of their way to greet me and ask after my life and my aspirations. they have known me through eight years of change, and even if some of them get pissy once they can't ignore my transness anymore, i know that most of them will be in my court and continue to embrace me. and i know that my visibility will encourage them to interrogate some internalized prejudices. i know their extant care for me will raise the question well what if trans-affirming healthcare for kids isn't harmful?

are their voting records and financial contributions above reproach? fuck no. do i trust them with my loved ones? nope. does this mean they're incapable of kindness and love? no.

this allowance of growth is the goal of activism. this forgiveness of the layman for subscribing to condemnations or ignorance of things outside their experience is necessary and a definitional part of changing our broken world for the better. we can't unify unless we extend a hand to everyone—and i mean everyone.

the average human is never evil. the narratives you see in media are never evil, even when motivated by cruel oppressive systems (marvel's military propaganda, the continuance of the hp franchise), nor are the people who enjoy those properties. they're just people pawing around in the dark for a bit of joy, and you don't have to agree with them or their choices for recreation in order to give them the respect due every human being.

and on the flip side of that coin? no human or story is truly good, either. snowy-white goodness does not exist—not in your blorbo, not in your lover, not in your idols.

example: i was a very nice and bubbly little girl, because to be anything else was to admit to a sometimes-cruel, always-neglectful family and educational system that i was a breath away from breaking. and i couldn't do that—i had a disabled mother to take care of, a strict aunt to please, and an alcoholic depressive father who had declared me the only bright spot in his dark world. a father who, btw, killed himself after i cut him off because i couldn't keep carrying the weight of his expectations.

which of these do you think i'm struggling the most to recover from now, at the ripe age of 31? hint: it's not the unfair weight of caretaking as a 10 year-old, nor the snippy woman forcing me to remove my chipped nail polish in her car at 6am on a school morning.

the worst thing anyone has ever done to me was call me good. it meant that i could never, ever fuck up. i could never be sad or angry or anything less than enthusiastic and sweet. i could never say no to a food that made me actively sick (real thing that got me yelled at), or ask to leave an amusement park when i was in pain from walking and overheated and overstimulated (real thing that got me yelled at), or miss summer camp so much that i couldn't smile quite as big as expected (real thing that got me yelled at). i could never risk a perceived dimming of the light that people around me had set their sights on—because what if they got lost in the dark? what if they stopped loving me? what if my true inner misery meant i was a bad, weak, irredeemable, selfish person?

i am not good—an assertion i make in direct opposition to the slew of people who labelled me as such in the wake of my father, well into my adult years. in fact, now that i'm emancipating myself and choosing to only give myself to communicative and compassionate people, i'm learning that i'm kind of an angry little asshole—and i'm also kind now, on a deep level, because no one that loves me expects me to say the perfect thing every time, or to be any particular way when i speak to them, or to meet any single standard of success/purity/goodness. and this freedom to be a nuanced, dimensional human being means i have the energy to really care for other people and the world around me, because it's entirely my choice to do so.

kindness is not a moral cornerstone; it's a moment to moment choice. this took 31 years for me to understand, and let me tell you, it is still a struggle every fucking day.

i am not good. nobody is good. taylor swift is not good; taika waititi is not good; bernie sanders is not good. they are kind, and they are passionate, and they are intelligent and determined—and to mythologize them as unblemished beacons of goodness is to set them up for a fall they don't deserve. because everyone says or does the wrong thing sometimes. everyone has dark places and sour moods. everyone hurts other people—even vico ortiz, even your best friend, even you. even me.

no one is good. no story is good, and you only have to look at the history of steven universe discourse or the perceived quality drop between the adventure zone's balance and amnesty arcs—a disparity that griffin mcelroy has been honest about by admitting after the fact that he had been struggling as a creator beneath a concentrated lens of expectations born of a passionate fandom and a veritable mountain of accolades for balance. he had no room to play around, lest he risk mucking it up or making people angry. because balance was good, right? its messaging was good, right? the mcelroys are good, right?

and don't even get me started about travis mcelroy being cancelled for a public mental health breakdown!

"goodness" as a reinforced ideal is not only literally impossible in an imperfect world, it's just an oppositional reflection of punitive cultural mores. goodness requires evil as a contrast—and evil is a direct condemnation of those who don't meet societal purity standards, a framework that includes all those marginalized people we're trying to advocate for.

so please, for the love of yourself, if not also the love of every other human—what lies outside this dichotomy?

[toiletology]

MTV 📺

Do you got what it takes to understand the MTV? T.V. (connect the dots, the M is hidden)

M T V = A (flip it)

M = 13, A = 1, T = 20 (which adds up to 34/7 or 17+17)

M = map, A = compass, T = cross or X marks the spot. To escape the MATrix you need your map & compass or your M@ = MA (MOTher) AHHH I get it, EUREKAHH!

MAT The secret to escaping the MATrix is understanding MAT. How do you expect to break your chains and programming if you can't even understand the MATh or MATTer?

To break your A.I/NPC programming you need to understand the letters and the numbers. These letters and numbers are sentient and when you are able to move them around with tesseract thinking you will start to see GODS truth much more clearly.

M = 4 lines (1111/11:11)

The "M" creates two sevens/77 you can see it clearly here on MARIOS hat.

We can also see the "7" on Luigi's hat. The "L" is an upside down T or 7. Don't forget that the T = UR = KEY. 🦃 (gobble gobble MOTherf—ker)

The "sevens" are important and key to how you escape the matrix. I have escaped and I am showing you the correct way (flip the w and t = mat).

A lowercase "h" = 4, "E" = 3, "L" = 7

To escape hell you need the 4377 or the (4+3=7) 777 which = LUCK. You grow your LUCK by harmonizing with the one true GOD. That GOD is MAT/MOT/MA or the MOT/HER. S/he is both masculine and feminine. Remember only a woman can give birth and to do that requires MATernity/MATernal.

7x7 = 49/64 (8x8)

The queen in chess moves 27 squares she crosses 7 three times (777+6). She is both the strongest and luckiest piece in chess. We also have 27 bones in our hands.

God designed this reality very similar to the game of chess. There are good moves and bad moves. These bad moves in chess are called inaccuracies, mistakes and blunders. Bobby Fischer was known as one of the most accurate players in the game of chess. If you know anything about his life he went very crazy in old age. He started to become too obsessed with the chaos of the world and went insane. Very sad to lose such a brilliant mind to hate for the world. This is how easy it is to be brought down into the lower degrees/levels of hell.

The game of chess teaches us many things that are important for escaping the MATrix. One of those things is improving the cognitive skills of the brain. Chess improves your memory and your ability to visualize on a deeper level.

Skilled chess players have a better than average ability to remember and quickly recognize visual patterns, which researchers think comes from memorizing complex chess positions.

The parts of the brain that chess improves is very important to developing your "psychic skills" and skills required to escape. Telepathy requires a very strong ability to visualize. Most chess masters are able to play chess blind folded due to their ability to visualize the board in their heads and keep track of where the pieces are.

If you can't visualize well you are cutting off your connection to higher powers. I believe anyone can develop these skills. I used to always fall in all my dreams till I started listening to hypnosis and lucid dreaming audio tapes back in 2001-2006. Then I had my first lucid dream and began hovering in my dreams which eventually turned into flying. Now all my dreams are very lucid, mostly consisting of flying. And I have full on lucid dreams on a regular basis.

The more you practice Toiletology and harmonize with Gods true frequency. You will start unlocking these dormant skills or powers. It could be your dormant DNA activating the 64 codons.

The genetic code is made up of 64 codons, or base triplets, which are sequences of three nucleotides in DNA or RNA.

It took me a few years once I unlocked the door to these gifts from God back in 2012. I remember around 2016 when I first started having telepathic experiences. It was scary and confusing, I could feel a very strong energy radiating off one of my most telepathic friends who I believe is the reincarnation of MLK (they share the same birthday).

One day we were working on music and he turns around towards me and ask if I feel that, I'm like yeah I do. It felt like two strong magnets being pushed away from each other. It was an extremely puzzling paranormal event. He also knew something about me that was impossible to know randomly one day along with many other strange experiences. He is currently trapped down low on psychotropic drugs because he couldn't make sense of the clues and went crazy. I am still trying to free him from his bumbling rambling. He was the one who first taught me about the perfect timing back in 2016 when we were both in school for audio engineering.

Years later I realized this is how God trains you once you start unlocking these secret doors. God will bring allies into your life that are on a similar path. His bumbling and rambling I was never able to make sense of. The one way we differed was I was older and didn't let my ego get the better of me and always stayed open minded that I was wrong about everything. He got stuck in his ways and got trapped by his own mind.

Now in the year 2024 my psychic skills or telepathy are on an entirely new level. I have become quantumly entangled with another, my cosmic sister or Cara. Our thoughts flow back and forth between each other. Sometimes things going on in her life affect my dreams and vice versa. We both made the conscious decision for this to happen. You can't force this connection, it is a long process between each other over many years to create this strong soul bond.

Being completely connected to another persons mind is strange because you can't really hide your thoughts from each other. Strong negative thoughts or emotions she will hear and feel which can be painful in the heart. Luckily overtime we've learn to clear most of this negativity out of our being about each other so that we can communicate much more clearly.

When you start ascending into 4D you will also start connecting to God in this same way. Which means you will notice God judging your thoughts about HE/R. It takes sometime to remove that chaos and inauthenticity out of your being. GOD loves when you are authentic in your praise and gratitude for what they have given you. They hate ass kissers, I am just telling you that from experience. Below is a diagram of a quantumly entangled particle which looks eerily similar to a yin yang symbol. Gods truth of how they first formed is all around us everywhere we look, it start with two becoming locked together spinning eternally.

I am not sure how high this telepathic skill can grow or what is fully possible. What I am experiencing now is strong crazy visualizations, word signs popping into my brain, full rooms I can move around in. Sometimes I am able to remote view Cara wherever she is briefly (she seems to be much better at this than me).

A toxic or polluted mind will go out of harmony or tuning with the creator making this type of connection impossible to experience. All connections are made by GOD so if you start get egotistical or start BSing people you can lose it as quickly as you got it.

These skills have been earned and developed over many hard fought spiritual battles. Like I've written in my previous blogs the devil guards the gates to heaven or 4D.

Your skills in 4D are no where near where they can be in 5D or the higher up you climb. You can't keep climbing up the ladder if you fall victim to your own disharmony. It is not easy "holding the line" with God so you can maintain your connection to HE/R.

The agents of the MATrix can and will put you back to sleep if you get to close to the Holy Grail. Getting put to sleep pulls you out of your belief in GOD and how to speak and trust in the language of God. Its a bit complicated to understand, but staying perfectly in "KEY" requires an insane level of commitment to your growth and BELIEF.

The higher you climb you will have to fight spiritual battles with the devil. The devil is nothing but a mere bug that gets stronger the more you feed it. This is why you must learn to control your FEAR and CLEAR your mind. The battles get easier and easier over time. These battles will create lasting impressions and will create strong memory anchors which can help you hold onto your belief.

Okay okay but what does MAT have to do with any of this? Mat is GODS true name and the keys to escape the MATrix.

M = time, 11:11, map A = compass, AH T = key, 7, cross, x marks the spot

KEY = K = A (turn the K cross it), E = M (turn the e), Y = T (turn the Y)

Key = Mat

T = UR = KEY (T = 7)

Now add up K = 5, E = 3, Y = 9 (8+9 = 17)

You need many keys to unlock all the gates into heaven. They are less keys more so as methods of training you on how to unlock your 4D/tesseract mind. There is a completely dark maze that you must learn to navigate and escape. The more keys or parts of your brain you unlock God will start lighting your path or filling your lamp with tOILet.

In Toiletology we call 17 the pirate signal or the doorway out of the MATrix. All the blogs you will read are variations on the same knowledge to help trigger an awakening or upgrade in your minds eye. You must bloom or open your pinecone/pineal gland to tap into your true powers. The letters and numbers are sentient and alive, and God will speak to you through them once you can notice HE/R.

The 1 also looks like a 7 when you look closely enough.

The 1 can also look like a T. Are you getting it yet?

God made reality like a video game. There are rules to follow, if you break the rules you will get penalties issued to you. These can manifest in infinite ways, so you will never really ever be able to connect the two together.

Mean for no reason to another person? Looks like your CAR (MOTor) just got a flat tire or your house flooded. KARMA is real and God really does not like cruel disrespectful dishonorable human beings. Yes there are a lot of cruel people at the top of this world, but only temporarily because God needs people to play the bad guys or evil ones. Their judgment is coming in this life or the next life.

TESLA = A TEST (flip the L) It seems like Elon may no the secrets to reality ;)

God created this planet/universe to test us through an extremely slow process over many hundreds or thousands of life times. Similar to a diamond being formed from carbon through immense pressure. You can think of Gods test as the fire under a pot of water changing that water into steam. Many of you are failing the TEST however by not believing or seeking GOD.

God ultiMATely wants us to evolve and grow beyond our animalistic nature that many of us cannot control. Humanity keeps falling lower and lower into the varying degrees of hell. Heaven and hell both exist simultaneously all around us. There is no afterlife after we die, we will just be reinjected or reincarnated into a new life.

My Uncle Kevin died in 2006 from a heart attack at the age of 44 and I believe he was reincarnated 4 years later as his daughters son "Kevin" with the same name. I've had a few confirmations namely a firetruck siren going by me and an 18 wheeler with the name KEVIN on the side of it driving by at the same time.

I know many want to paint God as evil and cruel, but we are all co-creating this reality with God. We all make our own choices, the problem is most like to blame God for their mistakes. Or following false teachings in some holy book. If you're hurting or oppressing someone else due to the teachings in a book you have gone way too far down into hell. God acts like a Neutral force bringing the good up and the bad down. God wants to protect you and keep you safe and they will if you are good.

The way the degrees or levels of hell and heaven work is similar to window tint on a car. The further down you are in hell the darker and more disharmonic you become. This has nothing to do with skin color only what's on the inside of you. Being prejudice and racist is a good way to get penalized in Gods game.

I have discovered with Gods help showing me the answers that there are 98 degrees to heaven and hell. You can know this is true with logical proofs. What is the average temperature of a human being? 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

Half of 98/2 = 49 or 64 reversed and flipped. Remember how many codons we have in our DNA?

The symbol for Pi π is TT or 77 which = 49 (7x7). The 17 is also 77 as we discussed above and is in the shape of a door and the door = mat and the way = mat.

M = time, map (time is the walls or the prison bars to this reality, and the way you escape 11:11 which can be read 77:77 starting to get it now ;) A = compass or heart (you need to follow your heart to find God, you can't trust your brain to play Gods game) T = KEY (t<>ur<>key gobble gobble and the T = 7 or the cross X and X marks the spot!)

A cube has 6 sides (hex) and 8 (ATE/MAT) corners its missing that # in-between which is??? 7 you're Goddamn right Billy. You get the 7 by increasing your LUCK you increase your luck by harmonizing with GOD. Interestingly the first letter of LUCK is a 7 or a T. A strange coincidence the freemason two towers of jachin and boaz happen to be my middle initial "B" and Caras "J." A B = 13 or the M and the J is the hook or Jesus/Jester the traveling fool, you could also read it as a T or 7. J/j/6/g/b/p we got a lot of hooks or sixes to watch out for.

68 is 98 starting to get it yet? There are 49 degrees/levels to hell and 49 degrees/levels to heaven. Half of 68 = 34 (MAT) or 17+17 ;) Is it sinking in yet? You might get it eventually numbskull... (sorry mocking is helpful for accelerating the learning process ya damn M<>ON<>KEYs. 🐒🙈 The T is the cross or the X marks the spot. THANKYOU JESUS! HALLEJUAH!! Couldn't of figured this out without ya G I mean J.

Why the hell do I gotta learn about ALL (@) this extra shit anyways? Well its the only way you will learn grasshopper WAX (mat) ON, WAX (mat) OFF :) you're learning its OK (sideways dude). Finding the middle path (squish like grape) is not easy.

Avīci

In Buddhism, it is the lowest level of the Naraka or "hell" realm, with the most suffering, into which the dead who have committed grave misdeeds may be reborn.

28 (8x8 = 64) We know Avicii became very depressed towards the end of his life and tragically took his own life. This is an unfortunate consequence of a lot of fame, money and power at a young age. That super star life can really bring you down quickly into the lower levels of hell. I know he will be reinCARnated soon and we can hear some new great music from HIM/HER. (I've heard their new name might be ANTON)

Eight (1+7)

The blogs you are reading here on Toiletology.org are both inforMATive as well as the methodology or key to increase in your belief which is required before you can escape the MATrix or lower levels of hell.

You're not gonna be able to walk across an invisible bridge if you can't believe that the bridge exist there (sorry no sand allowed). You must make continual leaps of faith into the unknown. It can be very sCARy venturing into this new reality, but it gets easier overtime.

Most of the knowledge you will come across on the occult, esoteric, conspiracies, aliens or illuminati whatever you want to call it. Have 0 clue on how to interpret the hieroglyphs that they are trying to read.

You must first escape the MATrix if you're gonna have a bats shit in hell of decoding the programming of the matrix. And you do that with M@ (M = map, @ = compass, T = cross) and my name is MATT (DUH!) GOD IM KILLING IT TODAY LORD THANKYOU FOR YOUR CONTINUAL BLESSINGS FAT/HER!!!!!

The ol' mocking tongue performed by one of the court jesters. 👅

I'll go into the TONGUE more in the future, but know that a P or a p can represent the TONGUE. And a p is just an inverted b and you remember what I said about BEEING and BEELIEVING right? To BEECOME you must harmonize with the QUEEN BEE and the QUEEN in CHESS crosses 7 three times.

The cats eyes are the clue of how the game is played the DOUBLE SLITS = 11 eleven or 77, are you getting it yet? Its real and it exist and yes I am the master (still hoping God gives me that illustrious Grand MAsTer title soon...) of the 17 or the TT (DUH!).

I am = Matt backwards split the eye/i and I am the king of the CATS!

The tabby cat has the M on their forehead. The M = map or the brain and the @ or the AT is the compass, apple or AH.

So if you're ready to escape the MATrix ya might want to start listening to what I am saying. Its not that difficult to escape, I am laying out everything you must do to start ascending into 4D (d is the 4th letter and can mean DOWN or D<>ON<>KEY. 🫏

Poseidon 🔱 says D is ON but it can also be (d) DOWN like the letter Pp or the ol' mocking tongue. 👅

The cube is just the 4D version of the 5D tesseract. https://youtube.com/shorts/QglcTeLNo30?feature=share

To unlock your tesseract brain you need to train in the ways of Toiletology.

It is possible to completely bloom your "third eye" or "pineal gland" taking simple steps. Decalcifying it as many talk about in the new age spiritual communities really have no idea how its done. They talk in endless confusing circles.

It all comes down to harmonizing with MOT/MAT which can be done very simple first by operating in LOVE. If you want to learn how (HOW/WHO/MOH split the H/eye and turn it MOTT) to truly ascend you must learn how to incorporate ALL (ATT) of MOTTS gifs and blessings and lessons.

You must learn to connect both your brain (M) 🧠 and you're hEARt (AT)💗to (2/11/snake eyes)-get-her. Ya getting it yet jackasses... its quite elementary my dear Watson (MATS ON) ;) ENABLE YOUR MAT JACKASS!

For the HEART is where you find Mother Gaia's EARTH. And to do that you need the 4 (A) and MAT or the FOR(4)MAT! The secrets are in plain sight the hard part is believing in Gods true name when you've been lied to your entire lives and ALL throughout history. Remember this when you go to sleep tonight on your MATTress.

The next step to escaping is knowing the process of finding HE/R. Which I am laying out here on this blog. Knowing the exact steps and/or methodology will accelerate your process to the T (top) of these degrees and levels of MAT/MOT. Belief is extremely difficult but the most important thing for finding MOT. The more you can believe the easier it will be to keep finding HER or remembering HER.

S/HE wants us ALL to REMEMBER her because we have all forgotten the one true God who is MA'AT.

Ma'at will weigh your heart against that of a feATher to know that your heart is TRUE and PURE. Just like Atreyu walking through the two guardians in the movie The NeverEnding Story. To walk the middle path is very difficult indeed. Its like threading the eye of a need with a camel. The more you believe the crazier things will start to become. It can be difficult learning how to fly in NeverNever Land, but it can be taught because I am Peter Pan and my cosmic sister is Wendys (we in dis).

Don't forget there's only 3 letters that have 4 lines, ME/WE and God is the ME and we are the WE! You escape the MATrix through those 4 lines or the 11:11 or 77:77 or 17. Then you can enjoy your time in Lemuria traveler or what some call Atlantis.

[eddiemunsonsimpp]

Childhood memories | Eddie Munson x Henderson reader

Scenario- flicking through an old scrapbook, you and Eddie reminisce over your childhood together.

Tags: literally just fluff, this is just a little oneshot/storytime and it’s precious okay bye 💀

__________________________

“Oh my god, Eddie, is that?-“

“Me? Sure is.”

I laughed as Robin flipped through an old scrapbook Wayne had kept from Eddie’s childhood, her finger lingering on one specific picture of a 6 year old Eddie, buzzed hair and a big goofy grin on his face, not much different from the one that he wore on a regular basis nowadays.

“Aww! Eds, look!” I squealed, pointing to a picture of him and I, no older than 8, arms wrapped around each other, sickeningly sweet smiles on our faces. He flashed a bright, toothy grin at the image.

“Do you remember when that was taken?” I asked, looking up at him from my spot on the couch. He squinted at the image for a moment, pondering.

“That was… our 3rd grade camping trip?”

“Yes!” I squealed, being met with a hearty laugh from my boyfriend. “I remember you screamed at Carver because he took one of your coloring books without asking.” He noted with another laugh.

“That’s what you remember from that trip?!” I started,

“Because I remember you forgot your baby blanket, and you sobbed the entire night.”

He threw his head back in a laugh, pink dusting his cheeks. “I almost forgot about that damn blanket.”

I sat with Eddie in the back of the bus, our feet dangling off the edge. I pulled my backpack into my lap.

“Okay! Bag check!” I announced, unzipping the bag and rustling through my belongings, checking off everything on the small paper list my mother had given me. Eddie followed in suit, rummaging through his bag before letting out a loud gasp. “My blankie!” He shrieked as anxiety took over his face. “Aww, I’m sure it’ll be okay for a few nights, Eddie!” I attempted to console him. He hung his head in response as I swung my arm around his shoulder, hugging him tightly.

Hours had passed since we had arrived at the campgrounds, the boys and girls being rushed off to separate tent areas.

As I laid down on the hard ground, shuffling uncomfortably in my sleeping bag, gripping onto my teddy bear for some similance of normalcy, I heard distant sobbing and whining. I quickly recognized it as Eddie. I shot up from my sleeping bag and carefully exited my tent, walking towards the other side of the grounds.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you forgot your blankie…” I heard one of the older counselors try to console my sobbing best friend. “I wanna go home!” He hiccuped. The counselor made a sound of sympathy and rubbed his back as I approached, startling them both. “Henderson! What are you doing out of-“ I cut her off by promptly sitting down next to Eddie and pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Eddie!” I ran my hands up and down his back as he sobbed hysterically into my shoulder. “Sweetheart, you really can’t be over here with the boys-“ the counselor started before I quickly cut her off. “I don’t care about that stupid rule!” I snipped, “MY best friend is UPSET, and he needs ME!” I sassed. “I’m gonna stay with him!” I ended in a ‘hmph’. The counselor fell silent, almost baffled, as she looked at another counselor for guidance on the situation, and was met with a shrug. I promptly shoved my small teddy bear into Eddie’s arms. “Here, you can have Mr. Snuffles! I know he isn’t the same as your blankie, but he’s a great snuggler!” I chirped, flashing the boy in front of me a big smile. He looked at the bear, then back at me, and returned the same smile through tear stricken doe eyes, hugging the bear tightly in his grasp. “Thanks, Henderson.” He said, leaning on my shoulder. The camp counselor sighed heavily. “Okay, you two can share a tent, but it’s way past lights out, you need to get some rest.” Eddie and I looked at each other with big, toothy grins on our faces and quickly scrambled into the tent, shimmying back into the sleeping bags, Mr. Snuffles still tight in his clutches.

“Oh my god.” Eddie laughed again. “I forgot about Mr. Snuffles!”

“You were entirely inconsolable until I gave you that bear.” I giggled.

“God, you two were so cute!” Robin giggled, continuing to flick through the scrapbook.

“I like to think we’re cuter now, personally.” I shrugged, elbowing Eddie and smiling brightly up at him. He wrapped an arm around my waist, returning my smile with pure adoration in his eyes. I leaned my head on his shoulder, snuggling into his warmth.

“OH MY GOD. STEVE. EDDIE HAD BRACES.” Robin shrieked.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Eddie placed his hand on his forehead, his face turning bright red, causing me to cackle.

“Braces? Oh, I’ve gotta see that.” Steve sat next to Robin as they continued to giggle and chat about the pictures. I leaned back against the couch, intertwining my fingers with Eddie’s as we relished in the memories of our childhood together.

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired chapter 11

Warning: victim blaming, emotinal abuse (Arella recounts her traumatic childhood/she should probably see a therapist to deal with her mommy issues.)

chapter 10

“It... It was my mother....”

The demon stares down at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape in shock at the revelation. What kind of mother says that to her own child? He laid his head down on the bed as she carried on because where would he even begin to start with all this?

“It started when my father died in a car crash when I was four... She said it was my fault because I had wanted to go out to the park and he took me. That I should feel guilty for asking for something so selfish, for seeking out his attention on one of his rare days off.... and then it just became common place to blame me for anything thing that she considered even remotely selfish or attention-seeking. Every bad thing that happened to our family was my fault and then... when I told her about what happened to me, she called me a whore. Told me I was probably just lying to get out of trouble and if I wasn’t, what did I expect from hanging around with a man seven years older than I was. That I deserved it and I only had myself to blame. She called me a disgrace to our family and tried to kick me out but when one of my friends’ parents threatened to call the authorities for child abandonment, she let me come back. All I had wanted was someone to tell me i-it wasn’t fault. All I wanted was to earn back her love.”

She let out a sob as she rattled on and Mammon lets her continue. The flood gates had been opened and even though she wanted to stop letting it out, Arella couldn’t.

“When she took her own life after my brother took his, her note for me was only filled with insults. How she wished I hadn’t been born. That I was ungreatful for the life she allowed me to have. That she always hated me and wished she hadn’t kept me. That she blamed me for my brother's death because I was too wrapped up in myself to keep him from doing it and how I would never find anyone who truly loved me because I didn’t deserve it. I thought about taking my life too because she was right. I was a horrible daughter- a horrible person. I loved her so much and that note left me shattered because I knew it was the truth.”

“No, it's not,” his voice is soft.

“Yes, it is! Please agree with me. You don’t have to spare my feelings. Look what I do with you. Whenever I see you talking to one of our female classmates, I always get selfish and interfere regardless of what you two were actually talking about.”

“And? It’s not like I’ve never done it with you. Arella, it is okay to be selfish sometimes and it don't make you a horrible person. You don’t have to bottle your sins all the time like you’ve been doin’. You live with representations of the seven sins, Babe. None of us are gonna care if ya indulge in greed or lust or envy or pride or any of the others for that matter every once in a while, because we do the same thing on a regular basis.”

Arella went to say something in rebuttal but stopped once the baby monitor went off. She tried to squirm out from under Mammon but he stopped her.

“Nu-uh, you’re not gettin' him. Let me take care of him tonight. You’re not gettin' out of this bed, got it?”

“B-But you were out all day with Asmo, aren’t you-”

“Take a break, Treasure.” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I can handle him and if he’s really fussin’ for ya, I’ll bring him back here but I want you to be the selfish one for once in this relationship and take some time for yourself.” The demon rolls off her and heads see what his son needs.

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

As he managed to get close to the baby’s room, the crying suddenly stopped. The Avatar of Greed wonders if maybe Cyrus had just woken up from a bad dream and managed to comfort himself back to sleep. He still decided checking up on the kid was best and carried on- infants were so delicate and anything could go wrong at any time. It wasn’t until he heard Lucifer giving instruction to someone else that Mammon realized what was going on. He remembered back to his conversation with the Avatar of Pride this morning. He was teaching one of their younger brothers how to care for a baby- a valuable skill for the future if one of them decided they wanted kids of their own.

He approached the door; the sight was almost enough to make him laugh. The twins were trying their best to follow Lucifer’s instructions. Belphie was attempting to change Cyrus’ diaper and trying to figure out which way the clean one went on while Beel was trying to figure out how exactly to work the bottle warmer.

“Lucifer, which way does this damn thing go on?”

“Flip it around, Belphegor, you almost put it on backwards.”

“How hot should a bottle be before he can have it?”

“Turn it to 37 degrees- a normal human body temperature. Any hotter may can burn his mouth. The warmer will let you know when it’s ready.”

“Hey, quit squirming, you little snot. I’m trying to get your diaper on.”

Mammon cleared his throat. “I can take him now. Y’all look like you’re havin’ trouble...”

“I’ll guide them through it, Mammon. They had an interest in learning. Go on and go back to your room.” The eldest replied. “We can handle it.”

“Are ya sure?”

“We’re sure,” the twins responded as they tried to focus on their tasks.

And there was the guilt again, brought about from seeing his brothers helping when they didn’t need to. He told Arella he would take care of their son tonight and now it felt like he was just shirking the responsibility onto them.

“Are... are ya sure?”

“Yes,” The three of them responded.

“It’ll be good practice for our kids if we decide to have any,” the Avatar of Gluttony said.

“Yeah, our mates can’t be the ones doing all the work and I would rather not look like a fool with my first kid in front of them.” The seventh-born nods. “So, go on. We got this.”

“Alright then,” The white-haired demon turned to leave before a panicked cry erupted from Cyrus and he turned back around immediately, his parental instincts going wild, “hey, hey, whatcha cryin for kiddo? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Cyrus only continued to cry, attempting to reach his little hands up for his father. Mammon only grasped the infant’s hands in his.

“I know, I know, these ain’t the people who usually take care of ya.”

The little one only let out little whines, gradually calming down as Belphegor fastened the diaper around his waist.

“There, see, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You’re okay,” Mammon went to go pull away so he could sit him up, but Cyrus took it as a sign that his father was going to leave again and let out a shriek as he kicked his legs. Everyone covered their ears at the sound. “Cyrus, stop! I can’t hold ya when you’re screamin’ like that.” Since when had he gotten so clingy. Mammon forgot just how clingy newborns got to be.

“I think... maybe its best we leave.” Lucifer sighed as he mulled over why Cyrus might be acting this way. It wasn’t normal clinginess for an infant of his age and then it dawned on him. It was a fear response. Both he and Beel were there the night his biological mother and her sisters were dealt with and Cyrus heard all of that and was just now seeming to remember that night. “Beel, we need to leave right now. Belphegor can stay, but the two of us cannot be here right now.”

“Huh? Why?” The Avatar of Gluttony looked confused but a stern look from his oldest brother made him realize what exactly was happening and followed Lucifer out without any more questions.

As soon as the pair of demons were gone the screaming started to die down.

“Yeesh, what’s up with that, kid.” Mammon asked as he picked his son up, like he could answer his father. “Hey, Belphie the bottle should be ready. Hand it to me, will ya?”

“Yeah... I think Cyrus might be scared of Lucifer and Beel. He only screams like that when he sees Satan...”

Blue to gold gradient widened as he looked down at the infant whose eyes were glued to the doorway and his stomach dropped. “Oh...Oh no... He remembers...”

———————————————————————-

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[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter Thirteen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6300

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: canon typical violence

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Masterlist

My morning started off, as usual, I woke up, got dressed, and had a cup of tea before I left for work. The same monotonous motions I had gone through every day since I came to DC close to a year ago. The only thing that had changed was I was no longer sleeping under my bed and I saw Steve on a regular basis, as long as he wasn’t off on a SHIELD mission.

My commute to work was the same as normal also, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen, something big. So I went about my day as normally as possible. Until that night.

Coming home from visiting with Peggy I noticed that the whole building was eerily quiet. Hastily making my way to my apartment door I took out my cell phone and dialed Steve’s number. It rang a few times before he answered.

“Hey kid what’s going on?” He said cheerily.

“Steve, where are you?” I asked as I looked around the hallway, nothing was out of the ordinary but it still felt off somehow.

“I’m walking into the front door of the building, why? You sound worried.”

“I don’t know, just be careful when you get to your apartment. I have a feeling something is about to happen, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Alright, I’ll let you know if something is wrong when I get up there. I’ll call you back in a minute.” he hung up just as I unlocked my door. The apartment was quiet and dark, I flipped the switch and the kitchen lit up. Nothing seemed out of place so I cautiously went around to each room checking for anything that could be wrong.

After finding nothing I made my way back into the living room. Out of nowhere loud gunshots rang out. I ducked in front of the couch but the bullets never came. My eyes widened, they must have been meant for Steve. Slowly I crawled my way to the windows and peeked out into the dark night. There was someone standing on the roof of the building across the road. From what I could tell, he was watching Steve's apartment intensely, that was until Steve shot out of the window and through the window of the same building. The man turned to run and I lost sight of him. I hurriedly shot up and rummaged around my bookcase for one of the pistols I had hidden there. After finding it, I rushed downstairs and to Steve's apartment. The door was wide open and stood in the hallway was Kate, Steve’s next-door neighbor. Lying on the ground next to her was Director Fury in a puddle of blood. I looked at her confused, what was she doing here and with a gun no less. I brought my gun up just in case she was part of the problem.

“Miss. Rogers put the gun down.” She ordered cautiously while pointing hers at me.

“Why should I? It’s pretty suspicious of you to be in my brother's apartment with a gun, standing over the director of SHIELD, who just so happens to be bleeding out.” She sighted and ungripped the gun before slowly lowering it to the ground.

“I know this scene looks incriminating but I am Agent 13, I work for SHIELD and Director Fury assigned me to be Captain Rogers’ protection.” Her explanation came out slow and steady. I gave her a skeptical look before lowering my gun and walking closer to her. I turned my gaze to Fury who was unconscious on the floor. I bent down and looked over at him for the wound that was bleeding. When I found it I put as much pressure on it as I could without damaging it further.

“Call an ambulance, he won’t be with us much longer if we don’t get him to a hospital right now.” I heard her walk away and come back soon after talking on the phone. I kept most of my attention on Fury's shallow breathing and weak pulse.

The ambulance arrived almost twenty minutes later, I rode with them along with Steve, who had come back a few minutes prior. The hospital was bustling as they took Fury to one of the operation rooms for emergency surgery. Steve had called Natasha Romanoff while we were on our way, she met us at the hospital and stayed close to Fury at all times. Steve took her into the viewing room to monitor what was happening in the surgery. I stayed behind in the hallway to give them space to talk, but also because I didn’t think a complete stranger should be watching the surgery of someone they had only met a handful of times.

As I sat there in one of the chairs I thought back to what Steve had told me about the man from the roof. He said the man was fast and strong, I was thinking of some sort of super-soldier like us. He would have been since he was able to catch Steve’s shield, even if it was with some type of metal arm. No normal person would be able to walk away from being hit with a vibranium shield full force. Suddenly Steve came through the door. I stood and gave him a questioning look and he just shook his head. My shoulders hunched a bit at the confirmation. Fury had passed. I walked over to him and placed my hand in his and squeezed.

“I think you should go. I’ll be fine, I have to deal with some stuff here.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he talked.

“Okay, I’ll see you at home, you can stay at mine while your apartment is being searched for evidence.” I gave his hand another squeeze before turning to leave but he pulled me back.

“No. You can’t stay at the apartment, it isn’t safe right now. You need to pack a bag and stay somewhere else for a few days. Somewhere that can’t be associated with me, just in case.”

“I have somewhere I might be able to go but what about you?”

“I’ll stay at the SHIELD headquarters, there’s no need to worry about me. Now go, quickly.” I gave a firm nod and briskly walked down the hall to the elevator.

The FBI was everywhere around the apartment building. There were so many that it took me forever to reach my apartment without getting stopped and asked what I was doing there. Finally reaching my door I went inside and quickly started packing my largest suitcase with more clothes than needed. I also went and grabbed the second gun hidden in the bookcase along with the double-thigh holster. If there was going to be some sort of assassin, I was going to be prepared. There was just one last thing I needed before I left. Heading straight for my bedroom closet I tore the door open and got down on my knees. Feeling around I popped one of the floorboards loose and reached into the hole. I grasped the two metal cylinders, lifting them out into the light. I kept the bo staff hidden at all times, after waking up from the ice I had no use for it anymore until now. I reached my hand back into the hole and my hand hit a small velvet-covered box. I gently took it out and held it to my chest, then helped it out from my body a little way before opening it. There, gleaming in the dim closet light was Bucky’s mother’s engagement ring. I had kept it safe and hidden since nineteen forty-three. It was one of my prized positions and I knew the war front was not a place for it, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I were to lose it. I took the ring out and slid it onto my ring finger, it was weird but something was telling me I needed to wear it. I snapped the lid closed and hoisted myself up off the floor and shoved the disassembled staff into the suitcase and quickly zipped it up, sat it on the floor, and rolled it behind me as I headed for the door.

I got out of the building easier than trying to get in. Making my way to the curb I unlocked the car I had just recently bought myself so I didn’t have to walk to work every morning. I shoved the suitcase into the back seat and then made my way around the vehicle to jump into the driver's seat. The only place I knew I could possibly go was Sam’s, so that's where I went. It was almost three fifteen by the time I pulled into the guest parking lot in front of Sam’s apartment. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be mad at me for waking him up at such an inconvenient hour.

Grabbing the suitcase, I quietly walked up to his front door and knocked. I waited for a minute or two before knocking a second time, a bit louder. This time I faintly heard something behind the door just before it was harshly thrust open.

“What,” Sam spat out, eyes half-closed.

“Wow, is that any way to greet a friend in need?” I shot back. He opened his eyes a little more to see who was actually at his door.

“Oh, it’s you, sorry about that. I'm not really a fan of being woken up in the middle of the night. Why are you here, what’s the matter?”

“Well, in short, I think some type of assassin is after either high ranking SHIELD agents or my brother, and the Director was just shot in Steve's apartment. Steve didn’t think it was safe for me to stay in the building, given that I live above him. So I’m here to ask if it would be okay if I stayed here for a couple of days while everything gets figured out.” He stood there for a second, then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I’m going to pretend like I comprehend what you just told me, but sure, come on in. You can tell me again in the morning when I’m not half-unconscious.” He opened the door wider and I made my way into his home. He led me up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. “Make yourself at home, I’ll see you in the morning.

“Thank you, Sam. Good night.” I called out as he slowly shut the door.

The next morning I woke up around eight and decided to call into work saying that I couldn’t come in on the account of my apartment being broken into. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. Sam wasn’t home, he was probably on his morning run, so I decided to surprise him with breakfast when he came back, as a thank you for letting me stay for a few days.

Rummaging around in the pantry and fridge, I was able to find ingredients to make pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. I was halfway through the second batch of pancakes when Sam strolled in through the back door.

“Hey, what smells so good?”

“It’s breakfast. It’s the least I can do to thank you for letting me stay for a while.” I scooped up two pancakes, eggs, and a strip of bacon onto a plate and handed it to him. “I hope you like the pancakes, they're my special recipe from the forties.”

“You didn’t have to do this. I’m always glad to help, no thanks needed.” He grabbed his fork and started to dig in. Nodding his head as he chewed, I looked at him expectantly. “Wow, these are really good.”

“Thank you, I know.” I grinned. He shoveled a few more bites into his mouth before he turned his attention back to me.

“Okay, so what’s this about an assassin and why do you have to stay here?”

“Well, when I got home from seeing Peggy last night something felt off in the apartment building. I looked all around my apartment to see if anything was wrong, but everything looked fine. That was until some guy standing on the roof of the adjacent building shot into Steve's living room. Steve ran off after the man and I went downstairs to check things out, that’s when I found our neighbor, who apparently was a SHIELD agent this whole time, was standing over the director of SHIELD. We called an ambulance and took him to the hospital where he passed away. And since we have no clue who the assassin is after Steve wanted me to go somewhere I would be safe. That’s about it, I have a theory that the guy has had some kind of super-soldier serum like me and Steve because when Steve was telling me about what happened when he chased after him, the guy caught his shield with one hand and just stayed firmly planted on the ground.”

He looks up, fork halfway to his mouth, and says, “Dang, that's crazy,” then proceeds to eat as if nothing happened.

“Oh, is that all you have to say?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?”

I sat there for a second before nodding. “Okay, fair enough.”

We spent the rest of the morning lounging around until Sam went to work, I later met up with him at the VFW for the weekly group meetings. After that, we went back to his apartment and just talked and played board games to pass time until we were eventually tired enough to go to bed.

The next morning came quickly, I woke up significantly earlier than the day before, early enough to tag along with Sam on his morning run, which he wasn’t too happy about since I managed to lap him even though I was just jogging.

“Come on Sam, don’t be mad at me,” I said as we made our way in through the back door of the apartment. “I can’t help it that I run jog faster than normal people.”

“Yeah yeah, shut up. Here.” he tossed me a bottle of water before he grabbed the jug of orange juice from the fridge. I hadn't even taken a swig before there was a knock on the door we just came through. I looked to the door and then at Sam with my eyebrow raised in a questioning look. “Stay there,” he said as he sat the juice down on the counter and went to see who it was.

I watched from the far side of the room as he lifted the blinds covering the glass of the door, and there on the other side, as filthy as could be, was Steve and Natasha. Sam opened the door and let them in after Steve said something.

“Steve? What in the world are you doing here?” I asked as I walked closer to where they stood.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Sam is my best friend. That doesn’t explain why you are here.”

“We met a few days ago, he seemed like someone I could trust. Especially now that we have everyone trying to kill us. I’ll tell you more but can we get cleaned up first?” Sam nodded and showed them to the guest bathroom.

They both came downstairs about thirty minutes later after Sam went up to tell them that we had made breakfast. I sat down at the table in front of Steve and waited for him to fill Sam and me in on what had happened the day before.

“Well, for starters, SHIELD has been infiltrated by HYDRA, there’s no telling how many of the agents are compromised. They have been working on what Zola called HYDRA’s new world order.” Steve stopped to take a bite of food.

“Zola, as in Arnim Zola? I thought he would be dead by now.” I spit out in surprise.

“He is now, we think. He had his consciousness transferred to some sort of computer data bank. He’s the one who wrote the code on this,” he pointed to Nat who held up a small flash drive. “We would have found out what it was for but SHIELD launched a missile at us, destroying Zola and everything else around us.”

“Which,” Nat butted in, “leased us to the next question, who at SHIELD can authorize a domestic missile strike.”

“It would have to be Pierce,” Steve stated.

“Who is sitting in the most secure building in the world?” came Nat again.

“Well, he can't be working alone, there has to be someone else.” I put in.

“You’re right, but who? Zola’s algorithm was on the Lumarian Star.” Nat looked at Steve in realization as he said that.

“So was Jasper Sitwell.” She revealed.

“Okay, then how do the two most wanted people in the world kidnap a SHIELD officer in the middle of the day?” He looked at her with eyebrows raised.

“You don’t,” Sam walked over and tossed a file onto the table before continuing. “Consider this a resume.”

Nat flipped through the pages, “Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil Mission, that was you? Steve, you didn’t say he was pararescue.”

Steve just looked at the picture that was attached to the file, “This is Riley isn't it?” Sam just nodded, he had told me about his partner a few times before, but never really in much detail.

“I heard that they couldn't bring in the choppers because the RPGs were so bad, did you use stealth chutes?” Nat continued.

“No, we used these.” Sam handed Steve a closed file. I stood up and walked around the table to look at the contents.

“I thought you were a pilot,” Steve said.

“I never said that.”

“Well, I'll be the first to say that that wingsuit looks cool as hell.” I looked up and smiled at Sam, who gave a laugh.

“Sam, I can’t ask you to do this. You got out for a good reason.” Steve reasoned.

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There is no better reason to get back in.”

“Great, I’m helping too. I know I said I wasn’t doing the whole fighting thing anymore, but you three can't take down HYDRA by yourselves.” I affirmed.

“Okay then,” Steve breathed out, “Sam where do we find one of these?”

“The last one I know of is at Fort Meade, behind several bars and some concrete.” He had a tone in his voice like it was doubtful we would be able to get to it.

“That shouldn't be a problem,” Steve and I said in unison.

We made our plan on how we were going to abduct the man named Jasper Sitwell. We knew he had a meeting today at The Occidental restaurant, that’s where we would make our move. Sam would be our man in plain sight, I would trail behind Sitwell to make sure he went to the right car and didn’t try to run, and Nat and Steve would be on the roof of a nearby building with a sniper pointed at Sitwell for extra precaution.

Before we left I made sure I had my bo staff with me and my guns in their holsters. Nat somehow did something to a burner phone she had that would make it appear to Sitwell that Alexander Pierce was calling him, that's how we were going to get into contact with him, without making a scene. And just like that, we were off to Fort Meade to get Sam’s wingsuit.

A few hours later, a little after twelve, we all took our places and waited for Sitwell to exit the restaurant, and when he did, I was ready. I was standing at the corner of the building on the right, closest to the car. His interaction with Sam over the phone was short before he started walking in my direction. He rounded the corner and was directly in front of me when I pushed myself off the wall in order to follow him to the car. I watched as he found the right vehicle, opened the back seat, and climbed in, shutting the door behind him. We had put the child safety locks on beforehand just so he wouldn't be able to get out and run. I made my way to the driver's side and plopped myself into the seat. Soon after, Sam slid into the passenger seat.

When we arrived at the building Seve and Nat were hiding in, I shut the car off and forcefully dragged Sitwell out of the back, while Sam ran off to start on his next part of the plan. Sitwell gave a few complaints before I silenced him with a look of indifference. Steve and Nat were waiting for us at the bottom of the stairwell, Steve took him from me and I followed them in ascending the stairs. Coming to the stop floor of the building, Steve pushed Sitwell into the door to the roof, the door swung wide and Nat and I followed through after them.

“Tell us about Zola’s algorithm,” Steve demanded and Sitwell quickly scrambled to his feet.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Why were you onboard the Lemurian Star?” He interrogated further.

“I was throwing up, I tend to get seasick.” Sitwell backed up to the edge of the building almost typing over the edge. Steve Grabbed hold of his suit lapels, holding him still. When he realized he wasn't going to fall his face changed demeanor and he had a small smirk. “Come one Rogers, is this all to insulate that you’ll throw me off the roof? This isn't really your style is it?”

“No, but it is hers.” Steve stepped away from Sitwell and Nat kicked him over the small wall. I let out a short laugh as I watched him plummet to the ground. I backed up from the edge as Sam flew up and dropped Sitwell back onto firm ground. All four of us surrounded the man hyperventilating on the ground. He put his hands up in surrender before finally telling us what we wanted to hear.

“Zola’s algorithm is a program for choosing targets.” he stammered out.

“Targets like who?” I questioned.

“Like you, or Captain Rogers, Bruce Banner, some teacher in a rural town. It doesn't matter, it targets anyone who is a threat to HYDRA. It doesn't matter. It knows now and in the future.”

“What do you mean by the future, it can’t possibly know who will be a future threat?” He finally picked himself up off the ground and looked at me.

“How can it not? This is the twenty-first century, everything is online, from any type of official record to the smallest social media post, even phone calls. It knows everything. Zola’s algorithm studied people's past and present to predict their futures.”

Steve stepped up, “What then?”

“Then the Project Insight helicarriers scratch them off the list, millions at a time.”

“Steve, we need to go now. We have time to try and stop them.” I said. He looked at me and gave a quick nod.

He grabbed hold of Sitwell's arm and tugged. “Let’s go.”

We all rushed down to the car and piled in, it was a little cramped in the back with Nat to my right and Sitwell to my left. We were on our way to SHIELD headquarters. Sitwell was doing to me our ticket and hopefully our way to stop this strike from happening.

The whole drive Nat kept looking at the time flashing on the radio. I gave her leg a poke, then asked, “What's the matter?”

“The strike is set to happen in sixteen hours, we're cutting it a bit close.”

“I know,” Steve spoke up. “We’re going to use him to bypass all of the DNA scanners and access the helicarriers directly.”

“No way,” interjected Sitwell, “That is a terrible idea, are you crazy-” He was cut off by a thud on the top of the car hood. We all looked up.

“What the hell was that?” I blurted. Then, suddenly a hand went through the left window and grabbed hold of Sitwell, ripping him from his seat and throwing him into oncoming traffic. I let out a loud yelp of surprise. There was more movement on the hood before bullets came through the metal directly in between Nat and me. She surged forward and into Steve's lap while I pushed myself over into the seat Sitwell previously occupied. There was a slight sting in my upper right thigh where one of the bullets barely grazed me. I barely had time to brace myself when Steve pulled the gear shift into park and the car came skidding to a stop. I was flung into the back of Sam’s seat but I was way better off than whoever had been on top of the car.

We all looked out the front windshield as the man tumbled down the highway and caught himself. He stood up and stared us down, he looked terrifying in his all-black, metal arm shining in the sun and face covered up with a fast. I kept my eyes trained on him until we were hit from behind by another vehicle.

The force from the other vehicle pushed us into the ban on the highway and he jumped up into the air and landed back on the roof of our car. I grabbed one of the guns from my holsters and started to shoot blindly upwards, hoping I hit something. Then the same metal arm as earlier came crashing through the front windshield and tore the steering wheel from the car.

“Oh shit,” yelled Sam as the car started to uncontrollably twist and turn.

“Press on the brake, press on the brake” I yelled.

“I am,” he yelled back.

I looked out the back window and saw the man now squatting on the hood of the vehicle behind us. They kept getting closer until they rammed into us again, causing the car to swerve hard to the right. We ended up hitting the median wall and as we started to flip I heard Steve yell, “Hang on,” before he grabbed hold of Nat and Sam and they flew from the car. I on the other hand tried to keep myself from being tossed every-which-way as the car tumbled down the road.

Once the car had stopped moving I kicked the door off and crawled out onto the glass-covered asphalt. Standing up I stretched my arms up high to try and free my tensed-up mussels. “That freaking hurt” I muttered to myself. I got back down on my hands and knees to rummage through the upturned car for my gun and bo staff, which had been resting on my lap before all of this started. I found them quickly and made my way down to where the others were.

The mysterious man had hopped off the hood of the vehicle and was walking forward with a large gun in his hands. He lifted it up and aimed for Steve. He pulled the trigger and a grenade launched straight for Steve, who blocked it with his shield. He was safe from the blast but the force of it knocked him straight off the bridge we were on. I had no time to run to see if he was okay before a group of men clambered out of the vehicle and started shooting at us. The three of us left on the bridge scattered to hide from the fire. I clicked open the magazine of my gun to check the amount of ammo I had left. I had already fired off nine shots, so I had eight more shots plus the seventeen rounds still in my second pistol. I snapped the magazine back into place and took a deep breath.

I picked myself up off the ground and looked over the hood of the truck I was behind. There were seven of them about fifty feet away. I took another deep breath and fired, hitting one of them in the chest. I wasn’t quick enough in ducking back down, the metal-armed man saw me and shot another round in my direction. I flew backward off the bridge and into a parked car. I slid down from the side and onto the ground, catching myself on unsteady feet. It took me a second to get my bearings back but when I did I looked in the direction I flew from. The group of men were standing right at the edge of the bridge. I looked down to see what they were searching for, Nat was running under the bridge and stopped right before they could see her. She turned around and brought her arms up into the air and started firing at the men, who ducked for cover. As they did so, she ran for cover behind a bucket truck, I also ran to catch up to her. They came back up from hiding and started to shoot in our direction.

“Nat, we have to go now, there isn’t any cover here.” I grabbed hold of her alright arm and tugged. “Run, I’m right behind you.” She nodded and started running. I started after her but turned around halfway to shoot rounds off at the men until I was empty.

“Over here,” I heard a shout and followed it. Nat was crouched behind one of the many abandoned cars. I came and crouched down beside her. We waited silently until she gestured her hand behind us. I barely lifted my head up to see through the windows of the car, there he was, right in front of us. I felt her hand grab my wrist and pull me back down, right before an explosion went off. It had caught me off guard, but it hadn't affected her, she was ready for it because not a moment later she vaulted herself off the trunk of the car and onto the metal-armed man. They wrestled around as she wrapped herself around his neck, he almost threw her off, but he managed to stay on, shifting her hold with her legs so she could get a garotte around his neck. The man stumbled backward and into the car I was behind before managing to toss Nat fifteen feet in the other direction.

He started after her again but she threw something at his metal arm that sent visible shocks through it. The delay gave her enough time to run away, but this was my chance to have a go. I quickly but quietly made my way around the car and behind the man. I reached my right up around his neck fast and grabbed hold of my wrist with my left hand and put all my weight onto my left leg. This brought him down and I used the force of the downward motion to shove him headfirst into the car behind us.

He lifted himself up off the ground and aggressively turned toward me. I reached behind me where I had put my disassembled bo stuff in its holsters. I brought the separate pieces in front of me and conceited them together, ready to fight. I quickly lunged forward and struck my staff at his head but his metal arm came up and grabbed the staff mid-air and jerked it from my grip. He looked at it for a fraction of a second then back at me before flinging it away. Well, this isn't good, I thought to myself as he came barreling at me full force. I managed to jump out of his way, but he caught my right wrist with the metal hand and yanked me back. I stumbled but caught my footing enough to turn myself away from him and have my arm break free from his hold. Continuing with the movement I spun around behind him and kicked his left leg out from under him. He fell to the ground but caught himself with his hand and used that to spin himself around and kick both my legs out from under me.

My head hit the ground hard enough to make everything fuzzy. I laid there waiting for the man to come and finish the fight but he never came. In my disoriented state, I picked my upper body up and looked around but he was gone. After a few moments, my vision started to return to normal and I could see the man and Steve fighting at the other end of the street. I slowly got to my feet and looked for where my staff had landed before heading in their direction. They were fighting pretty hard, neither of them had a weapon, it was just a blur of fists. That was until the guy threw Steve into the side of a van and pulled a knife. He moved fast, aiming his strike at Steve's head, But he caught the man’s hands. The knife ended up plunging into the van as the two of them slid down the length of it. Steve managed to maneuver behind the man and grab him around the torso to flip him backward. This gave him enough time to grab his shield, which was embedded in the back door of the van.

They poised for a second before resuming their furious pace. Steve blocked the man's every attempt to hit him with the knife. I watched as he ducked another punch and came up, shoving his shield into the grooves of the metal arm. Steve reached his arm behind him, capturing the other man’s head, and flung him over his shoulder. He rolled a few feet away and the mask he was wearing fell to the ground. He stood up slowly and turned in our direction, his hair fell from his face and I felt the world stop.

No, that couldn’t be him. Steve said he watched him fall from the train. No normal person could have survived a fall from that height, but yet there he was, standing just ten feet in front of me. I took a few steps towards him and his eyes darted from Steve to me and I stopped for a moment. His brow was furrowed in a kind of feral way but softened a fraction when I called out his name.

“Bucky?” the sound came out in an almost sob.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He countered, raising the gun he had in his hand. He never got the chance to fire it because Sam flew in behind him and kicked him hard in the back. Bucky went tumbling and I started to run for him. He stood back up and the look he had on his face was one of confusion before he went to shoot again, this time he was stopped by a grenade that was launched from somewhere behind me. When the smoke cleared he had vanished.

I just stood there in complete shock as we were surrounded by SHIELD Special Forces. They took my weapons away and roughly locked my forearms in thick metal cuffs and led me to an armored truck. I was the last one in and took a seat next to Steve. I could feel his eyes on me so I turned my head to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked. I just shook my head and didn’t say a word.

“What’s going on? Who was that?” Sam spoke up.

“That was Bucky, I watched him fall almost a hundred feet from a moving train in 1945. He was my best friend and her fiance,” he pointed at me when he said the last bit. “He looked right at me like he didn’t even know who I was.”

“That can’t be possible, that was almost seventy years ago,” Sam said in disbelief.

“It was Zola. Whatever he did to Bucky when his unit was captured is what helped him survive.” I thought aloud.

“They must have found him-” Steve started but was interrupted by Nat.

“What happened isn’t either of your faults.”

“Even when we had nothing, we always had Bucky.”

The somber moment was interrupted when Sam noticed Nat’s shoulder oozing blood. He turned to one of the two armed guards sitting in the back with us and said, “We need to get her a doctor, if we don't get pressure on that wound she’ll bleed out.”

The guard shot out their hand which was holding an electrified baton, but instead of hitting Sam they turned it around and struck the guard beside them. The other guard jerked before the first one slid and kicked them in the head, knocking them out. We all sat there confused as the first guard took their helmet off.

“Oh my god, that thing felt like it was squeezing my brains out,” she let out. We all continued to stare at her.

“Maria, what are you doing here,” Nat asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I came to get you guys, we have important business to take care of.” She bent down on the floor and searched the knocked-out guard's body for the keys to our cuffs. “Now listen closely, when the truck stops I’ll use this Mousehole,” she held up a cylindrical silver tube, “to create a hole in the truck and road so we can escape. It will happen fast so be ready.” After she explained what was going to happen she went around and uncuffed us. I rubbed my arms a little, just to get the blood circulating again.

Then all of a sudden the truck jerked to a stop.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

[chicgeekgirl89]

The Way Our Horizons Meet: Chap. 2

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand

Rating: T

Summary: Carlos’ perspective through the aftermath of T.K.’s shooting. Follows the events of episodes 1x08-1x10

Read Chapter 1 Here

Days passed. Carlos went to work, did his job, went home. It was like T.K. had never existed. If it weren’t for the sweatshirt left on the back of his couch, T.K.’s preferred coffee mug still in the sink, it would have been like their relationship never happened.

Would anyone even think to let him know if something changed? If T.K. didn’t wake up…or if he…took a turn for the worse? Would they call him? Or would he just hear about it on the news like he was nobody?

And then, after six days, he was on shift when his phone buzzed. 

Message from T.K. Strand

Lightning shot through him. He nearly dropped the phone, couldn’t move his fingers fast enough to get it unlocked so he could read the message. 

Hey.

Carlos blinked a few times. “You okay?” Sarah asked from her desk opposite him.

“It’s uh, it’s a text from T.K.,” Carlos said, trying to process a thousand feelings at once. His brain seemed to have stalled out.

“What does it say?” Sarah asked.

“It just says ‘hey,’” Carlos told her, holding up the phone so she could see.

“Well that’s a good sign right? It means he’s awake?” 

“I guess so.” Carlos stared at the message.

“Are you going to text him back?” Sarah asked.

“I—-I don’t know,” Carlos said.

“Carlos you’ve waited days for this,” Sarah said.

“I know, I know I have I just…what do I even say? ‘So I guess you’re not dead?’ ‘How’s the bullet wound healing up?’”

She raised her eyebrows. “You could just say ‘hey’ back.”

He didn’t have the chance. They got a call and by the time his shift ended two hours later he still hadn’t responded. Instead he called Michelle.

“Are you serious right now?” she asked. “Stop being such a coward and text him back!Or, better yet, go over there!”

Apparently the surprises weren’t done for the day. “He’s home?”

“Strand said he was released this morning. That’s probably why he texted you.”

Before Carlos could stop himself he flipped on his blinker and took a right in the opposite direction of his condo. He gripped the wheel tightly, anxiety racing through him so fast he felt like his whole body was vibrating. 

He pulled up to the Strand’s house and it was only then that he realized what a terrible mistake this might be. What if the captain was home? What if T.K. wasn’t feeling well or didn’t want to see him?

If he didn’t want to talk to you he wouldn’t have texted, Carlos lectured himself sternly. Maybe it was a little presumptuous to just show up on the guy’s doorstep, but…he needed to see for himself that T.K. was all right.

Belatedly he realized that T.K. might be sleeping or immobile and unable to answer the door. But he’d already rung the bell and he heard the slow and slightly unsteady footsteps of someone moving around. The door opened and there he was, eyes open, face still a shade or two too pale, but alive, whole, and blinking against the sunlight. “Hey,” he said, smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Seriously?” Carlos barked out a sharp laugh, tears pricking at his eyes again. “You’ve been in a coma for a week and that’s all you can think to say? Hey?”

“Well like you said, I was in a coma,” T.K. said, smile now a full on grin that tugged at Carlos’ heart. “I’ll try and come up with something better for next time.”

Carlos shook his head. “God please don’t even say that.”

The air around them seemed to buzz with that same strange energy Carlos always felt around T.K.; like he wanted to bare his soul, tell him every secret he’d ever kept buried in his heart, and also rip his clothes off all at the same time. God damn this man made him a little crazy.

Carlos almost reached out, almost put a hand on T.K.’s face, his shoulder any part of him that would make this feel real. But he still wasn’t sure of anything at all so instead he simply curled them into fists at his side. “Are you okay? They sent you home so you must be healing, right?”

“I mean I still have a hole in my chest,” T.K. said. “But yeah, everything is functional.”

“Good,” Carlos said, uncertainty running through him. “I’m…I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” T.K. said. 

“Cool.” Carlos was at a loss now and the silence between them was growing awkwardly long. This had been very stupid, he should have just texted back. “So I guess, I’ll see you around then?”

T.K. nodded. “Yeah, yeah I think you will.”

Carlos turned and started back toward his car, confusion swirling through him. Somehow he’d imagined…well he wasn’t sure, but not this. Damn Michelle and her stupid ideas. He should have known better than to listen to a woman who violated her restraining order on a regular basis. Usually he was more level headed than this, how could he have been—

“You really came all the way over here just to leave without coming inside?” T.K. called from behind him.

Hope sparked in his chest and he turned back to see a shit-eating-grin all over T.K.’s face. His own smile spread wide, relief crashing over him and making him feel almost dizzy. He shook his head. “Oh my god you suck,” he said, walking back to the door.

“You’re in your uniform. I like to see you walk away,” T.K. said, stepping back so Carlos could come inside.

He suppressed a chuckle. “Glad to see your brush with death hasn’t changed you.”

“It would take a lot more than a bullet for me to stop thinking you’re hot,” T.K. told him as he resettled himself on the couch, unable to completely hide a wince despite the cocky bravado he’d put on. 

Carlos sat next to him, leaving some space between them so T.K. could move as he needed to to get comfortable. “Where’s your dad?” he asked, eyes taking in the pill bottles, empty granola bar wrappers, and water bottles on the coffee table.

“The station,” T.K. said. “I couldn’t take having him around anymore. He hovers like you would not believe.”

“So you’re just here by yourself?” Carlos was slightly horrified. Coming from a large family he couldn’t imagine being left alone after such a grave injury. He’d come home with sprained ankles, bruised ribs, and concussions and it never failed that within minutes of his arrival some well meaning family member was knocking on his door. 

“Well not anymore,” T.K. said, flashing that grin again just before he leaned into Carlos, settling against his chest so Carlos had no choice but to wrap his arms around him.

They sat that way for a long time, the TV playing some daytime soap opera that likely neither of them were paying attention to. At least, Carlos definitely wasn’t. He was too deeply wrapped up in disbelief. He’d spent the last week trapped in a haze of anxiety and now…the person he’d most wanted to see in all the world was literally in his lap. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

He had questions, things he wanted to say, but he could tell T.K. was nodding off so instead he sat quietly, just holding him, letting the moment, a moment he’d been uncertain would ever happen again, live around him.

After about forty minutes T.K. startled himself awake and then immediately tensed, letting out a low groan of pain. Carlos rubbed a hand up and down his arm, worry pinching in his stomach. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” T.K. said, his voice strained. “Yeah just give me a second.”

Carlos continued to rub his arm soothingly, pressing his lips into T.K.’s hair as the other man breathed through the pain. “What can I do?” he asked as the minutes ticked by and T.K. still didn’t relax. 

“There’s uh, there’s some maximum strength Tylenol in the kitchen,” T.K. said. “If you don’t mind—“

Carlos was already easing out from behind him, moving slowly so as not to cause him any more pain. “I’ll be right back.”

He found the medication quickly and grabbed a few more bottles of water while he was there. T.K. was lying flat out on the couch when he returned, a hand over his face, his whole body stiff. 

“Hey,” Carlos said softly, kneeling by his head and cracking open the bottle, dumping two pills into his palm. “Just sit up for me a little bit, okay?”

He helped T.K. lift his head a few inches to swallow them down with a sip of water. “Oh god,” T.K. groaned as he reclined fully, face pinched in pain. “Sorry, I’m not much of a host right now.”

“It’s all right,” Carlos assured him, reaching up to gently card his fingers through T.K.’s hair. “I’ll go so you can get some rest.”

He started to stand but T.K. caught his hand. “You don’t have to,” he said and something in his eyes stopped Carlos in his tracks. He sank back down beside him, sitting cross legged on the carpet and rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of T.K.’s hand. “I’ll be right here.”

T.K. slipped back into sleep not long after that for which Carlos was grateful. Sleep was far better than agonizing pain. 

Carlos straightened up the living room a bit, bagging the water bottles and wrappers, adjusting the pillows and blankets. He was clearly his mother’s son, fussing and fidgeting around even though a zonked out T.K. didn’t require a lot of help or supervision. But he couldn’t just sit and do nothing when the house lay in disarray.

As T.K. continued to sleep Carlos checked his watch and realized it had grown late. Before he could decide about waking T.K. to say goodbye he he heard a key in the front door lock and Captain Strand stepped into the house. Their eyes met and surprise registered on his face. “Officer Reyes. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

Carlos shifted his weight nervously back and forth. “Yes sir. I just wanted to make sure he was all right.”

The captain came a few steps closer, eyes looking past him to where T.K. was sacked out on the couch. “Looks like you’ve done a fine job taking care of him.”

Carlos swallowed. “Yes sir,” he said again. “I should get going.”

“Well don’t leave on my account,” the captain said. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

That was definitely boyfriend territory and since he and T.K. hadn’t really had that conversation yet, Carlos thought it best to bow out. “Thank you. Maybe some other time.”

The captain seemed to understand. “Well thank you for coming by. I’m sure my son appreciated it.”

“Could you let him know I had to go? I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Of course,” the captain said, though his eyes seemed to say a lot more than that. 

“Have a good night.” Carlos let himself out the front door. He got in his car and gripped the steering wheel tightly, relief and uncertainty mixing viciously in his stomach. He’d thought coming here and seeing T.K. was all right would somehow make things clear. But if anything he felt more confused than ever. Were they something? Or was he just a convenient hand to hold?

He shook himself. T.K. had been through a trauma. They all had. It wasn’t fair to expect anything of him right now. They would have time to talk. Carlos just wasn’t sure if he could survive the waiting. 

[mcheang]

A new girl aloof and distant doesn't pay attention to Lila(she knows she lies but is smart not to expose her without proof) Lila gets annoyed and confronts her about the new girl says she doesn't care and wonders why Lila cares so much that one person doesn't give her the time of day Lila snaps(verbally) exposes herself and Chloe livestreams Lila defeated

Dakota North

Maybe it’s because I’m currently reading The Tyrant’s Tomb, but this character is definitely inspired by Piper McLean. Her name is copied from the Dakota North character from True Jackson. It was originally going to be Piper North but it’s late and I kept using Dakota so...Dakota North it is.

Here’s what you need to know about Dakota North.

She dresses shabbily for someone who looks really, really hot. Not such a surprise once you find out who her parents are.

Anthony North is a movie star, ranked along the likes of Orlando Bloom and Dwayne Johnson. He divorced his Wife when Dakota was 6, and switches girlfriends on a regular basis. However, he loves his daughter dearly, spoils her, and spends time with her every summer at his Beverly Hills mansion.

Brooke Song is an Asian Victoria’s Secret Angel and currently has custody of Dakota. Her main residence is New York but she travels frequently because of work. (Anthony travels too but he stays overseas longer). She adores Dakota and tries to give her a normal life.

This leaves Dakota with a lot of money and absent parents. Sound familiar?

Unlike Chloe who bullies with her father’s name and cash, or Adrien who tries to please his Father, Dakota causes trouble to get her parents’ attention.

She specifically enjoys stealing things.

Dakota also refuses to mention who her parents are so she can identify who her real friends are. Brooke supports this and thus lets her agent handle school matters to ensure confidentiality.

But Dakota’s thieving streak has finally gotten her kicked out out of all the good schools in New York and then some.

Exasperated, Brooke decides to send her Daughter to Paris as she signs with a French modelling company there.

When Dakota introduces herself to her new class, she says her name and that she is from America, that is all.

Her new seat is next to Ivan, behind Marinette and in front of Lila.

Ivan introduces himself. Dakota is agreeably pleasant.

Marinette introduces herself as the class president and invites Dakota to ask her if she needs help. Dakota responds politely.

Then Lila jumps in and mentions how she was in America too. She had met all sorts of superstars and describes how she knows a few of them.

Dakota actually knows those stars thanks to her parents letting her attend their celebrity parties. She knows Lila is lying but doesn’t really care.

Lila just got labelled as part of the “them” crowd.

Lila is perturbed. This is the first time someone has shown a lack of reaction to her tales. Usually there was awe, with the occasional sprinkling of anger and jealousy. But Dakota just looked bored by her.

Dakota soon begins her thieving spree but this is difficult because the Parisians are already wary of thieves.

The first time she succeeds, she is caught by Marinette.

Instead of immediately scolding her, like Dakota expected, Marinette asked for her reasons.

Dakota admits she doesn’t really care about this laptop. She just wants to cause enough trouble.

Marinette is silent, intuitively sensing Dakota isn’t mean, and offers a confession of her own. “I steal handphones.”

Dakota is shocked her class president is capable of such an act.

Marinette defends herself that she only stole phones because she had to correct an error or to delete incriminating evidence.

Sensing a kindred spirit, Dakota finally opens up and asks Marinette if she is Chinese.

They start bonding over their shared kleptomaniac issue and heritage. Marinette even invites Dakota to her bakery.

When Lila tells tales, Dakota now joins Marinette and Adrien on the sidelines to talk about actual reality.

The latter asks why Dakota isn’t enthralled like the rest of the class.

Dakota admits she knows Lila is lying. She isn’t calling Lila out because she’s seen girls like her before, and they aren’t worth her time.

One day, Brooke and Audrey meet and decide to let their daughters play together while the grown ups chat. Chloe is surprised that Dakota is Brooke’s Daughter.

Audrey assures Brooke that her Daughter can keep a secret. The two aren’t convinced after hearing how Chloe outed her hero identity.

Audrey pressures Chloe to keep silent. Chloe quickly agrees.

Meanwhile, Lila is annoyed. She assumes from Dakota’s position with Adrien and Marinette that she knows Lila is lying. The problem is that Dakota never called her out for it. The new girl just ignores Lila as if she were thin air.

No matter how ridiculous her tales got (that Marinette had to bite her tongue just to stop pointing out the holes), how exaggerated her “disabilities” were (that Adrien sighed in dismay), Dakota never showed the slightest hint of emotion.

It infuriated Lila so much that this American actually showed emotion to those 2 goody-goody, pompous duo, and actually ignored her.

If Lila had a pet peeve, it would be someone calling her out on her lies. But a close second would be lack of attention.

When Dakota and Lila were alone in the locker room, Lila asked sweetly, “Dakota, can we talk for a bit.”

Dakota looked at the clock. “You have 3 minuits.”

Lila feigned shyness. “Right, right, of course, I don’t want to waste your time.”

Dakota just gave her a deadpan stare. You’re already wasting it. Just say what you have to say already. I’m already tired of your endless blathering.

“It’s just...do you hate me, Dakota? I’ve tried to reach out to you, but you just ignore me and decline invitations.”

“I decline invitations from other classmates too, Lila. Don’t worry. You’re not the odd one out.” You’re not special.

Lila’s nostrils flared, but she kept her voice soft. “I’ve noticed. But I also...I also think you don’t like me.”

“That’s not exactly true. I don’t like you, yes. But I don’t dislike you either.” You’re nothing to me.

Lila stammered, “But...but why? I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

“More like babbling my ear off,” Dakota’s tone was painfully blunt. “All the time you say me, myself and I. Can you even talk in a conversation without mentioning yourself? You’re like a parrot. Colourful and talkative, but you don’t know when to shut up or talk sense.”

Lila flushed. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Dakota turned, finishing the conversation.

“We’re not done here!” Lila yelled, catching up to hold Dakota’s arm in a tight grip. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? As if you’re better than all of us. I’m the one with the connections. You’re just a walking fashion disaster.”

Dakota just stared at Lila, unimpressed and unafraid. “I believe the real question is, why do you care? Because honestly, you’re just proving my point. You’re a parrot spouting nonsensical lies.”

Lila finally snapped. “Because no one ignores me! Not that insufferable Marinette, not Adrien with all his naivety, and especially not the rest of our idiotic class! At least your self-righteous pals react when I lie to the class. But you sit there all unimpressed and uncaring.”

At last, Dakota felt she understood Lila. Wanting attention is understandable. But Lila’s reasons and methods were all wrong.

Dakota calmly pried Lila’s arm off her, walked away and flipped a rude gesture behind her without even turning her head.

Lila shrieked.

Neither of them had noticed Chloe standing behind the lockers, video recording their confrontation and live-streaming it to Audrey and Brooke.

True to her word, Chloe didn’t spill the beans. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t tried to cozy up to Dakota. Mostly because Audrey actually respected Brooke. But too little, too late. Chloe had been labelled as “them” too.

Now though, Chloe had very juicy gossip to share and she didn’t make a promise regarding this!

Next period, Lila reported a missing phone and accused Dakota. Dakota and Marinette exchanged glances, confirming that neither did this.

But the class was getting riled up by Lila’s accusation and Dakota’s uncaring non-reaction. They ignored Adrien and Marinette’s defenses.

“ENOUGH!”

As one, the class turned to stare at Chloe. The blonde frowned. “I’m tired of all this drama. If you’re all worked up about this simple theft, I wonder how you’re going to react when you see this.”

Chloe plays the video.

The class is an uproar. Lila is cornered and runs away. Marinette calms the class down and sends Adrien to retrieve Lila.

Dakota just watches all this and waits.

Lady Wifi returns and was defeated. Lila’s disabilities are looked into and she is in trouble.

Brooke and Audrey are so proud of their daughters. Chloe is basking in her mother’s praise while Dakota enjoys her mother fussing over her for any bruises left by the Italian and simultaneously praising her for her composure.

Dakota invites Marinette and Adrien to stay with her for the summer. Adrien can’t attend but Marinette makes it. She is the first friend in Paris Dakota introduces to her parents.

I had fun writing this 😋

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 2

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past and Future) Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2,129

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Your father, Negan, chuckled as you got off the golf cart in front of the trailer you’d be celebrating Christmas in again, like you had for three of the past ten years, at the Los Angeles County State Prison.

“Hi, daddy.” You breathed in relief, grateful to spend any amount of time with the only family member that you could completely trust. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry fucking Christmas to you, too, Princess. Fuck you, give ‘em.” He barked as he pulled the bags of food and your clothes off the back of the cart before you could even think to reach for them. You simply rolled your eyes and grabbed your guitar case before thanking the officer and heading inside the family visit trailer. “So what kinda trouble did you get into this week?”

“Well…” You sighed as you sat down at the small table in the kitchen. “… I went to Cleveland on Saturday and flew back yesterday morning. Pretty sure I got pregnant, too.”

“You fucking what?!” Your dad roared as he slammed a box of Mac and Cheese down on the counter. “Fucking Henry?”

“Henry is not coming back!” You shouted back, defensively. “And does it fucking matter? I made a choice, two choices actually, to sleep with some douche bag and not take Plan B after. It is what it fucking is.”

“So what, you're just gunna throw away your fucking life…” He started as he went back to throwing groceries in the cabinets, angrily. 

“No, I made the choice to not be fucking alone any more!” You interrupted as you looked over at him. You couldn't hide the hurt in your eyes when he turned around to stare at you, shocked that you were actually talking about your emotions.

“Sweetheart…” He breathed as he abandoned his task and came over to sit down in front of you. “You are not fucking alone…”

“I am alone, daddy.” You nearly whispered as you put your feet up on your chair and wrapped your arms around your legs. “Mom’s dead, and you're in here for who knows how much longer. And Henry…” You scoffed and shook your head. “Henry isn't coming back. He loves being some hit shot doc the Army more than he ever loved me. So other than my research, which I've all but abandoned anyways out of sheer boredom, I have nothing. I have no one, daddy. Just the occasional visit from Ashleigh and some of the harlots from the club. Maybe a once a month lunch date with some of the people from UCLA. But that's it. So I made a choice not to get the morning after pill after I stared at the box for over an hour and weighed out the pros and cons. And I would much rather raise a sperm donor baby than be alone in that house anymore.”

“OK.” Negan whispered with a nod as he rested his hand on your bent knee. “OK. I don't fucking like it, but I will get on that train all the fucking same.” Tears welled in your eyes as you rested your cheek on the back of his hand, and you closed your eyes to hide them. “So I'm gunna be a grandpa?”

“Maybe.” You choked the slightest bit as you opened your eyes to look at him again. “It just happened but I know I'm ovulating…”

“Eww fucking gross.” He fake gagged to get you to smile as he pulled his hand free and got up to finish putting groceries away. “I don't wanna hear that shit.”

“That's what you get for raising a daughter with no filter.” You pointed out as you propped your chin between your still bent knees.

“Fucking gross.” He repeated with a laugh. “So the fuck was in Cleveland? This fuckin guy?”

“Ashleigh’s client. He’s a rock rapper that needed someone that could learn music fast and played the guitar well. So Ash landed on me. But dude is a total self absorbed prick. B minus in… well in the broom closet.”

“I'll have Simon kill him.” He said almost 100% seriously.

“You are not going to kill this idiot for being bad at sex.”

“No, I'm gunna fucking kill him for laying a Goddamn hand on my daughter.” He responded with a smile as he balled up the last empty grocery bag and put it in the recycling bin.

“You're an idiot.” You laughed as you grabbed your guitar and got up to sit outside for a while.

“Hey, be nice to your old man.” He huffed as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches off the table and followed you out front to enjoy the California sun. “And go easy on me today.”

“Yea fucking right.” You laughed as you sat down on one of the plastic lawn chairs and pulled out your guitar, which took you almost a year of bribery to be able to get it into the jail it now lived in in the first place. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Pain in my Goddamn ass.” He grumbled around his cigarette as he moved his chair out off the shade and pulled off his blue prison issue shirt for as long as he could get away with it. “Alright… rock music from the 70’s.” You nodded at the category and tuned your guitar before picking an easy AC/DC song to start with. Which is pretty much how you always spent your days when you visited your father in prison.

——

Your office hadn’t looked so chaotic since you were working on a regular basis, but as of that morning, every available surface was covered in every single medical textbook, (with a focus on pregnancy and pediatrics) and motherhood book you could get your hands on. The dry erase board that usually had your equations to see if your Milky Way black hole theory was a possibility, had been wiped clean and replaced with columns upon columns of notes, to separate the ridiculous from the actual facts you would need to go through a pregnancy and raise a child.

You were blazing through the ‘Essential Neonatal Textbook’, when your house phone rang, startling you the slightest bit and forcing you to pull your attention away from a long list of the benefits of cord blood. You sighed and snatched up your headset as you set the book down to work through all of the information and pick out the more important bits and pieces to make the best informed decision.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)? I have a Colson Baker here to see you.” Your fingers froze with the cap of the marker in one hand and the marker itself in the other.

“You can let him in.” You sighed as you took a step forward and started a new list under the newborn column in the middle of the board. You heard the line click in your ear and you wrote quickly, trying to get some of the information down so you knew where to pick up when you came back inside. You got a short start and reluctantly forced yourself away from your research  to let your guest in. You started to work out your ideas vocally as you opened up the two gates and watched his purple Lamborghini pull into your driveway. You waited just long enough for him to make it half way to you, before you turned and headed inside to add more to your cord blood list with him following behind you.

“Umm… what the fuck is this?” Kels asked as he looked at the board over your shoulder in shock.

“Did you vaccinate Casie?” You asked as you continued to write.

“You’re fucking pregnant?!” He shouted over you as you capped your marker and set it back down on the easel.

“I am pregnant.” You said evenly as you walked over to find the ‘The Umbilical Cord Blood Controversies in Medical Law’ book to cross reference the former textbook. “Did you vaccinate Casie?”

“Were you gunna fucking tell me?” He shouted as you flipped through the pages, easily reading 20,000 words a minutes despite the distraction of your visitor.

“I was neither planning on telling you, nor keeping it from you.” You said simply. “I want nothing from you, Mr. Baker. I don’t need money, and I don’t need you to step up to be a father. You were a one night stand that I chose to not take Plan B after. My choice, my child, my body, my life.” He looked at you completely lost for words as you set your finished book down and headed back to the white board to add and change notes. “I would like your family medical history, though. I could easily do a diagnostics test and an MSS while I’m pregnant but…”

“Oh, I’m gunna be fucking sick.” He groaned behind you as you finished your idea and turned to move on to the next section. You grabbed the trash can and handed it to him on the way past as you tried to keep your thoughts as straight as possible, relatively unsuccessfully.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” You sighed as you looked over at him for a moment. “And after the way you treated me that night, the way you just used me and threw me away like I didn’t mean a Goddamn thing…” You exhaled through your nose and shook your head as you looked away from him and out the back door to the ocean. 

“I don’t care that you’re not happy here, Mr. Baker. I don’t care if you want to be in this child’s life or not. I don’t care if you see me or this child as a mistake, or what you see us as at all. I just don’t care. What I care about is having a calm, healthy pregnancy, and becoming a mother. And I will not tolerate having someone come into our lives to walk in and out of it because he never wanted us in the first place. Nor will I tolerate someone treating me like I’m worthless trash in front of my child.” Kels didn’t say a single word as you shook your head and turned back around to go back to work. “Stay as long as you want. I have work to do.” 

As Colson sat and thought, you went over to find a book about banking cord blood so you could round out that column. The next column was pros and cons of breastfeeding verses formula, which was a lot more extensive than you originally expected due to the varying opinions on length and benefits, but after reading through seven different books, and writing and erasing conflicting notes, he finally spoke up.

“Breastfeed for a year.” He almost whispered as he watched you work. “That’s what we did with Casie. And yea, we vaccinated her.” You nodded your head as you erased the idea you were writing and stood up to make a note in the vaccines column. “I don’t turn my back on my kids.”

“OK.”

“I’m sorry.” He continued as you capped your marker “It’s no excuse but I was high as fuck and running on adrenaline. I used you and that was shitty as fuck.”

“Yes it was.” You agreed with a nod as you leaned against the front of your desk and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well I’m fucking sorry.” He said a little harshly. “And I’m sorry for knocking you up.”

“Pregnancy happens, Colson.” You breathed with a shrug of your shoulders. “I’m obviously a little more prepared since I actually made the decision…”

“Yea, that’s a fucking understatement.”

“OK, you can fucking leave and I can file a restraining order.” You snapped. “What’s done is done. I’m pregnant, you’re the father, your kid and my kid have a new sibling. You’re not going to have to pay child support, I’m taking primary custody with open visitations. And no, I am not going to date you. Not now, not ever. You left a sour taste in my mouth and I want nothing to do with you or your crazy lifestyle.”

“You’re just making this super fucking easy, aren’t you?” He asked as he pushed himself out of his chair. “I’m outta here. I’ll get your number from Ash and I’ll be in touch.” You rolled your eyes and gestured toward the door behind him.

“You can see yourself out.”

“Such a fucking bitch.” He muttered as he stormed out the doors and through the atrium to leave. You let out a huff and shook your head as you went back to your research.

“Idiot fucking sperm donor.”

Part 3

[xxisxxisxxis]

Deleted Scenes: Gateway Drug

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.

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"More Than One Way to Get to Hell" -- 1986

"Tansy, come on, now we don't have all damn day to get this finished." Diane calls from the other side of the door while I'm grasping Tansy's shaking hand while she adds finishing sprays of hairspray to her curls. 

"Tansy," I start. 

"C-Can you hand me my purse?" She asks me softly and I nod, handing the little black purse to her. 

She pulls an unlabeled bottle out, opening the lid and pouring two pills into her palm. 

"Tansy--"

"--I overdid it on coke earlier, Viv, if I don't calm my shit I'm gonna embarrass myself on national television." 

"Tansy!" Her mom barks. 

She takes the pills and swallows them down with her juice, standing up and walking to her dressing room door. 

"Thank fuck, come on." Her mom tugs at her arm to take her to the sound tech and he hooks her up to her mic. 

"Mama, I'm nervous." She takes harbored breaths. 

"No need to be nervous, Tansy. You're just interacting with a man in front of a camera. Let's not pretend you don't do the same thing every night." She mumbles to her and I glare at her mother, horrified. 

"I feel like I'm gonna puke." Tansy says next. 

"No, no, look at me." Diane looks her in the eyes. "You are not going to screw this up. You are going to go out there and get more exposure to get more people talking about you, to get more offers, to get more money. We do what has to be done to get what we want, and what we have to do isn't always what we want to do, but--" 

"--But it has to be done." Tansy finishes for her, defeated. 

"Exactly." She says to Tansy, fixing her smudged lipstick. "You already embarrass me on a daily basis, Tansalyn, and you will not embarrass me today. Not over this." She demands.

"Our first guest is a well-known model to men, and some women, here in America. In a span of just four years she has appeared in 56 issues of Playboy and counting, declared the magazine's most consistent model, was very recently announced as 'Playmate of the Year: Miss 1985,' and was the muse for the 1983 Def Leppard hit, 'Photograph.' With no sign of slowing down anytime soon--not that any of us want her to--please, give a very warm welcome to the very beautiful, Tansy Lyn." 

Tansy takes a heavy breath inward, and I give her a smile. 

"You got this, go." I assure her and she nods, holding back tears, seemingly programming her mind into autopilot, a scarily convincing, beaming smile on her face as she steps out, waving at the audience. 

I watch her on the monitor, and my heart breaks. 

She deserves an Oscar. 

Diane watches, too, evaluating her in her mind. 

"How are you?" David asks Tansy, kissing her cheek before the two sit down. 

"I'm good." Tansy replies, crossing one leg over the other. "Hi, everyone." She waves again to the crowd and they whistle and cheer. 

"Now, when they told me you'd be on, um, I did some fact checking, as one does for an interview," he starts. 

"Okay." She replies. 

"And I want to get the record straight on your name, because I've heard Tansy Lyn, and I've heard Tansalyn, which the second option is just a mouthful so…"

"Well, my nickname is Tansy and originally my name was supposed to be Tansy and my middle name was supposed to be Lyn."

"Don't you dare." Her mother sneers quietly to the monitor. 

"But my dad had been drinking a little bit when my mom's water broke and so when it came to naming me, they had decided on Tansy Lyn Reilen, but my mom was in recovery, resting, and my dad couldn't write very well because he was drunk and so he asked a nurse for help and she asked him what my name was going to be so she could write it in herself, and he said 'Tansy Lyn,' little did he realizing he was slurring. So my legal name is Tansalyn." 

"Oh, my God." Diane squeezes her eyes shut. 

"And you reworked it to Tansy Lyn." 

"Yes." 

He tries not to laugh, but the audience doesn't hold back, not that she minds at all. 

"Wow, well, Tansalyn, I know you're busy and so the fact you were able to be here really means a lot, so thank you, again, for being here. Although I'm not so sure it was too far out of the way for you." 

"No, no, not at all." She assures him. 

"Because you live here, don't you?" He asks. "Or are you back in L.A.?" 

"I mainly live here, and then I go back home often to visit and stuff if I don't have work." She explains. 

"And you work a lot." He states. 

"Not that much but--" 

She quits talking when he raises his brows, making the audience laugh. 

"You don't work that much? Are you kidding me?" He leans down and grabs a magazine, holding it up on the desk for the camera and crowd to see. "This is you in your first issue of Playboy." He tells her, flipping through it to find her picture.

"Oh, Lord." She groans before he shows the audience. "Can you do that?!" She asks next, as her naked body is on display, but the monitor shows her bare chest blurred out. 

"Now, this was October of '83, and how old were you when this was taken?" 

"Just turned 18." She explains, her face turning slightly red under her makeup. 

"18, and since then," he starts piling on more and more magazines and men throughout the crowd yell and clap and whistle, Tansy tightly closing her eyes and chuckling nervously, "you've gotten Miss July of '85." He puts that issue aside, before grabbing a final one from the top of the tower of Playboys. "And this is the more recent one, your shoot for 'Miss 1985'." He says next, grabbing several magazines at once and putting them back behind his desk before sitting down and holding it up to show her on the cover. "Absolutely beautiful." He comments. 

"They edit and airbrush and everything but thank you anyways." She exhales, rubbing her lips together. 

"Well, we don't have editing and airbrush and everything in person and I'm telling you, you are a very pretty woman." He assures her and she smiles. 

"Thank you." She replies. 

"So, you started only four and half-ish years ago, and you've been in every issue since then?" He asks and she nods. 

"Yes. Some form or fashion I've been in every one." 

"But you don't work a lot." He reminds her what she said earlier, sarcastically.

"I meant no model works a regular 9 to 5." She clarifies. 

"Got it, got it." He puts the magazine down. "It couldn't be like a 9 to 5 because when else would you all  find the time to go out and party with rockstars?"

"Not all of us party with rockstars." I assure him. 

"So this isn't you?" He holds up a picture with Tansy, Robin Crosby, Nikki, and Jon Bon Jovi. 

"I didn't say I didn't party with them, I said not all models do." She explains while he and the audience chuckles. 

"Now, I know, I think, this fella is Jovi." David points to Jon and she nods. "The rest my mind blanks on." 

"Jon, who's obviously sings for Bon Jovi, and then Robbin Crosby, he plays guitar for Ratt, and then Nikki Sixx, who plays bass for--"

"--The Church of Satan's worship team." David cuts her short and she laughs, along with the audience. 

"No, no. No." She states. "Mötley Crüe." 

"Ah, tomato, tomoto." He shrugs and she shakes her head a little. 

"What was happening here?" He asks, referring to the photo and the camera zooms in on it. 

"I think, honestly, Nikki paid rent on time for once and just invited a bunch of people over to celebrate it." She explains. 

"So, there doesn't need to be a reason to drink and party and 'what not' when you're a rockstar." 

"Not really, no."

"When do these guys have time to write songs, then?" 

"I've seen them buckle down and get to work when they need to."

"Really?" 

"Yeah." 

"And you buckle down, too, obviously."

"Well, I--"

"--I want to know what your boyfriend thinks of all of this." He says next and she raises her brows. 

"Oh, he loves it." She tells him. 

"I bet he does." 

"No, really, he does, he's very proud." She continues.

"He isn't jealous or anything like that?" 

"To an extent but he understands that this is my job and I've always wanted to do it since I was a little girl and so he supports me completely." She nervously scratches at the back of her neck with her freshly done nails. 

"You've always wanted to model nude since you were little?" Letterman asks for clarification and she looks slightly stumped by the question, opening her mouth to speak, but nothing coming out. 

"Speak, Tansy, damnit." Her mom whispers to herself. 

Tansy starts laughing off her shock. 

"Modeling in general." She tells him. 

"Oh, oh, good." He grins. "So, your mother is here with you, Diane."

"Yes." 

"She's so lovely." He says and she smiles. 

"Thank you, she is. I love her to death." 

"She seems very...um…focused." He adds. 

"Very much. She keeps me in check, she always has."

"Oh, I bet. Were you ever in sports or anything like that?" 

"I cheered in high school, and did competitive cheer-nastics, and competed in beauty pageants--not that that's a sport but just to give you an idea of where she learned to keep her thumb on me to keep me in line." 

"That's where I was getting at because she very much seems like the type to keep your eyes on the prize." 

"Oh, yes." 

"What does she think of your career as of now?" 

"She's my manager so I don't think she has any qualms with what I do because if she did she wouldn't be as involved." She shifts her legs. 

That was an understatement. 

I realized over years of witnessing her mother contribute to the toxic shitshow starring Tansy as the lead, that I didn't quite know Tansy's mom as well as I had thought. 

I'd later find out things such as this…

"Competition is in two weeks and you call that a front tuck? Tansy, I've seen drag queens do better than that." 

...And this…

"You being first runner up in a pageant full of sand lizards and beached whales is the reason your father drowned in his own vomit."

"I was five when he died, mom." 

"And eleven years later you're still proving you aren't worth the money I spend to make you a winner." 

…Also…

"He knocked that slut Tami up, didn't he?" 

"I don't want to talk about it, Mama." 

"Just say 'yes' or 'no' so I can know whether I won my bet on it or not." 

...And...

"I slept with your ex-boyfriend, Tansy, big deal." 

"He was the love of my life, Mama, what the hell were you thinking?!" 

"Oh, Jesus, he was with you for two years, Tansy, get over yourself. It's not like it would have lasted to begin with."

"Seriously?!"

"You would've eventually found out I was giving him blowjobs when he'd come over to see you, anyway, because if I didn't do it, it wouldn't have gotten done right. Now wipe those damn crocodile tears." 

…Last but not least…

"I wouldn't stay with a man who let his friends abuse me, you know. I don't know why you're too weak to just leave him."

"Because he said it's not gonna happen again, mom. Just drop i--ow! What the hell?!" 

"I told you last time I slapped the piss out of you it wouldn't happen again. Just because he says it doesn't mean a thing…ugh, and quit wearing so much goddamn makeup. I'm tired of my palm being covered in gunk every time. And quit crying. You can pose with your pussy out but God forbid you handle a little corporal punishment." 

Tansy's rehab therapist had her work cut out for her...for sure. 

"And your dad?" David questions next.

"He passed when I was five, so…"

"...I'm sorry to hear that." 

"No, don't be. I'm sure he's proud of me. I know that might be hard to believe for some dads, like, your daughter being in Playboy, but he'd always told me I could always do whatever it was I wanted to do with my dreams and even if he's not proud of what I'm doing, he's definitely proud of me going after and achieving what it was that I wanted." 

[rwbyremnants]

Warning: tiny gore, mostly implied

=Chapter 29

Weiss's stay in the hospital felt like it took an eternity. Nearly two weeks had passed since the incident before they were confident enough to release her into her mother’s care - and even then, she was to return for regular check-ups and would not be allowed to participate in any vigorous physical activity for another two. That was fine, except for…

“UGH!” Yang burst out as they rode home in the back of Kali’s car. Her mother was in the front, alongside her new best friend. “You know what that means, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Weiss sighed, rubbing over her stomach through her blouse. She had been doing that on a regular basis ever since they took the bandages off; she was so used to having something blocking her there that now it was fascinating to feel her tummy directly again.

“How are we gonna…” Glancing at the front seat, she then cleared her throat and attempted, “How will we play tennis anymore?”

Trying not to laugh, she answered, “Oh, you’re right. Between your shoulder and this wound, playing tennis would be a little unwise. Maybe we shouldn’t play tennis for a while until we’re all healed up.”

Kali called behind her without even turning around, “You two aren’t fooling anyone in this car.”

“About what?” Mrs. Schnee asked. “Tennis? I didn’t even know Miss Yang played.”

“I stand corrected,” she laughed, and Yang and Weiss laughed along with her. Though she felt a little guilty that her mother was left out of the conversation, perhaps it was best that way.

Still, after a minute or two, Yang seemed to feel differently. She scratched the back of her head before commenting, “Hey… Mrs. Schnee, um… I gotta say, it's been really great that you've been so… accepting.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Well, with me and Weiss. Kind of expected you to flip your lid.”

The woman fell silent for a moment as she thought about that. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “I can't pretend to understand what my daughter is going through, what she feels. We've both understood all our lives that people like you are sinners. And yet… it's my own husband who's done the most harm to my daughter. You make her happy while the man I used to trust more than anyone else hurts her. Seems to me like… all the rules have changed, I suppose. Something like that.”

Though Yang had no response for those words, apparently Kali did. “I won't try to pretend I've ever been religious. But isn't your god supposed to be one of love and acceptance? If he can't accept the love in this backseat, then he isn't much of a god to me.”

“That's…” It almost sounded like Willow was about to argue. Then she simply sighed and slumped down in her seat. “Maybe so. I don't know.”

The rest of the ride home was a little bit uncomfortable, but Weiss felt some satisfaction that at least her mother seemed to be doing some deep thinking on the subject. Everything would be fine in due time.

Once Willow was safe and sound in Atlas Heights, the other three returned to the Belladonna home. Without having selected another fallback location, that was still to serve as their headquarters for the immediate future, and they had much to discuss.

“I'm trying not to lose my cool,” Yang confessed as she rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. “What if she wants to kick you out because your dad's been making threats and stuff? I'm going to have to argue with her, and I'd rather not do that if I don't have to…”

“Then don't,” Weiss told her simply, as if that settled the matter.

“But I'll have to. I mean, you're my girl, right? I'd throw myself from a train for you. If I can't even stand up to Salem, then I don't deserve the title of ‘Weiss's girlfriend’ at all.”

The paper-shaker reached over to squeeze her hand as they pulled onto Blake and Kali's street. “You deserve it if I say you do. And that's that.”

“Oh boy,” Kali sighed onto the steering wheel. “Look at all this…”

She was referring to the dozen motorcycles parked in her driveway, partly spilling into the backyard. It was bad enough that she had no room for her own vehicle and had to park on the street, which probably rankled. Of course, the Duchess took it all in stride.

“Chins up,” she whispered as they walked up toward the front door. “This is our first big meeting since the fire, but it's not our first meeting ever. We'll be fine.”

“It's my first big meeting!” Weiss insisted. “I'm a baby Dragon, remember?”

Yang slid her arm around Weiss's back, squeezing probably a little bit harder than was strictly necessary. “Don't sweat it. I'm going to be right there the whole time, okay? Just… stick to the truth. That your dad has lost his marbles and you have nothing to do with it. Easy peasy.”

“I hope you're right…”

They had never seen the Belladonna living room quite so full. In fact, several Dragons had to sit in the dining room, craning their necks to see everyone else. Salem laid claim to what had probably been Mr. Belladonna's easy chair as if it were a throne; Weiss expected nothing less. Sienna was nearby, ready and willing to assist in any way needed. Blake seemed to be flitting around and helping Vernal freshen drinks - something not quite in character, but probably expected of her as interim host until her mother returned.

“About time,” Salem grunted from under the hem of her hood. “Thought they might have changed their minds about discharging the girl.”

Weiss swallowed, eyes sweeping the room to look at all the faces gazing back at her. Vernal, Blake, and Coco were there, and Velvet was perched at Coco's side. She was the only one who smiled and waved at Weiss, which she appreciated more than she could say in that moment - both because she was nervous, and because she knew pleasantries would have to wait until after business had been taken care of.

“She's going to be fine,” Kali told her, hand still lingering on Weiss's shoulder. “And now that your Warlord and Duchess are here, shall we get started?”

Salem gestured with one pale hand to the rickety looking folding chairs off to one side. Where they had come up with so many folding chairs, Weiss couldn't say, but it looked like someone had raided a church basement. Kali took the one closest to the High Dragon, and Weiss and Yang took the other two.

“This meeting of the Vale Dragons has come to order,” Sienna announced with a few claps of her hands. “Please join us in the credo!”

Weiss felt the tingling a fear in her stomach - what credo?! Before she had a chance to ask any questions, everyone else in the room was saying in one strong voice, “Strength! Loyalty! Unity! Sorority!” Even Velvet. It felt awful to be the least informed member of their ragtag family, but she knew it was going to take time for her to get caught up.

Then it was Salem's turn to talk. She didn't stand or otherwise call attention to herself; she didn't need to.

“Sisters, we have a problem.” A few of them nodded, and there was a sharp bark of laughter from somewhere that Weiss couldn't quite pinpoint. “One of our own has betrayed us.”

“Oh no,” Weiss couldn't help breathing. The whisper didn't go unnoticed.

“It isn't little Princess Schnee. No… another is our turncoat. Selling inside information to the highest bidder. Someone none of us would have expected in the slightest.” Her inflection scarcely changed as she called out, “Neo, come forward.”

It took a great effort of will for Weiss to suppress the urge to ask who in the Sam Hill she meant. Not that it was necessary; the instant Salem finished speaking, a few of the Dragons stepped aside to reveal a smallish girl with two-tone hair that matched her eyes - one brown, one pink. She had never seen anyone with eyes like those before. The girl's eyebrows hiked up at being addressed, but an instant later, she stepped forward as she had been commanded.

“You cannot answer for your crimes directly; I understand this. Most of the questions will be simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” The girl nodded. “Did you set the fire?” She shook her head vigorously, leaning forward very slightly as she did so. “Did you drug Sustrai?” Another shake. “Did you help someone else do either of those things?”

This time, the girl didn't look quite so confident. Such a long hesitation set off a ripple of gasps around the room. Weiss found herself completely shocked; how did Salem know all this? How could anyone have figured out the culprit was this tiny slip of a girl that she had failed to notice at all?

“I'll need a name,” the High Dragon pressed, ignoring the way the target of her interrogation began to tremble. “You may write it down and we'll take it from there. If you do, the consequences for you will be far less dire than if you withhold that information.”

Only a few seconds ticked by as the girl considered her situation, looking around the room at all of the outraged faces. Weiss's was not the only one a mask of complete shock, but several others, including Yang and Blake, were full of pure fury. Then she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and produced a tiny notebook and a stub of a pencil. The scratching of it upon a scrap of paper barely lasted a second or two before she tore it out and passed it over to her leader.

Salem's eyes were shadowed by her hood, and therefore it was impossible to know her true reaction to reading the name. Her fist curled around the scrap and she straightened to look at the accused.

“I would ask why you have betrayed us, but given your condition, it would require quite a long amount of writing. You may present that to me when next we meet. For the time being, you must choose your punishment. Lashes… the mark of betrayal… or banishment.”

Even though the traitor had looked anxious and frightened up until that point, this was the first time true fear set in. She glanced around as if hoping for help from another Dragon, but found none. She fell to her knees in front of Salem and pressed her forehead to her knee, but one of Sienna's boots raised to shove her away an instant later.

“You are not worthy to touch our leader!” she hissed at her through clenched teeth. But Salem raised a hand to forestall her from further reprimanding the accused.

“That will be all. What is your choice?”

Instead of answering directly, Neo shivered with the force of her silent sobs for a few more seconds. Weiss had been expecting her to write down her decision, or finally speak up, but instead, she merely began to remove her jacket.

“In the backyard,” Salem ordered. “No reason to get blood on Kali's pristine carpet. Who will witness?”

“I will,” Yang volunteered, raising a hand.

“And I,” said another woman Weiss didn't know. She felt like a stranger at an ice cream social with all of the unfamiliar Dragons crammed in there. That would have to change if she were truly going to be part of the organization.

“Very well. See that it is done.”

To her surprise, it was Sienna who got up to escort the girl out. Weiss had been expecting the girl to say something, and she did - but it wasn’t quite what she expected.

“Hnanhu.”

Her brow furrowed at the sound. What was she hearing? Did this girl speak some other language - was that why she had been so quiet? Had she taken a vow of silence as part of her Dragons initiation?

“You’re welcome. Do well to remember this kindness.” Only now, she noticed that Salem was taking great care to look directly at Neo whenever she spoke. “Take her.”

As the four of them left, she looked toward Kali as the wheels continued to turn. “Is she… a deaf-mute?”

“She's hard of hearing, yes.”

“Oh.” Her eyes turned toward the door through which they had disappeared. “Do you think… I mean, shouldn't we have-”

“Whether or not Neo is capable of hearing or speech has nothing to do with the grief she has caused the Dragons,” Salem said in an even tone of voice. “I do not believe it was done with any malicious intent toward us, but rather was motivated by selfishness - or misplaced loyalty to someone else. Either way, she will receive the punishment she deserves, and hopefully that will be the end of that.”

The others nodded their agreement… but Weiss couldn't help feeling sympathy for her. Salem made it sound like she got paid to somehow arrange for Emerald's drugging, which did anger her on a personal level, but she had no idea what her life would be like if she was hard of hearing, unable to interact with the larger portion of the world the same way. Being able to hear was such an integral part of her life! Maybe in exchange for her betrayal, Neo had been paid money that would have helped her cope somehow - not that she knew how. Deafness was an issue she never had to seriously consider before.

Salem clapping her hands brought her attention back around. “To business. There may be Huntsmen ties to the arson, and the stabbing.” A ripple of gasps went through the room, but she pressed on, “Not corroborated. A suspicion and no more. This name is from someone among their number, but as much as I detest Watts… I can't readily believe they're behind this. Neo’s accomplice may have gone rogue.”

“I agree,” Kali put in, inclining her head slightly. “Our current ‘cease fire’ is beneficial to everyone. Why would they risk that in this way - what's the draw?”

“Salem?” Weiss attempted. The woman didn't speak, but did turn to look at her, waiting patiently. “I m-mean, High Dragon. Do you think… my father could be behind it? He pretty much admitted he was behind the fire already. What if he did this, too?”

To her surprise, Salem favored her with a cold little smile. “I'm sure of it. We just need to follow the money.”

“Oh.”

“We already knew Neo’s been seen on Huntsmen turf,” Blake said, arms and legs crossed as she glared into the corner. “But that's not a crime. Well… not really. I've listened to records with Sun and Neptune while checking in on him after… the bike race.”

“But it is suspicious,” her mother added, and Blake nodded her agreement. “We'll have to implement a strategy for monitoring…”

As Weiss tried not to fall into a pit of despair, the others continued to discuss the situation and where they should go from there. She was having trouble focusing. How could her father, her own flesh and blood, sink this low? It was as if instead of a great man with a few flaws, he had always been a terrible man underneath a paper-thin veneer of respectability and moral high ground. All it took was deciding his daughter needed “correction” for that facade to fall away, revealing a true monster.

Beyond that, she also couldn't help worrying that her new life in the Dragons was going to get her killed - or get someone else killed, like Yang. But she mostly agreed with her mother's sentiments. For all the ways that her life had become more frightening, it had also changed for the better. She didn't want to give it all up now - especially not Yang. Not without a fight. She simply hoped that fight wasn't one she would lose.

She didn't snap back to reality until the three returned, the shivering and shaking Neo suspended between Yang and Sienna. Her shirt was in place, but red was seeping through the light pink fabric where it stretched over her back. Weiss wanted to cry. But Neo’s eyes were curiously dry; she looked as if she were crying during the lashing but had stopped before being brought inside.

“Neo Politan, you are hereby pardoned of your sins,” Salem declared without preamble. This time, Weiss could definitely tell she was taking extra care to form each word with her lips, and that Neo was watching them move. “Forgiven, but not forgotten; the High Dragon never forgets when her girls are wronged. Do your best to prove yourself worthy of trust again.”

The girl nodded, shaking so much that it almost looked like a spasm. Sienna glanced at Kali. “Your restroom?”

“Upstairs on the left,” she told her, and she pulled Neo along. To her credit, she didn't put up any fight; she was simply numb from the cruelty of the punishment. Her legs dragged occasionally but she was picking them up most of the time.

The room was only quiet for a moment before Salem asked, “You don't approve of my methods?” Weiss was horrified to realize she was staring at her.

“I… yes, High Dragon. Wh-what I mean is, I do approve! But I'm… she's so small…”

“Not much shorter than you,” Yang pointed out. “And you took the branding like a champ.”

“Cinder always said she could count on Neo to watch her back in a fight,” Coco said in a quiet voice. “I mean… maybe not after this, but yeah, she's a scrappy little thing.”

Salem cleared her throat and folded her hands neatly in her lap, waiting for the understandable rise of chatter to settle again before she spoke. “That takes care of our primary business. What of our hunt for a new sanctuary?”

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

From there, Weiss lost track of the conversation somewhat. Many potential sites to rebuild Shopkeeper's were proposed, and the pros and cons of each debated. Yang even suggested the abandoned train depot, leaving out that she used it as a hidden make-out spot; it was dismissed as too old and decrepit to renovate. Weiss pretended not to notice how relieved her girlfriend looked.

In the end, it was decided their temporary plan would be to clear the debris from their haunt and see if it was worth restoring to its former glory. The meeting was adjourned with Kali expressing distress at the mess her house was left in, but also obviously resigned to her fate of clearing it away.

“Don't worry, we'll help,” Weiss promised her with a small smile as the dozens of bodies filed out of the tiny home. “Won't we, Yang?”

The blonde looked more resigned than enthusiastic about pitching in, but she still nodded. Velvet was able to pester Coco into staying, as well, and the four girls helped Blake put the living room and dining room right while Kali focused on the kitchen. Most of the efforts needed there were on rinsing out drinking glasses, of course.

“That could have gone worse,” Velvet piped up.

“Really?” Yang snapped at her as she finished wrapping the power cord around the vacuum cleaner. “Like how?”

As Velvet recoiled, she went on, “W-well, I… turned out not so awful in the end, right? We have someone to blame, and… and Neo says she won't do it again…”

“I still had to watch her get lashes. With a whip. Don't like watching friends get hurt like that, no matter what by. Even if they brought it on themselves.”

The poor, mousy girl went back to cleaning. After a second or two, Weiss followed Yang as she stowed the vacuum in the hall closet.

“Did you have to come down on her like that? She's just trying to be positive.”

Shaking her head, she leaned against the closet door and stared off toward the living room. “Yeah. Nothing to be positive about as far as I am concerned.” Weiss only stared evenly at her, so she eventually threw up both hands and hissed, “What do you want me to say? That I'm glad I had to watch a girl get her back ripped up all over? I'm not. Makes me sick to my stomach. But I get that there's a reason we had to do it.”

“None of that is Velvet's fault. You know that. She was just trying to look on the bright side of things, and… sure, I guess it's a little naive, but doesn't she have enough stress in her life right now? She might have to leave the country, leave us! And Coco!”

“Well…” Yang squirmed uncomfortably for a second before sighing, her shoulders slumping downward. “I know. Probably wants all her last memories of America to be good ones. But I can't act like a Dragon getting whipped is good, no matter why it happened.”

Weiss wrapped her arms gently around Yang's middle, laying her head on her shoulder. Hands found the center of her own back to return the gesture, and she allowed her eyes to close for a moment, simply drinking in the nearness.

“I understand. But Velvet needs friends right now. Just tell her… tell her you're sorry you were so short with her, because you're upset about having to watch the whipping.”

Squirming a little, Yang said, “I'm, uh, not so good at feelings. You know that. But I'll try.”

“Thank you.”

“What do I get as a reward?” A slight gleam crept into her violet eyes.

“The satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing, you big ape,” she snapped at her, and Yang chuckled aloud. “Come on.”

The apology was met with flustered assurances that it wasn't necessary, which of course made Yang insist, and eventually Velvet thanked her and bowed her head in mild shame. Weiss and Coco shared bemused smiles as the audience of this exchange, both thinking their girlfriends were awkward squares and all the more adorable for it.

“So about you and Velvet,” she asked her as they hauled sacks out to the trash cans on the curb.

“You want another lesson?” When Weiss's face paled by several shades, Coco laughed and slapped her on the shoulder with her free hand. “Okay, okay. What do you want if it's not that?”

Shaking her head out to rid it of strong mental images, she went on, “Someone mentioned that you also have a fella you're going steady with. Does he know…?”

“About Velvet? Of course.”

“And he doesn't mind? No jealousy, nothing like that?”

Shrugging, she took out a cigarette and lit it as they gazed back at the Belladonna home. Weiss tried her best not to be offended by the acrid scent of smoke. “Nope. We have an understanding. Besides, he's… Fox is… we are definitely not like most couples. We’re more like friends who occasionally go to bed together. I’d marry him for the social arrangement, and because we’re comfortable with each other.”

Almost dreading the answer, Weiss asked, “And Velvet?”

“It's different,” she said with an uncharacteristic tenderness in her voice before taking another drag. She didn’t need to hear any more to know exactly how she meant that; the way Weiss felt about Yang.

“Y-yeah. Well, I mean, I guessed that; you two seem really close.” Coco nodded. “Would you… I mean, what if you moved down to Australia with her?”

“Where would I go down there? What would I do? Even though I- a part of me wants to, wants to follow her to the ends of the Earth, the rest of my whole life is here. She would have to take care of me, and that’s not how Coco wants her life to go.”

Hunching her shoulders against the light chill on the breeze, weirded out by how she referred to herself in the third person, she asked, “Then why not just break up with her now? Don't make her wait for it to happen.”

“Because now is all we have, Schnee.”

Something about the pure bitterness in that statement made Weiss think better of continuing the conversation. Coco's eyes were hidden behind her aviators, as usual, but she had to wonder how haunted they would look if she could see them. In absence of knowing what else to say and feeling helpless, she rested a hand on her shoulder to offer her a moment of meager comfort before returning to the house.

Everything taken care of, Kali was already whipping up something tasty in the kitchen, Blake at her side. Coco and Velvet took their leave, which meant Yang had to set the table all by herself - once Weiss left to help with dinner, feeling it was more pressing.

“There's really not much left to do,” the elder woman assured her with a gentle smile. “It's just a simple stew. Matter of fact, I was thinking about leaving to pick up Willow to join us once it's on to simmer.”

“Oh,” Weiss said with a small, pleased smile. “Okay. I could help stir it until you get back.”

Blake narrowed her eyes at her. “Why do you look so thrilled right now? Like Christmas came early.”

“No reason.”

“She's just happy that her mother isn't languishing in regrets and Merlot,” Kali told her daughter while patting her on the shoulder and leaning over to kiss the side of her head. Blake pushed her away, but there was no real force to the push. “Mind the store for me?”

“Sure, Mom.” The woman took her leave. As Blake turned back to the stove and took up the wooden spoon, she said, “Could you cut that out?”

“What? Cut what out?”

“Trying to set our moms up with each other.”

Weiss blinked in surprise, hand falling away from the silverware drawer. She had been about to get a spoon to test the flavour of the stew before she was extremely distracted.

“Admit it,” Blake went on as she stirred, barely glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “I definitely haven't been the one pushing them together. And you’re always into everyone’s business, you busybody.”

“Busybody?!” she burst out, fists on her hips. “How can you say that? Sure, I like to know what’s going on with the Dragons and with Pyrrha, and Ruby, but I’m only concerned about my friends; I don’t stick my nose in otherwise!”

Tossing her hair slightly, the cook’s daughter stirred a little more vigorously than was strictly necessary as she snapped, “Yeah, the one who keeps demanding to know what’s wrong between me and Yang, and grilling Coco and Velvet about their relationship - I overheard you,” she offered before Weiss could ask.

“Better a busybody than some, some… eavesdropper!”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I have excellent hearing!”

“Girls, will you keep it down to a dull roar?” Yang said from the doorway, the elbow of her good arm leaning against the frame. Not that her other arm was “bad”, but she tended to favour it slightly while it was still healing. “Seriously, what’s the crisis?”

Fists vibrating at her sides, she told her girlfriend, “This germ is insinuating things, Yang!”

“Things that are true!” Blake protested, having abandoned the stew for the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, I overheard. There’s something I don’t get, though.” When neither of them responded, Yang shrugged and added, “What’s so bad about them spending more time with each other? Maybe they’ll move in together. Then you’d both have a sister. Why’s that such a horrible thing?”

Blake didn’t respond at all, simply breathing hard and staring down at the linoleum. But Weiss thought she knew why. This may have still been related to her issues of jealousy over Yang. Not that she expected her to admit as much, even if confronted. It also probably had a lot to do with Kali focusing more of her attention on the Schnee family lately; she would probably feel the same way if her relationship with her own mother were closer than it had been for the past several years.

“Blake, I'm sorry,” Weiss attempted in a more even tone. “I can honestly tell you that I haven't been encouraging them in any way. But I also haven't been discouraging them; I think it's healthy that they each have a friend now. Don't you? I mean, my mother has been trapped in the house for years, only really leaving to go to church and the Country Club. And my father kept her on such a tight leash that she barely even got to do that!”

“What about my mother, huh? She has the Dragons, and her job - and she has me. So what does she need with a… a replacement family?” The instant Weiss raised a hand as if she were going to pet her consolingly, Blake bristled and turned away. “Save it. I need some air. You can handle stirring the stew, right? Can't you, Weiss Belladonna?”

Before either Yang or Weiss could say a word, Blake fled the room and headed for the driveway. They still hadn't spoken to each other when they heard her motorcycle roar to life and fade into the distance.

[dragon-fics]

DOS: (Spyro Reignited Trilogy) Scarred (Nestor X Reader)

Chapter summary: You suffer abuse from your mother on a regular basis. One night, when you’ve had enough, someone makes your life a little easier.

Note: This was requested on Wattpad.

C/N = City Name

“And don’t leave your room for the rest of the night!” My mother shouted, slamming the door behind her. She had caught me outside talking to my friend, Johnny, about how horrible she was and after slapping me multiple times across the face, she threw me into my bedroom and roared at me about all the stuff she does for me—90% of which she made up. Now she was punishing me, again.

Tears rolled down my face as she left; this was almost every night for me. She had taken my phone away... Well, the one she knew about. I have a spare one hidden in my drawer, which has Johnny and my dad’s number on it and theirs only. There have been nights where one of them will talk all night to me, to keep me calm so I could sleep, but everyday I knew I’d wake to my alcoholic, drug-addicted, abusive mother. It’s the reason my dad divorced her. He’s been trying to get custody of me since but the court hearing isn’t for another month though, and he divorced her over a year ago.

I waited until I could hear the TV blaring from the living from before grabbing my phone from my drawer. It was a black flip phone. I turned it on and flipped it open, seeing the plain light blue menu screen. I pressed the button to take me to my contacts, held the down button and randomly pressed the select button. After a moment I heard an electronic chirp and then the ringing sound started.

I snuffed and as soon as the ringing stopped. I forced myself to whisper, “It happened again. I can’t do this anymore.” My tears flowed again. “I wish I didn’t have to live here anymore.”

I feel my eyelids grow heavy. It was late, about two in the morning, and it had taken all my strength to not bawl my eyes out at my mother. I drift off as the moon shone in through my window, wishing me goodnight.

*-*-*-*

I felt my body being dragged across soft ground, grass tickling my back. I felt whatever was dragging me, tugging me by the leg of my trouser. I heard a puppy-like growl from whatever was dragging me, as it struggled to bring my weight with it..

Then it stopped. It dropped my leg and ran away.

“Nestor! Nestor!” Came a voice. It kind of reminded me of SpongeBob from when I was little.

“Yes, Spyro,” said the person I presumed was Nestor. I heard ‘Spyro’ bounce like a puppy that wanted to play.

“Someone not from our world just arrived. He/She looks/They look tired and sore, he/she has/they have bruises on his/her/their body!”

I heard Nestor hum. “Take me to him/her/them.”

I heard Spyro trot towards me along with a second set of footsteps. I felt my body get light as someone picked me up. The arms were large and muscular.

They placed me on a soft bed and the person who had been carrying me brushed aside my bangs/hair from my face.

“Spyro, bring Sparx here,” said Nestor. “I’ll watch him/her/them.”

“Got it!” Said Spyro enthusiastically, I heard him bound off.

It was a few minutes before Spyro ran back to us. I could hear the fluttering of small wings, like those of a butterfly.

“Sparx,” said Nestor. “Land on him/her/them and give him/her/them some strength.”

I felt something small settle on my stomach and I felt a warm feeling tingle throughout my body. I felt more awake and refreshed. The insignificant creature that gave me strength fluttered off my stomach. I slowly opened my eyes.

I looked around; I was in a small wooden hut; it was a carpenter’s workshop. Warm sunlight shone in through the hut door and through the windows. I could see sawdust floating in the air, though I couldn’t smell any. Above me stood a tall anthropomorphic grass green dragon with a yellow underbelly and green jacket. Beside him was a smaller purple dragon with an amber underbelly. He stood on all fours. Hovering above the purple dragon was a blue, dimly glowing dragonfly. He looked tired.

I groaned and tried to sit up. The large green dragon went to help me up, but I flinched. He paused and left me alone. I looked down; I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.

“I am Nestor,” the green dragon said, his hand on chest. “This is Spyro, and this is Sparx,” he gestured to the dragon and dragonfly.

I waved shyly. “I-I’m (Y/N),” I said.

“How did you get here, (Y/N)?” Spyro asked.

Nestor turned his head to him. “Spyro, let him/her/them gather his/her/their surroundings,” he said firmly but not unkindly. Not like my mother would have done.

I smiled. “It’s ok.” I looked at Spyro. “But I... Don’t know how I got here,” I said, looking down again.

“Spyro!” Called another dragon from outside of the hut and some distance away. “Its time for your flying lesson!”

“That’s Boldar. I’ll be back later. See you around, (Y/N)!” Spyro said, cantering off. Nestor and I watched him leave.

“So, tell me about your bruises, (Y/N),” Nestor said, sitting down on a chair beside me. The chair had the most beautiful engravings on its oak back and legs.

I took in a breath and somehow everything awful that my mum has done came spilling out of my mouth. I told him about almost every time she had either physically or emotionally abused me. I told him how much it hurt when she did either. Nestor listened to my story and comforted me when tears fell from my eyes. He stroked my back softly and handed me a tissue.

Nestor held me close. “I promise you, its almost over, you won’t have to see her again.” He kissed my head.

“Wh-what do you mean?” I sniffed.

“You’ll see when you wake up.”

*-*-*-*

A warm light shone on my face, warming my cheeks. The sheets beneath and over me were soft, as if they were freshly washed. I was cosy in this bed. Its mattress was soft, and the duvet was light., and the pillow was extra fluffy.

This wasn’t my bed.

My eyes snapped open. I saw I was in a hotel room with a double bed beside me. I slowly got up. My vision was blurry and my eyes were puffy from crying in my sleep.

“Morning, my dear,” came my dad’s voice. He finished combing his hair and placed the comb on the counter beside him, where one of my gym bags of my belongings rested.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“You’re in (C/N).” That’s over an hour’s drive from my home!

My dad sat on my bed, looking regretful. “I couldn’t listen to you being hurt anymore, so I called CPS. I have temporary custody of you. Your—“ He cut himself off and drew in a deep breath. “She’s sitting a jail cell, and I have a restraining order against her, on your behalf.”

I looked down. I was free of her.

My dad sat closer to me, wrapping an arm around me. After a while, he asked; “So, who’s Nestor?”

“What do you—?”

“You were talking in your sleep. One name you mentioned was Nestor.”

I smiled to myself. “It’s complicated.”

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Your Tears in My Dreams (DamiJon) Part : 1/2

Rating : General Audiences

Summary :

His best friend always has that smile. Bright and refreshing like a can of cold soda on a hot and humid summer. But one day, when they were walking down the halls to class. Jon stopped, and for once in Damian life, he saw Jon cried. ---- Dick cleared his throat, his darting eyes finally landed on his jade eyes, “Why do you want to know now?” “Curiosity,” Damian shrugged, “I’ve never seen him cried before, that was the only time he did and I forgot why he did.” “You think it’s your fault?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Inspired by this beautiful art of Jon crying and Damian not knowing what to do by @glitter-dc

Read on AO3

Click Keep Reading to read on Tumblr.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Jon was his best friend and the only friend that ever counted, but their relationship didn’t start smoothly. As a privileged nine-year-old boy that only knew about the expectation he’s meant to fulfill in a world of adults, Jon’s sincere friendly approach was extraterrestrial.

Yet, no matter how much Damian pushed, Jon insists. To Damian, Jon is nothing more than his father’s journalist best friend’s son. Damian had understood the political need to befriend each other, but Jon never sees it that way.

Jon who’s always as bright as the sun when he smiles. All his frontal teeth would show, and the one teeth on the top right that bent inwards sticks out more than the rest. The apple of his cheeks became prominent whenever he’s too excited, and blush just like roses in full bloom whenever they were running, or if it was a hot day. His eyes would shine like clear lakes under the high noon. Strands of his raven-black soft curls bounce cheerfully and swept through the wind like feathers whenever he moves.

Always, Jon would smile through the rain, through the bad scores he gets, and through the wounds that he gets whenever they’re playing too rough.

His best friend always has that smile. Bright and refreshing like a can of cold soda on a hot and humid summer.

But one day, when they were walking down the halls to class. Jon stopped, and for once in Damian life, he saw Jon cried.

It was the first and the last time Damian saw him that way.

The memory comes in as a dream, played like a slow-motion clip that lasted forever. Long enough that at one point, Damian asked why Jon cried, which of course, Jon in his dream didn’t make a sound any other sound than sobbing. But when Damian woke up, it felt like it lasted a second. Like every dream, Damian thought he’ll forget it after a few seconds being awake. But this time, the way Jon looks at him with his sorrowful eyes and downturned lips, stays the whole day, and the day after that, and so on.

Damian can still feel chills down his spine at how deeply Jon’s eyes pierce through his soul. The details of how strands of his black loose curls tossed around because he just took a nap at break time. The way his tears sticks to his lush lashes and glisten like morning dews on blades of grass under the light of dawn. His tightened jaw as if to hold his voice. Bawling with a heavy stream of tears rolling down his red apple cheeks.

Every detail of that moment would never be forgotten, but only that one frame, in that perspective that felt prolonged forever. Damian can’t remember anything more after or before that.

To be expected of course. After all, that happened ten years ago.

++++++

“Ah, Master Damian, I didn’t expect you for another day,” the family butler, Alfred, called from the library where he’s been cleaning. He takes off his usual suit and only wears his white button-up with sleeves rolled.

“Sorry for the unexpected arrival, I’ll clean the room myself.”

“Was there something urgent sir?” Alfred is as sharp as ever, Damian missed that about him.

“Yes, I’ll ask you about it later.”

Then Damian continues to walk down the halls and into his room. The room is still fairly clean, he’s touched that Alfred cleans his room even though he never stays the night in the manor for years. Whenever he has business trips in Gotham, he always stays in a nearby hotel, and only came for a quick dinner together, only if that family was in town.

It’s been forever since he last enters this room, just by the whiff of scent already felt like a blast from the past.

Back when the politics of his country were heated and dangerous, Damian was sent here to seek refuge. His family’s company, the League of Al-Ghuls, were caught between the heat. Though now that he’s older, he knew that his family participates in that political war. That’s why Damian’s life was in danger.

So, he was sent to a place owned by a father he never knew he had at nine years old. It was not expected that he had grown fond of the place and elongated his stay until his mother demanded him to come back to have proper education for her standards.

Ever since he was a child, he’s meant to continue the family business. Now he’s considered perfectly weaned and being trusted to have good judgment for the benefit of their empire. It is how their family is. It is what Damian had excepted with consent. Then life just swept Damian away.

The last time he was in this room, he was 15. There’s a picture of him and Jon by his desk. A thin layer of dust accumulated at the top of the frame. It’s a picture of them on a school trip to Ocean City. Jon had many friends beside Damian, but he wanted to take a picture together first.

Damian cracked a smile, seeing little Jon wearing his dad’s bright blue bucket hat on top of his awry hair, and a smile bright like the sea on their background.

He looked for his old stuff. Pictures, diaries, books, anything that can give him a clue. When he’s checking one of his bookcases, there’s a row dedicated to journals, textbooks, and sketchbooks. He recognizes some of the journals’ spine. When he takes it out, his heart raced.

It’s his diaries, not just any diaries too. He used to exchange them with Jon. They’ll write about their day and give them to each other once a week, or sometimes once a month. It was Jon’s idea from an old Japanese comic he bought from a discount box. It was ridiculous and Damian had thought it was intrusive.

Damian doesn’t know how Jon can talk him into sharing his personal thoughts with someone. Saying his feelings out has not been his strong suit, but writing it is another story. It’s easier to tell his secrets to inanimate objects that’ll never judge him. But what really made Damian went along with it, was because Jon’s diary is entertaining and fun to read. Usually filled with dad jokes his father told him and things he gets in trouble at. The way Jon writes it is just like how he talked with all his quirks and slang.

The tradition doesn’t last their whole friendship though. Some time into their teens, they stopped exchanging their diaries.

Though Jon never asked for his diary again, Damian kept writing out of habit. His brown covered journal, the last one, is a diary he never gave to Jon.

Flipping through the pages, he noticed that he didn’t write them on a regular basis. Some are days apart, some weeks, even months. Most of them are from 2009 to 2010, and the only content in there is frustration, anger, and self-pity that he’s too proud to tell anyone else.

Right at the last entry that stops in the middle of his journal, he finds the one he’s been looking for.

‘17 November 2010

Something absolutely bizarre happened today. Jon cried. I was lost for words at seeing him cry for the first time since I have ever known him. Jon is not one who cries easily, or ever. He’s strong and he had pulled through a lot of misfortune that happens to him with only a frown or anger. He had a very deep wound on his forearm from scrapping it upon a loose nail on a plank, he bled a lot but he just hissed and screamed in pain, in that process, he shed a tear, but it was not ‘crying’. Even when his father scolds him badly after we went to town till 4 AM, all he did was frown.

We were just talking as we head to our class. I didn’t ask why at first. He was terribly sad and I’m afraid of saying the wrong words. So, I just pat his back and took him somewhere people won't see. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed if someone sees him like that when he clearly needed to cry. Maybe he’s been holding back something that he didn’t tell me.

It was also the first time I ever missed class. Of course, my mother will be more upset about this more than father, but I did not feel regretful. Jon needed me for once, and the consequences are light compared to the situation. Though I will not enjoy the incoming international call.’

And that’s it.

Damian sighed in defeat and disappointment with his fifteen-year-old self. He admits, he was not the most emotionally intelligent child back then. Even so, this means Damian is worried over Jon’s well being more than what caused it. Jon was precious to him at a point, even more than his duty as an Al-Ghul.

Since his own diary doesn’t reveal what he’s been looking for, he would need to ask from someone else.

++++

‘I’ll be staying in the manor for approximately a week, I hope it’s okay.’

‘Of course, you’re more than welcome. I’ll be home for dinner.’

‘Alright, I’ll tell Alfred to anticipate you.’

“Who’re you texting with?” his older brother, Dick came to the living room with a big jug of tea. His hair is a mess as always whenever he’s back home, and a wardrobe just as hideous. It’s six months too early to be wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, and Dick paired it with a skimpy boxer.

Damian had come to terms with it, only because Dick is his favorite brother.

“Is it a speeecial someone? Maybe someone... who is not your wife?” Dick raised his eyebrows scandalously and takes a loud slurp of his tea.

Damian scoffed up a chuckle, “You know my relationship with my wife is strictly business, she has her own set of lovers.”

“I still can’t understand what’s the point in marrying, if all it was is for business.”

“Politics in an Al-Ghul family is different from a typical American one. It’s why my mother became a Wayne for a short yet beneficial time before their scheduled divorce, and conceived me, just as she planned.”

“I... still can’t get my head around that. Family isn’t politics.”

“I’ve come to know that thanks to you, and this family.”

Damian gave him a thankful smile while Dick melts with eyebrows downturned. Really, they’ve come a long way. The one that really thought him the meaning of love and family is the Waynes.

“Then where are your own set of ‘lovers’” Dick looks ups and close his eyes dreamily.

“And why would I told you about my affairs?” Dick gasped, putting a hand on his chest, again, this particular sibling always able to make him crack a smile,  “I was texting father, in case you’re still wondering, he’ll be home for dinner.”

“Good to know you’re on good terms! When did that happen?”

“Ironically, by being his business partner I get to see him and talk to him more than I was just his son.”

Dick burst a fit of a laugh, almost spilling his hot tea to his bare thigh.

“So, I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes, I hope I’m not taking your time from work.”

“No! Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I do visit on weekends when I can.”

“And the others?”

“Well, you know our siblings, they came when they can, but they’re all busy doing their own thing. Jason’s on tour. Tim won't be back for a year, a project in France. Duke’s with Doctors Without Borders. Steph...” Dick trails and made a face.

Damian’s jaw hits the floor, “Don’t tell me, she married him?”

Dick chuckled, “Yup, now she’s in the middle of a jungle in Indonesia, teaching anyone that needs it.”

Damian shook his head with a defeated smile, “Last time I was here, even the mansion feels crowded with... was it six of us? Now it feels a bit empty.”

“Well, little hatchlings ought to left the nest sooner or later,” Dick rubs his head. “So, you wanted to talk to me, but it’s not about reminiscing the past, isn’t it?”

Damian smirked, ever the detective.

“On the contrary, it does have something to do with that, but not about our family,” Damian takes a deep breath as quietly as he can, “You’re the one I talked to the most when I was a child.”

Dick squints his eyes, “Yeeees?”

“I was wondering if I ever said anything about Jon in particular.”

“Jon? As in Jonathan Kent? Your bestie?”

“Yes, Dick, Jonathan Kent. Is there something wrong?”

“No no! Just... it’s been so long since you talk about him.”

Damian just shrugs.

Dick put his cup of tea down on the table and narrowed his eyebrows, “Alright? What do you need?”

“I believe I had a fight with Jon, or maybe I made him so upset that he cried. Did I ever talk about these things with you?”

Dick sighed and tips his jaw to the side and raise his eyebrows, already at loss, “You were totally mega best friends with Jon. Honestly, I can’t choose, you were complaining about him a lot.”

“Only at first,” Damian chuckled, remembering again, “He was not the friend I asked for, but among all the wrong button he pushed, once when he pushed the right one.”

“And that is?”

“He treats me like a child, but as an equal, and expect nothing of me. Most of all, he’s incredibly patient.”

Dick is making a face, biting his lips from smiling too widely. Damian rolled his eyes and his older brother keeps him to himself.

“Ahem, did you know when you made him cry?”

“My diary said it was November 17th of 2010.”

“I think I was in Barbados with Barbara then, for the honeymoon?”

“That’s right, I wouldn’t have called you then.”

Dick cleared his throat, his darting eyes finally landed on his jade eyes, “Damian, why do you want to know now?”

“Curiosity,” Damian shrugged, “I’ve never seen him cried before, that was the only time he did and I forgot why he did.”

“You think it’s your fault?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

++++++

“As in Jonathan Kent?”

“Yes, Alfred. I don’t think I befriend any other Jon. Or any other person,” Damian chuckled lightly.

“I have not heard you talk about sir Jonathan in a very long time.” Alfred grabs the plates, and Damian grabs the utensils.

“Dick said that too. It’s just something I’m curious about.” Damian puts the spoons and forks on the sides of the plates on the dining table.

“When did it happen?” Alfred asked as he gets a bowl of salad with beans while Damian grabs a bowl of baked creamy mushroom penne.

“We were 15.”

“That’s ten years ago, Master Damian, why does it matter now?”

The question stabs through his chest like a dull knife, “No, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not late to dinner, am I?” walked in a man with a suit in his hand, loose tie around his neck and an opened button at the collar. The middle-aged man smiles when he sees Damian there.

“I’m impressed you’re not,” Damian put his hand on his hip.

“I’ve missed eating dinner with you a lot. I’m not gonna miss you again when you finally decide to visit your old man.”

“I’ve seen you a lot, father.”

“As Bruce Wayne, a business associate, not as your dad.” Bruce put a hand on Damian’s had and rubs it. As annoying as it is that his father ruined his coiffed hair, it always feels comforting to be patted on the head. The sensation will remain a mystery.

“I’ll put my things away and get Dick,” Bruce announced and walks out of the kitchen.

There’s a pulsing throb in his chest. His eyes are on the door his father walks out from but his feet stay rooted in their place. Damian has gone this far, it’ll be a waste not to try. So, he chased his father out and meets him in the hallway.

“Father,” he called, and Bruce turns around, “There’s a reason I’m visiting.”

“I figured. You don’t usually stay in the Manor if it’s not for the holidays, and our conference will only take two meetings.”

“I took a few days off after we’re done with the trade.”

His father knits his thick eyebrows together, looking concerned, “Why are you taking days off? That’s unlike you.”

Now Damian felt foolish. The matter feels even more trivial now, Damian finally sees that. He flew over for a conference that could’ve been done by his close peers just so he can ask his family about his ‘dream’. His father is right, this is unlike him. How did he even get here? Damian had hesitated before. Brushing off ever coming back to Gotham unless it’s for business purposes. Even at holidays, he’ll never force himself to spare the time to come, and if he does, it’s never longer than two days.

But this time, before he gets to hesitate, he was already on the way here.

“It’s alright, Damian, you can ask anything,” His father comforted, already treating it seriously.

With a heavy heart, Damian raises his shoulders, “It’s just.... something that incites my curiosity, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Let me judge that after you tell me.”

Damina bites his lips, crossing his arms and hold onto his elbows tightly. Eyes darting around, before he finally just let it out.

“It’s about Jon.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, lips parted open and eyes widen, “Jon,” the man breathes. “As in that Jonath-”

“Yes, Jonathan Kent, son of your best friend Clark Kent,” Damian cleared with a firm and irritated voice. Sighing, he cleared his throat, “Something happened when we were kids. I know Jon. He’s always bright and happy, but I remembered that he cried in front of me once, and he looked devastated. I don’t remember if I ever asked him why. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

His father’s sharp eyes soften as he noticeably holds his breath, “Damian...” he called gently, “You know what happened when you were kids.”

Damian paused, breathing mindfully as if to stay calm, and he managed to squeeze out: “This is before that... in 2010”

“That’s ten years a-”

“I know,” Damian raises his voice, frustrated. He knows it’s silly of him to ask around an uncertain memory from ten years ago, but... “I just wanted to ask if I ever told you about Jon crying. Please just tell me if you remember or not.”

Though Damian already knows his father wouldn’t have known anything. Bruce was a distant father when he’s a child. His friends were only Dick, and Jon who he thought was a beneficial ‘friend’.

It doesn’t hurt to try to ask, Damian thought. Somewhere in his childhood, he forgot when, he and his father tried to mend their rocky relationship. Even though they don’t share the same last name, they’ve been family.

“You did mention it to me,” Bruce said, and Damian’s heart jumps.

“Do you remember what I said?”

“Yes,” Bruce chuckled, “You were in a sour mood. I thought it was because of something I’ve done again.”

Damian huffed with the corner of his quirking up, “We weren’t always rainbows and roses, but this one is not because of that, right?”

“No, you told me about Jon. You’re upset with him, not angry or irritated. You always know what to do, but that time, you don’t.”

“Me? Upset with Jon?”

“Not as in at Jon. You told me that Jon is keeping secrets from you, and you’re upset because of that.”

“Now can you tell me why you cried?”

Jon finally stops crying, and his deep frown turns around, but this smile is not the same. His red-rimmed eyes look at Damian with his clear blue irises pooled in tears like overflowed ponds.

It feels like the world stopped in that quiet gymnasium they snuck into.

“I don’t think I can ever tell you why,” Jon’s voice croaks weakly.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“No, Dami...I’m just afraid.”

“Of what? What could’ve scared you enough to not let me know?”

“I can’t tell you! Just, drop it! Okay?” Jon burst, and immediately looks guilty. He folds his arms and leans away from Damian who’s left puzzled.

Damian is angry, but mostly, disappointed? He thought Jon is close enough to lean on him, but it certainly doesn’t seem so. Even in anger, Damian doesn’t have it in him to leave. After years writing diaries, it doesn’t feel as heavy now to tell at least a snippet of sentimentality to Jon... In vocal form.

“Fine, keep your secrets, what is a man without a few? But know this Jon. You are a person that is dear to me, dare I say even more than my family. You’re the most treasured friend of mine, and I only wish to ease the pain that you’re feeling.”

Jon wails even louder that his voice echoes in the empty gymnasium. He can’t believe Jon’s still able to shed even more tears after the previous wave of pouring rain. Damian hold his breath and leans away, the guilt makes him uncomfortable being this near to Jon. He might just make things worse. Let’s never say his feeling out loud again, he had learned his lesson.

Just as Damian was about to scoot away, Jon loops his arms around Damian and squeeze tight.

“Stay with me for a bit. I know your mom’ll be angry, but can you skip class?”

Damian scoffs, Jon asked as if Damian would say no, which is absurd. Damian put his hand on top of Jon’s while the other is on his back, rubbing them gently to comfort. A wet patch is growing on Damian’s chest where Jon pressed his shut eyes. Warm stuttering breath felt through the shirt and onto Damian’s skin. Closing his eyes, Damian buries his face on Jon’s soft black curls.

Jon smelled like the sun.

“Yes, I can Jon.”

The memories come slowly, it’s not as clear as the dreams, but it’s one puzzle pieces among many, and this one fits where it should be.

“Did I say anything else?” Damian leans closer.

“I asked what would you do about it, but you just shrugged. You’re quiet for a few days and then Jon started to come over again.”

Damian sighed a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. Now he remembers what happened after, but he still doesn’t know why Jon cried. Jon couldn’t have started crying out of nowhere. Must’ve been something he saw, or something Damian said to him.

“Why does it matter now?” His father asked, rubbing salt on his wounds.

Damian clenches his hand, “I dreamt it, I thought I’ll forget it later, but I didn’t,” he confessed, “I couldn’t sleep... I feel restless remembering that I had done him wrong, that I had made him cry and not knowing why. I wanted to seek the reason and say I’m sorry.”

“Then why don’t visit the Kents?”

Damian’s whole body tensed, “No, I can’t. Something this trivial, I can’t possibly-”

“It certainly isn’t trivial for you if you can’t sleep because of it.”

“It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t bother them for something like this.”

Sighing, Bruce puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, “They’ve asked about you whenever I met them, they care about you enough to worry. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

Damian bites his lips, still hesitant, “You think so?”

“I know so, I’ll call them to expect you.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it myself. They still live in the same apartment?”

“No, they live in their farmhouse permanently now.”

“Thank you, I’ll call them after our deal is done,” Damian stated.

“They’ll welcome you, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Even so, Damian can’t stop the uneasiness piled up in his chest, “I hope so.”

tbc

[travelingonashoestring]

Coconut Hunting In Florida

Addie had one request. “I would like to find a coconut. Crack it. Drink the juice and eat it.” 

This seemed simple enough. The streets all over Fort Lauderdale were riddled with coconut trees. Little did I know this would lead me to our first and only encounter with the Florida police department. 

It all started with a caged off park in a upscale neighborhood where we decided to park. Padlocks and caution tape surrounding the playground let any of those who may not have already been aware that play was strictly off limits during Covid. 

Parking the car we grabbed a single bag and began exploring the neighborhood with the now 5 year old and 2 year old in tough. To say it is easy to meander ANYWHERE with a 2 year old in tow would be a lie. Though the clock didn’t read 8 am yet the Florida heat had already begun to make Dawson sweat. 

Luckily only about ½ mile down the paved path we came to a grove of coconut trees one having lost a branch leaving a feast of about 10 coconuts littering the ground. The coconuts were green. In my head coconuts are supposed to be brown but my 5-year old, Addie, was not aware of this fact so we celebrated our lucky booty. 

I filled our bag and she grabbed the vine of coconuts dragging it along the path it being almost as big as she was. Walking near the road cars began to slow down watching our slow progress of a mother with her two kids dragging a large supply of coconuts through the swanky neighborhood where they clearly did not belong. 

Apparently we so clearly did not belong a police car that had just slowly passed us flipped a U-turn and started driving next to me. My mind raced and I began to wonder if perhaps urban foraging for coconuts was illegal in the state of Florida. My husband would have a field day if this turned out to be the case. 

We have a continuous debate of the ethics behind picking fruit on trees that hang over on sidewalks, I believe it is on public domain, he on the other hand takes the hide road and says if it is not ours it is not ours. 

The officer started a casual conversation and I tried to play it cool, he was blocking traffic on the one lane street so he completely pulled off the road in order to continue our conversation. 

He asked where we were from and then added, “are you from Utah?” 

Confused I wondered how he knew until he said my shirt said I (Heart) SLC. He confirmed that SLC was Salt Lake City. Several years back he used to work has a police officer in Draper and still goes back on a regular basis to hike and enjoy the mountains. 

He just wanted to give us some advice on what to see while we were here. He wished my daughter Happy Birthday, she announced the importance of what the day was, and finally I had to break off the conversation because trying to wrangle in two kids so I could continue to chat with a cop ended up too challenging of a task. 

Well, disaster averted and the hunt for coconuts was a successful one. Both the meat and milk of the donut was sweet, turns out though Addie hates coconuts. Still a birthday wish come true. 

[667-darkavenue]

young legends die all the time (part one.)

i havent shared any of my writing in a while so in my traditional style, i’ll share a WIP in the middle of the night. this is an allurance gang au. despite the title, no one actually dies.

The royal families were something of a myth for Lance when he was growing up.

“Never cross that street,” his mom hissed, squeezing the wrist she’d just yanked him back by.

“Why?” he whined, from both pain and petulance.

“If the Witch sees little boys from our side of town, she steals them and eats them.” She said it like a matter of fact. “Our side is safe.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause the King watches over us, papi.”

The parents of this torn city desperately needed some way to hammer in hard lessons to their children without breaking their innocence. When he was older, Lance would wonder if that’s the reason why everything to do with the royal families was given such whimsical language. But while he was a kid, it totally worked.

“Wanna play Druids and Paladins?” His friends would ask in the schoolyard.

The children flipped a penny to decide who would play the leaders, then the pretend-Witch and pretend-King would choose their teams. Sometimes the weapons were water balloons, or nerf guns, or just two fingers pointed at their opponents with a ‘Bang!’

This had an unintended consequence their parents didn’t account for. As far back as Lance could remember, he always wanted to be a paladin.

Fresh out of high school, he got a job at the same restaurant as his best friend. Unfortunately, they never saw each other. Hunk worked all the way at the back of the kitchen and Lance didn’t even work inside the place. He stood out front, opened doors to cars that pulled in, and took them to valet parking.

That’s how he became friends with the finest girl in the world.

Within his first few days on the job, a white Bentley pulled into the driveway. An older man sat in the driver’s seat and a cascade of thick hair bent down in the passenger side, probably fishing a purse out from around her feet. Lance opened the door from her side first, offering a hand to help the lady out. She took it with barely glance at him, sweeping a bit of silvery hair out of the way as she slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped out of the car. It was a fancy restaurant with fancy clientele, but something about the casual way people interacted with Lance as if valets weren’t anything out of the ordinary for them never stopped catching him off guard. This girl though. She paused once she was on her feet and got a proper look at him. And he got a good look at her too. Oh shit, she’s gorgeous.

She pulled her hand away from his. “You’re new.”

She’s got an accent!!!!

“You can tell?” Lance’s chest pounded. “What’d I do?”

The smile she gave him was a small one, but it still crinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes. “Nothing.”

Her father, who was also striking to look at, came around from the other side of the car. Side by side, the pair smelled like money and oozed sophistication.

He passed Lance the keys and noted, “You’re new.”

“Yeah,” Lance answered, voice devastated at how obvious it apparently was.

Father and daughter shared an amused look, a silent inside joke, between each other. They didn’t bother to fill Lance in, either. Without a word, they entered the restaurant.

It didn’t take long to get somewhat familiar with them. Her father was a regular there and tipped a ten every time. Naturally, Lance adored him. The dad had to like him back, right?

The restaurant had a round table that was never given to customers under any circumstances, no matter how packed the night was. It was always left open so that just in case that father or his daughter walked in, they could be seated right away. Even if they didn’t show up for ten nights in a row, the table would stay empty. Like they were phantoms of the freaking opera.

They used it now and then for private father-daughter dinners. More often, it was used to hold meetings with all manner of people. People in suits, people in sweats, local government officials, guys with face tattoos. Lance got a signal from the hostess whenever the round table’s dinner was drawing to a close, so that their Bentley would be ready and waiting the moment they stepped outside. All the other normal customers needed to hand Lance a ticket and stand outside while he fetched their car.

One night, the finest girl in the world stepped out early. The swoosh of the front door brought the chatter of the restaurant outside. Lance’s heart jumped into his throat when he realized it was her.

“Oh! Sorry, I don’t have your car ready,” He blurted, a little flustered. “Romelle usually gives me a sign to get ready for you guys.”

The door swung closed behind her, muffling the din inside and leaving them alone in the dim stillness of the driveway. “It’s alright. We aren’t leaving.”

She walked a few steps closer to the edge of the driveway, looking out at the road. Lance had no idea what she was doing or what he was supposed to be doing. A silent pause stretched between them.

She looked back toward him. “What is the sign?”

“The wha?” “You said you get a signal when she knows we’re finishing up.”

“Oh. It’s—Uh—Kind of a joke.”

She raised her eyebrows, urging him on without a word.

“She says,” Lance reluctantly admitted, “The british are coming.”

He laughed halfway through, ‘cause it was so dumb.

It got a chuckle out of the finest girl in the world, as well. “But she’s British as well.”

“I know,” Lance snorted.

He could see the round table through the restaurant’s front window if he stood in the right spot. Lance craned his neck to scope out the situation. Her dad was still sitting down over coffee with three old white guys.

“Things get awkward at the table or what?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just so boring I wanted to fall asleep on the tablecloth. I think some fresh air will wake me up.” Her heels clacked on the pavement as she paced in small circles.

“Yeah, I feel that. You have no idea how much time I spend just waiting out here by myself.”

“At least it’s not stressful.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s fine. I think I’d rather be doing something stressful, but c’est la vie.” “You should’ve been a waiter, then.”

“I tried, but I had no serving experience. So they turned me down and offered this instead.”

She crossed her arms and stepped a little closer. “What experience do you have?”

Lance started listing them with his fingers. “I’m a good driver, good talker—”

“Oh, are you?” “You’re still here, so better than those guys.” With a jerk of his chin, Lance pointed with his lips to the inside of the restaurant.

She looked at her father’s table with the smallest curl lingering at the corner of her lips. She looked back at Lance. “I’m Allura, by the way.”

“I’m Lance.”

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“You didn’t get very far in listing your skills.”

“Oh, right.” Lance lifted a third finger and continued, “Good kisser...”

She rolled her eyes and raised a hand over her mouth to cover another laugh.

The sound emboldened Lance. “Any chance I could get your number, Allura?”

“Oh, of course.”

His entire face lit up.

She reached into her purse, but did not pull out her phone. In her hand was the valet slip, held between two fingers.

“We’re number twenty five.” She grinned, a little bit playful and a little bit wicked.

Lance’s favorite nights were when Allura came in. If work slowed down, he’d slink over to the window and watch her sip illegal champagne from her flute. Not in, like, a creepy way. There was just something nice about getting to see the finest girl in the world on a somewhat regular basis. This kind of serene, sighing, ‘ahhhhh’ feeling behind his ribs. Not unlike the way it feels to get a nice long look at the ocean on a clear day.

On a good night, Allura would come outside while her dad was still wrapping up conversation at the table or having long, drawn-out goodbyes at the entrance. She’d lean against the car and talk to Lance until it was time to go.

He asked her out once. She said no. He asked her if she was sure the next night. She said yes. But she still liked to come out and talk to him for a few minutes after dinner, so no harm done.

Sometimes she came in without her dad at all, to have some drinks with her friends around the end of Lance’s shift. She’d beckon him inside to join them when closing time was near and her table was the only one still occupied. He had to drive her back home once. Of course, that meant he needed to leave her car there and walk forty minutes back to his own home at midnight. But that was fine. Lance lived on the nice side of town. The side where crime just didn’t happen. Parents could let their children play outside while they cleaned inside. Girls could walk home alone at night. People who tried to start shit mysteriously disappeared. And the victims who got messed with were always paid back for their losses in mysterious ways.

When he was thirteen, someone broke into Lance’s home. After a sweep of the house, his mom’s jewelry box and his dad’s one nice watch were the only things missing. There wasn’t much else worth taking. His parents blamed themselves for thinking they didn’t need better security than a lock on the door. A few days after they filed the police report, his mom got a call directly from the local pawn shop. They had all her missing jewelry and the watch and wanted to return it to her, free of charge. She had to go pick it up directly from the shop. Not the police station.

Anyway, everyone’s tragic stories took place far from the restaurant’s neighborhood. The muggings, the assaults, the missing persons—All of it happened beyond the streets his mother had told him never to cross.

But after a year of working there, something happened.

That one familiar Bentley pulled up to the restaurant in something of a hurry. Lance had never seen Allura’s dad brake hard before. He opened the passenger door for her, as always. He offered his gloved hand to help her step out of the car, then closed it behind her and went around the hood to take the keys from her father.

Alfor gripped Lance’s arm when he passed the keys. “Don’t take any cars you don’t recognize tonight. Tell them we are closed for a private event.”

“Sure. You got it.”

“There’s something for you in the glove compartment. I want you to take it and hold onto it.”

He nodded and tried not to look as puzzled as he felt. Alfor gave him a pat on the back and finally released Lance’s arm. A little frazzled, Lance hopped into the driver’s seat and immediately reached for the glove compartment.

The passenger door flung open and Allura dove into the seat. “Wait!”

She slammed both hands over Lance’s, shoving the compartment shut before he could take a look inside. She kept one hand there while the other scrambled to clumsily shut the door behind her.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” Lance was getting nervous and his voice was rising.

“You don’t need to get involved.” Allura gently pried his fingers away from the glove compartment handle. She shifted to sit sideways so that her body could face him. She clutched his hand in both of hers. “You can walk away. Nothing will happen to you.”

“Walk away from...? What is in there?”

Her eyes were so bright and they gave Lance an intense look that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of at all. “Allura. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“I know. It’s not fair.”

“But I wanna be involved.” God, his palm was probably getting sweaty between her soft hands. “I wanna be your friend. I want to be here when something’s wrong.”

She shook her head. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Look, there’s literally nothing that would make me walk away from you right now. Or ever.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope.”

“Lance, that is…” Allura released his hand. “Just… So unwise.”

“No, it isn’t!”

She scoffed, a helpless little huff of breath through her nostrils.

“What’s in there?” He asked again.

Slowly, Allura reached out and pulled the glove compartment open. It was empty except for a swathe of blue velvet cloth wrapped around something. Lance leaned over and reached across Allura, into the compartment. He unfolded the cloth in his lap, revealing a gorgeous, ornate pistol. The kind known members of the royal family’s paladins were rumored to carry around. The King’s crest was gilded into the handle. It might as well have been a legend to Lance.

part two ==>

[ryouverua]

Kirumi Tojo FTE - (Kaede #1)

“It would be a shame to die on an empty, unsatisfied stomach.”

That’s actually a good question. This is a sealed space, after all, and they have to come from somewhere.

Kaede has spent half of this chapter being hungry lmao

Even now, after the big reveal, thinking about how they managed to get perishable food in is pretty interesting. When I’d been speculating originally, most of them involved it being a sealed area with the students/captors relying on them being able to be self-sufficient in some way? There was a lot of greenery, they had machinery, lots of open space to potentially grow things but it also seemed like they had to have been bringing stuff in from outside of the end wall...

But no, it was a show small-scale or truly global is still up to debate but yeah. Assuming this wasn’t a VR world, and considering how we literally managed to figure out that the mastermind was one of the 16 students (that this was a sealed space), they were going to have to get the food in here somehow. That could actually lend well to the idea of it being fine out there, and them having the resources to bring in all sorts of high-quality food for the students? From what I remember, Kirumi was able to create a lot of interesting dishes for them, and even seems to have been able to diversify them based on the likes and dislikes of each students, which seems to imply them having a whole system set up to deliver food on a regular basis, as well as them having the funds to customize as well? Just some food for thought badum tsssh

someone really needs to stop me

again I must emphasize that I did not give her her own gloves, literally the same gloves that gave her away and ultimately sentenced her to death

I forgot that she has the same voice actor as Virgilia whoops lol

Holy shit did that come off as unintentionally brutal to anyone else or is that just me -

people always ask how to romanize my name, ‘tojo’ or ‘toujo’, and I always tell them the same thing - ‘how dare you speak to me’

“Why does someone climb a mountain, Kirumi? Because it’s there.”

Oh god, what a depressing life that must be. I mean, I know it’s her whole talent and basically encompasses her everything, but the idea of only ever expecting people to approach you because they want or need something...

.... I can.... see, maybe, why she would be able to put some cognitive distance between herself and the others. It’s like some weird, bizarre superiority complex, in that by serving everyone she almost has power over them?

Mind you, I don’t know if I’d have reached all these conclusions without the experience of Chapter 2 behind me, but I have to say it’s really neat to read these now after-the-fact.

THAT A GIRL KAEDE

She’s baffled, damn.

Interesting how she still turns it into a ‘request’, though. Hmm... does she really not know how to operate outside of the ‘maid’ paradigm?

One step at a time, Kaede. She really is a ‘fixer’ type of person, huh?

KAEDE FKSDLJG

This is hilarious - is she talking about general demeanor? Colour scheme? Hobbies? Interests? Hairstyles?? You’ve barely talked, do you know that for a fact? I mean, have you not been showing a lot of interest in our other resident monochrome quiet kid, Shuichi?!

She actually took out a notebook???

...............

Why are so many of her FTEs bringing up food.

O-Okay, I mean, I guess we’re in the kitchen... but still.

Well shit now I wonder if anyone had allergies and if that could have been a potential problem or way to kill someone?

How much do you bet there’s been at least one peanut allergy that has been weaponized in the past -

and honestly I know so many people with allergy issues - like, huge ones - like all seeds and nuts, etc, and they’d be so fucked in this setting tbh

Wait, really? Not a single one? Not a hankering for chocolate or a dislike of eel or something? Nothing?!

That is so on-brand for a protagonist that you’re supposed to be able to project onto lmao

alas

no seriously how could you not have any food preferences whatsoever -

.... Buckwheat pillows are a thing???

WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING lmao I’m going full hostile here

The idea of Kaede getting all riled up over the most milquetoast questions is hilarious.

‘Wow Kaede I can’t believe you saw through my devious plan to smother all of my classmates with their favourite pillows -’

SHE LAUGHED

I’M LIVING

Finally a crack in the veneer!

I know right?!

Okay, onto less paranoid answers! Though given how Kaede ended up acting post-timeline announcement, a more paranoid Kaede isn’t exactly out of character... but anyway!

“Because,” flips notebook, “we have a lot to cover here. Air freshener scents, shampoos, the ideal housekeeping time, morning tea or coffee and the preferred brew -”

To be fair, there’s not exactly a hostile way of taking these questions, right?

.... Right?

Kaede, shaking Kirumi vigorously: “WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING -”

She always looks so intense when she’s saying things like this, damn. You will take her service, damn it, and you will enjoy it and benefit from it -

..... And now, onto the last (and kind of dumb but in a cute way) answer!

Thanks for the input, Kaede!

More importantly it’s important that your head is well-supported so you don’t mess up your neck. Honestly, you just underestimate the importance of a well-cared-for neck until it’s all strained and tight. 8′)

What, are you going to design, sew and hand-stuff the pillows themselves? Where are you going to get the things needed for that?

.... How much is in that warehouse exactly?!?!

You said it yourself! Pillows are important!

Ah, she really does take this all very seriously...

Seriously, her talent may be one of the few that seem to be engaged at all times. I mean, everyone else is informed by their talents - their personalities, their attitudes, and maybe their more passive thoughts - but she’s the only one who never seems to have an off-switch. That’s... pretty awful? And all-consuming? I’d say if it works for her it’s okay, but it... really... didn’t, in the end. It led to her making some pretty cold decisions in the end.

it’s okay kirumi you can tell us you like kaede and shuichi the best and kokichi and miu the least

well up until the end of trial 2 for shuichi anyway lmao

1) Maki, Miu and Kokichi would be hell to ask about even basic questions like these

2) I suddenly, desperately want to know what Korekiyo’s answers are to some of these things because I bet they’d be hilarious

3) How many bug- and wilderness- related concessions will she have to make for Gonta to feel comfortable

4) Will she have to talk Kaito down from attempting to go with something similar to Eau d’Axe Bodyspray for his room

kaede is just another client to her feelsbadman

So. Did her caring nature grow with her talent? Her talent must have grown from her own initial inclinations, but it seems like a lot of it is also from her hyper-competency, right? That’s what defines her as an Ultimate.

... Does she solely like ‘taking care of people’? Thinking of, for example, Kaito - who vicariously lives through his ‘sidekicks’ - does she get her pleasure from the job from seeing them succeed? There’s definitely some selfishness wrapped up in here (chapter 2), and I’m kinda... hoping it’ll be explored a bit more. A lot of the most interesting parts of her characters really did come out in the later stages, so I’m wondering if we’re going to see hints of that soon. Maybe Kaede can quiz her back or something! and who the hell knows how Shuichi’s will go tbh

I guess we did a bit? This did feel more like a client-relationship, but I guess it’s something?

‘The mothering type’ I cannot believe -

and so it begins.