#and so she spent the next 2 years biding her time and pretending to be the perfect daughter so she could gather the resources to escape

[netripper]

a timeline of baby vic on the commune

16 - 17 - 18

[lymskr]

stats: Declan Grímnir Thorirsson McAuliffe, 29 (b. October 9th, 1990.) he/his (cis.) species: human occupation: musician working the nearby ski lodges & hotels / hunter

alignment: somewhere between lawful evil and chaotic neutral.

+ charming. observant. driven. adept. loyal. – ruthless. deceptive. reticent. calculating. macabre.

lymskr old Norse – ‘cunning’, ‘wily’. intelligent malevolence. an underlying sense of ill intent. danger lurking in the undertow. eyes unseen in the woods somewhere.

aesthetic

taller than god. speaking of; 'heathen devil’. monochrome tattoos. a circle of nine spears for odin on his arm. the grim mask of death. a sacred quest. a hollow future. choice as an act of vengeance. choice as an act of love. to hear the choir of gods as you creep through ancient woods. to follow the old ways, the old law. singing in tongues, lucid. dreaming awake, lost.

history

( tw physical/verbal child abuse, patricide, cult mentions, murder, mentions of arranged marriage. tl;dr at the end )

1.

He watches as the floating pyre burns, firelight dancing across the surface of the water. His mother is crying; his siblings, too. It’s the funeral of a king, he knows, to be set aflame like this, caught between sea and fire, earth and sky. It’s also a way to ensure the dead cannot walk again. That nothing might return from where it shouldn’t – and as he stands there, amidst the misery and smoke-black grief of his family and kindred, he finds himself daring his father to come back.

I’d do it again. I’d make you fucking suffer, second time around.

The proverbial throne is his, the kingdom and crown, the sword and the sceptre. He doesn’t want it.

When the time comes for the sjaund, the grave-ale at the end of a week he’s spent pretending to mourn a man who doesn’t deserve the effort – at the end of a week where they all expect him to become the new head of the family – Declan does what no one thought him capable of:

He spits in the face of his legacy, his bloodline, and tells them he’s leaving.

2.

They spent that August looking for signs. Freyja might reveal herself in the flight of falcons; Freyr in a good harvest. Rán and Ægir if the waves sweeping the shore grew heavy. A fall of white petals standing in for snow in the late-summer heat as a sign of Skadi. In truth, Aidan Thorir McAuliffe hoped his firstborn might be born to thunder and sheaves of lightning, making them – himself – twice-blessed by Thor. But none came. No one revealed themselves. Not until their son was born with a caul on the ninth day of October did they know who had chosen their child; why the rest had not made themselves apparent.

It was an omen of Odin’s favor.

They named him Grímnir, for an old facet of Odin – Grímnir, masked one, fitting for a boy born in the caul. The first in three generations to be chosen by the One-Eyed himself, Declan’s birth was an auspicious sign for the McAuliffes. By all accounts, it was the highest of honors, to have a child born beneath the watchful eye of the Allfather.

And yet it earned him his father’s ire. He has spent a lifetime wondering if it was jealousy or fear that left those scars on his back, that drove his father’s knuckles into a fist, into a hand clenched around whichever weapon would hurt – but not kill – his son. Did you think you were driving me towards greatness, or were you hoping you could break me?

3.

For as long as there have been beasts in the woods, there have been hunters to kill them. It is an old story – an old law. For centuries, his family has followed an Seanreacht, lines stretching from Massachusetts back to Ireland all the way to the ancient Norse. The old law encompasses the modern remnants of the Ulfheðnar: the ‘wolf coats’. What word survived of them among outsiders is that that they were berserkers, dressed in nothing but wolf pelts as they went into battle – all to honor Odin, the One-Eyed, the Allfather, the leader of the Wild Hunt.

The truth is that they slew werewolves. The grey pelts adorning their shoulders had once been people.

4.

Among those following an Seanreacht in the States, the McAuliffes are admired and feared in equal turn for their single-minded obsession, for the way they raise their children and keep the old ways. Their life is devotion: to the gods, to the hunt, to the songs and the stories. As the firstborn of the main house, Declan’s fate had been carefully laid out – he would devote himself to the cause or break before it; he would marry appropriately, and when the time came, he would take over. Not once did he struggle against it – for years, he did everything he could think of to live up to weight of his future. He let himself be hammered and bent into form; bore the brunt of his father’s expectations and cruelty without complaint. He was his father’s son in name, and at convenience; in theory and in blood – but he was not his father’s son, he was his father’s tool, blunt or sharp depending on the need.

Talent is innate, but skill is forged. It was his father’s favorite saying, and Declan wishes it didn’t come with the memory of his back bleeding, stinging as though he’d been set on fire. Punishment was a lesson he learned early – but that didn’t stop the lessons from coming, again and again.

Not until Brighid Nolan was taken in by his family did Declan so much as stop to pause at the way he’d been raised – and even then, it was not so much a pause as a moment’s stutter, because all he had known was life under his father’s thumb. What scraps they got of a childhood were spent on a petty rivalry that turned to bloodied, bruised understanding – and then Brighid left.

Funny, that. An omen all her own.

5.

It is winter, and it is dark, and he is a blade.

(No, that’s not right.)

It is winter, and it is dark, and he is pointing his rifle at his father, because a wolf has bit him, and his father takes it with grace, as an Seanreacht dictates. It’s a kind death, one befitting his foremost teacher–

(… No. That’s not right, either.)

It is winter, and it is dark, and his father is begging for his life. Slobbering, cursing, as he tells Declan of a cure, as he tells Declan that he cannot kill him, that he must listen to his father, and not the old ways, do as you’re fucking told, I won’t die here, boy–

It is winter, and it is dark, and his father begins to run, like he thinks the Allfather might stop the bite from taking. Like he thinks Declan didn’t learn a damn thing, all those years spent being broken into whatever shape suited his father best. Like he thinks Declan doesn’t remember the lessons.

He exhales.

He shoots.

(In the hands of his maker, he became a formidable weapon.)

6.

The wolf escaped his father’s aim, but Declan drags a corpse back to the compound all the same. The rites are due to begin any day when Brighid calls.

(She’s crying. It’s an unfamiliar sound.)

He cannot tell you why he did it. He likes to think of himself as a logical man, and, by all accounts, wrecking his future was not logical. With logic gone, what remained? Grief. Resentment, maybe; a shining, hateful moment of spite. Loyalty, wretched and wrong, for someone who left, no less. Love, unspeakable.

He comes home with a traitor, brandishing scars that match; comes home bound in blood to a woman who is not his fiancée, and all that stops them from burning the mark of the blood oath off his skin is that he is his father’s son.

Funny, that. How things work out.

7.

They leave, and they do not look back. His family and his bride to be think it’s the work of grief – are prepared to forgive him for his transgressions, are prepared to let him have this for the next few weeks. But weeks turn to months turn to a year, and then another, and another. He fields calls. Tells them that he won’t invoke odelsrett; that he has no intention of taking over.

They keep calling.

8.

They left, and they didn’t look back. But faith is a complicated thing, and it’s been ingrained in him since birth. There are things he has seen he doesn’t have an answer for. He knows the world well enough to have reached the conclusion that if there’s such a thing as werewolves, it wouldn’t be so strange for there to be gods and other creatures out there. And so he still sings the songs, carves the effigies, finds comfort in the habit of it all, even if he cannot decide if the echo sounds hollow or not.

9.

He remains bound to her by blood, by choice, by the things they do not speak. They’ve come to Blackrock for their quarry, for the one that stole from her – but winter’s stalking closer, and with it, wolves. So they bide their time, as the cold creeps closer. He sings the songs, and carves the effigies, and remains a hunter true.

tl;dr

– raised as a Norse-flavoured cultist in an abusive home – killed his own father – was the firstborn heir; abandoned the calling for Brighid – a traitor to their cult – also, blood oath. bound to Brighid 4 life – now they travel the States killing werewolves, and Santí is at the top of their list

wanted connections

(john mulaney voice) he’s NEW IN TOWN

Declan’s looking for information, as winter nears – to that end, he’s relatively friendly, even charming, in how he approaches people. (He wants to suss out hunters and wolves alike.) He’s 6′5″, otherwise known as ‘so tall it’s terrible’, but has a way about him that makes you forget how intimidating that can be – until he wants you to remember. 

As he is indeed NEW IN TOWN, i’m simply looking to Vibe–– some quick ideas:

– MUSE B hears him playing at a nearby ski lodge; thinks that’s real neat – ....... i swear i’ll come up with more ideas but i mean honestly let’s just vibe, babey

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 27)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3

Part 28: here

MYSTERY POV

  Mystery watches his youngest charge, Vivi Yukino, strangle her new vehicle's steering wheel and is disproportionately concerned. Human emotional drama is an unfortunately common occurrence and, in his experience, rarely leads to any significant long-term consequences. Usually, its effects are fleeting and far beneath his interests.

  When had that changed?

  Mystery resists an inclination to climb onto Vivi's lap least he risks distracting her and causing an accident. Instead, he watches, somewhat at a loss, while she glares at the road, tense and obviously worried for her missing friend's wellbeing. The lack of room in the compact truck cab has Mystery squashed between the two humans, giving him a good view of both as they stew in silence, discontent rolling off them in angry waves. Lewis, equally upset by their third member's sudden departure, is staring obsessively at the note Arthur had left behind. Not a habit which denotes a healthy mindset from what Mystery understands. Fortunately, he does not have to worry about distracting Lewis, and he leans his full weight into the other. His leaning gets him a scratch on the head but nothing more. An internal sigh and a minor physical huff of exasperation. There is not a lot a dog can do in these situations aside from offer small comforts. The movement does have the additional desired effect of catching Vivi's attention. Her eyes flick in their direction. A few minutes later and they are pulling into a gas station.

  "Lewis. It's your turn to drive," Vivi orders, bringing the truck to a stop next to the appropriate pump. Lewis hastily hides the note and Mystery wonders who he thinks he is fooling with the action.

  "Sure. Sorry. Didn't realise we'd been on the road for so long. I would have offered sooner." There is some shuffling while everyone clambers onto solid ground, Vivi waving away the apology.

  "Don't worry about it. I kind of like it. It feels like I'm driving a tractor around with how high up it is. You know, when compared to the van."

  She holds the door for Mystery to exit. There is a convenient patch of grass adjacent to the gas station, and he knows what she wants of him. One of the few downsides to this dog form is the prerequisite that the humans meet his dog needs. At times such as these, he wishes that the youngest Yukino were aware of his true nature to save her from the additional, unneeded pressure. Luckily, Mystery is probably the best, most well-behaved, dog in existence because he's done and jumping back into the truck before Lewis has finished refuelling.

  "Where are you going?" Lewis asks after Vivi, catching her sleeve when she shuts the door on him and turns towards the gas station's attached burger stand. Mystery watches the humans share their small affectionate touches through the closed cab window. There has been a significant increase in this touchy-feely behaviour. Another indicator that all is not well.

  "I'm just grabbing breakfast. Lunch. Or whatever," Vivi answers, walking backward a few steps, "You keep filling her up. I'll get the grub."

  Lewis nods, "Don't get me anything with meat."

  "You're paranoid," Vivi snorts, moving away.

  "If you worked in a diner you'd be paranoid too. Not everyone is as clean as my parents," Lewis calls at her retreating form.

  "Give a wave when you're done so I can pay for the gas as well," Is Vivi light response. Mystery observes Lewis's dementor deflate the moment Vivi is out of sight. The tall human is staring blankly at the petrol pump, mind obviously far from the task. Mystery places his paws near the window ledge, drawing close to the glass to get a better view. He does not believe he has ever seen the human in such a melancholic state, slumped and drooping. Concerning.

  Ding. The pump clicks off, and Lewis does not seem to notice. Mystery, after another mental sigh, gives a loud yip to catch attention. Honestly, these human emotional states seemed to be as much a hindrance as they were a benefit. 

  Vivi returns not moments later with several packets of fries and three burgers, of which he is fed several meat paddies. All his dog food is gone with the van. It's not a terrible loss, dog food being a close contender for the worst part of being a dog.  

  As they return to the highway, Mystery can't help but admit that, as much as would criticise humans for their erratic and illogical behaviour, this disturbance has affected him in ways he could not have anticipated. When had Mystery lost that impartial distance, carefully cultivated and maintained over decades of human interactions? When had he started to care for the humans he had long sworn himself to? It has crept upon him like the summer fading slowly to autumn. All those blissful years spent pretending to be a dog and getting showed with attention and affection has blinded him to winters approach. This sense of attachment and concern is more binding than any oath.

  Of course, like many of his failures, it is only after the fact and long past the point of return, that he realises his blunder. Mystery cannot deny that he has grown to care. He cares not only for Vivi, a quirk he can attribute to duty, but also for her friends to which he has no obligation. Not only does he care, he cares immensely, about both their physical and emotional wellbeing. It is a grave misstep for a being of his longevity.

  Nevertheless, there is nothing to be done now but proceed according to his new priorities. It is a shame that he had not fully realised these priorities before Arthur's flight. Mystery, being the only one to have reason to suspect supernatural foul play, could have perhaps acted to prevent it. After Arthur's bright golden aura had simultaneously doubled in strength while also dulling in colour overnight, Mystery had been on the lookout for some form of interference. The sudden reduction of loving pets, riveting games of fetch-the-stick, and instances of Arthur chattering at him about his current interests,  also pointed towards Arthur having realised Mystery's secret. An unfortunate encounter with another being like himself fit somewhat in explaining the sudden aversion to all things supernatural.

  Mystery has been biding his time while he worked to discover the extent of the human's new knowledge. He had planned on pulling Arthur aside to offer an explanation, belay any understandable fear, and perhaps find a cause behind his changing aura. Now it is too late, and Mystery is left hoping that Arthur's abrupt exit is a result of human silliness and not something more sinister.

  "Viv, can you pull up a map to the hospital. I think that's the sign for the exit," Lewis's deeper voice breaks the silence which has been sitting about them like an itchy blanket for the past several hours. A quick glance at Vivi's watch tells Mystery that it is almost 5 pm and they have been on the road for almost four hours since their last stop. His dog body has gone stiff with disuse. Usually, he would play up his dog persona and whine for a break. Today, he lets the façade rest, if only minimally.

  "Oh yeah. Sure," Vivi pulls out her phone and begins typing, "We've been past the hospital a load of times. It's in the middle of town on the far side of Milton High. Near the university and that new research centre."

  As she talks, she pulls up the map, and, finding no space for on the cab's cramped dashboard, holds it out for Lewis to see.

  "I know," Lewis's eyes flicker to the phone and back to the road. The indicator for the turn signal is flipped on. "But I don't think I've ever actually been to the hospital. And this truck is harder to drive than the van, so there's more risk of me taking a wrong turn and getting lost."  

  Vivi nods in agreement, exhaling, propping up her arm so she can continue to hold the phone for Lewis, "You know, I bet this truck is close to the same weight as the van when you add up all the crap we carry around, but the van handles a million times smoother. Wonder why that is?"

  "Arthur does work on it obsessively. Maybe that has something to do with it?" Lewis points out before lapsing into silence his face pinched up in that strained way it does when he thinks of something unpleasant. Silence once again falls over the group.

  A traffic jam only servers to sour already frayed nerves, making Vivi jitterily and irritable and Lewis increasingly dourer. Thankfully, the negative vibes put out by the humans mostly disperses upon Vivi pointing out their destination fast approaching on the horizon. The pick-up truck, being too long for any of the hospital's provided parking, means they are forced to circle the block several times over. They find a rest space outdoors, and a five-minute walk from their destination. Mystery watches in slight bewilderment as the humans take exemptional offence to the setback. More erratic human behaviour. Concerning.

  The sooner they find their third member, the sooner all his charges can re-establish an equilibrium amongst each other, allowing his own worry and concern to abate. Then- after seeing to whatever supernatural force is interfering with Arthur-he can begin restoring his distance. As much as Mystery has adored watching this small group grow into a family unit, building their positive emotional bonds and being included among them, these erratically negative mood shifts are a harsh reminder that humans are as fickle as they are short-lived.

  Mystery releases a tiered snuff, allowing Vivi to carry him against her chest, to hasten the crossing of several intersections all crawling with various forms of transport. Humans did have a tendency towards packing themselves onto smaller and smaller plots of land.  

  "Excuse me! Mam! Madam!"

  Their entry into the hospital is barred by a thin man in uniform grey. The stranger steps suddenly into Vivi's path and Mystery has half a mind to growl in annoyance.

  "There are no animals allowed in the hospital. You'll have to leave the dog outside."

  "What," Vivi almost barges straight into the stranger, and Mystery feels her grip tighten slightly in irritation, "Crap. Right. Forgot about that."

  She swears again under her breath. Once again, Mystery is reminded of this form's disadvantages. Like the now fretting Vivi, he too forgets that dogs are often not welcome into human buildings.

  "You go ahead," Vivi is speaking to Lewis, who hovers to the side, "I'll take Mystery back to the truck."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yeah. Go find Arthur. That's more important. This should only take me ten minutes."

  When Lewis hesitates for a second too long she continues with a sympathetic hum, "I'll probably beat you to the room anyway, even with a head start. Hospitals are like mazes and your sense of direction is terrible."  

  A disgruntled but amused frown follows the joke. Lewis protests briefly, "That's a bit unfair. I only got lost once," turning. He continues into the building while Vivi spins, a few choice words of discontent directed at the still staring security guard, and powerwalks back in the direction they'd just come. They cut across several roads, dodging people and cars alike.

  It is not until they are back at the pick-up truck, Vivi having placed him on the ground so she can retrieve keys, that Mystery smells the tangy scent of a human who has had dealings with creatures not of this plane. A quick glance around and it is easy to spot the offending person. The man's aura is warped and stained in several places, and he's watching Vivi from several paces away. Mystery immediately lets out a small growl to alert Vivi to the potential danger. Usually, he would ignore such tainted humans, their presence, while not common, is hardly strange. Humans had an unfortunate tendency towards messing around with forces beyond their understanding. Today, with all the drama, he is on edge.

  Vivi's attention snaps to him and then to their surroundings in search of his enacted distress. The man, wearing a scuffed leather jacket and donning an aggressive expression, pushes himself forward upon their combined attention. Mystery notes the wrappings and sling, holding one arm secured, signalling severe injury.  The smell of blood and infection confirms his suspicion. With a significant amount of facial bruising, this man is looking awfully mangled in Mystery's expert opinion.

  "Hey. You got a moment?" The beat-up human asks in a gruff voice. Mystery growls from down by Vivi's feet to discourage any potential aggression. The action gets him a quick once over and nothing more.

  "Saw you arrive with that dude in purple, spotin the purple hair-do. He doesn't work at that weird-ass diner in Tempo, does he? Called 'Pepper and salt' or whatever."

  "Do I know you?" Vivi asks shorty, putting both hands on her hips, glaring.

  The action gets a grunted, "No. But you might know the guy I'm after.  Goes by the name of Arthur. That ring any bells?"

NOTE: Guess which character it is! Just kidding, there's only one supporting character left alive at this point (unless you count Claire the receptionist) so not a huge pool to guess from. Note to self: introduce larger supporting cast in early chapters.   Anyway, thanks for the comments on the last part it was genuinely encouraging to see people enjoying sections with heavier character introspection. I wasn't sure about this Mystery POV, so thanks again for giving me the push needed to finish it off.   On a somewhat related note, sorry about the wait between parts, it's that time of the semester where everything is due, so updates on this fic are going to be super slow for the next few months.  Trust me when I say that I'd pick writing fanfiction over work, essays and exam study any day of the week :(

Part 28: here

[ccyans]

How would the kids react if rei divorced enji canonically and started dating another guy?

1.

“Uh,” said Shouto, and then rewound the past thirty seconds of conversation back through his head. “I. Uh. Are you sure?”

Next to him on the park bench, his mother beamed.

“Of course! He said he wanted to meet you,” she informed him. She looked splendidly happy, much more than Shouto had seen her in – well, actually, this would explain his mother’s sudden upturn in mood the past month.

Shouto’s icepop was beginning to drip onto his knuckles from the summer heat. He paid it no attention; there was a much more imminent problem currently staring at him in the face.

“He… did,” he said, very slowly.  

His mother’s smile was still blinding. Shouto wondered if this was a dream, or maybe a nightmare. “Yes! All of you. I already called Fuyumi, but you know Natsu, it’s his exam week. And your eldest brother…” she paused, and then sighed. “Well, as many of you as I can manage, anyway.”

keep reading under the cut

“That’s,” said Shouto. He stopped.

His brain felt, at the current moment, completely blank.

“Yes sweetie?”

Shouto stared at her, all of her, the way she was dressed in a powder blue blouse and a sequined skirt, the sunflower in her cheerful straw hat, the way she was smiling right now, all the worries wiped away. It’d only been a year since those divorce papers had been signed, between her and Endeavor, the separation finally officialized, since his mother had been allowed free from the hospital. It was so little time.

And now there was a…

“Are you,” he hesitated. “Are you sure?”

His mother blinked at him. Once, twice. Then her face softened, the smile in her expression curving into knowing. “Oh sweetie,” she said. Her touch refroze the icepop trying to melt over his fingers. “It’ll be okay, he’s a good man.” She squeezed his hand gently.“ You’ll love him.”

After a moment, Shouto said, “… Yes.”

This was followed by the thought, we’ll see.

2.

“She has. She has a boyfriend,” said Shouto, voicing the elephant now in his life. He looked at his hands. And then he looked to Fuyumi, whom he knew was much better at situations concerning social delicacy, and… romance. Because it was now a prevalent subject. “When? How.”

Fuyumi who grading 2nd grade math papers, said with extreme nonchalance: “You mean mom? Yeah.”

 Shouto stared at her. Her pen stalled.

“… You didn’t realize?”

“She told me this morning,” said Shouto dully.

“Didn’t she tell you she was going to La Champagne for dinner two weeks ago?”

Shouto paused, felt the realization kick in. “That was – I thought that was with Natsu.”

“She was wearing a Lafayette dress,” said Fuyumi. “And she spent an hour putting her hair up. You were there. You helped her with those braids. She asked you whether you thought it was nice.”

“It was nice,” said Shouto, and Fuyumi gave him an exasperated look.

“She’s been asking you about her bracelet and makeup choices for the past two months. She hasn’t touched even lipstick for five years before that! ”

That was… he thought back. Rewound nearly every single exchange he’d had with his mother for the last two… Ah.

Ahhhhh.

“He… wants to meet us,” he said, finally.

“Yeah.”

Shouto looked at her, and then, very grimly, said: “so, what do we do.”

3.

“What we do is get a background check,” declared Natsu, half an hour later on speaker phone. He sounded about the same as Shouto felt, which was to say, somewhat disturbed but grimly determined. “I have a friend in the station, but she’s only on archives so it might take a while.” He paused. “Hey Sho – “

“No,” said Fuyumi.

Shouto was already going through his list of police contacts. They were not as extensive as he had hoped, which was an oversight on his part.

“No,” Fuyumi repeated, with emphasis.

“Sis,” said Natsu.

“He’s perfectly nice and law abiding. No.”

“You don’t know that.”

Fuyumi’s sigh was audible. She rubbed her temple with her thumb and forefinger. “His name is Tanaka Hansuke,” she said. “He’s forty three, so four years younger than mom. They met at her therapy sessions – his dog is a registered therapy animal. He’s a dentist. The most law-edging thing in his file is maybe tax evasion. He donates to charity and helps out disabled children in his free time. Perfectly nice.”

There was a pause.

“Sis… Did you already do a background check?”

“No,” said Fuyumi, and then admitted. “But dad did.”

Shouto stared at her. Over the phone connection, there was silence.

“What,” Shouto said.

“What,” Natsu echoed.

Fuyumi shrugged, and then bent to fish something out of her desk. “I think he’s… trying. In his own way. He handed the file off to me.” She sighed. “I’m guessing you want to see it?”

“Please,” said Shouto, eying the white vanilla folder Fuyumi was fingering.

The connection crackled. “Okay,” said Natsu slowly. “Okay that’s… something. Good? I don’t know. That’s… you know, our old man wouldn’t show up in any police-sanctioned background check.”

“He’s a dentist,” said Fuyumi, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Exactly.”

They were at the point where Fuyumi was beginning to take deep breaths. Her eye roll was audible. “Oh my god Natsu. Look. Just. I’ve got it covered. No weird background checks.” She stared into the receiver. The receiver, lacking eyes, did not stare back, but perhaps beyond the link Natsu was doing the same and Shouto’s siblings were engaging in a special telepathic contest of wills. In the end, the receiver bowed and shuddered with Natsu’s grudging sigh.

“Fine. Okay. You do you. But what are we gonna do about the shovel talk.”

“What did I just say.”

“The shovel talk. Not the background check.”

“You do realize mom really really likes this guy right.”

“That’s my point sis. Sho, you with me?”

Shouto’s knowledge of shovel talks came from two episodes of a television show he’d watched in training camp and the romance novels Yaoyorozu pretended she didn’t read. He hoped it was adequate. On the other hand, Natsu was there for backup, so it was probably be adequate. Either way he would do his best. “Yes.”

“Great,” said Natsu.

“No, and no.” emphasized Fuyumi, toned aggrieved. “No. There’s already – look. Once he’s done, I think the message will already be communicated. And as long as Tanaka doesn’t go mysteriously missing we’re all clear. If he does go missing I… guess we’re still clear,” she paused. “Hopefully he doesn’t go mysteriously missing.”

Shouto squinted.

“…What?” asked Natsu.

4.

It was near eleven in the evening when Tanaka Hansuke arrived home. In the sky the moon was full; street lamps spilled dark shadows onto the roads. Normally, Tanaka didn’t work this late, but this month his determination to make a good impression went hand in hand with several expensive restaurant tours. He parked his car in the driveway, unlocked his front door, clicked on the lights and bent to take off his shoes.

“Hey,” came a soft, rasping voice.

The alarm bells were barely beginning to ring in Tanaka’s head before he looked up. 

And froze.

A man was sitting on top of Tanaka’s kitchen counter, casual as you please. Black coat, shoes on, one arm propped against the faucet. He smiled. It was a lazy smile, but not a kindly one. Tanaka recognized that smile from the news channel. It was a smile that pulled on the man’s stitches, stretching scarred purple skin under a fringe of dark hair. Tanaka recognized those stitches, and those scars, and that face.

There was a nationally wanted villain in his kitchen. A nationally wanted, serial killer of a villain.

What even.

Tanaka ‘s heart rate ricocheted. His hands inched for his phone. Call the police, call the heroes –

And a ball of blue fire flicked past his cheek to splutter against the door.

“None of that,” drawled the villain Dabi, sitting on Tanaka’s kitchen counter. “So you and me? We gotta talk.”

AN: Fuyumi already has everything sorted lmao. Natsu and Shouto are…. late. Tanaka Hansuke, on the other hand, being perfectly law biding and respectable, gets off his conversation with Dabi badly startled and badly confused but in one piece, which is good because Rei is very excited for her date.

[lifewithstainless-blog]

Immigrants from “Sh*thole Countries” Have American Dreams Too

In a time where the only stories we hear of immigration, I want to brief the public on how lucky I am to have had a good experience traveling to the United States, and how I was able to adjust to the new lifestyle. No matter how many people even presidents talk down on different countries, I want to shed a little light on the parts and people of Africa they never tell you about. I also want to give a first person point of view of the process of legal migration into the United States, and the struggles many foreigners experience when settling.

“The land of the free, and the home of the brave”, Francis Scott wrote when he described the United States of America in its national anthem The Star Spangled Banner. For a land founded on immigrants, on the basis of freedom, it is no wonder many nations around the world look up to her. Bono, the lead singer of an Irish rock band, U2, once said, “America is not just a country, it’s an idea”. I can see why he would come upon this inference as the United States is unique in being one of the only countries that have complete freedom of worship, sexual orientation, speech, and pursuit of happiness. To one living in a developing country, America sounded like a fantasy. Indeed it was for the first 7 years of my life until, that idea became a daily reality. The thoughts and emotions that went through my head when I heard that I had a chance to go to this dream-like land of opportunity, can only be expressed through the retelling of my journey there .

I was born in Port-Harcourt, Nigeria into a large nuclear family of 2 parents and eventually 5 kids. I am an Igbo, a ethnic group of south east Nigeria. Growing up in a corrupt country, it is hard to believe that I was mentally “sheltered”. This contributes to the fact that I went to a private christian school from the ages of 2 to 7 years, so half of my formal education was composed of teachings of the Bible. My parents, especially my mom are very religious, her routine and unspoken rule was to have a sturdy prayer after waking up and before going to sleep every single day. She instilled the faith of the lord in me to believe that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me “ (Phil. 4:13). She made sure we went to church every Sunday morning and chapel in the evenings. This enhanced my faith in God so much that there isn’t a decision I make or event I come across without consulting God. My social life consisted of school, church, and then maybe going to a park every now and then. One specific park I remember frequently going to was one at Shell Club. This was a casual resort exclusive to only employees of Shell Petroleum Development Company and their family members. Since my dad was a petroleum engineer there, my siblings and I had the advantage to visit many times. I did not know at the time, but visiting this resort prepared me for lifestyle in America. Shell Club had amenities such as pools, playgrounds, and restaurants that served American foods like pizza and donuts. I even encountered Americans and people of other nationalities there. Sometimes I liked to pretend I was “oyibo”, a name Igbos use to refer to Americans. I felt as though eating their food, and acting their roles were enough to mend that longing I felt to go there. While partaking in this foreign lifestyle a few times a month was preparation for the future I didn’t imagine, it didn’t feel me with much merriment compared to the mellow yet entertaining lifestyle I was accustomed to in my home country.

Nigeria is a great country filled with diverse cultures, ethnic groups, and traditions. The mores in my hometown were less materialistic and more ingenious. While I lived in a city that was privy to a few days of electricity with a family that can afford a TV, we were encouraged to go outside for leisure. I had my fair share of watching soap operas with my older sister at night, but the memories that I hold more dearly are the games made up when the generator was off. We came up with talent shows, used imagination to create scenes inspired by favorite movies, and even wrote full songs with verses and hooks. Till this day I can still remember the many songs we wrote and sang for our parents those nights when there was nothing that could interrupt family time. Yet there was one specific night in 2008 at 10:30 pm when something did interrupt family time, a phone call.

At the time, my dad was in another state for offshore drilling related to his job. In a traditional region like ours, it was improper to receive a call at such a late hour in the night. So my siblings, my mom, and I all knew that it most likely had to be my father calling with important information. A few seconds after my mother picked up the phone, I heard an exclamation come from her “Praise the Lord!” she shouts. She then commenced in singing songs of praise and worship. As we waited for our mother to regain her bearings, my older brother picked up the phone and spoke to our dad in hopes of finding out what happened.

“Mommy won the visa lottery,” he said, telling me something that changed the whole world I came to know in my 7 years of living. The visa lottery was s a lottery sponsored by the Shell branch my father worked for. An employee got to submit a name, theirs or a spouse’s, to be in the running for their family to get automatic visas to a country. My father applied every year for the previous 18 years he had been working, yet his visa had never been picked. My mother’s name was drawn out of the applicants. After going through the proper process of crying, praying, and rejoicing, we began to prepare for the life changing journey.

Once our papers were situated, fingerprints and pictures were then taken. Green cards, passports, and visas for everyone were gathered and all that was left to do was get on a plane. The last night in my home city consisted of packing and watching. My parents had to pack 14 luggage with 7 carry-ons for us and transport them to the airport. Five children and two adults accounted for 2 full luggage per person and 1 carry on each. I cannot even begin imagine the stress my parents had to undergo during the journey as all their children were under 12 years old. We are all two years apart so, my older brother was 11, older sister 9, I was 7, my younger sister was 5, and my little brother was 3. I have immense respect for my parents for being able to get all of us from one continent to another. While my parents had the responsibility of preparing for the journey, my siblings and I took up the responsibility of preparing for a new country. We stayed up watching VH1 that night memorizing the popular tunes of the time such as “No One” by Alicia Keys, “Piece of Me” by Britney Spears and “Umbrella” by Rihanna. What we saw on TV barely prepared us for life outside of busy Port-Harcourt.

The morning I left my childhood home was a hectic one. The first destination on our itinerary to America was Lagos. Lagos is the Nigerian equivalent to U.S.’s New York City. It is the busiest city and finance center, so the only flight with Delta Airlines that was convenient for us was from there. We took a one and half hour flight from Port-Harcourt to Lagos. Then, we spent two nights at Federal Palace Hotel and another at Sheraton Hotel. We planned these extra three days into the trip to make time for a visit to the U.S. embassy to make sure there won’t be any problems once we landed on American soil. When we weren’t handling official customs business, we relaxed. My father took us to a beach where we rode horses, and ate beef kabobs called ‘Suya’. We had dinner in the hotel where we met many Nigerian actors, actresses, and singers. The beautiful views, and amazing weather were great stress relievers. It brought me content to know I had peaceful days in my country before leaving. The memories and morals I built there have kept me going for about 10 years in the U.S. now.

Early the next morning, we all got prepared and left the hotel room for breakfast. That was the last semblance of peace we got for the next few hours. At least 3 bellboys and lounge attendants were sent to help us move 21 pieces of baggage from the room to the lobby to taxis to the airport. Yes, even my 7 year old brain was able to process how stressful that was. However, the efficient staff and my father’s efficient wallet enabled us to get all luggage to the airport and checked in. The next step of the journey I remember was having to wait in a line to go through security checking and scanning. I had to put my passport, belt, and shoes in a crate and walk through a body scanner. I remember having to get patted down as well because my earrings set the metal detector off. Once we all went through security and check in, we arrived at our gate. This was when I realized that there was only one more border between reality and fantasy, the Atlantic Ocean.

After waiting what felt like hours, my parents finally started to gather us, directing us into a tunnel that led to the plane. I entered the plane and just looked around, astonished by everything and thought about how in 12 hours I would be in a different country. The seating arrangements whittled my excitement a bit, as I did not get a window seat. My entire family was stationed in the same row. My two sisters sat on the left aisle, while my little brother bided with my mother on the right aisle. I was allocated in the middle seat, but being sat between my overprotective father and placid older brother made up for not having a window seat. My father’s paternal instincts led him to the point of being so selfless that it had almost become overbearing. He offered me his blanket, pillow, cookies, and anything else that he felt would make my journey safer. My mother’s pious nature was of value during departure and takeoff. She unified us spiritually in saying a small prayer and the grace. She prayed for us to have a safe flight, good trip, and a prosperous life.

After twelve hours of sweet tranquility, the plane landed safely in the city of Atlanta, GA of the United States of America. After going through customs and picking up baggage, things got frenzied once again. It was so hectic trying to transport all the luggages and kids through the arrival wing of the airport. However, we managed to do it once again and were picked up by an aunt and her friend. This aunt is my dad’s younger sister and she was the only family we had in Georgia. My first car ride on American soil was in her SUV. That first night, she took us to her house first. We met all three of our cousins, and my paternal grandma. After introducing us to many people, she finally drove us to somewhere I had to call home for the next few months.

“We had more rooms in Nigeria”, was all I could think as I entered the small apartment. It did not make any sense to me how I had a 6 bedroom house in my inferior country of origin, yet I had to deal with these shabby accommodations in the land of dreams. This was my first taste of what America truly consisted of. While you were free to dream, and free to pursue these dreams, it took a lot of hard work for them to actually come to pass.

Those first few weeks were just us getting a feel of the place. We went to places for immunizations, social security cards, and got enrolled in school. Time was also taken to explore the amenities the city had to offer. An aunt took us to Burger King, and I can recall how interesting the new foods were despite their simplicity. My father couldn’t get accustomed to the name “french-fries” . Instead of just saying “fries”, he kept calling them things he heard European co-workers call them such as “chips”. Even the burgers were different for us since we did not really mix veggies and bread into the same type of meal before then, but it was still delicious.

My family was then taken to Six Flags, the biggest theme park in the city. It was nothing like Shell Club, the park I used to frequent in Nigeria. My parents could not gain their bearings long enough for more than one ride. They didn’t trust the safety of the machines controlling the rides. One comical situation was when my 4 siblings and I got on a slow moving train for kids. This was the least exhilarating ride, so imagine my surprise when 10 minutes into the ride, I heard my dad shout. He wasn’t allowed to get on since he was an adult, but as soon as the slow moving train began, he deemed it too unsafe for my 3 year old brother and demanded the ride be stopped.

The embarrassment I felt then is upstaged by the warmness that fills my heart now when I think about how untrusting my father was of American technology and goods. The concept of a GPS, how one device can track where you are and tell you where to go, he felt like there was a catch and it was all too good to be true. Even the education system was misleading. When I actually began school after a few weeks of just exploring the city, I had many pencils and notebooks, but I was so unprepared mentally. I was in 2nd grade at the time, so spelling was a major concept. There was already a language barrier since my accent didn’t allow people to hear me clearly. So, I thought writing was going to be my saving grace. This did not work out either. Nigeria was colonized by the British, so when she gained her independence, the country continued to use British English. So on spelling tests, I used to get so frustrated when my teacher would mark my answers wrong because there were dictionaries that supported my spelling. Words like favourite and colour were always marked incorrectly because this is the British- English spelling of the words not the American- English. Even now as I typed in those words, auto-correct did not underline them at all. Yet, when I type “coluor”, auto-correct suggests it be changed to colour. I accepted that there were two correct spellings to the words, yet my 2nd grade teacher never did. Her stubbornness to accept and my stubbornness to conform resulted in me making A’s in every single subject but English. This withheld me from going on the Principal’s honor roll every single grading period. This was the year that I learned in America, whoever is given authority does not have accommodate you, it is not their job to make you happy. All my trust in the system was lost from then on.

After learning the basic mores and guidelines to be successful in America, I started to make goals. As I watched my parents get disenfranchised from career opportunities because of their accents and where they attended high school, I realized the opportunity I had to get an education here. I vowed to keep my priorities in order so when I finish school, I can become a pediatric surgeon. Throughout school, I was not too interested in making the most friends or having the best clothes because I knew that in the long run all of that would not matter. If I stayed at the top of my class and got the best grades possible, I can graduate.Then, I can get a degree in medicine and a stable life for myself where I would not have to struggle about basic things. Even though I have not accomplished these major goals, I am still on the right path since it is my senior year in high school and I have a 4.5 GPA. Some people may have more privileges than others, but all raised here still have the same opportunities and freedom to pursue happiness. America is a land that was once a dream, now it is a reality. America still is the land of opportunity to me and I will always cherish the journey I took here.